#Choreography Contest

[sesshy380]

Am I the only one that occasionally remembers an old YouTube AMV from pre-2010 and wants to watch it, but can't because it no longer exists?

[offthewall1979]

I think i just prefer his style of dance more in the 70s and 80s tbh

[kickbutts-singsongs]

The tabs currently open on my computer:

- typical plots of j-dramas

- ultimate frisbee women

- japan baseball teams

- national beauty pageants

- list of mha characters

- list of dancing with the stars winners

[miyawaki]

i still cant believe yumeki is on boys II planet. thats so crazy hes my one pick

[weirdthoughtsandideas]

NEFKIRIWLFKRBEB so in 1984 Sweden won Eurovision with a song sung by three brothers. Epic song. I have had unhealthy obsession with Diggiloo Diggiley since I was a toddler. I listened to it so much that the CD broke. To many, this is the ”worst” Sweden win, and I can understand why, but due to my obsession with the song, I’d place it much higher.

Anyway APPARENTLY one of the brothers is in Grease 2?? Of all things?? I guess in the background dancing.

But now I also want to… watch Grease 2 again… to see if I can find him… (I probably won’t)

[jhsharman]

This issue and its cover strike me as an obvious candidate for the facsimilie reprint series, though maybe the lure for "Flashdance" just isn't there, and maybe my logic does not match Archie's. ( My other suggestion "Punk or Funk?" I have a hunch doesn't.) It is a time capsule of an issue -- The Flash Dance story, which does move back to proper not nonsensical change reprintings, the somewhat forced Joe Montana doppelganger, and a Sally Ride appearance -- that one never moved into reprinting. The only thing with the comic is it is not too good-- George Glaidir dominates rather than Frank Doyle. But then, the "Beat Off" issue is not too good either. And the contents for this issue they probably don't want to go to.

She's a Maniac

It cannot be a surprise Betty would win a Jennifer Beals impression contest -- which I guess is the definition of a Flash Dance contest -- especially over Veronica. Who has the working class girl heart which was the center of Flash Dance? As for a more prosaic dance contest -- who knows? Betty would need to keep her leg warmers from falling down.

A question arising for NTV -- a "first" annual National Flash Dance suggests more annual flash dances-- a second, a third, a fifteenth. I can't imagine there is a market for this five years' down the line. But maybe the movie is still just that big -- a perpetual most rented in the video rental market.

Yes, the "Great Rap himself" is a silly trip up -- what happens when a mandate for all removals of the word "flash" gets followed without paying attention. But leaving that one aside... Who the heck is "Rap Flash"?

[doyoulikethissong-poll]

ABBA - Waterloo 1974

"Waterloo" is a song by Swedish pop group ABBA, with music composed by Benny Andersson and Björn Ulvaeus and lyrics written by Stikkan Anderson. It is first single of the group's second studio album of the same name, and their first under the Atlantic label in the US. This was also the first single to be credited to the group performing under the name ABBA. The title and lyrics reference the 1815 Battle of Waterloo, and use it as a metaphor for a romantic relationship.

In 1974, "Waterloo" represented Sweden in the 19th edition of the Eurovision Song Contest held in Brighton, winning the contest and beginning ABBA's path to worldwide fame. The song differed from the standard "dramatic ballad" tradition at the contest by its flavour and rhythm, as well as by its performance. ABBA gave the audience something that had rarely been seen before in Eurovision: flashy costumes (including silver platform boots), a catchy uptempo song and simple choreography. It was the first winning entry in a language other than that of their home country; prior to 1973, all Eurovision singers had been required to sing in their country's native tongue, a restriction that was lifted briefly for the contests between 1973 and 1976 (thus allowing "Waterloo" to be sung in English), then reinstated before ultimately being removed again in 1999. Watch the performance in Swedish here. Sveriges Radio released a promo video for "Waterloo" that was directed by film director Lasse Hallström, whose first notable English-language film success was What's Eating Gilbert Grape in 1993. ABBA recorded the German and French versions of "Waterloo" in March and April 1974; the French version was adapted by Alain Boublil, who would later go on to co-write the 1980 musical Les Misérables.

The song shot to number 1 in the UK and stayed there for two weeks, becoming the first of the band's nine UK number 1's, and the 16th biggest selling single of the year in the UK. It also topped the charts in Belgium, Denmark, Finland, West Germany, Ireland, Norway, and Switzerland, while reaching the Top 3 in Austria, France, the Netherlands, Spain, and Sweden. Unlike other Eurovision-winning tunes, the song's appeal transcended Europe: "Waterloo" also topped the charts in South Africa, and reached the Top 10 in Australia, Canada, New Zealand, Rhodesia, and the US (peaking at number 6, their third-highest-charting US hit after number 1 "Dancing Queen" and number 3 "Take a Chance on Me"). In 2005, at Eurovision fiftieth anniversary competition Congratulations: 50 Years of the Eurovision Song Contest, "Waterloo" was chosen as the best song in the contest's history.

"Waterloo" is featured in the encore of the musical Mamma Mia!. The song does not have a context or a meaning. It is just performed as a musical number in which members of the audience are encouraged to get up off their seats and sing, dance and clap along. The song is performed by the cast over the closing credits of the film Mamma Mia!, but is not featured on the official soundtrack. It is also performed as part of the story in the sequel, Mamma Mia! Here We Go Again, by Hugh Skinner and Lily James.

The Australian film Muriel's Wedding (1994), features "Waterloo" in a pivotal scene in which lead Toni Collette bonds with the character played by Rachel Griffiths. The film's soundtrack, featuring five ABBA tracks, is widely regarded as having helped to fuel the revival of popular interest in ABBA's music in the mid-1990s. "Waterloo" features prominently in the 2015 science-fiction film The Martian. The song plays as the film's lead, played by Matt Damon, works to ready his launch vehicle for a last-chance escape from Mars. In "Mother Simpson", the eighth episode of the seventh season of The Simpsons, Mr. Burns plays "Ride of the Valkyries" from a tank about to storm the Simpson home, but the song is cut-off and "Waterloo" is played, to which Smithers apologizes, advising he "must have accidentally taped over that".

"Waterloo" received a total of 89% yes votes!

(the video is posted by ABBA's own account, not Eurovision's = safe to watch)

[f1girliefics]

Burning Rubber, Beating Hearts

Charles Leclerc x Reader

Summary: When Charles Leclerc joins Dancing with the Stars: Monaco as a celebrity contestant, he's way out of his element, until his dance partner helps him find his rhythm both on the floor and in his heart.

Charles Leclerc was used to speed, not steps.

He’d mastered the roar of an engine, the pressure of a tight corner, and the glittering chaos of a podium finish.

But here he was, standing in a rehearsal studio in Monte Carlo, staring at the full-length mirror and the perfectly poised dance instructor assigned as his partner for Dancing with the Stars: Monaco Edition.

You.

He recognized you, of course.

You were a professional dancer, graceful, confident, and often dazzling across televised ballroom stages.

He, on the other hand, hadn’t worn anything tighter than a race suit in his life, and the concept of “graceful” didn’t apply to his feet.

“Okay, Charles,” you said, clipboard in hand, hair swept up in a practical ponytail. “Have you ever danced before?”

“Unless awkward wedding dancing counts, no.” He grinned sheepishly.

You laughed, and the sound made something stir in him. “That’s okay. We’ve got time. And I’m very good at making race car drivers look like they know what they’re doing.”

He chuckled, trying not to stare too long. You weren’t just beautiful, you were electric.

The kind of person who moved like the world followed their rhythm.

The first week of practice was… humbling.

He stepped on your toes.

Tripped over invisible air.

Fumbled his frame.

He got frustrated but you were patient. Patient in the way that made him feel like he wasn’t failing, just learning.

“You’re used to speed,” you said one evening, as you helped him perfect a spin. “But dance isn’t about speed, it’s about trust. With your partner. With the music. With yourself.”

He glanced at your hands, still resting lightly on his waist. “That’s hard for me.”

“I understand,” you said quietly. “But you’re not doing this alone.”

Somewhere between the tango rehearsals and the late-night choreography sessions, something began to shift.

He looked forward to seeing you more than the applause of the audience. He found excuses to stay after rehearsal, to talk, to laugh, to sit next to you in the dressing room and listen to your stories about growing up dancing in small studios before making it big.

One night, after a long session, Charles caught your hand as you were leaving.

“You’re the best thing about this experience, you know,” he said softly. “Not the show. Not the dances. Just… being with you.”

Your breath hitched, and for the first time since you met, you didn’t have anything choreographed to say.

You squeezed his hand. “You’re not so bad yourself, Charles.”

When the night of the finale arrived, the entire ballroom glittered with anticipation.

The stars, the judges, the roaring crowd.

Charles, dressed in a deep red suit, stood beside you with nerves he hadn’t felt since his first F1 race.

Their final dance was a waltz.

Romantic, intimate. Just the two of you gliding across the floor as if nothing else existed.

The crowd faded. The cameras disappeared.

All he could see was you.

And when the music stopped, and the audience stood in thunderous applause, Charles didn’t think twice.

He turned to you, heart in his throat, and said, “Dance with me outside this room, too?”

You blinked, breathless from more than just the routine. “What took you so long?”

He laughed and kissed you right there, with all of Monaco watching.

The trophy sat forgotten in his apartment.

But every morning, he danced with you in the kitchen, barefoot, music low, coffee brewing in the background.

Charles Leclerc had won plenty of races in his life.

But nothing compared to winning your heart.

