#someone needs to make an album of all his stuff names

[k-kaez]

another one from joel

[evanpetersmybf]

Be mine?

Tate Langdon x female!reader

Summary: Meeting you was his destiny. He had to make you his so he could feel alive... It was meant to be.

Genre: Smut.

Word count: 3,172

Warnings: Virgin and inexperienced reader, mentions of bullying, self-harm (just once and is nothing detailed), obsessive and stalkish behavior, swearing, cunnilingus, fingering, unprotected p in v and cumshot.

A/N: English isn't my first language and this is my first time writing smut, so sorry if it sucks or if I have grammatical mistakes or something TT. Btw, also sorry if Tate's out of character. Anyways, hope you enjoy it!

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ཐི ♡ ཋྀ

Tate had another bad day. It was the usual. Bullying, failed tests, the teacher humiliating him after he couldn’t solve a simple equation on the chalkboard, his mother scolding him. Nothing seemed new, and it seemed that nothing wasn’t going to change at any point.

He needed something, a reason to live, something to make him feel alive. Because he was dead. Dead in life, which in his own opinion, was even worse than being a rotten corpse.

He headed to the music store after secretly stealing some of his mom’s money, just a few bucks; the enough amount to buy a vinyl or some CD’s. Tate was sort of a music elitist, always believing that the artists nowadays just created pure, hollow, and trashy songs. In fact, he didn’t believe those could even be considered music.

Walking around the nearly empty store, rummaging through the shelves filled with Nirvana vinyl’s, someone bumped into him.

“Oh, sorry.” You spoke, after accidentally taking too many steps back and bumping into Tate’s behinds.

He frowned, somewhat annoyed at you for disturbing his moment of peace. The blonde turned around to look at who it was, scanning your body from head to toe, taking note of your appearance. Then, his dark eyes drifted to the sign that was on top the shelf, which indicated the musical genre of the records that were on that rack. Alternative pop. His gaze went to the album you were hugging to yourself.

“Cry Baby? What type of crap is that?”

“Huh, excuse me?”

“Never mind, you won’t understand.” Tate talked in such a volatile and rude manner, already feeling superior because of his likes.

You arched an eyebrow. What was his problem? You did nothing to him and yet he was here, judging your amazing music taste.

“Well, people’s free to like whatever they want to, hmm?”

“Uh, yeah, but what’s the point of that if everything is so generic?”

“Have you ever listened to Melanie Martinez at least once?”

He shook his head no, still scowling, now fidgeting with a ring that was on one of his fingers.

“Have you listened to Nirvana?”

“Just like… Two songs?”

“Don’t tell me. Smells Like Teen Spirit?”

“Guilty.”

Tate rolled his eyes. What was going on with this generation? What happened to good music, to the greatest artists? Why was everyone just listening to trash?

After sharing your names and a few more words, debating about who was right and who wasn’t, you placed one of your hands over his right shoulder, as an attempt to stop his rant of how superior he was. And indeed, it worked. The teen stopped venting and stared at you, all confused and a bit uncomfortable. You noticed it and quickly stepped back, apologizing for touching him without permission. He told you it was okay, that you just surprised him. But deep down, that simple yet complex touch meant a lot to Tate, even if it was absolutely nothing to you.

For the first time he felt something more than sorrow.

“So… What do you think of this? I’ll make you listen to some songs by Melanie and other artists, and I’ll listen to your beloved beautiful grunge music.” You said those last words in a mocking way.

Tate huffed, clearly offended by the way you referred to his taste. Nevertheless, in the end he agreed with you.

After paying the stuff you two picked, both of you went to Tate’s place. As you walked next to him, your fingers brushed his, making his cheeks turn a light shade of red and his heart flutter. He felt dizzy, not sure about what was going on.

In his house, he took you to his room. The boy didn’t want his mother to see you, otherwise she’d be too nosy and probably scare you and push you away from him, and that was the last thing he wanted.

“Get comfy.” He mused, extending his hand as if inviting you to take a seat wherever you feel to.

“Thanks.” You sat on the floor, using one of the sides of the bed as a support for your back. He did the same and sat right next to you.

He was nervous. So damn nervous and excited. He brought a pretty chick to his place. The Tate Langdon, the outcast, the bullied, that Tate Langdon was in the same room with a girl? He couldn’t believe it.

“Ladies first.” Tate pointed the record-player with his thumb, and you obeyed, placing the CD in it. The music started playing.

“We could’ve used Spotify, y’know?”

“Nah, I don’t like it. I prefer the old school.”

‘Cry Baby’ was the first track that was listened to.

He squinted his eyes and rubbed his chin, analyzing the sounds, the melody, the harmony and of course the lyrics.

Although it wasn’t his style, you definitely were. The way you looked, talked, walked. How you stood up for your beliefs and didn’t allow him to step on you (even if you just discussed about music). It was new for him. He craved your independence. He craved you.

That was the very moment when he realized that you were the thing he was looking for all his life. You were the one who was meant to be his, he was meant to be yours. It was destiny. Tate truly believed it was some kind of divine prophecy, and he wasn’t going to let you go.

He was so immersed in his mind that he didn’t pay attention to the song anymore. He was solely focused on you, remembering how warm and kind your touch was, how sweet your voice was. ‘Oh, she’s mine’, he thought.

“So… That was the first track. Its name’s Cry Baby. Did you like it?”

Tate snapped out of it and bit his bottom lip. He didn’t listen to your question.

“I’m sorry, what did you?—”

“Did you like the song?”

“Ah, yeah yeah. It’s quite… Innovative. I’ve never heard something like that.”

You smiled and clapped your hands. “Of course! She’s such a genius. Let’s finish the album, hm?”

He just nodded, as a little smirk appeared on his face.

The days flew by, and Tate asked you out on many friendly dates. Or at least that’s what you thought because you were so oblivious at the fact that he had a fat crush on you.

With every hang out, you noticed that Tate was lonely. Like, really lonely. Maybe that’s why he was so clingy with you.

He told you about his family, about how annoying Constance was, about his siblings and about how his father left him behind. He also mentioned the bullying he suffered and almost talked about the self-harm but stopped himself.

Both of you grew closer, as his obsession.

Since you went to a different school, he would skip class and infiltrate your campus just to see you. He couldn’t stand being away from you. And if he did, his mind was full of you, thinking of you all day, unable to focus on his homework and tests. Tate didn’t care anymore if he failed subjects, as long as you were next to him, he was happy and alive.

The void he once felt, was now fulfilled with your mere presence. You could step on him, and he would thank you. In his twisted little mind, you were free to have everything of him.

He was willing to do anything to keep you by his side. The thought of losing was so terrifying that it would make him throw up.

Tate learned every single detail about you. Your mannerisms, your likes and dislikes, your dreams, and your fears. Everything. And that includes your schedule since you wake up, and since you go to sleep.

That was his definition of love. No one ever taught him about how to express it, and he ended up being the way he was with you.

One day he invited you over to his place. The Langdon's house was empty, and he was going to take advantage of it. No doubt.

“Your mom isn’t home?” You questioned as you followed him behind, going upstairs straight to his bedroom. Little did you know this wasn’t going to be another afternoon of playing board games while listening to some music.

“Nah, dunno where she went but she won’t be back any time soon.” He shrugged and let you inside of his private space,

You went to lay down on bed, feeling relief in your aching back after a long day at school. “Damn, I need some rest!”

Tate chuckled softly and sat on the edge, looking at you as you closed your eyes and tried to relax. He was focused on your steady and calm breathing, on how your breasts went up and down with every inhalation and exhalation. His eyes stared at your lips, at how kissable they looked. He felt a sudden desire, the intense urge to make you his. Feeling conflicted, he shook his head and tried to distract himself, pretending to ignore how aroused he was getting.

He wasn’t going to say it out loud, but of course he already had some wet dreams of you. He imagined you beneath him, your precious body shivering and responding to his touch, to his kisses. Your cunt wet and ready for him, just how he wanted to.

“Y/N…” Tate cooed, unable to hold back any longer.

“Yeah?” You opened one of your eyes and spotted him, sitting on the bed with his fists clenched over his thighs, while his breathing looked kinda rapid. “You ‘kay?”

“No.”

“Uh? What’s wrong?” You reincorporated and sat straight beside his warm figure. Your right hand touched his left, rubbing it up and down with your thumb.

Tate shoved you to the bed, pinning your arms above your head and holding them tight.

His breathing pattern was no longer normal. It was a heavy one.

His dark brown eyes locked with yours. Your orbs were wide, not understanding what the hell was going on. Or maybe you did but were in denial.

“Please. I want you.” He purred, seeing you with puppy eyes, the ones he knew you couldn’t resist.

“Hahah, you funny.”

He let out a frustrated whine, almost begging on his knees for you to get the hint.

“I’m not kidding. Pretty please. I need you.”

“Do you mean…?” You raised your head a few centimeters to look at his crotch in order to confirm your suspicions. Your cheeks had a cute blush as soon as you noticed Tate’s erection restrained by his jeans. It looked painful, and it actually was.

“Yes. I want to. Please, I truly need it. Please, please, please?” His voice was shaky and low, a needy desperate whisper. “Can I?”

This wasn’t what you expected for today. You saw Tate as a best friend, but you couldn’t deny he was handsome… And that he already provoked butterflies in your stomach before.

Hesitantly, you gave a shy nod with your head, giving him consent to continue. “But Tate… I’ve never done this before, I dunno what to do, I—” You trailed off, being cut off mid-sentence when Tate placed his lips over yours. The kiss was slow and tender, not rough at all. Your bottom lip was between his, as he nibbled it with extreme care to not hurt you.

After some seconds, he pulled apart and led his hand towards the side of your face, brushing some hairs away. “Don’t ya worry, princess. Leave it all to me, hm? I’ll be gentle. Unless you don’t want me to.” With that being said, he leaned into your neck, pressing his mouth on your sensitive flesh. He left sweet kisses, making you hum as you melted under him.

His lips continued to tease your skin, leaving some little bites between every kiss, trailing down to your collarbone. Tate stopped there and helped you get rid of your blouse, tossing it aside and continued his journey, this time kissing your sternum while his right hand cupped one of your breasts, kneading it gently over the fabric of your bra. He pulled down the straps and took off the piece of lingerie, setting your tits free.

The cold air hit you and your nipples perked up, looking ravishing and making him desire you even more.

He introduced one of the hardened buds into his warm mouth, sucking it greedily and making lewd wet sounds as he did so. His left rubbed the other nipple in circles, taking it with his thumb and index, pulling it and pinching it.

“Hmph… Huh…” You let out soft whimpers, slightly arching your back meanwhile he abused your breasts.

Tate stopped after some minutes, letting go of your nipple and looking at you, grabbing your chin and tilting your head to the side. He approached your ear and whispered, “You like this?”

“Yes…” You begged. Your voice was already ragged and shaky.

Instinctively, you pressed your thighs together, rubbing them as a pathetic try to feel some relief. Tate realized it and spread your legs with one of his hands. He took his digits right to your clothed pussy, eagerly rubbing the spot where your clit was.

“Someone’s already wet? Cute.” He giggled and took off his striped sweater, throwing it away. He positioned himself between your limbs and pulled down your pants, mesmerized as he saw your damp panties. Tate continued rubbing your bundle of nerves over the fabric of your underwear, still fascinated at how humid you were.

This was the moment he had been waiting for the past weeks. He wasn’t going to need to jerk off to your photos anymore, because now he would be able to jerk off to your tits in person.

Tate removed the last barrier that was stopping him from touching your womanhood directly. He pulled them down to your ankles and you helped him to get rid of it by shaking your feet.

He got closer to your cunt and placed your legs over his shoulder, spreading your folds with two of his large digits, blowing some air at the sensitive meat. Finally, he started sucking on your swollen clitoris, enjoying the feeling of your dampness against his face.

“Mmh…” He moaned, still toying with the nub. You grabbed him by the hair, not thinking about what you were doing. You just let yourself go and pulled him closer to your pussy, wanting to feel more. Your body twitched, unconsciously bucking your hips against his mouth that was currently making slurping sounds.

His attention changed and was now on your slit, teasing just the entrance with his hot tongue, while his nose rubbed against your clit. He lapped your pretty cunt, savoring your juices as if they were a delicacy.

Looking at your adorable face contorting in pleasure, he introduced his ring finger into your wet, tight hole. It was a slow and kind movement because the last thing he wanted was to hurt you. He slipped it deeper, pumping it in and out with care, increasing speed after a few seconds once he saw you comfortable. “Tell me if it hurts…”

“Mhm… It feels nice. Huh…” Your melodic whimpers and moans were just too much for him. He could listen to you for the rest of his days and never get tired of you.

Without further ado, he introduced his middle finger, now finger-fucking you with two. Tate’s thumb was also working wonders on your lil’ bundle of nerves in circular motion.

She was clenching around Tate’s large fingers, that he curled inside of her, hitting the right spot to make you squirm and feel a new and foreign sensation in your lower belly.

“Fuck it, I can’t wait anymore.”

He undid his belt, unzipped his pants and pulled down his boxers, quickly getting rid of them and letting them fall to the wooden floor.

You just stared in awe; it was the first time you saw one in real life.

Tate grabbed his hardened cock and stroked it a few times on top of you, finding amusing your silly reaction. The reddish tip was glistening with pre-cum, which he used as lube. He spat at your pussy and rubbed his slick saliva with two digits, before finally thrusting his dick.

He did it slowly, beginning with the head. Eventually, he pushed his entire length, hitting your cervix and stretching you out for the first time.

“Fuck, you’re so tight!” Even if he was taking the lead, he was a whiny mess, vocal and loud.

He continued pounding into you, his gaze never leaving your face. Tate loved how you rolled your eyes to the back of your head and how your little mouth was letting out such nasty sounds.

The room was filled with slapping and wet sounds, created by his skin slapping against yours, his balls always hitting you with every stab. Again, he placed your legs on his wide shoulders to have a better angle and pump into you deeper than before.

His big veiny hands were roaming all over your body, specifically your breasts. Within minutes, he developed an addiction to them. Probably because of his mommy issues? He grabbed them roughly, tweaking both of your nipples as he fucked you mercilessly.

Tate lolled his head as he felt your hole gripping him tight. Very tight.

He increased the pace and moaned your name, begging you to squeeze him tighter.

“Oh, please, please, please!” The blonde kept whining. He left one of his hands taking care of your nipples, while the other went back to torture your clit. He stroked it in circles, and then up and down, applying the enough amount of pressure to make you beg for more.

“Tate, I feel like I’m—”

“It’s okay, let it go, mhm?”

You couldn’t hold yourself any longer and squirted all over him, coating his lower body with your warm fluids.

“Oh, oh, oh, oh, gonna cum!” Tate pulled out from your cunt and pumped his cock with his hand finishing with a loud moan. His hot sticky white cum coated your breasts and abdomen, creating an incredible sight that he always imagined.

All spent, Tate threw himself next to you on the bed, pulling a blanket to cover both of you as he filled your pretty face in candy pecks.

“Did it hurt? First time usually does.” He looked at you, concerned for your wellbeing. “I was too rough?”

You laughed and shook your head no, caressing his messy locks with your fingers, tenderly scratching his scalp. “Don’t worry, I’m fine, really.”

Tate smiled at you and kissed you on the lips, “You’re so pretty, Y/N.”

You hugged him from behind, him being the little spoon this time. Your mind was going wild; you were still processing what happened and was about to drift to sleep when he whispered.

“Y/N…?”

“Mh, what is it, Tate?”

“I love you… Please be mine?”

[xinganhao]

💘 fake dating seungkwan.

☆ Breaking: SEVENTEEN's Seungkwan Confirms He's In A Relationship [BREAKING] 30m ago

Boo Seungkwan of SEVENTEEN confirms that he's currently dating someone. This comes on the heels of Dispatch reports that Seungkwan is involved in a romantic relationship with an actress.

Seungkwan's agency, Pledis Entertainment, has confirmed the idol's relationship status. "Seungkwan is seeing someone with positive feelings," the agency says in a statement. "We hope that you will look warmly upon their relationship."

Congratulations to the couple!

Listen to SEVENTEEN's newest mini album 'SPILL THE FEELS' here.

COMMENTS • 204 COMMENTS

r/kpop • 3d ago donquix0tes

'Fake dating' contracts?

i swear i'm not just in denial about bsk's dating news (LOL) but i heard rumors that 'fake dating' exists in the industry, especially between actors/actresses - idols??? they said it's this whole underground thing so the actors get more traction, the idols get more streams. is this real or is it just stuff you see in fanfics 😂 i'm asking because i can be a bit gullible lmfao

↑ 30 ↓ 🗨 12 ↷ Share

Contract No. 052615PROFESSIONAL SERVICES AGREEMENT

THIS AGREEMENT made and entered into this 28th day of SEPTEMBER 2024 by and between BOO SEUNGKWAN, hereinafter called IDOL, and [YOUR NAME], hereinafter called ACTRESS for a FAKE DATING ENGAGEMENT.

A. IDOL and ACTRESS agree to engage in a fake relationship for the intents and purposes specified under I: RATIONALE, which by this reference is incorporated herein.

B. This Agreement shall take effect on OCTOBER 28, 2024; contingent upon prior approval to the agencies of IDOL and ACTRESS. The Agreement shall end on MARCH 31, 2025, unless earlier terminated or extended by contract amendment.

C. IDOL/ACTRESS may terminate this Agreement for its convenience any time, in whole or part, by giving the opposing party fourteen-day (14-day) written notice thereof.

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seungkwan updates @boosadanfiles seungkwan at the recent christian louboutin event 🥹 in the caption of the post, he said @yourusername was his date! 🗨 191 ⟳ 1.8K ♡ 5.9K

´◡` ꗃ @yourusername lucky to be doing this with a friend. you make it easy, @hit_thekwan. — Jeju-do, South Korea 🗨 1 ♡ 3

🍊 ꗃ @hit_thekwan Replying to @yourusername we still have three more months 😆 don't give up on me yet

From: Boo Seungkwan <boo.seungkwan98@gmail.com> To: You <yourname@gmail.com> Date: March 31, 2025 Subject: so..?

this e-mail is being written right after my meeting with my company, but right before i text you lol. i'm going to schedule send this for the end of our contract so this is actually going to be a letter from seungkwan of the past 👻 don't be spooked! hehe

jokes set aside, i don't know what the next couple of months will look like. i understand why this is being done. you need the publicity for your drama... we have our cb... bla bla bla. it's all the usual stuff in this godforsaken industry

honestly, when i first got approached with the idea of faking a relationship for the group's benefit, i was 10000% ready to say no. but. i found out who it was going to be

and i just thought, like, okay. we already know each other. we're friends! and i guess i just wanted to make sure things would be easy for you, too. bc you deserve someone who will understand you, who will help you and be there for you through something hellish as this

so here's some promises i'll make you, even though you won't see them until much later lololol: i promise to be THE best fake boyfriend there is!!! i'll be cooperative, i'll play the part. i'll try to make sure this arrangement doesn't feel like work (even though it is), and when it's too much, we can run away to jeju for a weekend (just kidding) (or am i?)

by the time you get this, you'll know whether i got to do all that lol. make sure to hold me accountable ok!!! if i wasn't a good fake boyfriend, then show me this and i'll get you a meal, your choice. if i was a good fake boyfriend... well, that was the goal ��

i feel like this is already getting super long, so i'll end it now. i'm going to text you to see what you think of the arrangement. hopefully, you're fine with it, or else this would all just be a waste of writing lol. see you, fake girlfriend :)

forever yours, your bf-to-be seungkwan 🍊

p.s. this is the embarrassing part so i'm burying it in the very bottom 🤷 but i also hope that this whole thing will give me the courage to say what i really want to, which is something like

p.s.s. they didn't have to contract me to date you. i would've done it on my own accord. i would've done it for free.

p.s.s.s. i was ready to do all of it, only because it's you

[mockerycrow]

Emergency Contact (1/2) (Ghost x GN!Reader)

>> emergency contact concept here << PART TWO HERE!!

Summary: Simon is your roommate, and you haven’t seen each other in months, considering Simon’s job. An unfamiliar number pops up on Simon’s phone, and answering it makes his world turn upside down.

A/N: How you two moved in together is very vaguely inspired this ghost fic right here. please give it a read! If you finish the song above, I highly recommend listening to the entire album while reading. i’m not the happiest with this, but i’m happy enough to post!

[WARNINGS: Blood and injury, traumatic events/trauma brought up, gore, little comfort, medical inaccuracies, tbh ooc simon but it’s ok.]

Eight months, thirteen days, and nine hours. That’s how long it’s been since he’s been home, since he’s seen you. That’s how long he’s been stuck on base, or thrown into a foreign country to complete some mission, or to gather some intel, or to kill someone, just somewhere, anywhere but with you.

Eight months, thirteen days, and nine hours. That’s how long it’s been since you softly asked him to stay as safe as he can, and to come back alive, and to come back with at least eight fingers. It was a running joke between you two, a way to relieve the terrifying reality of his job; as long as Simon came home alive and with majority of his fingers, he could consider it a job well done. You didn’t know much of his job, of course—only that he’s military, and he’s gone a lot. You already guessed it was a lot of classified stuff, probably down top secret government type of things. That did make you scared, though. You didn’t want the day to come, the day where people in fancy uniforms show up at your doorstep like you’re some widow. The thought of someone informing you of Simon’s death makes your stomach twist.

Eight months is admittedly a long time. Simon.. he missed you, but he’s rather die that verbally admit it, but he sure as hell felt it. He missed the way he could hear you walk through the house, the weight of the floorboards creaking up your feet. Simon missed walking by the bathroom and the air vaguely smelled your shampoo and body wash, a clear indicator you had just taken a shower. Simon missed the way you carelessly have your shoes next to the shoe rack, not even on it, and despite his annoyance of your laziness? He misses it every single time he’s away. He never really realizes the difference of living on base versus being home with you, and he’s comfortable in both environments for completely different reasons. Simon is comfortable with you because you’re safe, you aren’t associated with anyone he has to deal with on a near daily basis. You don’t scan the kitchen to see which household items could be potential bombs in the vicinity like he does. On base, Simon finds comfort in the familiarity of being constantly on alert, the need for a gun to be against his hip—it’s not the best, considering he’s in fight mode majority of the time, but it’s comforting. It’s familiar. It’s.. home, in a way.

You and Simon call at least once every three weeks—it’s not more because you’re both busy, you have your life to tend to while he has to do something like protecting an American Embassy, or sneaking into a compound to retrieve some vital information. You two talk about all kinds of things; you complain about the neighbors for the nth time, or you talk about your job, just something that he hasn’t heard about in a while. Simon.. he’s limited on what he can talk about—what he wants to talk about. It’s a bit difficult, keeping details of his job hidden away from you. He also keeps you hidden away from them; his team. Price vaguely is aware of your existence, but all he knows is your name and your phone number—someone to alert when he eventually would pass away.

It surprised Price when he requested access to his own file to make a change. Simon went for years without anyone in that section, leaving it blank—and then suddenly ‘[Name] [Last Name]’ is written down, along with your phone number. Simon doesn’t want to die somewhere and then you sit at home, dreading the fact that you haven’t received a call from him for over six months. Other than that, no one is aware of your existence and he wants to keep it that way. It keeps you safe, and he doesn’t want the one thing he has going in his life to be taken away from him—not like everything else has been.

No, you and Simon aren’t together. You just are the one constant he cannot allow to die. How you and Simon became close was rather funny, really—before you were roommates, you bumped into each other at the local stores, the bank, even several public spaces like parks and such. You didn’t see him too often and you weren’t aware on why, but you didn’t really wonder why either. By this point, you knew each other for a couple of months. He introduced himself as SR—not Ghost or Simon, but as SR. You didn’t bother to question it because this tall, bulky man seemed like he was trying keep himself as anonymous as possible. Without fail, you always saw him wear dark colored clothing that hid any identifiable markings—tattoos and scars, that kind of thing. He usually has his hood up with a black face mask covering his nose down, but you do know one thing—he has to have bright blonde hair. Why else would his beautiful eyelashes and eyebrows be that bright? It would catch your eye every time you’d see them. Sometimes you would see him with a beanie on and the mask, with his hood down. This wasn’t too often, as it exposed some scarring he has on the back of his neck, as well as his forehead. This also silently lead you to believe he has a tough past of some sort, which is confirmed when you run into him somewhere you never expected to—your therapist’s building. You bumped into him right outside, and you apologized profusely before looking and going silent as you made eye contact.

A silent agreement was made between you two that day, one that you could never put into words. Something in that moment that dragged you two closer together. You had been through some shit in your life, shit that had permanent effect on you, shit that you wanted to work through. It was horribly tiring, but you knew you needed to work through it—so you could live a life you felt was worth living. Simon, was on the other side of the spectrum. He didn’t want this. He never wanted to tell anyone about anything, but Price, Price fucking made him. Simon spends his days and nights plagued with nightmares and memories—he’s woken up in the middle of the night enough times to know that he needs help, but he was so adamant about not talking to anyone about it. But seeing you there? Someone who he hasn’t known for long, someone who had always greeted him with a smile on your face, laughter spilling from your beautiful vocal cords, and someone who doesn’t touch him without permission? It made him so angry and hopeless about this world. Not even you, a stranger who he sees as the best human being he’s known in a while—despite not knowing you for long—could escape from the cruel and sharp jaws of the world. You found out you two accidentally scheduled the same days, so it became an unspoken agreement to wait for the other outside of the building so you can both go in. Even when you weren’t sure when his next appointment would be, you’d be right outside of that building, waiting for him. You would always be right there, and that’s something he quickly learned.

