#however her lyrics make no sense

[cpunkbubby]

Melina KB's music isnt even that bad u guys r just mean 4 no rzn

[velvetjune]

the chapter songs in Alan Wake 2,, flawless

[buoyantsaturn]

what song includes a lyric that contains your current age (ex "nobody likes you when you're 23" from what's my age again by blink 182) and do you feel like that line is an accurate depiction of your life right now

[theoreticalli]

I put 30 tags on that dear evan hansen post. for the love of god don't click to expand the tags I'm so fucking sorry I just hate that awful fucking show so fucking much. oh fuck I've done it again in the tags here oh god

[5-htagonist]

ahahahahahahahahahaha i just found out fall out boy was one of taylor swifts main lyrical influences is so fucking funny

[usuallydyinginside]

"No One Mourns the Wicked" is about Glinda, not Elphaba

Okay, but hear me out. Wicked songs are so good at saying one thing and meaning something entirely different once you have more context. For instance, "I'm Not That Girl" is Elphaba singing about Glinda initially, then in Act 2 flips to Glinda singing about Elphaba. Because it turns out, Elphaba IS that girl and Glinda is not. When we meet the Wizard, he sings about how he always wanted to be a father. When you get to Act 2, you get the sad little reprise in the background music as he realizes that WHOOPS, he was one and he destroyed his only kid. "Defying Gravity" starts with "I hope you're happy" in the sarcastic sense and ends with them both using the same phrase to genuinely wish one another well.

"Thank Goodness" is set up as a cheerful engagement song where Glinda genuinely means "thank goodness for how great my life is" and ends in a place where she's insisting that she IS happy even as she realizes her engagement is a sham, her best friend is gone, and she's left with the Wizard and Madame M, who she doesn't even like.

You get the picture.

Basically, the whole musical is about subverting what you expect, starting with the base premise of "what if the Wicked Witch was the hero of the story" and digging in from there.

Honestly, I'd never paid much attention to the first song. It's a good opener, sets things up well, but it has some big competition with later songs. However, in the movie the staging and camera choices made me really notice it for the first time. Because you know what? Someone DID pay attention to that song, and you can really really tell.

For those who need a refresher, the lyrics to the chorus Glinda sings are: And Goodness knows The Wicked's lives are lonely Goodness knows The Wicked die alone It just shows when you're Wicked You're left only On your own I was always so busy noticing Glinda's grief over thinking Elphaba was genuinely dead that I failed to notice Glinda's grief over her OWN fate. The movie did such a good job with this because every time we get to the pink lines about being alone, Glinda IS alone. She is standing apart from the crowd who adores her. Standing above them. Standing at the center of a bunch of people yet still, isolated.

Because in the end, we know that Elphaba DIDN'T die alone. We know she wasn't on her own. We know her life WASN'T lonely ultimately. She had her flying monkey and animal friends. She had Fiyero.

And who does Glinda have?

Everyone, but realistically, no one. She is an ideal, not a person to most of Oz, just as much as Elphaba has become the token scapegoat. Where Elphaba is the "Wicked Witch," Glinda is "Glinda the Good Witch" - she is literally supposed to be the embodiment of goodness.

And what does Glinda have at the end of this whole thing (as of this song at least)? A disastrous end to her engagement, the death of her best friend, a sorceress who has hated her, demeaned her, and dismissed her from the start, and a con man who is also just a symbol more than a person.

I think it really hit me when Glinda throws the fire on the giant effigy of Elphaba. Ariana's acting was SO good there, because I'd expected us to see that private moment of horror or regret. What I didn't expect was the sort of determined and almost angry glare at the effigy.

But it makes sense. At this point, Glinda has realized that she lost everything and everyone she actually cared about.

As she so aptly puts it in "Thank Goodness"...

Though it is, I admit The tiniest bit Unlike I anticipated. But I couldn't be happier, Simply couldn't be happier, Well, not "simply" 'Cause getting your dreams It's strange, but it seems A little, well, complicated.