[jamesmcalover]

one blink and it's over

Hálfdán Helgi Matthíasson (Væb) x Reader

Warnings: slight angst, fluff!! i love him sm

Summary: During Eurovision week in Basel, a contestant from another country forms an unexpected connection with Hálfdán from Iceland’s Væb. What starts as playful flirting turns into something deeper as they share stolen moments, kisses, and quiet confessions. Though she fears it’s just a fleeting Eurovision fling.

a/n: this is so cute i almost threw up writing this

3.8k words - not proofread

There were too many people here. Too many sequins, too many camera angles, too many languages bouncing off the rafters of the St. Jakobshalle arena. And you had your own delegation to manage, your own interviews to nail, your own choreography to perfect.

But the blonde boy dressed in silver with the big rhinestoned glasses made himself hard to ignore.

Maybe it was the way he was always there, just loud enough to cut through the fog of nerves that hung around everyone else. He was never quiet, never still, but never annoying either. Somehow walking that impossible tightrope between chaotic and charismatic.

The first time you properly spoke was during a joint rehearsal walkthrough for camera angles. You were waiting for your turn, pacing near the catering table, half-focused on your own nerves. Væb had just finished their run, the five of them climbing off the stage, still catching their breath.

Hálfdán spotted you and beelined like a guided missile.

“You were mouthing the lyrics,” he said.

You blinked. “I wasn’t.”

“You were,” he insisted, eyes bright. “At the second chorus. Little bit. I saw.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Were you watching me instead of your camera cue?”

“Multitasking,” he said proudly.

You tried not to smile. You failed.

“Fine,” you said. “Maybe I like the song.”

“See,” he grinned. “We’re growing on people.”

You shook your head, amused despite yourself. “Do you always flirt with everyone who knows your lyrics?”

He tilted his head. “Only the ones who pretend not to.”

You didn’t give him the satisfaction of blushing, but something about the way he looked at you made it harder to keep your usual professional mask in place.

It wasn’t the last time he found you.

In the cafeteria. In the hallway after soundcheck. During that one press mixer where you’d both been corralled into a Eurovision-themed trivia game and ended up on the same team. He was quick and loud and fearless, and it should’ve been too much. But it wasn’t.

The flirting became a thing. Little comments. A lingering glance during a group photo. His arm brushing yours when you stood too close. You told yourself it was harmless. Eurovision week was always a fever dream. No one ever left this bubble with something real.

One night, after a long day of rehearsals, your delegation had gathered in the hotel bar. A few drinks in, you slipped outside for air and found him there too, leaning on the railing, hoodie pulled up, his usual glasses instead of rhinestones covered sunglasses tonight.

“You hiding?” you asked.

He turned, smile tugging at his mouth. “Maybe.”

You joined him. The Basel night air was cool against your skin.

“Your rehearsal looked solid,” you said. “You didn’t almost drop your glasses this time.”

“Progress,” he said. “In the final I will be like a pro.”

You chuckled. It was quiet for a moment.

“You’re good up there,” he said suddenly. “Like, annoyingly good.”

You glanced at him. “Thanks.”

“I mean it. You’ve got that… locked-in thing. Calm. Makes people pay attention.”

“You sure you’re not just saying that because I know your lyrics?”

He smirked, then grew a little more serious. “No. I just wanted to say it. Before everything goes completely insane.”

You knew what he meant. The semi-finals were around the corner. After that, everything would accelerate. Every moment would be captured, clipped, memed, shared. Then it would be over.

“I keep forgetting it’s not real,” you said quietly.

“What’s not?”

“This. Eurovision. This week. It’s like a dream, but with more laser shows and strobe lights.”

“Yeah,” he said, nudging your arm gently. “And maybe one or two people you actually want to remember.”

You looked at him.

For a second, there was no noise. No LED screens. Just him.

You didn’t say anything.

You didn’t need to.

───────────────────

It was supposed to be just a few minutes.

You’d followed him out onto the balcony behind the arena, the one technically reserved for accredited staff, but Hálfdán had grinned and said, “You’ve got a lanyard. That counts.”

The night air in Basel was cool against your skin after the heat of the lights and crowds inside. Below, the city sparkled. Neat and quiet, so different from the whirlwind behind you. Hálfdán leaned on the railing beside you, his shoulder brushing yours now and then, like he couldn’t quite stop moving, even when he was still.

“They’re gonna yell at us for sneaking out,” you said, watching him.

He smiled, then looked at you. “You can blame it on me. I’m very blameable.”

“Not a word.”

“Yet.” He nudged your arm with his. “I like it out here better. Don’t you?”

You didn’t answer immediately. The sounds of the river and the distant buzz of Eurovision still hung in the air, but this felt quieter. Not still, but slower. Like you could actually hear yourself think.

“I think I’m going to miss this,” you said finally, surprising yourself with the truth of it.

He turned toward you, just slightly. “The contest?”

“The chaos. The people... The feeling that something big is happening.”

Hálfdán was watching you. You could feel it.

You opened your mouth to say something else. To deflect, maybe, but he stepped a little closer. Just a gentle shift. He didn’t touch you, not yet. Just looked at you with that open, unwavering way of his. Like he didn’t mind being seen.

And then, quietly: “Can I?”

You hesitated. Not because you didn’t want to. You did. You’d been thinking about it since the first rehearsal, since the first time he grinned at you like you were in on some secret.

But this wasn’t just a kiss. It was a promise you couldn’t make. Not really.

He must have seen something in your face, because he added, softer, “You don’t have to.”

You didn’t move for a second. Then you reached up, fingers light against the edge of his hoodie, anchoring yourself to something.

“I know,” you said. And then you kissed him.

It was slower than you expected. Less of a crash, more of a pull. Like gravity, like an answer to a question you hadn’t realized you’d been asking. He kissed you like someone who didn’t need to prove anything, who had nothing to rush. Like the moment was enough.

When you pulled back, his forehead rested lightly against yours.

You didn’t know what to say. Your heart was beating too fast, and your brain was already trying to catalogue the way he’d looked at you. Like he wanted it to mean something.

But that was the problem, wasn’t it?

Because Eurovision would end. The glitter would fade. You’d go home, and so would he.

And maybe this kiss was just a beautiful moment, tied to a stage and a spotlight and a city that didn’t belong to either of you.

He stepped back, finally, giving you space, but not distance.

“We should go back in,” you said, your voice quieter than usual.

“Yeah.” He didn’t move. Just smiled, a little softer than before. “But I’m glad we came out here first.”

You nodded, trying to keep your face neutral. Like your chest hadn’t just cracked open a little.

Because even if this was temporary, even if it was just an ESC fling like you feared, it was still real.

And that was going to make walking away so much harder.

────────────────────

The delegation lounge was buzzing. Rehearsals were done for the day, and people had started to loosen up. Shoes off, jackets unzipped, nerves temporarily tucked away behind empty coffee cups and half-eaten sandwiches. You were curled up at the edge of a couch, legs tucked under you, pretending to scroll your phone while trying not to stare across the room.

Hálfdán was mid-conversation with a couple of the Danish crew, animated as always, hands flying as he talked. He wore a hoodie now, rhinestones still decorating his pretty blue eyes, but the big black glasses were off. He was wearing his usual glasses now, which made his already big eyes appear even bigger and bluer. The look was casual, comfortable. Too comfortable, maybe, for someone who’d kissed you in on the balcony in the back and then grinned like he hadn’t just upended your entire sense of balance.

It had started with teasing. He’d made a comment about your staging, something about the dramatic lighting cue. You’d fired back. It had escalated. There had been laughter, and a pause, and a look. And then: his hand in yours, pulling you towards the back of the venue.

You weren’t sure what it had meant to him. You hadn’t talked about it. You didn’t want to ruin the bubble of it, not yet.

But now, watching him laugh like nothing had changed. Like that moment hadn’t left your heart stuck somewhere just below your throat. You were suddenly very aware of the countdown again. Eurovision wasn’t a real world. It was a two-week sugar high. What happened here didn’t follow normal rules.

Eventually, everyone left.

Eventually, the lounge thinned out. You hadn't noticed how long you had sat on the couch alone until someone turned off the overhead lights, leaving just the glow of a corner lamp and the soft flicker of LED strips along the bar. You didn’t notice Hálfdán slipping away from a conversation until he was standing in front of you.

“You’ve been hiding,” he said, hands in his pockets, voice lower now.

“Not hiding. Observing,” you said, even though it was kind of a lie.

He tilted his head, a little skeptical. Then he sat down next to you, knees brushing yours. The closeness felt easy, natural. That was part of the problem.

“You okay?” he asked after a second.

You hesitated. “Yeah. Just tired.”

He didn’t push. Just nodded, letting the quiet settle. You weren’t used to him being this calm. It threw you off.

“You looked like you were having fun,” you added after a moment.

He grinned. “I'm always having fun.”

His smile faded slowly, like he’d remembered something heavier.

“I was trying not to look at you,” he said, voice a little more careful.

You blinked. “Why?”

“Because when I do, I forget how to be normal,” he said, and then quickly added, “not that I’m great at that anyway.”

Your breath caught in your throat.

────────────────────

The green room was louder than ever. You’d stopped being able to hear your own heartbeat about five country announcements ago.

Two spots left.

You gripped the edge of the couch, knuckles white. Your delegation around you was trying to stay upbeat, but the tension was a living thing. Wrapping around your spine, pressing against your ribs. Every time Hazel or Sandra said, “The next country to qualify is…” your breath would catch, and then another country would be announced to qualify.

One spot left.

It wasn’t going to be you. Not this year.

You felt it settle in your chest like a weight. This quiet, awful acceptance that your time was up. That the months of planning and hoping and rehearsing had led you here, to a final camera shot of your team trying to clap politely while your insides folded in on themselves.

