#every time I hear this song i just think of her

[celestetcetera]

Things the production of TGWDLM I saw awhile ago did that I liked:

In the opening when Paul doesn’t show up they’re like “this is the 4th performance you think he’d get this by now”

Melissa clicks her pen the entire time Paul is talking to her

Ted grabbed Sam’s sunglasses on the line “A king!” And then just had them on him the rest of the show. He kept putting them on or people kept stealing them from him

He also steals Hidgen’s coat after he discards it in A Show Stopping Number

They didn’t have a piano prop for ASSN so instead the cast is like “at least there’s no piano backing!” And then the non-diegetic piano track plays for the song and they groan

There was a large enough cast that every working boy showed up for ASSN

Also, all the workin boys had nametags and Stu’s has the S written in that fancy way you do it in grade school

“We must be close to the music room, I can hear a theremin” Paul in hatchetfield high when the spooky theremin is playing

When Paul and Emma walk through the audience & ad-lib Paul expresses that he thought the blue shit was just what fancy coffee looked like

When Emma’s like “you probably drank my spit” Paul just looks pleased by this

Mr. Davidson doesn’t do the “too many curves” choreography, instead when Paul mimics Ted’s “latte hottie” he does too many

They played Mamma Mia songs during the intermission. Many theatre kids actively sang along

Their Sam was very short and their Charlotte was VERY tall. And the entire dynamic there was amazing

[psformybss]

Runway Lights

drew starkey x model!reader

inspired by the 2013 victoria’s secret fashion show

The moment her heels hit the glitter-slicked runway, the noise in the arena explodes.

Fall Out Boy is already deep into My Songs Know What You Did in the Dark, the guitar riff pulsing beneath the stomping beat. Taylor Swift, decked in Union Jack from head to heel, struts across the stage like it was built for her. Just before the curtain parts, the only thing she hears is her own breathing and a quiet voice from crew: “You’re good. Go.”

And then she’s out there.

Walking, technically. But it feels like flying.

The wings—black feathers fanned out and arched high—are heavier than they look, secured to a back harness that took three people to adjust. But on her body, they feel like an extension. Natural. Balanced. The tartan corset hugs her ribs in a way that forces every breath to be deliberate. Shoulders back. Chin up. Smile like it’s second nature.

Second in line for the British Invasion segment. The lights are overwhelming, stage blinding beneath the constant flicker of flashbulbs. She doesn’t scan the crowd. She can’t—not in these heels, not with this timing. But she knows.

He’s out there.

Somewhere in the front row, Drew is watching. The thought grounds her more than anything else. He promised he wouldn’t miss this for the world.

“You really think I’m going to let you walk that stage without me cheering like a maniac?” he teased last week when she first asked if he was going.

So she walks like he’s watching.

Each step is precise, paced just like she practiced. Her body finds the rhythm of the music and holds onto it like a lifeline. She hits the end of the runway, plants her heel, flicks her wings with a sharp spin, and throws a smile over her shoulder that lands somewhere between fierce and glowing.

Drew forgets how to breathe the second she hits the stage.

He knew she’d be gorgeous—of course she would—but this? This is unreal. It’s not just the look, though the corset and wings do kind of make his brain short-circuit. It’s her. The way she carries herself. Like the spotlight belongs to her. Like this glitter-covered, music-thumping arena was built just to hold her shine.

He claps louder than anyone in his section. Doesn’t care who sees. Let them look. Let them wonder. He’s never been more proud of anyone in his life.

She doesn’t look for him once. And that’s what really gets him. She’s focused, locked in, totally in it. But he catches it anyway—the subtle shift in her smile when the crowd gets louder. That extra touch of confidence in her posture. The fire in her eyes.

That’s her. His girl. And she’s killing it.

Backstage is chaos in motion.

As soon as she clears the curtain, hands are already reaching to unhook the wings. Someone else crouches at her feet to swap her heels while she slips into a pink silk robe. “Victoria’s Secret Angel” shimmers across the back in gold embroidery. A water bottle appears in her hand. Somewhere in the distance, someone yells about a zipper emergency.

“Holy hell, that was insane,” Candice says, looping an arm around her shoulders as they walk. “That turn? The way your wings caught the light? I think someone in the pit passed out.”

“Yeah, well, I nearly faceplanted.” She leans into the hug, breathless but smiling. “I forgot how slippery the runway gets with all that glitter.”

“You floated,” Karlie says as she breezes by. “Seriously. We all said it.”

A stylist grabs her elbow. “Gloss touch-up, one minute. Then we’ve got your next look waiting.”

She barely gets a sip of water before she’s in the chair, someone already patting translucent powder beneath her eyes and wiping specks of glitter from her collarbone.

“How’s the corset?” someone asks. “Ribcage okay?”

“I’ll live.”

The stylist grins. “Good. You’ve got seafoam next. Soft glam. Think sad mermaid vibes.”

Her lips twitch. “Heartbreak and ocean breeze. Got it.”

Segment 3 changes everything.

Shipwrecked is softer, slower. No bold colors or Union Jacks—just cool tones and delicate fabrics. Her boots are laced high and tight, outfit glinting in pale iridescence. Wings replaced with sheer panels that flutter when she moves, like mist clinging to the air.

The music shifts. Say Something starts—low, haunting, the piano notes echoing like breath in the dark.

Her walk is slower. Not seductive—something more vulnerable. She lets herself feel it. The ache, the softness, the story between each beat. The way the music tugs at something quiet inside her.

She doesn’t look for Drew.

But when she reaches the end and pauses just long enough to turn her face toward the crowd, her expression says everything. A flash of sorrow. Strength. Beauty threaded with vulnerability.

Drew swallows hard, chest tight.

This segment feels different. No flashy grin, no wink to the cameras. Just her—bare, open, real.

She walks like the music is guiding her from inside. Every step feels intentional, like she’s carrying a story the rest of the world doesn’t fully understand. But he does.

It knocks the breath out of him. He barely hears the crowd.

He claps again when she vanishes behind the curtain. Slower this time. His hands sting, but he doesn’t stop.

Magic, he thinks. She’s always been magic. But now the whole damn world sees it too.

Backstage, her hands shake as she reaches for her next water bottle.

“That one got me,” she admits to Candice, who’s reapplying mascara next to her. “I didn’t think it would, but halfway down the runway, it just hit me.”

“It showed. In the best way,” Candice says, touching her arm gently. “It felt… real.”

Someone comes by with a makeup brush, swipes it gently across her cheeks. Another voice shouts “Snow Angels in ten!”

“Last look,” someone calls.

Her stylist helps her into the final outfit—a glittering white number with delicate details that sparkle like fresh snow. Crystal-coated wings. White boots. Hair fluffed into soft, wintery waves.

“How do you feel?” the dresser asks.

She exhales. “Like I’m about to black out.”

The girl laughs. “You’ll float through it.”

The last segment, Snow Angels.

The energy backstage is electric again—finale buzz, adrenaline kicking hard. When she steps onto the stage one last time, everything else fades.

Her outfit glows under the lights, crystalline and ethereal. The wings shimmer with every movement, glinting like frost. Taylor’s singing I Knew You Were Trouble now, the beat lifting with playful energy. The crowd’s alive again.

But she’s calm.

Confident. Lighter now, like the hardest part is behind her. This walk isn’t nerves—it’s celebration.

At the end of the runway, something tugs at her. She lets herself look.

And there he is.

Front row. Standing this time, clapping like his life depends on it. That familiar grin splitting across his face, so full of awe she nearly forgets how to breathe.

Their eyes meet. Just for a second.

Everything else disappears.

She spins and walks back, smile blooming naturally now, no stagecraft needed.

Backstage is chaos and glitter and elation.

Everyone’s laughing, hugging, cameras flashing nonstop. Her wings come off first—carefully unclipped by a crew member as she lets herself exhale. The robe slips back on, silk cool against her skin. Her feet are bare, sore, but she doesn’t care.

Then she hears it.

Her name.

She turns. And there he is.

Drew. Winding through the chaos, bouquet in hand, shirt sleeves rolled and tie half-loosened, eyes locked on her like he hasn’t seen her in years.

Her heart stutters. She walks toward him without thinking, dodging feathers and crew members and discarded stilettos.

They meet halfway. No words at first. Just arms around her waist, flowers pressed between them, his chin resting against her hair.

“You were…” he breathes out, barely finding the words. “You were everything.”

She pulls back slightly, enough to look up at him. “I’m sweaty.”

“I genuinely couldn’t care less.”

His hands slide to her sides, fingers splayed. “You lit that whole stage up. Do you even know what you did out there?”

She blinks at him, still dazed. “Didn’t fall?”