There's a kind of a sort of cost. There's a couple of things get lost. There are bridges you cross You didn't know you crossed Until you've crossed!

And if that joy, that thrill Doesn't thrill like you think it will Still-- With this perfect finale, The cheers and the ballyhoo! Who wouldn't be happier? So I couldn't be happier, Because happy is what happens When all your dreams come true.

Well, isn't it?

Happy is what happens when you're dreams come true.

It's not Elphaba's fault that Glinda has ended up this way. Glinda chose it every step of the way. Yet, if Glinda had never met Elphaba, (if she'd never known her, you could say), she might have stayed shallow and vain. She might never have been challenged to look deeper and realize how empty it all felt.

So as Glinda sings "No One Mourns the Wicked," she realizes that even if the Munchkins are singing about the "Wicked Witch," she's not.

She's singing about herself.

The one who traded her morals, friendship, and love for a taste of the admiration and power over those who don't really know her. The one who was so worried about being likable that she herself doesn't like who she's become.

Even after she makes things better for Oz and herself by sending the wizard away and getting rid of Madame M, it just leaves Glinda by herself as the leader and source of goodness in Oz. It leaves her on a pedestal she can never step off of.

It leaves her lonely.

Entirely alone.

[dallaji]

Hope we make it to the Cloud.

♡ bada lee x idol!reader / NSFW❗

SUMMARY: Amidst an identity crisis, you try to adequately prepare for your solo comeback. The lyrics have already been perfected, the song recorded and the visuals pinpointed. However, your creative team is not fully convinced by the choreography you came up with. They decide to send over one Bada Lee to help you finetune your jumbled ideas and bring harmony to your vision. You just have one specific request: the routine must include a trampoline.

WORD COUNT: 10k

CW: eventual smut, bada is 100% a giver and not a receiver in this jsyk (but i promise it makes sense in context), hinted voyeurism.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: this was meant to be pure smut but it became much longer than i intended ... oops for that . . . lets just roll with it!!1 also the choreo described is heavily inspired by tinashes bouncin.

- you don't care about those 7k words worth of boring build up? skip to this line: <After ten minutes of complete silence, Bada was the one to speak in a hushed voice: “What happened?”>

————— ୨୧ —————

The first thing you notice is how surprisingly gentle her voice is. 

“I’m Bada, it’s nice to finally meet you.”

Bada Lee stood tall in front of you, clad in an oversized jersey, cargo pants and a cap hugging her forehead in such a way her eyes were entirely obscured from your view. She promptly bowed after she spoke. Unsure where to look, you dropped your gaze and followed suit; vaguely aware of her seniority and bowing deeper.

“It’s nice to meet you too,” You tried to keep your own voice as neutral as possible, but agitation bubbled in your chest as you felt your manager’s prodding, eager eyes behind you. “Thanks for being here.”

Your team was much more excited about this collaboration than you were.

None of the aggravation you felt was Bada’s fault. It had been three weeks of your creative team dismissing every choreo draft you came up with: Three weeks of sleepless nights at the dance studio, tiring out yourself and your background dancers. Three weeks of browsing through videos sent in by other choreographers across the country, attempting to mix bits and pieces together but none of it ever feeling right. Three weeks filled with reminders of a deadline looming over your head. Three weeks of your team letting you know they had little confidence in this comeback. Your last attempt at showing them what you had come up with had ended up in a shouting match. Your manager, who you otherwise got along with just fine, bluntly stated that, perhaps, this concept simply wasn’t something you could pull off.

