#it feels like when they’d make you come up with a fake headline when you wrote a news article in english at school

[magdabuena]

GRRR BARKING AJD SCREAMING AND CRYING. WHYYYY DO I HAVE TO NAME MY FANFICS??? </3

[jxmis]

Lose You To Love Me

Pairings: Yu Jimin / Karina x Reader

Summary: Everything changed between Y/N and Jimin after Milan Fashion Week. Months later, Y/N, now in New York, releases their first song, an emotional track that reveals their heartbreak, making Jimin realize her mistake too late.

Warning(s): heavy angst, toxic behavior, male being is mentioned

A/N: sorry in advance 😭 I also still suck at summarizing 😅 header photo is not my best work… did it during work cuz i was bored 😆 and look at me not disappearing again after i post a fic 🤭

Inspired by Lose You To Love Me by Selena Gomez ❤️‍🩹

The night air in New York carried a sharp chill, but Y/N barely noticed. Their fingers hovered over the play button on their phone, hesitating. The song was finished. Every lyric bled from the pain Jimin had left behind.

The world had already moved on.

Aespa’s Karina and Actor Lee Jae-Wook reportedly engaged?

The headline was everywhere. But Y/N wasn’t sure if they’d ever move on.

Not when they could still remember how it all fell apart.

5 MONTHS AGO

“This is a big opportunity, baby.” Jimin’s voice crackled through the speaker, excitement laced in every word. “Milan Fashion Week. I’ll be sitting front row next to designers, actors—people who could open doors for me.”

Y/N smiled, despite the uneasy feeling curling in their gut. “I’m happy for you, babe. I just…” They hesitated. “I wish I could come with you.”

“I wish you could too.” A beat of silence. “We’ll celebrate when I’m back, okay?”

“Okay.”

Jimin left the next morning.

And when she returned, something between them had changed.

At first, it was subtle. The late-night texts that used to be filled with love were now short and mechanical. The phone calls grew shorter, her voice distant.

“You’ve been quiet lately,” Y/N said one evening as they sat across from each other in Jimin’s room.

Jimin barely looked up from her phone. “Just busy.”

“It’s not just that.” Y/N swallowed hard. “Did something happen in Milan?”

Jimin tensed, but her answer was smooth. “Nothing happened. You’re overthinking.”

But Y/N could see the cracks forming. The way Jimin’s mind was elsewhere. How she flinched when Y/N reached for her hand.

➽───────

A few days later, the final blow came.

“I don’t think this is working anymore.” Jimin’s voice was quiet, but her words rang louder than anything Y/N had ever heard.

Y/N blinked. “What?”

Jimin exhaled, rubbing her temples. “I don’t know how to explain it, but I just… I don’t feel the same way anymore.”

“Since when?” Y/N’s voice cracked. “Since Milan?”

Jimin hesitated. That was all the confirmation Y/N needed.

“I thought we were okay,” Y/N whispered. “I thought we were forever.”

Jimin looked away. “I’m sorry.”

And just like that, everything they had built crumbled.

It only took a few days. A blurry photo surfaced—Jimin and Jaewook leaving a restaurant together, his hand resting on her lower back.

Y/N stared at the screen, numb. The articles speculated, fans theorized, but nothing was confirmed.

Not yet.

But two months later, Dispatch made sure the whole world knew. Sharing evidence that couldn’t be mistaken as another one of Dispatch’s fake news. It’s too real to deny.

Aespa’s Karina and Actor Lee Jae-Wook: Korea’s New Power Couple

Y/N felt sick. Seeing all the pictures with dates and timestamps. Anonymous workers giving details of what was supposed to be private date nights between Jimin and Jaewook. All of it were exposed.

Jimin had replaced them. After two months. And this time, there was no coming back.

➽───────

Aeri knocked on Y/N’s apartment door the day after the Dispatch article dropped.

“Checking to see if I’m still breathing?” Y/N joked, stepping aside to let Aeri in.

Aeri sighed, sitting on the couch. “Something like that.”

“Thanks Gi.. I’m good don’t worry.” But Aeri doesn’t buy it. Skipping the common “Are you okay?” or “How are you?” questions with these type of situations. Why would she ask questions she already knew the answer to. Knowing your answers would also be bullshit anyways.

Aeri hesitated before asking, “So… what now? What’s next for you?”

Y/N leaned against the counter, arms crossed. “A label in New York reached out. They want me as a producer.”

Aeri’s eyes widened. “Holy shit! Wait, that means you’re moving?” With this, Aeri looked around Y/N’s apartment. Finally noticing how empty it looks. Boxes filled with Y/N’s belongings in the corner of the living room.

You chuckle but your eyes filled with sadness. “Yeah.. they’ve actually been offering me this opportunity for a while now. I just always declined it because…”

“Of Jimin,” Aeri says finishing Y/N’s sentence.

Y/N nodded. “Yeah. There’s nothing left for me in Korea. Nothing keeping me here.” They exhaled, the weight of their words settling in. “I think it’s time to start over—to finally put myself first. I really thought… we could fix this. That she just needed time and space. But I guess I was wrong. I should’ve known better instead of waiting around like an idiot.”

“Hey, don’t say that,” Aeri cut in. “No one saw this coming. Not even me or the girls. I love Jimin but.. she’s the idiot for not realizing what a huge mistake she’s making by letting you go.”

Y/N let out a bittersweet chuckle, shaking your head in response. You appreciate Aeri’s attempts to cheer you up, even if the pain still lingers.

Aeri studies them for a long moment before nodding. “Then go kill it over there. Make her regret everything.”

Y/N wiped away the tears that had slipped down their cheeks, then mustered up a smirk. “Oh, don’t worry—I will.”

➽───────

PRESENT DAY

Aeri, Ningning, and Minjeong sat silently in the studio as Y/N’s voice poured through the speakers.

I gave my all and they all know it

Then you tore me down and now it’s showing…

Jimin’s betrayal was woven into every note. Y/N had turned their pain into something tangible, something undeniable.

When the song was released, the world listened.

And so did Jimin.

Jimin wasn’t sure what she had expected when she pressed play. But the moment she heard Y/N’s voice, she felt her heart crack.

You promised the world and I fell for it.

I put you first and you adored it.

The lyrics were a knife to the gut.

She had promised Y/N forever. And then she had thrown it all away.

Tears blurred her vision. She had told herself that her feelings for Jaewook were real. That she had made the right choice.

But why did she feel so empty?

I needed to lose you to find me…

The chorus crashed over her like a wave, every lyric cutting deeper than the last.

Y/N had written about them. About her.

Jimin squeezed her eyes shut, but the tears came anyway. The memories hit her like a storm—Y/N’s laughter echoing in their apartment, the way they’d dance in the kitchen at midnight, the way Y/N would whisper Jimin like it was the only name that mattered.

And then, the fights. The distance. The heartbreak.

Jimin sucked in a shaky breath.

She had let Y/N go.

And now, they had let her go too. This was Y/N’s closure. But Jimin couldn’t help but try and fix things.

➽───────

Meanwhile, you’re in your studio in NYC when your phone buzzes. You smile seeing it’s from Aeri.

[GA AERI 🤡]: The song—damn, Y/N. It was raw. More importantly… the biggest plot twist of the century! I can’t believe you’ve been hiding this voice of yours all these years?! Who knew the Y/N Y/L/N could sing?!?!

Y/N laughs, feeling a mix of pride and amusement.

[Y/N/N]: Thank you, thank you… means a lot coming from Aespa’s Giselle 😆!! I guess I just needed the right motivation to finally show this side of me. But now I get why you get so emotional, that look on your face like you’re on cloud nine whenever you talk about writing your own music.

[GA AERI 🤡]: So what I’m hearing is that I inspired you to make your own music? 😏 You’re so welcome! 😉 I expect to be credited!!!

You roll your eyes, but can’t contain the small chuckle that escapes your lips.

[Y/N/N]: Shut up 😒 It feels nice, actually singing the music rather than just being behind the scenes, you know what I mean? There’s something freeing about it. It’s like finally owning my story, not just creating it for someone else.

[GA AERI 🤡]: In all seriousness… Ning, Mindoongie and I are so proud and happy for you. 🥹 Is it too soon to ask for a visit from the Y/N Y/L/N? We miss you…

[Y/N/N]: I miss you guys too. I’ll see.

[Y/N/N]: No promises tho.

[GA AERI 🤡]: I see, too big for us now huh big shots 🙄

You laugh, shaking your head at Aeri’s antics. You can’t help but miss the japanese girl and the other two clowns.

➽───────

Weeks passed after the song dropped, and Jimin finally found the courage to call.

Y/N didn’t pick up.

Not a second later, her phone buzzed—a message from Y/N.

She opened it, heart pounding.

[Y/N/N ❤️]: Goodbye, Karina.

That was it. Short and simple. Y/N’s message loud and clear. No baby. No babe. No love. Not even Jimin.

Never again.

Seeing Karina sent a chill down her spine. Y/N had never, ever called her Karina before. It felt strange, like the distance between them had solidified in that one word, a reminder of everything that had changed. Yet Jimin knows she deserves it.

And now, far too late, she had realized she lost the one person who had truly loved her.

Y/N looked out at the New York skyline, breathing in the fresh air of a new beginning. For the first time in a long while, they felt at peace—no longer defined by Yu Jimin or their past. It was their own story now.

This was only the start.

⚝──⭒─⭑─⭒──⚝ ⚝──⭒─⭑─⭒──⚝ ⚝──⭒─⭑─⭒──

The end.

[erodasfishtacos]

A Touchdown & Tears (NFL!YN x Sports Photographer!YN)

prompt: a chipped tooth, bloody nose, and a whole lot of feelings for a young couple who couldn’t make it last.

word count: 4k

warnings: blood, angst, breakups

author's note:

I upload a piece of writing every 1-3 days.

I recently started a second tier called The OG Tier where 2-3 one shots (1-4kish) are posted a week.

There are currently 350 + pieces available to read

Tier I - $3 USD where you get access to main stories, everything except the mini one shots.

Tier II - $5 USD where you get access to every piece of writing!

you can check it out here!

--

Harry doesn’t think the first time that he would bump into his first girlfriend from high school would be when he’s given her a bloody nose and a chipped front tooth.

Hear him out.

It was playoffs, Harry was playing like a beast and at the rate he was going, he was leading his team to the Super Bowl.

Towards the end, the opposing team, The Steelers, were coming up to tie the game because their defense had been lacking this whole time.

There were only six seconds left in the game when Harry did a sneak move where he faked throwing the ball but ran it to the end zone instead to score another touchdown.

With the momentum that he was running, he was running right towards the line of photographers, cheerleaders, other staff that lined the field.

He was just about to dig his cleats in to the turf to stop himself but an angry player of the opposing team hits him hard from behind.

It was unexpected and it sends him flying forwards into the line of staff, he winces when he falls directly on someone, and he unfortunately hears his helmet hit their un-helmeted head.

A yelp of pain is emitted from the person below him, he quickly pushes himself up, and onto his knees beside the staff member.

And he’s startled for a myriad of reasons.

The blood.

The tears.

The fact that he was staring at his first love.

YN.

Harry’s first girlfriend, first love, and honestly he thought that she might be his one true love, soulmate.

They’d been broken up for three years.

Three long years.

But Harry thought about her nearly everyday, wondering what she was doing, where she lived, and when he was feeling down - who’s bed she was in at night.

YN had blocked him, on every platform, and never unblocked from Harry’s checking - only able to creep from a finsta account.

Harry was down bad for YN, always had been.

They started dating in eighth grade, freshly fifteen, and so in love that it was stupid.

Nobody thought they would last, who would?

It was puppy love.

But time went on and they’d never broken up.

They decided on the same school, Norte Dame where Harry would go on to excel in football as she would in creative arts and photography.

Harry would have to rush home from away football games to come to her art galleries, typically making the whole team come with him.

They were fine until middle of senior year.

The stress was at an all-time high.

Harry was up for the Heisman Trophy (which he won) and was being scouted by the NFL, all while leading headlines on ESPN.

YN was a sure thing in his mind, the most stable and unwavering aspect which meant that he put their relationship on the backburner.

Like it would always be there.

He was loyal to YN, never once even remotely came close to cheating, that’s not what he means by neglecting their relationship.

Harry stopped randomly showing up to the media room after practice, instead choosing to go right to his frat to sleep.

Harry didn’t want to ever stay at her dorm anymore because he was always achey and her bed sucked which meant unless she agreed to sleep at a rowdy frat, she slept alone.

YN tried to keep the spark alive but she felt it slipping through her fingertips as Harry forgot to even mention that he got a sponsorship for Under Armor.

Harry was disconnected from everything but football.

He expected YN to deal with it, until it settled, and he got a spot in the NFL, then they could be perfect again.

He was stupid, greedy, and unfair to the person he loved most on this earth.

It came to a head when Harry was laying in his bed, a container of meal prepped chicken and rice on his stomach that he ate while watching a new Netflix series.

He hadn’t checked his phone, it had been on silent all day, and he didn’t have the energy to look at the damn thing.

Until his bedroom door comes swinging open and his girlfriend comes barging into the room with tear tracks down her cheeks.

She was dressed beautifully in a tailored suit with a structured bodysuit underneath.

Her makeup was smeared around her eyes but he was sure it looked impeccable before the tears had started.

“What the fuck?” Harry sits up instantly, going completely protective when he demands, “What happened? Who made you cry?”

YN doesn’t run into his arms like he expected when he opened them fo her.

No, instead she crosses them over her chest.

“You, you fucking did,” YN’s voice cracked on the last syllable, “I’ve been there for every important event for you. Even the less important ones, Harry. Since we were fifteen. You-you couldn’t even be bothered to care about the most important night of my college career.”

Harry feels a heart-stopping chill wash over him, like someone had just poured a gallon of ice on his body.

“Fuck, baby,” Harry starts to apologize, sitting up and uncaring when his dinner topples onto the floor and spills, “I can’t believe-“

It was her final presentation.

YN has been chosen to present her photographs in a gallery in the city, only two student got chosen, and she was one of them.

She’d been working on this project since the start of the year, it was her baby, and she had put her blood, sweat, and tears into it.

Harry hadn’t shown.

“I tried calling, texting, and you were just sitting in your bed? Carefree as fuck, huh?” YN laughs but neither of them think this is any part comical.

To hear the curse words leaving her mouth was odd.

Harry was the one in the relationship to have the mouth of a sailor, hearing it from YN in this context was almost…scary.

“No, baby. S’not like that,” Harry feels his throat tightening because he knows he’s fucked up, for the last few months, and this…this was bad.

“I can’t anymore, Harry,” YN sniffles as she blinks up at the ceiling, willing her tears to stop, “You haven’t been my Harry for the last eight months. I’ve been trying to be understanding but I don’t think you realize how poorly you’ve been treating me.”

“I can make it up to you, nut,” Harry tries desperately, standing up but hesitating when she takes a step back.

Nut- her nickname since they were in grade school.

YN bites her lip, the tears were uncontrollable, “This time, I don’t think you can. Harry, you haven’t come to one of my exhibits this year, you forgot our anniversary until the middle of that day, and haven’t once made plans for us. It’s always me now.”

Harry has a disgusting, sinking feeling because he knew that she was absolutely right.

“If you had fallen out of love with me, wh-why did you string me along?” YN asks quietly, he’d never heard her sound so broken, so tired, and hopeless.

“Don’t,” Harry gets louder, “Don’t you dare fuckin’ say that. I am so in love with you. Everyday it’s more and more.”

YN swallows down a sob, “I don’t want to be in a relationship where this is how someone shows me they love me. You’ve changed. You promised me football wouldn’t change you. You fucking promised me!”

“It’s hasn’t!” Harry defends sharply but he knows she’s right and he’s so disappointed in himself at this.

YN dabs her eyes with the heel of her hand, “I’m done, Harry. I love you. I imagined marriage, kids, my entire future with you. I…I can’t be with someone who goes out to a bar with their teammates while I’m begging you for attention and end up sitting in my dorm all alone.”

Harry shakes his head, “No! You’re not breaking up with me! You’re not fucking throwing away our relationship! It’s been fucking eight years!”

“I didn’t throw it away,” YN argues softly, her gentle tone makes it ten times worse because he knows she’s being rational, not emotionally driven, “You threw it away over and over again while I tried to pick up the pieces.”

“YN, this isn’t over,” Harry is yelling at this point, his heart was feeling like it was about to explode and there were fat tears streaming down his face, “Im not letting you fucking do this! To us!”

Harry isn’t thinking when he steps in front of the door, panicked and desperate to just have her listening, “We’re working it out.”

A knock and the door jolts open, a few of his teammates who had clearly been listening give their captain a serious look.

“H, you have to let her leave,” Niall says in a unsually subdued tone.

“Fuck off and mind your own god damn business,” Harry growls at him, his anger was uncharacteristic and frightening for the normally happy-go-lucky man.

“C’mon, YN,” Liam waves her over, giving Harey a firm look as he escorts her out of his room, “I’ll give you a lift home.”

-

Harry doesn’t sleep.

Harry destroys his room.

He breaks his most prized trophy.

His frat brothers throw him a party to cheer him up.

Harry gets so drunk that he sees double of everything.

He doesn’t know what’s going on as a girl shuts his bedroom door, giggling, and sloppily kissing at his neck.

He doesn’t like it.

It’s not YN.

He is about to tell her that when the door opens again to YN standing there with the most heart-shattering expression on he face.

“It’s been less than a day, Harry,” YN can’t stop the tears, devastated as she looks between the two of them, “I should have known I made the right choice. I don’t even know who you are anymore.”

Harry pushes the girl off but YN already disappeared and he can’t find her anywhere in house.

He stumbles back upstairs and passes out, never feeling so low in his entire life.

-

Harry has a massive bouquet of flowers as he knocks on her dorm room door.

When YN opens it, she looks awful with dark circles from lack of sleep, bloodshot eyes, and greasy hair from lack of shower.

“Baby, please please please,” Harry begs as he presents the flowers, “I know I’ve been fucking up but I can’t lose you.”

YN doesn’t react to the flowers, “You’re six months too late, Harry. This gesture would have meant something then. I was considering my decision and then I saw you with that girl last night.”

“I was drunk and we didn’t-“

“Did you cheat on me? During our relationship?” YN’s voice shakes and he fucking hates that she’s even questioning him on that.

“What? Never. Not even close. When would I have had time? I was trying to get it in with you every second I got,” Harry tells her, it was true, he was obsessed with her, her body, her personality.

YN doesn’t look like she believes him and that feels like a dagger through the center of his heart and twisting it.

“I wish you the best, H.”

“No,” Harry nearly whimpers, he steps forward, dropping the flowers and gripping her jaw, searing their lips together.

Surprisingly, YN doesn’t pull away, just grips his biceps and digs her fingertips in enough that it stings.

“Please, I can never love someone like I love you,” Harry whispers against her lips, tasting her tears as they fall.

“Then you’ll have to learn,” YN replies simply, stepping out of his grip and shutting the door on him.

++

That was three years ago.

Since then Harry had some hookups, two very casual relationships, and despite how much he tried to love someone like he loved YN it had never happened.

So as he kneels in front of her, he falls right into familiarity and actions, moving into her space and putting his hands on her shoulders, “Tilt your head back, nut.”

The nickname just naturally rolled off his tongue.

YN listens, she felt like she was about to have a panic attack from the pain radiating through the center of her face.

“Hu-hurts,” YN gasps as Harry helps her tilt her head, he’s pulling off his jersey with his free hand, struggling a bit but he’s trying to wipe the blood off of her face and neck.

“I know, just hold on. The medics are coming,” Harry soothes as he thumbs over her jaw.

Everything felt a bit surreal.

If he ever doubted that YN was the love of his life, it was reaffirmed as he got coated in her blood, her nose absolutely gushing.

“Is this payback for me breaking up with you?” YN manages to crack a joke even though she’s in pain, that’s his fucking girl.

Harry lets an embarrassingly honking laugh as he shakes his head, “Never in a million years. I can’t -“

“Move please,” One medic orders but soon enough, Harry is being shuffled out of the way and his coaches are dragging him back to the team sideline.

The game was over, YN was carted away on one of the little trucks, and Harry had never been so inattentive in a post-game meeting.

None of the compliments, kudos, praise about his game-winning touchdown even registered because he was freaking out about YN.

Harry cancels his plans to attend the after party.

Then he bribes the one medic with season passes to tell him which hospital they sent YN to.

Harry doesn’t think anything through.

He speeds to the hospital, parks without paying, and rushing into the emergency department to the front desk.

The very very old receptionist has absolutely no clue who he is which is perfect.

“I’m here, looking for YN LN,” Harry drums his fingertips against the counter anxiously.

“You have to be on her visitor list to be able to go back and see her,” The woman, Ronda from her name tag, mutters robotically.

Fuck.

He didn’t even think about that.

There’s no chance.

Ronda clicks her mouse a few times, “Only one name on her list.”

Harry knows it’s going to be her mom or dad.

“Are you…” Ronda squints, taking her glasses off to look, “Uh, Harold?”

Harry has to bite his lip because of course that’s what she put his name in as.

Just like she did at every restraunt that had a waitlist or every time he went into pick up their takeout at a cafe.

“Yes,” Harry coughs to disguise his laugh, pulling out his drivers license to show as proof.

++

Harry was holding his breath, wondering why she put his name on the list, was this going to break his heart even further?

Harry knocks of the doorframe before stepping in, YN was sat up in the hospital bed, and watching a trashy reality television show.

“Surprised my name was on the list,” Harry starts quietly, shutting the door behind him and loitering near it.

“I…I didn’t know if you would come,” YN looks down at her hands, shrugging sheepishly, embarassed, “But I was hoping. I don’t know, it was stupid of me. You’re this big ole’ famous star and -“

“And I will always have time for you. I’d never make that mistake twice,” Harry interrupts her, only taking a few more steps in.

“I…it hurts to see you,” YN admits as she swallows harshly, a telltale sign that tears would be coming.

Harry bites his lip, he felt just as choked up, “I can’t even tell you what it’s like to see you again. God, I’ve just never seen anybody as beautiful as you.”

YN rolls her eyes, “You were dating a Victoria’s Secret model.”

“No, I went on one date with her. That’s it and it was for publicity anyways,” Harry corrects her and it was the truth, “What did the doctor say?”

“I have to go see an oral surgeon about my tooth. He said my nose was severely bruised but no broken bones. I’m just waiting to see about my concussion test. I’ll be discharged tomorrow morning.”

“I am so sorry, nut," Harry sighs, rubbing the bridge of his nose in sympathy.

“I don’t know what tomorrow will bring. Hell, I don’t even know if you’re dating anyone but I have one thing to ask,” YN sits up a bit straighter, he could tell she was nervous.

“Anything,” Harry agrees breathlessly, his hands clenching at his side.

“Lay with me. Hold me tonight, please,” YN begins to tear up, wiping at her eyes, “I miss you everyday. I know it’s a lot to ask or if you have places to be-“

“I canceled everything for tomorrow already,” Harry confesses as he moves forward, “Even if I didn’t. I would drop everything to stay here with you. I’ll hold you for as long as you’ll let me.”

YN squirms over as much as possible to give Harry room, he kicks off his tennis shoes, and crawls onto the bed until he’s on his back.

YN turns on her side, facing towards him, hand resting over his heart, and nuzzling her face delicately to be mindful of her nose in his neck.

He feels hot tears drop from her face onto his skin and all he can do is hold her, slipping a hand under her shirt and rubbing at the warm skin of back.

“M’here, I’m right here,” Harry murmurs shakily, overwhelmed as he buries his own face in her hair and begins to tear up.

God, he fucking missed her.

And more importantly, the scariest thing was confirmed for him.

He’s never, even for a moment, fallen out of love with her.

++

[malum-forev]

Chapter 6

Summary: On the island of Atelonia, tradition rules above all.

For Elias, the once-rebellious prince and reluctant heir to the throne, returning home comes with an impossible ultimatum: marry and produce an heir, or lose the crown to his power-hungry uncle.

For Valentina, a spirited local, life means following her father's plan–maintaining her family's struggling restaurant and keeping their legacy alive. But when a chance encounter thrusts her into Elias' chaotic world, they strike a daring deal: a fake marriage that serves them both.

Neither Elias nor Valentina believe in love, but as they navigate public scrutiny and the pressures of royalty, they discover something unexpected in each other: comfort, trust, and maybe even the chance for something real.

Will they risk everything for a love they never imagined?

Previous: Chapter 5

Elias

I feel like an absolute idiot as the Rolls-Royce exits the south side of the palace, only to loop back toward the north entrance.

The unnecessary detour is purely for show—just another performance for the cameras, a choreographed illusion to satisfy the press.

The royal family operates like a well-oiled spectacle.

Smile, wave, pose.

Give them what they want, and they’ll leave you alone. That’s the rule.

Growing up, the palace worked tirelessly to paint me as the reckless one, while Grace was portrayed as the perfect, poised future queen.

But as soon as she passed, and I became first in line to the throne, that duty was passed down to Archibald.

They worked overtime scrubbing the internet of every single picture of me stumbling drunk, every headline calling me a disgrace, every carefully planted story that once fueled my bad-boy persona.

They’d learned their lesson. No more gambling with the future king’s reputation.

Instead of playing the tired “heir and spare” narrative, they rewrote the script. Carter and I became perfect princes while Archibald became the spoiled youngest child.

And the public ate it up.

At least back then, they were more subtle about it—dangling alcohol and drugs like forbidden fruit. And I, a rebellious teenager, took a big bite.

Now? There’s no manipulation, instead I get a detailed description of what the media wants.

Today, I’m to play the role of mature and serious heir.

Captivating, worldly, electric.

Their words, not mine.

The car slows, lightbulb flashes shine through the tinted windows.

Two deep breaths. One sigh.

Then I step out, slipping effortlessly into my rehearsed persona.

I give each camera my best angles, my signature smolder, and my half-smirk that makes me look far more interesting than I actually am.

Every step I take from the car to the palace doors will be analyzed, photographed, and scrutinized.

This is my full-time job now. Being one of the world’s most eligible royal bachelors.

Woe is me.

The moment the gilded doors shut behind me, I let out a breath of relief. But the mask stays on. Even without cameras, my face remains stiff, my expression controlled.

I engage in light conversation, making sure to say all the right things—how fulfilled I feel after completing my naval training, how I missed my country, how grateful I am for my time away. Each word I speak is calculated, curated, and most importantly, pre-approved.

I make a beeline for the bar.

“Scotch on the rocks, please.” I tell the bartender stretching my neck, trying to get as much distance as I can from the constricting collar of the starched white shirt I wear.

I smooth the sides of my hair, forcing myself to concentrate on the amber liquid in front of me—not on the small wooden box burning a hole in my breast pocket.

It’s barely visible, but to me, it feels like a ticking time bomb.

As I turn my head, I catch my mother’s gaze from across the room. She gives me a pointed look, then discreetly gestures for me to come over.

I take a long sip of my drink before obliging.

“What is this about?” I lower my voice before kissing her cheek twice.

“If you divide your attention among multiple women,” she whispers, “you’ll become even more desired by that one.”