You lost your house to a fire, everything went with the burning embers that raged inside of the 4 walls of your previous home, the structure collapsing in on itself. You had gotten out in time, and you numbly watched the fire roar, the crackling burning it’s memory in your ears. The piercing sound of different sirens were approaching, but all you could do is stand there with your phone in your hand, watching the home you worked so hard for burn to the foundation built years ago. You felt a hand on your shoulder, but you didn’t bother to turn to see who it was. Everything was going so slow, almost like a movie scene in the worst way possible. Your nostrils burned from the smell of burning wood, drywall, and installation. The hand squeezed your shoulder and you slowly looked at who it was—and was him. Simon. His eyebrows were furrowed, eyes ever so slightly panicked and it was obvious he was asking you something, but you didn’t hear him. All you could focus on was that he was here. You blinked rapidly as your eyes began to burn from the smoke and from that choked feeling going from your chest to your throat. “I..” You croak ever so slightly. You couldn’t hold it back—you quickly grabbed onto Simon desperately, letting out a heart-wrenching sob because you just lost everything you owned, every memory, every piece of furniture, everything.. but he was here. He was the only thing was wasn’t crumbling away from your grasp, the only constant. Once you clung to him, Simon’s senses were flooded with you. Fuck, your touch burned, just like everyone’s else’s but he liked—no, loved how it felt. Despite the image of a burning house in his wake making dread bubble in his gut, your sobs and touch were the only thing he could focus on. Simon hesitates for only a second before pulling you into his personal space, his arms wrapping around you and weighing heavily on your body. Neither of you spoke, he just let you scream into his chest and sob, your fists gently banging against his chest—the anger, the sadness, everything was too much. Simon knew exactly how you were feeling, so he didn’t mind the twinges of pain your hands produced. Simon was the one who helped you while you chatted with the paramedics and the police. He was the one who helped you find your words when you had none left to share, the smell of the smoke imprinted on your clothes.

Without question, Simon took you to his house. He did not have another bed set up, so he had you sleep in his room while he slept on his couch. He hated the hollow look your eyes held, the way you were delayed with your answers, the ways your hands shook. Your everlasting smile had dissipated into a wobbly frown and he.. Simon couldn’t handle it. He grabbed you some of his clothes and helped you into his bathroom, quietly telling you to take a shower. He’ll take care of your clothes. Simon left you alone, and you showered for a long time. He didn’t count, but it was over an hour and a half. Simon didn’t say anything about you possibly racking up his bill, how could he when you had just lost everything? He wanted to.. to help you, and he wasn’t sure why. Even when he found himself scrubbing your smoke and tar covered clothes in his kitchen sink, he couldn’t find an exact reason why he wanted to help you. Maybe it’s because you made him feel human when he needed to be, maybe you were the one thing that kept him coming back to this town, the one thing that kept him from completely pulling away from the civilian world. You had found him in a corner like a dog, lips curled back and snarling—sharp teeth clashing together, and without a word, you gave him reasons to trust you. Although they may not be.. normal reasons to the regular eye, but they were enough for Simon.

You’re enough for Simon. He scrubbed your clothes until his arms burned, and then some.

That’s when he found out that you too, were also someone who could not stay asleep for long. When Simon awoke with his adrenaline pumping from the muffled sound of vomiting, he had to calm himself down because he’s safe, and you’re safe, most of all. Simon isn’t sure when he began to think that way, but it’s one of the many things he’s decided to not question—which also new for him. Simon is man who demands answers, yet with you? it’s like everything naturally falls into place, which is why he doesn’t complain when your stay at his house—which you swore would only be until you gathered enough money for an apartment—turned from a two week stay, to Simon carrying in an IKEA bed frame to put and assemble in one of his empty rooms. Many sleepless nights came and went, and each and every one you spent them with each other, sitting by a windowsill together, other times spending it in the backyard and looking at the sky. Sometimes you would wake up first, sometimes it would be him. You somehow always knew when he had woken up from a nightmare, his heart pounding in his ears—until your hands grab his and squeeze, to ground him. You burn him, and he welcomes the tickle of your ever-glowing flame. A year into this arrangement, Simon finally shows you his face and he appreciates that you don’t look at him any different. He usually hates the searching eyes, trying to memorize every inch of his face—but he’s greedy when you do it. When your eyes roam over every scar and acne scar, when you point out his messily cut hair and half-assed shaven stubble, he doesnt get angry. Simon doesn’t feel suffocated by your glances. He doesn’t wear his mask at home anymore, not when you’re there.

Then Simon gets the notice about his three month leave ending soon; and he knows that you need to know about his job. Or at least, the bare minimum you need to know. In reality, it’s how much he wants you to know, but he doesn’t want to admit that. He sits you down one morning, a cup of tea in his hand and he had a mug of your favorite morning drink on the other side of the table he had bought a few weeks you started staying here. Simon explains that he has a job in the military, that he can’t tell you much, but it means he’s going to be gone for weeks, even months at a time. You’re at a loss at first, because who is going to have an extremely positive reaction to “by the way, I work an extremely dangerous job and I can’t tell you anything and I’ll be gone for a while.. Oh yeah, you likely won’t know if I die!”? Despite your initial reaction, you grow to be okay with this situation. Or, we’ll, as okay as you can be with it. You also find out that he was here for way longer than he originally is, due to his boss demanding him to take a break—AKA, “go to therapy you dafty”.

For a little over two years, you two fell into a good rhythm. A call every three weeks, him coming home and you becoming the safest space he’s ever had in his life.

Which is why when his personal cell phone begins to vibrate in his pocket during some fuck-all meeting, his eyebrows furrow. The number is unfamiliar, but the area code is not. Simon quietly excuses himself from the extended round table, taking his call outside of the meeting room. Price’s eyes follow his figure as he exits, noticing it’s his personal cell phone in his hand. Simon answers the call and presses his phone against his masked ear, muttering a low, “Hello?”

A high-pitched, soft yet serious voice filters through the speaker, a woman. “Hi, is this Mr. Riley?”

Simon pauses, and so does his heart. “Who’s asking?”

He honestly regrets asking that in the moment—one part of him genuinely wishes he never answered this call, and the other part of him is glad he did. “I’m a nurse from Northern Manchester Community Hospital, you’re written down as [Name]’s emergency contact. They’ve been a victim of a hit and run situation, sir. They’re alive, but they’re in the ICU.” The nausea that suddenly bubbles inside of his guys, the stomach acid mixed with whatever he had eaten previously, threatening to travel up his esophagus, burn every inch and then exit with a horrific sound. Simon’s head began to spin—he’s your emergency contact? A hit and run, you were fucking hit?? By what, a car? A pick-up? A semi? God, Simon has seen the most horrible, gruesome, fucked up shit you would ever see in his entire life, yet he isn’t sure if he can handle the image of you spread out in a hospital bed, with one too many tubes circulating around you. His mind plagues him with intrusive images, ones he never wants to actually see played out. Fuck, his head hurts. It feels like someone is physically shoving a knife into his chest and twisting it, like God is laughing at him and playing with Simon’s pain for his own gain. How could he not think that, especially with everything that has happened to him? His friends, his family? His old CO? The fucking abuse he endured??

It’s like Simon lost his hearing for a moment, because he cannot bare fucking losing you, too. There’s a vague ringing in his ears, almost like there was an explosion and he stood too close. And then suddenly every sound comes rushing back to his eardrums, and everything suddenly everything is so fucking overwhelming. “Mr. Riley?” The nurse calls over the phone, her tone laced with worry. He clears his throat and when he speaks, he sounds wrecked, which he fucking hates. “I.. I’ll come as soon as I can.” Simon hangs up, not giving the nurse a moment to speak. He drops his phone and if he doesn’t sit down, he’s going to fall over like a tree that’s been cut down. Simon lets out a shaky breath, trying to ignore the way his stomach is screaming and twisting as he puts a hand on the wall, and he crouches down. It’s the first time he doesn’t look around to see if anyone is watching his sudden display of emotion. When he’s suddenly rocked with the feeling of home at work, especially with the news that you’re fucking injured—he’s overwhelmed and twisted all over the place. Simon finds himself stumbling back to his barracks.

Price finds his way to him after Simon never returns to the meeting. He knocks on the door, but his knuckles pause before they can knock against the door for the third time as he discovers the door is open—which is very, very, odd. He slowly opens the door while calling for Ghost, and is met with the sight of Simon shoving some of his clothes and belongings into a duffle bag, as well as his military travel documents. “Ghost?” Price questions, who stopped in his doorway to watch Simon lose his mind while packing. Simon doesn’t respond as he practically rips his phone charger out of the wall and stuffs it into the bag, zipping it up. He slings it over his shoulder and he turns around, pausing when he sees Price. Simon’s eyes tell everything he’s feeling—that something’s happened, something bad, and he needs to leave. Price bites his lip and quietly exhales, his fingers rubbing at his chin. “I’ll approve your leave. Just shoot me a text of how long it needs to be, yeah?”

Simon makes sure to note to send Price a thank you of some sort, because within the next two hours, Simon is boarding a plane, heading for Manchester, wearing some black clothing, a jacket, a black face mask, gloves, and his beanie. The entire time, he could not stop thinking about you—and how you could possibly die before he got there to send off his final goodbyes. Is that something he would actually want to do, though? See you in the hospital, knowing it’ll be the last place you’d ever be alive in? Go home, see how you left the house exactly as you left it? A house, but without his home in it? Simon stares out the airplane window blankly, his hands curled into fists, and his nails would be digging into his palms if he didn’t have gloves on.

He couldn’t lose you. Not like this.

The next part for Simon, it’s a blur again. Got off the plane, got his luggage, provided documentation, blah blah blah—he didn’t give a fuck about any of it. His focus was you. He didn’t bother to stop home to drop his stuff off, he took an Uber straight to the hospital from the airport. It was a fairly expensive Uber too, but he could worry about the costs of everything later. It took another half hour to get there.

His heart began to hammer in his chest as the sight of the hospital’s signs began to pop up on the road, the anxiety taking hold in his stomach and his head begins to hurt again. Simon quietly thanks the driver, tips them, and exits the car with a swiftness once they pull up. Simon walks through the main entrance’s sliding doors, going up to the desk. A woman behind the counter hangs up the phone, murmuring a goodbye, and then she looks at Simon with her pretty blue eyes. “How can I help you, sir?” She murmurs sweetly, noting how anxious he is. She can see the sweat on his brow line. Simon clears his throat, his voice rumbling in his chest when he speaks. It takes everything in him to not yell at this innocent woman and get thrown out. “My.. My name is Mr. Riley, I was called ‘cause my friend is here,” Simon manages to push out. “[Name] [Last Name].” The woman turns to her computer and clicks the couple of buttons and types a couple of words and holy fuck, Simon just wants to go to your wing already—“Ah, yes, I see you’re listed as their emergency contact,” The woman grabs a sticky note and writes with a pink pen your room number and elevator floor, handing it to Simon. He barely gets a “thank you” out before he nearly jogs to the nearby elevator. Fourth floor, room 283. Fourth floor, room 283. Fourth floor, room 283—it’s the longest minute long elevator ride in his entire fucking life.

Simon changes face masks whilst facing the wall, and then he finds your room number—and his heart is beating out of his chest. There’s cops standing outside of your room who stop him from entering. Simon’s anger flares up so quickly, he nearly makes a scene until a doctor exits your room. She’s wearing her usual blue scrubs, her coat, and she’s dawning a N95 and some sterile gloves. She’s holding a clipboard. “Mr. Riley?” She questions, holding the clipboard close to her chest. Simon nods without hesitation, and she responds, “I’m sorry, but due to the nature of this case, you’ll have to provide some identification for me and these officers.”

Usually, Simon would hesitate—he gives anyone outside of his team the bare minimum, hell, he only introduced himself as SR until he knew you for a while. This time, he takes out his military ID and shows it to the officers. He ignores their looks of surprise, and ignores the murmurs that come from them. Simon puts his ID away and he holds back the urge to shove them out of the way as he glares down at the doctor on accident. “Come in,” The doctor opens the sliding door and steps into the hospital ICU room with him. Simon follows behind her and he immediately smells the sickening smell only the ICU gives off. There’s a small wall blocking his view from you that he hasn’t past, and he can already hear the machines working. A heart monitor, a ventilator, combined with other machines he doesn’t know too well. The doctor flips through the papers pinned to her clipboard. “They were hit by a vehicle of some sort, the scene suggested they were walking home from the local corner store. [Name] has multiple broken bones and fractures, a punctured lung, a fractured jaw and internal bleeding. They lost a lot of blood at the scene.” Simon doesn’t respond as he slowly walks forward, and he finally lays his eyes on you. It’s.. traumatizing, to say the least. You were never supposed to be in a hospital bed like this, hooked up to machines he can’t even name. He slowly walks over to you, dropping his duffel bag somewhere on the floor. He doesn’t care to look where. Simon barely pays attention to what the doctor is saying—his hands tremble as he stands by your side, his heart thumping harshly in his chest. Fuck.

He drags over one of the chairs next to your bed. Simon takes off one of his gloves slowly, and then he tears the other one off in a frenzy. He feels so unlike himself, so.. different.. human. He reaches over to your hand and his fingers grab your wrist, so gentle as if you’re glass. Simon presses his fingers against your pulse point, counting your heartbeats despite the monitor. The thumping under your skin makes it more.. real. Feeling you, your heartbeat, your warmth and your skin—it’s comforting. Simon clears his throat and fights the urge to vomit once a gain, watching your chest rise and fall, produced by the ventilator.

He moves his hand to intertwine with your fingers and he uses his other hand to feel your pulse. Simon closes his eyes, muttering the beats per minute under his breath.

At least you’re alive—you’re here, you’re alive, and you’re with him. And that’s all he asks for.

tags;; @alwaystired--neversleeping @handsomeunderwear-art @indefenseofkara @kaysav608 @1-is-loneliest-number @rosee-sensuelle @kitty-satan1 @k4marina @rahmown @royalty-purple @bowtruckleninja — if you are not tagged, it’s not allowing me :-)

[daisyblog]

Home To Mother

Unexpected Love Masterlist Summary: Harry introduces YN and Jacob to Anne.

Warning: mention of smut

Harry had thought about introducing YN and Jacob to his Mum for a while. But with Anne living four hours away, it wasn’t always easy especially with Harry releasing his second album, and YN and Jacob having their own things on too. 

A conversation about their Christmas plans had not risen yet, and whilst Harry wanted to spend it with YN and Jacob, he was aware that he always spent Christmas with his family in Cheshire. 

He was surprised when he spoke to his Mum on the phone one afternoon on his way to YN’s from the studio. As he drove through the streets of London, his Mums name flashed up on the screen of the handsfree. 

“Hi Mum!”. Harry’s cheerily voice answered as he kept his eyes on the busy road in front of him. 

“Hi darling…how’s my boy?”. Anne’s tone was warm, full of love as she missed her son after not seeing him for a while. 

“I’m good…just on my way home from the studio, we had some small things we needed to wrap up before the release”. Harry explained as it was only a matter of days before the release of his second album. 

He could hear his Mum’s smile through her voice. “I’m so proud of you darling…I can’t wait to hear it…I know you’ve worked so hard”. 

“Thanks Mum…this album is really special”. Harry admitted as he turned down a quieter road. 

“Hmm…I wonder why that is.” Anne teased, a small hint towards Harry’s new lover. “Speaking of YN…how is she and Jacob?”. 

Harry couldn’t help but smile at the mention of them both. “They’re fine…I’m actually on my way there now…Jacob wants to show me  his new Lego piece he’s built”. 

“Ooo sounds cool…looks like everything is going well with you all”. Anne began to prod, knowing where she was going with the conversation. “I’m not sure what your plans are around Christmas but if you’d like to…and of course YN wants to too…then I’d love for you to being YN and Jacob home with you”. 

Harry loved the idea of taking YN and Jacob home to Cheshire with him, and introducing them to his family, whilst celebrating Christmas but with Jacob having other family too, it wasn’t a decision he could make solely. “I’d love to Mum…but I’ll have to ask because of Jacob with his Dad and stuff”.

“Of course darling…I will respect your decision either way”. Harry knew his Mum was way too good for the world. 

It was a debate he was having in his own head, considering different options, until he decided to speak to one person who he knew would be able to give him the answer he was looking for. 

---

Since Harry and YN had become serious in their relationship, he had become a regular visitor to Jack and Zara’s house when YN and Jacob went to visit. 

YN and Zara had organised a Christmas shopping trip into town and Jack had asked Harry to join him and the two boys. Harry couldn’t turn down the offer and knew it was his only opportunity to talk to Jack. 

Jacob was playing with his toys in the living room of Jack and Zara’s house and Theo had just gone down for his nap, leaving Jack and Harry to catch up. 

“Whilst the girls are not here…I wanted to thank you for everything you do for Jacob…and YN too…I haven’t seen her this happy in a long time”. Jack began to the conversation as they sat on opposite sides of the sofa. 

Harry couldn’t hide his smile because really he wanted to thank them all for allowing him to be a part of their family dynamic. “Between us…I’ve waited for someone like YN for a long time and Jacob is a real credit to you both…he’s a good lad”. 

“He loves you…he talks about you a lot…I love it”. Jack explained, knowing that most of Jacob’s stories now involve Harry. 

Harry thought about how he was going to approach the Christmas conversation with Jack, until he pulled the bandaid off in one. “There was actually something I wanted to talk to you about”. Jack nodded his head, his eyes paying full attention to Harry. “My Mum has invited YN and Jacob to Cheshire for Christmas…but I don’t want to overstep your plans and traditions”. 

He was waiting for this to be the changing point for Jack to tell him he was crossing the  boundaries and that he wouldn’t allow his son to travel up North. 

“I’m guessing YN hasn’t spoken to you about Christmas?”. Jack asked and Harry wore a slight frown confused by his response but quickly shook his head. “Between us…Christmas is usually shit for them both…they go to YN’s parents house in Bath…I hate it but they only go once a year and we spend Christmas with Zara’s family”. 

Harry felt a tug on his heartstrings at the thought of YN and Jacob having a miserable Christmas, despite being surrounded by the people who should make it special. “I’m not prodding…but is this why YN doesn’t mention her family?”. 

Jack nodded, an annoyed look on his face. One that Harry could tell that Jack really disliked them. “As you can guess…they don’t like me because we had Jacob young, and they all decided to share their opinions one day…called YN everything…and I wouldn’t take it and called them all out for being narcissistic arseholes”. 

“Must be so hard for her”. Harry tried to sympathise because he was loved by his family and knowing YN didn’t have the same, hurt him. 

“She doesn’t talk about them much…I think it’s her way of dealing with it”. Jack explained, as he had experienced their backlash first hand. “So yeah…please take them home with you and introduce them to a nice family…they deserve a happy Christmas. 

---

Harry drives up the road to his Mums cosy style cottage, and YN could already tell from the outside that this house was a home and somewhere everyone came because they’d have a warm welcome. 

Anne was peaking behind the curtain through the lounge window, wanting to catch a glimpse before greeting them. She could see Harry get out of the car first, YN quick to follow. She involuntarily let out a smile as they shared a quick peck as they passed each other. Once she saw Harry head to the back door, she made her way to greet them. 

“Harry!”. The three are broken from their bubble at the sound of a woman’s voice, but YN can instantly tell that the pretty woman standing at the front step is Harry’s Mum. Anne wastes no time pulling Harry in for hug, holding him tight afraid he was going to be gone for months again. “I’ve missed you”.

“I’ve missed you too Mum”. They both pulled apart, Harry turning to YN and Jacob. “Mum…this is YN-“.

“Oh it’s so lovely to meet you love!”. Anne carefully pulled her in for a hug, smiling as she did so. “I’ve heard so much about you”. 

YN let out a nervous giggle. “All good things I hope”. She joked, as she and Harry caught each others eye. 

“Definitely all good…I knew my boy was smitten from the first date.” Anne announced without care. Whilst YN could feel the blush on her cheeks and shyness take over, Harry laughed at his mother’s words and told her not to embarrass him. “And who’s this little lad?”.

Harry scooped Jacob into his arms, as the younger boy tugged on his hand to be held. “This little monkey is Jacob!”. But with new surroundings and a new person, Jacob tucked his head into Harry’s neck. 

“What a beautiful name!”. Anne smiled up at the boy in her son’s arms, the scene being unfamiliar to her. “I feel so lucky that you did your Mummy have come to visit”. 

“Thank you for inviting us, it’s really kind of you”. YN took the chance to thank Anne, knowing how special this occasion was for them all. 

“You’re welcome here any time!”. Anne reassured her as she lovingly placed her hand on YN’s arm. “Hey Jacob…I’ve been baking all morning…and a little birdy told me that you love chocolate cookies…would you like one?”. 

With his head still lying on Harry’s shoulder, Jacob couldn’t hide his love for a chocolate cookie. “Yes please”. His voice was quiet but loud enough for the others to hear. 

“Come on in and make yourselves at home!”. 

---

A few hours after Harry, YN and Jacob had arrived, Gemma and Michal walked through the front door eager to meet them. They greeted YN with a warm hug, one that reminded her of Anne’s and they gave Jacob a bit of space for him to settle. 

With it being Christmas Eve, Anne had prepared a large spread of food for them all to eat together and had even bought them all matching pyjamas. It was a new tradition for YN and Jacob, as they were often left out of those things but it created an accepting feeling in YN’s heart at the thought of Anne thinking about her and Jacob. 

“I’ve heard you started big school”. Anne spoke to Jacob across the table, as he used his fork to pick up the food from his plate. “Are you enjoying it?”.

Jacob nodded his head because he loved going to school and being with his friends. “Harry picked me up with Mummy the other day”. He spoke about the time that they surprised him at pick up. 

“It wasn’t my greatest ideas, considering half the Mums practically announced my presence.” Harry explained to the rest of the table. 

“You were definitely the topic of conversation in the Mum’s group chat that evening”. YN added. “And Jack said they were all highly disappointed when he turned up the next day”. Which caused them all to laugh at the sight of disappointing looks in their faces. 

“What can I say…I just have that effect”. Harry sassily added, earning some eye rolls. 

After they all sat around playing a board game into the early evening, to which they all playfully shouted at Harry to stop cheating, they all gathered up some Christmas magic and helped Jacob to prepare for the big day. 

Anne had bought a personalised Christmas Eve plate for Jacob to leave carrots and snack for Santa and his reindeers. Before they knew it, they were bidding goodnight to Jacob as YN and Harry took him upstairs to settle him for the night. 

---

Harry and YN came back downstairs after around an hour of Jacob’s bedtime routine and helping him go to sleep with a nighttime book. Anne told them to help themselves to any drinks or snacks they wanted from the kitchen. 

Gemma and Anne could see into the kitchen from where they were both sat. “So what do you think Mum?”. Both their eyes still taking sneaky glances at the couple in the kitchen. Harry hands held her from behind as he whispered something in her ear that made her laugh out loud. 

Anne smiled fondly at how happy her son was and how much more content he seemed. “I like her…she seems like a lovely girl and Jacob is so polite”. 

“I really like her already…she just seems so down to earth and-“. Gemma began to give her opinion, as she watched her brother cuddle up to his girlfriend in the kitchen. 

“Not fake and full of herself?”. Michal finished Gemma’s sentence for, earning an amused grin from the two women. “What? It’s true and what you were thinking!”. 

“It was to be fair…I’ve never been a huge fan of the girls he’s introduced me to”. Anne agreed, smiling as Harry and YN were now facing each other, talking quietly as their arms were wrapped around the other. 

“As much as their affection is making me want to vomit…I will admit they’re cute”. Gemma quickly turned her eyes away as Harry leaned down to place a kiss on YN’s lips.  

---

“Merry Christmas baby”. Harry whispered in between leaving gentle pecks along YN’s neck. He could feel her melting into each one.

“Merry Christmas gorgeous”. YN’s eyes were still asleep as she enjoyed the feeling of Harry’s lips moving up her neck.

Harry carefully moved his lips to meet YN’s. Their lips moved delicately together, both enjoying the feeling of the others. As Harry moved his hand to rest at the bottom of her back, their lips began to move with more desperation. Their lips moved messily as one. But once Harry’s hand started to move down south, YN pulled her lips away, causing Harry to pout.

“Oh c’mon…that’s not fair.” Harry whined as he tried to kiss her again, but YN only laughed at his pout. “We can be quick!”. 

“I am not doing anything with your mother in the next room.” YN gave her reasons, as they were still cuddled as one under the duvet. 

“I’ll make sure it’s the best five minutes of your life”. Harry gave it another shot, practically begging. 

YN had to cover her mouth to stop the loud laugh from waking others who were still asleep. “I don’t doubt you would…but I’m not having sex with you with your mother asleep in the next room…are you mad!”. 

“Makes it more exciting I think”. Harry continued to tease her. “Set myself a challenge to see if I can make you cum without making a noise”. 

“Highly doubt it!”. 

---

Christmas morning had a slow start to it. They all gathered in the living room near the tree where they all watched with excitement as Jacob opened his presents that were left by Santa the night before. YN was taken back by how a family, who had only just met Jacob treated him with so much love and affection already.

Anne had gifted him a football stadium Lego set, along with some smaller toys and some money for him to choose something to buy. Jacob ran over to her and wrapped small arms around her and thanked her.

Gemma and Michal had taken a similar approach and gifted him a generous gift card for a sports store for him to spend as he pleased. Like he did with Anne, he wrapped his arms around Gemma, before giving Michal a fist pump.

The rest of the morning was spent playing with all of Jacob’s news toys and counting down until they were all sat around the table eating their roast. Jacob insisted on sitting next to Harry whilst they ate because he wanted to pull the Christmas crackers with him.

Later on in the evening, Harry’s extended family of his aunt, uncle and cousins joined them for a night of fun and laughter.

It was the first year Harry had brought someone home for Christmas, so being the joker his uncle was didn’t miss out on winding his nephew up after he introduced YN and Jacob to them.

The large group were coming towards the end of their quiz, with Harry’s team in the lead by one point. The last question asked was “In the 2009-10 Premier League season, Manchester United finished second on the league table. Who finished first?”. Jacob pressed the buzzer without thinking and the pure shock on Harry’s face was priceless, because the rule was whoever pressed the buzzer needed to answer.

“What’s the answer Jacob?”. YN asked, as she stood behind him wondering if he knew it.

“C’mon Jakey…you can do this!” Harry cheered him on, giving him a nudge of encouragement.