You didn’t even hear your country’s name, just your team and the stadium screaming. Someone grabbed your hand. The camera cut to your face and you tried to smile through the overwhelming rush of relief, disbelief, and something dangerously close to tears.

And then he was there.

Hálfdán.

He didn’t walk. He sprinted from the opposite side of the green room, past the Swedish sofa, around the Italian camera crew, dodging a boom mic and yelling your name like he was celebrating his own win.

You didn’t have time to process it before his arms were around you, lifting you clean off the floor in a dizzying, breathless spin. You squeaked as your feet left the ground.

“You did it!” he laughed, spinning you once, twice. “I knew it! I told you!”

You were laughing too now, breathless with it, holding on to him instinctively as the world whirled around you.

“Hálfdán put me down, I’m going to fall on live TV–”

“No chance,” he said, voice bright in your ear, before finally setting you down, hands warm on your waist to steady you.

Cameras were on you. Your delegation was cheering. You should’ve been thinking about the thousands of people watching, the clips that would be shared before midnight. But you weren’t.

You were thinking about how close he was. How his hands lingered on your hips a moment too long. How your heart hadn’t slowed down since he ran to you.

“You looked like you were about to throw up before they said it,” he teased gently.

“I felt like I was going to throw up.”

“But you didn’t. You’re in.”

You smiled, still slightly stunned. “We’re in.”

His grin softened, and for a second, it felt like the noise fell away.

“I’m really glad,” he said. “Really. I don’t want this to end yet.”

The implication sat between you for a moment. This, meaning Eurovision. This, meaning you.

You wanted to say something. Something light. Something safe. But all that came out was a quiet, shaky, “Me neither.”

The camera moved away. The moment should have ended.

But it didn’t.

Because when he looked at you then, it wasn’t like someone sharing a stage or a press line or even a kiss on a balcony. It was quieter than that.

And scarier.

Because you were starting to believe you’d miss him when it was over.

Really miss him.

Which meant you were in trouble.

────────────────────

The semi-final afterparty was everything you expected it to be and a little more chaotic.

The venue had been converted into a low-lit sea of LED strips and mirrorballs, with Eurovision bangers blasting from the speakers and performers from all over Europe dancing like tomorrow didn’t exist. Glitter clung to your arms like second skin, and someone had already spilled prosecco down your sleeve, but you barely noticed.

And somehow, through all the noise, you still knew where he was.

Hálfdán had been orbiting in and out of your vision all night. On the dance floor with Erika and his brother, singing into an empty beer bottle like it was a mic, getting handed Go-Jo's cowboy hat and not giving it back. He’d winked at you across the bar more than once, but he hadn’t come over. Not yet.

You weren’t sure if you wanted him to or not.

No, that was a lie. You did. You just didn’t know what it would mean.

You were sitting on the edge of a velvet bench, drink in hand, skin warm from dancing, when he finally appeared beside you, Hoodie unzipped, hair tousled, cheeks pink. His sparkly glasses were positioned on top of his head and he looked flushed and out of breath and almost too real for this surreal night.

“You’re a ghost,” he said dramatically, flopping down next to you. “I kept losing you in the fog machine.”

“You could’ve looked harder,” you said, teasing, but softer than usual.

He leaned in a little, voice warm in your ear. “I was afraid I’d find you kissing someone else.”

You snorted. “I’m not that fast.”

“I am,” he said. “Incredibly fast. Blink-and-you-miss-it fast.”

You looked at him. His grin was crooked. Confident. Stupid. Dangerous.

The music was too loud for thinking. Or maybe you were just too drunk for denial. Your heart had been beating too hard since the green room, and he was here now, close and warm and looking at you like he was trying to memorize you.

His expression shifted. Still smiling, but less performative now. Like he’d dropped something.

“I want to kiss you again,” he said, honest and simple.

“Then do it,” you said, almost without thinking.

You were drunk. You were exhausted. You were floating somewhere outside your own body, glitter-sticky and a little too warm.

But the second his mouth touched yours, everything dropped back into place.

He kissed you like he meant it. Like he remembered exactly how you’d tasted the first time. Like he’d thought about this moment in all the in-between silences. His hand came up to cradle your cheek, thumb brushing your skin with something impossibly gentle for a guy who’d just danced barefoot to his own backing track.

The kiss deepened slowly, lazily. There was no rush now. Not with the bass shaking the floor and laughter spinning around you in circles. It was just you and him and the bright hum of being wanted.

When he pulled back, breath hitching slightly, his forehead stayed pressed to yours.

“I keep thinking I’m going to wake up,” he said.

You kissed him again. Just once, softer this time.

────────────────────

Hours before the Grand Final, you were sitting backstage with your knees tucked to your chest, barely noticing the crew rushing past. The buzz was different now. Sharper. Cleaner. Everyone around you was running on adrenaline and sleep deprivation, and so were you. But something else had settled in your chest tonight.

It wasn’t stage fright. It wasn’t fear of failure.

It was the knowing that this was almost over.

You heard the footsteps before you saw him. Not rushed or loud, but deliberate. Familiar.

Hálfdán crouched in front of you, his glasses slightly fogged up from the heat backstage, hair a mess from where he’d tugged his hoodie off. He didn’t say anything right away. Just looked at you.

“You okay?” he asked softly.

You hesitated. “I don’t know.”

He sat down beside you without asking, one knee up, arm slung over it. “Is it the final?”

You shook your head. “Not just that.”

You glanced at him, chewing the inside of your cheek.

“I keep thinking… this ends tomorrow. And then we all go home. And I don’t know what that means for–” You stopped yourself. “For us.”

There. You said it.

Hálfdán didn’t flinch. He just turned, facing you more fully. The loudness he usually carried, his confidence, his chaos, his voice that filled roomy, it softened here. Like he understood that this needed something different.

“It won’t end,” he said simply.

You looked at him, unsure. “You say that now, but you don’t know how it’ll be. We’ll be in different countries living different lives.”

“Okay,” he said, nodding. “But I still know what I want. That doesn’t change just because the lights turn off tomorrow.”

He reached over, his fingers brushing yours, then lacing them together without forcing it.

“I’m not pretending this has been normal,” he said. “It’s Eurovision. It’s weird and loud and shiny. But you and me? That’s been the most real thing in it.”

Your chest ached.

“And if you want this after,” he added, “I do too. I’ll visit. I’ll call. I’ll do whatever. I’m not just saying that because we’re sleep-deprived and surrounded by LED screens.”

You laughed, half a breath, mostly relief.

“Okay,” you said quietly. “Then I want it too.”

He smiled, and it wasn’t one of his playful grins. It was something steadier. Something you wanted to believe in.

“Good,” he said. “Then let’s go survive the final. And then we figure out what’s next.”

────────────────────

Austria won.

You were happy for JJ, really. His song was clever and bold, and the crowd had gone wild. But once the flags stopped waving and the cameras turned off, the high began to settle into something quieter.

The afterparty was in full swing again, but this time you and Hálfdán slipped out early. Not because you were tired. Not really.

You ended up outside, walking aimlessly through the quiet parts of Basel near the river. The air was cool, your shoes in your hands, heels clicking against each other with every step.

Neither of you said anything for a while.

Eventually, you stopped near a bench. Sat down. He joined you, hoodie zipped halfway, fingers brushing against yours again.

“Feels weird that it’s over,” you said.

He nodded. “Yeah. Like we blinked and missed half of it.”

You looked at him. The way the city lights reflected off the water. The way his glasses caught a flicker of gold. The way he looked at you like this was only the beginning.

“I’m glad we had this,” you said, voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t want it to turn into one of those things that only ever existed here.”

“It won’t,” he said instantly. “You think I’m gonna go home and forget the person who sang my lyrics and pretended she didn’t?”

You laughed, eyes stinging for some reason.

He leaned closer, hands cupping your face. “I meant it, okay? About visiting. About calling. About you.”

You closed your eyes. Let the moment settle. Let yourself believe it.

And when he kissed you again, it wasn’t glittery or loud. It wasn’t born of adrenaline or stolen under stage lights. It was slower. His hands cradled your jaw, thumbs brushing over your cheeks as though memorising the shape of you, as though trying to hold this exact second in place.

He kissed you like he had time now. Like this wasn’t running out.

You melted into it, hands gripping the front of his hoodie, pulling him closer, anchoring yourself to something that didn’t feel fleeting. His lips were warm and soft and a little uncoordinated, like he was smiling into it. You were too.

When you finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, both of you a little breathless but content. His glasses had fogged slightly and neither of you could stop grinning.

“God,” he said, voice low, rough, “you ruin me.”

You laughed into his chest, and he wrapped his arms around you in that familiar way, like you fit exactly where you were.

Later, back at the hotel, you traded hoodies in the hallway, your perfume clinging to his sleeves, his scent wrapped around you. You sat cross-legged on the floor of your room, sharing terrible 3 a.m. snacks from the minibar. Gummy bears, weird chocolate, a bag of chips neither of you could identify the flavor of.

There were maps open on your phones. Screenshots of budget flights. Notes with time differences and half-made plans.

“I’ll visit you in July,” he said, pointing at a weekend with a circle drawn around it.

“And I’ll come to you for New Year’s,” you promised, already picturing it. Fireworks, Reykjavík, him.

At some point, you moved to the bed, limbs tangled together, talking until your voices faded into murmurs and silences. He lay back with one arm behind his head, the other curled around you. You rested your cheek on his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his breathing. Every so often, his fingers would trace lazy shapes along your spine, not even fully awake anymore.