“You were magic,” he says, fierce and soft at once. “The second walk… God, babe. You made people feel something. I did.”

Her throat tightens. “I saw you. At the end.”

“I had to stand,” he says, brushing a piece of hair off her cheek. “No way I could stay sitting while you walked out looking like that.”

She smiles—really smiles—and leans into him.

Then he kisses her. Slow and certain, like they’re the only two people in the room. She melts into it, hands curled in the fabric of his shirt, the noise around them fading into a soft, sparkling blur.

When they part, she stays close.

“Do I still get pancakes?” she whispers.

He laughs quietly. “Hell yes, you do.”

She threads her fingers through his and tugs him toward the back hall.

a/n: this one has been in my drafts for a while. also i tried my best to describe the looks but for reference it's the looks behati wore in the 2013 fashion show.

[returnofeternity]

Okay okay. Bartender Van at a dyke bar, super hot. You go there all the time. She always makes your drinks on the house & loves making you specialty drinks to try based on what she thinks you’ll like. Goes insane when you praise her bartending skills. She gets a little bolder the longer you know each other & gets into the habit of pouring liquor directly into your mouth, or raising beer bottles to your lips. She thinks you’re an adorable drunk, always flirting with her & complimenting her, but she’d never take advantage of you so she waits to make an actual move until she has a night off & can ask you on an actual date. But once she knows you like her too, you start hooking up constantly both in the bar & her apartment above it. Yeah.

cant rmr if you said adult or teen van but :> both are good.

GOD i know she wears suits while bartending 😵‍💫 she usually ends up with her jacket off and her button down unbuttoned. gulps very hard. during summer, i think she'd strip down to a wife pleaser and her jorts!!! you can hear her yelling at customers and laughing with her fav regulars before you even walk in, and you KNOW this bar is a good vibe.

she's also a flirt and pays for customers drinks sometimes, but you're different. she thinks you're insanely good-looking. also loves how lost you look because clearly, it's ur first time here. she lets you pick a drink out from the menu and then pours you another free shot that she recommends. if you walked in with friends, she definitely keeps looking your way occasionally, hoping that your friend sends you to get the next round of drinks instead of your other friend :< if you walk in alone, she'd for sure make conversation with you as you awkwardly look around while sippin' your drink. she talks to you about how long she's been working, abt ur interests, yaddayadda as she serves customers. even tries to introduce you to some of her friends!!

when she gets to know you a little more and shows off her amazing bartending skills, you get shy at how much more brazen she is. she starts pouring liquor into your mouth, telling you to keep your pretty lips open while she pours another shot of whatever into it because the drink "tastes better that way." she actually blushes and fumbles on her words when you praise and compliment her skills. she jokes about how thats not gonna get you a free drink, but literally ALL your orders here have been on her 😊 you kind of Do have to pay for food there, but she takes half off for you <3

you feel Some Type Of Way when she does the beer bottle trick aka just bottle-feeding it to you. she calls you good girl/boy for downing it so fast and makes eye contact with you as she licks the few drops of beer off the bottle.

van also goes insane when you attempt to bartend like her when joking around. especially when you give her a taste of her own medicine and pour the liquor straight into her mouth.

you have to tell her you're not an alcoholic when you start coming almost every day 😭 you just wanna see her! sometimes you just hang by the bar and talk until she gets off her shift. u either grab an empty table and drink with her there, or you'll take a walk with her. you joke about these walks being 'dates' and she always says that she'd take you on much better ones O_O there's this playfulness between you two at this point, and you cant decide whether to ask her out or wait for her to ask you out!!!!!! arghhh!!

she thinks its adorable how much of a flirt you are when you're drunk. you get her blushing so much she's almost as red as her hair. and ur soo touchy. always rubbing her head and praising her after she pours you a shot, holding her hand while she talks to you across the bar, highkey feeling her up on the dancefloor... singing love songs to her during karaoke nights because you know there are karaoke nights.

thinking about van picking you up at your house in her truck.. she's wearing this niceeee ass suit and she has her hair slicked back. you keep telling yourself that you cant fuck on the first date, but her colonge is making you dizzy and her lazy grin has you throbbing. she takes you to this rly nice restaurant, and is very much a gentleman while helping you out of the car and into your chair. she lets you order first, promises you that you can get the expensive stuff because you're her girl.

thinkingg about having a chat with her in the car after the date, she's parked on the curb by your place, and you tell her how much you rly like her. she tells you to keep going while you fumble on your words 😵‍💫 there's a tinyy makeout sesh before she sends you on your way.

she sends you a pic of her in her boxers a few hours later with the caption "come over tomorrow? :)"

hooking up in the bar bathrooms.. god. THINKING of getting caught sucking off her strap by some rando and van who just keeps facefucking you 😵‍💫 she jus mumbles out a "sorry." and holds your head against her hips so you can't pull back.

having to drag her up to her bedroom so you can properly fuck her because you cant get a damn moment of peace in the bar. or maybe you cant even make it up there so you just fuck on the stairs.

smth smth jerking off van's strap while pouring liquor down her throat. telling her to be a good boy and drink it all, watching how she starts swaying and grasping at you. yeahh..

[wendichester]

Hi hello I’ve just found you and I was wondering if you could do a Dean x reader where you’re the only other person allowed to play music, because even though it’s not classic rock, he’d take any chance he can get to hear you sing?? Bonus points if there’s yearning, extra bonus points if at some she does sing along to some of Dean’s music and it drives him insane. Thank you!!!! I love your work so much!!!!

₊˚⊹♡ passenger princess,

summary. driver picks the music, passenger princess has driver wrapped around her finger.

pairing. dean winchester x reader genre. fluffy fluff

wordcount. 662

notes / warnings. heavy yearning, dean trying not to combust. also i might've giggled writing this.

There’s a golden rule in the Impala: Driver picks the music, shotgun shuts his cakehole.

You’ve seen Dean swat Sam’s hand away mid-reach like a damn cobra strike. It’s sacred territory—you don't touch the music. Everyone knows that.

Everyone except you.

Because you’re the only one he lets break the rule.

“You got something you wanna hear?” he asks casually, one hand on the wheel, the other draped over the back of the seat like he’s not trying to make your heart do cartwheels.

You blink, halfway through sipping your gas station coffee. “Wait. Really?”

Dean shrugs like it’s no big deal. “Sure. Go for it.”

You narrow your eyes. “What’s the catch?”

“No catch. Just…” He glances at you, and something flickers in his expression. “You’ve got good taste.”

You scoff. “Dean Winchester letting someone play something besides Led Zeppelin in Baby? Is this a trap?”

He chuckles. “Don’t make me take it back.”

You grin, flipping through your phone until your favorite playlist clicks to life. Something soft, dreamy—definitely not classic rock.

He doesn’t say a word.

Just drums his fingers on the steering wheel like the beat’s already part of him.

You start singing under your breath, and that’s when it happens. His fingers pause.

You don’t notice at first. Not until the next chorus, when you let your voice carry a little more, windows down and breeze in your hair.

Dean doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t dare look at you.

But his grip on the wheel tightens. His jaw flexes. He shifts in his seat like suddenly everything’s too much and not enough.

And you—oblivious, or maybe just playing dumb—keep going.

He lets you queue up another. And another.

Somewhere in the middle of the third one, you lean your head back, eyes closed, and sing a little louder. Nothing performative, just honest. You’ve always loved singing in cars. It’s the safest place in the world.

Dean thinks so too.

Which is probably why he’s completely and utterly wrecked by it.

You don’t see the way he glances at you from the corner of his eye. The way his tongue runs over his bottom lip, slow and involuntary. The way he looks like he’s listening to his favorite song and losing his mind at the same time.

But then—because fate loves a well-timed punch to the gut—his playlist kicks back in as the GPS reroutes. A familiar guitar riff floods the speakers: Zeppelin.

You smirk. “Ah, the king reclaims his throne.”

Dean grins, relieved to be back on home turf. “Damn right.”

You drum your fingers on your thigh, then—on a whim—start singing again.

Not perfectly. You don’t know every word. But you know enough.

And that is when Dean’s grip on the steering wheel goes white-knuckle.

“You okay there, champ?” you tease, catching the corner of his expression.

“Peachy,” he chokes out.

You bite back a smile. “Is the great Dean Winchester flustered?”

“Not flustered,” he mutters, eyes on the road. “Just—distracted.”

You lean in a little closer, voice low and sugary. “I thought you liked being in control of the music.”

“I do.”

“But now you let me touch it. Even sing over your sacred Zeppelin.”

Dean glances at you then, quick and sharp. “Yeah, well…”

“What?”

He exhales like it costs him something. “You sound better than Plant, anyway.”