Jacob debated the answer as he moved around, before shouting “Chelsea!”. Everybody waited to see if the answer was right.

“Correct!”. Harry lifted Jacob up into the air as their team celebrated their win.

As the evening went on, Jacob started to show signs of tiredness. Deciding he wanted to go to bed, YN encouraged him to say goodnight to the party. As YN and Harry trailed behind the little boy, a voice stopped them.

“Oh would you look at that!”. Everybody turned to look at Harry’s Uncle Mike, confused at what he was talking about. But Mike motioned to where Harry and YN were standing, and like coincidence there was a mistletoe above them.

YN giggled at the sight, but there was a tad of nervousness in the laugh. “Kiss your girl then H!”.

Harry didn’t seem the harm in a quick peck. He leaned down quickly capturing YN’s lips in his. The kiss was kept short, for the sake of everyone else around them.

Whilst Anne smiled at her son’s affection, Mike and Harry’s cousin made kissing noises along with hollowing cheers to tease the pink cheeked boy.

“Oh stop it!” Harry could be heard chucking as he left the room.

---

Harry had been lying awake for a while, YN was sleeping next to him, small breathes leaving her body as she slept. The sound of small footsteps entering their room at Anne’s caused Harry to lift his head up from the plump pillow. 

“Hey JJ!” Harry used the nickname he created for him. “Did you sleep okay?”. 

Jacob nodded as he rubbed his eyes with the knuckles of his fingers, as he approached Harry. 

“Shall we go downstairs for some breakfast? Leave Mummy have some sleep?”. Harry suggested, as he began to reach for his hoodie and joggers. “Do you know what you want?”. 

“Pancakes please”. Jacob patiently waited for Harry to finish getting dressed before they descended down the stairs together. 

The two of them chatted together as they walked through the hallway into the large kitchen. Anne was sat at the table already, donning her fluffy dressing gown as she sipped of her warm cup of tea. 

“Morning boys!”. She greeted them both as she watched Harry place some pancakes into the toaster, and flicking the kettle switch down. 

“Morning Mum!”. Harry was cheery as he moved around the kitchen effortlessly, gathering some plates and mugs. “Jakey…say good morning lad”. 

“Morning!”. Jacob pulled the chair out next to Anne to sit on. Harry couldn’t help but smile as he glanced over, Jacob was starting to become more comfortable around his family. “Anne?”. 

“Yes darling?”. Anne’s full attention was on Jacob, waiting for him to speak. 

“Can I play football in your garden please?”. He asked with his big pleading eyes on display, the ones that got him everything he wanted. 

“Of course you can sweetheart!”. Anne brought her hands up to her chest as the little boys cuteness and manners were too much. “I’m sure Harry will take you out there after you’ve finished your breakfast…I would take you but I’m not very good at football”.

Jacob chuckled out loud at Anne’s honestly. “You can come to my house and I can teach you…I have cones and-and everything in my garden…I can ask my Mummy if you can come to play”. 

Anne’s heart melted and she looked to Harry to share her happy smile. “You’re very kind Jacob, I’d love to come and visit you and Mummy one day…maybe you can show me around London”. 

“Me..Mummy..and Harry went to the market…and girls were following us…we had to go home.” Jacob said as a matter of fact, causing Anne to look at Harry with a little concern on her face. 

She quickly turned back to Jacob, hiding her previous look. “I’m not as cool as Harry…but maybe we could go somewhere quieter when I visit…how does that sound?”. 

Jacob excitedly nodded his head, as Harry placed his breakfast in front of him and giving his hair a little fuss as he walked past. 

As promised Harry took Jacob outside to play football in the garden after breakfast. Anne was sat on the chair, watching as they ran around kicking the ball, playfully tackling each other and equally desperate to kick the ball in the pretend goal. 

A presence next to Anne, disturbed her thoughts. “Good morning!”. YN’s voice was gentle, almost quiet. 

“Good morning love!”. Anne’s smile showed her pearly whites, as she brought her eyes back to the two boys running around the garden. “I’m going to let you in on a secret….i’ve never seen Harry this content and happy”. 

YN couldn’t take all the credit. “He’s changed my life for the better…you’ve raised an amazing man and I wish I’d met him sooner”. She didn’t hold back, she knew she’d fallen in deep. Not only did he make her feel special but he’d accepted Jacob as part of her and she will always be grateful. 

“He won’t thank me for this…but I know my boy and he’s besotted with you and Jacob”. Anne knew Harry would tell her off for discussing him with YN, but she didn’t care. 

“That makes us both!” YN couldn’t take her eyes away from her two favourite people as Harry swung Jacob around in circles in victory for scoring a goal. 

Anne wrapped her arm around YN in a cuddle. “Welcome to the family my darling!”. 

Taglist:

@ell0ra-br3kk3r @vikiii07-blog @sleutherclaw

[yellowbrokenblue]

„Just… Pretend.”

summary: in which harry convinces you to spend your summer in cape cod with his parents as his ‘girlfriend.’ but everything is just pretend, your not actually his girlfriend and you never have wanted to be his girlfriend, you’ve never seen him as more than harry styles, the singer… but by the end of the summer will that change?

tropes (so far) : fake dating

part one

“It’s just for one weekend.” He pleaded, “Then you can go back to hating me. You never even have to talk to me again, I don’t care.”

You sigh, your head falling backwards with a groan. You did not want to do this at all, but he’d been persistently asking you for days.

“C’mon, please?”

You roll your eyes, “You’re on a date with a new girl every week, I’m sure any of them would be up for it.”

“I can’t just take anyone to my parent’s place.”

“Why not? Or how about you just tell them you’re not seeing anyone right now? They won’t care.”

“I just need you to come, alright? I’ll owe you one, I promise.”

“Why me? There’s a million other people you could take, besides I’ve already met your parents at a show, they’ll never believe we’re seeing each other.”

“And they really liked you!”

“There’ll be a ton of other people that they like too, Harry. Choose anyone else.”

“I can’t.” He sighs.

“You can.”

“I can’t.” He repeats.

You look at him with tired eyes, awaiting his explanation. You’d been over this a hundred times, you had no interest in pretending to be his girlfriend while he visited his parents over the summer.

“I already told them we’re together.” He says quietly, avoiding eye contact.

“What?” You scoff, “You’ve gotta be joking.”

“They just… They met you at the show, and they really did seem to like you, and they kept going on and on about how they want me to find someone who makes me happy and stuff and I shut them up by saying we’re together…”

“You’re unbelievable.” You say, annoyed.!

The fact he’d been telling his parents ridiculous lies without even telling you about it, when said lies actually involved you had pissed you off.

Harry’s parents were lovely, and a producer on his latest album you’d met them a couple times at shows- Especially during the LA residence where you and his parents sat through the concerts in a VIP booth. His mum was lovely, always smiling and knew every single lyric. She told you that she was in Harry’s 0.5% of top listeners on Spotify last year.

You thought that was cute.


You couldn’t relate though, 5 Seconds of Summer were your top Spotify artist- Harry could never find out about that.

“They’ve been asking for me to take you to the beach house for months-“

“Months?!” You interrupt, “How long have you been telling them we’re together?”

He shrugged, “Since the end of the Forum residency?”

“Harry that was SIX months ago!” You yell, “I can’t pretend to be in a six month relationship with you, that’s ridiculous.”

He sits down on the couch, hugging a pillow.

“Yes you can. You practically know everything about me already. We spent every day of the tour together.”

“Everything about you in a career aspect.”

“Everything in general.” Harry corrects, “Sometimes I think you know more about me than I do.”

“I don’t. You’re just saying this because you’re convincing yourself that this ridiculous idea will actually work.”

“Name my first pet.”

“What?” You question. He was being stupid. There is no way you’d ever be able to spend two weeks with his parents over the summer, it was never going to work. It was a recipe for disaster.

“C’mon. You know the answer.”

He just kept staring at you. He wasn’t giving up. The longer you stayed silent the more intense his stare got. When he began to raise his eyebrows you’d given up.

“Max.” You mutter quietly, unimpressed with this whole game he was playing.

“And what am I allergic to?”

“Marshmallows, but you eat them anyway.”

Harry was grinning, and it was pissing you off. He was winning and he knew it.

“My favourite Christmas song?”

You rolled your eyes, “Christmas lights by Coldplay, but you tell everyone that it’s Merry Christmas Everyone because it’s a classic.”

Harry was giving you a ‘I told you so’ look. He wasn’t going to quit until you agreed to pretend to be his girlfriend.

You sigh softly, “Even if I agree to this… It could he really damaging for my career.”

“No one will find out.” His face was more serious now, and you could tell from the way he was looking at you that he meant it, “I’ll make sure of that.”

“But if if does-”

“It won’t.”

“But if it does, because there’s always a chance no matter what you think, then everyone will only think I got hired to tour manage because we’re ‘sleeping together.’” You say, using air quotes, just to further elaborate that this was all fake.

Harry had already got his grammy, he was at the peak of his career he’d be fine no matter what happened. But you were a female music producer in a male dominated industry, if people think you were only hired for this album because you’re fucking the singer- your career was over.

“If people find out I’ll kill you.”

“Does this mean you’re gonna agree?”

You nod, reluctantly.

“Thank you!” He jumps out of his chair, “I swear I’ll make it up to you, thank you so much.”

— — —

If you were in Harry’s position you’d be vigilant of everything, everyone, everywhere. You’d be paranoid of someone jumping through your bedroom window while you were asleep. But Harry was oddly calm. Maybe he was just like that. His lips were formed almost in a smile while he slept, and his eyes were moving under his eyelids- probably from a dream he was having. He wasn’t calm very often- recently he’d been very on edge and anxious about everything, it was nice to see him look so peaceful. You hoped for that sort of peace someday soon.

You had been in the studio going on six hours, and when he’d taken a break from recording so you could go over the tracks he’d managed to fall asleep in that short period of time.

You let him sleep while you packed up the equipment, putting things back into their assigned places, and didn’t bother waking him up until you were 100% ready to go.

“Harry,” You said softly, shaking his shoulder lightly, “Harry we gotta go.”

His eyes opened and he blinked a few times to adjust himself to the light.

“Huh?”

“We only had the studio booked until six, we gotta go.”

“Oh,” He sat up, stretching his arms and cracking his neck that had went into a cramp, “Sorry, don’t even remember falling asleep to be honest.”

“Don’t worry about it,” You shrug, “We got enough done today anyways. You deserve a rest.”

There were only three days left until the day Harry had said you were leaving for his parents place, and you had skipped over the subject every time he’d tried to bring it up. You didn’t really want to think about it because you were dreading it so badly.

“I’ll give you a ride home.” Harry said as you left the studio building.

“No, it’s alright.” You say, “I’ll just get an Uber.”

Harry glared at you, “Y/N, just get in the car.”

You glare back. But it had been a long day so getting a free lift wasn’t so bad.

“So.” He said, starting the car. “We gotta go over some things.”

“About the album?” You play dumb.

“… No.” He rolls his eyes, “Stop pretending you don’t know what I’m talking about.”

“I’m not pretending.”

“Love, you gotta tell me some stuff about you. My parents are gonna ask me shit and I don’t have a clue what to tell them.”

You groan. You should’ve stuck to your gut and got an Uber.

“Like what.”

He shrugs, “What’s your favourite colour?”

“Purple.” You reply.

“Mines is blue.”

“I know,” You reply.

“What’s your favourite song?” He asked.

You laughed to yourself a little.

“Jet black heart,” You grin, knowing you’d get some sort of reaction out of this answer, “By 5 Seconds of Summer.”

“5 Seconds of Summer?” Harry scoffs, “They’re punks!”

You roll their eyes, “They turned to pop music and half of them are married, they’re hardly punks.”

“You know one of them dated my sister, right?” Harry groaned.

“Yep,” You grin, “And wrote a banging tune about it as well.”

“Don’t remind me.” He muttered.

“Look, you asked me a question and I gave you an honest answer. You can’t complain.”

“I know, I know.” Harry said, “You got any exes?”

You raise your eyebrows, “What?”

“This is the kind of stuff I need to know! Like I dunno if I’m your first boyfriend and all that.”

“Harry… I’m 24 years old. You’re not my first boyfriend.”

You said it almost as if he was your boyfriend. It sent a chill down your spine. This was going to be a long few weeks.

“Good to know.” He said.

He dropped you off outside your apartment.

“I guess the next time I see you will be for when we’re leaving, yeah?”

You nod. There was no studio session booked until after his vacation to Cape Cod, where his families beach house was, so he was right. The next time you see him would be at the airport.

“Flights at seven.” He says.

“Got it.”

The next few weeks were going to be hell.

part two coming soon…

support me through ko-fi! (buy me a coffee!!)

[inkmonster21]

Pop Star Princess

Billy Butcher x Pop Star fem!reader

I was inspired by this post 🤣

Frenchie zips up his bag quickly. “I can give her a call. She may say yes.” Butcher rolls his eyes as he stuffs his belongings into the small duffel. Once again their safe house wasn’t so safe anymore. “Yeah? You do whatever you want, Frenchie, but don’t expect me to be welcomed,” Butcher says in a snappy tone. And so Frenchie did. He called you up, surprised as the line picked up on the second ring. “Frenchie?” Your voice carried out the line. “I need a favor.” Of course, you agreed. “Butcher has to come with me,” Frenchie says biting his teeth together. You sigh, and after a moment you speak, “Have him meet me tonight.”

Butcher couldn’t remember the last time he’d been nervous to meet up with someone. He watches you on their bench, for a moment he’s planning what to say, but his mind goes blank when he makes eye contact, his eyes briefly widening.

“You came.” He simply states, almost surprised you hadn’t blown him off.

The rush of feeling came but so did the heartache. Billy Butcher broke your heart once. You won’t let him do it again. “I’m doing it for Frenchie. Not you.”

He nods, he couldn’t blame you. This wasn’t the first bridge he burned - and he was sure it wouldn’t be the last. He could tell you were holding back, he wasn’t blind.

“I understand.” He said, in response to your statement. “I’m aware I can be a difficult bastard.”

You scoff, no sign of a grin, “That’s one way to put it.”

“It’s the truth, you have to admit.” He replies, a smirk appearing on his lips.

He wanted to ask why you had agreed to help them; the question lingered on the tip of his tongue, but he didn’t dare ask it.

“I’ll text Frenchie the address. You can show up tonight. I’ll have someone let you in.”

He nods, hands still in his pockets, he doesn’t say anything for a moment, he can feel the air almost getting tense - it made him feel uncomfortable, he wasn’t used to that.

“Thank you.” He says, and he means it. Deep down he knows there are only a few people who even would’ve considered to help him.

The ache in your chest returns. “Don’t go thanking me yet. Just don’t be late.” You say and promptly exit to return home and prepare for their arrival.

~

The boys show up at the house. More like a mansion. The gate opens allowing them in. It was a big and ostentatious house, the kind that screams “more money than sense” kind of house. But Butcher had to admit, it was impressive.

Once Butcher, Hughie, and Frenchie are all inside, Butcher looks to Frenchie. “Who owns this lot?” Butcher asks, taking in the surroundings, not taking his eyes off the interior of the house, as he walks further in.

The walls are littered with large photos of yourself, several albums framed on the walls. Frenchie smirks, “she does.”

As they walk further into what Butcher assumed was the living room, he can see how well off you are. Things had definitely changed since you two last saw each other. His eyes stop on one of the photos and his eyebrows rise slightly.

"You can't be serious." He mutters, his eyes on one of the pictures.

He stands there, somewhat in disbelief, he couldn't help but feel impressed. He assumed Frenchie was pulling his leg, that had been joking when he had said it.

"Damn." He mutters, staring at the gold records on the wall. She had really done it. That snide joke from years ago. The silly threat. She actually wrote songs about him and they went fucking platinum.

Hughie reads the name over again on the records. “Holy shit. We’re in a fucking pop stars house.”

"Yeah, I noticed that, thanks." A sarcastic tone in his voice as he glances at Hughie, before turning his attention back to the awards. "Never would have pegged you on being a pop star fan."

You finally walk down the stairs to greet them. “Wow, you actually made it on time.”

Butcher’s eyes dart to you as you descend the stairs, the sound of your shoe heels echoing through the house. His eyes look you up and down, taking in the new look.

"Look at you. Who would've thought, huh?" He smirks, as the two of you stop at the bottom of the stairs. You look up at the various awards and posters. “Well, I did tell you I would.” He smirks at the response, leaning with one hand resting in his pocket.

"Never believed ya." He say, his eyes scanning across all the awards and photos for a moment. "You really did it, princess."

You nod with a bitter smile. “And all I had to do was write about some asshole.”

He can feel the passive aggressiveness in your voice. As the words leave their mouth, his smirks. "Guess that makes me lucky then, huh?" He replies.

Hughie stops, “wait, your songs are about him?” He asks in shock. You shake your head “Not all of them. Only the sad ones.”

Butcher raises an eyebrow at that, “so most of them?” The smirk was still in place, yet somehow he felt a pang of guilt deep down - one he refused to acknowledge.

You show them each to their rooms. Butcher is the last in line. He follows you, hands in his pockets, taking in the surroundings as best he can. The house was big, and he wondered how much money the place had cost.

Once he stands in front of the door to his room, he stops. For a moment he doesn’t know what to say or what to do. Part of him wanted to ask you a hundred questions, and another part of him wanted to just walk in and go to bed.

You didn’t give him time to pick. You promptly walked off. “Goodnight Billy. “ He let you walk away, watching you disappear to your own room. “Goodnight, princess.” He mutters as he goes into the room. He lay awake in the bed, He knew he had hurt you, but he hadn’t known just how badly.

In the morning the smell of freshly brewed coffee and breakfast hit the team's nose. They started to file down one by one. Seeing their host dancing and singing while making their food. Hughie was singing along being the super fan he is.

Butcher is the last to get up, and he takes a few minutes to himself to get ready before he finally makes his way down the stairs. He stops in the doorway to the kitchen, leaning against the frame as he watches the scene before him.

Hughie sat there, singing along with a huge grin on his face, while you danced and made breakfast. It’s a weird sight, and for a moment he wants to make a sarcastic comment, but he keeps his mouth shut. It’s still too early for that.

As Butcher stands there, he can feel Frenchie’s eyes on him. He knew Frenchie wasn’t as blind, but Frenchie stayed quiet, not saying a word, he just watched.

You laugh as Hughie dances to the music. You fill up everyone a plate of food. Even Butcher. You pass it to him quickly. Trying to avoid any contact. As he takes the plate, your fingers brush briefly against his. You tried not to react, or even notice it, but he couldn’t help the way your stomach tightened.

He couldn’t help but notice the way you quickly moved your hands away afterward. He sat at the table, Hughie’s cheerful voice filling the room, he was like a little kid meeting their favorite celebrity. It almost made him chuckle. Almost. Except he can’t help but notice the way you refuse to look at him.

“I’ve got a show Tuesday night. You can all come. Stay backstage. No one will notice you there.” You share the idea with them as they all eat.

There’s a momentary pause in the conversation, as you mention the show. Hughie immediately grins in excitement at the invitation, while Frenchie looks interested - although he keeps his poker face. Butcher doesn’t respond at first, he just keeps his eyes on his plate for a few seconds.

“You sure that’s a good idea, princess?” He inquires, in a sarcastic tone. You look at him from over the table, “By all means, if you want to miss out on a fun time that’s your loss. Might be good to take the stick out of your ass for a few hours.” You grumble as you stab your eggs.

His mouth tugged into a smirk, “Oh, I’ll be there, I ain’t missing an opportunity to see the spoiled pop star in action.” He replies, in a mocking tone.

Later in the evening when the boys were alone Hughie breaks open the subject. “How the hell do you know her?“

Butcher knew the question would come, but it didn’t stop him from feeling uncomfortable. He leans back against the sofa, staring up at the ceiling as he lets out a deep sigh, trying to come up with the right words to explain.

“We were friends.” He simply says, trying to keep his answer as vague as he could.

Frenchie scoffs at the words. “Friends? No, no, Friends don’t do what you two did, yes?” He looks over to Frenchie briefly.

“You know what I meant.” He mutters, shifting uncomfortably. “And it’s not like it’s all my fault.” He adds, knowing that wasn’t entirely true. He could’ve done a lot differently, but he’d been so damn stubborn.

Hughie nods, “There’s more than that!” He could tell he wasn’t going to drop it now they’d started, he had to give them some sort of explanation.

“Frenchie brought her in on a job years ago. We had… an on-and-off thing. Wasn’t serious, just casual, just having a bit of fun.” He tries to explain, his voice somewhat strained.

Hughie looks at Butcher with wide eyes. “Casual… That song is about you!”

He looked over to Hughie for several seconds, he knew exactly what song he meant. “Never heard of it.” He replies, his voice somewhat bitter and strained, he’d listen to the song one too many times since he’d found out. He wanted to be angry at you for writing it, but the more times he listened to it, the more he felt the lyrics were the truth.

“Holy shit!” Hughie laughs in revelation. Butcher rolls his eyes in response to Hughie’s loud outburst. “Jesus, calm down. It wasn’t a big deal.” He mutters.

Frenchie looks over to him with a knowing expression. “Not that big a deal, huh?”

You were more than friends, more than just a casual hook-up, but Butcher would never admit that. He shifts uncomfortably, trying to shake the thoughts running through his mind. He tries to play it off as if it were all just a good time, but he can’t convince himself, let alone the other two to sit beside him.

“Like I said, we was just friends.” He repeats, his voice lacking more and more confidence with each word.

Hughie and Frenchie share a look of doubt.

He looks over at them, seeing the looks they exchange between them. He could tell they both thought him to be talking bullshit.

He let out an irritated sigh, it made him feel even more frustrated with himself.

“You don’t believe me?” He asks, tone slightly strained.

Hughie shakes his head with a smirk “You don’t write a song like that over just some hook-up.”

The comment makes his expression shift, his jaw clenching and his eyes narrowing slightly. “People write songs about anything and everything these days.”

He knew it was a weak excuse, but the thought of admitting just how deep it had been sent him into an immediate defensive mode.

A knock comes at the door and you peek your head in. “Hi. Just wanted to see if anyone wanted to go to the studio with me. I’ve got to record.”

They all turn to look at the door, as you appear behind it. Butcher’s head tilts curiously at the appearance, his eyes falling over you as he feels a strange twisting feeling in his stomach.

He glances at the other two in silent question, before looking back over to them.

“How big is this studio?”

You shrug, “it’s not huge. It’s got a couch though.” Butcher lets out a low hum as if contemplating it for a moment before he finally stands.

“I’ll go.” He gives the others a look, as if silently challenging them to stop him.

You stop with wide eyes. “You?” You look at the other boys with curious eyes. He smirked, slightly amused by the surprised yet questioning tone you had.

“Yeah, me. That an issue, princess?”

You shake your head, “Nope.”

He grins, “Good.” He glances back to Hughie and Frenchie, who are watching the exchange intently.

“I’ll be back in a while.” He mutters to them before looking back to them. “Lead the way.”

As you enter the studio, Butcher follows along behind them and the atmosphere instantly switches. He notices the producer sitting at a desk facing a large window, and other workers moving around, setting up for the recording session.

He feels a little out of place, but he keeps his face emotionless, observing the people around him with a neutral yet intimidating expression.

“Hi, Mark.” You toss your bag on the couch and relax, waiting for the crew to finish

Butcher continues to stand near the door for a few moments, taking in the environment, before he finally moves to sit down on the sofa near you, legs almost brushing. He keeps his eyes locked on you, not able to bring himself to look away. “Who’s this?” Mark asks with a friendly smile.

He meets Mark’s gaze, his mouth curving into a small smile. “Billy Butcher.” He replies in a friendly yet cold tone. He could tell the man was a typical, smiley record business douche. But for your sake, he forced a polite demeanor. You wave your hand at him trying to dismiss the subject. “Just a friend.”

Mark’s smile turns more intrigued as his eyes move between the two of you. He can’t help but feel slightly annoyed by the look he’s giving.

“Just friend, hmm?” He mutters, a hint of skepticism in his tone.

You roll your eyes but don’t push it. Mark knew much about Billy. Knew he was the main inspiration for your career of sobbing songs

Butcher shifted on the couch, trying to act at ease as he settled into his seat, his eyes lingering on you for a few seconds before darting back around the room.

Mark smiles, looking somewhat amused as he nods his head in agreement. “Everything is set up. I’ll be out in the booth if you need me.” He replies, before disappearing through a door in the back of the studio.

You turn to Billy with a flat expression. “Don’t make any loud noises or touch anything.” He rolls his eyes in response to the instructions, a small smirk on his face.

“And what if I do?” He inquires, in a somewhat mocking tone. You roll your eyes as you stand. “You’re so infuriating.” He grins, enjoying how easy it was to get under your skin.

“What’s wrong sweetheart? Can’t handle me sitting here quietly?” He replies, leaning back against the couch leisurely. “I was hoping your friend Hughie would have come. He’d be much more fun than you.”

He scoffs at the comment, his face falling into a frown.

“Oh, what? Cause he’d behave and play nice, like a proper little puppy?” He retorts, in a somewhat bitter tone. “We both know you get bored easily.”

You move to the microphone and headset putting it on. Trying to block Billy out of your mind. He lets out a low, amused hum as you move over to the microphone, ignoring his antagonism. He leans back on the couch, crossing his arms and settling in to watch. As I sing Billy moves around the room. You send him a glare but he just shrugs innocently.

He stands near the back of the room, in the shadows as he listens to the lyrics, feeling his chest tighten as he recognizes the specific words. Had she remembered every single word he ever said to you?

He looks over at you, his gaze lingering on you, watching the emotions on your face and your hands gripping the microphone.

He continues to look over at you intently as you continue to sing. He’s completely transfixed by you, he can’t bring himself to look away, despite his mind wanting him to.

He felt his heart start to pound against his chest, the lyrics bringing up memories that he’d tried so hard to push to the back of his mind. He clenched his jaw, as he felt the emotion build up.

He felt angry at himself, for how deep the connection had been, and letting you in as much as he had.