Outside the window, the sound of distant laughter and music still drifted from the last of the Eurovision parties. The city buzzed quietly around you, but the room felt still. Peaceful. Yours.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺

Part 2 <3

[hyunjinz]

KPOP ASK GAME

your favorite group(s)?

your favorite solo artist(s)?

who is your bias in your favorite group(s) and why?

who are your ultimate biases?

who was your very first bias?

how long have you been into kpop?

which song/group introduced you to kpop?

an idol you'd love to be friends with?

an idol you don't think you'd get along with?

an idol you think would match your freak?

idols you share the same zodic sign with?

idols you share the same mbti with?

the last photo of an idol you have saved to your camera roll?

name 3 idols you'd want to accompany you during a zombie apocalypse!

your favorite hairstyle on your bias(es)?

your bias(es)' best look(s)?

tell me 3 things about your bias(es) some people might not know about!

name 5 things your bias(es) remind(s) you of?

your all time favorite kpop songs?

your favorite songs from your favorite group(s)?

your favorite kpop albums?

your favorite concepts?

your favorite choreographies?

your favorite debuts?

your favorite music videos?

your favorite collabs?

your favorite vocalists?

your favorite dancers?

your favorite rappers?

if you could only listen to one group for the rest of your life, who would it be?

if you could only listen to one song for the rest of your life, which one would it be?

which song is playing during your funeral?

a kpop concept you don't like?

a group you're no longer a fan of?

a group you've been eyeing for a while but couldn't get into them yet?

name an underrated kpop group!

name an underrated kpop song!

a song everyone seems to like but you?

a song no one seems to like but you?

songs you would show to people who are not into kpop?

last kpop song you listened to?

a fandom name you like?

do you watch survival shows?

if yes, who's a survival show contestant you've been keeping up with ever since?

do you own any kpop albums/other merch?

do you collect photocards?

have you been to any kpop concerts?

a kpop group whose concert you MUST attend in your lifetime?

your favorite kpop songs from this year (2024)?

did you get into any new groups this year (2024)?

which kpop song do you think will be your most played song this year (2024)?

which group(s) did you listen to the most this year (2024)?

tell me your unpopular kpop opinion!

talk to me about anything kpop!

[bonny-kookoo]

Jungkook

Princess | Short #1

There's something happening between you two.

Tags/Warnings: Wolfdog Hybrid!Jungkook, Showdog Hybrid!Reader, Enemies to lovers, Angst, Fluff?, Brat!Reader, Jungkook has major brat tamer energy, reader has some issues

Length: 1.6k words

A/N: I will force feed you this AU and you will like it 👿

There is no taglist for this fic.

-> Masterlist

♥━━━━━━━━━━•.♡.•━━━━━━━━━━━━♥

Despite Jungkook having agreed to help you, he still continues to work on that choreography the same way as before, ruthlessly pushing you further and further despite your very much constant complains.  

Apparently, according to him, it’s not about the whole contest anymore. But instead, to teach you ‘something’. What it is, he won’t say- but you’re sure that’s all just an excuse anyways to torture you.  

But you’re not going down so easily.  

“How many times do I need to tell you that you have your own snacks?!” Jungkook complains, showing the empty bag of crackers to you, at the sight of which you simply sit in the middle of the practice room, tail happily wagging as if you don’t even know what he’s talking about. “And I’m sure you drank my water too.” He accuses, and you just shrug.  

“Maybe.” You answer. “The crackers sucked though. Way too bland. Do you always just eat old people snacks?” You question, irritating him further. It’s clear that you’re testing your boundaries with him, and most of all his patience- because lets be real, its funny as hell to make him angry. Mostly because you know he’d never actually get too upset with you- if he was to ever do so, you’re sure he’d give you a fair warning way before that line has actually been stepped over.  

Though, clearly, you’ve not really realized yet that you two have actually become closer up until this point- and that also means that Jungkook no longer tries to stay as far away as he can from you.  

So when he returns to the practice room with new snacks of his own and a bottle of sweet electrolyte juice, you’re already up on your feet, happily looking what he’s got himself- before he suddenly takes off his hoodie, catching you entirely off guard and freezing you in place for a good second, because wow. 

He’s got an extensive collection of art beneath the skin of one of his arms up to his hand even, and his physique is definitely also not to be played around with. Years of serious dancing and working out have clearly created the man he is today-  

And suddenly, your world is dark for a good second, as he pushes his hoodie over your head.  

You’re confused, when he suddenly pulls on the sleeves your arms are not yet pulled through, as he instead ties them behind your back, successfully immobilizing you. He picks you up and sits you in one of the chairs after he's done, leaning in close once you're seated, summoning the audacity to smirk at you.  

“Timeout, you gremlin.” He tells you, before he sits down next to you to eat his food, all while you can’t do anything but watch, wide eyed and completely confused.  

And instead of arguing, you just pull in your legs after toeing off your shoes, pouting to yourself while enjoying his scent. You’d never openly admit it, but he does smell nice- both the laundry detergent he uses for his clothes, and, well, his own scent. You blame it on the fact that throughout your career until now, you’ve barely had any close interaction with another male hybrid like this- so it’s probably just the fact that you’re not used to this.  

“Take it off.” You demand, and he shakes his head.  

“Nop.” He denies, and you swing your legs on the chair as you’ve let them fall down again.  

“I need to go pee.” You tell him, and at that he sighs, before he unravels the sleeves- 

Just for you to slip your hands through them, and steal his bottle of juice as you run into the hallway, hearing his footsteps loudly right behind you, hand having slapped against the door you’d tried to swing close behind you. You don’t get very far when he suddenly grabs the back of the sweater, pulling you closer again to try and lift you. “No- No no, I really need to go pee!” You deny, standing in front of him now after having avoided his grip.  

“Alright, let’s go then.” He says, grabbing the hood of the sweater to drag you to the restrooms, taking the bottle away from you. “Go pee.” 

“I don’t have to anymore.” You say, and he narrows his eyes at you.  

“Too bad.” He denies. “Go squeeze something out, I’m not gonna take you again.” He threatens, and you reluctantly go anyways, before you re-emerge, glaring at him, until you have an idea. He watches as you stand in front of him, putting on your best puppy-dog eyes, and holding your arms out upwards to him. “What.” He asks, arms crossed.  

“Carry me?” You ask, and he thinks about it for a good second, before he agrees.  

“Alright.” He nods. 

“Wait, really?!” You ask, surprised- when suddenly, your world is upside-down, with him carrying you over his shoulder, one arm holding onto your legs so you don’t tip over and fall off his back. And he hears you laugh about it most of all, your fluffy, curled tail wagging right into his face if it wasn't for his other hand holding it down as well, his own lips turned into a smile.  

Because honestly, this is what your life is supposed to be like. Happy, fun, and most of all, normal.  

It’s clear to him that you’ve simply never really had any proper interactions before that could’ve taught you how to socialize and get used to general manners- if anything, you most likely always got what you wanted just to have you shut up and be quiet. And eventually, when you grew up into an adult that you are now, things simply had gotten stuck like this. 

The reason why he thinks this, is just how.. Helpless you seem at the simplest of interactions. From simple questions about your hobbies, to normal touches like a hug for a greeting, everything appears to be foreign to you. And you mask that insecurity and lack of understanding with attitude- because up until now, most likely, this must’ve been your best defense. Everyone would leave you alone if you got cranky, and so, these days, you must feel extremely confused and without any direction, considering that this doesn’t work with him.  

But you’ve got to learn. Not just basic manners, but also the fact that not everyone in the world is out to get you.  

Especially not him.  

Back in the practice room, you’re now on his lap, where he’s got your hands behind your back, held by your wrists in his hand, grip strong. “We gotta practice.” You whine, but he knows that’s not what you’re going to do once he lets go.  

“We do.” He agrees. “And we will, once you’ve finished your tantrum.” He tells oyu, and you scoff.  

“I’m not having a tantrum. You’re being an asshole!” You tell him. “Who cares if I eat your snacks? You can just get new one’s!” You complain, and he shakes his head at that.  

“It’s not about that. What’s mine is mine, and what’s yours is yours. If I want to take something from you, I’ll ask. If you want something from me, you’ll have to ask as well.” He explains, and you kick out your legs, trying to get off- but he’s got a strong hold on you, so you’re stuck in place.  

“I’m not a child!” You bark, slipping off of his legs to instead lay on the floor now. He raises a brow.  

“You’re sure acting like one.” He says, crossing his arms. “Don’t you have boundaries that you’d like respected?” He asks, looking down at where you’re laying on the floor at his feet, and you stare at him for a second with an unsure gaze, before you slowly sit up, eyes glossy. It’s obvious that sentence must’ve hit a sore spot for you, because you’re visibly fighting another emotional outburst as you try and swallow down any tears that want to escape.  

It’s quiet. Mostly because you don’t want to break down, and he doesn’t want to say anything that might set you off. He hates seeing you like this- but he knows that one way or another, you’ll have to face these things.  

“I’ll respect any boundary you give me.” He tells you. “I promise you that. But you’ll have to do the same for me, because that’s fair, right?” He asks, and you take in a deep breath, before you lean against his leg, head resting against his thigh.  

“I’m sorry.” You mumble quietly, and he reaches out to out a comforting hand on your head. “I’ll be more fair.” You say, and he smiles.  

“Thank you.” He offers, before you look up at him.  

“Can we practice more now?” You ask, and he shrugs.  

“If you want to.” He says, and you nod.  

“It’s.. Actually fun. If you don’t nag all the time.” You playfully argue, making him roll his eyes.  

“I’m just trying to get you to do your best.” He denies, and you smile brightly at that, tail wagging on the floor, a sight he’s come to really like.  