Your heart stumbles. “Dean.”

He shrugs, suddenly shy. “I mean it.”

It goes quiet for a few beats. Not awkward. Just thick with something unnamed. Something that’s been humming between you both for longer than either of you will admit.

And then, like the devil he is, he adds: “Besides, I’d take any excuse to hear you sing.”

You stare at him, throat tight. “You’re such a sap.”

Dean grins. “Only for you.”

You don’t say anything. You just cue up another song—and continue singing.

Dean hums along under his breath this time.

And though he’ll never say it out loud, you’ve officially become his favorite singer.

ꔛ. navigation 𓂃˖ ࣪ all drabbles ; compatibility readings ; support my work .ᐟ

[strawb3rry-hon3y]

Figure You Out

Pairing: Na Baek-jin/Park Hu-min’s x Fem!Reader (told from Park Hu-min’s POV.) Requested: No

Summary: Based loosely on “Figure You Out” by VOILÀ: Park Hu-min quietly falls for his childhood friend, now dating Na Baek-jin. When a fight drives her into Hu-min’s arms, one kiss changes everything… and nothing at all.

Length: Genre: Angst, Drama, Slow Burn, Forbidden Love, Emotional Hurt/Comfort.

Warnings: Toxic relationship dynamics, Verbal arguments, Unrequited love/love triangle, Feelings of worthlessness/insecurity. Status: Complete!

I heard he bought her a designer clutch last weekend.

One of those limited-edition ones, the kind you’d only see in some influencer’s hands online. Gold hardware, flashy enough to catch the light even when it’s overcast. He posted a picture of her the next day. She wasn’t even looking at the camera. Just standing beside him, fingers wrapped around the strap like it didn’t quite belong there. Like she didn’t quite belong there and I knew.

I knew the moment I saw her face in that photo. A tight smile, the kind she only wore when she was trying not to be ungrateful, that she hated it.

She told me once, years ago, that she hated carrying bags at all. Said they slowed her down. She liked to keep her hands free for snacks, for balance, for pointing out dumb clouds shaped like cats. So why would he buy her something she’d never use if it wasn’t for the look of it? For the image?

Because that’s what she is to Baek-jin now, an accessory. A status piece. A quiet, pretty thing to place beside him while his friends clap him on the back. But I remember her before all this.

I remember scraped knees and summer popsicles. Her tugging my sleeve when Baek-jin was being a brat and whispering “He’s impossible.” I remember how she used to laugh full belly, no filter, wild like the world couldn’t touch her. I still hear that laugh sometimes, when she forgets to be composed around me.

She’s different with me, Not the version they want. Not polished and packaged. With me, she’s soft again. Real. I hate that I’m the only one who notices.

It burns watching him parade her around like she’s his prize. Touching her lower back in front of everyone like he owns her, not like he loves her. He doesn’t know she hates PDA. That she only lets him hold her hand in public because she doesn’t want to make a scene. That she flinches, just barely, when he kisses her too long in front of his friends.

He doesn’t know her like I do. But he has her, and that’s what kills me.

I should be happy just being near her. Sometimes I convince myself that I am, that friendship is enough. She still messages me, still visits when she’s nearby. She shows up with snacks in her hoodie pocket, the way she used to, and we sit on the stairs outside my dad's house and talk about dumb things. School, weather, our favorite songs from middle school.

And the whole time I’m thinking, This could’ve been us. It should’ve been. But I keep quiet. Because what we have now: this fragile thing, it’s better than nothing. If I say something, if I ruin it, I don’t know if I’ll ever get her back. Even as just a friend.

So I let myself hurt. Quietly. Let myself love her the only way I can: in silence, in stolen glances, in the space between words. And he keeps giving her things that glitter. While I’m still holding all the pieces of her he never bothered to learn, and I hate that.

Sometimes, I think I could love her with my eyes closed.

Even with the distance: different schools, different circles. She’s still the one I see most clearly. It’s strange how people can live separate lives and still feel stitched to someone. Like no matter how far we drift, there’s always this invisible thread pulling me back to her.

She texts me before bed sometimes, usually about nothing—a picture of her cat curled up in her lap, a dumb meme, a rant about her math teacher. I save every one. I replay her voice notes when the days feel too quiet.

She still comes by the corner store near my place on Thursdays, the one with the old vending machine that barely works. I wait around those days, pretending I just happened to be there too, and she pretends not to notice that I never have anything in my hands to buy. Every time she smiles at me, really smiles, I feel like I’m thirteen again and she’s the only person in the room.

He’s got her, but he doesn’t get her. I see it in the way she sighs when she tells me about another expensive thing he bought her, like that designer necklace last week—the one she left in her bag all day because she said it was “too heavy.” She’d rather spend a weekend painting old flower pots or biking along the Han River than showing off some stupid necklace at a Union event.

She told me once, years ago in that park we used to sneak off to, that she hates people who try to fix everything with money. She said love should feel like being known, not bought. I’ve never forgotten that. I don’t think I ever will.

She looked at me once, after a particularly bad fight with him, and said, “Sometimes I think you understand me better than he ever will.” I didn’t say anything then. I didn’t want to ruin the moment, or maybe I was just scared of what it would mean if I said how I felt.

But the truth is, I could love her in the dark and still recognize every piece of her. I’m not trying to be her rescue. I’m not waiting around with some fantasy that she’ll leave him for me. I just..I don’t want to lose what little of her I still have. Because every time we talk every Thursday at that store, every time she texts me instead of him, I feel like I’m this close to figuring her out all over again.

I heard he started calling them her friends too. Guys who hang off his shoulders like shadows. Big names in the Union. Bigger egos. They don’t know a damn thing about her, but he parades them around like they’re hers now, like he’s giving her something special. When will he learn she doesn’t need anyone to give her a future? She already built one for herself.

Tonight, when she showed up at my door, her eyes were already red. No words, no explanation, just a plastic bag full of snacks, trembling hands, and that look in her eyes like she was trying not to fall apart.

She didn’t speak at first. Just kicked her shoes off quietly, curled up on the couch like it was the only place left in the world that didn’t hurt. I sat beside her, close enough for her to know I was here, but not close enough to make her flinch. I didn’t ask. Not right away. We sat in silence for what felt like forever. The soft rustle of chip bags and the quiet hum of the fan filling the space between us. Then I asked softly, “Do you wanna tell me what happened?”

She blinked a few times, like the question startled her. Then it all came out. “He said they were our friends. Ours. But I don’t even know them, Hu-min. They make jokes about stuff I don’t find funny. They talk about the Union like it’s a game… like people aren’t getting hurt.”

Her voice cracked, and she looked away. “I told him I wanted nothing to do with any of it. That I didn’t want to be dragged into the crap he and the Union are doing. And then he—” She stopped herself, lips trembling. “He said some things. Things I didn’t think he ever would.”

Tears welled in her eyes, and then she was crying again. Fast and silent, the way she always did when she didn’t want anyone to know she was hurting. I moved without thinking, wrapping one arm around her, pulling her gently against my chest. She didn’t resist. She curled into me like she belonged there, and for a long moment, she just cried.

Then, in between soft sobs, she laughed. This weak, broken thing that made my chest ache. “If I would've known it would be like this, I would’ve rejected his idea. I mean… I know it was our parents. I know this was their whole big plan, but…” She shook her head. “I was hoping, Hu-min. Just hoping maybe it would be nice. That he’d care. I’m so stupid.”

“You’re not stupid,” I said immediately, tightening my hold on her. “You just wanted something good. That’s not stupid. That’s human.” She went quiet. Her breath slowed, but her eyes stayed damp. From under my arm, I felt her shift slightly. When I looked down, she was already looking up at me.

Big, tear-filled eyes. That half-sad, half-sweet smile she always wore when she was trying to be strong. I didn’t realize how close we were until I felt her breath on my neck. Then, without a word, she leaned up and kissed me. It was quick. Like she was afraid she’d change her mind if she waited. Soft, warm lips pressed to mine, trembling just enough for me to know how scared she was. But I kissed her back. Desperately. Like I’d been holding my breath for years and she was the air.

There was so much in that kiss. Every unsaid word, every hidden glance, every Thursday afternoon at the corner store when I wanted to tell her but didn’t. I poured it all into her in that moment.

Then, like something shattered inside her, she pulled back. Eyes wide. Panic. “I—I’m sorry,” she whispered. She stood up so fast the snacks nearly spilled off the table. “I shouldn’t have— That was a mistake. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

“Wait,” I said, standing too. But she was already halfway to the door. “I shouldn’t have come,” she choked out. “I just— I’m sorry, Hu-min. I’m sorry—” The door closed behind her before I could stop her. I stood there in the empty silence, heart still pounding, lips still warm from hers. All I could do was whisper her name into the space she left behind.