You sing the last lines, eyes closed, completely taken. You look back to Mark. “Good?” Mark gives you an approving smile, clearly pleased with the recording.

“Good. Nice job kid.” He nods his head in approval, glancing from you to Billy, noticing the look on his face. “I think we should do that one at the show tomorrow.” Mark looks back over to you, before nodding his head in agreement.

“Yeah, it sounded nice. Fits the set well.” He replies, the corner of his mouth turning up in a slight smile, his gaze flickering over to Billy for a brief moment before turning back to you.

“Something on your mind, Butcher?” You smirk

His eyes flick back to you, and he finds himself unable to look away again. He swallows dryly, before forcing a snarky smirk in reply.

“Just thinking how much of a brat you are.” He replies, in a somewhat teasing tone. “A million-dollar brat.”

He scoffs at the response, a small huff of laughter escaping his mouth.

“A million-dollar brat that needs to learn some manners.” He counters, raising his eyebrow and staring at you with an impassive expression.

You shake at him, a fake sense of fear on your face. “Oh no, I’m so scared.”

He lets out a low laugh, noticing the feigned fear on your face. He moves closer to you, closing the distance between the two of you.

“Watch that mouth of yours, princess. Might come back to bite you in the ass.” He mutters, his tone becoming slightly more serious.

“I’d love to see you fucking try.”

He smirks, amused by the challenge. He takes another step closer, his face only a few inches away from yours.

“You really wanna test me?” He asks, in an almost mocking tone, daring you to continue baiting him.

“I don’t think you can handle it.”

He snorts, letting out a low laugh. He slowly reaches out, one hand moving to rest on your hip, as he moves even closer. He’s so close now, that he could just lean forward and reach your face with his.

He leans in, his breath hot against your ear as he speaks. “Sweetheart. I can handle a lot more than you realize.”

You look him up and down with a smirk, “Butcher, you don’t have what it takes to be with a girl like me.” He tilts his head slightly, looking down at you with an amused smirk on his face. He gently tightens his hold on your hip, his fingers gripping slightly.

“Oh, I don’t?” He replies, in a somewhat mocking tone. “And what makes you think I’d even want to be with a spoiled little princess like you?”

You walk your fingers up his toned chest. “That fucking look in your eyes.” You giggle “You miss me and you know it.” He lets out a low hum, his chest rising slowly with his sharp exhale as your fingers slide up his chest. He can feel his pulse quicken as he feels your cold touch against his skin.

He doesn’t respond to your statement, but his expression falters as you mention him missing you. He tries to keep his face neutral, but he knows that you can see the truth. He leans closer, now his face only a few millimeters from yours.

“I’d be crazy not to, princess.”

His words hit me. His eyes telling the truth. He did miss you. He watches intently as the words hit you, his eyes roaming over your face and reading your expression.

He tightens his hold on your hip, pulling you even closer until you’re practically pressed against him. He’s so close now, his eyes lingering on their face for a moment before slowly moving down to your lips.

“Billy.”

He feels a shiver run down his spine as he hears the sound of his name, his eyes still lingering on your lips.

His hand slowly moves up from your hip, his fingers moving gently up your body until he’s cupped your cheek in his hand. He can feel the heat from your skin, and he lets out a shaky exhale as his thoughts spiral.

“Um, hello? You two.” Mark laughs from the sound room. Butcher lets out a low huff, taking a second to process Mark's interruption. He reluctantly pulls his gaze away from you, tearing his eyes from your face and instead looking over to Mark.

“Hate to do it to you bud, but she’s got some more work to do,” Mark smirks at Billy. He glares slightly at Mark, a frustrated frown appearing on his face. He knows that this is the truth and that you still have more work to do.

Butcher gets a call from Hughie saying they found some hit on V being transferred. Billy reluctantly agreed to meet them at your house.

You look up, the tension still there. sharp as a knife. “you can take the car. I’ll catch a ride.” He hesitates for a moment, conflicted. He wants to stay with you, but he knows he has a job to do.

“Yeah… okay.” He replies, reluctantly. He doesn’t want to leave, but he knows that he has no choice if he wants to do his job.

Billy watches as Mark exits the studio with a notebook in hand, a look of irritation flickering across his face. He’s already getting tired of the guy, his smirk annoying him. He turns back to you, his expression unreadable. “I’ll see you later, yeah?” He mutters, his voice a little gruff.

You nod pushing a small smile. You had to pull your eyes away from him. You were fucked and you knew it. Billy was burrowing himself into your heart once more and you could not stop it.

He holds your gaze for a moment longer, his eyes lingering on your face. He wanted to say something, but he couldn’t find the words.

He holds back the urge to grab you and pull you close against him once more. Instead, he lets out a huff of air, before reluctantly turning and walking out of the studio.

~

You got home late. Tiredness wept from your bones. You begin to make tea, attempting to soothe your throat. As you’re making the tea, the sound of the front door opening interrupts the silence of the house, Billy enters.

He takes in the sight of you, standing in the kitchen. He doesn’t say anything, he just stands there silently watching you for a few moments, drinking in the sight of you.

“Hi,” you say surprised to see he’s still awake. He watches as you look back at him. He lets out a low hum in response, a small smile pulling at his lips. “Hey.” He mutters, his voice still low and gravelly from exhaustion.

You look to him, “Why are you up?” He shrugs his shoulders, moving a few steps closer to you as he replies. “Couldn’t sleep. Needed a smoke.” His eyes rake over your face and down your body, taking in the sight of you.

You want to ask him why. Ask him what he thinks. You have a hundred questions for him.

He studies you for a moment, noticing the look in your eyes. He can tell that you have something you want to say, but you’re holding back. He stays silent for a moment longer, before finally speaking up.

“Spit it out, princess.”

You turn away from him and return to the boiling water on the stove. “Nothing.” He lets out an amused huff, seeing right through your attempt to hide it. He moves closer, invading your personal space as he leans against the counter next to you.

��Bullshit.” He mutters, a smirk pulling at his lips.

He stares down at you, his eyes slowly moving over your face. He can see the emotions flicker in your eyes, while his own expression remains guarded and emotionless. He has years of practice, but you’ve always been an open book for him to read.

He reaches out a hand, gently grabbing your chin and tilting your head up to look up at him. “I can always tell when you’re lying to me, princess.”

You swat his hand away. “Don’t.”

He lets out a low chuckle, amused by your stubborn behavior. He’s not surprised by your reaction.

“Why not?” He teases, his smirk growing wider. He continues to press his luck, moving even closer and invading your personal space even more. You feel breathless as he corners you. His arms sealing around your waist with ease. You barely speak, gaze cloudy and your head dizzy. “Don’t…”

He tightens his hold on your waist, pulling you closer until your body is pressed against his. He leans in, his face inches from yours.

“Why?” He mutters again, his tone slightly taunting. He can see the way your breath has quickened, the way your body is reacting to his touch.

You couldn’t help it or stop it if you tried. The cord finally snapped. The pull of him was too strong. You press up against him. Pressing your lips to his in a rushed heated kiss. He’s surprised by your sudden move, but he doesn’t resist. Butcher presses his body against yours, returning the kiss with just as much intensity.

His hands move up from your waist, one hand gently wrapping around the back of your neck, while the other one sinks into your hair, gripping it and tilting your head to deepen the kiss.

No words were exchanged. Just deep unsettled passion going between the two. Tongues clashing, teeth nipping. Your body was growing hot. He moves his mouth over to your neck, his lips and teeth moving over your sensitive skin. He’s letting out small, low grunts and growls with each touch, clearly just as affected.

His hands continue running over your body, one hand moving back down to your hip and gripping it tightly.

Reality came crashing down. You couldn’t allow yourself to get hurt by him again. You knew he wouldn’t stay. He wouldn’t call. Wordlessly you rip yourself from him. You touch your lips in shock and stare at him. You turn around and race up to your room forgetting the once-boiling water

He’s shocked and confused by the suddenness of your actions. One moment he’s got you close to him, the next you’ve torn yourself out of his grip and raced out of the kitchen.

He takes a second to process what happened, his mind and body still reeling from the passion. He’s torn between going after you and letting you go, but before he can make a decision, you’ve already disappeared up the stairs.

The morning after the house was quiet aside from The Boys taking up her living room. She hadn’t left her room yet this morning.

Billy has been pacing around the living room most of the morning, restless and irritable. He’s already on his third cigarette, smoking quickly as a way to pass the time.

His mind is occupied by thoughts of the previous night, and he can’t shake the memory of how close you were and how abruptly you tore yourself away. He keeps glancing at the stairs, his thoughts racing.

Frenchie furrows his brows at Butcher’s pacing. “Something wrong?” He huffs, still pacing as he takes a long drag from his cigarette. He’s clearly on edge, the tension rolling off him in waves.

“Nah.“ He mutters, his words sharp. He doesn’t want to talk about what’s bothering him. Especially not with the rest of the Boys around listening.

You sit in your room staring at yourself in the mirror. “You went back on everything you fucking build.” You point at yourself in the mirror. You get dressed for a run and walk down the stairs.

He’s still pacing, taking another long drag from his cigarette when he hears you descend the stairs. He looks up, watching as you walk down towards them.

He stops his pacing, turning to face you as his eyes roam over your figure. He tries to ignore the pang of desire that flares inside of him, but he can’t help it. His mind still lingering on last night.

Without a word, you make your way to the door. “Going for a run,” you say and dash outside.

He grits his teeth in frustration as you slam the door behind you. He knows that you’re avoiding him, and it’s pissing him off.

He glances over at the rest of the two, who are watching the exchange with curious glances. He doesn’t care, he just scowls and storms over to the window by the door, peering out of it to watch as you walk away.

Frenchie pipes up, “What’s wrong with her?” Butcher doesn’t take his eyes off you as he replies to Frenchie’s question.

“Rough night, I guess.” He mutters, his tone gruff. His eyes still fixed on your form as you get further and further away, a frown tugging at his lips.

You avoided Butcher when Ieft and you did the same when you came home. The evening grows and you appear again, only because you have to. “Alright, I’ve got to go to the venue and get ready. Meet the security guard by the back door. You’ve already been cleared to come inside.” Hughie and Frenchie look excited while Butcher looks like he couldn’t care less.

He ignores the excited looks on Hughie and Frenchie’s faces, rolling his eyes at their eagerness. The thought of watching you perform is the only thing keeping him from completely refusing.

Butcher didn’t see you next until you were all dressed to the 9s. A short dress and glamorous makeup on your face. “Hey!” You say excitedly as the boys enter backstage. Hughie could explode with excitement

Butcher looks up as you call out, his eyes immediately falling to your appearance. His breath hitches in his throat as he takes in the sight of you. The short dress clings to your curves in all the right ways, while the glamorous makeup brings out your features.

He feels a stir of desire low in his stomach, his heart rate quickening as he tries to keep his expression neutral. But he can’t help the way his eyes linger on your figure for a few moments longer than necessary.

“You look… good.” He manages to mutter, his voice slightly gruff.

You try to ignore his comment, but can’t help the light blush from appearing on your cheeks. “Uh, thanks.”

The show starts. Butcher, Frenchie, and Hughie stand backstage, with a clear view. You sing as the crowd screams. Hughie dances to the music, Frenchie smiles at his friend, and Butcher was having to watch the woman he wanted so badly parade on stage, singing about how shitty of a person he was.

A mix of desire and pain bubbled inside of him. You look absolutely ravishing, and it’s torturous to just watch you from the sidelines.

You stand in the middle of the stage, emotions at a high. “So, this next one goes out to my Ex.” The crowd goes wild. You turn to look at Butcher with a smile. “Because I know your fucking watching, bitch.”

He meets your gaze as you turn to look at him, a smirk playing at the edges of his lips. His eyes roam over your figure as you speak to the crowd, his mind reeling with thoughts. A part of him is amused by your bold display, but another part wants to rip you off the stage and claim you then and there.

“My friends call me a loser

'Cause I'm still hanging around

I've heard so many rumors

That I'm just a girl that you bang on your couch

I thought you thought of me better

Someone you couldn't lose

You said We're not together

So now when we kiss, I have anger issues”

He listens intently as you sing the lyrics, his heart clenching in his chest at the truth behind them. The reminder of your failed relationship hits him like a ton of bricks, a pang of guilt mixing with the pain he feels.

He watches as you perform, his eyes locked on you, feeling torn between wanting to apologize and wanting to hold you tightly.

“You said, Baby, no attachment

But we're

Knee deep in the passenger seat, and you're eating me out

Is it casual now?

Two weeks and your mom invites me to her house on Long Beach

Is it casual now?

I know what you tell your friends

It's casual if it's casual now

Then, baby, get me off again

If it's casual, it's casual now”

His breath hitches in his throat as you sing the lyrics, the words hitting him hard. It’s a painful reminder of the way he treated you, the way he couldn’t commit to anything more than casual.

He can feel the guilt and shame welling up inside of him, knowing that he didn’t treat you the way you deserved. He watches your performance, his expression a mix of pain and desire.

He watches as you exit the stage, making your way backstage to them. His heart is hammering in his chest, his palms sweaty. He knows that he needs to talk to you, to try and make things right.

Frenchie and Hughie are still chatting excitedly about the show, but he barely registers anything they’re saying. He only has eyes for you as you approach.

“I have to get out of these shoes.” You laugh. He lets out a gruff chuckle at your comment, his gaze still fixed on you intently. He can’t deny that he likes the sight of you in those sexy heels, but he knows you’re probably uncomfortable.

“Don’t blame you.” He mutters, his eyes roaming over your figure again.

“I’ll be back. I’m going to change.” You said and made your way into the dressing room.

Butcher takes a few seconds, trying to control the intense desire to go into the dressing room after you. But in the end, his need to see you again wins out. He glances towards Hughie and Frenchie, who are distracted talking about the show, before quietly following you to the dressing room.

The door opens and you jump in surprise. You hold up a blanket, shielding yourself. Only clad in a bra and panties. “What are you doing?”

He stops in the doorway, his eyes widening as he takes in your almost naked form. He feels a rush of desire as he scans your body, his mind instantly flooded with thoughts of pulling you into his arms and claiming you right there.

At the sight of your surprised expression, he clears his throat, trying to compose himself. “Came to see you.” He mutters, taking a step closer to you.

“Um, well can it wait until I have fucking clothes on?” He glances over your form once more, lust clouding his mind. He can’t help but stare at your body, his eyes roaming over your frame.

“Not sure I can wait that long.” He mutters, taking another step towards you, his voice low and gruff.

Butcher crosses over to you. He pulls you closer, his hand gripping your waist with a firm, almost possessive, hold. He kisses you hungrily, his lips devouring yours with a mixture of desire and desperation.

He pushes you against the wall, trapping you between his body and the hard surface. He lets out a low growl against your lips, his tongue seeking access to your mouth.

He deepens the kiss, his tongue exploring your mouth hungrily. His body is pressed against yours, holding you tightly against the wall, his hands roaming over your body as if memorizing every curve.

He breaks the kiss, pulling back just enough to look into your eyes. He’s panting, his chest heaving as he gazes down at you, his expression filled with a mix of desire and something more… something vulnerable.

His eyes are intense and filled with a mixture of desire and guilt. He can’t bring himself to say the words, but the silent apology is there in his gaze.

His body is still pressed against yours, and he runs a hand down your side in a gentle caress. He looks like he wants to say something, but the words seem to get stuck in his throat. You mimic his words, “spit it out.”

A huff of annoyance leaves his lips at your use of his own words against him. He grumbles for a moment, his grip on your waist tightening slightly.

He takes a deep breath, steeling himself. Then he looks into your eyes, his expression a mix of vulnerability and determination.

“I’m sorry.” He mutters, his voice gravelly. “For how I treated you… for not treating you the way you deserved.” You place your hands on his cheeks, a smile on your face. “Just fucking kiss me.”

He grabs you once again, crushing his lips against yours hungrily. His hand grips the back of your neck, angling your head so he can deepen the kiss even further.

The following day, both Butcher and you are sitting on your couch. You’re leaning against him as he fiddles with your fingertips. The need to touch you is too great to just be near.

Hughie and Frenchie walk in and are taken aback by the two. Frenchie smirks, “So what is this now, huh?” You and Butcher look at each other. Butcher offers a smirk, “Well one thing it ain’t, is fucking casual.”

[vanillablankcanvas]

Part 4 Trolls Headcanons/ Theories/ Thoughts/ Ideas

Part1 Part2 Part3 Part5 Part6 Part7 Part8 Part9 Part10

Bruce - theorizes that his daughter LaBreezy will be the one to take over the restaurant.

Bruce - tries developing and inventing his own recipes, Brandy has to remind him that not everyone can handle as much sugar as a Troll can. He reels it back a bit.

Bruce - makes specific food for different reasons. E.g. makes bread when he's angry so he can take it out on the dough, makes lasagnas so he can use the leftovers as an excuse to visit someone, makes spicy dishes when he wants revenge.

John Dory - has been arrested before, he changes the reason everytime someone asks.

John Dory - occasionally uses 'chewing tobacco' (which honestly in the Trolls-verse would be some kinda chewing gum 😂)

John Dory - serial flirt (very bad at it, he thinks he's great at it)

John Dory - does weird stuff because of his isolation e.g. will eat what's left over on the plates when Bruce's customers leave, will ask when the baby's due but they're just overweight, will go into detail about gutting a fish in front of Trollings.

John Dory - can open a wine/champagne bottle with his machete and light a match with his teeth

Clay - occasionally tutors math to Trollings.

Clay - has a decent sized nest egg

Clay - graduated highschool early

Clay - has business cards stored in his hair

Clay - knows how to tie different knots for neckties.

Clay - can spin a pen around his fingers

Clay - is thinking of getting his own critter transportation

Floyd - was 100% sure he was going to die in the bottle. He now has a new outlook on life after being given a second chance.

Floyd - wants a long term relationship but is afraid of getting attached and being used.

Floyd - practices advanced yoga

Floyd - has developed claustrophobia

Floyd - released one solo album, one limited run, it was mentioned he is a former member Brozone on the cover to boost sales. It was a flop. This crushed Floyd.

Branch - toying with the idea of building plans for a Pop Village Castle. (Secretly a fortress)

Viva - biggest Broppy shipper. Already has their wedding planned in her head.

Viva - adrenaline junkie

Viva - no sense of personal space

Tiny Diamond - checks on Branch and Poppy's egg daily asking if his new BFFL is here yet.

Pop Trolls - King Peppy invented all these bizarre holidays when they were trapped in the Troll tree to keep hope alive and to boost morale.

Putt-Putt Trolls - all delayed having Trollings worrying for their future safety. The very few eggs that hatched are hidden and protected by the whole tribe. (Putt-Putt baby names: Birdie, Par, Ace, Caddie, Fore, Eagle, Divot, Links, Scramble) Clay and Viva were present for every one of them hatching.

Rhonda - locks JD outside when she's annoyed with him. "Who needs you, I wanted to sleep on this rock anyway!"

[magicshopaholic]

Dinner at the Kangs’ (Yoongi x OC)

Summary: Yoongi is invited to a dinner he regrets attending, but couldn’t refuse. Every waking moment after that is spent worrying about you.

Pairing: Yoongi x OC

Genre: Suspense, angst, mild fluff (but it’s angsty)

Word count:��9K

Rating: 18+

Warnings: language, if that

A/N: Literally zero editing has taken place. Set a few weeks after A Lack of Colour.

Tagging: @bbl32 @quarter-life-crisis2 @meirkive @faearchives @margopinkerton @dreaming-with-happiness @confessionsofamarshlily @purpleseoul7 @sumzysworld

Listen to: “hold me” by hojean

yoongi masterlist | main masterlist

Tap tap tap.

Yoongi glances briefly at Miso to his side, to see her gazing out of the window. Her side profile seems calm enough, although her arms are crossed tightly across her chest. It’s a moment before he realises the tapping sounds aren’t coming from her.

She looks at him the same time he turns to face the road.

“Are you okay?” she asks.

The question seems incongruously directed; Yoongi frowns slightly and presses his fingers against the steering wheel to stop them from tapping. 

“I am,” he says deliberately. “Are you?”

She shrugs in response. It’s a long way from her demeanour earlier today, including the investors’ meeting she hadn’t been invited to but had to attend anyway, including the nepo baby whispers he’s sure she’d heard but couldn’t respond to, and the surprise dinner invitation to him from her father she clearly hadn’t expected but needed to echo while in his presence.

Any friend of Miso’s is welcome in our home.

Kang Jaesung’s lips had curled very slightly around his words but his face had stayed unreadable. A couple of years ago, Yoongi would’ve automatically accepted it to be polite. A year ago, he would’ve found it mildly smug but still would’ve said yes, just to keep an investor happy. 

Today, he’d hesitated, his mind immediately trying to work out why he, of all people, had been personally invited to dinner at Miso’s father’s house, while Miso stood right next to him, her eyes going momentarily wide but her face staying still with an effort. Yoongi had met her eyes but she’d looked away instantly, almost as though her father went around inviting a stranger to dinner every day. 

Except he wasn’t a stranger, and Kang Jaesung knew that. The lead producer who had forced Miso into this meeting, someone who probably didn’t even know the names of the other assistant producers, had been open about why she was included. He had probably meant well, too, when he’d gushed breathlessly during his presentation, that Kang Miso has been a pillar for this project, working so hard and burning the midnight oil with her co-producer, never knowing how Yoongi’s stomach had jolted at those words and he’d faced forward - only to see Miso’s father staring right at him.

“Is it about the album?”

Yoongi is about to deny it, but he figures he may as well engage - anything but think about what’s to come.

“Er - kind of.”

Miso waits for him to continue. When he doesn’t, she blinks. “Yes, you’ve really painted a picture for me,” she says dryly.

Fighting the urge to sigh, he shakes his head. “The way I’ve written it… it’s perfect. If I may say so myself,” he adds hastily, glancing away from the road momentarily. “That includes a collaboration… with this absolute jackass.”

Miso makes a sound of mild surprise. He pictures her raising her eyebrows in the way she does, which could indicate anything from sympathy to mockery.

“Why’s he a jackass?”

“He said some stuff about us - BTS - back in the day.” Yoongi takes a turn into a wide street, now officially entering the suburbs of Gangnam, home to the rich and famous. Not idol rich. Businessman rich. Chaebol rich.

“What kind of stuff?” Miso prompts him.

“Just… basically implied that some of us were sell-outs for doing the idol thing instead of sticking to hip-hop.” He winces at the memory. “I mean, he apologised publicly for it later, but…” He clicks his tongue.

“You called the guy who dissed you to work on a collab?” She lets out a low whistle. “That doesn’t sound like you, Min Suga.”

He half-chuckles. “It doesn’t?”

“No. Although, I’ve dissed you a bunch of times and it hasn’t kept you from working with me.”

“Not for lack of trying, too.” He hears her snicker at that and his smile widens a bit. “I didn’t call him. He reached out to me - or, his people reached out to mine.” He sighs deeply. “I don’t know.”

Miso is quiet for a moment. “You said he apologised, though.”

“Well, yeah, but -”

“And it’s good for your album?”

“It would be great - he’s an incredible rapper. But -”

“Then what’s the problem? It’s just work.”

Yoongi is about to argue but stops himself, sensing that he isn’t going to make much headway here. Things like baggage, band loyalty, camaraderie - while she understands them on an intellectual level, she seems too detached to actually spot them in reality.

“What about you?”

“What about me?”

“Are you nervous?”

“About tonight?” Miso hesitates, then shakes her head. “There’s no point thinking about it. You never know what’s going to happen and…” She turns to him, leaning back against her side of the car. “It’s better to just be prepared for anything.”

Yoongi blinks, for this does not help him at all. But there’s a note of resignation in her tone that prevents him from pointing it out and he half-wonders if he himself is overthinking it, or if Miso has just transcended past the mad anxiety into a state of unhinged calm or something.

They don’t speak again until they reach Miso’s house - or, rather, her father’s estate. Like the last time he was here, Yoongi can’t fathom this kind of wealth - the kind that changes people, or the kind that influences things like business and politics beyond what you read in the papers.

He parks the car and they step out together, walking beside each other but with a careful distance between them all the way from the car park to the lawns sprawled in front of the house. It’s dark by now and the perfectly mown grass is damp with dew. Yoongi’s stomach churns unexpectedly; a few more steps and they will be fully visible in the glow of the lights along the garden.

“Miso.”

She takes a couple of more steps before stopping, turning around when she realises he isn’t next to her. “What?”

He stares at her and holds up his hands. “You have to give me something before we go inside. What to expect, what to say - I mean, I have no idea what’s going to happen in there,” he adds, pointing towards the house.

Miso frowns, her arms crossed. “Neither do I. This is quite literally the first time this has ever happened.” 

But something in his expression must have told her he’s serious, for a moment later, she sighs and her face softens a bit. She clears her throat and takes a small step towards him.

“Fine. Don’t tell my mother her house looks nice,” she says. “Tell her the decor is better than every celebrity’s house you’ve ever been to.” She waits for a few seconds, presumably to let this digest. “Don’t… compliment me. But also don’t insult me,” she adds, frowning. “And don’t make it seem like we’ve worked together all that much… but also kind of let it be known that I’m probably the most valuable team member you’ve ever had.”

“How -”

“And try to act intimidated by my father,” she continues, “but not in a… like a simpering way, or he’ll lose respect for you.”

Yoongi scoffs. “I’m not trying to earn his respect.”

Miso purses her lips lightly. “Maybe. But trust me - you don’t want to lose it.”

He bites his lip, his head swimming. He wishes he could enter her mind to try and understand what the hell she’s talking about. But he never has and he doubts tonight is when it will change.

“Let’s go back to your earlier suggestion of not thinking about it,” he mutters. Miso pokes her tongue into her cheek, looking almost as though she’s suppressing a smile. 

“If I were a cliche, I’d tell you to just be yourself,” she tells him as they resume walking. “But that hasn’t worked out so well for me in the past, so…”

“Worked fine on me. Well, not during the first couple of years of knowing you but, you know. After that.”

Miso snorts again, covering her hand with her mouth. “New rule: do not try to make me laugh in there.”