“Thank you.” You say, and for the first time, he has to admit- 

You can actually be really fucking cute, if you want to be. 

[persephonaae]

Finally remembering to post this! This was the performance in which @mentally-moderato and I won the award for standout choreography at the cosplay contest last month with this piece to accompany my cosplay of Sophia from Lies of P

If you’re unfamiliar with the game and are intrigued by this please go play it or watch a play through! It is so underrated and so amazing, the song I used is from the soundtrack as well! (The DLC also just came out so it’s the perfect time to get into it!)

[formulaonedirection]

Formula 1 as boybands

Early 2000s Backstreet Circuit burst on the scene in 2000 with their infectious hit Britney's In The Wall and charmed the nation. Brought together by the legendary Ron Dennis, critics have been quick to raise the question of how manufactured they are but nobody can deny Backstreet Mania is taking over the new millenium.

2010s As the world witnessed the formation of Formula One Direction, plucked from 5 regular boys with humble beginnings on the popular contest programme Pole Position, who knew in one short year the walls of every teenager would be filled with posters of Charles, Alex, George, Pierre and Lando. But no matter what age you are these boys have made a splash on pop culture unheard of since Backstreet Circuit.

2020s They sing, they dance, they write, they produce, if you haven't heard of Checkered Flag, get ready for their incoming world domination. Headed by leader and main producer Yuki Tsunoda, this supergroup is ready to make boybands cool again with their catchy tunes and impressive choreography.

inspo 1 / 2 / 3

[caotictimmy]

Since Cass is hesitant to talk to reader first what would she do if reader talked to her first? Honestly I could see them both liking ballet since madoka had that one promo art where she did ballet. Also do any of the fam notice readers little notes or do they just ignore those too?

1.AHHH thinking about it I think they would have a really good dynamic if they did talk to each other. Cassandra would easily be a bit shocked that you’ve come up to her. I imagine that she would be studying a video of ballet in the living room or sm,trying to study the movements so she could try and replicate it herself, but they definitely would get along really well. Though you guys know I don’t like seeing you to happy! So just like Duke she’ll try her best to be there for reader, but will be too busy lolz. Before we get into this I wanna let you guys know I have almost no knowledge about ballet so this is prob not gonna be the best. Low-key just pulling stuff out of my ass for this one🙏

2. Well they all have different interactions with if. People like Alfred, Duke, Stephanie, and Cassandra see them and really appreciate them. Duke has a little scrape book you made him and he’ll keep the personal sticky notes you make him in there (Can you guys tell I might favor Duke). Bruce, Jason and Damien ignore them. All for different reasons but still the same outcome. Last but not least, Tim and dick just don’t even see them. It comical. There could be many all along the walls and they wouldn’t even notice. Still MM!reader continues writing these positive messages with the cute doodles to accompany them.

Cassandra’s eyes narrowed as she kept replaying this one specific part of the video. She often would watch ballet videos to study the dances for herself. As she was focused on the video she suddenly heard someone’s voice.

“Hey could I join you? I love ballet” You asked, swaging as you nervously wait for her response. She looked back to see you standing behind the couch. “Yeah” She quietly mutters. It was clear she was surprised to see you talking to her. She scotched a bit over, gently patting the seat next to her.

She couldn’t help smile herself as she sees you grin brightly. You quickly scramble over the couch. She laughs as she watches you stumble trying to get over her back of the couch. You quickly sit up. You’re not trying to make yourself look like a bigger foul. You two sir in silence for a bit. Simply watching the memorizing movements of the beautiful dancers.

You then spoke up, “Hey I think this is the same choreography my ballet group did our last contest.” You fondly mumble. Your eyes still glued to the screen. “Wait you do ballet? Why haven’t you told us?” She asked a bit baffled. Cassandra kept her gaze on you, clearly waiting for a response. “Well I mean.. I do but no one really attends.” You say gazing everywhere except for her. “W-which is ok I get you guys are busy! And Duke always tries to come when he can so I’m not always there by myself.” You quietly gasped out, trying to keep the mood cheerful.

“Hey when is your next contest?” Cassandra asked, feeling horrible for not even knowing you did ballet, “My next contest is in two weeks.” You mumbled. Playing with your hands to distract yourself from the awkward situation. “I promise you I’ll come to the next contest.” She smiled. “Really!! I mean oh yeah thank you.” You tried to sound nonchalet at the end, but it was clear that you were excited. “Yeah” she softly said.

Authors note: I’m genuinely really surprised seeing ppl so interested in my series. You guys don’t know how happy it makes me seeing other people love my concept. Reminder that my request are always open and I would love to talk more about MM! Reader:3

[reverieblondie]

My Star

Pairing: Miguel O’Hara X DancerFem!reader

Warnings: 18+, NSFW, Smut with Plot, Praise, Mutual masterbaition, Unprotected Penetrative Sex (wrap it before you tap it),Oral, Cum eating, losing of virginity (mentioned), Ripping of clothes, Drink play?, Blindfolded reader.

Summary: The theaters new patron is an important man, as you dance you feel his eyes on you, you can't help but feel addicted to the way he stares at you...

A/N: I haven't wrote Smut in a minute so I might be a bit rusty...This idea came to me as I was watching Phantom of the Opera. I just need a Victorian Miguel to ravish me while calling me his star. This is pretty cheesy and a total self serving fic but I hope you enjoy it!

Word count: 6,532

Looking around as you fix your hair you see that the theater is bustling. Dancers are frantically putting on makeup rushing and bumping into one another. The crew is in a hustle setting up the stage, the show isn’t for a few days why is everyone acting like it’s happening tonight? Today is just a normal practice? 

Leaning over to your friend you whisper your question, “What’s going on? Why is everyone acting in a tissy?” 

Your friend Cristina stops adjusting her practice dress and looks at you with wide eyes, “Have you not heard? A new patron is coming to observe the theater with the owners today during rehearsal, they want us all to be perfect or else you're cut!” 

Eyes going wide, you go to ask where she had gotten her information but before you can the madam of the ballet is coming to make sure everyone is prepared. With everyone frantically preparing you rush around backstage into position, stopping to dust your shoes in the rosin box so you have a good grip, and can’t afford any slips. 

Going over your choreography for your short solo, tracking your counts, the sound of whispers starts to distract you.

“I heard that he is one of the most powerful men in Nueva York, filthy rich.” 

“Exactly what we need is a bored man with too much money then he knows what to do with.” 

“Well, his name is Miguel O’Hara, and besides him being wealthy and powerful I hear he’s also gorgeous” 

They proceeded to giggle amongst themselves, seeming to find joy in their comments but the words about the man only seem to make you more nervous. It’s your job to impress this man to save the theater that holds your ballet company.

The company is very dear to you for having taken you in when you were a young girl, the madam didn’t care that you were a lowly orphan with a name that meant nothing she saw you and took you in despite it. And now everyone's careers are dependent on impressing this patron, hopefully you won’t mess it up for everyone…

Watching the stage you are patiently waiting for your cue when the distinct feeling of eyes watching you stirs your concentration. Moving your eyes to the stage's side you try to pinpoint where this feeling is coming from. 

Then you see the mahogany eyes fixed on you, the gaze is intense, perfectly complimenting the structured face of the burnet. His stature towers in comparison to the theater owners groveling at him. This must be Mr. O’Hara, they were right he is gorgeous and with how he's dressed in a luxurious day suit it was clear he has expenses to spare. 

As his eyes continue to stare you down you feel the nerves in your chest starting to spiral. Opting to look away you try to focus on catching your cue you almost missed it from being wrapped up in a brief staring contest.

On the stage now, you focus your breathing to look effortless while you dance, thankfully you hit all your counts perfectly. There where things you where okay at but dancing is where you excelled. Typically you where a pretty shy and reserved person but once you where on the stage dancing you transformed into your character. And now as you move effortlessly you feel that things were going great.

Towards the end of your routine, you're doing your piqué turns. For this, you found it helpful to keep your eyes on something so to not get dizzy and lose yourself amidst the turns, usually your eyes keep on a random prop or on something hanging on the wall but instead, you find your eyes unconsciously fixing to something else or actually someone else. 

Your eyes lock on Miguels, again. As you're already in your turns it's too late to fix your gaze on something else so you keep your eyes on his. While you do you see his head slightly tilt and the corner of his full lips twitch upwards. The intense stare instantly makes you flush, and with consistent eye contact, you feel your body heat up with a pleasant rush that you know is being shown through the flushing features on your face. 

Eye contact is something you often struggle with, and now you have the keen eyes of Miguel on you, staring at you as you dance. Your breath stutters for a moment and you feel yourself stumble slightly but you're quick to save it. -Damn you hope nobody notices that. 

Finishing the turns you finally get off the main stage back to the side where you can focus on catching your breath before you can rush back to the dressing room to find your friend and tell her about your little staring contest with the potential patron. As you walk, albeit dizzily from the turns, not fully paying attention to your surroundings; suddenly you bump into what feels like a wall and then the feeling of two large hands catches you from falling backward. 

Letting out a slight squeak from the sudden collision you look up to see what you hit when a soft chuckle makes your throat dry. You move your eyes up and…Danm, Up Close he's even more striking and his figure is even more imposing. Despite him being the most intimidating man imaginable you feel a comfort from him as your being held in his large hands -he’s surprisingly gentle for his size.

“Woah, you okay there?” his voice purs as his eyes stay on yours. You try to think of something to respond with, but you feel like you have suddenly become mute, and then the two theater owners are chiming in. 

“Sir we apologize for her clumsiness, our dancers are usually more graceful.” 