Her eyes flicker toward the far side of the room, where Madeline is watching me intently.

I raise my eyebrows, impressed by her tactics.

“You don’t get to be where I am without knowing a few tricks.” My mother smiles, turning back to the women surrounding her.

“Ladies,” she announces, voice soft and graceful. “I don’t know if you’re aware of this but my eldest son, Elias Constantin, has just returned from a four-year operation with our country’s Naval Military Organization.”

The women gasp. A few even let out overly dramatic “oohs” and “ahhs”—as if they hadn’t been tracking my every move for years.

They take turns introducing themselves, some name-dropping their fathers and titles, as if that will elevate their status.

It’s painfully transparent.

I nod politely, barely listening, my eyes scanning the room for Madeline.

My body straightens as my search comes up empty.

Where is she?

“You hear that, Elias?” My mother pinches my side. “Marianne’s uncle played polo with your father, back when they studied at the Durst Academy.”

I give the redhead a flat smile. “That sounds nice.”

She nods furiously, launching into a long-winded story about her uncle’s glory days.

I resist the urge to roll my eyes.

As I listen to the woman talk, the only thing I think about is how sad it must be to live like this. Trying to appease a man she probably doesn’t like, all for power.

Make no mistake, I’m no saint. I’m aware my title opens more legs than doors.

But now that I’m older, the only thing I see in their eyes is sadness. Parents use their daughters as currency, offering them up like bargaining chips in a game they never agreed to play.

I stay for a few more minutes, listening to the ladies trying to one up each other in the hopes I find anything they say interesting, but before I could excuse myself a woman steps in front of me.

“Your Highness,” She curtsies. “May I have this dance?”

The circle of women gasps, and some even whisper, as if we’re in the Regency Era.

It’s a bold move, I’ll give her that.

I take her extended hand in mine, giving it a gentle squeeze before dropping it. “It would be an offense for me to dance, I wouldn’t do that to you. I’ve inherited many great things from my father, sadly I’ve also got his two left feet.”

The woman blushes.

“You must forgive my son, Adelaide.” My mother apologizes. “He seems to have forgotten all manners on the ship.”

She tries to subtly push me forward, but I stand my ground.

“I don’t dance.” My tone is final.

If looks could kill, my mother would have me buried and decaying.

“Excuse me, ladies. I hope you have a wonderful rest of your night.” I say before leaving the group and heading towards the open doors that lead to the garden.

I push past curious glances, ignoring the idle chatter, eyes locked on one mission. Finding Maddie.

The palace is overflowing with guests. Atelonian socialites love nothing more than a lavish party under the guise of charity.

I stand taller, scanning the crowd, but Madeline is nowhere to be seen.

Damn it.

The faster I find her, the faster this ends.

One step closer to securing my future and most importantly, one step further away from Constantin’s grasp.

I swirl the diluted scotch in my glass as I walk absentmindedly down the stone path, getting lost in my own thoughts.

My life would be a lot easier if I had gotten Carter’s part of the succession clause. Hell! I’ll take Archibald’s part too. Flying back and forth from New York, looking for a couple pieces of art sounds like a dream.

But before I can take another step—I hear something.

A hushed conversation stops me in my tracks.

The voices are low, sharp, familiar. It’s Carter and…Rebecca?

I round the corner, just in time to see them standing face-to-face, tension thick enough to choke.

“When were you going to tell me you’re back?” Carter demands.

Rebecca stands tall, her expression calm, collected, and lethal. “Why would I need to discuss that with someone who’s as insignificant in my life as you?”

Carter’s mouth snaps shut, I can almost hear his molars crashing. He looks like he’s about to snap, but instead, his lip curl into something cruel.

“You being back in Costa de Ville makes a lot of sense.” He muses. “I knew there had to be a logical reason as to why the crops were dying. The plague known as Rebecca Maxwell is back.”

I blink.

My brother, nothing-makes-me-lose-my-cool Carter, just threw the first punch.

Rebecca lets out a slow exhale, unimpressed.

“And to think we were having such a lovely summer.” Carter shakes his head, downing the drink in his hand.

“It’s always a lovely summer when your only job is wasting taxpayers' money.” Rebecca raises her champagne flute, toasting him mockingly.

Carter’s hands ball up at his sides. “You have no idea how much I’m going to enjoy taking the casino away from you.”

She flicks a bored glance at his fists before smiling.

“I can’t concentrate on anything you say.” Rebecca tilts her head. “Not when your receding hairline is so distracting.”

I almost choke on my own breath.

I clear my throat to make myself notice but neither of them turn around.

“Thank you for wearing closed shoes tonight,” Carter says icily. “Seeing your hooves would be quite jarring for some people. Not me of course, I’m used to seeing you in your natural state.”

“Calling me the devil, how original.” She scoffs.

Never once have I seen someone, apart from Archibald, get under my brother’s skin quite as effectively.

Becks and Carter’s friendship died years before I left but I never knew the pendulum had swung all the way to the other side, leaving them as true nemesis.

I clear my throat again.

“What do you want, Elias?” Carter keeps his eyes on Rebecca, as if she’s going to lurch at him the second he turns away like a rabid animal. “Aren’t you supposed to be looking for Madeline?”

I smooth the sides of my hair and tug at the ends, trying to ground myself and not let Carter’s acid words get to me.

“If you’re looking for Madeline Devreaux,” Rebecca says, arms crossed, “I saw her go down that path a while ago.”

Carter and I exchange a look.

We both know the only thing down that path is Constantin’s office.

My heartbeat slows down. A new kind of dread unfurling in my gut.

“It’s crucial I do this now.” I take the wooden box out of my breast pocket, the weight of it suddenly feels heavier.

I take off toward the edge of the Palace property, Rebecca and Carter close behind.

The path is dimly lit, the air thick with anticipation.

We stop just short of the office, hiding behind the pristinely trimmed edges.

Through the window I see the glow of a desk lamp.

A silhouette moves inside. Constantin.

The light clicks off and the door creaks open, the sound makes the hairs at the back of my neck stand straight.

My chest tightens.

Constantin steps out, pausing for a moment before disappearing down the back path.

I exhale sharply, about to let my relief settle—but then, the door opens again. And my entire world tilts sideways.

Madeline.

Her blonde hair catches the faint moonlight, her expression unreadable. She hesitates for a second before following the same path Constantin took.

I go rigid.

Carter whispers what I’m already thinking. “Is that—?”

“Yes.”

“Was she with—?”

“Yes.” My voice is almost unrecognizable. It echoes past me as the facts sink in.

My legs feel weak, and I suddenly feel like I’m on the ship again. Uncertainty knocking on my door.

Everything I’ve spent the last few days planning, securing, controlling—gone. Just like that.

Every single plan I had crumbled right before my eyes.

My father is dying and I have no one to marry. It’s too late.

The woman I was supposed to marry, the one I was supposed to spend my life with, was just in a private meeting with my uncle.

“Constantin won.” I whisper.

Carter looks at me with pure fear in his eyes.

There’s nothing I can do to save my family’s future. An unknown emotion bubbles up in my stomach and travels through my throat.

A booming laughter slips through my lips before I can contain it.

Carter looks at me like I’ve lost my mind, and in some ways, I think I have.

I turn my heel, heading back toward the party.

Rebecca and Carter scramble to keep up.

My head tips back and I look up at the midnight sky. Laughter makes my chest shake.

“Is he having a breakdown?” Rebecca whispers behind me.

“We’re fucked.” I say in between laughs, my cheeks stretched painfully wide.

A waiter passes, and I flag him down—grabbing a glass of champagne. Then another.

“He got to her.” I say simply, downing the first glass. “He wrapped his greedy hands around her and now, they’re working together.”

“It’s not confirmed—” Carter tries to reassure me but I’m too preoccupied finishing the second glass of champagne.

“The three of us saw the same thing Carter,” I cut him off, voice sharp, empty. “What other explanation could there be?”

“They could be talking about something else.” Rebecca bites her lower lip nervously.

“Don’t act like you care.” Carter snaps. “Madeline being in Constantin’s pocket can only mean good things for you.”

“Stop it, Carter.” She warns. “That’s a low blow and you know it.”

“The house never loses, isn’t that right Rebecca?” Hate seeps through every word Carter says.

Carter doesn’t let her answer. “Daddy’s favorite daughter always swoops in to do his dirty work.”

Her hand flies out before she even realizes it. The loud smack echoes through the garden but Carter barely flinches.

“You’re an asshole.” Rebecca’s voice wavers.

She glares at him, her eyes glassy, before storming off.

I snatch a champagne bottle straight from a passing waiter, chugging half of it before passing what’s left of the bottle to my brother.

Carter empties the rest of the champagne before resting the cold bottle on his cheek.

“You deserved that.”

“I know.” Carter sighs, signaling for another bottle.

We stand there in silence, people around us laugh and drink while we’re left analyzing the rest of our lives.

“There’s nothing more we can do.” I say as my brother passes me another champagne bottle.

“But drink.” He adds, clinking the bottom of my bottle with his. “Welcome home brother.”

I tip the bottle on my mouth, letting the bitterness sink in.

“Home sweet fucking home.” I sigh.

Tags: @kenqki @skittslackoffilter @blackhawkfanatic @greatmistakes @civilbucky @bohoooitsme @lifeisbutadream444 @squeefmaster @lemontinesblog @moontides18 @hero8ys @aiyaiy @potatowolf @sisi5595 @freshtherex @scarlettitwas-maroon

Copyright © 2024 by Sophia Bazar 

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

All brand names and product names used in this book are trademarks, registered trademarks, or trade names of their respective holders.

[relaxxattack]

i’m just gonna talk about my opinion for a sec, no negativity intended at all:

i’m also a traumagenic system and tbh i think people will get harassed for having mental disorders regardless of how they got them.

ableism and the media-affirmed stigmas towards mental illnesses affect all of us. people have claimed DID/OSDD is entirely fake whether they know about non-traumagenic systems or not, simply because they’re misinformed off of single headlines they saw one time.

also, as you mentioned, if someone experiences basically the exact same kinds of symptoms as us, and therefore benefits by labeling themselves a system and gaining access to tools that help them cope, then there’s really no reason to stop them from doing that? i would rather there be a million fakers than even one genuinely disabled person unable to access the care that they deserve because they were told they’re making things up.

i think it’s also worth mentioning that OSDD/DID/systemhood in general is specifically known for being a mental state that gives people amnesia from their trauma in order to survive it or avoid it. how on earth could we reasonably expect those people to accurately know whether or not they have trauma? 😭 we can’t. someone who claims to be endogenic could very well actually be traumagenic and just have no access to those memories whatsoever. considering that’s literally a hallmark of the disorder.

idk though, regardless of all that, people with mental states that are different from the norm are always going to be stigmatized and treated like garbage whether you mark yourself as “one of the good ones” or not. we’re stronger when we stand together imo. i would rather have a hundred fakers on my side helping me convince officials that OSDD should be taken seriously and that we need access to more mental care, than just a few “proven real” systems but no funding for care.

it’s the whole Leopards Eating Faces Party thing. like why would you fight ableism on the side of the ableism? we all have mental issues, we all need help, we’re stronger together. if somebody is misinformed i feel like they’d benefit way more from having things gently explained to them then being told they’re wrong and a faker and just making up the stuff they’re going through.

people are gonna hate us no matter what so i’d rather stick together.

not to mention, like i said in the tags— trying to decide who is and isn’t a “real system” sounds like the most lame thing ever. would you go around interrogating your trans friends to find out who is or isn’t “really a girl?” 😭 no because gender is a spectrum and their brain isn’t my business. if someone comes out you say “oh okay cool”, start using their new name, and move on. and if they de transition you can just do that again. same with systemhood honestly. again no negativity meant that’s just how i see it.

i don’t find it super hard to just… respect people and how they identify / what they want to be called.

wait are you anti endo :((

i had to look up this word to make sure i knew what you meant because for some reason i mixed this up with emeto and thought you were asking me if i was anti vomiting??? 😭

anyway no

[x3rrorx]

This is long but I’m so tired of the fandom shitting on Noah every chance they get because they take everything he says literally and personally. He has always been blunt and says exactly what he means. I don’t know why people twist his words or project feelings onto him just because he isn’t screaming his adoration for the fans from the mountaintops every day, making himself available on social media, and putting on a big fake smile for their performances to prove he’s happy to be there. So many bands have been so problematic with scandals and have not faced half the criticism from their fan base as this band has for such small, inconsequential things like not liking merch designs, deleting social media, not posting an end of year Spotify wrapped thank you thing???

People keep saying Noah looks bored on stage or like he isn’t excited lately. I personally have only seen videos of him having fun so far, but I’d also take into consideration that even though these are the biggest shows they’ve ever played, they’re there to support one of the biggest bands in the scene. I’m sure there’s a lot of pressure to put on a good performance vocally and I’d imagine that takes a level of concentration and limits the amount of movement and running around on stage he can do.

I’m sure playing arenas for the first time also means larger crowds, more pressure, potentially more nerves. There’s jet lag, there’s exhaustion from tour in general, you never know what someone is contending with in their personal life off stage as well, etc. Not to mention, how many times have they described themselves as dark, dramatic, cinematic. Those aren’t really adjectives that translate to dancing and smiling the way Oli does on stage, for example.

Also, the band tours like CRAZY. More than any band I’ve seen in a long time. They are always on the road for just about the last 2-3 years and I don’t think they’d spend so much time out and about if they didn’t enjoy performing or weren’t excited about it. With the way their merch sells out and the money they’re now making from radio play there isn’t as much of a financial need as there was before to tour tour tour. I’m sure they could get away with performing less if that was truly the case. Noah wouldn’t have pushed himself in the fall to perform when he’s sick if he didn’t care about being there. They also wouldn’t try so hard to put on a good show, put so much time, thought, effort, money into the production of the show if they didn’t care about the experience of the fans who came there to see and support them.

If he was truly bored and didn’t give a fuck I’m sure he wouldn’t sound nearly as good, wouldn’t push himself, wouldn’t be working so hard on his physical health to keep in shape, wouldn’t try so hard on stage production. Noah would also give heartfelt speeches before, yes, but this isn’t their headlining tour. They’ve been thanking the crowd and I’m sure when it’s their UK headliner the speeches about how much it means will come back because they’ll know the crowd at those shows came for THEM.

As for the phones, everyone needs to understand that artists want to see people dancing, singing, engaging with him while he’s on stage. When everyone has their phone out the whole time, it’s harder to get that energy back from the crowd because you don’t see faces and people aren’t moving as much. It doesn’t mean they hate that you record and take photos, nor does it mean you should stop if that’s something you want and like to do. You paid to be there, you can do what you please. But let’s not spin it to sound like he hates the fans taking videos. He’s said himself they don’t mind! But try and understand where he’s coming from as a performer. If you were up on that stage I’m sure you’d rather see moshing and dancing and faces than phones and people standing around singing quietly and keeping their cameras still to get good content. I don’t think there’s anything wrong with him having that preference and commenting on how the appreciates the UK being present during shows because that’s out of the norm for them, and that’s cool as a frontman to see.

Fans are meant to listen to the music, come out to the shows, have a good time, and maybe buy some merch. Please be a fan of the BAND and participate in the way that makes you happy instead of finding ways as a fan to be disgruntled because one dude says he wishes people were on their phones less, or saying the band hates their female fanbase because they don’t make feminine merch items. They give us so much—two new records coming, frequent merch drops, always touring, the comics. If you can’t appreciate all of that and feel entitled to more, I don’t know what kind of fan you are.

Perfectly said 👑

[rivwritesiguess]

Not Scared Anymore

Word count: 1685

Hurt/Comfort

Platonic!Newsies x reader

Navigation

_ _ _

  “Y/N! We’ve missed you, where’ve you been?” Y/N groaned internally. They had seen the Delancey twins this morning, and the day before, and the day before that, and every single time they say the same thing. The two knew it annoyed them, so they took advantage of it. Y/N turned away from the direction they were walking in, holding up a newspaper and calling out a fake headline. 

  “No need to be so cold, ya know,” Oscar said. Y/N continued to ignore them, not looking back at the two as an older man exchanged a paper for a penny. Y/N thanked him as he walked away and he only grunted in return.

  “Look at you go, selling those papes so quickly. We’re so proud of you.” One of the two put his hand on top of their head, shaking their hat around before taking it off and tossing it over to the other. Y/N sighed.

  “Just give me back my damn hat, Delancey,” They said once they had turned around. Morris shrugged, spinning the hat with his finger.

  “If ya want it back so bad, you’re gonna have to fight for it,” He said. The two brothers shared a laugh as Y/N tried to grab the hat, only for it to be tossed to the other.

  “You heard him, Y/N. Can’t make any exceptions, even for you,” Oscar said. Y/N huffed, turning around and walking away. They didn’t need their hat to sell the paper, they’d be just fine without it. And they did. They sold two papers in the next twenty minutes, glad to see the twins hadn’t followed them. However, the second they felt the relief, an annoying voice came from down the road.

  “Could you imagine walking away from a fight, Morris? I think that if someone does it says quite awful lot about them, what about you?”

  “Oh, I completely agree. I think it means that they’re a wimp, and they know they can’t win.” Y/N turned to tell them to screw off, only for Oscar to pull the papers out from underneath their arm and throw them to the side. They tried to go after them, but the two brothers blocked their path. Right as they exchanged a sinister glance, someone else butted in.

  “Delancey!” Jack called. The three looked over to see Jack storming over, David behind him with an obvious look of ‘I have to make sure he doesn’t kill anyone’. Further proving the theory of what the look meant, he grabbed Jack’s arm once they had got there and pulled him back slightly, not having the slightest trust in him. “Get the hell away from dem.” 

  “When will you learn to mind your own damn business, Kelly?” 

  “Once you two piss off.” Oscar scoffed, shaking his head. Morris rolled his eyes. He turned back to Y/N as Oscar started walking away.

  “Times gonna come when he doesn’t get here in time, and trust me when I say that both of us are looking forward to it.” He shoved the hat to Y/N’s chest, taking a final chance to glare at Jack before catching up with Oscar. As Y/N put the hat back on, Jack turned to David.

  “No, Jack.”

  “Yous saying those dicks don’t deserve it?”

  “I’m not-”

  “Let’s not argue about this,” Y/N spoke up before anything could escalate. Of course, it wouldn’t escalate too badly, but Y/N didn’t feel like hearing the two bitter back and forth while trying to sell the rest of their papers. They bent down, picking up the papers the Delancey’s had thrown to the ground. They groaned once realizing that none of the papers hadn’t fallen into the puddle, meaning they couldn’t sell any of them. No one wanted wet papers.

  “Dammit, Y/N, sorry we couldn’t get here any sooner,” Jack said as he and Davey helped pick up the soaking paper. Y/N shrugged.

  “It’s whatever. There’s always tomorrow.” Of course, both Jack and David knew that it wasn’t whatever, considering the money Y/N just lost and the small bit of dignity, but they didn’t say anything. The three walked back to the lodge house, Jack and Davey having already sold all their papers, throwing the wet papers away along the way. They walked in to see a few others had already returned, including Crutchie, Race, Specs, and Romeo. 

  “You three have already sold all your papers?” Jack said, skeptical of all of them aside from Crutchie. Race placed a hand over his heart, feigning hurt.

  “Course we did, Jack, what do yous think of us?”

  “I don’t think you’d want to hear that answer,” Crutchie said, laughing at Jack’s nod to agree with his statement.

  “Hey, Y/N, what is yous doing back so early? Thought you liked to go watch the fishes or something?” Specs asked.

  “Yeah, Y/N, what’s up?” Romeo asked, not seeing the glare that Jack had sent Specs. Race, however, did.

  “It was them Delancey’s again wasn’t it?” He said, standing up as he rolled up his sleeves. “Two need to learn a lesson.” David grabbed Race’s bicep as he walked by him.

  “Go sit down.” Race groaned, turning around.

  “This is why no one likes you, Davey,” Race said as he fell back into the chair.

  “That ain’t true!” Crutchie said. “I like you, Davey, you’re a cool guy.”

  “Ok, everyone shut up,” Y/N said, making sure not to look at Crutchie when she said it, considering it was directed towards everyone aside from him. “Yeah, I had a run-in with the Delancey's, wasn’t a big deal. Got out of it without a scratch, no need to make a big deal over it.”

  “Y/N, the only reason you did was because Davey and I showed up at the right time.” Before Y/N could protest, David had to interrupt.

  “He’s right, Y/N.” Y/N sent a glare toward David, who sent an apologetic look back.

  “Hows about we teach you some tricks to help yous out when those pricks are around, might help you out a bit?” Specs suggested. Race lit up at the idea.

  “Oh, please say yes, I’ve been dying for an excuse to beat Romeo’s ass after he stole my customers from me last week.”

  “I didn’t steal shit, you’re just a lousy newsie.”

  “Oh really? Y/N, watch this.”

  “Shut your traps, both of yous,” Jack interrupted. He turned to Y/N. “That ain’t too bad of an idea, though, you wanna try it?” Y/N shrugged.

  “Don’t got anything better to do.” The second after they said it, Race jumped onto Romeo, calling for Y/N to watch and see how it was done. Jack groaned, pulling Race back.

  “Dumbasses.”

—

  Y/N had finished selling their papers for the day, walking back to the lodge house to meet with Crutchie for a game of War. As they walked, they got the sense that someone was following them, but decided it’d be better to just ignore it. So they did. Until someone grabbed them by their arm, pulling them into one of the many alleyways in Manhattan. Y/N quickly regained their balance to turn to see the Delancey brothers standing there, smirks on their faces.

  “Think you’ve been avoiding us, haven’t you?” Morris said, stepping forward. Y/N rolled their eyes, going to push past the two. Right as they tried, a punch was given to their right cheek, leaving a stinging pain that Y/N could only assume was from the ring Oscar was wearing.

  “You don’t get to leave after you’ve been so disrespectful. It’s time for you to pay up.”

  “Look, I don’t want any trouble, ok? I just want to get back to the lodge house and go to sleep.”

  “Should’ve thought about that before you changed your selling spot without us knowing.” Before Y/N could respond, the two stepped forward, swinging hits at them as they backed up. Once they hit a wall, fear struck them knowing they had nowhere else to go. Another punch landed on their stomach as well as their jaw. They ducked down as the next one was sent their way, kicking Oscar in the stomach causing him to fall back. Morris tried to take the chance to grab Y/N’s leg, but Y/N lowered it quickly enough and pushed him away. Seeing as both of them were now on the ground, Y/N went to run away before they could get up. However, Oscar grabbed their foot, causing them to fall to the ground, scraping their knees and elbows. They flipped over onto their back, kicking back at Oscar as he tried to grab them again. They threw a punch at Morris, who hadn’t been expecting it, and he stumbled back. Getting back on their feet, Y/N turned and sprinted the next few blocks. They got to the lodge house, where Jack was outside. Jack saw them coming and his expression changed, turning away from David and coming over.

  “Hey, hey, what happened?” He said, putting his hands on their biceps. Y/N was breathing heavily, shaking their head. “Y/N, are you alright?” Y/N nodded, and it sounded as though they were crying. “Y/N, talk to us, come on.” Y/N looked up, showing the cuts on their face, along with a smile.

  “You should’ve been there!” Y/N exclaimed. Jack looked back at David, confused. “They had cornered me in an alley but I fought back! I kicked them and hit them and got away!” 

  “Are you talking about the Delancey’s?” David asked. Y/N nodded, jumping slightly at their excitement.

  “You should’ve seen their faces! They were so confused, they didn’t know what hit ‘em!” Jack chuckled.

  “Hell yeah, Y/N, wish I could see them now,” Jack said, smiling down at them.

  “Yeah, but are you ok, Y/N? You’re bleeding,” David said, reaching up to assess the cut on their cheek. Y/N rolled their eyes, pushing his hand away.

  “I’m fine, Davey, never been better!” 

  “How about we goes inside and tell everyone about how you beat their asses?” Jack said. Y/N nodded.

  “Hell yeah!” As Jack and Y/N turned and ran inside, David rolled his eyes, laughing himself before following behind them.

[mistydear]

running in circles, running from you (iii)

harriet hayes x reader

summary: fake dating trope ft. homophobia and religious trauma but make it studio 60 funny

w/c: 2.3k

notes: WARNINGS for f- and d-slur, homophobic/sexual heckling, and protesters

taglist: @thedeconstructionist @cordeliass @talulahmae @max-the-dog @mistysswampmud @angelxsarahp @cordithatgurl (let me know if you want to be added or taken off!)

chapter one, two

Thursday — 9am

You’re spit on outside the front gate of Studio 60 by a man wearing a cross. You gasp, your eyes fluttering as you hold up your hands in breathless shock.

“Sodomite,” he growls, his friends sneering at you. They’d been loitering outside as you walked up, no doubt waiting for you.

“Go fuck yourself,” you say, slowly descending back into your body as you wipe the saliva from your face. He laughs and glances between you and his buddies.

“Do it for me,” he grins, licking his teeth as he looks you over. Your stomach flips, and your skin crawls, and you’re getting ready to launch yourself at him when two people run up to you, grabbing your arms.

“That’s enough,” Simon groans, pulling you back through the gates. Harry is on your other arm, her grip tight and warm. You shake them off, heart pounding and blood boiling.

“Get off me.” Harry startles back, unsure, but Simon holds his ground, getting in your face.

“Hey! You want another headline? Studio 60 star beats up Christians outside front doors.” He’s yelling to get your attention, and you blink, your throat tightening. He’s right. You just wish the options were better.

“I don’t deserve this shit,” you spit, angrily dusting off your shirt.

“No one does,” Harry chimes in, her arms folded protectively across herself, brow furrowed tightly. You’re not sure what she means by that, but it makes you feel small among a sea of other bad deeds she also judges not, and you turn away from her.

“I should have never said anything in the first place,” you mutter, walking towards the front doors, holding yourself tight. You’d never really intended to come out publicly. It was easier to just keep your private life private, even and especially to your castmates. But the heat of the camera flashes and the persistent yelling of the press overwhelmed you. It was a mistake, a brief lapse of judgment that was now biting you in the ass.

Harry catches up with you on your way to your dressing room, not even saying good morning to anyone, her focus singular and urgent. Breathless, she falls in stride next to you.

“Now those were Crazy Christians,” she laughs, her eyes hopeful and searching, looking to make you laugh. For a moment, you do smile, and the overwhelming relief on Harry’s face makes you melt. You have to remind yourself that she does care. It’s one of the things you love about her. She cares so damn much. In this case, it just isn’t enough.

“Thanks for pulling me back,” you say as she follows you into your dressing room.

“Anytime,” she offers, shrugging, an easy smile on her lips. But you can feel the pressing sincerity behind her casual body language. “That’s what friends are for.”

You chew your lip, looking down and nodding. You aren’t sure what your friendship means anymore, but you don’t say that. There’s a moment of tense silence before Harry takes another breath.

“I’m sorry. About what they said to you. It’s not true.” It’s weakly placating, and you find yourself angry again.

“Of course it is,” you say, and Harry’s eyes widen briefly, in shock.

“What do you—”

“According to your beliefs, it is true. Don’t lie to me to make yourself feel better. It’s insulting.”