It had been four days since the kiss.

Four days of silence. No replies. Not even a single “seen.”

My fingers hovered over the keyboard more times than I could count. Messages typed, deleted, rewritten, unsent. Hey, are you okay?I’m not mad.I just want to talk to you. Please.

But nothing came back. No double check marks. No bubbles. Just a blank screen and the sharp ache in my chest every time I opened our thread. She wasn’t mine to miss. Then Baek-jin called.

“Come by the bowling alley,” he said, his voice cocky and casual like always. “We’re regrouping. I’ve got some moves in the works. Could use you” I almost laughed. But then, like a damn idiot: I thought of her. Maybe she’d be there. Maybe I’d get one second to see her. To explain.

So I went.

I pulled my black hoodie over my head, stuffed my hands into the pocket to hide how bad they were shaking, and walked the same streets I used to take with him, back when things made sense. Before money and pride and the Union started to rot him from the inside out.

The moment I stepped into the bowling alley, it hit me like a wall.

The air was thick with smoke, laughter that felt too loud, like it was covering something ugly, and the clinking of bottles and cheap music blaring through busted speakers. The scent of stale beer soaked into the cracked vinyl booths and warped wooden lanes. Half the guys here didn’t even bowl they just sat around, played cards, and acted like kings in a crumbling castle.

I kept my head low, eyes scanning the dim lights, the shadows. Every girl made my stomach flip until they turned around and it wasn’t her.

My heart was racing by the time I got to the hallway in the back. Flickering light overhead. Dirty walls. My footsteps felt heavier with every step. I didn’t know if I wanted to see Baek-jin or if I just wanted one glimpse of her. 

Then I saw her.

She was sitting on the couch, tucked in the corner of Baek-jin’s office, legs crossed, shoulders hunched like she was trying to disappear. Her phone sat loosely in her hands, screen dark. Her eyes were distant, tired, and that soft pout to her lips told me everything I needed to know. She wasn’t okay.

Baek-jin’s voice cut through the fog. “Hu-min.” She looked up. Fast. Like the sound of my name had jolted her awake. Her gaze hit mine, and for a split second, it was just us. Before Her eyes glanced away, worried I’d see something in them.

My throat closed. Her expression didn’t change still sad, still closed off. But I saw that flicker of something. Recognition, Pain. She stood slowly, not saying a word, still not looking me in the eye. “I’ll give you two space,” she murmured, brushing past me.

Instinct kicked in. My hand reached out, catching her wrist gently. She stopped in her tracks, her gaze falling on the hand on her wrist. I didn’t say anything. Just looked at her, silently begging: Don’t go, Not like this.

Her eyes met mine. Finally and it was like someone ripped a breath from my lungs. There was so much swimming in those eyes. Confusion. Hurt. Guilt. Something else she didn’t want to name.

She looked over my shoulder at Baek-jin. He was watching us, head tilted, brows creased in suspicion. It was only a second, but it was enough for her to make up her mind. She pulled her hand from mine. “See you around, Hu-min…”

It hit like a punch. She turned and walked away, back stiff, pace fast. But just before the hallway swallowed her, I saw her do it. She smiled at him. Small. Forced. Like she was trying to prove something.

I was still standing there when Baek-jin scoffed. “Didn’t know you and my girlfriend were still so close.” I didn’t look at him right away. I couldn’t. My gaze was stuck on that hallway, the space she used to fill, now empty again.

When I finally turned, I wasn’t angry. Not the way I thought I’d be. I was tired. There was no point in fighting over something I never had in the first place. Hands in my pockets, I stepped toward his desk. His throne. The place where he played king of a kingdom built on fear and fake loyalty. “What do you want?” I asked, my voice flat.

Taglist: N/A Header Creator’s: @saradika-graphics

[catrianaghvst]

Through the walls

Pt.1 Pt.2 Pt.2.5 Pt.3 Pt.4 Pt.5

neighbour!SimonRiley x f!reader

Part 3: Late encounter

It’s been six weeks.

Long enough for routine to settle back in. Long enough to pretend that moment in the laundry room was just a moment. Just static. A flicker. Nothing permanent.

You haven’t seen him since.

Not properly. A shadow on the stairs. A door closing softly just as yours opens. You know his rhythm by now—silent exits in the early morning, returns well after midnight. Sometimes you hear music through the wall again. Always faint. Always low. Sabbath. Soundgarden. Once, a single Nina Simone track that made your breath catch and your chest ache without knowing why.

You don’t knock. You don��t speak. You tell yourself it’s better this way.

And still, when your keys scrape into your lock, your ears tune to every sound in the hallway. Still, when your kettle boils, you wonder if he hears it. If he listens for your footsteps the way you sometimes listen for his.

Maybe it’s stupid. Maybe it’s just a crush. An overactive imagination filling in blanks where there’s only silence. But the silence feels… loaded now.

And then, on a Tuesday night, it shifts again.

You’re bringing your bin out late. Moon overhead, the corridor bathed in that strange blue quiet. It’s cold. Your jumper isn’t thick enough. You grumble to yourself, pushing open the back stairwell door—when it slams into something solid.

Someone.

You gasp, jump back, heart thudding, just as the shape steadies you with one large hand.

“It’s me.”

His voice. Low. Grounded. Somehow more familiar now, like hearing an old song in a different key.

“Shit,” you whisper, palm pressed to your chest. “You scared me.”

“Didn’t mean to.”

You look up. The mask is there, as always, but his hood is down tonight. A glimpse of cropped blond hair under the stairwell light. He’s in a dark jacket, plain jeans. Civilian. But there’s nothing soft about him. He carries tension like body armour—tight across his shoulders, braced in the soles of his boots.

“I was just—” You gesture with your bin bag, like it’s a white flag. “Late run.”

He nods once. “Saw someone out back earlier. Looked like they were checking locks. Could’ve been nothing.”

Your pulse trips again. “You think someone was casing the building?”

“Maybe.” He doesn’t elaborate. Just looks past you, down the corridor, then back again. “Keep your door locked.”

You huff a shaky breath. “Always do.”

Something in your voice must betray you—nerves fraying around the edges—because he doesn’t move. Doesn’t walk away. His gaze rests on your face for a long beat. Then:

“Give me the bag.”

You blink. “What?”

“I’ll take it out. You don’t need to be down here alone.”

You almost say no. Almost make a joke. But something in his tone brooks no argument. Not bossy. Not unkind. Just firm.

You hand it over.

He takes it with ease, his gloved fingers brushing yours. Just a second of contact, but it hums through you like static—some quiet, electric reminder that he’s real. Solid.

He disappears through the stairwell door without another word. You linger, waiting. Listening to the thud of the bin lid, the soft clang of metal. He’s back within a minute, footsteps even.

“Thanks,” you murmur as he returns, letting the door fall shut behind him.

He studies you a second longer than necessary, the way his eyes narrow behind the mask, like he’s trying to figure you out—or maybe just thinking about something else entirely.

Before you can say anything else, a sharp, familiar voice cuts through the quiet.

“Oi, dumb dumb—don’t leave the poor lass standing here like a right lemon.”

You both turn.

She rounds the corner like she owns the place—fiery curls bouncing, boots loud against the floor. There’s a cocky ease to the way she strides straight up to him and loops her arm through his, tugging herself close with a grin like she’s done it a thousand times.

“You forget how to say hello, or are you just trying to scare her off?”

He exhales through his nose. Doesn’t shake her off.

The girl turns to you, eyes bright with amusement. “Hi. I’m Felicity. Don’t let the skull face fool you—he’s mostly harmless.”

[valeisaslut]

3 YEARS?!! 

oh my god in her sleep, on the guitar, ellie miller my baby.

“How she left with your heart in her hands and didn’t look back.” i know you know you cooked with that.

Just imagining Ellie being begged by Joel to go to rehab is bringing me to tears. how come in every au she’s still a girl who needs her dad. i should replay part 1 

i cannot fathom how fucking awful that mustve been for y/n to be blamed for everything. lowk reminds me of Amber Heard (still feel bad for her ngl)

JOEL MVP IM IN TEARS (can we tell i don’t have a good relationship with my dad) 

“Your voice, your strongest weapon, was now was working against you. It kept betraying, trembling with every word, cracking more horribly each time you tried to swallow the grief. The grief of singing songs you once believed in. Songs that were alive when she still was yours.” I died. my funeral is monday. 

“Not because you wanted to. Not because you could. But because it was all you had left to give.

And the only thought echoing in your skull was how impossible it felt that this had once made you happy. That once, the stage had been freedom. Purpose. Joy.