“And pay more attention…” One of the men's grits makes you back away with your head low. With your head down you can see that you have stepped on his shoes creasing them and leaving rosin residue. Immediately you panic, damaging his shoes was sure to leave a sour taste in his mouth and you need to fix this before it's too late!  

Dropping to your knees in front of him you try to wipe away the residue apologizing profusely, “I- I am so so s-sorry sir… Please let me-” 

“Don't apologize” His smooth voice beacons as he holds a hand down to help you up from your knees. 

“But, I damaged your shoes. Please let me clean them.” 

Miguel laughs slightly as he grabs your hand, you can't help but notice how small yours seems in comparison. Back on your feet, you look up at him to see his full lips in a soft smile that makes your heart skip a beat. You think you could melt from just looking at him, you feel like a young girl again getting a silly crush so instantaneously. 

“You're too precious to clean shoes, I'm in shock that someone with your talent would even speak to me.”  

You feel your face become red. The owners are quick to speak up, “Mr. O’Hara you flatter her, she has talent but your importance far excites-”

Before he can finish his sentence Miguel is shooting him a displeased look that quickly makes him bite his tongue before he moves his eyes back to you. His whole face softens towards you, how he can go from so intimidating to gentle in an instant is a skill all on its own. 

“You dance beautifully, I couldn’t keep my eyes off you.” He offers.

Feeling your heart flutter in your chest, you avert your gaze as a goofy smile spreads to your lips, though he doesn't seem to mind, only smiling more and tilting his head to try and keep your eyes. 

“Thank you, sir, you're too kind.'' Gathering all your courage you meet his eyes and give a warm smile in appreciation, praises are not something you receive a lot of, your teachers opting for more corrective and stern approaches. So receiving kind words from a stranger makes your heart leap.

Moments pass of Miguel completing your dancing go by. A part of you wishes to continue the conversation but you don’t want to be a bother nor risk facing the wrath of the owners or your teachers, so you say your goodbyes and excuse yourself backstage.

Miguel watches as you leave, he's completely captivated by your sweet shyness and the curves of your figure. He feels warmth spreading across his body as his eyes linger on you. 

“Having given it considerable thought…I would love to help out the theater.” 

The owners light up and start to ramble but Miguel quickly holds up a hand to silence them, “If I am going to be a patron to this theater however I want an invite to every show, and '' His finger points towards you “I want her to have opportunities for excellence. Do I make myself clear?” 

They quickly nod their heads and Miguel nods before he heads off, feeling happy for agreeing to the tour he no longer sees as pointless. 

It’s been three months since Miguel became our theater's patron and things have been great! Despite the rumors about him being a cold callus man, he was proving to be an amazing attribute to the theater. 

After his first tour of the theater, he paid for some much-needed renovations. After that was set up he took the liberty to hired acting and singing instructors to help the performers enhance their skills. Every week Miguel came by to check on how things where running. He would reach out to the crew and orchestra for all their needs, also checking in on the business and advertising sides of things to make sure the theater kept being profitable. Being a successful business owner himself, everyone was eager to listen to his guidance. 

Every time Miguel would visit the theater, towards the end of his visit he would watch the rehearsals for the upcoming shows. Admittedly at first it made you nervous having a man like him watch the rehearsals but Miguel was always silent, watching intensely with a slight tinge of a smile on his full lips. But slowly over time something changed where you started to like it.

It was an exciting experience having him watching the practices, it drove everyone to work harder and take the practices seriously. Plus you would never tell another soul but the feeling of his eyes racking over your body as you performed filled you with a tantalizing rush.

After awhile it seemed like Miguel was always around the theater. It struck some people as odd that an important man like him would waste his time at the theater, but you welcomed it. You began to look forward to catching glimpses of him. Though when he would catch you staring you would shy away. 

Then after a while, maybe because he caught you staring so much, Miguel started to have conversations with you. At first they were only about the performances and asking if everything was going well at the theater, but they slowly dissolved into more personable conversation.

Miguel would often inquire about you, your interest and your past. At first when you would talk you where very private about your up ringing being an orphan with no family. Many people saw that as something to be ashamed of, but slowly as you developed a friendship with Miguel you opened yourself up more and where greeted with only acceptance. Though this could only be him trying to be kind. As you continued to speak with him you found that you had grown closer yes but he still made you nervous.

You where sure this steamed from how he kept his eyes on you, those piercing eyes…

As a performer, you are used to having eyes on you but Miguel's gaze was different, it was intense and alluring. It never fails to make your stomach flutter and your face burn. You would always shy away from his gaze but a part of you was addicted to how he would watch you.

Before you knew it you were slowly falling for the theater's patron, not that anyone could blame you for it. Many of the dancers held a flame for Miguel wanting to be the girl he would favor, but everyone knew that was just a fantasy, a man of his social class was meant to be with someone from the same social circle, not impoverished dancers like you…so you would just have to settle for the friendship you two shared. 

Today was one of the days Miguel decided to visit, everyone was frantic and trying to make practice perfect as Miguel watched. Tomorrow's show of the ballet Raymanda, it had everyone frantic, not only did they want the show to go well but there was the added pressure of the show being requested by Miguel, apparently stating it was one of his favorites. 

It had taken you by surprise when you learned that a man like him would like such a romantic ballet but it only made you fall deeper in your feelings for him. With the knowledge that this was his favorite play fueling your desires, you had practiced extra hard and tried out for the lead role that were lucky enough to have landed.  

Everyone was ecstatic for you to have your first lead role and when word got to Miguel about your success he had sent over a dozen red roses to you with a note congratulating you. The kind gesture wasn’t lost on you so you promised yourself that once you see Miguel again you would thank him properly.

The only problem with your plan however is how meek you would grow when around him. Sure you two had a friendship of sorts but it didn’t mean you where not still shy when around him.

When you had explained to your friend about your feelings for him and she was always more than encouraging, but you knew that you and Miguel's relationship was only meant for friendship. Even so, Cristina said that even as just friends you need to not behave so meekly in his presence, he could perceive it as rude and stop conversing with you. A thought that you hated to consider.  

So, as today’s rehearsals wrap up, you muster all your courage as you watch Miguel approach you. -okay, this is your opportunity to thank him for his consistent support and his lovely flowers and notes. Deep breath and don’t behave like a flustered schoolgirl. 

“You're going to make a perfect Raymonda.” 

“Really? Thank you, I hope I live up to everyone’s expectations.” Miguel smiles at you, watching as you fidget with your fingers swaying slightly on your anxious feet.

Taking a deep breath you move your eyes up to his, conviction fills your eyes as you're determined to look into his. Meeting the deep mahogany of his eyes you feel your breath hitch. They are so piercing…striking…beautiful, he’s beautiful… Uhhg come on, just get a grip!

“I wanted to thank you for the roses and the lovely letter you left me, your constant support means a great deal to me.” 

“No need to thank me.” he leans in to whisper to you “You're my favorite performer, and I am so excited for tomorrow's performance. I hope you are not nervous” 

A giddy smile forms over your lips as you go to look down but you stop yourself and meet his eyes again fixing your smile to a softer one, “I am slightly nervous but I feel better knowing that you're going to be watching me. I hope to continue to be your favorite…” 

Miguel seems surprised by your words, then he is the one breaking away from your eyes. As you watch him he raises his large hand to cover the growing grin on his full lips. Blush seems to creep up from his neck to his face, he seems embarrassed like you usually are.  

“Well, I will be there to watch you mi estrella.”  Miguel regaining his composure steps closer leaning down so his warm breath fans over the shell of your ear making a wave of goosebumps rush your skin, “And you will always be my favorite…” With that, Miguel leaves with your heart.  

You were on cloud nine after tonight's performance. People, some you knew, others you didn't, were all eager to hold and shake your hand, with praises and congratulations on your performance. Though you appreciated all the kind words you couldn't help but be quick to get away from the crowd.

There was one person you were excited to see all shyness aside. Getting to talk to Miguel again after yesterday's conversation was all you could think about once the ballet ended. 

As you walked around looking for Miguel you found yourself in the secluded area of the theater. You tried your best to ignore the giggling and hums of the lovers hiding away in the shadows, stealing kisses and intimate touches in the night. This was a common occurrence after shows of people hiding away with their lovers in the back of the theater.

Shameful to admit but you have had the fantasy of you and Miguel being a set of lovers one day, sharing your secret desires as you hold each other closely, but that would only be a fond daydream for you to hold in your heart. In reality you know that it could never happen. Continuing your search, hear a sudden groan along with a muffled muttering. Approaching the noise you turn the corner and your heart drops.

Miguel pressed to the wall with a girl on her toes kissing him passionately. Confusion fills you, then the feeling of your heart aching causes you to let out a gasp. Miguel pushes the girl away for air and you are quick to run. Your heart hurts from what you saw, you cannot bear to see Miguel's eyes after that, if you did you would shatter. 

In your dressing room, you're stirring with all kinds of emotions. Why was she kissing him, why was he kissing her? Are they lovers? Yes, Miguel is gorgeous and quite desirable, but you haven't heard anything about him pursuing anyone. Was this a secret affair?

The sudden thought of Miguel being with that woman makes your stomach twist. Her touching him…his lips sliding up her neck…his eyes, his intense eyes staring at her while she…while they…

The sickly feeling in your stomach blooms along with that aching feeling in you heart, you wince from the pain.

Sitting in front of your vanity you hang your head low, thrush is, you're jealous. You want to be that girl, who steals kisses with Miguel in the dark. The one that gets to feel the rush of excitement as his hands gather up the skirt of your dress to touch you. The ones who his eyes soften for as he coos his sultry praises and his saccharine promises. 