“Y/N,” she pleads, stepping forward. You don’t want to hear it. You don’t want to hear any of it. You can still feel the man’s spit on your face, and your skin crawls once more.

“I have to scrub my face. I’ll see you at rehearsals,” you say, ushering Harry out the door and shutting it behind you. Finally alone, you let out a breath you feel like you’ve been holding for ten minutes and slump against the door. It isn’t even noon and you’re already exhausted.

. . .

1pm

“I mean, she’s crucifying me. I don’t know what to do, what to say, I feel so helpless,” Harriet says, stabbing her fork into her salad. Jordan hums, swallowing a bite of her own before shaking her head.

“First of all, never say that again. Ever.” Confused, Harry opens her mouth. Jordan hushes her with a sharp finger at her mouth. “Never ever.” Harry deflates but closes her mouth, and Jordan lets the reality of Harry’s words sink in for a moment, watching as Harry realizes how insensitive and horrible it is to say that she’s being crucified by your anger. Satisfied that Harry is sufficiently reprimanded, Jordan speaks again. “Second of all, give me one good reason why she should stay friends with you.”

“I’m not homophobic,” Harry insists firmly, leaning forward.

“Harry, I love you, but if it looks like a duck, swims like a duck, and quacks like a duck…”

“I would never do anything as vile as those men outside,” Harry snaps back. “They are the homophobes.”

“You do realize that you don’t have to actually hate crime Y/N for her to feel uncomfortable around you,” Jordan says slowly, watching for Harry’s reaction. “All those men who didn’t want me promoted—didn’t believe I could run a network—wouldn’t call themselves misogynists, but they all had their beliefs about women.”

This stops Harry cold, something she can relate to, something she can better understand. And then suddenly she begins to understand something about Matt too.

. . .

3pm

“Can I talk to you?” Harriet asks, picking nervously at her nails as she walks up to Matt’s desk. He’s typing furiously, mouth hanging open, brow furrowed tightly as she fondly remembers him doing when he’s too focused to hear anything but his own thoughts.

She waits a moment, nothing but tapping keys to fill the silence, before sighing and taking a step closer.

“It’s important Matthew.” He types for another second before licking his lips—tired, focused eyes switching to her.

“What’s up?” Harry takes a breath and swallows, her face contorted. She’s afraid to ask, but she needs to know.

“Did me thinking you were going to hell affect our relationship?” Matt raises his brow, surprised as he ponders the implications of her question. Then he takes a breath and leans forward.

“Is this about what happened with Y/N this morning?”

“How do you know about that?” she asks, confused.

“Everyone knows about it, Harry,” he drawls, looking up at her from under his brow, arms across his desk. She presses her lips together and huffs.

“Can you just answer the question, please?” He sighs and looks away briefly, swallowing.

“No.”

“No?”

“No.”

“Why?”

“Because I knew you loved me. And if you could love me more than you hated me, that was good enough for me.” He shrugs, and Harry lets that sink in for a moment.

They’ve had this fight for so many years now, it’s just exhausting. But Matt didn’t break up with Harry because he felt attacked by her beliefs, and Harry didn’t break up with Matt because she worried for his eternal soul, and they both knew this. Their fights were never really about religion.

“But it’s different for Y/N,” Matt ventures, and Harry’s eyes shoot to him. “No one gets killed for being an outspoken atheist or an outspoken Christian. The way we fought…It was like being in a philosophy lecture,” Matt scoffs, but he’s smiling, and she smiles back, just a flicker. “For her, the things people like you say are the first step down a long road to people like that guy outside and worse.”

Harry chews her lip, her throat tight. Defensively, she wants to put a harder emphasis on the judge not part of the bible, but she knows it wouldn’t go over well. For the first time in regards to the bible, Matt’s right. It really doesn’t matter. The idea will always be there underneath every judge not. Seeing her guilt, Matt sighs, glancing at his computer.

“I’m working on a sketch for Y/N.”

“For her?” He shrugs, a small smile on his lips.

“She’s had a rough week. There’s a part for you if you want it.” His eyes are sparkling, and Harry looks him over curiously.

“Read it out.”

. . .

9pm

Everyone was in high spirits after the first run through of the new sketch, especially you who thought it was hilarious and enjoyed just how much it would piss people off. Matt had winked at you at the end of the night, and you mouthed him a grateful thank you as everyone left the stage.

Your high lasted all the way until you started hearing the big three bickering outside your door. Throwing on a clean shirt, you frown, listening as they…fight over you?

“I can hear you, you know,” you call, and the chatting stops. Slowly, your door swings open to reveal a sheepish looking Simon, Harry, and Tom. You aren’t part of the big three, not in terms of screen time or popularity, but you are friends with them.

“So, here’s the thing,” Tom offers, rubbing the back of his neck. You instantly frown. There’s an awkward pause where Tom struggles to speak, and then Simon claps him on the back.

“Tell her, man.”

“Tell me what?”

“The assholes from this morning are back, and they brought friends. They’re waiting outside for you,” Harry says, stepping forward.

“We’re gonna walk you to your car,” Simon adds, stuffing his hands in his pockets. Your stomach drops, overwhelmed with fear and gratitude to the point of numbness.

“Are you sure you wanna be seen with me out there?” you ask Harry, your gaze singular and piercing. Simon and Tom awkwardly pretend they suddenly can’t hear, and Harry never breaks eye contact.

“I’m sure.” It’s an olive branch, you think. Not her walking with you because that’s just what friends do. Her not caring. That’s what matters. You take a breath and nod, feeling brave with their support.

“Okay. Let’s do this.”

. . .

9:15pm

They’re holding signs like this is a political protest, raving like mad dogs. You’ve never seen anything on this scale for one person before. Maybe it’s the price for being in the public eye. You become the only face of a whole group. With a pounding heart, Tom walks in front while Harry and Simon stay on either side of you. Harry’s hand is on your back, light and guarding, and maybe that’s also why your heart is pounding.

They don’t part for you as you walk, but you do glide through them as they yell, close and in your face. The man who spit on you this morning is holding a sign that says God Hates Fags, and he yells as you approach.

“Burn in hell, bitch!”

“I’ll see you there, asshole!” you yell back, inflamed. Simon grips your arm, deathly serious.

“Do not engage with them,” he hisses in your ear. Your nostrils flare, but you know he’s right.

“How’d she convert you, Harry?” Someone yells, and you stop dead in your tracks, turning to the sound of the voice.

“What the fuck did you just say?” you ask, so angry you feel like you’re vibrating. Harry tightens her grip around your arm, trying to drag you forward. You shrug her off, watching as the man who said it grins. He knows he has you now.

“You heard me,” he shouts, licking his lips. “How’d you manage to turn the only Christian in Studio 60 to a dyke?” You can feel his disgust from two people away, and Simon must have sensed your body tensing because he steps in front of you.

“Keep walking,” he tells you, firm and unyielding. You clench your jaw, your blood boiling. You feel like a rubber band, ready to snap. You can’t see, can’t breathe, and your fists are already balling. You think you can take it when it’s about you, but you draw the line at involving Harry.

“Harriet, blink twice if Y/N’s holding you hostage!” the guy yells, cupping his hands over his mouth. That’s it. You slip past Simon and throw yourself at him. As soon as your fist connects with his jaw, he stumbles back, and that smug smile dissipates. He holds his face, and two guys catch him before he can fall. The band between you and them snaps, and there’s a mighty uproar, and the three of you quickly realize that you’re surrounded on all sides.

“Fuck,” Tom hisses, holding his arms out to shield you and Harriet. Your chest heaves, and your pupils are blown, and then someone is grabbing at you. Simon throws a punch at him, and then you’re all pushing and shoving and running.

You run and run up Sunset until you can’t breathe, your feet falling fast and hard on the sidewalk. Harriet is the first to slow, and you all stop with her, heaving and panting. You laugh once, trying to catch your breath. Then you’re shaking and laughing, looking between the three of them. Slowly, they start to laugh with you, unspeakably relieved and feeling so insane and roaring with adrenaline. You don’t know what to do with your hands. You can feel that your fist is warm and swelling, but it doesn’t hurt, not yet. Except when your knees start to feel like jelly, the tears come so unexpectedly it shocks everyone around you. They stream down your cheeks, and you’re still laughing breathlessly, but it hurts now, and you want to curl into a tiny ball. Before your knees can give out, you see Harry striding toward you. She’s not laughing. And she doesn’t say a thing when she pulls you into her arms and hugs you tight.

“You’re okay,” she whispers, holding the back of your head as you tremble in her arms. “Shh, it’s okay.” You feel her even breathing against you, and it’s soothing—her warmth, her tenderness. Then Tom and Simon have their arms around you too, and you sob into Harry’s shoulder as they all hold you steady, hold you close.

[storiesforallfandoms]

tabloid bs ~ eminem

word count: 1822

request?: yes!

@imaginesforjohnnydepp​ “hi! i was wondering if you could do an age gap eminem x reader imagine where the reader is a singer and is the daughter of a very successful actor and singer and there are rumors of her parents not liking marshall making the rounds in the tabloids?”

description: in which she decides to shut down bullshit tabloid rumors regarding her boyfriend and her parents

pairing: eminem x female!reader

warnings: swearing, age gap (totally legal though, we’ll say the reader is about 25)

masterlist (one, two)

Being the daughter of two incredibly famous actors meant you were in the spotlight from a young age. Paparazzi, crazy fans, fake friends, none of it was new to you by the time you decided you wanted to try your hand in singing.

You were nervous at first, worrying that either you’d only blow up because of who your parents were, or that everyone would shut down your career because of who your parents were. You were happily surprised to learn that everyone genuinely liked you and your music, despite your parentage.

As your career began to skyrocket, you were contacted by none other than Eminem asking to make a song with you. Apparently he was so impressed by your talent that he wanted to get in contact with you and ask you himself for a collab, something that he only did with people who ended up becoming close friends of his (Skylar Grey, Rihanna, 50 Cent, Ed Sheeran, etc. etc.).

You ended up following this trend, except in a much more extreme way. You did end up becoming close with him, but not as just a friend. Within a month of doing your collaboration you found yourself going on a date with Marshall, and within a year you were basically living with him.

The press had a field day when they found out. You were 20 years younger than Marshall, and he was only two years younger than your mom. Of course people didn’t react to kindly to this at first, but it wasn’t as hard to ignore these things as you expected it to be.

The thing that was hard to ignore, though, was the constant stories that were published about your parents hating Marshall, and hating your relationship.

This couldn’t be farther from the truth. Your parents loved Marshall, both as a musician and as their daughter’s boyfriend. Your dad and Marshall got along really well, and your mom basically viewed him as a new best friend from the moment he walked through the door.

These rumors were harder to ignore when they were brought up so often in interviews and during livestreams or Q&As. You were starting to get annoyed with it and you wanted to make it stop.

Lucky for you, the person interviewing you at that moment gave you the perfect segway to shutting those rumors down.

“I know this is a bit of a private topic,” she started, “and if you don’t want to talk about it we can just move on, but there’s something circulating in the rumor mill regarding you and your boyfriend.”

“Of course there is,” you said, rolling your eyes in a playful manner. You were trying to remain lighthearted about it all, but you were feeling the annoyance bubble up inside of you already.

“There’s a story going around that you blew off your dad’s birthday because he wouldn’t let you bring Eminem to the celebration.”

You felt your face heating up with anger. Oh, so now the media was trying to present you as a bratty singer now too? Saying you skipped your own father’s birthday due to your boyfriend?

No, they were not getting away with that one.

You pulled your phone from your pocket and quickly opened it. The interviewer looked at you in confusion as you scrolled through your pictures before holding your phone towards the nearest camera.

“Here’s a picture of me and my dad two days after his birthday,” you said. “It was taken by Marshall, because the three of us had a special celebration alone. My flight home was delayed and I had to miss my dad’s actual birthday, in which my boyfriend was actually invited to, by the way. Dad specifically asked if Marshall would be coming, even jokingly told me that I had to take him. So no, I didn’t purposely miss my dad’s birthday because of my boyfriend, I would never miss dad’s birthday on purpose.”

“All you had to say was no,” the interviewer mumbled, regarding her notes to move along to the next question.

“No,” you said. “I’m not keeping this one short and sweet. I’m tired of all these stupid, untrue things being said about me and my boyfriend and my parents. Mom and dad don’t hate Marshall, I don’t purposely not see my parents because of him. There’s no hate at all between any of us, and it makes me angry that tabloids make those accusations without any evidence just for clicks. This is someone’s real life, not just some fiction for someone to fuck around with.”

“You sound very passionate about this.”

You scoffed. “Of course I am! Ever since Marshall and I have started dating people have been saying shit about him and my parents and I don’t understand why. There’s never been any ill will between my parents and Marshall, not even any implied ill will. People just like to make up stories so they have a good headline to get views and get people talking.”

“Well, although nothing has been ever been confirmed, you can’t say you don’t understand where those rumors came from. No one wants their kid dating someone who is basically their age, no matter how famous that person is. It’s only natural for a parent to be protective over their kid, especially from such an older person that may just be taking advantage of them.”

Your eyes were wide with shock. You could barley believe what this bitch was saying. She was really trying to spin the story and say that Marshall was trying to take advantage of you, a literal 25 year old adult?

You stood from my chair then and began trying to pull the microphone off of yourself. The interviewer looked at me with concern before trying to stop you.

“I’m done here,” you declared, pulling at the wire once I found it.

“You’re going to break the mic!”

“Send the bill to my people,” you retorted. “I’m not sitting here and having someone tell me that the guy I’m dating is trying to take advantage of me just because he’s older, or hearing you spill some bullshit about my parents. Newsflash: if someone is happy publicly with their relationship, then maybe they’re actually happy. No tragic behind the scene stories or ulterior motives, just two adults who are in love.”