Because now, it felt like a sentence.”

you are so sadistic bc how could you want characters to go through this much 😖😞

“‘You’re safe,’she murmured. ‘You made it through. It’s over, baby. The show 's over.’”

i need a rachel. 

“‘I’m done, I'm done,’ you choked out, not even able to hear your own voice over the pounding in your ears. ‘I’m done. I can’t do this anymore—I’m not going back, I won’t—I can’t—I—I want it to be over—‘“

Nothing can describe this absolutely debilitating feeling of throwing in the towel.

I know you know you cooked with:

“‘She won’t recover if you kill her first.’”

the taco bell weed penthouse 😞

HER FAMILY DIDNT CALL??

crying for and mourning yourself is another level of dread and helplessness

“You flopped backward on the pillows, arm thrown over your eyes. ‘So maybe I’ll just go back to my fucking hometown in the South. Marry a man. Have a lavender marriage. Get a dog named Earl. Die slowly.’”

But in a way, that would be dying quickly. it’d be suicide, killing every aspect of herself to live this life.

“You sighed, turning to face the wall. ‘Maybe I’ll move to a little town in Argentina. Change my name. Get three cats. Upload music to SoundCloud under an alias.’”

Hey Val do you have cats or a soundcloud we don’t know about.

“The city was still there.”

actually hit so hard bc life is still going world is still turning, ellie is still there somewhere, but she is not the focus.

“‘And this one… I wrote a long time ago. After I found her in the bathroom. I don’t think I ever really came back from that.’”

Going through that would be so traumatizing honestly. I think about that all the time myself.

“‘Let them cry in the club.’” LFMSOOO

LMFAO RACHEL HAVING A LAW DEGREE OFC YOU NEEDED TO MAKE HER MORE OF A SELF INSERT BABE

“They didn’t understand why, after all that, after everything—you still sang about her like she was holy”

OH MY GODDDDDUHHH THE WORLD

DOESNT EVEN UNDERSTAND THEY PLAYED A PART IN THE BREAK UP. THRY WERE WHY ELLIE DID DRUGS WHICH LEAD TO EVERYTHING ELSE.

“‘Supernova isn’t a comeback album. It's not a rebrand. It’s not an apology or a reinvention. It's a war report. My version of the story.’”

OHHHHHH MYY GODDD IM SORRY FOR BEING RECEPTIVE BUT MY JAW CANNOT FALL FARTHER.

"’Because that’s what a supernova is—a dead star. A star that explodes at the end of its life, and still manages to shine brighter than ever before. A last, defiant burst of light.Brighter than anything else in the sky. Brighter even in its ending.’”

how tf did i not pick up on that when i first read it i feel stupid.

“‘And if the main person who inspired this album is watching…’” stab me in the heart sure why not?

“‘I hope you know I made it through.’

Your voice cracked a little. Tears started flowing with more force. 

‘I hope you found your way back to yourself, wherever you are. I hope you’re safe. I hope you're not afraid of your own name anymore.’”

stop it.  please i beg they deserve joy. hell, I DESERVE JOY. 

“‘I will love you until the day I die. Always .’”

OH GOD. pouring one (bottle) out tonight.

ABIGAIL ANDERSON WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?!

“And then she kissed you.”

Ms.Anderson consent. por favor. hello. i already don’t like her.

“Inside: a diamond necklace. Massive. Blinding.”

oh thank god i thought it’d be a ring.

“She hadn’t asked about your day. Not about what you were writing. Not how you were feeling.

Just sports. And how hot you looked. And diamond gifts you didn’t ask for.”

exactly she’s not our girl who only eats the blue peanut m&ms.

“Music didn’t just tie you together. It fused you. Deep and sacred and permanent .”

Rocket Queen 2:16

“#1: Lover, You Should’ve Come Over – Ellie Williams”

oh. my. god.

oh my god. no like oh my god.

this is a spiritual reading. a sermon. you’ve taken each line and wrung it out like it bled into your veins and now we’re just here, lying side by side in the wreckage. i feel like i just had a religious experience in reverse.

starting off with “3 YEARS?!!” as a war cry is so real because yeah. three years of silence. of grief calcifying into survival. and then you hit me with "ellie miller my baby” and i was done. flatlined.

she’s still a girl who needs her dad. in every timeline. in every universe. the world changes, but that truth doesn’t. and the fact that you connected that to your own relationship?? i’m holding your hand. i’m holding it so gently.

“I know you know you cooked with that.” yes. yes i did. and i appreciate that you said it.

the quotes you pulled. the way you felt them. "the stage felt like a sentence" / “she won’t recover if you kill her first” / “the city was still there”—you understood. you saw the entire shape of the ache. you didn’t just read it. you carried it.

and the commentary??? “her family didn’t call??” / “taco bell weed penthouse 😞” `(I DIED AT THIS ONE LMAO) / “thank god i thought it’d be a ring” no like HOW ARE YOU FUNNY AND TRAGIC. who gave you this much power.

you quoting “you still sang about her like she was holy” and then immediately screaming about how THE WORLD PLAYED A PART IN THEIR BREAKUP… i’m sobbing. because YES. people always forget that kind of harm. the passive destruction. the watching. the silence. the shame they encouraged. ellie didn’t burn out in a vacuum—she got watched into ruin.

and the fact that you caught that “Supernova” isn’t just a metaphor but a scientific fact wrapped in grief?? like “a dead star that shines brighter at the end”??

“stop it. please i beg they deserve joy. hell, I DESERVE JOY.” YES YOU DO. YES THEY DO. YES WE ALL DO.

and then abby shows up and you’re just like “Ms. Anderson, consent. por favor.” NOOOOO 😭😭😭 CONSENTIMIENTO. POR FAVOR.

you are everything. your brain is perfect. this message is going in the vault. thank you for screaming and mourning and clawing through every inch of that chapter like it was a grave you were trying to resurrect someone from. you get it.

🕯️ meet me at Rocket Queen 2:16.

[leafy-heart]

What Each the Thunderbolts member Listens to

Yelena:

Lots of ABBA songs, especially "Money, Money, Money" and "Thank You for the Music"

Not for any particular reasons, just to vibe to it while making mac'n'cheese

Ain't it Fun by Paramore

Girl with One Eye by Florence + The Machine

Dog Days Are Over by Florence + The Machine

All the Small Things by Blink-182

She would have listened to emo music if she grew up in Ohio, and not Red Room. It's a generational DNA thing, you can take a girl out of emo but never the emo out of the girl.

Diva by Beyonce

Oops!... I did it again by Britney Spears

Government Hooker by Lady Gaga

Breakin Dishes by Rihanna

This is her training/mission hype songs. She tried Taylor Swift because Kate Bishop recommended, but it lacked some badassness. She is fond of the "Reputation" album though.

Bob:

Lose Yourself by Eminem

No Money by Galantis

Fantasy by Mariah Carey

American Idiot by Green Day

Bad by Micheal Jackson

Don't Try Sucide by Queen

you should see me in a crown by Billie Eillish

He likes music, but not picky about it. He probably Shazams music and puts it in his playlist without a second thought. He's also taken random recommendation from people he met when he was high.

Some insane D&B that no one can listen to if they are fully sane

Like Him by Tyler the Creator

Bucky:

Lots of Queen, "Save Me", "I Want to Break Free" and "Too Much Love Will Kill You" as notable repeats

Lots of The Beatles too. His favourite is "Twist and Shout"

First Steve introduced it to him as a part of what he has missed. Shuri used to put it on in the lab because "old white man music", and Sam used to put it on the car because "old white man music"

Shake It Off by Taylor Swift

This is the only song he knows from Taylor Swift. But it has made its way to his playlist because it came up one too many times in his attempt to catch up to pop culture.

September by Earth Wind & Fire

Staying Alive by Bee Gees

He actually liked dancing back in the days. Can you blame him?

Any records of 40s music he can find.

He refuses to listen to the music from his era digitally. Claims "it sounds too different"

John Walker:

Piano Man by Billy Joel

Unironically shouts to "Bill, I believe this is killing me" part

Another One Bites to Dust by Queen

Are You Gonna Be My Girl by Jet

Highway to Hell by AC/DC

American Idiot by Green Day

He only started listening to the last one after he killed that guy.

Von Dutch by Charlie XCX

Claims it's his "comfort music" (he has the whole album downloaded)

Ava:

Lofi Jazz

This is my headcanon, but I think because of her condition intense loud music makes sick and irritated.

Classical music, especially dramatic ones by Tchaikovsky

village song by Paris Paloma

Through the Eye of a Child by AURORA

Velvet Ring by Big Thief

Flowy, dramatic music with a touch of female rage is her style

Part of Your World

How Far I Will Go

Colours of the Wind

She also like Disney songs because it makes her feel like she's reclaiming her childhood.