It had left you feeling betrayed. Your creative team had agreed it was time for you to approach a more mature concept, something that you felt was years overdue. But it seemed their definition of mature and yours were wildly different. You had worked hard on perfecting a set of songs to choose from, but you immediately butted heads with the rest of the team. You wanted to do the bouncy and playful R&B track. Your team wanted the EDM track. Eventually they relented, but now seemed hellbent on making it as difficult as possible for your vision to come to fruition. Putting together the visual board for the concept photos and the eventual music video was a similarly arduous process. You had to meet in the middle and sacrifice a lot of your initial ideas, but that procedure was almost pleasant compared to what you were dealing with in regards to the choreography.

Every idea you put forward was promptly shut down. Too complicated. Too boring. No TikTok challenge potential. Too sexy.

And maybe it was true. Your formations weren’t as clean as the ones thought up by a professional choreographer, but you weren’t really given a chance at all. It wasn’t like you were a bad dancer either. Far from it. You picked up choreos incredibly fast and had always played an active part in brainstorming past routines alongside your background dancers. You had more experience than most of your peers, yet you were treated as if you were still the same teenaged trainee from years ago.

“Is that really how you all feel?” You had whispered after your manager dropped that bombshell, searching for an answer in the facial expressions of your creative team. Most of them were not even willing to meet your eyes. “We just need to be realistic.” Your manager stated matter-of-factly. “That other song is still an opt—” “I am not changing the song.” You cut him off. Momentarily, your manager looked like a fish on dry land, gasping for air. “Sorry.” You added quickly, albeit a bit flustered. “Look,” He sighed, “We can do mature without shocking the nation. Let's keep it mild for now and maybe after two or three more singles, you can go all out.” “I haven’t been 18 in years, you know.” You retorted bitterly. Something inside you understood where he was coming from, but you had been obedient since your debut- how much longer should you wait? You didn’t want to sacrifice any more of your creativity, so many years into your career. You had even seen one of your own concepts go to a labelmate instead, your own team dubbing you too “youthful” to pull it off.  “Okay, how about this,” He began with a frown, “Let us pick one of the choreographers’ drafts for you. You can finetune it with their guidance.”

Their pick had been Bada. You hadn’t even realized she sent in a draft: at one point you were so overwhelmed you just stopped checking your emails. You also hadn’t bothered to watch it before this meeting. You were genuinely too deep in your feelings about that whole ordeal for that. However, now that she was standing in the studio, tall height towering over you, you couldn’t help but feel a little self conscious. 

You had seen Bada around.

After all, she had worked with many of your labelmates before. You had also watched a fair amount of her videos. She was one of the best in the business, and whenever you had downtime to practice freely you scrolled through her routines on Youtube to help stay in shape. As you were facing her, even with half her face hidden, you understood why everyone was so stricken with her. When she had walked into the room she oozed with authority, though not in an obnoxious way.

“Great!” Your manager clapped his hands, effectively breaking your train of thought. “Thank you so much for supporting us, Bada. Shall we jump right in?”

“Sure,” She nodded eagerly, hands wringing together as her body turned towards you. “I kind of wanted to see what you had in mind for this choreo.”

That surprised you, and you were certain your facial expression wasn’t hiding it. Your manager held his breath. “Oh! Well—” You chewed on your lip as you vaguely motioned the corner of the room, trying to find the words. “I wanted to use… I wanted to use a trampoline.”

Bada immediately turned her head to follow your gestures, her eyes landing on the mini trampoline set up in the studio. “A trampoline?” In the background, your manager heaved a sigh.

You purposely ignored him and nodded, slowly: “I can show you, if you want.” You had hoped that sounded more self-assured to her than it did to you.

Bada scratched her chin, still looking off to the trampoline, and then nodded along with you. “I’d love to see it.” 

You felt the tension in your chest ebb away. There was no malice to her tone; she seemed genuinely curious.

Then, Bada turned her head towards your manager, her ponytail falling off her shoulder. “I hope I'm not imposing but, I would like this to be a collaborative effort between the two of us. I think it would take the pressure off if you…?” She trailed off with a kind smile, one impossible to say no to.