You finally got the microphone off and basically threw it at the interviewer before turning and leaving the room.

~~~~~~

You stayed at Marshall’s place that night, still partially fuming from the interview. You didn’t tell him specifics (especially not that you walked out in a fury the way you did), but you told him it didn’t go well.

You were awoken the next morning to your phone ringing. When you checked it, you saw your dad’s face and name light up your screen. You groaned when you noticed how early the time was before answering. “Hello?”

“Good morning sweetie,” came your dad’s voice. “Have you been online yet?”

“I haven’t even been out of bed yet,” you responded. “Why? What’s going on?”

“You’re trending for walking out of your interview.”

You sat up in the bed so quickly that it woke Marshall. He rolled over and looked at you in confusion as you put your dad on speaker and started frantically opening your Twitter app.

“Dad, you’re on speaker. Marshall is here,” you told him as you started looking.

“Good morning, Marshall,” your dad said.

“Morning,” Marshall responded, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. “What’s going on that has (Y/N) wide awake at 8am?”

“She’s trending.”

“For what?”

There it was, your name at the top of the trending list. When you clicked on it, the first thing that popped up was your interview from the day before.

“Fuck,” you breathed. “I can’t believe they actually posted. It was so bad, I thought they’d just delete the footage and never think of it again.”

“You think too highly of people looking for a good scoop, honey.”

The title of the video read Singer (Y/F/N) Goes Off On Interviewer while Talking About Parents and Boyfriend Eminem. The entire interview was included, luckily enough, including everything leading up to your storm out. Marshall watched over your shoulder as your dad waited, silently, for you to see it all.

“You didn’t tell me what was said,” Marshall said. “Why didn’t you tell me they were saying that shit to you?”

“It doesn’t matter,” you responded. “I mean, it did matter, but by the time I got here I didn’t think it would matter anymore. Like I said, I thought the footage would be deleted and long forgotten.”

You were nervously biting at your nails as you scrolled through Twitter to see what people were saying. You were expecting a wave of hate and people believing that you truly were a bratty singer, until you started to see how much praise and love you were getting.

“Imagine trying to frame (Y/N) as the bad one in this situation when the interviewer literally said Eminem is trying to take advantage of her”

“Never believed those rumors about (Y/N)’s parents and Eminem. They’re all too tightknit for (Y/N) to date someone her parents hate”

“The way she told the interviewer to bill her for the broken mic that’s QUEEN SHIT”

“It doesn’t seem too bad,” you said as you continued to read. “A lot of people on my side.”

“Oh, I knew no one was against you on this one,” your dad said. “I just wanted to let you know you’re trending, and let you know I’m proud of you for finally putting an end to those rumors. It was getting really tiresome to read why I hated Marshall on any given day.”

You chuckled slightly. “Thanks dad. I’ll call you and mom later. Love you.”

“Love you, too, honey.”

Your dad hung up and you decided it would be for the best to put your phone away for a while. Even though you weren’t getting any negative attention for this, you were still overwhelmed by the fact that the interview went up at all.

You settled back into bed beside Marshall, taking your place in his arms where you loved to be the most.

“I’m proud of you, too,” he said, kissing your forehead. “I didn’t realize my girl was so badass.”

“Yes you did.”

“Maybe I did.” You giggled as you nuzzled your head into his chest more. “You know how much I love you, right?”

“Of course I know, babe. Don’t let that shitty interviewer and her bullshit get to you.”

“Oh she’s not,” he said. “I’m well aware your parents love me and I’m not taking advantage of you. I just wanted to remind you.”

I chuckled and shook my head. Shortly after, I drifted off to sleep, feeling proud of myself for what I had done.

[zevlors-tail]

i need more poly shindeku :(

I do too! Which is why I'm coming at you with random headcanons for my ultimate comfort ship minus my platonic self ship with Shinsou. Needed a break, and poly is just easy for me to think about for some reason sooo. Enjoy!

More Poly ShinDeku Headcanons

-These fuckers the type of little shits to visit the seasonal/holiday section at stores and completely GOOF OFF.

-It starts innocently enough. You ask if the three of you can peruse the seasonal isle to look at decorations for your apartment. You want it to feel nice and homey, you know? Sometimes it gets lonely with Deku gone all day and Shinsou working thirds most of the time.

-Izuku will pick out anything All Might themed, Shinsou goes for the weirdest decor he can find, and you're the only one actually trying to coordinate (well, okay, Izuku is trying, at least give him credit).

-But it all goes to hell in a hand-basket when Shinsou starts messing with the decor. If it's Halloween, that fool is trying to scare you with a weird looking pumpkin or a skeleton or ghost or some shit. Christmas? You get bopped on the head multiple times with a plastic candy cane. Summer? Prepare for battle, because once Shinsou grabs one of those toy swords, it’s OVER.

-And if you’re not the one battling him, you immediately become a hostage to one of the boys while they toss around their fake swords and duke it out over you. Hero complex, anyone?

-The three of you are just laughing and having a good ol’ time in the middle of the isle when a member of management is like “Excuse me, can I help you?”

-All of you freeze mid whatever it was you were doing. Shinsou’s mouth is half open in a laugh, Deku looks terrified, and you’re just staring in embarrassment. Shinsou comes up with some lie for the three of you and if that doesn’t work, well then you better run! Imagine the headline you’re gonna see on the news tomorrow; Heroes Deku, Mind Jack, and H/N Banned From Local Convenience Store. Hope you have a good PR manager!

-Both boys love turning ordinary dates into extraordinary ones. They know how to appreciate the little things and find happiness in the small moments! The three of you can literally have fun anywhere at any time.

-Lots of park dates, museum dates, trips to the zoo, and planetarium outings! Staying at home is also a popular date night choice but they love to take you to all sorts of places.

-For park dates, it’s common for you to walk in between them on the sidewalk holding both their hands. If you or Izuku feel particularly energetic though, you might visit the swings. Shinsou isn’t very far behind, always pushing either you or Izuku but refusing to be pushed himself. He’s more or less there to watch the two of you smile and laugh, and that’s enough for him.

-If it’s too cold to go to the zoo or park, then the next best thing is museums and planetariums! You would have never guessed, but both boys have such a fascination with space. 

-Especially when it comes to those rooms with the stars on the ceilings and the projections of planets and the sun and everything. It’s endearing to see the way Izuku’s eyes twinkle like the lights above him and how Shinsou’s shoulders instantly drop in relaxation. And they both learn so much- “Y/N, did you hear what they said about this star!?” “Maybe we should go check out that interactive exhibit with the planets later?” “You two really like space, huh?”

-TAKE THEM TO AN INTERACTIVE SCIENCE MUSEUM. TAKE THEM TO AN INTERACTIVE SCIENCE MUSEUM. TAKE THEM TO AN INTERACTIVE SCIENCE MUSE-

-They’d be so cute. Let them be children again! Izuku won’t be able to keep his hands off anything and Shinsou will be sooooo fascinated. But also, expect your purple haired boyfriend to make lots of sarcastic jokes about it at first. He might need to warm up a bit to it but he’ll want to go back afterwards for sure.

-If you don’t already have a cat, you now have several. It started with one- a really cute kitten followed Shinsou home one day without him realizing (or at least, that’s what he told you), and it was all downhill after that. Izuku was fine with the first one; it was cute, little, and completely loving. But then it happened again. And...again.

-You and Shinsou found the third little kitty in a big cardboard box with “Free Kittens” written on the side of it when you were walking downtown and of COURSE how could you just leave him there!?

-Izuku tried. He really tried. He didn’t want a third cat, and you already had two, and he was literally in the middle of trying to make a point about it when you blurted out a name for it and he knew then and there it was hopeless.

-Shinsou, immediately after you named it: “See? He has to stay now. Y/N named him.” Izuku still loves you, Shinsou, and the cats regardless. You’re a happy little family.

-If Shinsou is upset, you and Izuku will gift him a cat in his lap to help him feel better. If one of you is upset, he will absolutely do the same with an added Hang In There! cat meme. It makes Izuku smile and you find it funny. 

-And speaking of memes, they might as well be a love language for the three of you. There is a group chat that you have dedicated to just memes that you send each other. Shinsou primarily sends cat memes, Izuku sends All Might and other hero memes and just random ones that remind him of you and Shinsou, and you send whatever garbage you can find to make them laugh. There have been times where one of you are only a room away from each other sending memes and listening to the other laugh about it through the wall.

-If Deku has the day off and Shinsou doesn’t have to work that night, it’s not uncommon for the three of you to stay up late with each other and just catch up over a warm drink. It’s different for everyone; Shinsou has decaf coffee (Izuku will mother hen him if he drinks caffeinated anything after 6pm), Izu usually makes hot chocolate or tea, and you have your drink of choice.

-Often times your conversations last until early in the morning. You all just check up on each other and talk about life or your hopes and dreams and worries, and it’s an effective and good way of communication between the three of you. 

-It’s cozy and comfy, and it’s hard to tell who’s who when you’re a mess of tangled limbs under a giant fluffy blanket. And then of course the cats join in when they want!

-If Shinsou is exceptionally tired, he falls asleep first. This makes both you and Izuku happy since the poor guy hardly gets any quality sleep. But more often than not, Izuku will pass out first since he works days, and you go next with Shinsou following you. 

-Overall just a really fun relationship to be in, and it’s filled with joy and laughter and love. You will always feel protected and cared for and understood when you’re with the both of them.

:)

[azucanela]

prologue

pairing: bakugou katsuki x fem!reader

warnings: alcohol consumption. cursing.

word count: 3k

summary: the internet is enamored with the idea of y/n l/n and bakugou katsuki, two renowned pro heroes, dating. the first issue? the pair rarely interacts. the second issue? apparently, they hate each other, not that anyone knows about that bit. of course, after one night of many mistakes, the whole world knows. 

series masterlist

THE NIGHT OF THE GALA, it quickly came to Y/N’s attention that she definitely should not have waited til the last minute to get ready. But, her own procrastination had bested her, especially since she didn’t want to go, at all. It isn’t that Y/N wasn’t excited to see all her peers, it’s just that...

Y/N wasn’t excited to see her peers. 

Or anyone for that matter, she was exhausted after having just recently returned from one of her longer missions, and though her publicist had insisted the timing was perfect Y/N had to disagree.

She was really hoping for a break, not to be forced into socializing with everyone. And though Y/N didn’t want to seem arrogant in any way, she was a woman who had amassed quite the influence in her years as a Pro Hero. Meaning people wanted to talk to her, they wanted her favor.

Y/N wasn’t in the mood to have conversations with people faking kindness at the moment, which was the primary reason she found herself grimacing as she slipped on her second heel. Nearly falling to the floor had she not caught herself on the edge of the doorway as she hopped out while adjusting her shoe. 

As though things couldn’t become more chaotic, Y/N’s phone rings, causing her to jump at the sudden noise in shock before cursing, hand reaching into her small purse and digging around for the item as she continues towards her door. Just before she can pick up the phone, the call promptly ends, and a knock sounds at the door— causing Y/N to groan in annoyance as she comes to a proper stand and begins to make her way towards the entrance of her home.

The knocks become more rapid, and Y/N suddenly realizes just who is at her door as she rolls her eyes, calling out, “I’m coming you impatient hag.” 

Y/N can practically hear the scoff of her publicist as she finally opens the door, revealing the woman who stands with her brow raised. “We’re going to be late.”

Before her stands Lorelai Flores, one of the most renowned publicists of their time. Y/N was lucky to have scored her seeing as she was one of few Pro Heroes who hadn’t had a scandal yet, miraculously. In fact, Y/N had been one of her first clients shortly after they’d met in a local café— the woman had come from America and Y/N couldn’t help but wonder if life there was more chaotic with how well she handled all her clients.

The woman in question stands before Y/N in a green dress as she removes her glasses, eyes scanning Y/Ns figure before saying, “you look nice.”

A smile finds its way onto Y/N’s face as she lightly shoves Lorelai, stepping out of her apartment and locking the door behind her before the pair begins to head down the hall, “you look great as well!” 

The click of their heels brings Y/N a satisfaction she cant describe as they exit the apartment complex, Y/N lived in a quiet area, an attempt to escape the unavoidable fame being a Pro Hero brought on. It was especially worse when you saw all the posts.

God, Twitter is insane, Y/N learnt that the hard way. Despite the fact that she and Bakugou Katsuki hadn’t been in the same room since graduation— for a reason— the internet had taken to shipping the pair. It was an idea that Y/N abhorred given her history with the boy. After all, they’d practically been butting heads since they met. 

But it was appealing to the masses, the idea of someone “soft” like Y/N, someone known for their charity work and kindness, their sweet smile and endless optimism. And someone... like Bakugou. Harsh, almost ill-mannered and rude— though there was no denying that he’d made progress since their UA days, not that Y/N could confirm this seeing as she hadn’t seen him in so long. That and the fact that last she checked, most of the major headlines involving Bakugou were... not very positive.

Y/N started to avoid social media once she discovered this ship. She and Bakugou didn’t have the best relationship during their time at UA, it was practically a rivalry in their last year especially. 

“All your friends are going to be there.” Lorelai hummed, scrolling through her phone as she side eyed Y/N, the pair slipping inside a limo with ease once they stepped out of building, met by one of many men that Lorelai had hired. She had insisted that now that Y/N was a Pro Hero, she’d be a target too. And of course, her publicist was right. 

Her brow raises, as she settles in the car, deciding to simply reply, “yes, I’m aware they’ll all be there.” It’s a curious comment, seeing as it was an obvious fact. They were all heroes, and given their history with UA, well... the world had been anticipating their debuts for a while. Meaning they all quickly rose to fame, some faster than others, and some remaining in the spotlight far longer. 

Surprisingly, Y/N was included in that bunch, unsurprisingly, Bakugou, Todoroki and Midoriya were as well. Tokoyami had also carved out a nice spot for himself at Hawks’ agency, and Yaoyorozu had managed to become a sidekick to a rather renowned upcoming hero. 

Y/N had also earned a spot at Hawks’ agency, the man demanding her presence because she had “reminded him of himself,” for some reason. And seeing as he was one of the top heroes, who was she to disagree? The man seemed to understand her desire for distance, allowing her to go on missions that tended to be further out from where she’d grown up. And she was more thankful for the space.

She’d taken to philanthropy as soon as the money started coming in. Y/N had never understood just how much money Pro Heroes made until she was earning it as well. Although, seeing as she wasn’t ranked all that high, it wasn’t until she started branching out and doing other work that it became ridiculous.

“All of your friends, Ms. L/N.” Lorelai looks up to her, brow raised as she crosses her legs, resting her clasped hands on top of them.

Y/N offers her a tight lipped smile before waving her off, “I told you to call me Y/N, we’ve known each other how long?” 

“Don’t change the subject.”

Sighing, Y/N shifts uncomfortably in her seat, eyes drifting towards the window to see there are already dozens of flashing lights lined up, surrounding the venue of the gala, hoping to catch one of the Pro Heroes before anyone else does.

With a sigh, Lorelai directs her eyes outside as well, hands clasped together as she straightens herself in her seat, “funny isn’t it? That such a vital job requires so much publicity?” A tight lipped smile forms on their face, “I suppose I should be grateful for it. After all, it’s the reason I have a job but...”

But, Y/N hated it, and so did Lorelai. 

“It’s horrid that my dress matters more than any life I save.” 

And with that, the car comes to a stop. Alerting them that they’ve arrived, coupled with a short and swift knock on the door to signal that it’s time to get out. 

Inhaling deeply, Y/N looks back to Lorelai, who takes out a pocket mirror and removes her glasses, Lorelai eyes herself in the mirror momentarily, blinking once, twice, before saying, “most people don’t bring their publicists to such events you know.”

A small laugh escapes Y/N, and she knows its Lorelai’s attempt at helping her wind down before going inside, though she replies, “you’re more than my publicist.” Offering her a smile, Y/N simply says, “and why suffer alone when I can bring my friend, and who else will make sure I don’t do anything dumb?” 

It was true, it was always nice to have a partner at such functions, someone to hang around or return to. Or more accurately, someone to use as an excuse to leave the more annoying conversations. Though Lorelai always enjoyed the free foods and gift bags— that had items worth more than her rent, Lorelai had once said— and agreed to join Y/N/

Rolling her eyes, Lorelai simply knocks at the door, letting their chauffeur know it’s time before momentarily turning back to Y/N as they say, “ladies first.”

And with that, the door opens, revealing the pair to the world and exposing them to all the flashing lights of the mob awaiting them. People shouting out her Pro Hero name, Empatha.

Named for her quirk, Empathic Mimicry. Granting her to use the ability of those she touches for as long as she wants. However, in that period of time, she can feel their emotions and pain, and the quirk she uses comes with the setbacks of the user. If the person she touches is quirkless, it is possible to get other skills of theirs, but once again there are setbacks. 

Todoroki spent much of his free time at UA theorizing that she and Monoma Neito were secretly related in some way. Monoma on the other hand, seemed bitter about the fact that Y/N was “a better version” of him. Despite this, the memory of Todoroki’s odd question brings a genuine smile to her face as she steps onto the red carpet, swiftly making her way past as she waves towards the cameras. 

It’s just as overwhelming as it was the first time. And the second time. And the time after that. Even if Y/N had taught herself to control her abilities, no longer feeling the emotions of those surrounding her. But she didn’t need her ability to feel the excitement, anxiety— and worst of all the ambition. Ambition tended to be dangerous in the hero world. The reason behind unnecessary deaths, and exposed scandals. In Y/N’s experience it was a dangerous emotion, but she wouldn’t deny it had produced some impressive people. 

The lights are blinding as Y/N maneuvers inside, colliding with someone, warm hands come to rest on her forearms as the person in question mutters out, “watch where you’re going.”

Y/N finds herself freezing, recognizing him almost instantly. By the time her eyes have readjusted to the light, she finds that Bakugou is staring right back at her, mouth gaped open.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Y/N scoffs, tearing her arm from his grasp as he quickly as she attempts to collect herself, inhaling deeply.

Y/N probably should’ve guessed it was him from the screams, pose for a picture! Why don’t you two get a little closer! Can you comment on your relationship? They’re yelling for Bakugou too, wondering why he finally decided to make an appearance. Y/N is curious as well, for different reasons of course.

Bakugou is rolling his eyes before she can continue, “please, it’s not like I wanted to see you either.” 

Y/N nods slowly, offering him a bitter smile as she inhaled deeply— taking a few steps back. “Great to see you Bakugou, truly.” Sarcasm dripping from her tone as she stands beside him begrudgingly, putting on a false smile, “I hate you just as much as I used to.” 

Pausing, Bakugou’s hand comes to hover over her waist, as he stares into the cameras, muttering, “why?” 

“We both have reputations to maintain, do we not?” Comes her response, looking to him, Y/N reminds herself not to scowl as she straightens herself beside him, waving to a group of people and inciting more screams as she beams from beside Bakugou.

His laugh is a bitter one as he replies, “right.” Y/N inhales shakily, removing herself from Bakugou as she offers him a sarcastic smile, “thanks for the show, Sweetheart, but you aren’t all that important. You aren’t doing me any favors right now.”

A laugh escapes her, and the number of flashes increases exponentially, only for her to turn to Bakugou and say, “really now? Well, I suppose you’re right I’m not important seeing as you’re the one on the front page every week for a different scandal.” Bakugou looks away, scoffing, and Y/N nearly flips him off before reminding herself where she is and saying, “And I don’t want your thanks. I don’t want anything from you.”

And then she’s off, offering tight lipped smiles to those around her as she moved further into the venue for the gala, grabbing a drink off the tray of a passing waiter, Y/N mumbled out words of thanks before downing the drink instantly. Making her way past each person when a hand grabs her wrist.

“Y/N?”

Izuku Midoriya, better known as Pro Hero Deku, had intercepted Y/N on her way to the sanctuary of every party. The bathroom. Though he was probably the best person to have caught her, and undoubtedly someone she actually wanted to speak with. Y/N had a feeling he could tell something was wrong from the way he looked at her, concern clear in his eyes, Izuku was always easy to read. But she had somewhere to be and—

And Bakugou would be entering anytime soon. And what infuriated Bakugou more than she did? Izuku Midoriya.

So, Y/N puts a smile on her face as she says, “hey Midoriya.” She clears her throat, moving to stand beside him as she asks, “how are you doing?” 

He beams back at her, his smile as genuine as ever as he responds, “I’m well! And so are you it seems, there are rumors that you’ll be entering the top 100 heroes this year, you know?” 

Y/N had heard such rumors as well, if they were true, she’d be the first of her class to become a part of the top 100. Seeing as they were still basically fresh out of UA, it would be quite the achievement for her to do so at such a young age. Rivaling the progression of even Pro Hero Hawks. 

Raising a brow Y/N shoves him lightly, “scouting out the competition are you, Midoriya?” 

Midoriya’s eyes widen and he immediately begins shaking his head as his cheeks flush a bright red, “absolutely not!” He exclaims, “I’m just so amazed by how far you’ve come and it’s been so long since I’ve seen you.” 

A small laugh escapes her at his reaction, her eyes drifting towards her empty glass as she replies, “well I have no doubt that if I do miraculously enter the top 100, you’ll be close behind.” Inhaling deeply, she meets his eyes, “now if you’ll excuse me, I was on my way to the restroom when you caught me.” Once again, his cheeks flush a light pink as he begins to sputter apologies, and Y/N simply smiles as she says, “but we should definitely catch up sometime soon, maybe we can hang out sometime soon?”

A bashful smile finds its way onto his face as he nods slowly, “yeah. I would like that.”

And with that, Y/N waves goodbye to him continuing to the bathroom and managing to avoid any more conversations though few tried. Likely hoping for some good publicity themselves, she could see people beginning to swarm Deku in the distance now— and Y/N finds herself feeling bad that she left him so soon.

But as Y/N makes her way inside the restroom, it finally hits her.

Lorelai meant it when she said all her peers are coming, the woman had probably meant it as a warning. It was rare for Bakugou to attend social events, especially since they rarely ended well when it came to him. Most days, he ended up the headline of every single news sources when it came to his public events, rarely did Bakugou have a good run in with the press. Y/N was shocked he’d made it this far in the hero industry with his poor reputation only worsening at every event.

Oh she needed a drink. Y/N needed a lot of drinks. She couldn’t do this right now, not at all.

But more importantly, she needed fun, she needed lots of fun. So, taking one last look at the mirror, Y/N inhales deeply before exiting the restroom, spotting Izuku Midoriya almost instantly. She makes her way towards him, calling out for him, “Midoriya!” Her words distract him from his conversation, drawing the attention of those around then and the people who were initially speaking to him. 

The boy seems relieved that someone has come to save him from whatever conversation he was having, waving to Y/N as he says, “Y/N?”

A grin comes onto her face as she extends a hand to him, looking to those around him, “sorry to interrupt but—” She turns back to Izuku, “may I have this dance?

He offers her a nervous smile, only sparing those around him a glance as he replies, “definitely.” 

And with that, she drags him to the dance floor, and Y/N can feel the eyes on her as she does. It certainly is a curious sight. Two of the big up and coming heroes heading to the dance floor together after barely any public interactions. Y/N is sure that once the word gets out the internet will be going insane, and so will the press. Weaving together stories of insanity to boost their readership.

At this rate, Y/N didn’t care. 

This was Y/N L/N’s first mistake of the night, but it certainly wouldn’t be her last seeing as by the end of the night, Y/N L/N and Bakugou Katsuki would be on every front page and headline. 

note: lmk how this was pls i need validation <3

[wizkiddx]

unusable faces

i have exams hence why i needed to write something exceptionally cringe :)

PSA: this is completely inspired from one of my fave writers own blurb @blissfulparker​ --> completely recommend u go read hers its much better than anything i could ever write!!!! (and just her whole account) = link

Summary: pure exhaustion and mutual pining, Tom Holland x actress!reader

^(just thought this was cute, doesn't really fit aha but full credit to op!!)

A scheduling nightmare would be putting it lightly. Perhaps almost unavoidable but that didn’t make it any less of a hellish form a torture. Harry had very helpfully said it actually was a form of torture, that is sleep deprivation. Y/n loved her job - it was all she’d ever really wanted - yet that thought was quickly becoming not enough to get her through the day. Not when it felt like an interrogation tactic used by the CIA. 

To give a quick timeline of the past few days may give a little context:

Thursday - filming the fight scene all day plus an evening-turned-half-the-night-shoot due to some technically difficulties delaying the process.

Friday - flying to New York while doing read throughs of scenes for the next few days; followed immediately by getting glammed and filming the tonight show with Fallon; then a dash across town to the late late show with James Corden; then straight back on a flight to Atlanta that landed at stupid o’clock in the morning

Saturday - a full day of shooting in a mock grand central station set

The press trip to NY had been unplanned… to say the least. But the star of their studios other new release had taken ill - meaning they had slots booked on some of the biggest talk shows in America that would just be abandoned (angering the shows bookers too). It was a waste of perfectly good promo time and since the studio had their two other stars together doing a block of reshoots - it wasn’t a conversation. Much more a call demanding the two of them to be on the plane.

Normally this wouldn’t be such an unmanageable ask either, except the reshoot block was really rather time pressured. You see, the promo tour wasn’t far from beginning meaning they really needed the final film in the can. So really it was a bit of a mess. Just to free up that single day the two were in New York the whole schedule had had to be rejigged - in doing so they’d lost a rare day off too. It was just typical.  

The joys of success hey?

Well, that’s at least what Y/n was making herself think whilst her incredibly talented SFX artist was in the process of crafting a deep wound onto her upper arm. The reason why she would be ‘dripping with blood’ whilst at a train station was beyond Y/n to be honest - she hadn’t been allowed to read a lot of the script so even now as filming was drawing to a close, the story arc of the movie she was headlining was still a little ‘fuzzy’.

“So I watched your ‘spill your guts’ thing on YouTube” Ellie giggled whilst reaching over for more prosthetic putty- a technical term apparently

“I’m glad one of us enjoyed the experience” Y/n replied with a sigh, rolling her eyes at the mischievous smirk on her face - no doubt Ellie took great joy out of seeing her suffer through eating a thousand year old egg. Which Y/n swore the taste of was still in her mouth… and it seemed as though it’d never leave. 

“Oh don’t worry darling I did too” Nelli called over from the next chair along, where she was doing Tom’s makeup for the day of shoots. “Between that and the animals on Fallon, you made a hell of a lot of people laugh last night” Tom’s artist was referencing the fact one of Jimmys other guests was a zookeeper, so at the end of the interview he had you and Tom join in trying not to scream at the snakes and spiders.

“You mean laugh at us?” 

“Well of course darling!” Nelli exclaimed back in an overdramatic bronx accent making all three of the women burst out laughing, Ellie’s unceremonious snorts echoing through the trailer only egged them all on more.

Tom in response, who had otherwise been absent from conversation for the majority of the morning, exclaimed a curse and jumped up in his chair. While you and Ellie collected yourself, Nelli apologised to him.

“Oh sorry love, I’m interrupting your snooze with my uncontrollable comedic gift” She spoke sweetly, even if still taking the moment to flaunt to the other women, as she squeezed his shoulder compassionately.

“No no” Tom waved off her apology, attempting to rub his eye before Nelli swatted his arm away - a stern look for the risk of ruining all her hard work she’d put into making his face look half presentable. 

“I’m impressed you can sleep while they poke you with all these er instruments” Y/n added in, having only just realised Tom had been in a light sleep for god knows how long they’d been in that chair. It did seem a bit unlikely, being able to fall asleep as you were dabbed, prodded and brushed. 

“Maybe you should try though Y/n… your purple eye bags are proving a struggle even for me” Ellie quipped back, now it was Y/n’s turn to give the stern look. Tom took the explain though, shutting her off from whatever kindly meant insult she was about to throw back at her friend. 

“No normally never, I just….” He was cut off by an ear splitting yawn, appearing almost powerful enough to crack his jaw - which would be a disaster, for no one should ruin such a beautiful and sharp jaw line. “…uh-sorry. I just think I ended up taking my NyQuil and DayQuil the wrong way round in the madness of yesterday.” Only Tom, the poor kid often seemed to lacking in any form of common sense - even if those closest to him knew just how intellectual and passionate he could be about the right topic. Affectionately, Nelli scalded his idiocy by jokingly swatting his head with a little tut.

“I can’t believe your still standing then! I’m barely alive and I don’t have any sedatives in my system.” It was true, Y/n was at that stage where every part of her body felt ridiculously heavy… eyes included … eyes especially. 

“But I did sleep on the jet back while your stupid self was studying the script!” Tom replied with a pretty inarguable point - at the time he knew her actions were stupid;  when their flight took off at 11 PM he was certain that the most valuable asset to his ability to act in the reshoots today would be sleep - rather than character development. And he’d tried to convince Y/n that briefly, but gave up. She was bloody stubborn when she wanted to be. 

“Stop competing about who has it worse cos I think it’s me and Nell”Ellie announced - making Nelli agree empathically with her coworker, nodding her head as she looked first to Y/n in her chair then back at Tom.

“Yeh because we have to deal with your unusable faces!!”