Alexei:

Espresso by Sabrina Carpenter

Juno by Sabrina Carpenter

Super Graphic Ultra Modern Girl by Chappell Roan

Good 4 U by Olivia Rodrigo

Apple by Charlie XCX

Does not know what cringey means. He hears it, he likes it, he listens. He also knows the chants and the dances if there is any.

ETA by NewJeans

ANTIFRAGILE by Le Ssearfim

"These girls are extremely coordinated, Lena! Like you" Makes disturbing comparisons of K-pop groups and the Red Room.

POWER by Kanye West

Thought I was Dead by Tyler the Creator

Not Like Us by Tyler the Creator

Sings the part he's not supposed to sing. Bob had to tell him every single time. John and Bucky visibly gets uncomfortable.

Too many Bruno Mars

[violentdeliiights]

inviting the devil to dance

to have and to hold chapter 1

butcher!simon riley x f!reader

she’s finally here!!!! this chapter has been in the works for a while but i’ve never written smut before so please don’t shout at me if something isn’t mega accurate :D

cw: smut, pussy pronouns, pervy simon, simon takes control obviously, dry humping, very brief mention of death, emotional abuse from a parent, reader has mommy issues, ptsd alluded to, alcohol mentioned, stalking alluded to, mental health issues, excessive adjective use

songs for this chapter: death of a party - blur & sidelines - phoebe bridgers

Some days were worse than others.

Some days, the dread was so colossal that you could feel your joints aching. Cracking, splintering, fracturing. Those days where you feel like a passive puppet, your mother’s words repeating through your being and echoing on loud speaker through your ear drums as she controls your strings.

You think any man would want you? Your own father didn’t. Stupid girl.

I should’ve gotten rid of you when I had the chance. Maybe he’d still be here. Stupid girl.

You’ll never amount to anything. You need me. Stupid girl.

Stupid, stupid girl.

Even now, she haunts you. Over a year in a dark, rotting grave, and her insults still rattle around your skull like an insect stuck in a jar. Buzzing, buzzing, desperate to get out and spread its infection.

Maybe she was right- maybe you did need her.

Otherwise, why would you be here? A random club you didn’t know the name of, abandoned by the girls supposed to take care of you- “Please, we’ll never ask for anything again- it’s been soooo long since we all went out- aren’t you bored of staying inside? You’re no fun anymore, god, you’re so boring-”- with an overpriced, watered down drink in your clasp and a paw-like hand clamped around your waist.

You can’t see his face, both on account of the shitty lights that only flash a blue streak your way every now and then, and the thick black cloth that covers his whole face except his eyes. You’re too drunk to even bother asking about it- not like he’d be able to hear you over the thudding bass, the cheap speakers crackling every now and again with that ear-splitting squeal.

You can’t see his face, but you can feel him. Everywhere. His strong chin is tucked over your shoulder, nuzzling into the crook of your neck as if he’s been there for years, hibernating, resting in a peaceful slumber; carved his own space there and decided he’s never moving again. His fingers flex against your stomach, dimpling the skin on the curve of your stomach, whilst his hips settle against your backside, not grinding just swaying. As if he’s approaching a timid deer, holding out a gentle finger- an olive branch- treading lightly so as not to scare you off, wanting you to eat from the palm of his hand.

Maybe your mother was right- maybe you do need her.

Otherwise, why would you be reaching your spare hand around to hold the back of his neck? Stupid, naive girl. Don’t you know what you’ve just done? It’s too late for you now. You’ve invited the devil to dance.

– – –

“W-wait, I don’t even- ngh” His lips trailing slowly up your neck, “your name- I don’t-”

“Simon.” His lips detach from your neck for all of half a second to grunt out his name. It was more than he’d said in the club, at least, dragging you out and onto the street before you even knew what was happening. You don’t remember the walk to his flat, but you vaguely recognised the shop front below it- a butcher’s maybe?

“S-simon, I don’t do this- I mean, like, I-” You feel childish compared to this brute of a man, his huge shoulders and huge arms and huge hands, his self-assuredness and the way he walks with such confidence, never considering the looks he must get or how others perceive him.

This time, his head fully emerges from your neck, mahogany eyes narrowed, his golden lashes knitting together, “Bird, if you don’t stop moving that mouth I’ll shut you up myself.”

The sound that comes from your throat at his command makes his eyes relax once again, a smugness that you’re sure is written all over the rest of his covered face clouding over them until he rips your hands off the wall where he had pinned them previously and drags you further into the flat. Automatically, you assume he’s taking you to his bedroom until he stops by the worn leather couch in the living room, and seats himself with such force that you’re sure you hear something snap.

“Here, birdie. On m’lap.” God help you, you can’t find it in yourself to disobey, tentatively perching a knee next to his hip, sinking into the well-loved leather, and swinging your other knee over his lap until you’re hovering over his muscular thighs.

“I said, on my lap, darl.” One of his huge paws grips your left hip and forces you down onto him.

“Don’t wanna squash yo-” His head snaps back in a breathless chuckle before you even finish the sentence, eyes crinkling almost condescendingly.

“Then I’ll die a happy man.” Another hand comes to settle on your thigh, squeezing the plush skin there until it dimples in his hold, and you can’t find yourself to think about the normal insecurities- the cellulite, the way the fat on your hip rolls over the top of your thighs, god, did you even shave before you came out?- when he’s holding you. All you can think about is him. “The more of you, the better. Now be a good lass and gimme a kiss.”

He’s waiting for you to make the first move. This is on your terms- somewhat. He’s still commanding you, but he’s waiting for you to listen, giving you a wide berth; you are once again the timid deer, approached by a hunter, his rifle concealed with a gentle facade. If he gets close enough he can put you out of your misery before you even realise.

Your decision whether or not to kiss him is decided the moment one of his calloused hands reaches to fold the edge of his balaclava up to just over his nose bridge. A scarred mouth is revealed to you, a nose that looks too crooked- as if broken years ago and never properly tended to. A chunk of his lip is missing, almost looking bitten off, giving him a permanent snarl and revealing a set of off-white teeth, canines sharper and slightly yellowed.

He’s perfect.

Stupid girl.

The corner of his lips twitches at the audible gulp you let out. His snarl deepens.

The first touch of your lips to his is not like the fairytale stories other girls your age grew up on. There are no fireworks. There are no bluebirds circling your head and chirping a birdsong ballad. It is not soft and gentle.

His hands immediately cup either side of your face, long fingers threading into the downy hair behind your ears. His lips are dry and his tongue seeks your own like it is salvation, an oasis in the middle of the desert, a desperate traveller falling for a mirage.

Thick, coarse denim scratches the delicate skin on the inside of your thighs. Hips rutting up to meet yours in a frenzy, his war fractured body acting of its own accord when in contact with the gentleness of your own. Patience is not a virtue Simon possesses, you think, when his hands detach from your face to grip onto your hips, pushing them down until you’re rolling them against his own in a rhythm he’s happy with. A flush coats your whole body when you consider the fact that you haven’t even seen this man’s whole face, and yet you’re here dry humping him on his beaten couch, something you haven’t done since you were a teenager at a house party. A lost art form.

Mewls emerge from the back of your throat into his awaiting jaws everytime the bulge of his pants catches your clit, “Mmm, there she is. Those lovely noises, give ‘em to me, beauty.” Vibrations spread across your lips as Simon talks against them, barely leaving enough room for his own lips to open.

Your hands come to rest around his neck, pressing your chests together until there isn’t an inch between the two of you. Connected. Tied together. Sitting on his lap gives you a slight height advantage that Simon uses for his own gain, leaning down to press open-mouthed kisses along the skin of your chest. His lips drag with such little grace it would almost make you cringe if it wasn’t for the pure lust in his eyes, hungrily looking up at you through his skewed balaclava. A hand appears at the front of your dress, ripping both the fabric and your bra down forcefully until it sits under your chest.

Dilated pupils rapidly glance between your panting face and your breasts, “You gorgeous fuckin’ creature. Look’t these tits. Made f’me, yeah?” Without waiting for an answer, Simon groans as he latches his drooling mouth around one nipple, thumbing and pinching the other with his free hand, one still occupied with physically grinding your hips against his.

“Yeah, yes- Simon,” Incoherent babbles and moans tumble from your mouth as you tip your head towards his splotchy ceiling, not quite sure what you’re agreeing to but more than willing to do whatever it takes for him to never stop.

Stupid girl.