Inexplicably, Yoongi feels his mouth twist. They are almost at her front door now, only a few steps remaining before them. “I’ll do my best, Kang Chanel.”

“Do not call me Kang Chanel in there,” she hisses, her eyes still betraying mirth. “Min Suga,” she tacks on at the end.

Yoongi wants to joke back but at that moment, she reaches forward to push open the door. Just like the first time he’d seen it, it’s enormous, creaking cleanly on hinges. When they step inside and the door closes behind them, it’s like being enclosed in a dungeon again.

The living room is expansive - but it’s also different. He frowns, trying to recall the last time he’d been here, so long ago. Had it always been green?

“Mother took on an interior decorating project earlier this year,” mutters Miso, almost as if she can hear his thoughts. “She thought cream and green were more regal.”

Yoongi doesn’t respond immediately. Once the initial surprise dies down, the olive green and cream combination is actually not too bad, if a bit unexpected. He remembers Miso’s advice and makes a mental note to mention it to her mother.

“Where is -”

“In here.” Miso walks ahead of him, the distance between them already increasing. Yoongi follows her out of the hall and into the dining area, the entire space as big as the apartment he grew up in. The fireplace is immaculate, with electric flames dancing mildly on the base. The floors are shiny enough for him to see his reflection in, and the decor (black, white and light gold) makes him feel like he’s in a hotel. He exhales and turns to look for Miso, only to face the bar - and the bartender.

“Welcome,” says the man behind the bar. He places four glasses before him - three tumblers and one wine glass - with smooth precision. He doesn’t look up until he’s poured a whiskey into the first two glasses. “Do you drink, Yoongi?”

Yoongi starts; he realises he expected the house to be crawling with staff. A cook here, a butler there, a housekeeper, a gardener, possibly a shoe-shiner - definitely not Kang Jaesung himself standing at the bar, making his own drink.

A sound breaks through this revelation; it’s Miso clearing her throat and Yoongi realises he was asked a question.

“Uh, yes… sir.”

Kang Jaesung nods mildly but doesn’t look up, pouring a third whiskey, followed by a few drops of water in each. Yoongi doesn’t know if he’s imagining the sudden aroma of expensive whiskey. A few ice cubes clink with the bottom of each glass; Miso steps forward to pick one up and her father does the same. Just before taking a sip, he pushes the third glass an inch.

“Drink,” he says, finally meeting Yoongi’s eyes. There’s no please, no hint of a question or an offer, but something about his tone takes Yoongi off guard. It’s not a challenge, or even an order - but he doesn’t know what it is either.

After hesitating for a moment, Yoongi picks up the drink. He takes a sip to discover the smoothest whiskey he has ever tasted, and his stomach twists painfully at the thought of how much this bottle would’ve cost.

“Delicious whiskey, Father,” says Miso, standing by the dining table. 

“It’s Scottish,” he replies in answer, now retrieving a bottle of Cabernet from the shelf behind him and pouring it into the remaining wine glass. He finally steps out from behind the bar just as, as if on cue, Miso’s mother appears in a spotless white sleeveless pantsuit. 

“For my lady,” he murmurs, reaching her and offering her the wine. They exchange a momentary hint of a smile and clink their glasses together before drinking together.

Yoongi frowns but immediately straightens his face, instead turning to look at Miso and hoping to see his own confusion reflected in her face. But she isn’t looking confused; in fact, she isn’t even looking at him. She’s walking towards the expansive kitchen and scanning the food neatly laid out - trays of sushi, the choicest cuts of lamb, devilled eggs and salmon. It seems like an awful lot for only four people, but before he can dwell on it, he hears his name.

“Yoongi.” It’s Miso’s mother this time. “How lovely to see you again.”

For some reason, my mother’s got it in her head that I’m her competition. Yoongi’s mind immediately goes back to the hotel, to the restaurant opening, to the coat closet. To his horror, he can feel his cheeks heat up and he hopes to the heavens that they aren’t changing colour.

“You, too, Mrs Kang.”

He bows, a little belatedly, but finds she has simply brushed past him and into the dining area. “Your - your house is beautiful. Much more than some of the other houses I’ve been to in Gangnam,” he adds quickly.

Kang Sera says nothing but a moment later she raises an eyebrow in acknowledgement, looking somewhat satisfied. “Thank you. It’s changed a lot since you were last here.”

Yoongi is sure he spots Miso’s eyes widening for a fraction of a second but before he can react, she’s smoothly changed the subject.

“The new drapes are lovely, too, Mother. They are imported, you know?” she says. “From Italy.”

It takes him a moment to realise he’s expected to respond. Meeting her eyes briefly, he nods. “They’re… wonderful.”

There’s a brief silence during which Kang Sera, looking almost bored, takes a seat at one end of the table. Her husband follows suit and sits at the other end after which, finally, Miso pulls out a chair along one of the sides.

“You should offer a seat to our guest first, Miso.” Kang Jaesung speaks, sounding like he’s chiding her for not doing her homework on time. “Yoongi. I apologise for my daughter.”

“Oh, no, that’s - that’s quite alright,” he replies hastily, not quite sure why he’s stuttering. He pulls up a chair as well, directly opposite Miso, who’s pursing her lips with her eyes on her glass.

Kang Jaesung makes a motion and as if out of nowhere, two men appear from somewhere near the kitchen and pick up the trays of food, beginning to silently serve them. 

“So, Yoongi. I hear you’ve been working for Big Hit for a few years now.”

It’s not a question. Yoongi isn’t immediately sure how to respond, especially since no one has ever referred to him as “working” for Big Hit before.

“I - yes. Eight years. Eleven, if you count training.”

“Training?” he asks, eyebrows slightly raised, sounding barely interested.

“Yes. All idols need to train before they can debut. Before they can begin releasing music,” he adds, as if to clarify. But then the next second he cringes inwardly, wondering if that comes across as patronising.

“Idol? So… do you dance and sing and all that?” There’s a hint of a smile on his face, teetering between confusion and amusement. 

He instinctively bristles, becoming instantly defensive. But Yoongi gets a distinct feeling that the question is meant to unsettle him, and he nods.

“That’s right. Sir. I also work as a producer for the company, though.”

Kang Jaesung observes him for a moment, then raises his eyebrows and nods, sitting back in his chair, spine straight. “That’s quite impressive. Two jobs, two roles. Two ways to make the company dependent on you,” he adds, his smile widening slightly, as though sharing a private joke. “Impressive.”

It occurs to Yoongi only now that as such a big stakeholder of Big Hit, it seems unlikely that he would not know about Yoongi’s participation in the group. But the thought seems benign; instinctively, Yoongi smiles back, albeit a little uncomfortably.

“Do you think it’s impressive, Miso?”

Yoongi’s heart jerks a little, but Miso doesn’t even flinch. “It is,” she answers, before looking at Yoongi briefly. “Congratulations.”

Their kiss in the coat closet might as well have been a figment of Yoongi’s imagination for all the distance she’s displaying right now. He tells himself it’s a part she’s playing (too well, possibly) but for now, he finds himself wishing she would at least meet his eyes for longer than a second.

“I suppose it’s a good thing you and Miso are working together,” he continues, as the last of the food is finally served and the waiters shuffle away just as quietly as they’d appeared. “I didn’t think much of it in the beginning but it might be worth it for the experience. And the role models.”

Yoongi can’t tell if he’s being made fun of. There’s that twinkle in Kang Jaesung’s eye again, like he’s bringing Yoongi in on a joke, but a bigger part of his brain is focused on Miso. Surely - surely - this must be making Kang Miso’s blood boil?

Miso takes a sip of her whiskey and looks at her father, tilting her head slightly. “I told you there was an upside, Father,” she says, almost teasingly.

Kang Jaesung nods and smiles, raising his glass slightly. “I concede to you there.”

From across the table, Miso’s mother chuckles. “You may have done the impossible, Miso. Your father doesn’t admit defeat so easily.”

They all laugh lightly and begin tucking into their plates, while Yoongi watches in horrid fascination. It’s as though he’s watching a play - a terribly written play with rubbish storytelling, with actors simply reading off a script.

As the dinner progresses, the same line of delicate conversation continues. Kang Jaesung asks a question whose answer seems elusive as ever, Yoongi uneasily provides one anyway, he responds with a statement that could be taken in ten different ways, while his wife and daughter interject occasionally.

Try as he might, Yoongi can’t understand Kang Jaesung. Until today, he had pigeonholed the business magnate as a narcissistic, sociopathic capitalist who struck a mysterious fear in Miso. Yoongi hated his very existence on principle - which is why he cannot fathom how he is not only sitting next to Kang Jaesung and eating his food and drinking his booze, but he is actually trying.

It’s hard to admit but somewhere through dinner, Yoongi realises he’s genuinely intimidated by Kang Jaesung. It’s not hostile in nature, but the mild smiles and the sparing, passive aggressive compliments make Yoongi want to correct him - to actively appear better in front of him.

The Kangs continue to put on this charade of a well-natured, riffing family which would be amusing if it weren’t so obviously untrue. He wonders how and why Miso is participating, until it occurs to him that this little production isn’t being put on for his benefit. No, it seems far too rehearsed, almost as if it’s been going on for years. 

He also realises a little while later, when there’s a momentary pause after a joke that he’s suddenly sure has broken this facade (but results in a borderline haunting chuckle from Kang Jaesung), that the only reason it seems so fake to him is because he knows it’s fake. Everything Miso has told him, however grudgingly, about her family has been with disdain and resignation and he is suddenly sure he is the first and only person she has ever confided in.

Yoongi tries to meet Miso’s eyes, but it seems hopeless now. She’s acting like he’s just a colleague. Even worse, she’s channelling the Miso he met and resented instantly over a year ago, ignoring the waiters who serve her and seeming more in tune with her horrible wealthy parents than ever.

It isn’t until the dinner is coming to an end, the last course of smoked lamb and caviar (Caviar? On a Wednesday night?) being cleared away that Yoongi gets any indication at all that he isn’t stuck in the most mediocre nightmare he’s ever had. 

Miso has just nonchalantly laughed off a rather backhanded comment by her mother regarding her relationship status. Yoongi, for a plethora of reasons, grits his teeth at this but holds his tongue, biting his lip until his phone buzzes in on the seat of the chair next to him. He’s about to ignore it until he sees Miso’s name flash across the screen.

His chest jolts; looking around and deciding that the minor transition movement of the plates being cleared away, Kang Jaesung checking his phone and Kang Sera motioning for another drink, is safe for him to swipe up the screen.

Kang Chanel [20:35] Fix your face, Min Suga.

Yoongi grits his teeth harder - but, he realises a moment later, only to keep from accidentally smiling. His eyes snap up to look at her but she’s finishing her drink, looking rather haughty and bored in her own dining room, as though she can’t wait for this night to be over.

Yoongi can relate. He is supposed to meet Jungkook to record a demo tonight, he remembers suddenly. Eleven pm was what they had agreed upon which seems doable, but also seems too far away. 

“So, Yoongi,” says Kang Jaesung, as dessert starts being served. “What do you think of my daughter?”

There’s a moment where no one speaks, and Yoongi simply blinks. “Sir?”

He raises his eyebrows. “As her superior,” he clarifies slowly, “what do you think of her? Do you think she has a future in music?”

For the first time all night, Yoongi deliberately does not look in Miso’s direction. “She does,” he replies honestly. “She has shown a good understanding of the different elements of making music and… well, she’s worked on quite a few collaborations that have gone on to release.”

Kang Jaesung smiles; the same small, mild, perfunctory smile. “That’s good to hear, I suppose. Although, it’s tough,” he muses. “You see, for a man in my position, I have to be… discerning, when I hear about my own family. Miso is my heir and I have to be sure that my life’s work, my fortune… it’s in the right hands. I have no doubt she works hard but she will never truly know the desperation to make it,” he says casually, as though his heir and legacy isn’t sitting five feet away from him. “Not like you and me.”

Yoongi’s stomach twists; he feels nauseous. He doesn’t know if it’s Miso being called her father’s “heir”, or Kang Jaesung’s familiarity in lumping himself and Yoongi together, or the fact that a part deep down inside him, the part that once thought very less of Kang Chanel for the exact same reasons, almost agrees. 

He doesn’t want to dwell on how much Kang Jaesung might know of his own struggles; whether he is simply guessing or he’s had a PI tailing him. But it’s dawning on him that accepting this invitation was a huge mistake, on every level. He can’t imagine looking Miso in the eye right now. Does she assume he agrees with her father?

“I suppose one can’t be held responsible for their childhood… sir,” he says finally, feeling both defensive yet drained. “But you can be proud of Miso’s work ethic. She is an asset to - to the team.”

Kang Jaesung nods, then frowns. “I wish I could take your word for it, Yoongi. But you are just one person in the company.”

“Yes, but I have worked with Miso the longest, on multiple songs,” he replies, trying not to sound too argumentative. “It’s been over a year and I can - I can tell you, sir… she has grown a lot. I can vouch for that.”

There’s silence again. Kang Jaesung licks his lips slowly, the hint of a smile still present, observing Yoongi as though he’s just noticed him for the first time. For a moment, Yoongi thinks he’s convinced him, but a movement in his periphery distracts him. 

He turns to look at Kang Sera, who’s just placed a hand under her chin with one slender finger over her mouth, a grim sort of satisfaction on her face. Next to her, Miso is finally looking directly at him, her eyes wary.

And Yoongi realises he might have made a terrible mistake.

—

The Kangs’ living room, now that he’s actually in it, is enormous. It’s like a hotel ballroom, like an extremely luxurious prison cell where a billionaire might be forced to stay in solitary for the crime of not wasting money.

A waiter appears at Yoongi’s elbow where he’s by the floor-to-ceiling glass case, holding a silver tray with a small white coffee cup.

“It’s Arabic,” says Miso’s mother, the only person sitting, legs folded elegantly underneath her on the plush white sofa. “Handpicked coffee beans that are dried and shipped in airtight containers to our doorstep. Costs a fortune.”

Shocker. Yoongi takes a sip; it’s good, but not worthy of a soliloquy.

“It’s delicious. I’ve never had anything like it.”

She nods in satisfaction and goes back to her phone, manicured talons swiping up the screen while she sips her coffee.

“Did you drive here, Yoongi?” Kang Jaesung asks, standing at the other end of the glass case, one hand holding a cup and the other in his pocket, observing a plaque displayed inside.

“Yes, sir.”

“Did you find the house alright?”

“Yes, sir.”

“What about the guards outside? Did they give you any trouble?” He tilts his head towards Yoongi, almost jovially. “They are instructed to protect the house from outsiders after all.”

Yoongi grits his teeth again, frustrated. It’s a double-edged sword, one that cannot keep those guards from getting in trouble either way unless he gives Kang Jaesung the exact response he wants. 

“They recognised Miso, sir.”

“Oh, yes, of course. You drove her here,” he feigns remembering. “I almost forgot.”

Bullshit.

“How nice of you, Yoongi.” Kang Sera looks up from across the room, her gaze flickering towards Miso by the corner of one of the armchairs, shoulders hunched and silently staring into her coffee. “You and Miso must really go far back for you to offer her a ride. Or you’re just a very good boss.” She titters.

No, you witch. Your husband took the car and the driver, and outright asked me to drive your daughter home - apparently just so he can fuck with us.

Kang Jaesung chuckles in agreement, and Yoongi wants to throw the steaming contents of his cup in the older man’s face.

“You’re a lucky girl, Miso,” her father says, glancing back at her. “But she’s always been lucky. She graduated from a university in New Zealand - a year early,” he adds. “Did you know that, Yoongi?”

“Australia,” mutters Miso, but no one save for Yoongi seems to hear her.

“Come. Take a look.” Kang Jaesung motions to Yoongi to join him and waits until he does. He points to a plaque inside, with the name of a university, followed by Class of 2012 embossed in bronze. On the left side is a space for a photo frame, with a picture of a much younger Miso in a red and white graduation gown, holding a diploma.

“Wow,” murmurs Yoongi, only for a lack of anything else to say. 

Her father hums. “Two years after this, she got her business degree from Columbia - Columbia University, that’s in America - but she wanted to move back to Australia straight after.” He shakes his head. “I tried to talk her out of it but she’s really quite stubborn that way.”

Something about this anecdote just does not sound correct at all, but Yoongi knows it’s not his place to ask - not here, anyway. He makes a mental note to bring it up with Miso later, but for now, he just wants this dinner to end.

“I’m sure we have the plaque for that, too - Miso, come here and help me look.”

For a moment, it looks as though Miso might decline but then she walks over, moving straight past Yoongi who takes this opportunity to step away from Kang Jaesung’s immediate radius so he’s standing a few feet away from both father and daughter who are by the glass case.

“Over there,” she mutters, pointing to right behind the first plaque.

“Oh, of course. It’s getting blocked by this.” He opens the case and shifts a framed magazine cover with his own face on it - looking blazing and stony and worldly all at once - and brings Miso’s Columbia plaque forward.

“There we go. That’s better, isn’t it?” 

Miso sips her coffee noncommittally but doesn’t answer. Yoongi gets the feeling she was expected to, however, and finds himself responding.

“Congratulations on the Time cover. Sir.” 

“Thank you. I suppose achievement is genetic as well.” He smiles and looks from his daughter to his wife - the latter of whom has now put down her phone. Any remnant of phone humour has left her face as she stares at her husband, who’s looked away by now.

“They are both quite impressive, Yoongi,” she says after a moment. “In fact, I’m surprised you didn’t see it the last time you were here.”

It’s the second time she’s brought up his last visit to this house, during a time when the only feelings Yoongi could muster towards Miso were resentment, annoyance and some amount of pity. There’s no avoiding it this time, though; Kang Jaesung picks up on it immediately.

“What’s that?” He frowns, his tone sharper than it has been all evening. His eyes snap up to Yoongi. “I didn’t realise you’d been here before.”

He’s telling the truth, Yoongi realises. All evening, Kang Jaesung has been one, maybe several steps ahead of them. This time, though, he’s been caught off guard.

“Of course he has. It was at the family gathering last summer. Don’t you remember, darling? Miso brought Yoongi as her date - I was so excited until Miso told me they were simply colleagues.” She titters again, but there’s no humour there whatsoever.

Yoongi can’t accurately judge the severity of the situation, but even though she’s a few feet away, he can’t almost feel Miso stiffen.

“I see,” says Kang Jaesung, softly. “How amusing.”

“He wasn’t a date, Father,” says Miso, eyes flickering upwards but not meeting her fathers’. “I invited him as a guest, because he was my boss at the time. You had met him, too, in the studio.”

“Is that right? Well, now. It might be my mistake,” he says suddenly. “I wasn’t made aware that I was… setting something else in motion.” His lips curl around the words. “I suppose girls never grow out of keeping things from their fathers.”

There’s the same pretence of good-natured family humour, but Yoongi is not fooled this time. It’s the most tense, uncomfortable situation he can remember being in. He looks up to see Kang Jaesung watching his daughter, while Miso’s fingers tighten around her cup.

Maybe it’s completely innocuous, but something about the motion makes Yoongi’s gaze move to her hands and an image flashes in his mind, of a bluish purple mark on her wrist.

It all happens in an instant. Kang Jaesung raises his hand very slightly - he may have simply been reaching for his phone for all Yoongi knows - to his right, Miso inhales shakily, and Yoongi instinctively steps in between them. At the last second he places his empty coffee cup on the table under the glass case, attempting to be nonchalant.

But the damage is done. Kang Jaesung’s gaze bores into Yoongi, a few seconds which feel like they last several hours, until finally he takes a step back.

“I think we might call it a night here,” he suggests, taking a sip of his coffee and placing his cup right next to Yoongi’s. He picks up his phone and moves away, as though already having forgotten. “Yoongi… forgive me. I’m a busy man.”

Yoongi nods jerkily. “Of course. Thank you for the invite. The dinner was wonderful. Thank you, Mrs Kang,” he adds after a moment. He moves to leave, careful not to acknowledge Miso at all. Just as he’s almost out of the living room, his heart uncomfortably and irregularly beating, Kang Jaesung speaks again.

“Miso, please escort our guest to his car.” 

“Of course.”

There’s no time for Yoongi to react. Miso walks towards him and motions for him to continue, and they exit the house together, down the stairs and across the lawn in complete silence. Yoongi is too on edge to speak, not even sure where to begin. But the mansion looms behind him, opulent and intimidating and it isn’t until they cross beyond the lights bordering the lawn and reach his car in the dark parking lot that Yoongi is finally confident enough to openly face her. 

“Miso,” he says, and he is shocked to hear the worry in his voice. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what just happened but I - I swear I didn’t mean to say -”

He’s cut off almost instantly, however. Her face is shrouded in the dark of the night underneath a moonless sky, but he can still see the smile flicker across her face before she reaches forward and kisses him.

It takes Yoongi a few bewildered seconds to respond but by the time he can register it, it’s already over.

“Thank you,” she murmurs. She doesn’t look or sound happy, but the smile is still there, almost resigned. She looks like she wants to say more but gives up quickly. On some level, Yoongi is glad. He doesn’t know if either of them wants it out there, in the universe: the implications of his instincts, the reason for their being. But they can’t deny that it happened and that for a moment, someone stood between her and her father.

“I’ll see you around, Yoongi,” she says. Before he can say anything, she turns around and walks back to her house.

—

Miso doesn’t come into work the next day. Yoongi does an all-nighter at the studio, but even when he returns in the late afternoon, after a nap and scarfing down some instant ramen, she still isn’t there. He waits, fidgeting throughout the day, but she never comes. She doesn’t come the next day either, or the day after that.

Yoongi doesn’t know what to feel. Paranoid is a safe word, especially because it implies a fear of nothing in specific, which is exactly what it seems like right now. He calls her, half-heartedly, only to get her voicemail. Disappointed but not quite surprised, he asks Donghyuk.

“She called in sick a couple of days ago,” he supplies, which sounds like bullshit to Yoongi but is none of Donghyuk’s business.

Finally, after four days during which Yoongi tries hard to suppress his helplessness so he can work, Miso returns.

Yoongi is in his studio, working with a young solo artist on a track for her second studio album. They are debating a lyric in the second verse, stuck on the inflection of a particular word, when the door to his studio opens.

“Yoongi,” says Miso, in jeans and a long-sleeved t-shirt. “Donghyuk is asking if you will be available any time today to prep for the marketing meeting tomorrow.”

It’s a full ten seconds before Yoongi is able to answer. It isn’t until she raises her eyebrows and gives him a look that he snaps out of it.

“I - yes. I will be. Uh… when?”

“I don’t know. He’s not here right now, but I can ask him when he gets back.” With that, she nods and retreats, the door swinging shut behind her.

Yoongi stays still, glued to his seat, and takes a deep breath. “Where were we?” he asks the artist next to him, barely noticing when she points out the line they were discussing. He nods and they stay on the topic, tone neutral, while Yoongi counts to a hundred and twenty in his head.

“You know what? Just give me a minute,” he says apologetically, already standing up. “I forgot something - but keep at it. I think we’re finally getting somewhere.” He gives her an encouraging thumbs up before calmly walking out of his studio. The moment the door closes behind him, he rushes to Donghyuk’s studio. 

Without knocking, he throws open the door to see Miso standing at the opposite end of the studio, leaning back against the wall and typing something into her phone. She looks up the moment he enters and a smile starts to form on her face.

Yoongi exhales and strides in, and they meet halfway in a hug. 

“Fucking hell, Kang Miso,” he murmurs, realising at this very moment that not only had he been worried this whole time, but he’d also missed her. “Could’ve dropped me a text or something, you know?”

She chuckles dryly, and her arms tighten around his neck for a moment before she relaxes and steps away. She looks the same as always, but a bit more subdued somehow. He can’t put his finger on it exactly; it’s something in the eyes-face-hair area but the smile she cracks is the same as always.

“Nothing nearly interesting enough to text you about,” she replies, shrugging. “I’m sure me being gone was a net positive - you probably got a lot more work done without me snarking about it.”

“Shut up, that’s not funny,” he mutters, but feels his lips twitch anyway. “Jesus, Miso, where… I mean, how…” He trails away, suddenly with no idea what to ask. A sudden memory flashes through his mind and he grabs her hand, pushing her sleeve up to reveal her pale, slender wrist.

Yoongi blinks at it for a few seconds before slowly meeting her eyes, part relieved and part embarrassed. Miso’s head is tilted slightly, as though she knows where his mind is. He’s saved from trying to speak when the studio door opens and it’s Hyeongseo, the artist he’s been working with all day.

“Hey - oh, sorry,” she says vaguely. Yoongi realises he’s still holding Miso’s hand and drops it immediately, turning away from her. “It’s just… I need to head out for a shoot soon, so…”

“Of course.” He nods and follows Hyeongseo out of the studio but stops just short of the exit to look at Miso. “We’ll, uh…”

She crosses her arms across her chest and nods. “Yeah.”

“Okay.” There’s a moment of awkward silence during which Yoongi’s feet won’t move. “Don’t leave,” he blurts out, managing to add a warning tone to it at the end to cover up the mortification.

Thankfully she chuckles and waves him away. “Go do some work, Min Suga.”

And Yoongi does just that. For the next hour, he pores over the rest of the song with Hyeongseo and even manages to record a rough demo for their next meeting. His mind is catching the most minute beats and sounds and pronunciations with ease and by the time they listen to the final version of the demo, he’s surprised even himself.

He doesn’t go back to Donghyuk’s studio, though, even after Hyeongseo leaves. He spends a while longer on other work, returns some emails, goes on a smoke break - anything to not be the one to try and accost Miso again, especially after that overeager Don’t leave!

At some point during the night, she drops him a text.

Kang Chanel [21:50] Donghyuk has managed to pick the absolute worst pizza place in the damn city.

It takes Yoongi a few minutes to decode the message, after which he simply decides she wants him to come over on the pretext of helping finish some sub-standard pizza. He turns out to be correct on all accounts and while he’s initially mildly disappointed to see Donghyuk there as well, it ends up being for the best, for it’s the first time since he’s ever known Miso that they have both hung out as friends, with friends, eating pizza and joking around without any sort of awkwardness or discomfort. 