After much sarcasm thrown back and fourth, the trailer slowly ebbed it’s way back into serenity and peace as both artists focused on their work. Once Nelli was done she excused herself, Tom staying in the chair in favour of studying (more like staring blankly) at the dialogue for this mornings scenes. His pretence didn’t last long though and while Ellie was busy adding the final touches of fake blood to the now almost completely believable gash that she’d crafted on Y/n’s arm - Y/n had her attention focused the opposite way.

At poor little Tom. He looked so childlike, his slightly puffy eyes looked as if they had weights tied to them - they way he was having fight against gravity to flutter his eyes open, before loosing the next second only for the process to repeat as they dragged downwards. The broad muscles of his neck occasionally seemed to occasionally let up a little, letting his head tilt slowly at first until it gathered enough momentum to throw him off balance. The then sudden movement of his head unconsciously pulling itself back in line caused his eyes to bolt open prior to the whole cycle repeating again. All Y/n wanted to do was let him lay down someone, her heart feeling a tug in her chest just seeing him like that. 

Ellie proclaimed her completion of the wound, leaning back to admire her work before looking to get an affirming nod from Y/n. Yet instead, she was too preoccupied gazing at the boy slouched across from them. “Someone seems a little distracted.” Ellie smirked, finally garnering Y/n’s attention, only feeling more and more smug watching a light tint appear on the actors cheeks. 

“I-well-no… we need to go.” Y/n ignored her words as though nothing had happened, instead rushing off the chair to get Tom out the chair and onto the awaiting set. They had places to be.

|||||||||||||||||||||||||||| (bcos im lazy)

Honestly when the director, Ed, called for lunch break, it was pretty apparent to be purely as a compassionate gesture to Y/n and Tom. Both of them had tried so hard this morning to fully commit, even so they’d both been almost completely useless. Y/n kept missing cues whilst all Tom’s actions and lines where slow, dragged out and at times completely prompted from someone behind the cameras. 

So when the lunch break was called there was only one thing on Y/n’s mind and what sandwich was available in the mess tent was not it. Still standing on the set next to her fake holdall bag she looked toward Tom, who was pulling himself up to standing from the train station bench - the pace of his movement making him look more like an old man. 

“You good?” His answer was predictable. 

“I’m so fucking shattered”

Tom swore he’d never heard anything sweeter come out of Y/n’s pink lips than her next statement.

“C’mon I know somewhere we can lie down.”

Without any sort of thought Tom blindly agreed, nodding as he took her outstretched hand in his. The gesture in itself brought a fresh wave of comfort to his aching limbs and as his feet stumbled to catchup with her slight head start he leant the majority of his weight into their connected hands. 

Neither would admit it but they were ‘a thing’… whatever the hell that meant. It was clear as day to everyone and anyone that worked closely to the two but neither of them had ever broached the topic with each other. They’d worked on a few films together over the years; each time they got closer and closer to the point any job without the other simply wasn’t as good. It was scary though, especially for two actors in the prime of their careers. If they weren’t working the same film they’d likely be the opposite side of the world to each other most of the time - quality time together would be few and far between, Really their jobs didn’t suit dating at all, yet it would be perhaps easier if one half of it worked a ‘normal’ job. Something with consistency, a regular structure. A level of dependability that neither Y/n nor Tom could offer to the other. 

So it was terrifying, acknowledging the growth in their magnetic attraction to each other. Both were acutely aware that doing that, confronting their feelings, would most likely signal the beginning of the end. 

Although none of this stoped Y/n from returning the gesture, tilting her shoulder into Tom’s left side as they took slow steps through and then out the set building. She steered the two past the hair and makeup trailer and round into a store and extra equipment trailer. Tom tilted his head as she climbed the stairs whilst beckoning for him to follow - it didn’t seem like the most obvious choice. Rolling her eyes, Y/n explained.

“It’s where all the blankets and coats and kept for the raining scenes plusssss no one will disturb us in here.” Again Tom was not in a position to disagree, eyes drooping as his shoulders sagged to the floor. Right now he’d take anything. 

So he climbed up the stairs and shut the door behind him, just as Y/n flipped the light on. She was right, it was well equipped and with an almost mountainous supply of red blankets that normally the crew and extra would all be wrapped up in after the freezing rain scenes with all the ‘waterfall machines’ as Y/n called them. However it was also um…. It was cosy. “Oh I don’t think I realised how small it was” She chuckled lightly, since now the door was closed her back was pressed up against the far wall of cabinets and still her front was mere millimetres from Tom.

“I…I don’t mind… if-if you don’t?”

“I’m too tired to care” She giggled in response, and Tom , now with her seal of approval, immediately started ransacking the piled shelves for all their worth creating a floor carpeted in the pale red of the blankets, in an attempt to make it more cosy. Joining in, it was almost remarkable how quickly their bodies suddenly agreed to move, with the new promise of rest mere moments away. 

Once the trailer was fully drowned, Tom kicked off his costume shoes and threw his jacket off - it haphazardly landing by the doorway. Y/n copied him, leaving her stood up whilst he had the advantaged of already settling down on the floor, her standing and looking down at him.

The space between the two opposing shelving units was not close spacious enough for two people to lie down whilst keeping a respectable level of personal space. Suddenly feeling a wave of awkwardness, Y/n stayed standing, wringing her hands slightly - whilst fairly certain Tom could hear her heart running at 100 mph. 

“You er… gonna stay there or?” Tom, contrary to popular belief, wasn’t a complete idiot - he could see she was suddenly self conscious. He got it too - they’d never crossed this boundary of choosing to cuddle into each other. It had happened once of twice accidentally over there 2 years of knowing each other. Both of those times it was completely accidental, falling asleep watching a movie with a safe distance of space b between the two, only to find hours later their bodies almost completely intwined. Tom would be lying if he said that his heart didnt skip a beat when he had awoken to Y/n’s soft and gently breath fanning into his neck. He’d loved it, but understood that was unconsciously breaking down part of the wall they’d both been the constructors of.

For fear of getting hurt. 

So now, as Y/n awkwardly bent down and lay on her side, he thought it was imperative to make her feel comfortable. Naturally then, his arm slid round her shoulders and pulled her down toward his chest, releasing a little breath as he felt her relax, her legs slowly wrapping round one of his. 

“This okay?” He murmured, now into the crown of her head as she lay half on her side half on his chest. In reply she nodded into him and Tom couldn’t help but grin- unbeknownst to him but Y/n was doing the exact same thing. 

The peace lasted all of 3 seconds until she groaned again.

“What?” Tom enquired as she wriggled out his hold and stood up. Instead of replying though she just leant over and flicked the one harsh light bulb off making Tom chuckle as she fumbled her way back onto the padded floor in the darkness, earning a few grunts from both as she accidentally kicked Tom’s thighs or banged her head on one of the now empty shelves. Fumbling her way back into a comfortable position, occasionally cursing when she stubbed her toe- or Tom did when she accidentally elbowed him in the ribs. 

“Comfy?” Tom asked a little sarkily as he squeezed her a little more into his side.

“Mhmmmm… I’m gonna sleep for 100 years”

“Yeh me… me too”

And with that they both almost instantly and in complete unison sagged into each other and the blankets - the pent up stress and tension of the past few days ebbing away.

What the pair had neglected to remember was that sleeping for 100 years wasn’t really an option. The whole crew of 50 people, who wanted to restart filming after 45 minutes, had not been told about Y/n’s little hiding place. The pair were so completely safe in their own little cocoon of comfort they were completely oblivious to their teams calling there names more and more frantically. Completely oblivious to the game of hide and seek the situation had descended into, completely oblivious to Harrys natural annoyance as the director asked him for the whereabouts of the two stars - as though Harry was childminder to the pair of them.

It was Nelli who found them first. She’d and Ellie and Tom’s manager had all been recruited by Harry as part of the man hunt. Both girls, having seen first hand the state of the two this morning, were fairly certain they’d both crashed out somewhere. So Nelli, already with a sneaking suspicion, opened the door gently, her figure blocking the majority of the light from seeping through to the dimly lit inside. The sight she was met with had her actually pouting at the cuteness - and yes its a cringey word but also the only one appropriate.

Between bedding down and barely an hour later the two had managed to become impossibly tighter pressed to each other. Y/n’s face was pressed into the crook of Tom’s neck and his arms seemed to have pulled her on-top of him almost completely. Her left leg was hooked under his right, which was then sandwiched by his left too. They both looked so pure and innocent and god did Nelli know they both needed any extra time they could get.

Nelli cared a lot about Tom, she’d been working with him from the beginning, from the child star days to now. She cared about him like her very annoying surrogate son and she wanted to see him looked after. She also so completely wanted the two stars to stop pining after each other. Because frankly it was getting a little frustrating for everyone else. 

So she chose to tactically forget about her discovery, sneaking a photo on the sly before silently pulling the door closed and leaving them to their sleep. 

[i-write-newsies]

A/N:

(Y/N) - Your Name

(L/N) - Last Name

(N/N) - Nickname

(H/C) - Hair Color

(D/N) - DEEZ NUTS!! /j Deadname

(E/C) - Eye Color

(H/L) - Hair Length

(Y/A) - Your Age

Ships Included:

- Jack x Davey

- Spot x Race

- Finch x Smalls (Platonic)

- Albert x Elmer

-Katherine x Sarah

- Spot x Reader (Brotherly Platonic)

- Race x Reader (Brotherly Platonic)

Summary:

You have always dreamed of living in the world of your favorite characters, to escape from whatever rotten life you have and make friends with the people you love. One day, fate decides to give you a chance. But when you're not prepared to be rushed into that universe, it becomes a roller coaster of balancing good and bad emotions and events.

Good luck, Reader!

!!TW!!

~ SELF HARM

~ TRANSPHOBIA

~ MAJOR INJURY

~ ABUSE

~ ARGUING

(Y/N) POV:

I'm (Y/N) (L/N). I'm (Y/A) with (E/C) eyes and (H/L) (H/C) hair. At least it used to be (H/L). I cut it all off today. I can tell my mom just found out because of the loud cursing and stomping. "GODDAMMIT, (D/N)!!" she yells. What scares me the most about this situation is the fact that I'm kinda used to this. I hear her coming up the stairs to my room and rush to the door and lock it. As expected, the door handle starts rattling violently, "(D/N) YOU LET ME IN RIGHT NOW, YOU UNGRATEFUL LITTLE SH!T!" She starts banging on the door, stressing the lock.

I sigh. Today was one of the worse days. I slip on my noise-canceling headphones and press play on my musicals playlist, consisting of:

- Waving Through A Window

- On My Own

- A Little Fall Of Rain

- Angel of Music

and of course...

The entire Newsies soundtrack.

By the time I get to 'Seize the Day', it's twilight outside. I lift one of my headphones to check if my mom is gone. I hear nothing. I look out the window and don't see her car. Perfect.

Unplugging my headphones and letting the music play, I walk over to my dresser, open it up, and reach deep in the back. Aha!

I pull out some bandages (A/N: DO NOT ACTUALLY BIND LIKE THIS OK BYE). I take off my shirt and try not to look in my mirror, fearing what sort of feminine body I may see. I start wrapping my chest to the point that it gets a little hard to breathe. This kinda hurts, but my dysphoria is stronger than my need for comfort and, let's be honest, safety.

Slipping my shirt back on, I look into the mirror and smile, satisfied with my flat chest and somewhat choppy short, (H/C) hair. I jump onto my bed and plug my headphones back into my phone which is now playing Santa Fe. Santa Fe honestly makes me think. I'm only, what, (Y/A)? And I still go through all this BS. I need out. Somewhere my mom can't tell me I'm female. Somewhere like...Newsies. I mean, Race is canonically trans, right? Not to mention all of them are definitely fruity. They'd accept me. The fresh, bandaged cuts on my arms are the only things keeping me in reality right now

As the song ends, I realize that I've been crying. God, why am I stuck in this wretched place? The question as well as thoughts of Newsies reverberates in my skull, a sort of white noise until I fall into a much-needed sleep.

"Aye, kid! Watcha doin sleepin on the street?"

"Especially in a place this..."

Ω~Ω~Ω~Ω~Ω~Ω~Ω~Ω~Ω~Ω~Ω~Ω~Ω~Ω~Ω~Ω~Ω~Ω~Ω

Jack POV:

I yawn, rubbing sleep from my eyes as the circulation bell drones on an' on. I let my eyes adjust to the view of the sunrise from my penthouse in the sky.

As I try to get up to get ready, a pair of arms drag me back down. "Jackieeee" a half-awake Davey groans, "come back down, it's freezing up here." "Dave, we gotta get to work. The boys can always count on me being at the gates early, so if you don't get up, I'm leaving you behind." This seems to wake him up a little more, "Alright, alright fine." he shivers as he gets up. I throw him his top shirt and vest and he desperately claws them on to gain warmth. Carefully, we climb down the ladder.

"What'd I tell ya, Dave? Even in the middle of summer, the night's always freezing." Davey rolls his eyes and does a little shiver "I know, Jackie, now c'mere and warm me up" I grin and move in closer, holding his hand, as we start walking to the gates. "Still not warm enough!" Davey said in a singsong-ish voice. I sigh and feign annoyance, leaning in to give a short but sweet peck on the lips. I think he's satisfied now. We're not usually this lovey-dovey, but I think we're both touch starved and subtly begging for a hug.

Davey, being the amazing boyfriend he is, stops by Jacobis to get us some breakfast. "Dave, you really don't hafta-" "I insist, Jack. After all, breakfast is the most important meal of the day," he says in an almost snobbish voice. I give him a small smile. That's my smartass Dave.

As we get to the gates, I notice a small figure leaned up against it. By now, the sun has come up some more over Manhattan 'n Dave 'n I don't have to walk as close to warm ourselves up. The figure seems to be sleeping, a newsies cap over their eyes. I think it's a kid. Maybe a new newsie looking for work?

I crouch down in front of him lift his hat, and start tapping his shoulder, "Aye, kid! Watcha doin sleepin on the street?" "Especially in a place this..." Davey notes. The kid seems to wake with a start. He rubs his eyes, and I chuckle a little "Whatsa matter? Ya look like youse seen a ghost." He doesn't seem to find this funny and repeatedly switches from looking at me then Davey with some confusion and shock in his eyes.

"I um-" he stutters over his words, "Aye, aye, kid, calm down, you ain't in trouble or nuttin." He takes a few deep breaths. "Okay... I'm (Y/N). I'm just freaking out because This isn't where I fell asleep, and- and I just- feel like I know you..." "Well, (Y/N) it sounds like you're one of da Newsies now," I say with a grin, "Now, we gots ta give you a nickname, we rarely eva call someone by their real name, 'cept Dave 'n Albert of course," The kid stays silent, clearly still shocked from waking up in a foreign place. "I feel like I know you.." he says, barely discernible. "Maybe ya do, maybe ya don't, Dave here's the only one good with faces." The kid looks up at Davey, who seems deep in thought, "(N/N)" he exclaims, "Ah, sorry, what I meant was your nickname should be (N/N)!" "I like it! But why (N/N) exactly?" I question, "Well, *insert reason why here*" "Well ain't you a clever boy, Dave!" I say, ruffling his hair. Davey shies away, "Jack! Now I have to fix my hair!" he complains, "Sorry, sorry." Davey then leaves to fix his hair in front of a shop window nearby, leaving me and (N/N) alone.

(N/N) seems to want to say something, but as soon as he opens his mouth, he shuts it just as quickly. I try to fill the awkward silence, "So, what's wit' da bandages, kiddo?" He freezes, "Nothing, just a ploy to get people to buy more papes..." he trails off. I have a feelin' he's not tellin' the truth, but I go along with it anyway, "Ha! What an idea, I wonder how I neva thought a' that before." he smiles, seeming satisfied with the praise. Davey returns from the shop window, "Alright! Ready to start the day?" (N/N) nods, and so do I.

Newsies start gathering, some glancing at (N/N) and some anxiously peering through the gates. I look at the headline for today: New Newsie Price! "Aye, Dave, you seein' this shit?" "Language- and yeah... what in the world was runnin' through Pulitzer's head when he thought of this??" I look at (N/N), whose mouth is a thin, pale line but whose (E/C) eyes are glinting with determination. "Heh, kid, what's that look for?" He looks at me, a little startled, but quickly regains that same tough expression, "I have a feeling that this ain't some silly little joke. And I'm worried 'bout the kids that may get hurt in the crossfire." I laugh, "Youse just bein dramatic! Surely, they wouldn't be as dumb as to underpay their own employees." I walk over to Weasel and slap down a penny "100 papes please!" "That's gonna be dime, Kelly."

My heart almost stops, and it takes all my strength not to break down in front of the boys. I fake a laugh, "Surely you're joking." "100 papes costs a dime, take a look at the headline." I hit the money box out of anger, "Then we'll just take our business to Brooklyn." Someone pipes up, "The same thing's happenin' there." "Then we'll go to Rushing!" Specs jogs over, seemingly out of breath, "I'll save ya the walk; it's the same everywhere."

Fuck.

Ω~Ω~Ω~Ω~Ω~Ω~Ω~Ω~Ω~Ω~Ω~Ω~Ω~Ω~Ω~Ω~Ω~Ω~Ω

Y/N POV:

A sharp pain in my chest temporarily distracts me from the situation at hand. Ah. I almost forgot. I still have to bind. This sucks. I feel a pair of eyes on me and turn just in time to see Racetrack Higgins avert his eyes. I give him a confused look and turn back to Jack singing "The World Will Know" I forget all about his weird staring and get back into the determined beat from before.

Soon, the newsies and I make our way to Jacobis for some...water I guess? I do happen to have some extra money in my pocket so I think I can treat all the boys to some seltzer. I sit down on a hard wooden chair in a slouch. The room is buzzing with excited talk of the strike. I give a small, sad smile. These boys have no idea what they're getting themselves into. Crutchie sits next to me serving a wide smile just as Jacobi enters with a tray full of waters, "And here's one for you, and for you, and for you- who's the big spender that ordered everyone seltzer?" shyly, I raise my hand, "That's me, sir." "You know these cost a quarter each, right?" I pull out a handful of quarters with a cheeky smile "and I got more where that came from." The boys go wild, "Where did ya get all that money, kid??" Davey, being the concerned mom, asks "Please tell me you didn't steal that." I shake my head, "I used to live comfortably, but my mom kicked me out for...reasons." my grin falters for a second, but no one seems to notice.

"Well!" Jack stands on a table, "Here's to the strike! And, of course, (N/N)" He gestures towards me with a wink as everyone cheers. As Katherine enters, I start to zone out and stare at a speck of dust on the ground. After all, I know the plot all too well. I perk up, though, as soon as Jack asks who's goin' to Brooklyn. My hand shoots up, "I nominate me and Race!" I exclaim. I look over at Race, who's staring at me, blushing and jaw dropped a little. I grin at him and look back at Jack, who's a little shocked. "A-alright! Me and Dave'll take the Bronx, I guess."

*Timeskip to after the restaurant scene*

I walk down the Manhatten alleys blindly, no clue where I'm going, when I hear someone come up behind me. "Hey, (N/N)! It's me, Race." I smile weakly, "Oh, hey." "I always sell my papes at Sheepshead in Brooklyn, so I know where to go."

It's almost completely silent except for the clicking of our shoes on the paved roads. "So... how'd ya get here as a Newsie, (N/N)?" "Well, Jack 'n Davey found me sleepin' on the street just this mornin'" He laughs, "Wow! So you got used to the Newsie life real quick!" "Yeah, I did.." I let out a small chuckle as well. Race pulls out a cigar and clamps it between his lips and goes to light it but hesitates. "Uh- Wanna cigar?" "Wow, Racetrack Higgins giving me one of his own cigars? I'm flattered!" I joke, "But, yeah, I need smoke." He digs into his pocket and hands me another cigar, "You eva' smoked before?" he stares at me as I put the cigar in between my lips. I grin sheepishly, "No." "Okay, maybe we should stop for a second. Coughing while walking ain't the most fun thing in the woild."

We lean up against a wall as Race lights first his, then my cigar. I inhale and immediately spiral into a coughing fit. Race smacks my back, "You good, (N/N)? I ain't neva' seen a fella cough that hard on the first puff." I roll my tear-filled eyes and continue coughing.

Once my coughing fit subsides, I feel a wave of relaxation. "God I should do this more often." I groan, Race grins, "Yeah, once you get past the whole blowin'-your-brains-out part of smokin', it's real nice. Anyway, shall we continue?" he gestures to the streets ahead. I nod my head and take another puff, "Yeah, it's gettin' kinda late and we do NOT wanna wake up the Spot Conlon." Race nods in agreement and we hurry along. Even though I know Spot is kind of a softie, that doesn't stop me from being intimidated by his prowess.

We reach the Brooklyn lodging just as Race's cigar burned out. Race takes a deep breath and gives three solid knocks on the door. A kid younger than me answers the door, "State ya business" "I'm here to let Conlon know about some very important news." The kid squints his eyes but responds "I'll ask him if he's willing to meet with anyone right now. Who should I tell him is askin'?" "Race. Higgins." He says somewhat awkwardly.

The kid closes the door. Race and I stand quietly waiting for the OK to see Spot. Suddenly the door swings open to reveal Spot. "Ra-" he notices me and coughs, "I mean- Higgins, would you like to step in to discuss the important news?" I almost laugh at the way he went from totally in love to distinguished gentleman. I shoo them away, holding in laughter, "don't worry, I'll wait out here and give you lovebirds some space." (A/N: or should I say sprace) I see them both go tomato red.

I sigh as they head inside. I take a drag from the cigar and start thinking. How did I end up in the newsies universe and act this calm about it? This feels so surreal. But I want to stay here forever. Far away from my sh!tty mom and all my responsibilities.

Lost in my own head, I barely notice as Racetrack storms out of the lodging, clearly pissed. "C'mon (N/N), we're leaving." he grabs my hand and angrily powerwalks to the next street over. Once we're there, he lets go of my hand and sighs harshly, walking slow. "I assume it didn't go well?" I ask, already knowing the answer. "Not. Well." "Wanna talk about it?" he shakes his head and starts walking "No, thanks. I think we's better get to bed before Jack gets worried." he stops. "Do you have a place to sleep?" I look down, "Not really..." "Well!" he grabs my hand again with a big grin, "Looks like youse bunkin' wit' me." I start to protest, but realize it'd get me nowhere with this stubborn SOB, so I let myself get dragged along. Oh, well. I might as well get rest for the strike tomorrow, goodness knows I need it.

As I settle down into the rough sheets, the gentle snoring rocks me to sleep with thoughts of the strike. One thought flashes through my mind before I fall asleep; God help us all.

I wake up to someone poking my face. My eyes flutter open and I almost fall off the bunk at the sight of Race's face right in front of mine. "JESUS CHRIST, RACE, YOU SCARED THE SH!T OUTTA ME!" He backs off, putting his hands up in surrender, "Sorry, sorry, it's just that Jack said you had to be up and out in 10 minutes so we can have an organized strike or whateva'" Race rolls his eyes, "I'm startin' ta think that Davey's rubbin' off on 'im a lil' too much."

I groan, tempted to slide back under the covers, but get up anyway. I slept with my clothes on so I don't have to do anything about that. As I look into an old, rusted mirror and comb my fingers through my now tangled hair, I feel another sharp pain in my chest, accompanied by a dull throbbing. I really should have taken off the bandages while I slept, but now it's too late. I take one last look in the mirror and, ignoring my eyebags, quickly head out the door to join the others. As I get to the gate, everyone's waiting with anticipation, faces grim but hopeful.

Everything happens in a blur. One moment we're striking, and the next we're beaten into a pulp. I manage to soak a Delancey in the eye when suddenly a familiar sharp pain fills my chest and wince, faltering. Morris takes this as an opportunity to knee me in the stomach, forcing me to the ground, where their take turns kicking my chest and body with those damn steel-toed boots of theirs until my clothes are torn and the cuts on my arms reopen. Suddenly, there's a small crack as my body swells up with pain and the taste of metal enters my mouth. I let out a blood-curdling scream as the pain registers in my brain. In my blurred vision, I see the Delancey's walk away, ready to torture their next victim; Crutchie.

I try to get up and reach out, try to scream at them not to hurt him, but all I can do is weakly move my hand in their direction and spit out blood. Suddenly, a small but rough hand reaches out and drags me into an alley. "Dammit, (N/N) what were you thinking?! Fighting in a gawddamn binder, and a makeshift one, no less!" "R-..Race..?" "Not now, (N/N) I have ta get youse to safety foist." I watch as he chews on his nails in thought, "Dammit! The only way back to tha lodge is through the Delancey's again!" He sighs. "Brooklyn it is..." He gingerly picks me up and carries me as fast as possible to Spot's turf.

Setting my feet on the ground and propping me up against him, he bangs on the door. "Spot!" Please! This is serious, I need your help!" I can hear the tears in his voice. Spot flings open the door, obviously very concerned. He's confused for a second, then looks at me and his eyes go wide. "GET THE MED KIT AND A COT OPEN, WESE GOT SOMETHING HORRIBLE THAT'S HAPPENED" he yells behind him. Race, now more calmed down, takes me in his arms again, but seems to refuse to look at Spot, who looks away as well, but more in shame.

Ω~Ω~Ω~Ω~Ω~Ω~Ω~Ω~Ω~Ω~Ω~Ω~Ω~Ω~Ω~Ω~Ω~Ω~Ω

Race POV:

I watch as some of the Brooklyn newsies take (N/N) and lay him on a cot, anger surging through my veins. I take a deep breath "I'll take care of him. You guys don't have to worry about it." As they leave the room, I look down at (N/N) and can't help but feel guilty. Like this is my fault. I only got away with a black eye, but he got all this?

I regain my composure and start by taking (N/N) shirt off. I can already see the bruises starting to form and cringe. I take off his binding bandages and see his chest expand immediately. Poor kid. He must have been hurting in more way that just one. I take the gauze from the wooden box and gently wrap his torso with it. Maneuvering around his arms, I notice something. The bandages on him arms. When he was wearing them before, Jack said it was a marketing ploy, but now I see red bleeding through the white gauze.

I unwrap (N/N)'s arms and gasp. Hundreds of tiny, but deep cuts litter his forearms and wrists. F#ck. He was hurting so much more than I could have ever known. I wrap them with fresh gauze and treat the rest of his wounds, stepping back to admire my handiwork. That's when I start to cry. Full-on tears falling, face in hands crocodile tears. I turn my head with a start to see Spot, standing over me with a hand on my shoulder, looking apologetic "I'm so sorry..." Suddenly this sadness turns to rage. I grab him by the shirt collar and drag him outside to an empty alleyway. "SORRY?? SORRY, MY 4SS! (N/N) AND SO MANY OTHER 'HATTEN NEWSIES ALMOST DIED OUT THERE BECAUSE YOU DIDN'T WANT TO JOIN UNTIL YOU KNEW WE WOULDN'T "CAVE" WELL, WE DIDN'T CAVE, AND LOOK WHAT F#CKING HAPPENED! AND DONT YOU SAY SORRY TO ME AND EXPECT ME TO FORGIVE YOU JUST BECAUSE I LOVE YOU, THAT'S FOR CROW TO DECIDE." Spot seemed silent at first, but now I could see his anger building up; "WADDAYA THINK WOULD O' HAPPENED TO MY BOYS, HUH?? I WANTED TO WAIT TO SEE IF WE WOULD BE THE ONLY ONES FIGHTIN IN THIS BATTLE AGAINST PULITZER."

I open my mouth then close it. He has a fair point, but doesn't he trust me and the udda newsies not to bail in their hour of need? I sigh, pinching my nose. "I'm sorry Spot, I just-... I just wish you trusted me a bit more..." I look up at him to see tears in his eyes. "OH, SPOT HONEY, ITS OKAY, I'M NOT MAD, DON'T CRY, DON'T CRY" I shush him, pulling his head into my chest, which isn't tough considering his height.

As he lets go, the adrenaline rush from today dies down. God, I'm so tired. My knees nearly buckle and Spot notices, "Aye, aye! Tony, you doin' okay?" I nod at him, but the bags under my eyes are making them droop, "Race, honey, you need to get some sleep, okay?" I shake my head but soon fall into Spot's arms as my legs give way. "Fine..." I mumble. I can feel him grinning, "Good, we gots an extra bed for youse to sleep in." I sigh, grateful. I can feel Spot picking me up, the rhythm of his boots tapping along the ground, a pause and shift as he opens the lodging door and kicks it closed behind him as I fall asleep.

I wake up in a cold sweat. (N/N). I need to see (N/N). I need to check if he's okay. I climb out of the bed Spot laid me in and let my eyes adjust to the dark before maneuvering around all the other sleeping kids. I make my way as quietly as possible to where (N/N) is resting. I crouch down and take his hand in mine. How could I let this happen? And how did I not notice his suffering? I press the back of his hand to my forehead, closing my eyes. My body is so tired right now, but my mind is too tortured with guilt to let me sleep.

By the time my thoughts finally leave me alone, the sun is rising in the sky. I'm finally drifting when- "Race?" I turn my head to the voice, "Oh, jesus, you look horrible!" Spot exclaims, "did you even get any sleep last night?" I shrug, to be fair, I lost count of the hours. Spot sighs, "Race...go sleep. At least for a few more hours. I can watch (N/N) if that makes you happy," I nod, rubbing my eyes. I stumble back to my bed amongst all the Brooklyn newsies and fall asleep the moment my head hits the pillow.

My mind dreams of talkin' cigars and bloody bandages. I see Crow propped up against the wall, smokin' a cigar. "(N/N)! (N/N)! Oh my god, I'm so happy that you're okay!" (N/N) doesn't answer, I slowly starts walking towards him, "(N/N)...?" he starts laughing. Softly at first then roaring, and the laughing turns into a heavy coughing fit. As (N/N) coughs, red smoke pours out of his lungs and clouds my vision. I swipe at the air, trying to brush away the fog, "(N/N)?? (N/N), where did you go?!" suddenly, the smoke clears and I see (N/N) bruised, damaged, bleeding body at my feet, I gasp and step back. (N/N) slowly turns to face me, and in a painful, teary, almost sickly whisper asks, "Why did you let this happen?" Tears start spilling down my face, "I- I didn't me-" "You did this to me Race. Race. Race. Race! Race! RACE! RACE!--

Spot POV:

--RACE WAKE UP!" He wakes up with a gasp. He looks around wildly, tears dripping from his chin. I've never seen him like this. He must care for him like a brudda. To be honest, I'm worried as well, not only about (N/N) but now that we know 'Hatten isn't gonna back down and we join the fight, what's gonna happen to the newsies in general? Kids could get hoit. Bad.

"Spot?" Race starts sobbing, clinging to my shirt fabric, "Please...tell me it'll be okay..." I can't. Race, I don't know if it will. I almost start sobbing on the Spot ( A/N: heh...), but I hold my composure and smile at him, "It'll be okay, Tony...we're all gonna be fine" He seems to believe this, at least a little bit. "Now, don't you gotta meet up wit' da udda newsies?" He retracts his head from my chest, eyes wide. In a nasal voice, he goes "AW SHOOT, I 'MOST FORGOT" I watch him with a small smile as he rushes to get dressed like the goof he is. God, I love 'im.

Race POV:

Silence. I got there too early. Fuck. I can't just be alone with my thoughts, but at least I have some extra money to... I don't know? I walk up to the bar, where the owner of Jacobi's is cleaning out glasses. I sigh and sit down, "Got anything to help forget? At least for a little while...?"

"Ain't you a little too young for that, kid?" I give him a look and push my money over the counter to him. He quietly collects it, "So what can I get ya?" I'm silent for a bit "Fireball." I say with some demand in my voice. He disappears behind the counter and comes back with some shot glasses and a Fireball bottle, pouring it out into the glasses as I watch. I notice as he sighs, "Feel betta, kid." Can't promise that.