Wordlessly, Simon’s hand trails from the curve of your hip to snake under the hem of your dress, resting his fingers against your underwear from the back and pinning your chest even further against his relentless mouth. His lips switch to the other nipple as his thick fingers rub against you over your underwear, fingertips catching your clit on every stroke, “She’s so wet f’me. Could feel her through m’jeans, warm and wet as fuck.” His words send another wave of heat through your body, melting your brain like an ice cream cone on a humid day, helpless to the solar inferno that is the man pinned beneath you, running down the cracks of his palms and dripping from his fingers.

You can feel the fabric of your underwear sticking to you, revealing every crease and detail under the almost brutal movements of his fingers, “Won’t be needing these much longer, gorgeous. Give ‘em over.” His fingers move to the band of your knickers resting just above your backside, tugging impatiently until you awkwardly lift one knee at a time so he can take them from you. The two of you separate for a split second as he removes them, your own pupils dilating at the sight of him pocketing your underwear, “What’s yours is mine, eh darl?”

His hips never stop moving against yours, if anything feeling your bare pussy against the thick denim of his jeans spurs him on, on a mission to make you come even if it is with the metal of his zipper.

You should hate it. It should be uncomfortable and gross- painful if nothing else. But his brutality only sends a flood of arousal to both your brain and your pussy, feeling yourself begin to hurtle towards the edge faster than you’d expected, “Simon, I’m gonna- don’t stop. Please.”

“Yeah? You close, birdie? That nice? Go on, come for me. Play with your tits n’come all over me.” He grabs your hands from around your neck and places them on your chest so that both of you are grabbing and tugging at your nipples, his hands folded over your own. “Come on- wanna smell you on me for days. Wank off into your underwear to the smell of you.”

Simon’s gross words send you over the edge. He’s so blunt about his pervertedness it knocks you for six, your ears ringing and mouth drying up as your head falls forward to rest your forehead on his shoulder. A tattooed hand grips both sides of your face and twists your head. Forcing you to look up at him, his eyes are blown out with lust (not unlike your own, you imagine) and his mouth is slightly ajar on a pant, as if he was the one whos brain was just rattled by an orgasm. His grasp on your face allows him to pull you up to meet his lips, smearing them together with such little grace it tears a gasp from your lungs.

Resting his forehead against your own sweat-slicked one, Simon speaks against your lips whilst smushing them together into a pout, “Gonna give you a choice here, birdie. Either we stay here and I can eat that gorgeous cunt, or I take you to bed and stuff you so full you can’t move. What’ll it be, sweet thing?” He’s so matter of fact it makes you pause, brain struggling to tell your lips how to form enough words to answer his question.

“Second one. Please.” Simon’s smug smile deepens when he sees how fucked out you are from dry humping him on his settee, imagining the blissed out faces you’ll be making when he finally gets to stuff you full.

Strong fingers move to grip either one of your thighs just below your backside. He stands with no difficulty, making you squeak softly in surprise and rush to wrap your hands around his neck and legs around his waist. The hardwood floor of his flat groans and creaks with each of his booted footsteps, shifting to accommodate his weight.

“Thought you might. Let’s get you to bed then, eh?”

_ _ _

7 MONTHS LATER

Every so often, your brain catapults you back to that night.

The night when your inhibitions were lowered. For once, you weren’t overthinking every detail, every action, every word, every noise. How much space you took up. Whether the way you breathed would annoy the person you were with.

Even though you’d quote-on-quote ‘known’ Simon for all of an hour before he’d taken you back to his flat, you couldn’t think of any other time in your life that you’d felt so…you. So free.

As soon as you’d crept out of his flat after he’d fallen asleep, you had been shoved back to reality. An ice-cold tsunami in the face that you’d probably never see him again.

Sure, there was a small chance you’d bump into him in the supermarket or wander past the pub and catch a glimpse of him sat at the bar. But you’d have to learn to accept that that night was just that. One night.

Men like him don’t go for girls like you anyway. Weak, easily overwhelmed. Stupid.

Stupid girl.

University had meant that the memories of that night had become fewer and farther between, scattered sporadically amongst droves of random information, references, essay plans, letters from student finance, worries about how on earth you were supposed to finish your thesis on time, worries about whether your part-time minimum wage job at the charity shop was going to even touch the mounting student debt.

In short, the memory of that night and Simon only really came to you when you saw something that jogged your memory. The cafe on campus began selling skull shaped cookies for Halloween. Sometimes people would donate piles of men’s clothes for the charity shop and there would be a worn, coarse pair of jeans stuffed in the bottom of the bag. The second-hand furniture shop on the way home from uni had a cracked leather couch the exact same shade as Simon’s in the front window for months. Even the song playing in the club when you met- as shitty as it was- seemed to do the rounds on the radio and every social media site you had a profile on.

The butcher’s shop below his flat was the one place you hadn’t yet dared to venture. As much as you had accepted that there was a chance you very well could bump into him in the small village you lived in, that shop felt too definite. Like if you even made it within a 100 meter radius of the shop front, he’d come barreling out to you like your life was an episode of ‘Punk’d’, a camera crew trailing to capture him giving you a dose of brutal reality.

No man will ever want you. Stupid girl.

Every now and then you felt this strange sensation pass over you. Not like you were being watched, or someone was there. More just a crackle of energy over your skin. As if someone else knew you were there. It simultaneously felt grounding and alarming, though there was nothing you could do about it. You’d chalked it up to the mounting stress of life.

You felt like you were watching the world go by. Work and school almost came as reprieves from your own head. Sure, you had friends. Your housemates were some of your favourite people, you got along with your coursemates as much as one could, your grandparents sent text messages checking in from time to time. But there was an ache in your chest. Something solid. Something dark. Something suffocating. Blocking the passage of oxygen to your lungs and brain. You could only really liken it to being a can of soda. Shaken vigorously, everyday acting as something new coming along and violently shaking you. Pressure building throughout your entire body. Ready to burst, but the tab never being popped.

For one night, Simon had popped that tab. He’d taken you in and kept you there, relinquishing your control just enough to where it didn’t feel overwhelming to make a choice- it felt natural.

Now, you were back to that previous state. Dragging yourself through life. Slogging through long shifts with no breaks so there was no silent time with your thoughts. Turning up at university every single day because anything was better than sitting in your bedroom and thinking. Having to be inside your own head 24/7.

Being around you is exhausting. Stupid girl.

I know, mother.

Being me is exhausting.

[elliespotion]

More Musician!Ellie Headcanons!

i am genuinely thinking about these at 3 am

please just humor me for a second, singer!reader isn’t a theater kid but has always loved it so much but ellie? not so much. (theater kids are welcome i love you guys.)

Musician!Ellie who does not like musicals at all, she thinks they’re cheesy as hell and breaking into song is weird to her.

She wasn’t supposed to come home from a party for a while so you put on one of your favorite musical soundtracks. (maybe happy ending soundtrack for me rn.)

Musician!Ellie who comes home, annoyed as hell over some stupid guy who spilled beer over her shirt, she walks into your shared home and hears music and your soft singing.

Musician!Ellie who creepily leans against the door frame and watches you play your favorite game while listening and finds it absolutely adorable.

Your awkward ass who turns around to grab your drink and sees her, gets absolutely spooked and turns the music off.

Musician!Ellie who would literally rather lick a cheese grater than listen to a broadway soundtrack but loves how happy you look while you’re singing along.

She decides to turn the music back on, starting the album from the beginning so she can talk to you about the plot and try to understand everything that’s going on.

But boy oh boy do you have multiple bootlegs of this musical. This actress with this actor? The same actress with a different actor? She names it you basically have it.

Musician!Ellie who finds it weird but intriguing that you’re so into musicals this intensely.

Musician!Ellie who figures out that the binder in your closet isn’t full of weird, embarrassing songs but actually it’s full of playbills… (this might be a dig at me i have unfortunately spent so much money on them.)

Musician!Ellie who gets intrigued by a plot of one of the musicals and asks if you can watch one together?

Which literally leaves you wondering if you’re actually dreaming and dream Ellie is fucking with you.

But you two end up watching La La Land (a movie you’ve seen and cried to a thousand times but Ellie never wanted to watch it because who cries to musicals?)

You fall asleep but Ellie doesn’t turn it off, getting really upset about the end of the movie. (iykyk.) She goes to talk to you about it but you’re passed out at this point.

She turns off the movie and cuddles you, unfortunately for her now you have her listening and watching every musical you love.

hopefully this was alright? definitely wasn’t proofread bc i’m writing this half awake at 3 am but hey! when inspiration strikes you have to just go for it.

[ohdorothea]

I am personally very supportive of the Taylor’s Version project AND I am excited for rep and Debut TV AND I reserve my right to talk shit about the differences between the TV’s and the OG’s!