Taking a deep breath you try to ease the aching in your chest; you're not her, you're just the nameless fool pining for a man you can never have. Feeling like an idiot you kick yourself for getting your hopes up. Convincing yourself he was interested in you, how foolish. He is in the arms of another and you only have yourself to blame, you never told him your feelings. Not that it would change things.

Sulking in your dressing room you fail to realize the door silently opening as a tall figure slips in. Locking the door with a soft click, he losessens his tie as he approaches you. Fidgeting with your fingers feeling sorry for yourself, you get a strange twinge stir within you, like someone is watching you. 

Lifting your head you're suddenly met with only darkness as a silky fabric is binded around your eyes turning everything black. The squeak that leaves your lips is involuntary and embarrassing. All your previous emotions fall away as uncertainty fill your chest. Quickly a familiar warmth fans over your ear causing your skin to prickle.

“Did I scare you, my star?” Miguel's voice is in that familiar pur you have fantasized endlessly about. 

“Miguel, why did you blind me?” 

He releases a hum, like he’s carefully considering your question, in truth, he’s just trying to keep you in suspense. 

“Because, I am not worthy to be gazed upon by someone as radiant as you” Instantly you feel your body quake at the praise, but before you can allow yourself to get carried away with your emotions you reground yourself bite and let out a shaky sigh. 

“Please don't tease me, Miguel…” 

Noting your unease Miguel hesitates from touching you further.

“What's wrong? Did I upset you?” Feeling his hands move to the knot of the blind you quickly to stand, stopping him from removing it.

“Wait, I need to say something to you and I think I can only get it out if I can't see you. Miguel, I saw you…with that other woman, kissing you. I know you're not mine…but, I-I yearn for you. Miguel you mean a lot to me, I would trade anything to be with you…even just to have a chance to kiss you, even for one night. I know that my name means nothing compared to yours but…” 

Before you can finish your statement lips are silencing you, melting you into a perfect kiss. Hands, large and warm, come up to cup your face as he leads the kiss. Miguel then breaks away and you almost whine at the loss. Though the whine is only for a moment as you then feel his lips kissing up your neck. 

“Don’t talk down about yourself mi estrella, you're perfect.”  

Opening your mouth to respond, Miguel takes the opportunity to silence you with a kiss once more. His hands glide down your waist before finding place on your hips. Leaning in you press yourself on him, relishing in his strong figure and insatiable warmth.

You want more, you want to feel him closely, deeply, you need him. Rising onto your toes you wrap your hands around his neck sliding up till you're grasping onto his thick locks of soft hair. 

A low-grown vibrates through his chest, feeling you becoming so desperate for him drives him mad. Miguel reaches his hand up as the other presses your hips against his almost grinding you onto him. The other hand is now on your jaw as he slips his tongue between your lips to steal a taste of you. The taste of him numbs your mind of all thoughts, the only thing you feel is need.

Your sex aches as you feel your slick starting to run down your thighs. He’s making you wet and needy for him, and you’re loving ever second.

The kiss makes you light-headed and you have to surrender and push away to catch your breath. Your face feels a deep shade of crimson as you try and catch your breath. Miguel you know is watching you, even with your vision obscuring the feeling of his eyes piercing you are ever-present. 

“Do you even know how long I’ve been wanting to do that?” he pressed you closer to him, your hands finding a place on his thrumming chest as his confined cock grids against your thigh. Making you throw your head back where his lips lick and nip at your exposed neck.

“Do you know what you do to me? How crazy you drive me?” he ruts into your leg more “How much I need you…” 

“What about that woman I saw?” 

Miguel's arms wrap around you pulling you further into his warmth. You could get as addicted to this feeling, blind and needy, getting high from his lips, his touch, his scent, his voice. You want to give yourself to him in every way. 

“That woman means nothing to me. She kissed me suddenly after cornering me as I looked for you. You're the only one for me.” He puts his head in the crock of your neck kissing against your pulse. “You're all I want….

“Miguel, I want you…I need you, I don’t care if it's only for one night…please…take me.” 

Moving his head away from your neck, he slides his hands down your back where he pulls the strings of your dress loose, you to shiver in anticipation. 

“If you want me then you will have me. But it won’t be for one night only. Once I have you I will want you every night” 

Finishing with the laces of your dress it effortlessly slides down your body polling on the floor leaving you in only your corset and lace slip. 

“So, I would be your’s?” 

Miguel chuckles as he effortlessly lifts you causing you wrap yourself around him, holding on tightly. Walking a short distance you feel yourself being laid down on what you assume to be the chaise in the dressing room.

Goosebumps rush your skin as Miguel carefully traces his finger tips down your covered breast, over your covered body, to your thin skirt. Once he reaches it he starts to gather the soft lace slowly moving the slit that exposes your leg to expose your dripping sex. 

“You can’t own a star, you can only admire it and wish it will grace you with its radiance.” 

He kisses you once more as his hand finish exposing you. You're completely bare and wet, you feel Miguel move his head back to look at your quivering wet sex.

Embarrassed, you try to close your legs but Miguel stops you and gently pushes your knees apart. 

“Let me worship you, let me take care of you…” 

His words are sweet and make your yearning worse. You move your hand to brush against your sex that flutters with desire.

“Yes…” is all you can muster in the moment and you try to soothe your hazy affliction. 

“Let me watch you…touch yourself for me,” he whispers in a honeyed voice.

Shyly you nod as you spread your legs further, exposing yourself right in front of his hungry eyes. 

Swallowing you try to sooth your dry throat as your fingers tease through your folds before spreading them open for Miguel. Keeping your hand spreading yourself open, your other comes down to rub tight circles over your clit. Turning away your flushed face, you now move your hand to where your thumb rubs your swollen bud and your index prodes at your glistening slit. 

“That's a good girl, so beautiful…keep going for me” 

His words make your mind hazy and your face burns, you hear Miguel fiddling with his clothes letting out soft groans as he whispers filth underneath his breath. He’s touching himself, you can hear his hand rubbing against his heavy length. The sounds of his moaning hums only drive you to want to give him a proper show.

Tracing your slit you tease yourself more before you slip your index and middle finger through your tight walls. The stretch is one you're familiar with but you ache for it to be Miguel's fingers instead. You know that with his large hands he would reach impossibly deep within you. The thought stirs you on more pushing in further into your soft walls getting wetter at the sensation of you fucking yourself for him. 

Miguel's shaky breaths push you further to your peak as you chase that tightening coil within your stomach. Your body shakes with your fevered actions.

Then he sounds as if he’s getting closer to you, his steps echoing through the room. You're begging out mumbling his name in a constant rhythm as you push yourself further and further. Though it's not enough, you need his touch, to feel his burning skin on yours, it’s the only way you're going to reach your satisfaction. 

“Miguel~” you moan, trying to entice him to touch you as you buckle your hips helplessly forward. 

He hums, he's so close to you now, and then his hand suddenly comes down to crease your face. It takes everything in you not to cry out a moan.

“That's it, baby, just like that” Then as quickly as it was there it leaves again leaving you to whine and continue your pursuit to cum. 

Pop

The sudden popping of a champagne bottle causes you to jump, making you stop and turn your head towards the noise. 

The warm heat of his body is radiating next to you again, you reach your hands up blindly searching for him. He grabs your slick-covered hand and brings it to his lips, careful kisses are peppered on your open palm then his slick tongue licks against your delicate fingers. He moans as he tastes your sweet essence, getting drunk off of you. 

Finishing cleaning your fingers he places your hand on his chest. His skin is hot and you feel his heartbeat running rampant through his wide chest. Your body shakes as you slowly run your hands down his body your breath getting labored. 

“Aw, you're shaking. You were feeling good weren't you?” he leans in closer, moving your hand down his abdomen, where you feel his perfect muscles. You trace down every crevice. Your mind is running rampant. You have never touched a man's bare chest before and now your hands are here tracing over Miguel's god-like form. Biting your lip you greedly go lower feeling the v on his narrow hips. 

“I could make you feel even better…” he purrs.

Its then that your hand is met with not the hem of his pants like you thought you would feel, but instead a line of hair. Following the trail, you feel till the hair gets thicker and Miguel's breath gets more ragged. Gasping you know you should stop but you can’t help yourself. As you go lower Miguel drinks from the champagne bottle, relishing in your blind roaming. 

Passing over the trimmed coarse hair you feel his heavy member, thick and throbbing. It feels like it goes down forever as you trace over the vein that runs down the shaft. Miguel hums as you touch him. Soft eyes intently watching as your hand reaches the end. Grasping onto his tip you swipe your thumb over his slit where pearlescent pre cum dribbles out. His hips instinctively buckle forward at your curious touches. 

“Help me Miguel~” you hate your whining but the desperation to be touched by him. 

“Anything for you” 

Then in an instant, you feel his hands roughly on you as they rip your corset and lace slip from your body. Miguel settles himself between your shivering thighs as he quickly throws away the white lace and ruined corset. Your body being bare before him now makes you moan as his hand roams over your soft flesh.

His hand traces lower and lower to your quivering sex, you think you're on fire, brain completely melted into a lust-filled fog as he mumbles things under his breath you can’t understand. 

As you arch and mumble a plea, his large fingers are slipping through your puffy folds finding your swollen clit and rubbing it slowly before flicking it with his index and middle fingers causing you to throw your head back at the delicious pressure.

As he teases your aching sex with one hand his other hand is holding what you assume to be a champagne bottle, you listen as it swishes along with his movements. Then you hear the liquid bob and suddenly his index finger prodes at your entrance making you gasp at the slow stretch.