I pick up a shot glass, watching as the orange liquid spins around in it. I take in a breath of spicy cinnamon before letting the liquid slip down my throat, leaving a trail of a burning sensation. Soon, one turns into another, and another, and another and before I could comprehend it, the room starts to spin and blur. Eventually, the room fills with newsies, mumblin' 'bout how crappy the strike went. I do my very best to fit in and not act drunk, but the time zooms by and I find myself singin' 'bout bein' the king o' new york. At some point in the blurry memory, Katherine suggests getting drunk and I throw my hands up and cheer. More free Fireball! But then she clarifies that it was a metaphor, to which I am very disappointed.

The rest whizzes past me and soon I'm stumblin' my way to Brooklyn. I knock heavily on the lodging door, then lean on it. Unexpectedly, the door opens and I'm left to fall flat on my face at the feet of my boyfriend, Spot Conlon. "Race! Darlin', you okay? Youse fell flat on ya face!" He extends a hand that I receive and pulls me up. I giggle, "Ahhhh, my Spotty! Always carin' 'bout uddas. Pshht! Yeah, I'm fiiiine." I flop my hand down to wave off his concern. He wrinkles his nose, "You reek of cinnamon....and alcohol." He widens his eyes and I let out anudda giggle, "Race! Tell me you didn't jus' get drunk!" he whines, I grin, "Okey, 'you didn't jus' get drunk'" I imitate him in a deep voice and he sighs, "Jesus Christ, Racer.." he grabs my hand pulls me inside, eventually laying me on a bed, face red with a giggling fit. "Goodnight, my liege," I giggle some more, "and you my Prince," he gives a small smile before covering me with a blanket. I fall asleep before it's up over my shoulders.

Ω~Ω~Ω~Ω~Ω~Ω~Ω~Ω~Ω~Ω~Ω~Ω~Ω~Ω~Ω~Ω~Ω~Ω~Ω

I wake up with my head feeling like it's going to explode.

Fuck Life.

I groan and sit up. "Mornin' Sleepin' Beauty" Spot smirks and hands me a cup of water, "Shut the fuck up" I whine and grab the glass, "Ooh feelin' feisty today, huh?" I shoot him a look that could rot a squash with one gaze. He holds up his hands in defense, "Alright, alright, my bad," He shrugs. I sigh and take a sip of water, which turns into me chugging the whole thing. "You betta get ova this hangover fast, hon" I groan, not ready to do anything at all today, "We gots the meetin' wit' Jack."

End my life.

"No, I don't think I will," "fuuuuck did I say that out loud?" I let out a small wail, and Spot chuckles a little, though you can tell there's somethin' on his mind still, "Yeah, ya did sweetheart." I grumble something incomprehensible and look down, red. He smiles, "Get dressed and drink as much water as possible, okay? We can't have you hungover for the big meeting, right?" I nod...which causes my head to hurt. Ow.

I sigh and decide to take my sweet time getting dressed. This sucks. "Spotty!" I call, then cringe after a new wave of pain hits, he pokes his head through the door "Yeah?". "I don't have the energy to deal wit' all dese gawddamn bandages. Help me?" He blushes a bit but agrees to help me bind. All I focus on is not hurting my head again. Spot ties the bandages and stands back to admire his handiwork but quickly notices my cringin'. "Do you want somethin' cold?" he asks gently, I nod as gingerly as possible.

*Timeskip to after the newsies meet n greet bcuz I'm power-finishing this at 12am and my mental health is steadily declining*

My hand shakes as I bring a fresh, unlit cigar to my lips.

Jack. That sellout, that traitor.

A sharp pain knocks me out of my angry thoughts. Ah. I burned myself.

I feel a hand on my shoulder, "Racer.." says a gentle voice, "You okay? that's your 3rd cigar in the past 2 hours or so." I look up to see Finch leaning over me as I sit on the ground, a concerned look on his face, "You're gonna run out all too soon" I give a bitter laugh, "Yeah, I guess I will." Finch can see that there's not much he can do to help me. He gives a weak smile and turns to walk away.

I see Davey run off somewhere. I wonder where they're going? I sigh and turn my head back down to the ground. Who cares? Without a leader, the strike'll just fall apart and Pulitzer'll win. Who was I kidding when I bragged abt being da "King o' New York"? I'm just some nobody kid without a nickel to my name. The bigger guys always win, so what's with me tryin'?

Jack POV:

I can't let any more kids get in this much danger. I visited (N/N) today. I found out about all his... injuries, as well as whatever he was born as. He's been through so much before all this, he doesn't deserve it.

It's my fault for being so ignorant. For not noticing anything was goin' on. My fault for inciting this stupid strike. For getting all these kids hoit. and Crutchie...poor Crutchie, locked up in that godawful place. I know he ain't helpless, 'e's a cheeky little bastard, I'll give him that, but the Refuge breaks down even the biggest of smiles and smothers the brightest of people. I will never forget that hell I went through. I went in a cheeky fightin' kid with a deep, strong flame, and came out with the embers barely glowing. It took years just to spark it up again. I'm terrified as to what'll happen to him.

I lean over the railing of my penthouse, not even noticing as it shakes and squeaks, making way for a young boy a little younger den me. "-Jack! JACK!" "Jesus Christ, yeah??? Oh, it's you, Dave..." I look away shamefully, he's probably here to chew me out and tell me we're done and gone. "What the hell was that?" I wince, I knew it. "Waddya mean 'what the hell was that?'?" "You know what I mean, JACK KELLY." I'm fucked. "YOU BETRAYED US FOR MONEY?!" "I WOULDN'T HAVE FELT PRESSURED TO IF I WADN'T DEALIN' WIT' A FLAKER!" Davey gives a bitter laugh and balls up the front of my shirt in his fist, tugging me towards him. "Ohoho! And if I wasn't your 'best friend' you'd be lookin' at me through one swollen eye!" "Oh, yeah? Well, don't let that stop ya, huh? Gimme your best shot!" something soft roughly pressing against my lips. The only thought at the moment is; 'Well, this is new... and passionate, 'specially from Dave' there's a heavy, awkward silence.

I back away from him, knocking over my drawings in the process. One specific drawing rolls out seemingly by fate. It taps on Davey's shoe and he looks down. His eyes widen a little as he reaches down to get it. "Is this.. the Refuge?" he puts a hand over his mouth, "weren't you stuck here once? Rats, cockroaches everywhere, 6 kids to a bunk? Holy fuc- I mean fudge." If the moment weren't this tense, I might've laughed. "Jack..." I feel a hand on my shoulder. "You don't have to tell me if you're not ready." I shake my head and he drops his arm understandingly. "Either way, we could use this. Heck..." Davey seems deep in thought before his face lights up, "We could make our own newspaper!" I look at him in disbelief, he notices, and speaks again "think about it, Jackie! Kath's a real talented writer! This art could change the perspective of hundreds! We could write to tell all the workin' boys to go on Strike tomorra'! And we could expose Snyder in the process!" Hey, that's not too bad..."But, Dave, how're we gonna print it?" His face falls, "I didn't think about it...we're banned from every printin' press in New York.."

Oh no. Ohhh no. "No. Noooo." I whine, Davey chuckles, amused "what?" "I know a printin' press that no one would ever think of!" Davey grins, "Then what are we waitin' for?" He puts my drawing back into the case, and slings it over his shoulder, getting ready to climb down. Suddenly, a thought strikes me, "Wait-" "Yeah?" "Dave- what are we exactly? Like I know how we act to each other n' everything, but we've never really said out loud what we are..." Davey giggles, "Jackie-" "No! Tell me right now, are we... in love? Boyfriends, I guess?? Or am I just something for your own experimentation?"

He cups my face in his hands, "Jackie..." he kisses my nose, "Of course I love you! And yes! We are in love! Dating! Boyfriends! Whichever way you want to define us!" Soon we're both grinning ear-to-ear and blushing. "Now!" he exclaims, hopping up, clearly on a high from the whole kiss and convo, "Let's get to it!" I laugh and stand up as well, following my over-enthusiastic boyfriend down the ladder. As Davey said; Let's get to it!

(Y/N) POV:

'My head hurts...' I think groggily. I try to open my eyes, but my vision is blurred and wonky. I sit up. Nevermind. Everything hurts. As my vision starts to clear, I see a very tired Spot Conlon sitting in a chair in the corner of whatever room I'm in rubbing sleep from his eyes. He fixates his eyes on me for a second, and I can see the sleepiness and confusion in his eyes turn into shock and joy. "(N/N)! Ohmygod! I'm so glad you'se awake!" I can see him go to wrap me in a bear hug before holdin' himself back after he remembers all my injuries. Wait. My injuries. "Does this mean you know about...?" I vaguely gesture to my arms and Spot nods sadly, "And..." I cringe and gesture to my chest, now only lightly bound with medical tape, but tighter than needed for a typical injury. I smile to myself. That must've been Race. He's like a perfect older brother, not only thinkin' about my physical health, but also my mental well-being.

Spot notices the look on my face and sees me lookin' down at my chest, he chuckles, "Yeah, Race decided on that. He wanted you to feel as comfortable as possible while you heal." I start grinning even harder. Spot spoke up again "Don't forget that even boys born seen as boys don't have perfectly flat chests, so binding as tight as you did wasn't necessary or safe, for that matter." I give him a look, is Spot really trying to be the cis savior right now? He gives me a look right back, "What? I know what I'm talking about." He lifts his shirt up to reveal two scars on his chest. I gasp, "But you're only *insert years/months* younger/older than me! How did you even know that this was an option, as well, how did you do it?" He smirks, pulling his shirt back down, "Thought so. Anyway, I don't really know. I needed them off desperately and randomly thought of it. As for the how, Buttons is AMAZING with scissors and blades. Like, scary amazing." He shivers. I blink. Damn.

He gives a shy grin "Do I really pass that well?" I look at him enviously "Of course! But... how do you look so...masculine?" "Well, I tried my best to copy the behavior of other boys I saw. And the whole working out didn't hurt." I nod, taking a mental note. Behavior, got it. Can't promise sticking to a workout, though. Spot scoots closer, taking my hand in his, "But the most important thing to understand is- behavior, body type, and a powerful reputation doesn't define being a true boy. What does is what's in here-" he taps my head, "-and here." he points to my heart. Spot looks me in my eyes, "You could wear dresses, skirts, use a 'girly' name, hell, even go by she! and you'd still be a boy in my eyes." I feel my eyes water, and Spot opens his arms to me with a sincere look. I fall into his arms and cry tears of joy. Spot and Race are the older brothers I never had, helping me at every fork in the road of my transition.

(A/N: I noticed that a big issue in trans fanfics was that the cis person was always the one to condescendingly teaching the helpless trans kid how to bind properly. I decided to make both of your mentors trans, had them both know what they're talking about, and made sure that you weren't completely useless or clueless, only that you needed guidance seeing as (Y/N) is a trans kid with no former knowledge about his transition. As well, I kinda wanted this fic to be of help to any newcomer trans men. Anyway, on to the last of the story!)

"So how are your ribs feeling?" Spot asks after we both calm down, "A little sore, but pretty much moveable. Is it really this painful to bind? I mean, the past few weeks I had the binding stuff on was my first time." "It shouldn't, I mean, lookit Race. He seems energetic and flexible even when he's binding." I think he sees my insecure face because he speaks again, "What I mean to say is- if you have more experience binding, you'll know how to mix mental and physical comfort. Either way, what fucked up your ribs wasn't the binding, it was the Delancey's. Not saying the way you were binding wasn't bad and wouldn't have caused lasting damage, of course."

I see Spot have a flicker of thought behind his eyes, he pulls out an obviously stolen silver pocket watch with the initials H.A. engraved on it to check the time. "Almost time..." he mutters. I give him a suspicious look, "Almost time for what...?" he looks sheepishly at the ground, "Nnnnnothing." I let out a noise halfway between a snort and a scoff, "Uh huh." "Fine." he sighs, "All the newsies and workin' boys is comin' together today. We'se hopin' ta finish up this strike Once And For All."

"Let me guess, I shouldn't go because I'm still healing." He nods, "Spot!! I need to do my part in this strike! I can't miss the most important day of my life." he gives me a weird look, "You don't even know what the outcome'll be, plus I promised Race that you wouldn't get hurt." "Please, I've been bedridden for WEEKS. And I won't get hurt" I protest stubbornly, he sighs exasperatedly "FINE, but I'm gettin' you right outta there at the foist sign o' danger, okay?" "Okay!" I say, content with the compromise. "We should prolly get you up and used to legs again before the strike--" my stomach rumbles harder than Les when he sees the chocolate croissants in the Pastry Shop window, and that's seriously saying somethin', "--and something to eat, too."

Spot holds my hands as I get out of bed and basically learn to walk again with wobbly legs. You could just paint my back with spots and call me a baby deer. Once I get my legs to work with me, Spot leads me to a tin tub. I give him a 'seriously?' look, "What am I doin', goin' ta church?" he laughs sarcastically, "Ha, ha. (N/N), you haven't cleaned yourself since the last time you were conscious. I also need to refresh your bandages since those haven't been touched since Race changed them in the foist place." "Fiiiine" I growl.

Spot unwraps my arm and chest bandages, but when it comes to me taking off the rest of my clothes, he looks away (not even for my privacy, but just because he is highly repulsed to the idea of naked bodies) I add enough soap suds on top of the water to cover my body so he's comfortable.

He grabs some soap and lathers up my hair with it, soon rinsing it. He also lathers and rinses my face, removing the built-up dirt, grease, and sweat, which accumulated surprisingly quickly for only spending a month, or was it two, here. Spot brings out a small piece of scrap fabric and a bottle of some liquid, then gently grabs my arms. "This might burn a little," he said empathetically. He dampened the cloth with what I am assuming is disinfectant and started pressing it against my healing cuts. I tried to hold in my pain but let out a small hiss when the cloth reached the deeper cuts on the backs of my arms. Spot stopped temporarily, letting my arms adjust to the sting a little, before continuing. Once he's finished, he hands me the soap and leaves the room to let me bathe myself in peace and picks up my dirty clothes and old bandages. "Holler if you need anything!" he yells on his way out.

I create a lather in my hands and stand up so I can actually wash my body. The air is chilly compared to the bathwater, so I do my best to be quick as I let my soap hands travel gingerly over my body. I look down, and for the first time in a long time, I don't feel ashamed. Spot words echo in my mind as I smile softly; 'You could wear dresses, skirts, use a 'girly' name, hell, even go by she! and you'd still be a boy in my eyes.' I guess, for now, I'm confident in my masculinity.

I sit back down, enjoying the warmth, and rinse myself off. I step out of the bath and look at the grey-ish brown-ish water. Ew, was I really that dirty? As the cold air envelops me once more, I realize I don't have a towel. Or clothes. "Spot!" I call out, "Yeah?" I hear a faint voice, "I need a towel and some clothes!" I answer. There's quiet, then a series of rustling sounds that slowly get closer. The door opens a crack and I see a tan, muscular hand slide a pile of clothes and a towel in my direction. I smile gratefully, "Thanks, Spotty!" "Aye! Only Race can call me dat..." "Okay, fine."

I dry my hair as much as possible, before continuing to my body. There's not much actual rubbing rather than patting because of my injuries, so when I get my pants on and slip my button-down onto my shoulders, they get a little damp. "Spot?" I call out again, "Do you think you could help me with my bandages?" "'Course!" He casually picks up the chest bandages and binds it pretty much perfectly- Tight enough to make a difference in my chest size, but loose enough to let my ribs heal. Spot then starts re-bandaging my arms, "Can I ask you a question, Spot?" "Sure, (N/N)" he says nonchalantly, "Why is it you are repulsed by fully naked bodies, but you're perfectly casual and fine about helping me bind my chest when I'm half-naked?" he clears his throat as if he was ready to spin a whole story, "Well, Race used to live with me and we started trusting each other a lot more than when we first met. He trusted me enough to teach him the best way to bind, and he trusted me enough to feel comfy without a top on when around the house, so I'm kinda desensitized. But when it comes to people being naked or bein' overly suggestive, I just..don't like it. At all."

'Asexual,' I think, 'Knew it."

"Anyway, you ready to fight off the bulls and get our rights back, (N/N)?" He stands up and offers a hand to help me up, which I receive. I catch my reflection in the dirty bathwater. I can see crystal clear, that I am dapper, strong, and ready to kick some Delancey ass.

But first, Lunch.

Ω~Ω~Ω~Ω~Ω~Ω~Ω~Ω~Ω~Ω~Ω~Ω~Ω~Ω~Ω~Ω~Ω~Ω~Ω

I arrive at the strike on Spot's shoulders, hyped for the happy ending they all worked so hard for. Spot sets me down gently and scans the crowd for someone. It seems he found them because his face lights up. I see Race run over to us. "(N/N)! Oh my god, I'm so fuckin' glad that you're awake! Especially today of all days!" however, his enthusiasm is soon replaced with concern, "But is ya sure yer okay? You must've woken up just today, so are you feeling good? Yer injuries don't hurt too bad, you're not dizzy, hungry, thirsty?" "Calm down, Tony, I gave him a bath, changed his bandages, gave him food n' water, even a pep talk, so you don't need to worry!" Race takes a few deep breaths, "Okay, okay, yeah I'm fine. But that's great!" He engulfs me in a firm, but gentle hug. I look around the crowd and see some familiar faces, Katherine seems to have brought another girl with her, who I'm assuming is Sarah, Davey's sister. I see Albert and Elmer tightly holding each other's hands. I see Finch and Smalls exchanging jokes as a form of distraction. I look back at Race and Spot, who are being so romantic, it's almost gross. Almost.

The adrenaline still hasn't left me so when people start getting as excited as me, it just hypes me up even more. We look up at the window of Pulitzer's office and see Jack and a few others standing there, waving. I wave back vigorously. Not too long after, Jack, Davey, Pulitzer, and The Governer appear on a balcony, Jack at the front. "Newsies of New York City..." cue the pause for dramatic effect, "WE WON!!" The crowd of newsies roars with joy. I watch as Crutchie limps out and beats Snyder's ass as the abuser is dragged away, I don't understand why so many people see him as an angel, it's obvious that he's a cheeky lil' rat bastard.

Suddenly, it's like everything is in slow motion. I look around once more and see Katherine and Sarah kissing, same with Albert and Elmer, Finch and Smalls are hugging each other tightly. I look back up at the balcony and see Davey and Jack gettin' it ON. I look once again to Spot and Race, who just finished kissing. Spot reaches down and hoists me onto his shoulders to cheer. And as I take in this momentous victory one sense at a time, I realize in a moment of pure bliss-

I finally found my true family.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Word Count: 8190

(A/N):

This took VERY LONG (approx. one month, I just finished after working from 9 pm to 5 am) I know it was supposed to be a simple one-shot, but since there was no one to help narrow down and shorten the plot for me, I got carried away. I am, however, pleased with the length of it. This may be the longest fic I've ever written. As well, I hope any underlying advice or tips mentioned in the story helped you to understand/realize something.

I would love it if you were to vote, give me some constructive criticism, and/or request something for me to write! Don't forget- I live to write that one fanfic you can never find.

Love y'all!

~ Race

[mingkily]

｡☆✼★━ 'looking for a lover’ | s.mg ━★✼☆｡

navigation

starring: mingi x reader

fsk-12: fluff & slight angst | language (inappropriate & at times suggestive) | one-sided fake dating au

volume: 8.8k words

vip access: @midnightseonghwa​​ & @treasure-hwa​ !

additional: the title is taken from an ask @inkigayeo​​ got ages ago, however the actual plot is fully my own! also “one-sided fake dating” will make sense once you read this i promise

LOOKING FOR A LOVER - l/n y/n

multicultural babe looking for symbiotic relationship with cute korean guy - i add fire to your life, you become my home in a foreign country

if interested, message +82--- - only genuine inquiries!

this was either a genius idea or the stupidest idea anyone had ever had, safe for putting banana on pizza, a horrible experience you’d sadly had to make in sweden. so at least there could be worse, but that did not mean that you wouldn’t behead your friends when you next saw them, because they’d somehow, for whatever reason, decided to put an advertisement in your university’s newspaper with your name, picture, and seonghwa’s phone number - you assumed they wanted to vet whoever replied -, and, worst of all, the big, fat headline “looking for a lover”, complete with awfully kitschy roses as the text’s background and you had half the mind to text hongjoong the “graphic design is my passion” meme because for someone that was actually into design he definitely had not put any effort into this horrible idea of theirs. but then again you also had half the mind to ask for a pre-mortem cremation just because this was, without a doubt, the most embarrassing experience of your life. yes, you’d told them that you were feeling quite lonely lately because the last time someone had cared to ask you out on a date had been at age 16 and the most you’d done in the past five years was holding hands with your friends when you were feeling particularly touch starved, and yes, they’d told you that they were going to do something about that, but you hadn’t expected them to do this. and you most definitely hadn’t asked them to do this, currently looking up the possibilities of emigrating because as if your name - french because your parents were pretentious and german and for some reason incredibly fond of french culture (read: french wine) - wasn’t already incredibly unambiguous in south korea they’d also put your picture, and if anyone had had any doubts about the person in question being you those were now fully wiped out.

“‘multicultural babe looking for symbiotic relationship with cute korean guy - i add fire to your life, you become my home in a foreign country’. really?”, unsure whether to laugh or cry at the horrible text, but seeing how people would now associate this with you crying was more like it.

“that was yeosang’s idea. he said he knows what the guys like”, seonghwa explained, glad you were divided by several blocks and a rather safe lock on their apartment door, because from the way your voice sounded they’d be in danger if you were any closer.

“i’m surprised he’s getting any if he uses lines like that in real life”, you vexed said boy, because really, ‘multicultural babe’? that was the best he’d been able to come up with?

“i’d be quiet now, your lines don’t exactly seem to be working either”, you heard from the background, huffing out in response.

“anyway, if anyone actually replies to that ad i’m judging them. hard.”

now all three boys to blame for your current situation were bursting into laughter, leaving you confused because your statement really hadn’t been that funny, but hongjoong explained their reaction once he was able to breathe again.

“seonghwa’s phone is about to crash from all the texts he’s getting. we’ve had to move some of them to yeosang and me just so we can more effectively vet them”, a slight chuckle still evident in his voice.

“god, what atrocities have i committed in my past life to deserve this?”, you whined out, but you were very obviously the only one that wasn’t currently having fun.

“you’ve been a real bad bitch and we’re gonna help you reach your full potential again”, yeosang told you and really, seonghwa thanked the lord that he was currently very far away from the punching range of your fists.

“whatever. if against all odds you do get a message from a cute guy that doesn’t have a maximum of three brain cells feel free to send him my way, but unless that’s the case i never want to hear about this ever again. bye”, cutting off their “bye we love you!” by hanging up and throwing yourself to your bed, still in a slight state of shock at the fact that they had done this. but it couldn’t be helped now, the only thing you could do was to pretend this didn’t leave you ready to commit atrocities.

to you, the possibility of a cute guy with more than three brain cells replying to the advertisement was nonexistent, but your friends were determined to find that guy (or rather, have that guy find them), and a few days after you’d discovered the horrible little box in the newspaper you got a text from an unknown number, because they’d now apparently found someone who’d gained their seal of approval and received your contact info as a reward.

[+82--- | 13:42]: hey i hope you don’t mind and i’ve by now been informed that it wasn’t you who put up the ad, but your friends gave me your number and seem desperate to get you a man, so uhh hi?

[+82--- | 13:43]: oh also my name is mingi i’m sorry i have like an iq of -5 when talking to pretty girls

as endearing as his messages seemed to be right now you were half convinced that the only reason he’d chosen to message you was because there was no way for him to find a girlfriend through normal person means such as asking people out on dates, so you weren’t about to get your hopes up. still, you figured you might as well reply, if only because you were incredibly bored right now and this was as good a pastime as any.

[y/n | 13:45]: at least they had the decency to tell you that i’d never genuinely call myself a multicultural babe, maybe i don’t have to rip their heads off

[y/n | 13:45]: but hi, how can i help you?

you knew you sounded like your customer service-sona, but if this mingi wasn’t able to tell when you were joking he wouldn’t gain your seal of approval, so this was, in a way, your vetting process. he passed the first stage, though, his reply actually making you smile.

[+82--- | 13:46]: i’d like one date to go, please

[+82--- | 13:47]: here’s my card

attached was a picture of the local cat café’s membership card, something you didn’t know much about except for that you’d get reduced entry with this, and maybe, just maybe this would convince you.

[y/n | 13:48]: you see, i have to confirm your identity, sir, so would you mind showing me your id for age verification?

[y/n | 13:49]: (a selfie, not your actual id)

he did as asked, a picture of his face arriving in your notifications just a few minutes later with the caption “had to find one where i don’t look like a clown”, and you were quite surprised to see that he was actually incredibly handsome, not at all what you’d expected, and seemed funny from your interactions, too, so there was only one reason for him to not have found a girlfriend through actual real life interaction: he was an axe murderer. then again an axe murderer wouldn’t maul you in a cat café, so you decided you might as well, if only to shut your friends up for a little because at least you had a date now.

[y/n | 13:50]: verification successful. any preferences or allergies, and would you like to order something else with your date to go?

you couldn’t really believe that you were actually agreeing to meeting a random guy for a date, but the worst that could happen was that you’d be frustrated at him being a total imbecile and then continue longing for someone to even just kiss your cheek, so really you didn’t have much to lose. and the more messages he sent, the sweeter he seemed, as confirmed by his next text.

[+82--- | 13:50]: damn i didn’t think that’d actually work

[+82--- | 13:51]: anyway

[+82--- | 13:51]: i’d like some information as an extra: can i get you flowers without you either dying from an anaphylactic shock or hitting me flat across the face with them?

again he managed to make you smile, the conversation seeming to flow so naturally that you didn’t even notice that both of you were replying near immediately whenever you got a new text.

[y/n | 13:52]: who would i be to deny you what your heart desires

[+82--- | 13:53]: a fair maiden with a pollen allergy, maybe

[+82--- | 13:53]: would tomorrow be okay with you or is that too desperate? because if it’s too desperate let’s pretend this was sent by mail and includes the 3-5 business day period for delivery

this time you were actually laughing, genuinely enjoying talking to him and the way he interacted with you, so you weren’t at all opposed to meeting him the next day already.

[y/n | 13:54]: tomorrow is fine. when do your classes end?

then, as realisation hit you that it was currently friday and there wouldn’t even be any classes the next day, you sent another text right after.

[y/n | 13:55]: it’s friday that’s so embarrassing. i regularly have an iq of -5, sorry about that

you got the crying with laughter emoji in return, then a suggested time and place, telling him that that fit with you and that you’d text him when you were there, to which he said he’d do the same if you wouldn’t be able to spot him yourself.

[y/n | 14:01]: i’ll just be keeping an eye out for the axe murderer

mingi luckily didn’t seem upset by that joke, because really, he might as well be an axe murderer, you couldn’t know for certain. and reacting to a newspaper announcement was kind of weird, now that he really thought about it. but it had worked out in his favour, so he only needed to convince you that he wasn’t intending to kill you, and that should be fairly easy seeing how he actually really wasn’t intending to.

[not an axe murderer (i hope) | 14:02]: maybe i’ll kill you with my irresistible charms and sparkling good looks instead, what do you know

[not an axe murderer (i hope) | 14:02]: but i’ll be keeping an eye out for you too, fair maiden without a pollen allergy

it was kind of embarrassing that you were genuinely excited about this, but really you hadn’t been on a date in years and even just the thought of maybe getting to hold hands with someone was enough to make your heart race. and it didn’t exactly hurt that this someone was insanely handsome and really funny, either. so you actually put effort into your outfit, into looking nice, because while you weren’t interested in an actual relationship you also weren’t entirely opposed to meeting mingi and it didn’t have to seem like you were, then.

when time to leave had come you felt a little giddy, a little excited, and texted mingi to let him know that you were on your way, to which he replied with a thumbs up, and then, a few minutes later, another text made your phone vibrate.

[not an axe murderer (i hope) | 13:32]: i am deeply sorry, o fair maiden, but my noble steed has taken a liking to mozart’s piece ‘kiss my ass’ (kv 382c, if thou should be interested) and thus it appears that i will arrive belatedly

[y/n | 13:46]: i see my fair knight is a man of culture

[y/n | 13:46]: worry not, o knight, thy maiden shall wait ever so patiently

[y/n | 13:47]: also did you really just look up its number because that would be quite the dedication to the joke

unbeknownst to you, your fair knight had taken a little longer than anticipated trying to pick out flowers that would fit, flowers with a cute meaning that still weren’t too over the top, and had missed his first train because of his inability to decide on which flowers would be best. and unbeknownst to you, your fair knight was currently smiling at his phone like an idiot, trying to juggle both holding the bouquet carefully and texting at the same time, surprisingly successfully, because his message remained entirely free of typos.

[not an axe murderer (i hope) | 13:52]: i need not look it up, as a man of the arts (music production student) this is part of my brain’s repertoire

[not an axe murderer (i hope) | 13:53]: also im thee soon

you assumed the last message to have been typed in somewhat of a hurry due to the lone typo, and found your suspicions confirmed when just a few moments later you spotted a giant scanning the place, a giant with a flower bouquet (he’d been serious about that?) and a face that, if you hadn’t been catfished, was that of your noble knight. so you carefully walked towards this man, a little hesitant and uncertain of what to expect, but at least the first impression was a good one, a large smile spreading on his face as soon as he spotted you, followed by a small bow once you were close enough to him.

“hey. y/n, i’d hope?”, with a voice so deep that you were inclined to ask which editing program he used, but he was standing right in front of you and talking real-time so this must actually be what he sounded like.

“yeah. mingi?”, even though the answer was fairly obvious if you took into account all factors combined.

“that’s me. and these are for you”, handing you the bouquet which he most definitely had not spent unnecessarily long picking out, not unless you presented proof.

“you really didn’t have to”, you told him, but because you still had manners you added: “thank you, though.”

“it’s really no issue. but let’s go to the café now, if i don’t get to pet a fat cat soon i’ve done something wrong in life.”