Despite Donghyuk’s reputation for crassness and abrasive attitude, he and Miso genuinely seem to be friends. Yoongi is uncertain how much he knows or what he thinks he’s deduced; it becomes somewhat clear when Donghyuk finally decides to head out for the night and tells them very cryptically to not to do anything he wouldn’t do. It elicits a chuckle from Miso, and Yoongi finds himself grateful on two counts as the other producer bids them goodbye.

“The pizza wasn’t nearly as bad as you made it out to be,” says Yoongi after a moment, when it’s just the two of them. They’re on a revolving chair each, about five feet away from each other.

“Clearly, since you polished off four slices,” she points out, stretching her arms and gathering her hair into a ponytail. She hitches one of her legs up on the chair, the soles of her Converse shoes slightly muddy, and sighs tiredly.

Yoongi glances down at his hands. They’re finally alone but it hits him that despite a lot of worrying, he’s had no way of preparing for this moment.

“So what have I missed?” Miso asks, as though she’s been on vacation. “Aside from that weird new security scanner they have on the floor.”

He doesn’t look up. “A sasaeng managed to break into the building. Twelve hours later, it was there.”

She raises her eyebrows. “Really? Wow, some people have a lot of time on their hands. Who was she here for? Wait - is it offensive to assume it was a girl?”

“Miso,” he says.

“Hm?”

Yoongi meets her eyes. “Where the hell have you been?” he asks softly.

“Home,” she answers, without missing a beat.

“Home?”

“Home,” she confirms. “You were there a few days ago.”

He ignores the urge to roll his eyes. “Yeah, I remember your house,” he mutters. “So you were just… in your house, the last four days?” When she shrugs, he blinks. “Why?”

“I mean…” Miso shifts in her chair and sighs, as though the answer should be obvious. “As you could probably tell, that dinner did not go all that well. My father said he needed to decide if he could - quote unquote - trust me.” She rolls her eyes and clicks her tongue nonchalantly. “So I couldn’t go to work until he was sure.” She shrugs again.

The questions in Yoongi’s mind are endless. “So… what? He trusts you now?”

“Apparently.”

“Like, he gave you permission to come to work today?”

“I guess you could call it that.” 

Yoongi sighs deeply. “Miso, come on. I’ve been worried sick about you - I thought I got you in trouble. You’ve got to give me something more here.”

For a moment, she looks like she’s about to argue, but then her eyes soften slightly. “Yoongi, there’s really nothing more to tell. I’m serious - I know what you’re thinking,” she adds when he opens his mouth to retort. “Okay? The sleeve thing was pretty obvious. But I promise you, I was mostly just in my room, getting bored, getting my meals delivered to my doorstep, and trying to read War and Peace.”

“What -”

“It’s a book.”

He stares, feeling a very familiar annoyance surfacing. “I was going to ask, What about your phone?” he clarifies slowly. “Or could you not just drop me a text to let me know you were okay?”

For the first time, Miso hesitates. “My phone… may have been taken away. It was brought to me this morning along with my breakfast, which is how I figured I was good to come in today.”

It occurs to Yoongi that he isn’t about to get any further details about her disappearance. From where he’s standing, it sounds as though she was locked in her room for four days with no means of communication until her villain of a father deemed it okay for her to be released. But Miso’s tone seems extremely incongruous to the situation, sounding almost unbothered, and it’s frustrating on multiple levels.

“You know…” He begins, then stops. This could backfire. “I hope you know that you can trust me,” he tries again. “You can tell me if… well, anything.” He waits.

She observes him for a moment. “Okay, I’ll say it,” she states abruptly. “No, I wasn’t hurt. My father doesn’t really have a taste for violence.”

Yoongi scoffs without meaning to; despite having no evidence to the contrary, he finds that hard to believe.

“I’m not saying he’s not capable of it,” she amends, “but it’s not his style.”

“Yeah? What is his style?”

“This,” she answers, surprising him. “Power. And control. Something that night made him feel like he wasn’t fully in control of the situation,” she says, and her pause indicates to Yoongi that they both know what that probably was. “So this was his way of making sure I know who’s really in charge. He’s done it before,” she adds, almost as an afterthought.

What the fuck? “So…” Yoongi struggles to form a coherent sentence for a few seconds. “So what changed? What did he do in those four days that changed everything?”

“I don’t know!” Miso exclaims, half-chuckling. “Who the hell knows what goes in my father’s head? It’s pointless to try and figure it out after a point. But you shook him in a way that I haven’t seen in a while,” she admits after a moment.

He can’t deduce if this is meant to be a compliment. “I really thought I got you in trouble,” he murmurs. “I tried to keep my distance but I think I might have…” He trails off.

“Yoongi.” She shifts in her chair so she’s facing him completely. “This wasn’t your fault,” she tells him, as though it just occurred to her that this might be a possibility to him. 

“But you told me, even back at that restaurant opening, that your mother would get all crazy and even before the dinner, you said -”

“Yeah, but that’s not what happened here,” she interrupts him. “Yoongi, my father knows I’ve had relationships with men. I mean, I’m almost thirty - it’s not that shocking. That is not why I asked you to keep your distance. I mean, it is, but…” She shakes her head. “Not in the way that you think.”

Yoongi runs his hand down his face. He can’t imagine growing up like this, living, constantly, in a cold war with your parents.

“Look, somehow, all the guys I’ve ever been with - and there haven’t been that many of them - have always been related to my father in a way. They were either in the same social circle or their fathers worked for my father, or they worked for my father.”

“I don’t work for your father,” he says immediately.

She frowns. “Don’t you?”

The minute detail of Kang Jaesung being a Hybe stakeholder had slipped Yoongi’s mind, and the fact suddenly makes him want to vomit.

“The only guy that had nothing to do with my father was this guy I was seeing when I lived in Australia,” she continues. “The moment they got wind of the fact that it was getting slightly serious, I was made to return to Seoul.”

Yoongi doesn’t respond. Perhaps Miso realises why, for her tone is suddenly gentler.

“But you may be the first one of them to ever make him feel threatened. And I’m not just talking about the thing at the end,” she clarifies, a hint of a smile on her lips.

It takes him a moment, but he returns it. Her kiss had lingered for hours after the fact - days, even - and Yoongi had remembered it with guilt and longing in equal measure. He wishes this were easier.

“Why don’t you leave, Miso?” he asks, noting how she stiffens. “Haven’t you even thought about it?”

It’s clear from the way she turns away from him ever so slightly that this isn’t where she expected the conversation to go. 

“It’s not that easy,” she says flatly.

“Not at first, sure. But you’re twenty-nine - I mean, it’s pretty common to move out by this age,” he points out. “I’m sure you have savings. You can get an apartment - or I can help you out. But… why are you still here?”

She presses her tongue into her cheek. “It’s complicated.”

He’s about to argue, when something else stirs in his memory of that dinner. “By the way… can I ask you something?” He takes her begrudging raise of the eyebrows as a yes. “What did your father mean when he said… that you’re his heir?”

She’s silent for so long that he thinks she may not answer at all. “He meant exactly what you think he meant,” she says eventually.

“So you’re going to inherit… what? His whole company?”

“I’m a chaebol. You know what that means, right?”

He does, it’s true. Not only does he know it in theory, he knows she is one. He’s called her that, multiple times; in the early days of their tense dynamic, it felt harsher than nepo baby.

“What did you do about your collab?” she asks before he can continue on his train of thought.

“Oh -” Yoongi pauses. “Um - nothing. Yet. Still debating what to do next.”

“Still? Either this artist is epic or you’re just overthinking this, Min Suga.”

“Genius Dragon is unfortunately that good, but I’m not overthinking for no good reason. It’s -”

“Hold on - his name is Genius Dragon?”

“Yeah, I know, it’s a mouthful.”

“Not to mention original.” She rolls her eyes and winces. “God, I remember this guy. I think I attended a workshop he took a million years ago.”

“Yeah?” This is surprising. “What did you think of him?”

“Kind of full of himself,” she mutters. From this, Yoongi gathers that she agrees with his assessment about the rapper’s talent. “But if he’s that good… come on, don’t tell me this is still about something he said to you a decade ago.”

“It’s not about me,” he retorts, a little defensively. “This album is personal, and this particular song is even more so. Aside from the fact that he’s from Daegu also… he struggled, too. He gets it - and I think that’s why he was harder on Namjoon and the rest of the group, because he thought they made me soft. That’s also why he’s the best choice for this song, though,” he mutters, dropping his head against the back of the chair.

“Isn’t Namjoon an artist, too? Won’t he understand that?” she points out.

“He -” Yoongi sighs. “He might. He’ll never stop me from doing this, if that’s what I want. None of them will.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

It should be obvious, but Yoongi can’t bring himself to say anything other than, “It’s complicated.”

There’s a pause during which he looks up and sees her still looking away, but the corner of her mouth lifted slightly, almost in satisfaction. Her words from a little while ago ring, and he concludes that she’s still miffed with his persistence.

“Hey.” Yoongi reaches forward towards her; hooking his hand under the seat of her chair, he pulls it towards him. It works; despite the fact that she turns to look at him like it’s a massive effort, there’s a softness that’s returned. The arms of their chairs are touching, and they’re closer than they’ve been all night.

“I shouldn’t have pried,” he admits. Miso nods before leaning forward and kissing him.

It’s the first time they’ve kissed without either of them being taken by surprise, or in secret with the fear of being found out. Yoongi hasn’t cut his hair since the last leg of his tour; a pleasant shiver runs down his spine when her fingers brush against the ends at the nape of his neck. 

The last thing he wants is to rush this. In the absence of anything else in their way, the kiss is slow and exploratory, with an air of relief that Yoongi knows is not one-sided. He squeezes her knee and she gets up off her chair; without breaking the kiss, slides onto his lap, straddling him with a comfortable weight.

Yoongi wraps an arm around her waist, holding her face to his as gently as he can as her shoulder-length locks brush against his cheek. She sighs into his mouth and his heart skips a beat, but he doesn’t pull away. He can’t imagine it. She smells of something that vaguely reminds him of jasmine but still feels expensive, and he pulls her even closer.

“Min Suga,” she murmurs against his lips, “is that your phone in your front pocket?”

Yoongi freezes, realising a second later that his phone is indeed vibrating in his front pocket. “Among other things,” he mutters, regretfully pulling away slightly and fishing it out of his pocket. His heart sinks when he sees Bang PD’s name flashing on the screen.

“You need to take that,” she tells him, reading the screen upside-down. She moves her torso back and shakes her hair out of her face and off her neck. “And I… I need to get home.”

His phone is still ringing. “Do you want me to drop you home?” he asks as she climbs off his lap.

She gives him a small smile. “Thanks. But Seungkwan is here, so he can…” She doesn’t finish her sentence.

Fifth ring. Yoongi closes his eyes - he needs to take this call. He stands up and reaches the door, hesitating before opening it. There’s a lot that needs to be said and done, but nothing comes to mind. A moment later, Yoongi realises only one of them really matters.

“Will I see you tomorrow?” he asks, his hand on the door handle.

“Yes, you will,” she confirms, already starting to pack up the electronics. Her nonchalance is betrayed by the small smile widening a bit. “Now take that damn call, Min Suga.”

He chuckles and nods. “See you tomorrow, Kang Miso,” he says, before stepping out of the studio and answering his phone.

—

Thanks for reading. Don't forget to leave a review :)

[majorbaby]

it takes a conscious effort to break your patterns of consumption and unlearn the notion beauty, interiority, diverse ways of existence aren't exclusive to whiteness or maleness. part of that isn't your fault. certain music is played on the radio, certain shows survive cancellation no matter what, certain people seem to be able to commit the worst possible acts against other human beings and are excused on account of their creative genius. others are selectively punished, with good reason sure, but still, selectively.

now more than ever it's easier to immerse yourself in art made by people outside of the mainstream. reading lists, free resources, playlists... all this stuff is more accessible than ever, but you've got to make an effort to give it a try. it's black history month, the recs are pouring in, go have a look. or take a chance on something absolutely no one has recommended anywhere and if you find something you like, rec it to someone else because the likelihood is they haven't heard of it.

tracy chapman's "fast car" is one of eleven songs that appears on her self-titled debut album. can you name the second hit single from it? if you're american and you fell anywhere left of center as of the 2016 election, it should be on the tip of your tongue if you were engaged in your country's politics at the time, regardless of your level of actual investment in the system. if not, the next time you're doing a task you need both hands with, washing the dishes, having dinner, doing your makeup, put that album on.

there's a post with over 100K notes on here that i see all the time of bruce springsteen and clarence clemons kissing. there's a part of that that is immediately meaningful to many if you're lgbtq, and a part that is harder for non-black lgbtq people to feel the weight of. but it is worth trying to do and was part of the reason why they kissed so often in the first place. clarence clemons was from norfolk, virginia. he released multiple albums outside of his work with the e street band. they may not be for you, but give them a try.

give enough music, or movies, or books that aren't a part of the approved canon a try, and there's no way you won't find something you don't feel as passionate about as you do about springsteen, siken, the beatles, what have you.

james baldwin was a prolific artist. see if you can't find something of his you like more than giovanni's room.

immerse yourself in ringo sheena, who mitski cites as one of her influences.

if you have difficulty paying attention to music you don't recognize, (i get it) make a playlist that alternates tracks you know and love with brand new tracks. start small. 5 faves of all time, 5 you're going to try out. you won't like everything, but you might find yourself looking forward to 6 songs instead of 5 eventually.

for movies, pick an actor whose performance you loved in something and explore their work. last year i picked whoopi goldberg, also a prolific artist, with a vast body of work that's pretty accessible as a result of her constant, intentional effort.

if you're an artist yourself, you can only stand to improve by getting to know your fellow artists better. so expand your notion of what art is. you can do it for free in lots of cases, and you're spending that time listening to music or reading or watching movies or series anyway, what have you got to lose?

anti-racism sometimes means engaging in real-world narratives of pain endured by brown and black people. that pain permeates much of our art, but we're just as three-dimensional as everybody else, and every aspect of our experiences come through in our work. you know that already, because what else is happening when you indulge in various genres. for everything you love or enjoy, there's a brown or black person who's doing something along those lines, in many cases, those genres wouldn't exist in their current form without the influence of our communities, some more than others, depending on where you're from. you can actually keep one foot inside your comfort zone and dip your toe into something else. that choice is both a joy and a luxury.

[yourlocalbadgerscales]

~ Intro post, since I forgot to pin my first one ~

Hello pooks <3

I am yourlocalbadgerscales, but you can call me Ella, Jaimiee, Aspen, Alfie, Jules… literally anything you want to as long as it isn’t creepy! ^^ But I prefer Jaimiee!

This is my main blog, and here I will post pretty much whatever comes to mind, and I’ll reblog anything funny or important I come across. As I write this, I have been on this hellsite for about 5 months. I think I’m learning :)

About me:

I’m a minor (between 13-17 years old, I will keep my exact age a secret for safety reasons)

My pronouns are she/her

I am a polyam bi-lesbian

I am a demigirl!

I live in Europe

I’m a Slytherpuff! (Slytherin & Hufflepuff)

Die, cry, despise

Time stamp: 01:37

Main fandoms I’m in:

Harry Potter (fuck J.K R0wI!ng)

The Marauders

Taylor Swift

Conan Gray

Gaylor Swift

Not a fandom, but I’m a proud member of LGBTQIA+!

Favourite ships:

Drarry

Jegulus

Wolfstar

Deamus

Carulia (Carmen Sandiego x Julia)

Kaylor (Taylor Swift x Karlie Kloss)

Autumnflower/Summerfall (Florean Fortescue x oc!August Ollivander)

Rayamaari (Raya and the Last Dragon, Raya x Namaari)

Favourite artists:

Conan Gray • Taylor Swift • Eminem

Chappell Roan • Nessa Barrett

SOFIA ISELLA to name a few!

Current favourite artists, albums & songs:

“Midnights”, album by Taylor Swift!

A bunch of songs from “folklore”, album by Taylor Swift!

Nessa Barrett!!!

DNI:

Queerphobes (and if you exclude certain gender identities, sexualities etc., get out!)

MAPs (MAP stands for Minor Attracted Person, aka pedophile. This isn’t a real sexuality in LGBTQIA+!)

Zoophiles (This isn’t a valid sexuality, either!)

Zionists

TERFs (Trans Exclusionary Radical Feminist, aka transphobe)… or as I like to call them, FARTs (Feminist Appropriating Reactionary Transphobe)

People who cheat on their partners (What is wrong with you?)

Porn bots (As if you’d care about my DNI)

People who hate on certain religions

People looking for sex and stuff like that

Feel free to interact:

If you’re 18+ and you’re just here to enjoy my content without the intention of being creepy ^^

If you’re LGBTQIA+ and/or an ally!

If you need someone to vent to

If you have any questions about fandoms in I’m, I’m happy to help!

My tumblr family:

My parent @meatybunger

My child @homocidalpotat

My other child @dragonfanplaugedr

My partners @cheekyboybeth (wifey 💅💍), @ravenwordss and @here-am-i-sitting-in-a-tin-can

Tags I use for my posts are #jamstag (earlier ellastag), #anti jkr (for all my Harry Potter and/or Marauders themed posts, #ella bleeds ink (for poetry), etc.

Here are a few of my sideblogs: @regregregulusblack (roleplay blog), @floreanfortescuetruther (blog where I brainrot about SUCH an underrated character and his OC boyfriend, August Ollivander!), @slitherpuffinstories (place for microfics), @urlocalbadgerscales (main blog #2) etc… I have about 10 sideblogs, many of them secret 🤫

Feel free to send asks and write to me privately, I love to make friends! Also, drink some water. Stay hydrated! 💧 I love you ❤️

Love Jaimiee xx

[marie-swriting]

The Slut Of Hawkins - Steve Harrington [1/2]

Emails I Can't Send Masterlist

Stranger Things Masterlist

Part two

Part one - two (French version)

Summary : You're paying for the consequences of dating Steve Harrington.

Warnings : italics are for flashbacks, Slutshaming, school bullying (reader getting bullied) (talk to someone if you're being bullied!), implied sex, Steve is a bit of a coward, bad relationship with parents, angst, sad ending, fighting.

Word count : 3.5k

Song inspiration : Because I Liked A Boy by Sabrina Carpenter

The laughs were filling the fresh air of the early night. Laying on your backyard trampoline, you were cuddling against Steve. You had been getting closer recently and you had to admit, it made you feel good to have someone to talk to, especially when your parents weren’t there - which was pretty often, that night was another proof.

Steve held you a bit tighter in his arms while you were talking about your favourite singers. You had said some names like Madonna, Bowie though, it was the mention of The Beatles that caught his attention.

“The album Help! is definitely my favourite.” Steve informed you.

“Same for me, I love all of the songs but You’re Going To Lose That Girl and It’s Only Love have a special place in my heart.” you said whilst Steve looked away. “Is everything alright?”

“Yeah, it’s just that It’s Only Love was our song, to me and Nancy.”

“You really loved her, didn’t you?”

“She was my first love. Unfortunately, it ended pretty badly. It became complicated after her best friend Barbara disappeared. Besides, I have to admit, I was at fault, too but I’m trying to be better.”

“I’m sure you will.” you affirmed hugging him a bit more against you. “You’re not the same Steve you used to be. We wouldn’t be here, otherwise. You’re a good person, Steve, don’t doubt it for a second.” 

“Thanks for what you just said.” Steve smiled at you.

“Anyway, what do you think of I Need You?”

“Not really my favourite.”

“Steve Harrington, I am appalled! How dare you say this kind of stuff?” you exclaim, faking shock.

“You asked for my opinion.”

“And you were supposed to agree with me.”

“I don’t like it, it’s not my fault.”

“You just don’t get this song. You’ll see, you’ll be a fan of it one day, I’ll make sure of it.” you stated looking at him right in the eyes.

“I’m dying to see that.”

Your lips were only a few inches away. You didn’t dare to make the first step, even if you were dying to, you were too afraid to have read too much in between the lines. You liked Steve a lot, but you weren’t sure he wanted the same thing. Steve looked at you with stars and tenderness in his eyes, yours were quite similar. You both were waiting to see which one would bend first. Steve was the one who ended up breaking the inches by pressing his lips against yours. Your lips were moving slowly, taking in this innocent moment of the beginning of your relationship.

Now, the innocence is gone. Once you close your locker door, the word “slut” is written in big letters, reminding you of the price you had to pay for this moment. Who knew cuddling on trampolines could be so reckless? 

Far away, Steve is watching you. However, the second you turn your head toward him, he looks down and goes in the opposite direction. It’s been the same thing for a month. You are called names and Steve turns a blind eye. You are accused of being a homewrecker and Steve receives sympathy for the pain you supposedly caused him.

During the day, you keep your head low, not wanting to draw more attention to you. Unfortunately, the insults just like the degrading pieces of paper keep coming your way. The only moment of peace you have is during lunchtime. 

At first, you hid in the bathroom then you ended up running into some girls who made you understand they weren’t on your side so you went to find a safe place in the janitor closet. At least, no one can bother you there. You don’t like the way you accepted the bullying however every time you tried to explain the situation, no one listened to you. So, now, you don’t say anything and you let people tell you who you are, hoping this story will end soon. 

In the afternoon, you have chemistry. As you got used to the past month, you sit at the end of the class, wanting to be far away from your classmates' judging look. You do your best to stay focused on the lesson but you have to admit since the beginning of the rumours, your grades have been falling. You keep your energy to survive the comments so you don’t have enough of it to keep your grades high.

While you finish writing what Mr. Kaminski just said, he announces you’ll work in pairs. Right away, your stomach twists and you want to throw up. You can’t work in pairs. You’ve never been a fan of group projects however now you hate it; it’s an open door to being called names nonstop for a whole hour. The teacher informs he’s already made the groups before saying them out loud. Like a convicted person, you wait for him to say your name. You’re part of the last group and you’re with Tucker Walker. At the mention of his name, you want to die. He’s part of the basketball team and he’s entitled. You don’t like him. You try to negotiate with your teacher to work alone but he insists.

“Come here, Y/L/N, I’m not gonna eat you.” Tucker laughs.

Reluctantly, you gather your stuff and go to his desk. You put as much distance as possible, wanting to avoid new rumours.

“I’m going to do the whole exercise and I’ll put your name on the sheet like this, you’ll have nothing to do.” you announce while starting to read what you have to do.

“Who said I didn’t want to work with you?”

“I don’t want to work with you.” you specify. “Now, do something else and let me work.”

“On the contrary, I’m sure I can be useful.” he contradicts, putting his hand on your knee.

“Take your hand off.” you say through gritting teeth.

“What?”

“Your hand. I don’t like you and if I’m not mistaken, you’re with someone.”

“It didn’t stop you with Harrington.” he says before leaning in. “You can meet me behind school later.”

“No.”

“You don’t have to play hard-to-get because we’re in class.”

“I’m not playing hard-to-get, I just don’t like you.” you repeat, trying to stay calm.

“That's what you say now.”

By some luck, Tucker takes his hand off and lets you work. You’re surprised to see him give up so easily. You know it’s hiding something else, from now on, you have to avoid him.

You finish the work sheet the same second the bell rings at the end of the class. You pack your stuff quickly and give the sheet to your teacher before leaving the room. Tucker doesn’t follow, allowing you to sigh in relief.

Walking by your locker, you discover the insult is gone. It’s one of the positive things with the janitor, he always erases the insults right away. Though, no matter how many times he erases them, he’s never reported it to the principal, leaving you on your own with the high schooler venom.

The moment you leave school, you walk to your car when you get stopped in your tracks. In front of you, there are four girls, Jessica - Tucker’s girlfriend - included. You try to not show anything, mentally preparing yourself for what she’s going to tell you.

“What makes you think you can hit on Tucker, my boyfriend?” she asks drily, “Being his chemistry partner and telling him to meet you behind school? That’s where you were going, weren’t you? He’s not coming. Unlike Steve, he won’t let the slut of Hawkins destroy our relationship.” Jessica affirms, you’re about to answer when she beats you to it. “Don’t even try to deny it, Tucker told me and Sarah heard you!”

“Well, she can’t hear correctly then and your boyfriend is lying. Tucker is the one who hit on me and I stopped him. He put his hand on my knee and told me to meet him behind school.” you retort, annoyed.

“You think I’m gonna believe you over my boyfriend and my best friend?”

“I know you’re not going to believe me. It’s so much easier to believe your boyfriend who tells you what you want to hear rather than the girl who shows you the true colour of your boyfriend. Don’t be too disappointed the day you’ll discover he’s cheated on you, if he hasn’t done it already.” you state with a fake smile.

“Take that back.”

“Why ? Everyone knows he’s a cheater.”

“He’s different with me.” Jessica insists and you shake your head.

“That's what he wants you to believe but the truth is, he’s sleeping around while keeping you under his hat.”

The sound of the slap resonates in the school parking lot. You look at Jessica with eyes wide open whilst you’re touching your cheek. For you, that’s your last straw, you answer to her attack by pulling at her hair. Jessica’s scream alerts the adults around while her friends try to separate you two. You keep giving her a piece of your mind when two arms wrap themselves around your body and gets you away from Jessica. Being separated doesn’t stop both of you from insulting one another and trying to go for the throat again until Mister Jenkins arrives.

“That’s enough! What is going on here?”

“She attacked me!” Jessica lies, pointing at you.

“What? You’re the one who slapped me first.”

“She’s lying, we saw her, sir!” a friend of Jessica adds.

“They’re lying, Jessica did hit her first.”

Looking behind you, you discover the one who is holding you back and who is defending you is none other than Eddie Munson. You didn’t even see he was around and you certainly didn’t expect him to defend you.

“Are you seriously going to believe what Munson is saying?” Jessica questions, faking tears. “He’s always against us! He’d say anything to get us in trouble. I’m the victim here-”

“You’re talking nonsense, you-” you cut her off before Jenkins gets your attention back.

“Enough! I have enough. Go to the principal, now!”