I am gonna be picky about the TV’s not actually sounding like to originals if that’s what happens! I am gonna be excited about vault songs! I am gonna be honest about what I think about every project Taylor ever releases and everything ever because it’s my blog!!!

Today I have seen too many posts saying that anyone who is excited for rep tv AND then finds problems with the re-records is annoying/a spoil sport/just causing problems or whatever and like!!!!!! I’m kind of sick of it!!!!!!

As a fan I can both be supportive of Taylor’s attempt to reclaim her art AND critical of the attempts at recreating the albums I have replayed hundreds of times

I’d love to hear no differences between the two versions and always support Taylor as an artist but also I can’t change the way my ears work and how different some of the Taylor’s versions have ended up from the originals!

[redhuntressnewtrail04]

An Epic Prophecy

Aglaea: Has anyone seen teacher?

Tribbie: We're here, Aggy!

Trinnon: Just having a drink.

Phainon:...Excuse me, Lady Tribios but is there-

Twin Ts: There's no alcohol in this goblet.

Hyacine: Just making sure.

TMC: Despite their actual age, they can't handle their liquor, right?

Hyacine: Yeah, Lady Aglaea made it illegal to give any of them a single drop of alcohol.

Dan Heng: With their current size, any amount would be bad for them, but wouldn't making such a thing illegal be a bit much?

Phainon: Not after the Incident.

TMC: I'm intrigued.

Aglaea: I should first say that this was one of the few instances that had all the current chrysos heirs in one place for an extended period, and second, this was the first time we're all meeting each other at the same time.

Hyacine: With that said during our first meetings, we were a bit...

Cipher: Chaotic.

Dan Heng: How bad was this meeting?

Phainon: Well...

*Flashback*

Castorice: Lady Cipheria, please, put an end to you games.

Cipher: That's Cipher, to you miss homebody.

Hyacine: Excuse me.

Mydei: *Dodges a sword swing* Is that the best you got, Deliverer!

Phainon: I'm just getting warmed up, Mydeimos!

Hyacine: Excuse me!

Anaxa: Is this how the great Gold Weaver leads? With those who follow her acting like wild animals ready to tear out the throats of one another?

Aglaea: At least they don't constantly question every word I utter, not unlike a certain blasphemer that causes more issues to the flame chase journey than any of the other chrysos heirs combined.

Hyacine: HEY!

Chrysos Heirs: !

Hyacine: *Ahem* Pardon my rudeness, but should Lady Tribbios be drinking that entire bottle?

Trianne: Hey! *hiccup* No one likes at tattle tale!

Aglaea: Teacher, give me the bottle.

Tribbie: No! *hiccup* this is supposed to be a *hiccup* party!

Phainon: Who brought the wine? Didn't they know that kids would be here.

Trinnon: We're *hiccup* older than *hiccup* your grandparents *hiccup* grandparents.

Hyacine: Perhaps you should lay down.

Cipher: They don't look that bad.

*The Tribbilets then collapse*

Cipher: I spoke to soon.

Aglaea: TEACHER!

Anaxa:...I didn't think she could be so loud.

Hyacine: Their vitals seem to be ok but they're all mumbling something.

*Suddenly the Tribbilets get on their feet*

Phainon: Lady Tribbios ?

Tribbie: *points at Aglaea* I see a song of past romance.

Trinnon: *hugs Trianne* I see the sacrifice of man.

Trianne: *looks at Mydei* I see portrayals of betrayals...

Tribbie: *gestures at Anaxa* ...and a brother's final stand.

Trinnon: *starts crying as she points at Castorice* I see you on the brink of death.

Trianne: *Also cries as clutches Cipher's legs* I see you draw your final breath.

Tribbie: *Nearly sobbing as see looks at Hyacine* I see an heir that gets to make it home alive...

Tribbilets: *They all look at Phainon with slight fear* ...but it's no longer you.

*The trio collapse once more*

Phainon:...What?

*Flashback ends*

Dan Heng:...

TMC:...

Phainon: And that's why Lady Tribbios is no longer allowed to take alcohol.

TMC: Wha- How- Huh?

Dan Heng: What they mean to say is, The fuck was that?!

Hyacine: Dannie!

Aglaea: It's fine Hyacine, they haven't even heard the worst part yet.

TMC: It gets worse!

Phainon: Triple the drunk, triple the hangover.

Dan Heng: I can only imagine how bad it was for those three.

Cipher: It was worse for the other Tribbios that were still around back then.

Hyacine: On top of me taking care of the three we had with us.

Cipher: I had to run back and forth to find and bring the others that suddenly received three times the hangover, don't even get me started on catching the Tribbios that were flying at time!

Aglaea: I had to stay awake for several days to make sure the rest of Okhema didn't notice anything.

Phainon: And when Lady Tribbios recovered, none of them remembered anything.

TMC: That has to be the worst.

Aglaea: No, the worst was still hearing the voice of a grown woman coming out of teacher's mouth every time your alone with your thoughts.

[epicfroggz]

Inktober 2024 Day 7 - Bloom

Oh, God, turn me into a flower…

[sunflowerpirateart]

“Waiting…. waiting! For you…”

[fbfh]

do you still write for jj?

ooooh not only do I write for JJ but I kiss you on both cheeks for giving me an excuse to talk about one of my favorite obscure JJ thoughts. JJ x ballerina!reader (gn so technically ballet dancer reader, but you do dance pointe and in a more feminine style in pas de deux so do with that what you will)

They thought you were a kook for the first few summers since you clearly went to school off the island. It turns out you're not, you're just a scholarship kid to whatever fancy school you go to (something that Pope LOVES to pick your brain about since he's dying for a scholarship to his dream college)

at some point or another, there's a hurricane. you end up sticking it out with the other pogues. that's when they notice how... weirdly flexible you are. especially JJ. mostly JJ. it started off small, with you stretching a little while you guys are hanging out in the aftermath since the day after a hurricane is always a free day. JJ looked away from you for like two seconds and you just fuckin... dropped into a perfect split. he's surprised by this obviously, but he's more surprised when you seamlessly shift to a split on the other side, then a center split, bending and moving with impossibly flexibility. then a moment later, you're asking him "hey can you grab my leg?" as you stand up and stretch into a scorpion/needle pose. soon you're dragging him out of the room to "help you with something else." he FULLY thinks yall are about to hook up, but instead you put on this beautiful, artsy, erratic piano music, kick off your sandals or sneakers or whatever, and begin moving like a fucking vision.

you're rambling to him while you dance like it's nothing, but his jaw is on the fucking floor.

"This is the solo I learned last semester," you chuckle while spinning like a little figurine atop a music box, or something in a snow globe, or... wherever else he's seen ballerinas in passing before.

"If I'm rusty by the time I get back, Miss Raine will kill me." you chuckle playfully.

after a few moments, you finish, posed delicately on the ground. you look up at him, your cheeks flushed, your eyes glistening with mirth.

"holy fucking shit," he exclaims, making you blush. "goddamn, princess, that-"

he trails off with a disbelieving chuckle.

"That was fuckin' incredible," he says with a breathy laugh, then nudges you playfully, looking at you more closely like he must have missed something all those times he looked at you and never saw this magical ballet fairy hiding inside you. "you've been holdin' out on me." he teases.

"okay, okay, here's where I need your help." you begin, trying not to get too distracted. you reach out and grab his wrist, holding out his left arm palm up. "I'm gonna run at you like this-"

you demonstrate, taking a step forward. his attention is locked onto you even harder from the moment you grab his arm.

"And kinda... kick my leg around," you do just that, so you're twisted around and facing away from him. he lets out a little noise of surprise. you know it must seem convoluted and ridiculous, but you really need help practicing this lift.

"I need you to wrap your arm around me like this," you say, bending forward with one leg extended behind you, the other supporting you, so your stomach rests on his bicep and his hand holds the small of your back. "And then place your other hand right on my ribcage here."

"oh, my hand will be wherever you want it, cupcake." he says, making you roll your eyes at the (only half joking) innuendo.

"okay." you say, taking a step back. "you ready?"

the first few times you walk through it together are clumsy and slow, a mess of limbs and giggles, but eventually you get it. you call your friends in to show them the bluebird lift you've been working on, even having successfully taught JJ how to lower you and do a few basic steps with you to conclude. you both get through it unscathed, and your friends reactions are very similar to JJ (with only slightly less innuendo and teasing from John B and Pope), and as JJ giggles and demands you come at him so he can lift you again, you start to see a lot of potential in him.

maybe, just maybe, you can shape that potential a little more over the summer. your ballet academy always has scholarships for boys available since they're always in demand in the performing arts. you think there might just be a chance for JJ to do a lot more lifts with you.

[corvid-language-library]

FF7 I love you but why do none of your kids sound like kids