your tall, overdramatic knight managed to make you laugh with that, the flowers shaking slightly from the vibrations sent through your body, and soon after you found yourself at said cat café, a place you’d never been to yet because you weren’t exactly able to afford spending so much money just to pet some fat cats. to mingi this seemed to be a priority, though, a basic need, and maybe he just also had more money available than you, because he did not at all seem hesitant to pay for both of you, saying that if he did he was one step closer to getting a cat-puccino because he’d get the stamps for both of you when you tried to protest and tell him that you could pay for yourself.

“i just don’t want to lead you on or anything”, you explained to him once you’d sat down, “because i’m not actually looking for anything right now. i’m on a scholarship and i really want to prioritise that, so i’m sorry if you thought we’d like… become an item or anything. i just wanted to make that clear right away so you won’t feel like i’ve wasted your time.”

he nodded at your words, taking a sip of his drink before he replied: “no, that’s fair. as soon as i found out your friends had put the ad in i honestly didn’t even expect you’d reply at all, let alone meet me. so in a way this is already the jackpot”, a warm smile sent your way to show that he wasn’t upset at all, and you felt a little bad about having to send him on his merry way again after this date, just because he seemed to be genuinely sweet and nice to talk to.

“i mean, at least you don’t think i’d genuinely call myself ‘multicultural babe’. the amount of guys coming up to me on campus this past week alone asking for a free trial of that ‘fire in their life’, i’m… do guys only ever think with their dicks?”, exasperated because you’d received some more than obvious offers.

“oh, i’m… damn. i’m sorry about that. take this as reparations, then, i guess. and if it helps quench your desire for revenge, your friends probably receive an unholy amount of dick pics on the daily, so at least they have to deal with the consequences of their actions, too”, grinning at you at the last part because it was, in all honesty, somewhat of a funny thought, and you had to agree, grinning back at him.

“okay, fair, you have a point. but still i’m… i don’t really know how to explain, but now i have this reputation of a ‘fiery multicultural babe’”, quotation marks in the air at that, “so all the decent guys are going to avoid me like crazy and the guys that don’t avoid me i wish they would. so if i were to ever want to even just go on a single actual date my options would be limited to freaks”, the upset in your voice apparent to him, but he hoped to cheer you up with a small joke and, indirectly, an offer.

“freaks and me. so i guess my chances aren’t too bad, actually”, grinning in a way that might be both teasing and a way to show you that he wasn’t taking himself as important as he was letting on right now, and you rolled your eyes in reply jocularly.

“yeah, i guess. doesn’t really help me now, though. i guess the only other option is a new ad, ‘anyone that asks for some fire in their life will get that in the form of layman castration’, maybe that helps.”

“ouch”, flinching slightly at the image you presented, “that would be… one way to solve the problem, i guess.”

“the only way i can think of right now”, you shrugged, “unless you can find me someone willing to play my boyfriend because apparently ‘i have a boyfriend’ is a more convincing argument to leave a girl alone than ‘you’re making me uncomfortable’.”

mingi thought for a moment, unsure of whether or not to voice the thought that had just crossed his mind, but decided to go for it. he’d already kind of embarrassed himself by reacting to the ad, it couldn’t really get much worse.

“i mean, i might know a guy?”, making it sound more like a question because he couldn’t even know if you’d been serious about the fake dating idea.

“i hope you know i won’t accept some crusty nonstop gamer that hasn’t spoken to a 3d girl ever since final fantasy came out though”, because that was the only kind of guy that might maybe agree to your, in all honesty, entirely weird plan, but he shook his head.

“i mean, i don’t know if he’d be able to reach your standards, but there’s a guy sitting right here”, pointing to himself as if there might be a misunderstanding otherwise.

it took you a few seconds to realise what he meant, but when you did you were surprised, to say the least, this surprise apparent in your voice when you asked: “wait, you? you’d be willing to do that, like, for real?”

“why not?”, he shrugged, trying to play it much cooler than he was feeling.

“i’d get to go out with a pretty girl and save her from unwanted advances, i don’t see anything speaking against it right now.”

you’d be lying if you’d say that him calling you pretty and, in a way, courting you like this - flowers, paying for your food and everything, complimenting you - wasn’t leaving you even a little flustered, but part of you was scared you were taking advantage of his obvious interest in you if you were to agree to his offer, so you checked again.

“you’d really be fine with that? i don’t want you to feel like you have to, the castration threat would probably do its job, too”, even though you didn’t exactly want to have to go through with it if you had a choice.

“yeah, i don’t mind. i assume there’d be rules and all that anyway, and worst case i can just break up with you”, the smile that never seemed to leave his face actually working to reassure you, so you sighed before you agreed.

“okay. thank you, really. i know it’s not really that big of a deal but some of the guys i’ve had to deal with were genuinely creepy and i’m really glad i have a horny guy-approved excuse for rejecting them now.”

“glad to be of service”, bowing much like he had when he’d first spotted you, except this time there was a table in the way and he managed to hit his forehead, a low “fuck” his reaction to the surprisingly loud “bonk!” his action elicited from the table-head contact, and you chuckled.

“i guess i’ll have to carry a first aid kit around starting from our next date”, you teased and the smile on his face was brighter than you’d expected considering he’d just hit his head, but you didn’t know that he was smiling like a fool at the prospect of getting another date with you, not the first aid kit.

“i guess you must. but uh… okay this is a little awkward, but what’s the rules? and our story, i guess? because i don’t assume you’re planning to tell people ‘yeah we met up, and now we’re fake dating’, that’d kind of… ruin the whole plan”, obviously slightly embarrassed about this and you could understand that, because it was kind of awkward to have to spell out how much physical contact was okay and to come up with a story for why the two of you were dating now, but the fact that he seemed to be rather open in general made you feel less weird about it than had it been someone else.

“for me really the only rule is like… the hands stay above the equator, no sexual things, you know? i don’t have an issue with kissing or making out or anything, so… yeah this is awkward”, chuckling in embarrassment - it felt odd talking so casually about this with a near stranger, telling him that he could make out with you if he wanted to as long as he stayed reasonable, but this was something that had to be sorted before you’d have your first public appearance as a couple.

“it really is”, chuckling as well, “but hey, we’re on the same page there”, though you didn’t have to know that the reason why he didn’t have an issue with making out wasn’t a general being comfortable but instead him being glad he’d even get to kiss you at all because he’d always thought you were interesting, had been overjoyed when the opportunity to contact you had offered itself in the form of a lousy little newspaper ad.

“okay, so what’s our story?”, you then continued planning your little farce, “we met through the boys and their stupid ad, went on a date, but what then?”

“i grabbed your hand”, his words illustrating what he was currently doing, a shy hand reaching for yours and resting on it gently, “looked you deep in the eyes”, and you noticed how beautiful his eyes were, a deep, warm brown that managed to make you feel weirdly safe even though you didn’t even really know him, “and that’s when we knew that any day that we’re not together is a day wasted. kitschy, i know, but the entire story is a mess even before the made up part, so it fits”, smiling at you amusedly, and you wondered if there was any time where he wasn’t smiling at all, not even just a little bit, because if so you hadn’t yet witnessed that.

“i guess. so, you asked me out? or i asked you out? or did our lips meet in a passionate kiss and no words needed to be spoken anymore?”, that last part an attempt to make yourself - and hopefully him, too - feel a little less awkward

“i think the passionate kiss might be a little much, so we can just say i asked you out. i kind of did, i mean, i was the one to offer fake dating me, so it’s not too far from the truth.”

you clutched your chest, a faked gasp in indignation as you asked him, pretending to be offended: “are you saying you don’t want to kiss me passionately? and that as my boyfriend?”, causing him to laugh loudly and apologise profoundly.

“if it brings your hurt heart any comfort, i can kiss you passionately now that you’ve said yes to dating me”, but you pretended to be sulking, telling him “well now i don’t want you to” like a pouting child, making him sigh in reply.

“i guess i’ve brought that one upon myself.”

“yes”, you confirmed, though your sulking expression was one of mischief again.

“so you saw the ad, got my number from… seonghwa, i guess? one of them anyway, we met up, we got along incredibly well, you asked if i’d actually like to date and we decided to just give it a shot? that seems good to you?”

“yeah”, mingi agreed, “that seems good. so we’ll be meeting up regularly, i guess?”

you nodded - that was, at least as far as you’d gathered, a fairly important part of dating, spending time with the person you were dating.

“that way we can get to know each other better and all. plus, you’re actually nice, so maybe i can change your contact name”, not thinking before you spoke and now he was curious about just what his contact name was.

“not an axe murderer, i hope? really?”, eyes upward crescents as he tried to not burst out laughing.

“well i mean… you’re handsome, you’re funny, you seem to be willing to go the extra mile to court people, your breath doesn’t stink either, so really the only reason why you’d have reacted to that ad has to be something like that. being an axe murderer, having some weird kinks or something, i don’t know. there’s got to be some catch”, you tried to explain yourself, and now he was unable to keep himself from laughing loudly, startling some of the cats surrounding you because his laugh sounded like the bass-boosted version of a regular laugh.

“i mean, i can tell you i’m not an axe murderer. don’t know about the rest, depends on what you consider weird, i guess”, so openly joking with you that it was near impossible not to feel comfortable around him, which maybe the fact that he seemed absolutely enamoured with the cats surrounding you also played a part in.

you continued talking until your time was up, then just strolled around a little, walking here and there without direction, just trying to get to know each other some more because you’d be spending quite some time together from now on so it’d be good if you actually knew each other even a little, until you decided to call it off for the day and go home, mingi hugging you tightly as a goodbye and telling you: “see you tomorrow, and text me when you’re home safe”, something he seemed to genuinely want rather than just getting into the act of playing your boyfriend, and again you were glad he’d been the one to contact you first out of all the possible boys you could’ve had to deal with.

you did text him when you arrived at home safely, continued texting after that, too, talking about your studies and favourite movies and mainly just random things, until it was time to go to bed so you’d be able to get up early enough for tomorrow’s date, both of you deciding to just sleep now and telling each other goodnight; though you hadn’t expected mingi to manage to fluster you even with a simple goodnight text, but he did.

[definitely not an axe murderer | 23:54]: sleep well angel, dream of me ;*

you’d managed to get enough sleep to not feel like a zombie the next day, something you were incredibly glad about because feeling like a zombie often came with looking the part, and you weren’t exactly fond of that. but since you’d gotten all the sleep you needed and then some you looked like a person, and a decent one at that, offering you a good starting point for dolling yourself up a little because just because your relationship was fake didn’t mean you didn’t have to put any effort in. especially when it seemed like all mingi had done so far was putting effort in, effort you had neither asked for nor expected but that you appreciated anyway.

maybe getting ready two hours before the agreed upon meeting time was a little pathetic, but then again it offered you the chance to change your entire look another three times if you wanted to and still not be late, and it also offered you the perfect opportunity to overthink your decisions, if this was a good idea or if you should call it off before mingi’s first public appearance as your boyfriend because you didn’t actually know him that well and maybe he was an axe murderer after all.

your doubts had been almost entirely wiped out by the time you arrived at the café you’d chosen for today’s date though, and vanished completely once you spotted your boyfriend who arrived only a few minutes after you.

“hi”, he greeted you, and “hey” you said back, and then you stared at each other a little awkwardly because this was the first time you met up as a couple and you didn’t exactly know what to do or how to act, because while you were a couple you also were not and it made the whole affection business a little complicated.

“should i kiss you? or when should i? i’ve never like… fake dated before”, looking as uncomfortable and embarrassed as you felt, and you knew it was only going to get worse if you didn’t put a stop to it right now.

“let’s just… not plan it, okay? you kiss me when you feel like it, when you feel like you want to, and same for me. it’s not going to be convincing anyway if everything is so planned out.”

that seemed to make sense to him, because he nodded, and then you entered the café, him pulling your chair back for you, but you shook your head at him, leaving the tall boy confused - was he not supposed to be a gentleman? - until you said: “bold of you to think i’d sit on the chair while you get to sit on the bench.”

“i am deeply sorry for assuming. i hope you can forgive me if i sit on the chair instead”, overdramatic and grinning, but that was what you liked about him. he was always ready to joke, to lighten the mood, and talking to him never felt forced. you were lucky that he of all people was your fake boyfriend, because it most definitely could have been worse.

“maybe i shall”, sitting down on the bench with a loud “thump” as your behind hit the not as thickly padded wood and you hissed, making mingi laugh and then apologise again.

“is your ass fine?”, unaware of how that could technically be interpreted until you teased him about it, the most horrible shit-eating grin on your face as you retorted: “is my ass fine? my ass is incredible”, leaving him a little flustered because he definitely hadn’t meant it like that, and even though it was a little mean you laughed at him until his embarrassed expression changed into a smile of his own and then he joined your laughter, and by then the situation wasn’t awkward at all anymore.

your conversation flowed naturally from then on, no longer focusing on the awkward ‘trying to make our dating seem authentic’ part of it all and just enjoying each other’s company, teasing each other every now and then until you spotted something on his cheek and told him: “hey, come here”, patting the bench next to you to signal him where “here” was.

“what’s up?”, though he did as asked, sitting next to you now but somewhat taken aback when you leaned in really close to his face, his eyes unsure of where to look because you were so close and so pretty and he really wanted to kiss you, but assumed there was a reason you’d asked him to sit there instead of where he’d been sitting before.

“you have an eyelash on your cheek, hold on”, a careful hand reaching up to his face to collect the lone eyelash you’d spotted while you were talking, brushing over his skin softly in an attempt to pry it off without hurting him, but he really couldn’t care less about the eyelash right now, not when you were right there and he’d barely have to move to be able to kiss you. and then he remembered that you’d told him he could just kiss you if he felt like it, and if there was a moment to do so it would be now, so he tried to compose himself, having entered a state of flustered dumbfoundedness the moment you leaned in, and spoke up quietly.

“is it okay if i kiss you now?”

“yeah”, stopping your movements because you didn’t want to lose the eyelash, a little nervous yourself both for first kiss with a new person reasons and because you hadn’t actually kissed anyone in about five years now and part of you feared you’d forgotten how it worked and would now make a fool out of yourself, but you had no reason to worry, both because he was a little awkward himself and because he was so careful in the way he touched you and kissed you that you almost wished this had been your first kiss, just because he was so sweet and the coffee taste on his lips was better than the taste of ‘i haven’t brushed my teeth in three days’ that had accompanied your actual first kiss.

“was that okay?”, mingi asked once he’d pulled away, insecure and a little anxious even though he’d gotten the okay from you because maybe you regretted it now that he’d actually kissed you and it hadn’t just been an abstract idea of something that might happen in the future.

“you’re doing great, don’t worry”, you tried to reassure, smiling at him before leaning back in to collect that one lone eyelash that had been the reason for you calling him to sit by your side, smiling proudly when it had moved from his cheek to your finger.

“make a wish”, you ordered, but he just looked at you confused.

“why?”

“the eyelash?”, unaware of the fact that this superstition didn’t seem to be one also found in your home country of choice, oblivious until the boy next to you asked for clarification.

“where i’m from if an eyelash falls out you can blow it away and wish on it. so make a wish, because it’s your eyelash”, and now a figurative light bulb lit up above his head.

“okay, so my wish is-”

“don’t! don’t you dare!”, you interrupted, incredibly superstitious and slightly panicked at the thought that he’d tell you his wish and would keep it from coming true that way, but again he was confused, so you elaborated on the eyelash superstition.

“if you say your wish out loud it won’t come true. so make a wish, but don’t ever tell me what it is. now blow”, holding out your index finger with the eyelash for him, feeling a soft, warm waft against it shortly after before he lifted his head to face you again, smiling as if he’d just achieved something great.

“you know, i actually like that you’re a ‘multicultural babe’”, making you groan out as he reminded you of the nickname your friends had chosen for you, “because i get to learn things like this.”

“and you’re lucky you’re a cute korean guy because otherwise i would’ve left as soon as you dared to call me that”, you teased back, the cute korean guy in question wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you into his lap as soon as you said that, telling you: “well good luck getting away now” and his grip tightening slightly when you started squirming in an attempt to free yourself, once more reminding you that you were stuck.

“fine, fine, i give up! i’m trapped in your lap and shall forever remain seated right here, now please at least let me get my cup”, because at some point he’d gripped your wrists with one of his hands, too, keeping you from hitting him lightly as another measure to aid in your escape from his unrelenting embrace.

“okay”, releasing your hands but keeping you on his lap - not that you were making any attempts at getting off, anyway -, his forehead on your shoulder because hey, he’d kissed you already, he might as well be a little cuddly, right?

“stop moving, your hair is tickling me”, you whined when he kept moving his head in an attempt at finding the most comfortable position, causing him to immediately freeze up and chuckle a little, embarrassed.

“sorry, i’m just… trying not to be awkward, i guess.”

you giggled along, his emotional dilemma one you definitely were in yourself, as well, but you figured trying not to be awkward was the one one hundred percent certain way to make sure that you were without a doubt being awkward.

“it’s fine, just… do what you feel like. there’s one thing that’s gonna be more awkward than anything, and it’s constantly asking ‘okay but can i do this?’, so please just… just go wild”, still uncomfortable with having to spell out that he was allowed to touch you so you hoped he’d finally get over himself, even though you hadn’t exactly gotten over yourself yet, either.

“okay”, and you expected he’d just leave it at that, but he seemed to take ‘go wild’ to heart because next thing you knew he was kissing your shoulder and neck from behind, something he mainly did to force himself out of his comfort zone, because if he’d already kissed your neck in public it couldn’t really get much more embarrassing or awkward, and he hoped that by throwing himself in the deep end, so to say, it would be easier to display smaller acts of affection to you.

you weren’t opposed, though, found it kind of cute because his kisses were incredibly light, barely there, and you also had somewhat of a soft spot for neck kisses, inclined to ask your friends to just smooch you a little several times when you’d felt particularly touch starved just because you thought it was a nice feeling.

his actions made you a little bolder, too, putting one of your hands on top of his that were connected in front of your stomach, a little later even daring to pry his hands apart to interlace your own fingers with his, and though it probably was quite awkward for everyone to watch the two of you just spent the next hour or so getting more and more comfortable with being physically affectionate, you at least no longer feeling weird about kissing him or hugging him or anything of the sorts by the point you decided to go home, mingi once more asking you to text him when you got home so he’d know you were okay, a sweet kiss your goodbye as both of you went on your merry way home.

the next day you had your first appearance as a couple, mingi texting you in the morning to ask where he should pick you up for lunch, surprising your friends quite some when you suddenly had a boyfriend, and one they’d set you up with at that.

“told you my lines work”, yeosang teased you, but your fully official boyfriend was your knight in shining armour as he told your friend: “actually, the only reason why i contacted you despite the absolutely horrendous lines is because she’s so cute.”

“god, he’s a sap”, hongjoong said while rolling his eyes, but he was smiling fondly, glad you’d found a guy that seemed to genuinely appreciate you and wasn’t afraid to show it even in public.

though the guys did start to feel a little neglected when you’d started spending a lot more time with mingi than with them, even though you did try to not actually spend less time with them than you had before you’d gotten yourself a boyfriend, finding that you just enjoyed the tall, sweet boy’s company so much that the two of you frequently hung out even when you didn’t have to prove to anyone that you were genuinely dating, having movie nights and cooking dates and him taking you places he insisted you had to see after finding out you hadn’t yet been there, spending time together for the sole purpose of spending time together. and it didn’t hurt that he was quite affectionate, touchy but in a sweet way, managing to make you feel important to him just because he was always either holding your hand or hugging you or kissing whatever part of you he was currently able to reach, your relationship by now more friends with kissing benefits rather than solely putting up a show. he liked you, you were able to tell, even when you no longer considered his feelings for you to be romantic just because he’d never brought it up again, not after the first month of fake dating, nor after the second or third, four months of the two of you claiming to be a couple about to pass and by now you didn’t even really remember that it was all fake anymore because it didn’t matter much, having grown close and comfortable around each other and happy to continue whatever relationship you had even when everyone had long forgotten about the embarrassing newspaper advertisement.

maybe it was this lack of talking about where exactly you stood that had allowed your emotional state to become as muddled and unclear as it was, because you never had the ‘so what are we?’ talk even when both of you knew, subconsciously, that you weren’t together for the act anymore. but you didn’t even know when you’d gone from pretending to be in love with mingi to actually being in love with mingi, not really noticing the change because not much had actually changed for you - you’d been kissing without any inhibitions right from the start, you’d always found him incredibly handsome and had genuinely enjoyed his company from the very first time you met him, there wasn’t much to change there. on top of that it had been so long since you’d last had any kind of romantic feelings for anyone, you’d kind of forgotten what that felt like, especially when they weren’t the reason for you starting to date someone but rather something that was added to the mix later on. so it took you by surprise when you found yourself getting actually jealous when your fake boyfriend casually told you that he couldn’t hang out that afternoon because he was meeting some girl from his course to study together, because not only was it the most innocent reason to ditch you, you also weren’t even actually dating in the way that it would come even close to cheating if he were to spend time with her, even if he were to actually kiss her, seeing how the main reason of the two of you being exclusive right now was so people wouldn’t catch on to the fact of it all just being fake.

so while he spent the afternoon studying you spent the afternoon angrily watching movies and eating snacks even more angrily, until your phone rang at around six pm, the reason for your jealous sulking trying to reach you.

“hm?”, you grumbled when you picked up, unable to hide the fact that you were upset about something, even though it didn’t exactly occur to him why that might be, because to him it was very much you who was the reason for the ‘fake’ to be part of your dating.

“what’s wrong? i’ve been trying to text you for ages, but you haven’t even read any of them”, and even though he didn’t at all sound accusatory you couldn’t help but feel a little defensive, because it had been him who’d cancelled your date, after all.

“i’m watching movies. aren’t you busy, though?”, a slight bite in your voice that didn’t stay hidden to him but that he decided to ignore until he could ask you about it in person.

“not anymore. want me to come over so we can watch your movies together? i’ve missed you and your horrible romcoms.”

“well, it wasn’t me who cancelled the movie date”, and by now it was obvious even to him that the issue was him cancelling on you, for whatever reason. he wasn’t going to start an argument on the phone, though, not when he was maybe fifteen minutes away from your place and could solve this in person through just a little bit of effort.

“yeah, and i’ve missed you because i had to miss out, that’s why i want to make up for it now. so can i come over? i’ll bring doughnuts”, hoping to convince you with those sugary treats you loved, delighted when it worked.

“fine. but i hope you know which ones my favourite are”, a cheery “got it, be right there” a stark contrast to your sullen mood, and then he hung up, on his way to get you a box with six doughnuts just for you because even though you weren’t actually dating and even though it had been a while since you’d started your little charade he still wanted to spoil you every now and then, especially when he’d had to ditch you earlier.

mingi had been serious when he’d said “be right there”, too, in front of your door half an hour later with two doughnut boxes as supporting evidence for his attempt at reconciliation and convincing you that he had in fact missed you and was sad about having had to cancel your movie date.

“you know, one of these days you’re gonna have to give me a key”, he told you as he entered your little dorm, kicking his shoes off carelessly as he tried not to lose balance and throw the doughnut boxes across the room.

that comment set something off inside of you, because why would he need a key when he was currently on his way to find himself a not-fake girlfriend? so, even though you hadn’t planned to confront him about it right away or maybe ever, you burst out, unable to control yourself: “do you want to break up with me?”

to say this took the tall boy by surprise would be an understatement, because you’d never even hinted at the relationship genuinely meaning something to you on an emotional level deeper than friendship, and then he also couldn’t remember ever having hinted at wanting to break up with you.

“how do you mean?”, he asked, trying to understand where this was coming from, but instead of looking at him as you answered you took the doughnut boxes from his hands and walked over to your kitchen, placing them on the counter as you repeated your question.

“do you want to break up with me? so you can find an actual girlfriend, i mean.”

that thought was one that hadn’t crossed his mind even once since he’d started spending time with you, because even while he knew that this wasn’t an actual relationship where you were emotionally attached to him as a romantic partner it still made him happy to get to spend time with you, and he wasn’t exactly missing anything because you’d let him kiss you or hold your hand or cuddle you whenever he felt like it, too, all other needs something he could take care of by himself, if needed. so if he wasn’t missing anything, why would you think he’d try and find himself someone else? it didn’t exactly make sense to him, and he told you that.

“i don’t. but i don’t really get why you care, anyway. are you scared your friends are gonna try and set you up again? because i could maybe help with that, if they get annoying”, genuinely not understanding that the issue at hand was jealousy, the fear of him having fallen for someone else, not what your friends - or anyone, for that matter - might think if the two of you broke up.

“no, i just don’t want you to feel stuck with me when you’d rather date someone you actually like”, still not looking at him because you were convinced you looked pathetic right now, almost crying at the thought of your fake boyfriend finding someone to real date instead.

“wait, i’m… confused. what makes you think i don’t like you? we all know i’m not at my smartest around pretty girls, but up until now i thought it was you who didn’t like me, so if anyone’s stuck in a relationship they don’t want, shouldn’t it be you?”, no bite to his comment, just a genuine question, trying to understand where you were coming from with the limited information available to him.

“so you still like me?”, feeling a little more hopeful now at his words, and maybe you didn’t actually have to be jealous because he told you: “yeah, of course. why wouldn’t i?”

“because you think i don’t like you back, so maybe you’ve found someone else”, you explained, making him perk up at your phrasing.

“i think you don’t like me back? does that mean you do?”, unable to hide how hopeful he was about that possibility.

“yeah”, finally facing him and the way his eyes were sparkling brightly seemed to be enough to give you the confidence to say that you did even after he’d cancelled your date today, and all tension was gone when all he could think of as a reaction was “that’s great”, making you chuckle at him because the way he said it made it sound weirdly hilarious.

“i have a question though”, your attention fully back on him as you tilted your head slightly, curious about what question there was, “did we start dating today or when we started dating? because i don’t want to celebrate our one month anniversary when we’ve been dating for five.”

now you were full on laughing, the concern so endearing that you couldn’t help it, and mingi joined in after a few seconds, the two of you standing in your kitchen laughing at each other like two idiots now, but it was a nice feeling. you were being idiots together, really together now.

“let’s pick the first one. i don’t really want to have to explain to people why our one month anniversary is five months into dating. plus, i mean, we didn’t actually break up, so we can’t start dating again.”

he grinned at you, “alright”, before pulling you by your hand to your room, giving you the gentlest push so you’d sit down on the bed before leaving for the kitchen again, your “what are you doing?” answered by his shout of “getting my girlfriend her doughnuts for our movie night!” from the other room, and you smiled at how much emphasis he put on the word girlfriend. it felt nice, and part of you wondered how you’d gone so long thinking it was all just for show when he made you feel like this, but it didn’t really matter anymore, because now you knew, and now he knew, and now things were as they were supposed to be.

and even though he’d slept over quite often already, too tired to drag himself home after a camp rock or shrek marathon, somehow it felt different this time. because this time he wouldn’t have to go home wondering how much longer you’d play this little game, and this time you wouldn’t be left at your place wondering why you felt so weird whenever he left, almost sad. this time both of you knew that you were in love with each other and that it wasn’t just a game and this time neither of you had to be anxious that the other would go off to find a genuine relationship rather than your play-pretend, because it wasn’t play pretend anymore.

[cellard0ors]

Fic: Movement (5/5)