And that’s how you end up in Mister Higgins’ office for the first time. You can’t believe the situation got this bad. The worst part isn’t listening to the disapproving speech of the headmaster, it’s actually witnessing your mom’s disappointment beside you as he speaks.

While the principal is explaining to your mom and Jessica’s mom what happened, you look at your feet, holding back tears of anger. Once he’s done talking, Higgins catches your and Jessica’s attention.

“Do you have anything to add?”

“I didn’t attack her first.” you insist.

“Everybody saw you!” Jessica retorts.

“You’re the one who accused me of stealing your boyfriend. I did nothing wrong.”

“Yeah, just like you didn’t break Nancy and Steve’s relationship.”

“Sir,” you start, trying to keep a calm voice, “I’ve been receiving insults for more than a month now from everyone including Jessica. She called me a slut then she slapped me when I told her her boyfriend was cheating on her. Eddie Munson saw it, he told Mister Jenkins.”

“Munson,  the one leading a cult? What a reliable source!” Jessica’s mother states, rolling her eyes.

“Madam, please.” Mr. Higgins reprimands. “One witness against Jessica’s three friends doesn’t bring a lot to the table.”

“So you’re not even going to do something about the harassment I’ve been receiving?”

“Y/N.” your mom says drily.

“I’ve never heard anything about people being mean to you. However, your grades haven’t been going down for some reason.”

“If you cared a bit more about your student, maybe you’d know why.”

“Y/N, enough!” your mom orders you before turning to Mister Higgins. “I apologise. I guess Y/N will be punished?”

“Indeed, we can’t tolerate this kind of behaviour. Technically, this kind of situation can lead to expulsion though considering Y/N has always been a good student - until now -, we’ll just say she’s going through a bad phase. Y/N will have a month of detention and you will be doing an assignment on bullying.”

Before you can protest, your mom glares at you. You stay silent while your mom apologies once again for your behaviour. Your mom’s grip on your arm forces you to stand up and to leave the office. She doesn’t say anything until you arrive at your car where she orders you to get home right away.

Once you’re home, your mom informs you you’re not allowed to drive your car therefore, you have to take the bus to go to school before informing you to stay in your room until your father arrives.

The second you close the door, you finally let your tears of anger stream down your face. You’re frustrated by the whole situation and you have never felt this alone before. You lay down on your bed rolled up in a ball, searching for some comfort. As you search for that much-needed comfort, your mind takes you back to a time in your life when you had it without needing to make any effort.

At one point, you had this comfort with you. When everything was still going great, it wasn’t rare for Steve to come to your place and put on a smile on your face.

You had been a couple for three months and no one knew about your relationship. You preferred to not say anything, wanting to protect what you had. Thanks to your relationship, you both felt less alone, you finally felt like someone cared about you, that was why you felt so good with him. Therefore, you would see each other when your parents weren’t home. As you didn’t want to stay alone for another night, you had invited Steve to come. Knowing he was in the same situation, Steve had rang at your door thirty minutes later.

Laying on your bed, you were enjoying each other’s presence after your first intimate moment you had just shared. Steve had his arms wrapped around your hips, pressing your back against his torso.

“You know,” Steve started, whispering in your ear, “maybe you’re too late to be my first love, but you’ll always be my favourite. I like what we have.”

“Me too. I like you, Steve, a lot.” you told him, turning around to look at him.

“I like you a lot, too.” he replied, tenderly kissing you.

Your thoughts are interrupted by the harsh voice of your father ordering you to come downstairs. You fastly wipe the tears away from your cheeks and prepare yourself for what your parents are about to tell you. While you’re walking down the stairs, your father makes a sign to go to the kitchen. You sit whilst your parents stay on their feet on the other side of the table, a severe expression on their faces.

“Is it true what your mother told me? You’re getting into fights now?” your dad says, angry.

“I was only defending myself, Jessica attacked me first.”

“Why would she attack you? I know her dad, she’s a nice girl.”

“She called me a slut and she accused me of stealing her boyfriend when I didn’t do anything.”

“Why does she say you did then?” your mom questions, annoyed.

“Because she’s against me like everyone else in this school!”

“Lower your tone, young lady.” your father orders.

“It’s about what she said about Steve and Nancy, isn’t it?” your mother wants to know with accusing eyes.

“Yes, they accuse me of breaking their relationship when it’s not the truth.”

“Because you never did anything with Steve, didn’t you?”

“How do-” you start, shocked to discover she knows.

“It’s a small town and you really thought the neighbours wouldn’t see you sneaking in a boy in our own house?”

“You sneaked in a boy?” your father angers.

“And according to Miss Johnson, it went on for several months,” your mom specifies, “aren’t you ashamed of yourself?”

At this sentence, the tiny bit of hope you still had about your parents disappears. You can’t believe your own mother is against you. You’re getting used to the reputation people gave you but hearing your own mother implying you’re less than good because of your relationship is the final blow. You can’t understand how liking a boy could destroy everything.

“Steve and I got together after he broke up with Nancy, I almost wasn’t talking to him when he was still dating her. Steve was my boyfriend and we did nothing wrong!” you defend yourself, feeling the tears coming.

“Of course and you did nothing wrong when you attacked this poor Jessica.”

“Poor Jessica? She insulted me and hit me. I did nothing. Why don’t you want to believe me? I’m your own daughter and yet, you’d rather believe Jessica than me.”

“The facts are here!” Your father yells. “Besides, we should have reacted a long time ago, have you seen your grades? Do you really think you’re going to pass your year like this?”

“My grades are getting worse because I’m going through a living hell at school.”

“Stop playing the victim! We have enough of your behaviour. You have to do better and quickly. Go to your room right now! And don’t forget to apologise to Jessica.”

Tired of screaming in the void, you don’t answer your mother’s order and run to your room. Mad, you slam the door behind you. Normally, you’d be scared to hear more reproaches however at this moment, it’s the least of your concerns.

You throw yourself on your bed and you hold back a scream of frustration. You can’t understand why your own parents don’t have your back. They didn’t even try to listen to you, they only blame you some more. You know it’s stupid yet a part of you was hoping they would understand. You were wrong, no one is on your side; you didn’t think it possible, yet, you feel even more alone.

If you thought you already were the public enemy, the second you get back to school the following day, you realise it’s worse. Everyone is staring at you, you’re called even more names just like the whisperings got worse. You’re being even more discreet than usual - if it’s possible - wanting to keep to yourself.

In hindsight, you tell yourself you wouldn’t recommend dating boys with exes, it’s not worth all the pain and all the bullying that comes with it, in particular if the boy in question ignores you.

When you go to your last class of the day, you wish you could say you’re finally about to breathe but you still have detention. You have to stay at school a few more hours.

Sitting at your usual seat in your history class, you put your notebook on your desk. Your eyes land on the last page you wrote until they fall on the inscription carved on the desk: “the slut of Hawkins = Y/N.” It’s not the first time you see those words, it’s actually on this very table you discovered your life was about to change before you could do something about it. Despite the time, those words still feel like a knife in your chest. You distinctly remember the moment where everything fell apart.

You were behind the school building with Steve. You had been together for four months but contrary to the first three, it wasn’t going on so well between you two. You didn’t get along anymore. No matter your effort to hold him close, it was always ending in an argument. The main reason for it was that you were more invested in this relationship than Steve. You had noticed this the moment you had tried to get closer to him at school.

“I’m not asking for a lot, Steve! I’m not asking to make out with you in front of everyone, I just want to, at least, be able to talk with you without you ignoring me. I’m your girlfriend and yet, it looks like you don’t know me.”  you pleaded, mad and desperate.

“You said you wanted to keep our relationship for us.” Steve retorted, avoiding your eyes.

“That was before it became more serious between us. I like you and I want to say you’re my boyfriend.”

“I know but you know that with Nancy-”

“What are you bringing her into this? She moved on, unlike you! She’s with Jonathan, I don’t think she cares if you’re dating again. Why are you searching for an excuse? I thought you liked me, too.”

“It’s true.”

“Really? It doesn’t look like it!” you said, outraged. “I feel like I’m alone in this relationship. Everytime I take a step towards you, you push me away. I’m getting tired of it. I don’t even know why I even try to save our relationship when it’s clear you don’t care.” you finished, going inside the building.

“Y/N, wait-” he tried to hold you back.

“No, we’re done, Steve!”

That day, you ended your relationship with Steve, signing at the same time the end of your peaceful life in high school. While you were arguing, someone had heard you and had twisted the whole story. Before you could react, the rumours had started to fly a few days later at school that you had ruined the relationship with Nancy and Steve by seducing him. There was nothing you could do to correct the rumours. Just because you liked a boy, you got judged as a homewrecked and you had to accept your sentence.

Emails I Can't Send Masterlist

Stranger Things Masterlist

[sirenlulls]

ARABELLA → e. hewson

pairing — elijah hewson x famous!fem!reader

summary —every popular man needs an even more popular girlfriend and rn that's you babe xx

written for this request

wraps her lips round the mexican coke, makes you wish that you were the bottle

you're such a fan fav.

like whenever you're at inhaler gigs they're almost more excited to take pictures with you than with the band

if you work in the limelight as well (singer, model, actress, etc) his fanbase is your fanbase.

pictures of you and elijah (and just you) are very common profile pics for inhaler twt and tiktok

he's very aware that he's the arm candy in the relationship

he can't complain tho, he gets it

obsessed bf, pretty gf dynamic

goes without saying that you've got more than a few songs written about you

if you're irish (self projecting) you would be freaking out with him and the lads over them playing in slane (and for opening hslot ofc)

in famous!reader headcanons i always see "his insta is a fanpage for you" and i raise you one, your insta is a fanpage for HIM!!

litch whenever an album drops, it's on the story and in a post. they announced tour dates? posted. they're opening for someone? posted. they fall asleep on your couch after a show? posted. you see a cute fan edit? saved, commented, and posted.

you're visibly down bad for him

BUT DONT WORRY hes visibly down bad for you too

if you're a singer, people are getting videos of him with the biggest heart eyes chilling in the vip section

if you're an actress, pictures of him staring at you on the red carpet or during interviews haunt the rockstar gf pinterest girlies

if you're a model you better believe that there has never been a show of yours when everyone can see him smiling in the front row

your little fanboy <3

forehead kisses for the win!!!

AND AND AND!!!!!! a hand on the small of your back at all times

definitely does the thumb thing when you're holding hands

he follows the sidewalk rule like it's a law

tells u abt the time he got abducted by aliens to help u sleep xx

he doesn't really fuck with spooning but will always rest easier if your head is on his chest and his arm is around you

i feel like if you're a very excitable person (self projecting again) he's such a listener

like you could be rambling about the most random thing in the world, and he'll just sit there nodding with a cute little smile on his face

he'd be great to gossip with, i think, but that might just be the irish in him

it's pretty much mandatory that you get on well with the rest of the bad bcs if you're not busy yourself, eli is dragging you on tour with them

if you were in the industry longer than them i feel like you'd all have some really good chats

like giving them advice on how to deal with anxiety and helping them through any doubts or fears they have

they all appreciate having you around even if ye take the piss out of each other 24/7

it's loving banter <3

you'd get mentioned in interviews a few times

never by name tho

because eli's so private and doesn't want to end up with the bands success being attributed to you he'd never be like "oh, y/n said this, y/n said that"

instead he'd be like "oh, yeah my girlfriend's been here before so she's been telling us where to go and all"

if the others ever brought you up it'd be to take the piss out of eli

"yeah his girlfriend had to drag him out the bus this morning" "he wouldn't shut up till we brought his girlfriend over" stuff like that

you and eli would have some proper deep chats i feel

he trusts you so much

each others ride or dies fr

fans hope you get married

he does too

overall, any comment section under a pic of the two of you is filled with people crediting ye for their bisexuality xx

[joels-shitty-puns]

The Key To Your Heart - Track 7

Pairing: Pedro Pascal x Musician!Reader

Series Summary: After writing your feelings for Pedro into a song, it gains a lot more popularity than expected. Ultimately it brings both criticism and support, with new possibilities around the corner.

Series Warnings: 18+ only (MDNI). Fat shaming, name calling, kissing, angst. Mentions of food, weight loss, weight gain, dieting, weighing, potential eating disorder, food guilt. Potential for puns/dad jokes (name of my blog, and the fic) should give that away. This is my first fic which should be its own warning, lol. Also some cursing. Mentions of masturbation (f) maybe more smut later idk. Sadness, reader is pretty depressed. Poor body image. Rude people. Bullying-ish and just lack of support? Anxiety. Age gap! Reader is in her mid 20's, Pedro is current age (48).

Other stuff: Reader is plus sized. AFAB. Inexperienced. Also has a dog, but you can pretend it is another creature probably. Further, in case it isn't clear, italics almost always are the reader's inner thoughts!

Word Count: 6.6K!!!

Series List: Here!

Miss last chapter? Here!

Hi guys! I'm so sorry this took a little extra longer than usual. I've had a lot of ideas for this chapter for a long time and I struggled with putting it all on paper. I'm also on vacation 🤪 but I really wanted to get this one out there, especially before Halloween. Also I'm sorry if the spacing and stuff is crap, I did this from my phone/iPad while falling asleep at 3:30 AM. Hope you enjoy! Thanks for reading!

__________

You awoke with a start, your alarms blaring through the bedroom. Giving the snooze button a smack, you reach across your mattress, touching the sheets to find the other side of your bed empty.

It was still warm, but missing the actual body that you fell asleep cuddled next to. Blinking your eyes a few times, you called out into the bedroom. "Baby?"

You climbed out of bed, making your way down the hall to the living room, where you finally saw him on the couch. Sound asleep, eyes gently closed, a soft snore passed from his mouth. At the sound of your footsteps, he opened his eyes, giving a big stretch and wagging his tail.

"Good morning Skippy, my little sunshine! I missed your cuddles this morning. Why'd you move to the couch?"

He looked at you and yawned, his eyes closing once again. You giggled and headed for the shower to get ready for another day. Some of us have to actually work and get stuff done in this house!

_____

The day at work was busy, leaving little time to chat with Pedro. You couldn't help but smirk to yourself as your coworkers buzzed about your new album freshly released the day before. They still hadn't figured it out, but you decided you would continue to let it be your little secret a bit longer. They didn't need to know. Just you and Pedro could share this for now.

On your lunch break, you finally opened your phone to find a few text messages from him. "Good morning! I had fun video chatting with you last night. I'm so glad we listened to your album together, and it was nice to finally get to see you." His message made your heart skip.

Second text from Pedro: "Hey, I hope work is going well for you. I was thinking, maybe if you'd like, we could chat again later? If you don't want to video chat anymore, no pressure, but I enjoyed it and thought maybe if you wanted to, we could."

You replied. "Hey P! It's been a crazy day :) but a good one. Especially waking up happy after enjoying a lovely evening. I would really love to video chat with you again too."

Pedro breathed a sigh of relief at your answer. He couldn't help but feel nervous to ask you, despite having just video chatted last night, and he also didn't want to make you feel pressured; especially with someone as private as you are. But with your response, he smiled as he felt his stomach fill with butterflies at the thought of seeing you again.

_____

Later on, after work, the two of you were texting and deciding on the time to video chat again. However, before you called, Pedro texted you again. "Hey, I had a question for you, but I didn't want to ask it over the phone or video call and make you feel pressured. But, there's this Hollywood Halloween party coming up in a few days. I know you still want to keep your identity, but I thought if you'd like to, each guest is allowed to bring a date, and I thought you could mingle a little with some other musicians and actors. I can just tell people you're one of my friends from a set if you don't want to give your real name. You don't need to tell them anything you don't want out to the public. Plus I would love to spend some time together in person too, if you want to. I know it's a lot, so if you would rather not go, I understand. But I'd love to meet you."

The idea of going to a party filled with other celebrities, AND Pedro, had you filled with mixed emotions. Nervous. Excited. Terrified. Love-sick. Hesitant.

After a bit of thinking,you decided, and the answer seemed obvious from the start. The party sounded terrifying, and was completely unknown territory. But you also knew that if you didn't go, you'd surely kick yourself and regret this chance forever.

Finally you replied. "Okay! I'll go. I'd love to spend time with you, too, Pedro. Thank you for inviting me."

He replied again: "Really?! So, will boo be my date? 👻"

You: "That was a little too.. (candy) corny. I may have to ghost you. 🎃"

Pedro didn't miss a beat. "Okay, you're driving me batty. 🦇 Want to call and talk about our costumes?"

Oh shit, I forgot about costumes.

The two of you chatted, easily falling into the comfortable conversations you always do. Fitting together like two peas in a pod. Even though neither of you were dressed up fancy anymore, it didn't feel like you had to be someone else, or dress up. Things were comfortable. Easy.

Pedro suggested a matching costume, which made you want to scream and pace through your living room. Unfortunately, due to your camera situation, pacing and screaming would surely cause some alarm. After dancing around things like pirates, ketchup/mustard, and movie characters, you finally had an idea and suggested Cinderella and her prince.

"It just feels kinda fitting you know? Nobody knows who I am, but I go out for once, I meet this prince, and he lets me have this fun night. But then at the end of the night, everything goes back to normal, and I'm unknown again."

Until he eventually can't stay away and they both fall in love and live happily ever after… but that's neither here nor there. Totally not my intention.. pffft…

"That sounds like a wonderful idea. Should I send a carriage?" He joked with a wink, but you could tell he was a little bit serious. You couldn't help but feel like he would have reserved a carriage ride in a heartbeat had you said yes.

"Absolutely not. Way too big of a scene," you laughed. "In fact, I actually have work that day. Would it be possible for me to just meet you there after I get off work? I can just take an Uber across town. My work isn't too far from the party and I'm sure parking will be a mess."

Pedro agreed, although he felt bad you'd be taking a ride-share service alone and continued to offer a ride if you needed. He also felt a bit disappointed he wouldn't get to have any time alone with you beforehand, but he wasn't about to tell you that detail.

Either way, the two of you agreed on your plans, and as the days led up to the party, you grew more and more eager. You also felt more and more dread in the pit of your stomach.

But this will be good. It has to be. Right?

_____

The night of the party came quickly.

You got off work, took a quick shower, changed into your costume, did your hair, and added a little bit of makeup. The costume felt silly, but you kept telling yourself it was Halloween and everyone would be in costumes. Plus, you have a handsome prince waiting for you inside. As your mind and heart raced, the Uber driver pulled up to the curb, dropped you off, and you were met with a line to the entrance.

The line to the party was lengthy, filled mostly with eager fans, paparazzi, and journalists hoping to gain entry. Occasionally you'd see a celebrity pass by, but they were quickly ushered in once they were recognized.

You, however, were unknown by all. So you stood in line, surrounded by others who hoped desperately to meet their favorite celebrity. Not unlike yourself.

Having finally made it, you sent a quick text to Pedro. "Hey! I'm here :) sorry I'm late."

Your stomach twisted in knots. Sure, you were excited to meet Pedro. Especially with as much as the two of you have been talking over the past couple months now-

Geez, has it really been months?

But despite your connection, you still had that nagging self-conscious worry that he might not like you. Maybe he's just been talking with you to be nice, and the second you're together in person he won't give you the time of day. Maybe he will find you boring in real life. Maybe he will think you're ugly. Or weird. Or fat. Or -

"Next!" The bouncer at the door yelled after sending yet another hopeful fan away. Your stomach dropped and your mouth was dry.

"Hi, I-"

"NAME?" He barked, clearly done with this whole event.

"Well, actu-"

"Speak up princess, I can't hear ya when ya mumblin," the man said with a thick New York accent.

You cleared your throat. "Actually my name isn't on the list, I'm a guest of Pedro Pascal."

The man, towering over you, let out a bellowing laugh. "YEAH, I'm sure ya are, toots. You and every other woman in this joint."

"But I-"

"And trust me, I've turned away much prettier broads than the likes a' you at this doorway," he said while looking you up and down with an amused look as if he had just told the punchline at a comedy club.

Your heart sank. You always said things like that to yourself on the inside, but it wasn't often that people were that blunt to your face.

The man sneered while smacking his gum and arrogantly moving it to the other side of his mouth with his tongue. That gum. You wanted to punch him if you had to hear him smack it one more time.

"Back a' the line, kid. Y'ain't gettin' in here tonight, but I appreciate the self-confidence," he said, laughing at his own joke.

Disheartened, you didn't even care about meeting Pedro anymore. Your mood was dampened, your ego was hurt, and all you wanted to do was go home, get out of this stupid costume, and cry on your couch. With a short nod, you bit your lip to choke down the tears, turned, and headed towards the exit.

"Hey!!! There you are- wait where are you going?"

You'd recognize that voice anywhere. Pedro.

You turned around, swallowing down your emotions and putting on a fake smile, despite the wave of hurt and anxiety pooling in your stomach and chest. "Hey, Pedro! You found me."

Pedro smiled at the guard and snuck past, telling him "hey, she's with me." Fans in line squealed, which he greeted with a kind wave and charming smile. At last, he reached you and gestured for the two of you to head inside to the party. You gave a nod and a small, half-hearted smile.

You didn't want him to know how upset you were. Not only did you feel pathetic and slightly agree with the bouncer, but you also didn't want to ruin Pedro's night.

As the two of you entered the crowded party, you looked around at the decorations. Filled with purple and green lighting, the Halloween music blared and monsters danced the night away. A bowl of green punch sat on a table to the side, surrounded by bowls of candy and platters of snacks. An open bar was on the back wall, providing both normal booze, and Halloween themed drinks topped with gummy worms or syrup made to look like blood. To the right of the bar was a door to the large rooftop balcony which held tall, dark-green potted hedges, perfectly trimmed and shaped underneath rows of charming fairy lights. Beyond the shrubbery, the deck had several nice patio tables and chairs, a few people catching their breath outside or chatting, and a gorgeous view of the city below with the sparkling sky above.

Back inside and off to the right of the patio door, away from the dance floor, was a door which you assumed was the restroom, based on the long line of women.

"I'd like you to meet some people, if you feel up to it," Pedro yelled to be heard over the booming music from the dj.

"Okay!" You yelled back.

He led you over to a couple of people off to the side of the dance floor, one you recognized as his friend Sarah Paulson, who was dressed in a shimmery witch costume.

Pedro introduced the two of you. Sarah was very sweet, and while you talked music and acting, Pedro touched your shoulder and spoke into your ear to avoid yelling. "I'm going to grab a drink, can I get you anything?"

"I'll just take a soda, thanks!" Although some alcohol might help your nerves, you wanted to maintain a clear head and maybe not do or say something to Pedro that you might regret.

"You got it," he replied, turning on his heel towards the bar.

Once he had left, Sarah gave you a look.

"What?" you laughed.

"You know, he talks about you all the time. I know you already love some other guy based on that hit song of yours, but I gotta say I think he might be smitten with you."

"Oh please, no he isn't. We're just friends!" You smiled at the idea, but inside, you kept hearing the bouncer's words on repeat. There's no way Pedro could have feelings for you. Even if you wanted him to have those feelings more than anything, it couldn't be.

"Whatever you say," she said with a smirk.

A pause before she added "just… don't hurt him. I know you love someone else, but he's a good guy," she pleaded, letting her protective side show.

On his way back from the bar, Pedro ran into Oscar, whom he tagged up with and headed back to your small group. "This is my friend Oscar," said Pedro, introducing you to Oscar as his friend.

Friend. Remember that. Friend. That's all. All you'll ever be.

"Nice to meet you Oscar!" You gave him a cherry smile.

"Nice to finally meet the woman of the hour! Pedro here just won't shut up about you," he said with a smirk, looking at Pedro mischievously. Pedro blushed and looked into his drink cup, taking a sip while trying to hide himself.

"Yep! It's always 'she said this, she said that, can you believe she can do that? She's so smart, funny, sweet…' yada yada yada," he said, smirking again and taking a side glance at Pedro, who choked on his soda. "Shut. Up. Oscar." He quietly threatened through clenched teeth. But despite his quiet tone and a loud party, you heard him.

I mean, I say kind things about my friends that way sometimes. It's nice he's so appreciative of his friends. Because that's what I am. A friend.

Sarah chimes in. "That's what I was telling her! But she claims they're just friends," she air-quotes around the words 'just friends.'

Pedro's heart sank. He knew deep down that's all you were to him, but hearing it second-hand from you still hurt. Just friends… he thought.

"Yeah right," Oscar rolled his eyes, talking to Sarah as if the two of you weren't standing literally right next to them.

"Believe what you want Oscar, but it's true," Pedro answered with a shrug.

Now it was your turn to feel heartbroken. Just friends… you thought.

You cleared your throat, "anyway, I'm going to go get another soda. Can I get anyone anything?" They all answered no, and you headed for the bar.

Deep in your thoughts, you walked over to the bar when a woman slammed into you. She spilled her red, bloody Halloween cocktail drink all down the front of your costume. "Watch where you're going, fat bitch," said the woman, appropriately dressed in a devil costume, her skin-tight red dress barely covering her ass and breasts.

You sighed. At this point you decided to skip the refill and head toward the bathroom to clean up your now wet front. You looked back to see the devil herself headed right towards Pedro's direction. Typical, you thought with an eye roll. She wants him and is mad I was talking to him.

You turned away from that scene and reached the line to the bathroom. It was lengthy, but luckily it was moving fast. Once inside, you finally could let your emotions out a little bit. You wanted to put on a brave face for Pedro and not ruin his evening, but ever since the bouncer made his comments, you couldn't get them out of your head. And now with that woman spilling her drink on you, you had another reason to be upset. You felt undeserving to be here to begin with, and their comments really solidified the imposter syndrome.

Despite wanting so desperately to see Pedro in the flesh, you hadn't even been able to really make eye contact all evening. Your nerves about meeting him were still there, but now you were just upset about the whole night. Even though you wanted to look at him, really see him, you felt like you didn't deserve it; and your nerves warned you not to look or else he'd figure you out.

If he realizes I like him, it's game over. It'll be like that guy I liked before. He'll eventually say it's weird. Weird for me to have a crush on him, weird for me to touch him, weird for the two of us to talk about relationships or sex. It's 'weird' with you.