With your mouth hanging open you feel Miguel's nose on yours then his lips are grazing your lips. Then the sparking taste of champagne is being released from his mouth into yours. You relish in the taste of the champagne as it’s laced with him. 

He repeats the action a bit sloppily the second time, the liquid drips from the corners of your mouth down your neck. 

“More?” he questions and you smile with an instant nod. Satisfied with your approval, he inserts another finger stretching you out wider as he explores your gummy insides, scissoring and curling as he explores you. 

As your head spins a white-hot rush washes over you, sending you reeling in pleasure as your cunt clenches down on Miguel's expert fingers. You're brought back down from the feeling of chilled liquid being poured over your hot body. The liquid slides down your perked breast and then rushes down your squirming body. His tongue is then tracing over the liquid as he sucks and laps at your sensitive skin. 

Wet shlicking sounds of his fingers chasing your orgasm fills the room along with his hums followed by your moans. Your breathless moaning makes you sound like a whore, but it only drives Miguel's desire further as he ruts his aching cock against the cushions of the furniture. He's needy, rubbing his cock while his plush lips latch and suck on your champagne-laced nipples. Twiling and biting the nub between his teeth before moving to the other mound. 

Losing yourself you grind your hips down harder against his hand as he continues to drink the sparkling champagne from your skin.

Finished he tosses aside the bottle, as he slowly moves his tongue lower and lower, seeking every drop on your body till he reaches your hips leaving kisses against them. 

“Spread your legs for me, that’s it my star…wider.” 

As you spread for him his fingers reach that spot within you that has your toes curling, then his lips attach to your swollen clit as his tongue feast upon you. Increasing his rhythm, your panting as your second climax rushes over you making you cry out in blind pleasure. 

Miguel smiles against your cunt as you ride your high on him. Feeling you impossibly wet as your cum rushes out of you, he quickly pulls out his fingers replacing them with his needy tongue as it curls into your hole devouring everything you have to give him. He moves your legs to drape over his shoulders as he keeps eating you out, you're lost in riding your high on him again. His large hands press down on you keeping your squirming body in place as he lifts your lower body as his tongue ravages your insides. 

Hands go from your hips to squeeze your lifted ass as he massages your flesh in his large hands. Once he's done feasting on you he lowers you down. He grinds his strained cock between your folds and you're a muttering mess of want and hiccups.

It's all so much but you can’t help but want more. Then his hand comes over and pulls away your blindfold.

At first, the light is blinding then your vision focuses on Miguel's handsome flushed face, his mouth and chin are shiny from your slick. His eyes are half-lidded as he pants at you. Reaching up you push his loose strains away from his face and he smiles tenderly down at you. 

“I want you to keep those pretty eyes on me, can you do that for me?”  you hum a yes and he leans down and places a kiss on your lips before taking his heavy cock and tapping it on your wet cunt. 

The feeling makes you jump but you keep your eyes on him as he pumps his slick-covered cock as he lines it up to your clenching cunt, begging to be filled by him. Bringing his tip to your entrance he starts to push into your tight slit with a low hiss. The stretch from his girth is at first painful but it then morphs into a skin-tingling ecstasy. You have to fight to keep your eyes open as he pushes in his length inch by inch.

The intrusion makes you moan and dig your nails into his tough skin as he rolls and pushes into you. You're clenching down on him and he's quick to bring his hand to your clit to relax you. Once you're relaxed he pushes in harder till his hips are flushed with yours. 

“That's it mi estrella, it feels good being filled doesn't it?” he quickly moves his hips slightly in and out making you mew out a cry shutting your eyes and his tip rubs your cervix as his balls give a quick slap to your ass. 

Tapping your face you open your eyes back up to see him looking at you with lust-blown eyes. “So sensitive baby, don't worry baby, you're in good hands.” 

Keeping your eyes fixed on him he smiles down at you as he starts to pull out to the tip then slamming back into you filling you up suddenly making your whole body quake. You're clamping down hard on him as he fucks you, his balls slapping your ass every time he slams back into you. He could rip you open if he wanted to, this is him being gentle and you're already hiccuping and bouncing with every thrust of his cock. 

Miguel smiles as he watches your hazy eyes keep on him as your face contours into a silent scream. The pleasure is unlike anything you have felt and you're sure nobody else could ever give you a high like this. Your chest heaves as you try to keep your breath but it's ripped from you with every deep thrust slamming your cervix leaving hot rushes to quake through your body. 

“You are so perfect, so perfect for me.” His eyes are intense and lovesick as he chases his high, he knows you're close and he's making it his mission to have you cum on him again. 

“M-mig” you stutter as his thrust gets deeper and harder as he rolls his hips into you with the perfect pace. His breath beats over your face as he keeps going furrowing his brows and he feels you clamping and getting wetter. He places his hand on your stomach and slightly pushes down making you scream. 

“I know, I know, I got you. Cum on me baby…I'm here with you I got you.” he coos at you and the coil in your stomach is completely ripped apart and you feel your brain break as you whine and clamp down hard on him. He pushes on your stomach harder and your messily cumming on him. The pleasure is unlike anything you have ever felt from your fingers and he's still going. Feeling yourself starting to burn up and your brain fogging you can’t help the tears that flow down from your eyes from the intense rapture you feel in this moment. 

Gritting his teeth, his cock is ruined from your sweet release squirting all over him, and he loves it. Your pussy is overstimulated and gripping him hard as he pounds into you in a fever. Muttering how good you feel on him he throbs as your body starts to shake again. 

Throwing your head back you feel his hot cock burning your insides as it throbs, he quickly pulls his cock out and hot spurts of thick white ropes coat your stomach as a low moan of your name leaves his lips. 

Taking a deep breath you lay there covered in sweat completely spent. Miguel gathers his bearings as he gets up from the couch to find his discarded coat fetching his handkerchief. Getting on his knees he carefully cleans his mess from your tired body. A string of apologies slips his lips as he takes care of you.

Once you're clean he places kisses on your face “Are you okay? Was it too much for your first time?” 

Your glassy eyes shift lazily to him as you give a quiet, “I’m okay, it felt amazing.” 

Miguel smiles and places a kiss on your lips. “My poor star, tired from all of the night's performances. Let's get you home to rest, hm?” 

“Oh,” you say sadly as you watch Miguel dress; he looks over at you confused and concerned that you seem upset. 

“What?”

“Well, I- I was hoping to spend more time with you…I can’t bring boys into the ballet dorms where I stay.”

Miguel's eyes soften as he chuckles slightly, finished getting dressed he grabs your long robe from its hanger and brings it to you. He reaches out for your hand and gently dresses you. 

“You're coming home with me, I told you if you want me, it won't be for one night only. I'm going to take care of you as long as you will have me” 

Finishing tying your robe tightly he smiles gently down at you, “Now let's go home.”

[sweetiesicheng]

yunho - survival show

word count : 601

happy yunho day ~

-

“thank you team moonlight for your performance,” the emcee says after interviewing the team. “now, online voting will—“

you write some notes on your papers and look over at your fellow judges. some of them start discussing the trainees and the performances that just happened. 

“these three were good performances. this one was the best in my opinion,” you state your opinion. 

“all of this team improved a lot. i didn’t expect them to change their ambiance like that,” one of the other judges says, holding up a paper with the profiles of one of the groups. 

“all of them did a good job, but the second performance is still my number one for the night,” yunho mentions. 

all of the judges continue discussing the different contestants. after some discussion, the judges’s choices are finalized and online voting have settled. 

everyone waits for the rankings to be posted, but it’s time for a break within the filming. some of the judges get up to stretch their legs. 

you sigh and continue sitting. you look over your notes about the various trainees that stood out from the performances. 

“you okay?” 

you look up and see yunho standing next to you. he crouches down and looks at the papers in your lap. 

“sorry about your trainee,” he says. 

there are a couple of trainees from your company, who are participating in the show. unfortunately, one of them was eliminated last episode and another one is low on the ranking. 

“they’re hard workers. they’ll get back in the game soon,” you reply. “the performances were really good today,” you comment. 

yunho nods, “yea, i really liked team two’s performance. they covered the song really well.” he holds his hand out, indicating he wants your papers. you hand them to him, and he flips to a couple of pages. “this kid, they practice day and night. i helped them out a couple of times with their choreography,” he mentions, pointing to someone’s photo. 

“think they’re gonna get a higher ranking?” you ask him. 

“they better. the kid deserves it,” he says before leaning in, “but the editing in the first episode was definitely against them,” he adds with a whisper. 

“i noticed that too with some of them. they really want drama broadcasted, huh?” you reply. 

“y/n, can we do some touch ups?” a makeup artist asks, walking up to you and yunho. 

“oh, sure,” you reply and sit up. 

“i’ll come back,” yunho says to you before standing up and walking back to his seat. 

—

after the recording ends for the night, you sigh while getting into the van with yunho’s manager waiting in the driver’s seat. 

“everything go okay today?” the manager asks. 

“could be better,” you reply. 

after a few minutes, yunho gets into the van. “sorry, some of the trainees wanted to talk,” he says. 

“it’s all good. let’s get you two home,” his manager says to both of you and starts driving once yunho is buckled up. 

“you okay?” yunho asks, reaching over to hold your hand. 

you shrug, “i guess. i feel sad every time trainees are eliminated.”

“i know. it is sad,” yunho replies, “but we’ll probably see most of them at music shows one day anyways.”

“i sure hope so,” you reply, “i’ll be their number one supporters when they debut.”

“hey,” he starts, “i thought you were my number one supporter?”

“you’re slacking. the trainees are doing better than you,” you say and stick your tongue out at him for a second. 

he rolls his eyes but smiles afterwards, “i’ll listen to your critiques, judge.”