YAS.

I got it done.

My pornstar!Rhett and College!Student!Link fic is DONE.

...it was supposed to be a short ficlet thing (hahahahahaha - cries) Still, it's done - so I hope you enjoy it @peachworthy! It was all for you!

If you want to read the previous part on tumblr: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4

OR

You can read it ALL here on AO3 Link!

Dating a porn star is not what Link expected.

Not that Link ever expected to be dating a porn star, but the point remains – dating one is not like he thinks one would envision it. To be fair, this is probably because he’s not just dating any porn star, he’s dating Rhett and Rhett is far more to him than just a porn star. In fact, he was his roommate and secret crush long before Link even recognized him by his profession.

But now, having watched one of Rhett’s films, seeing him in action (full porno sex action), Link can confirm that that is indeed what he is. But that doesn’t really matter to Link. Nothing does, but how sweet Rhett is. How doting and romantic and kind of the best boyfriend anyone could ever have and it sort of boggles the mind that he is Link’s boyfriend.

But he is and their relationship is moving along quite amicably. Nights spent watching movies together, going grocery shopping, sharing chaste kisses and the occasionally more heated ones and it’s not all that different from how it was when they were just friends minus the addition of said kissing.

However, it’s more than a few weeks in, and it’s clear to Link that sex is an issue. Or not so much an issue as a nonentity. Neither of them have pushed farther than the classic over-the-clothes action and Link isn’t sure if it’s him or Rhett or both and it finally reaches a point where one of them has to speak up, so he decides to brave the field, “So, um, Rhett?”

“Yeah?” Rhett asks and he’s a little distracted, making dinner for them as he is. Still, Link sees no reason why this discussion can’t be casual, so he shoots for that as he asks, “You…? Ah, you think we’re ever gonna-? Gonna, um, have sex?”

The last comes out so horribly awkward and Link is rubbing at the back of his neck and somehow feeling like a heel in all of this. But communication is important in a relationship and he figures it’s better to speak now then forever hold his peace or whatever. Rhett looks up from the skillet he’s working over, eyebrows raised high, “Why? You don’t want to?”

“No!” Link rejoints quickly, “No, I definitely want to! I just…? I noticed we, uh…haven’t? Yet? So, I-I wasn’t sure-?”

So, you want to talk about it, but you can’t string anything coherent together? His thoughts hiss, but Rhett seems understanding as he removes the skillet from the heat and clicks off the stove. While their food cools, he carefully removes his oven mitts and shrugs, “Well, I mean…I’ll confess, I’m a little…apprehensive to kick things off.”

Link perks up at this and Rhett shoots him a lopsided grin, “Mean, you’ve seen one of my films now. Before you, when I’d get in a relationship, when people found out about what I did – I guess you could say they broke down into two types. First type expected me to be some god of carnality, y’know? Like, the best bang they’d ever have in their lives.”

He runs a hand through his thick hair, tossing it, which Link now recognizes as a nervous tic on his part, “And it’s not really like that. Don’t get me wrong, I think I’m a good lover. I don’t see myself as horrible in bed or anything, but what I’ve found is that a lot of those types of partners had these overblown expectations of me. Like I’d get them off in a second or that I’d ruin them for others or, I dunno, give ‘em orgasms every five seconds and I-?”

Rhett trails off, looking at a loss for words, but Link gets it, “They couldn’t sperate the fantasy from the reality.”

He gets a snap of fingers at that, Rhett looking pleased, “Exactly! Even though people say they understand that porn is fake and that a lot of it is exaggerated, for some reason, if they’re with a person who does it for a living, they expect something…I don’t know, revolutionary.”

Link nods and Rhett starts plating up their food, avoiding Link’s eyes as he speaks, “And I guess I just-? I don’t want you to be one of those types of people.”

Link’s heart stings a little at the thought – or more, at the idea that Rhett had had that thought. Rhett takes the plates towards their kitchen table, eyes still downcast and cheeks clearly red as he murmurs, “I don’t think you are. Truth be told, I know you’re better than that. But…I really like you, Link. And I don’t want to lose you because-!”

Link takes the plates from Rhett and sets them down, he then tips Rhett’s face up by his chin and kisses him tenderly, looking into his eyes as he speaks, “You won’t.”

Rhett doesn’t look convinced, so Link kisses him again, then wraps his arms around his neck, tugging him close, “You said there were two types?”

“Ahhhh, yeeaaah,” Rhett draws out, looking at little sheepish even as his arms settle around Link’s waist, “The other type is the one I’ll admit I’m a bit more worried you might fall into.”

Link’s eyebrows rise, asking for him to continue more than words can. Rhett does; but resumes not looking at him while he does so, “The other type are…intimidated.”

Link lets out a snort that speaks volumes, clearly saying there’s no way Rhett ‘intimidates’ him but that doesn’t stop him, “No, seriously – they think because of what I do, how many films I’ve made and how many partners I’ve worked with, that I’ll be hard to please or that they’ve got to do something extraordinary to stand out.”

“Well, I mean…I’m already extraordinary, so-?” Link teases and Rhett rolls his eyes, starting to edge away, but Link lets out a little abortive ‘Hey!’ before dragging him back over and kissing him. This time they kiss for a while, Rhett’s fingers hooking into the beltloops of Link’s jeans and dragging him closer. It’s right on that edge of sweet and sexy and, after a while, Link manages to draw in a rather audible breath, enough to murmur, “No, I get what you’re sayin’…”

Link puts space between them, knowing that now’s not the time to just jump into bed considering Rhett’s concerns. Especially in light of their legitimacy, which he confirms as he takes his seat at the table, “Look, I’ve thought about all of that. Everything you’ve worried about or your old flames thought, I’ve run ‘em through my noggin and I gotta say, all of it did trip me up. At first. But then, I had an epiphany!”

“Really?” Rhett asks with a very incredulous tone as he takes his own seat. Link’s already started digging into his meal, looking smug even as he answers with an agreeable, muffled hum – mouth full of food. Once swallowed, he grins and gestures at Rhett with his fork, “And my thought was, we just gotta get on an even playing field.”

Rhett looks a little stumped by that, blinking rapidly, “Meaning?”

“Meaning,” Link says cheekily, “We’re making a movie.”

+

“You…sure about this?” Rhett looks at the Go-Pro set up in front of his bed with a mixture of uncertainty and dread. Link doesn’t mind the first, but is bothered by the second, even as he adjusts the camera, “Absolutely.”

“I don’t know, man…”

Link looks through the view finder. The lightning is just right, but he adjusts the angle some. He wants to make sure he gets a good, wide shot of the bedroom – especially the bed. That’s where the magic is going to happen. Just thinking of it, a whole maelstrom of butterflies churn through his central nervous system. Still, he’s nothing if not determined.

Some would call it stubborn. He prefers determined.

Regardless, Link looks to Rhett, “Look, this is just for us. Alright? Nobody gets to see this lil’ gem but you and me. It’s,” he looks into the distance, thoughtful, “It’s a Link and Rhett production!”

This gets a laugh, “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah!”

“Considering my extensive filmography, shouldn’t I be the headliner? Shouldn’t it be a Rhett and Link production?”

The name flip causes Link to make a face and drags another chuckle out of Rhett, “Take it you can’t handle that?”

“Well…I am the one in school studying film…”

“Okay, but I’m the star attraction here.”

“Are you?” Link asks with a devilish grin, even as he goes about adjusting various throw pillows and things, as if to perfectly set the scene for what is about to take place, “How do you know I won’t upstage you?”

The sound of disbelief that emerges from Rhett causes Link to make another face, “Seriously. You haven’t had all of this yet,” he gestures to his whole body, “Might just be I’m the one that ruins you for anyone else. That I just-! Just blow your mind so much sexually that you can’t get enough of me!”

Rhett is all smiles, enjoying Link’s boastful side more than he probably should. But it’s hard not to. It’s so endearing and, oddly, attractive and Link knows it as he claps his hands together and a couple ‘alright’s’ leave him in rapid, nervous succession because, well, it’s showtime.

And showtime means sex time.

Sex time…with Rhett.

Link is going to have sex with him and okay, okay, okay…

“You alright, buddy?” Rhett asks seriously and Link realizes his ‘alright’s’ have switched over to nervous ‘okay’s’ and he’s sort of a rambling, shaky mess. He looks at Rhett and oh gosh, the man is too attractive by half. Link needs to get back in charge of this situation. As such, he draws in a deep breath through his nose and nods to himself, “Yeah. Yeah, I’m good.”

“You sure?’ Rhett returns softly, looking worried as he speculatively eyes the camera and then the bed again, ‘Cause I remember my first time filming and I was a mess.”

This draws Link’s attention, “Yeah?”

Rhett nods, “I didn’t know what the hell I was doing. I mean, yeah, sex is pretty matter of fact, but knowing how to go about it and with a bunch of people watching…”

“Okay, but,” Link walks over to Rhett and gives him a quick peck on the cheek, before taking one of his hands and giving it a squeeze, “No one’s watching but you and me.”

“True,” Rhett confirms softly, “But that doesn’t mean you’re not nervous.”

“Are you?” Link asks and Rhett grins, “What? Nervous?”

At Link’s nod Rhett laughs, squeezing Link’s hand back, “You bet your sweet bippy I am!”

“Great! Then we’re on the same page!” Link beams and then draws back his hand and goes over towards the dresser, grabbing a folder he brought with him when he brought in his filming set up, “Speaking of pages…”

He draws out one and Rhett looks over it before letting out a loud boom of laughter, “You wrote a script?!”

Link shrugs, “Just a couple of words…”

“I see,” Rhett giggles and flips through it, reading quick snippets of the ridiculous prose, “And you said ‘Movement’ had bad dialogue.”

“What’s wrong with the dialogue?” Link asks with distinct affront and Rhett waves the pages at him, as he coos dramatically, “‘Ohhh Daddy Link, you’re so big’?”

Link snatches back the pages and tosses them to the side, “You just wait!”

“Uh huh,” Rhett is still giggling but Link looks serious, “You’ll be saying that and more!”

“Oh, I will?” Rhett wheezes and he wasn’t aware this was going to be so much fun. To be honest, neither was Link, who looks a little sheepish even as he reaches for Rhett, “C’mere…”

Rhett does and they kiss for a while. Nice, warm, comfortable kisses until Link sneaks in just the slightest nip of teeth along Rhett’s bottom lip. The tiny sting draws Rhett up short, makes his breath catch and Link draws back to look at him, blue eyes heavy lidded as he hums, “I’m gonna push record now.”

Rhett can only manage a nod and Link pushes a button on the Go Pro. They resume kissing and Rhett can’t help but let out a whimper as Link…pushes him backwards. The push isn’t terribly forceful, but it’s enough that Rhett finds himself backing up towards the bed. He feels the tap of the mattress against the back of his knees and at Link’s next nudge, he falls back against it.

Link clambers over top of him and their lips have hardly broken contact the entire time. Link’s frame is slighter than Rhett’s, but not any less substantial, and Rhett groans, finding he rather likes it beneath the other man. More so when Link leverages himself up a little…higher. Somehow Rhett finds he feels…small. Something he’s never really ever felt before and the sensation shoots straight to his dick, more so when Link husks, “You ready to learn a new form?”

That was actually something Rhett remembers seeing in the script Link wrote. It was a haphazard line tossed in amongst the sillier remarks he’d picked out, but hearing it now, he shudders, “I…?”

“C’mon,” Link whispers against his neck, which he peppers with little sucking kisses, “Gotta master some other…movements…”

The last is said with a level of severity that Link’s surprised he manages, but also – hearing it – he can’t help but laugh at himself. Okay, so, his dialogue isn’t all that great. To be fair, he wrote it more for fun than anything.

And as kind of a segue into how Rhett should be prepared for him, not the other way around. Link supposes it was his approach to avoiding nerves – an air of bravado that would sustain him through any potential worries.

After all, Rhett’s not wrong. Rhett is experienced, he’s done a lot – in comparison, Link’s sexual history is dismal. Still, Link’s sure he can provide something the previous lovers didn’t and he, heart in his throat, asks, “Tell me, baby…you ever bottom?”

It was, in fact, a question he asked in his script but, also, one Link wanted to ask for real. Considering his stature, Link’s pretty sure Rhett hasn’t. And with Rhett’s answering groan of desire, the question is confirmed, albeit the core of it still unanswered. Link whispers, “…you want to?”

“Fuck,” Rhett manages in such a breathy way that Link feels his balls tighten, more so when he can feel Rhett’s whole body nod beneath him, “Yeah…”

“You want to?” Link asks again, wanting Rhett to be absolutely clear about what he’s agreeing to, even as Rhett’s head starts rapidly bobbing more and more, “Yes, yes…yes, I want to, Link.”

“Link?” he asks and it’s a clear tease, one met with Rhett groaning again, this time not from pleasure, so much as amused aggravation, “I’m not calling you Daddy, Link.”

“Mmm, not yet,” Link purrs into his chest even as he eases up enough to draw Rhett’s shirt up and over his head. Rhett, not to be outdone, grabs the bottom hem of Link’s shirt and, working together, the two ease it up and over Link’s head. Now shirtless, the two resume kissing and moving against one another, hips lewdly grinding even with their jeans on and Link absent mindedly wishes they’d worn something simpler to remove.

But the feeling of his denim clad erection rubbing roughly against Rhett’s does create a magnificent friction that draws a curse from him, his skin breaking out in a light sheen of sweat as they continue undulating. Rhett’s fingers, which had once more gripped to Link’s belt loops, now dive beneath the back of his waistband, dipping beneath his underwear and gripping his ass firmly and Link grunts his name approvingly.

If Link learned one thing from watching Rhett in that film, it’s that the man has amazing hands. Big palms, long fingers, and Jesus – his grip. He’s latched on and breathing heavily and the sounds of those pants in Link’s ear is better than any music he’s ever heard.

Another thing he learned from the film – cheesy music is not needed. Just the sounds of two people together, seeking pleasure, is more than enough to get the fires going. Although frankly, Link was on fire the moment his lips met Rhett’s. And it’s a fire that only stokes higher as he eases up, pulls back and Rhett goes with him.

Link’s legs are on either side of Rhett’s, practically putting him in Rhett’s lap and Rhett curls up, his mouth aimed at Link’s dusky nipples. He claims first the left, then the right, licking and nibbling at the sensitive tips and Link’s head falls back, Adam’s apple bobbing on a low groan because, yes.

He’s always had such a sensitive chest. It was a source of embarrassment for him once. That his nipples were such an erogenous zone. But now, with Rhett feasting there, he’s more than okay with it. Okay with Rhett’s hands having left his ass to grip at his bare back, to hold him still while he feasts on his chest.

Rhett’s teeth scratching through swaths of chest hair with abandon as they trail down as far as they can go before arching back up, searching out Link’s mouth and Link kisses him again, his hands tangling in the back of Rhett’s long hair, fingers ensnaring themselves deep within the mass of curls and tugging just so. Rhett whimpers at it, hips jutting upwards and Link feels himself bounce some, smirks into their kiss as he murmurs, “Tryin’ ta take me for a ride?”

His accent comes out thick, a sweet southern drawl and Rhett’s eyes are glossy green as he puts up again and Link’s own hips answer – a dirty dance beginning as they rock against one another. And while the simulation of the actual sex act is pleasing enough it’s just – not the real thing and that’s what Link wants.

He wants it, but not like this – not this time and he lets out a whine even as he forces himself up and off, forces himself to pull away and stand – his hands shaking as they remove his jeans. And while Rhett is still lying there on the bed – looking like some kind of sexual Adonis – Link can just make out the slightest sliver of insecurity in his eyes.

It hides well beneath the open lust, but it’s there. And even though he’s clad only in his underwear – a rather funny sight no doubt, given the way his stiff cock is making the material curve outwards – he asks gently, “You okay?”

Rhett nods and starts working off his own jeans and underwear, even as he breathes, “Just…look at you.”

“Me?” Link laughs lightly and Rhett nods, sitting up enough to pulls everything off. Once his cumbersome clothing is removed, he looks to Link again, his gaze full of wonder, “Yeah. I mean…you’re just-?”

Rhett licks his lips and swallows, his eyes darting away for a moment as he whispers, “You’re so…pretty.”

“Aw, shucks,” Link waves a hand before going to take his underwear off, “Bet you say that to all the guys.”

“I don’t,” Rhett intones with such severity that Link’s hands freeze on the elastic waistband of his underwear. Rhett’s looking at him now. Staring at him and Link feels all the tiny hairs on his body stand on end as Rhett speaks, “You’re…you’re beautiful, Link.”

Am I? Link wants to ask; but feels ridiculous at the prospect. He toys with repeating the sentiment – because (of course) Rhett is beautiful too. But there’s something about the way Rhett said it, about the way he’s looking at him, that keeps Link’s mouth closed. Keeps it closed as he finally removes his underwear and somehow that’s what breaks the serious tension between them, Rhett’s eyes going wide, “Oh.”

“What?” Link asks and he looks down and then back up again, confused.

“That’s…” Rhett runs a hand over his jaw, “That’s…a big dick.”

The shocked, delighted laugh that breaks out of Link is surprisingly loud but Rhett just sits up more, grinning, “No, I’m serious, man. You could make a lotta money in the biz with that thing.”

“I could?”

“Yeah. Big market in the big dick department.”

“…so what I wrote in the script was accurate?” Link waggles his eyebrows, shooting him a gloating look even as Rhett sighs in defeat, “Well-? Yeah? Yeah, I guess so…”

Link lets out a little ‘woo hoo!’ and it’s hard for Rhett not to chuck a pillow at him and call this whole thing off. Not that he ever would, smiling as he is. Smiling and chewing on his bottom lip as words rumble out from deep within his chest, “But do you know how to use it?”

Link goes over towards the nearby dresser and, far more smoothly than he even imagined, he draws out a tiny bottle of lube. He quickly coats one hand before tossing the bottle near Rhett and, making sure to keep eye contact, he takes a good grip on himself. His words come out in a pleasured hiss as he strokes himself, his length growing wet and slick, “You’re about to find out.”

The visible shudder that moves though Rhett makes Link have to tighten his hold, because it wouldn’t do to cum from just that. It’s hard though. Not to lose himself at the mere sight of Rhett’s sheer arousal. Still, he manages as his eyelids grow heavy, his voice thick with emotion as he murmurs, “Go one then, Rhett. Get ready.”

“…ready?”

Link nods and his chin juts towards the direction where he tossed the lube, the tiny bottle resting against Rhett’s left hipbone, “Ready for Daddy’s big dick.”

A strangled sound erupts from Rhett and Link knows it’s not a laugh. It’s something much more lascivious as Rhett takes the bottle and begins to coat his fingers. He lies back and parts his legs and Link just keeps talking, “That’s it. That’s a good boy. Draw your knees up…”

“Fuck, Link…” Rhett openly moans and does as instructed. He pulls his knees up and it makes himself more compact, smaller, and he arches his hips, makes sure to put himself on full display as his fingers drop to his entrance. He eases one finger in past the tight ring of muscle, then another, and Link keeps speaking, even as he continues to jack himself (the sound of his hand on his flesh bordering on obscene) as he speaks, “That’s it. Get yourself nice and open for me.”

“Link…”

“You’re so tiny, baby. Gotta make room for me.”

The tight mewl of pleasure that leaves Rhett at that, the way his hard cock stirs against his belly, the wet tip smearing the skin there as he does as Link asks, makes it difficult for Link to continue. He’s panting now and there’s not enough air and he needs to get in. He needs to take Rhett before he loses himself to all the sensory stimulation going on around him.

He kneels on the bed, making the mattress dip and Rhett’s fingers lose their rhythm. He slowly withdraws his fingers, a noise of discontentment leaving him but Link just shushes him, kisses him, before he grabs the nearby throw pillows.

They work together to adjust them beneath the curve of Rhett’s spine, making it more comfortable for him to lift his legs higher, the tops of his thighs pressing back lightly against his body. Link doesn’t want Rhett turned into a pretzel for them to fuck properly, for them to face one another – that won’t look good on camera.

Link’s not one of those driven by the sight of two lumped up forms – bodies a heaving, tangled mass while they work away at one another. Same goes for up close, zoomed in shots of their bodies making a connection. While pleasing in the moment and certainly something he likes to see in the throes of passion, it’s never been something he’s enjoyed in adult films.

Granted, it’s not like he can zoom in with the camera now, so that’s not something he has to worry about exactly, but the fact remains – the two things are not something he wants captured on film. He wants their movie to fulfill his tastes. In reflection, he should have asked for Rhett’s tastes as well, what he would have liked to see, but then he feels fingers pinch at one of his nipples and yelps.

“What was that for?!”

“You’re distracted,” Rhett hisses, squirming beneath him, “Distracted instead of fuckin’ me!”

“I was thinking…” Link looks to the camera and then to Rhett and then back again. Rhett’s head knocks back against the bed on a sigh, “Link, please don’t go all directorial on me now...”

Link lets out a pleased little chuckle, “Lil’ impatient?”

“Ain’t nothing little about me.”

“I beg to differ,” Link growls and he kisses Rhett, buries his hands in all his glorious hair and then – thankfully – he pulls back enough to take a good hold of himself, to direct himself in. Rhett chokes out a sound that is the perfect cross between pain and pleasure and Link glows, “Yeah, see that? You’re so small and tight, sweetheart. I don’t even know if you can fit all of me.”

The cords on Rhett’s neck stand out as he tosses his head back, whimpering as Link spears him open, as he cries, “Jesus, Link.”

“Yes?” Link asks in a strained voice, but one that is light with enjoyment. Because he knows. He knows that – if anything – there’s nothing little about him. And Rhett is recognizing that now. Recognizing that Link is big and thick and filling him up quite nicely. His body is doing its best to stretch, to be accommodating, but it’s hard.

As hard as Rhett’s own dick, which he reaches for, giving it one swift, firm stroke before Link lets out a snarl of disapproval. He snatches back Rhett’s hand, presses it hard back against the mattress with a light, chastising ‘nuh-uh-uh’ and Rhett lets out a tight whine because no. He needs more, he has to have it, and then Link moves.

And this is very much the definition of movement.

Link’s hips work like a well-oiled machine, his length beginning a steady pistoning in and out, and Rhett’s hands can’t help themselves, fleeing to Link’s ass, needing to hold on to something – anything. He grabs it hard – fingers digging in and pressing him down, pressing him deeper, and Link answers with a curse, Rhett’s name following after as he picks up the pace and it’s clear neither of them is going to last long.

Their lips lock and unlock in filthy, wet kisses – their damp foreheads pressing together now and then when they have to draw back for air and just breathe. But they share oxygen between the pants, the bed beneath the shaking slightly – shaking like their limbs and Link’s mouth moves to Rhett’s ear, brushing against it as he whispers, “That’s it. That’s my good boy.”

Rhett sobs and Link kisses his earlobe, gasping, “You going to cum from my big dick alone? You going to do that for Daddy?”

Another tight sound winds its way out of Rhett’s throat and his body is growing rigid even as it trembles and Link can feel him squeezing around him, can feel how close he is. The pressure is fantastic, yet link can’t help himself, can’t help but kiss Rhett’s cheek, can’t help but meet his eyes as he asks, “Tell me…”

“Yesssss,” Rhett hisses and Link presses for it, “Yes, what?”

“Yes!” Rhett pants, his head nodding, “Yes, Da-!”

He doesn’t finish saying it. The word ‘Daddy’ gets lost, becoming a pure, jubilant shout as his body breaks apart, his climax washing over him like a warm, sweet cascade. The feel of it – of Rhett breaking apart beneath him – the sight of him losing control – sends Link over and he cums harder than he ever has.

His body loses complete control, snapping like a rubber band pulled too tight and he knows he goes a little crazy – his body jack hammering away with the kind of force he would normally abhor, but – what can he do? Rhett feels so perfect around him.

Link’s lost – swept up in the storm of Rhett’s release and his own and Link can feel starkly hot, wet spurts against his stomach and his own body is going much the same within Rhett. The collide against one another, again and again, until all the stings of pleasure are wrung out of each of them. They end up a sweaty heap until Link rolls off and looks up at the ceiling, eyes wide, “Wow.”

The word comes out winded. Impressed. Rhett responds much the same. They both stare up at the ceiling and Link knows the camera is still recording, but he could honestly care less. He feels weightless, buoyant, and just as he thinks he might float up and out of his body. Rhett sighs, “I need a new job.”

Link frowns, eyebrows knitting together, and he turns to Rhett, confused, “What?”

Rhett doesn’t look at him, eyes still glues upwards, as he exhales, “Need a new job, man.”

“…why?”

Rhett turns to him and his green gaze is unbelievably soft, “Told you. I said I’d always planned on getting out when I met someone.”

Link doesn’t speak, he just waits. Waits for Rhett to make him one of the happiest men on planet earth, as he says, “And I met you.”

“Yeah?” Link asks shyly, uncertainly and at Rhett’s nod, he smiles, licking his lips, “You saying you like me?”

“Shit, bo, “Rhett laughs, “think it’s pretty obvious I do more’n just like you.”

“Oh?” Link’s heart twirls up inside him and truthfully? This? This is even better than the world shattering sex they just had. More so when Rhett rolls to one side and, looking deep into Link’s eyes, confesses, “Yeah. I love you, Link.”

I love you, Link.

Link rolls on to his side, kisses Rhett, and – finally – gets to say something he’s been thinking for a very long time, “I love you too.”

+

The film they made is raw, messy, and the best film Rhett thinks he’s ever made.

Link points out it didn’t win any awards, but Rhett boasts that Link IS the reward and honestly, Link will take that. He’ll take that and then some. Rhett drops out of the business; Link continues with school – they transition fully from roommates to friends to lovers and both recognize that this movement in their lives is far better than any other kind of movement.

Because it’s one they’re sharing together.

[shitty-check-please-aus]

Please tell me the plots and songs of the glee episode I need to know

Ok so going in I want to note that I turned off the TV and abandoned Glee when Sarah Jessica Parker showed up because it was a bridge too far, so it’s more of “if Hamilton had come out earlier” than “if Glee had kept going.” I would also like to note that many of these plot points are in very poor taste and problematic, because a lot of Glee was in very poor taste and problematic. I’m not trying to outline a good version of a Hamilton Glee episode, I’m trying to outline a realistic version.

Also this got to a point where it’s so long that it needs a readmore. So if you don’t care you can just scroll on by.

So the A plot is obviously Rachel Berry being pissed off at the Hamilton rules that the main cast be played people of color except for King George, because she would rather die than be out of the spotlight for an hour. Rachel is a terrible person and exactly the kind of terrible person who would be mad at this. She would also be terrible at rapping. A very ripped from the (broadway) headlines conflict, there were a lot of white people in 2016 who were very mad about having one show where they couldn’t audition for the lead roles. 

They’re learning about the Revolutionary War in history class and there’s some BS reason that they need to sing songs about history. They’re doing Hamilton instead of 1776 because it’s more hip. Anyways there’s a half-assed debate over whether they’ll follow the same rules as the real show for their production, we have some snappy but stupid dialogue of Kurt asking if being gay counts as being a poc, they decide they will follow the Hamilton guidelines, and Mr. Schue stands up to Rachel for once and says she can’t sing a main song and has to do ensemble, even though she starts to sing a few bars of “Burn” in the middle of class, which is interrupted by the bell. We all know they won’t sing the actual songs but instead a mashup, but it’s decided that the parts of the songs will be doled out appropriately.

Because of this we have our first actual song, which is Rachel performing “Nonstop” in the hallways of McKinley High. It is not good. It is one where if you downloaded the Glee cast album, you would skip it. We have several versions of her in different costumes doing all the roles. It’s too much. She has her hair in a ponytail and a fake goatee to look like Lin Manuel Miranda. 

Now in our B plot, Santana and Brittany broke up for some reason. What reason? Doesn’t matter. It’s always Kurt and Blaine or Santana and Brittany breaking up, and I want more Santana solos than Kurt falsetto. Santana is upset about this, and we get an actually awesome version of “Satisfied” as she watches Brittany flirt with someone new. This would be a good enough cover that you would definitely download it.

Back to the A plot. Mercedes, Mike, Unique, Blaine (if Glee acknowledged that Darren Criss is Filipino, I can’t remember if they did or not), and Tina (Santana maybe, she could be somewhere else if needed) are getting annoyed with Rachel for being, well, Rachel, and they channel those feelings into a really good cover of “Burn” mashed up with “My Shot” (”I hope that you buuurn-” “I am not throwing away my shot!”). Rachel overhears this and takes it extremely personally. She runs to have a breakdown in the bathroom. You would download this song as well, it would slap.

In the bathroom, Rachel sings “Hurricane.” The song ends with a toilet flushing, symbolizing the hurricane.

Then Brittany walks in to the bathroom with the B Plot and tries to say something kind of nice because she’s not a totally shitty person and will not be a dick to a crying person when Santana walks in. She yells at Rachel for like 2 minutes for talking to Brittany and also for making everything about herself. The camera frames this in a way where we understand that we’re supposed to feel bad for Rachel. The insults are the funniest part of the episode because Naya Rivera was excellent, may she rest in peace. 

They all realize that they need to work together if they want to do this performance right (is it a singing competition? a fundraiser? It does not matter) and we get an ensemble performance of “Guns and Ships” as they get ready and make up.

Our A plot is resolved with whichever guy they had doing the King George part getting food poisoning, it really doesn’t matter who, and Rachel gets to do those parts, which end up taking up way more of the mashup than they deserve to and teaching her nothing. The final number is basically The Hamilton Polka but without the joking noises. If Weird Al had less money they’d copy it straight up, like they did with the Jonathan Coulton version of Baby Got Back.

Now there may be some more songs in there to bulk up the episode but not really add to the plot (Sue Sylvester and Mr. Schue doing “The Farmer Refuted” in the principal’s office could be good),  but these are the main ones. If we could somehow get Mercedes, Tina, and Santana to do “The Schuyler Sisters” that would also be excellent but I can’t quite figure out where it would go. I also can’t find a good place for “Say No to This,” I think it could be either something with Quinn or Mr. Schue being incredibly inappropriate with a student. Maybe with Miss Pillsbury if it’s at a point where that’s a thing? It would be incredibly awkward to see two white kids in Ohio say “Immigrants- We get the job done” but it would happen and there would be essays about it online.

Also if they can afford him, Lin Manuel Miranda has a guest spot as a history teacher. Following the precedent of Idina Menzel and Kristen Chenoweth, they do not acknowledge his part in Hamilton. Jonathan Groff has a prior filming commitment and doesn’t appear in spite of being the original King George.