You really started to hate that word; weird.

Perhaps you were destined to be a single hermit forever. Or maybe just become a nun.

Cleaned up and having let enough tears out for a couple more hours, at least until you could go home and really cry, you walked out of the bathroom. Heading back toward Pedro, you saw a tall, thin, beautiful woman wearing a tight black dress with a slit down the thigh and skeleton makeup on her face.

The woman was standing close to Pedro when you saw her touch his bicep. Slowly running her hand down his forearm, she batted her eyelashes and twirled her hair with her other hand. She said something to him you couldn't hear, but the two of them began to smile, Pedro's eyes growing wide with his grin. He said something to her and they both laughed, him throwing his upper half forward in a classic Pedro laugh.

That's it. I can't do it. I can't be here and see this.

Turning on your heel, you made for the patio door. The crisp air hit your face, urging the tears to fall immediately.

_____

Pedro laughed as the woman, Tricia, held up both hands in defense. "I SWEAR, Pedro. That's what she did. She touched my arm like that, twirled her hair, batted her eyelashes, and said "hey baby. Come here often?"

Pedro laughed, "oh man, that's so cheesy."

"I know!" Tricia laughed, holding her stomach.

Pedro raised an eyebrow. "Okay, you agree it's cheesy, yet I feel like every time I've seen you two together tonight, you're the one that can't keep your hands off of her," he stated with a sassy smirk.

"Alright, you caught me," Tricia replied with a laugh, right as her girlfriend Sam walked up in a matching skeleton costume. Sam handed Tricia a cup of purple liquid and asked what they were laughing about.

"I asked how you two got together," Pedro replied with a chuckle.

"Oh, gosh, I can only imagine how she's spun the story this time!" Sam replied with an eye roll and a quick kiss to Tricia's lips. Seeing the two love-birds kiss made Pedro long to experience that with you.

Where did she go? There's no way she's still getting a drink.

He excused himself and headed towards the bar, but you weren't there. Then he walked towards the bathroom to check the line. Nope.

Finally he looked to the left and saw you, leaning against the balcony which overlooked the city.

He pulled the sliding door open, slipping outside into the cool October night. The patio was mostly empty, apart from a few stragglers on the far side of the rooftop, sitting at the patio furniture underneath a heat lamp. Most of the guests had gone inside when the temperature began to dip. He walked towards you, saying your name to gain your attention, but you didn't turn. Too deep in your thoughts.

"Are you okay? What are you doing out here all alone?" He touched your shoulder gently.

Startled, you tried to quietly sniffle and wipe your wet eyes without him noticing, careful to avoid smudging your mascara.

You turned to face him, planting another fake smile on your face. "Yeah I'm fine, just needed some air, that's all. You?"

"I can tell you're not okay. What's wrong?" He frowned, stepping closer to you and eyeing the red stain on your dress. Confusion laced across his face.

You stepped back a half-step away from his touch. "It's nothing, it just seems it isn't my night I guess… but you look like you're having fun. Get back in there and dance with Sarah and Oscar," you said with a gentle smile. "I think I might head out. Skipper is probably wondering where I am, anyway."

"I'm sorry you're not having a good time. Let me at least give you a ride home," he pleaded with his brown eyes. This was the first time all night you had actually made eye contact with him, finally seeing just how handsome he really was in person.

Yeah. There's no way he'd go for me. That's for sure.

"No, no please, you stay, I'll just get an Uber. It's fine! Thank you for inviting me tonight though, Pedro. That was really sweet of you."

"I'm not letting you take an Uber home when I'm right here."

"No, dont. I don't want you to miss the party…" you added.

"I've partied enough tonight. Come on, I'm taking you home. No arguments," he pressed, puppy dog eyes unwavering in his demand.

Seriously this man could get away with murder the way he looks with those eyes.

"Okay. Fine, if you really don't mind," you finally agreed, not that it was even an option.

He gave a quick explanation to his friends with a brief wave before the two of you headed out the front door. You scowled at the guard as you walked past.

Thanks for ruining my night, asshole.

After receiving his car from the valet, Pedro pulled open the passenger door for you, gesturing for you to climb inside.

Nobody has ever opened the car door for me before, other than my dad.

What a gentleman...

Just because you were upset didn't mean you weren't zapped with a feeling of adrenaline and love at his chivalrous action. Whoever ends up with him is a lucky person.

You climbed in the passenger seat and he went around the car, entering the driver's side.

Not only did you feel like you ruined the party, but you worry you may have ruined your shot altogether. Why would Pedro want you after you didn't even talk to him your first night out together?

_____

*Pedro's POV*

As he climbed into his seat, buckling up and starting the ignition, he couldn't help but wonder where the night went wrong.

Did I say something to offend her?

He began to replay all the conversations you'd had tonight, trying to figure out when your sadness began and what could have caused it.

The party conversations? The texts? The phone calls?

Nothing came to mind, which worried him even more that he could be so ignorant to have said something hurtful without realizing.

Pedro looked over at you in his passenger seat. You were curled toward the side, arms scrunched toward your body and looking out the window. Silent. Just the occasional sound of a sniffle, or a road direction for him to take toward your house.

He wanted so badly to reach over and touch you. Hold your hand and rub his thumb over your fingers to comfort you in any way possible while driving. Then, he'd pull you into his arms the second you two got out of the car.

But he knew he couldn't. You weren't his to hold.

Was her crush at the party too? Could he have hurt her somehow?

He felt anger flare into his system at whatever could have made you cry. You deserved the world and he wished he could spend every day trying to prove it to you.

_____

*Back to your perspective*

About 20 minutes later, you quietly said "this is me."

Pedro put the car in park, and told you to wait. Confused, you sat, but he ran around the car and opened the door for you.

What. The. Hell. Is he real?

You stood from the car, fluffing down your ruined princess dress. "Thank you Pedro. You really didn't have to give me a ride, I feel bad you went out of your way. I'm sorry if I ruined your night."

"Hey, whoa, don't apologize. There's no way you ruined my night, and don't worry about the ride. I feel better knowing you made it home safely from me than some taxi service," Pedro placed his hand on his heart.

"Well, thank you either way. It was nice getting to finally meet you in person…"

"It was nice meeting you too," he shifted his weight, awkwardly wondering how to proceed.

"You should go. Get back to your party before you miss anything else! I'm sure Oscar and Sarah miss you," you prompted.

"Oh, I'm not going back. I'll just call it a night and head home. It's not as fun without my date, anyway." He smirked, and you couldn't help but wonder if he was flirting with you. Probably just being nice.

"You aren't going back??"

"Nah, I'm good. But…" he rubbed the back of his neck with his palm.

"What?" You felt nervous.

"Can I ask why you're so upset? You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to. It's just… if I did something or said something to upset you… I'm so sorry," he said, and you could actually feel the genuine sadness in his voice.

"Oh, Pedro. No. You did nothing wrong. It's just," you sighed. "Do you want to come in?"

You worried about asking and seeming too forward, but now that it's out there it can't be taken back.

Friends go over to other friend's houses. It's totally fine and normal.

"I, uh, sure," Pedro stumbled over his words. "I'd love to. If you don't mind." He seemed nervous and a little surprised at your invitation.

You unlocked your door and the two of you entered. Instantly, you were greeted by your boy, who was all too happy to have a new friend. His tail wagged, smacking against nearby surfaces.

Pedro's face lit up instantly, and he crouched down to Skip's level. Letting Skipper get a good sniff, you heard Pedro gently coo to your dog. "Hi buddy!! I'm Pedro. I've heard so much about you." He scratched behind his ears.

Your heart swelled. Here they were, two of your favorite boys, bonding like old friends.

Pedro stood up again, giving a final scratch to Skipper's head before turning to you. "So, do you want to talk about it? What happened tonight?"

You ushered him to the kitchen table, asking him if he would like a drink. "Sure, thanks. Just water, please."

You poured two glasses of water and sat at the table near him, finally delving into the events of the evening. You told him about the bouncer and the woman with her drink. "I also saw that one girl talking to you and being really touchy and flirty and I felt like I was intruding."

I was also really fucking jealous…

"Wait, what girl?"

He repeated the evening's events through his mind. He wasn't flirting or being touchy? Who were you - Oh. Tricia, when she was describing Sam. Were you jealous of her? He allowed his mind to wonder, slightly hopeful that you might want more.

"I guess I just… I don't really feel like I fit in here. I don't look like I fit in here. I don't act like I fit in here. I honestly don't even know why you're as nice to me as you are. I wonder why you want to be my friend. Not that I'm not happy about it, because I am, but-"

He cut off your ramblings. "Whoa, whoa, hey. Sweetheart. You belong here. People just don't know you yet. That bouncer was totally out of line and a complete asshole. That woman, who spilled her drink on you, was rude, offensive, and nasty; and I don't tolerate that kind of behavior. Especially towards those I care about. The second she came over, I could tell she was a snake. I didn't give her the time of day. And lastly, the girl you saw being touchy was my friend Tricia. She was describing how her girlfriend picked her up in a bar," he laughed.

"Oh," you listened to his words, still not making eye contact, looking at your hands on the table.

"And as for you," he prompted, "I'm nice to you because you deserve it. You're sweet and funny, and I'm so thankful to have met you. I talk to you because I like talking to you. I enjoy spending time with you, whether it's on the phone, or, even better, when I get to see your face. Although I have to say I hate to see it crying." He brushed away a tear from your cheek, and you gave a small laugh, wiping the rest of your face.

"Thanks Pedro. I'm sorry if I brought down your night. I just really wanted tonight to be special, and it felt like my carriage turned back into a pumpkin before I even started." You gave another defeated laugh.

"You didn't ruin my night. If anything I'm just disappointed you didn't say anything, so I could help cheer you up or we could go do something else." He paused, brushing your hair from your eyes. "By the way, I never did get to tell you how beautiful you look in that dress, princesa."

Your cheeks heated under his gaze. "T-thanks Pedro. You look pretty handsome there, yourself," you answered nervously. It was the first time you had truly looked at him all night, and he was more beautiful than you ever could have imagined. Even pictures didn't do him justice. Dressed in a white suit with golden epaulets and golden buttons on the jacket, he was the most charming prince you'd ever seen.

Pedro rubbed his neck. "Thank you." He smiled. "But, hey, just because the night didn't go your way doesn't mean we can't turn it around."

You smirked. "That's true. Do you wanna watch a movie or something? Because if so, I think I might change out of this costume real quick," you began to stand.

"Whoa, not so fast princesa," he grabbed your arm.

You turned and gave him a confused look.

"Not before I share a dance with you in that dress. I've been waiting all night," he held out his hand.

"Really?" The grin on your face lit up, and you pulled him towards your music room where you stored your records.

"Wow. This is amazing. You have so many records and instruments in here! Is this where you write your music, too?"

"Yep! Here's where the magic happens," you answered with a laugh, pulling out an old record filled with slow love songs of the 50's and 60's. You placed the needle on the record, hearing a soft crackle as it began to play.

Pedro pulled you into his chest, grabbing your right hand with his left and gently placing his right hand on your waist. You slid your left hand up to his shoulder and smiled up at him as the two of you gently swayed to the music.

One song turned into two. Then three, and finally four; the two of you holding each other, silent except for the soft music turning from your record player on the desk. At some point you took the risk and decided to rest your face on his chest while the two of you swayed. His head rested on top of yours, both of you breathing softly, eyes closed, with you listening to the rhythmic drumming of his heart in his chest.

The record crackled with the end of the first side and the two of you looked at each other. You didn't miss the quick glance he stole from your eyes down to your lips, and you began to slowly lean closer.

Is this it?! Am I finally going to have my first kiss?!

You continued leaning closer, both his and your eyes gently closing. You could feel his breath fanning across your nose when-

Clunk clunk clunk. Pant pant. Whine.

You and Pedro opened your eyes, confusion painting your expressions as you turned your faces away from each other towards the sound. Still held in each other's arms, you peeled your eyes away from each other to see Skipper looking at you both with a big doggy grin on his face. His tail smacked the table with a thump thump, and he let out soft little whines and coos for attention.

The two of you laughed, the moment over, as you both kneeled down to give pets while Skip wedged between the two of you. Although you were disappointed the kiss was interrupted, you can't be mad at such a cute face. Still scratching your dog, you looked across to Pedro on the other side of Skipper. The two of you shared a soft look and smile, filled with so many unsaid words and feelings.

"So, uh.. how about that movie?" Pedro asked, still smiling.

______

You changed out of your princess costume into a comfier movie watching outfit and he changed out of his prince costume. He had some clothes in his car, which he changed into, looking handsome as ever. He wore a navy blue sweater with jeans, both fitting him perfectly. The two of you settled on your couch and turned on a movie. Although you sat next to each other, you kept a friendly distance, neither of you wanting to push the other too far.

As the movie rolled on, you had a hard time focusing on the plot with him so close. He looked so cozy and soft, you just wanted to climb in his lap. You wanted him to hold your hand. You wanted to finish that kiss. He smelled nice, he looked nice, and you wanted him more than anything else in this world.

Without realizing it, you gravitated closer. Your body inched toward him, and without him realizing it, he inched closer as well. It wasn't long until your leg was brushed against his. Just the slight touch of his leg on yours was enough to send an electric feeling pulsing through your body. The tension was as tight as an electrical cable, slowly fraying until it eventually snaps into sparks.

Pedro's fingers twitched at his side, his jaw clenching and unclenching. Your eyes kept sneakily darting over to him, his doing the same at opposite times. Your hearts were racing, breathing quick and shallow. The movie finally ended, neither of you able to tell someone the storyline if asked.

You nervously turned towards Pedro, rubbing the back of your neck. "So that was some movie…"

"Yeah, that ending… it was-" his eyes darted to your lips. "Something." He looked into your eyes, hand settling on your thigh as the two of you once again began to lean in closer. You had just shut your eyes, noses brushing together, when he pulled away.

What the heeeeeeeellllll??? Whyyyy!?

You couldn't help but let out a whimper as you opened your eyes after the second failed kiss of the evening.

Pedro sat with his elbows on his lap, holding his face in his hands. "I'm so sorry…"

"What? Pedro? Why are you sorry? What's wrong? Did I - did I do something wrong?"

Do I smell bad? Does he not like me? Was this some sick joke?

"I don't know what I'm doing. I'm sorry. I let my feelings get in the way, and I shouldn't have done that. You're in love with someone else. I can't steal your first kiss. You deserve to have it with the man you really love."

"Pedro-" you tried to pry his hand from his face.

"No. I'm sorry if I ruined things. I should probably leave-" he began to stand up, but you grabbed his forearm and pulled him back down.

"Stop. Pedro," you begged.

He sat back down, looking into your eyes guiltily.

You continued. "Please don't apologize. I wanted you to kiss me…"

"But that guy in your song. You deserve to be with him. I've been letting my feelings take over and stealing all your time away on the phone and text, video chat, and now in person. I almost stole your first kiss from you twice tonight and-" he rambled on, once again throwing his hands over his face before you interrupted him again.

"Pedro.." you pulled his hand away from his face, leaving yours to hold his cheek instead, but he still avoided your eyes. Taking a deep breath, you figured it was time to take the plunge.

"It's you, Pedro."

His eyes glanced up to yours. "What?"

"It's you. It's always been you. You're the one I like."

"Wait, so you mean-"

"Yes. The songs, the interviews, our chats… I've been talking about you this whole time. I really, really, like you."

Pedro gave a gentle smile, leaning his face into your hand. "I like you too, baby," he whispered.

His hand moved from his cheek to yours and the two of you leaned in. Closing your eyes, you brushed your noses together before you whispered "please kiss me.

You could feel a soft smile as he pressed his lips to yours, first gentle and soft, then stronger and more desperate. Although the kiss was still very tame, you could both feel all the emotions you've been harboring for each other for so long.

Breathless, the two of you pulled back, falling into a gentle laughter. "You don't know how long I've been waiting for that kiss," you spoke softly, wanting to keep the words as quiet as possible, heard only within the tiny bubble you currently shared.

"Me too," he smiled, pressing another kiss to your lips.

"I think you were worth the wait," you pecked his lips.

"I think you were too," he rested his head on your forehead with his hand on your neck, lightly stroking over your hair.

"I like you." You giggled.

"I like you too." He grinned. "But, you know, if I remember correctly, 'like' wasn't the word you used in your song…" he teased.

Your stomach flipped. "I don't want to scare you off too soon, P."

"You won't, sweetheart. You couldn't if you tried. I feel the same way." He kissed your forehead.

You looked at him, and feeling slightly nervous, yet calmed by his deep brown eyes, you told him those important words that have been spilling from your chest in silence.

"I love you Pedro."

"I love you too," he grabbed your face, once again pressing a kiss to your lips, this one much deeper than the others, before pulling you into his arms. The two of you were finally together. Finally you had love. All the things you wanted were coming true.

Turns out you got your happily ever after tonight after all.

__________

To be continued...

That's all for now! I hope you liked this chapter. I've received a lot of kind messages and DMs saying how much you guys relate to the reader and I just want to say thank you. It really means a lot to me that people are finding something to relate to. I'm essentially just using this fic as my diary, because she is pretty much just me. So to see others feeling the same way, it makes my heart so full! I send hugs to all of you.

Next Chapter! Here!

Taglist: (Want in? Let me know!) If I forget to add anyone, I'm sorry!

@pedrotonin @starcrossed02 @lightupsketchersperson @cartoon-garbage04 @tyferbebe @maryfanson @gwendibley84 @faithfullyyours2000 @brilliantopposite187 @hc-geralt-23 @jenniferpendragon @winchestergypsy90 @red-red-rogue @theendwhereibegin @lottieellz101 @oliversaurus @kyga01 @milly-louise @titabel @taz-97 @stefanibear003 @marantha @fandomoniumflurry @ilovemybrown-eyedbabygirl

[that-one-enby-ranger]

It's John Richard Deacon's birthday today so that means its time to yap about him so get ready

First of all, I fucking love this man. This man is amazing and has got to be one of the best people I have had the pleasure of knowing about. He is an amazing player, and even though I will admit he is probably not THE best, he is still, in my opinion, one of the best, and will always be my favourite.

This man is such a talented musician and I hate how underrated he is. He is one of the less open members of the band and is not as public, and of course isn't like Freddie, so he is often forgotten about by people who pay more attention to the music instead of the band themselves. He has written great songs for Queen which include Another One Bites The Dust, I Want To Break Free, You're My Best Friend (which he wrote for his wife and I find that so cute), wrote the bass line for Under Pressure (and then forgot it while getting pizza but lets not talk about that), Friends Will be Friends, Spread Your Wings and others

And then he has songs which are extremely underrated in my opinion because they are fucking GREAT. Misfire (great lyrics, truly poetic, can't believe someone could come up with such great words and meanings), In Only Seven Days, You and I, If You Can't Beat Them, One Year of Love, and I don't care what anyone else says I like Back Chat. He wrote other songs as well. Even though he didn't write as many songs as the other members did, he still wrote songs, some of which went on to be massive hits, and he still contributed a lot to the band.

There's a reason why the rest of the band chose him as their bass player. They tried out multiple different bass players and none of them worked out. Then they met John and boom they had the best bass player they could ask for.

John also knew engineering, and he is an electronics engineer by training. He created his own amplifier in 1972 and it is called the Deacy amp. That's fucking cool. I'm not an engineer of any kind, but I would guess that's pretty impressive.

THIS MAN IS A FUCKING FAMILY MAN. He loves his family so much and it is so sweet. His wife's name is Veronica and in an interview (I'm pretty sure it was an interview they did for The Miracle album) he said that one of his favourite songs was a song called Veronica or something like that because it was the name of his wife. He also has six kids which is pretty badass if you ask me. Plus he wrote You're My Best Friend for his wife and that is super fucking sweet especially if you listen to the lyrics and remember that he wrote that for her. "Ooo, you make me live."

We joke about John being the cute baby of the band, and even though he is adorable, he is also a complete badass and I love him for it. According to Brian May, John could make you want to crawl into a ball and die with just a couple sentences. That wasn't a direct quote but it was something similar. There was one time when the band were out recording for an album or something like that, I can't remember the specifics, but John pretty much just fucked off and went to Bali, and left a note on his bass case saying that he went to Bali. He wrote Misfire. He used to throw peanuts into Brian's hair while he was playing his guitar solos at concerts. He learnt to play the double bass in two days because Brian told him as a joke that he would need it to play '39 even though he didn't. He had tons of stitches in his hand from smashing through glass when he was drunk or something and he still played a gig. A photographer couldn't do a photoshoot for Queen so they payed John to do it and he tried to take pictures of Roger's ass. I'm like 80% sure it was Roger I can't really remember. This is just the stuff I can think of at the top of my head by the way, this isn't even all of it. If I could be bothered to get my phone and look through Queen folder to try and find all this shit then I could add more but I'm lazy. By the way, I haven't fact checked any of this shit and I am definetely not going to, this is just shit I've heard, so some of it may not even be true, but I don't care, I like to think it is.

He is the most quite and reserved of the band, especially when it comes to the public and I absolutely repsect that. Just because he's apart of one of the most famous bands in the world does not mean he has to be public outside of that. He didn't have too much attention put on to him during shows, and I can only assume he liked it like that, but he still had his own little prescensse and I love him for it. He had a little cocktail bar behind his amp ad during concerts he would be constantly going back to get drinks, so throughout the show he would be getting more and more drunk and would be getting more hyper most likely. During concerts he did little disco moves and dances and it was the best seeing him hop around in his own little area and do his own little thing.

HIS DECISION TO LEAVE QUEEN AFTER FREDDIE DIED WAS COMPLETELY VALID AND ANYONE WHO DISAGRESS CAN GO TO HELL. I heard somewhere that part of the reason why he didn't want to carry on wasn't just because of Freddie, but was also because when Freddie was with them, he felt that most of the attention would be on Freddie, but after he died, he felt that more attention would be on him and he didn't like that, and honestly that is completely fine and he can decide what he wants to do. He cared so much about Freddie and he apparently cried before going on stage for the Freddie Mercury Tribute Concert and he should not have to carry on with something if he doesn't want to do it

John is such a silly cutie. They all are. But today we focusing on John. I'm writing this while watching John clips and he is so cute and such a silly underrated guy.

Also, I noticed the John Deacon tag here only has like 7.something K followers and THAT IS CRIMINAL HE DESERVES SO MUCH MORE THAN THAT

He did the triangle in killer queen and that is the reason he has a microphone and I found that so fucking funny.

There is so much more I could write about him, but Im gonna stop now because I'm only half focusing on my deacy clips and he deserves more attention so I'm gonna watch that

Here have some photos:

Hot

T-pose Deacy

SUCH A CUTIE HAPPY BIRTHDAY THIS MAN DESERVES THE WORLD AND ALL THE LOVE AAAAAAAAA ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️💝❤️💝💝💝💝💝❤️💝❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️🎉🎉🎉❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️🎉🎉❤️❤️❤️❤️🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️🎉❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️🎉❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️🎉🎉❤️🎉❤️🎉❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️🎉❤️❤️❤️🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️💝💝💝💝💝💝💝💝💝💝💝💝💝💝💝💝💝💝💝💝💝💝💝💝💝💝💝💝💝💝💝💝💝💝💝💝💝💝💝💝💝💝💝💝💝💝💝💝💝💝💝💝💝💝💝❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤��❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

[sugar-omi]

Sending more Rockstar!Cove love! Need some spicy stuff in here though.

Please knock before entering his dressing room or trailer. Everyone knows that by now. Barging in there will cause you to see stuff you do not want to see.

He's not afraid to post more private stuff about his love life on his socials. Do you think he's going to just stop what he's doing because someone "urgently" needed him?

(He's about to be late and has absolutely no sense of time at all anymore.)

-🎸

YES! YES YES YES!!!! everyone sees the shit he posts of you/your relationship online. everything from romantic to more or less erotic.

so really, the staff on the set should know not to be careless when you're on the set as well. because cove is diligent and kind when he's working. he loves what he does, and he's not the typical big headed rockstar he presents as.

he's serious, dedicated to his craft.. a little rough, sure, very reserved and otherwise quiet unless he's commanding the scene.

but he's also dedicated to you. the whole world is convinced that he would drop music if you asked him to, that's how much he loves you.

really, the amount of times someone on set has walked in on cove going down on you is insane.

he does his due diligence by closing the door or finding a "secluded" place. they just need to do their part by not busting in, walking by, or opening the wrong curtain, is that so hard?

his manager can lecture him all he wants about public indecency. I mean, was it really indecent though? he was in his dressing room when he had you bent over the vanity, not the public bathroom. it's not his fault the mua's new assistant walked in for... whatever her reason was again.

and when he has to record a new song, his fans eagerly waiting the tease of a new album, well he has to take care of his beloved first.

making sure you're fat n happy is his number one priority. always making sure your material needs are met, your necessities. you have more cars and houses in your name than the two of you will ever need, and more money in your account than you could spend even if you used it to blow your nose.

and with all that met... that just leaves cove to love you up, kiss you and hold you, and spoil you with his time, affection, and gifts. and sexually.

he's been so busy preparing for the new album, he hasn't had nearly enough time to spend with you. and you're so needy today, your body pressed against his, gently waking him up from his sleep by rubbing on his body, kissing him gentle and whispering in his ear pleads to wake up and fuck you...

so yeah, when he picks up the phone, of course the producer is gonna hear the bed creak, and of course, he can hear the breathlessness and the gravel in cove's voice as he fucks you through the alaskan king mattress.

and of course, he hands up on him! the song can wait. it's been written for months, so instead of breathing down his neck, why don't they fix the tempo like he told them to, and he'll be in as soon as you cum around his dick two or three more times, maybe even more if anyone else blows up his phone.

so okay. maybe cove does tap into the typical rockstar assholery, but it's not his fault. his baby needs to be pleased whenever they want, and he certainly can't keep his hands off you as it is, let alone when he's been busy with work.

he'll try to keep the indecency down to a reasonable level (his manager screamed at that), but only if everyone remembers to be a little mindful of their ears and eyes if they don't want to see or hear you two reach heaven together.~