As if he got doused with cold water, your manager stood up with an urgency. “Privacy! I can give you two some privacy, no problem!” He fussed around, gathering his things. “Just let me know when we can sit in on the finished product.”

The both of you bowed to him as you bid your farewells, watching him leave the studio with a wave. Once the door shut behind him, you could feel yourself exhale in relief. You knew that if your manager was going to sit in on every practice, he would go out of his way to shut down all of your ideas. Without him around, you had more opportunity to champion your vision- at least, you hoped so.

You craned your neck, looking up at the ceiling, before letting your eyes fall shut with a sigh, almost forgetting there was another person in the room.

“They’ve been on your case, huh?” 

Bada's soft but clear voice broke you out of your spell, and you turned your head to search for a glimpse of eye contact. Tough luck, as her hat was still in place casting a shadow down her face. There was, however, a knowing smirk playing across her features.

“You have no idea.” You muttered honestly. Bada laughed.

“I don’t want to make you dance a routine you don’t fully stand behind. I did mean it when I said I want this to be a collaborative effort.” Bada spoke carefully, but sincerely, her fingers once again intertwining. “I always wanted to work with you, so it’s an honor.” She added.

If you got a penny for every time you were caught off guard today, you could set some humble savings aside for an early retirement.

It is true that you’ve been sought after, but it wasn’t something you had ever internalized. Hearing it come from someone who herself was heavily sought after, made your face heat up.

“T- thank you. It’s an honor to work with you too.”

She bowed her head humbly, glancing over to the corner of the studio again where the trampoline sat, waiting. “Do you feel comfortable showing me what you have been working on?”

You nodded and rushed to the corner to set up your speaker, and then dragged the trampoline to the center of the room. You were oddly aware of your own presence, and almost felt the urge to make yourself smaller as you moved around. In the meantime, Bada was getting comfortable: she had dropped her things on a nearby table and left out a bottle of water. To her it must be a regular working day, but to you this felt scarier than getting up on stage.

Once you stood behind the trampoline, facing the wide stretched mirror filling up one side of the room, you stole a glance at the choreographer who was now crouched on the floor. She had pulled out a small camera and was setting it up on the edge of the table, making sure the lens was focused on your position. Long fingers fiddled with the buttons, and her tongue was prodding the hollow of her cheek. The angle allowed you to finally catch a glimpse of her eyes.

As if on cue, she glanced up at you. Your eyes met in the reflection of the mirror and your heart raced.

She gave you a soft smile and moved to sit cross-legged on the floor, the camera now fully set up. “I usually record everything, so we can watch it back and give feedback.”

Right, of course.

“Yeah, that’s usually how we operate as well.” You spoke timidly, and it was true. Yet something about having her attention on you felt more intimate. Usually there was at least one other person from your creative team looking on as well.

Trying to come across casual, you tied your hair up in a high ponytail. “What do you think of the song?” You asked curiously.

It was now Bada’s turn to be caught off guard. Her smile faltered and she broke the eye contact you had been sharing, clasping her hands together as she spoke. “I like it.” She began. “A lot, actually. It’s why I wanted to play a part in it. There isn’t anyone doing a song like this nowadays.”

Even though her body language was confusing, you couldn’t find any dishonesty in her voice. What she said made you feel relieved, some of your insecurity fading to the background. It’s why I wanted to play a part in it. 

You sent a smile her way even though you weren’t sure she was even looking at you. 

Proving you wrong, she smiled back.

“Alright, so,” You gestured to the trampoline at your feet. “The idea is, the other dancers and I all do the same routine. I'll be front and center. Four or six other dancers dance behind me, with their own trampoline.” You gave the trampoline a light shove with your foot, making sure it would stay in place, and then grabbed your phone. “Then you have an idea.” 

You looked over your shoulder at Bada and gave her an inquisitive thumbs up. “Ready?” You asked.

Bada pressed a button on the camera and mimicked your thumbs up with a smile. “Ready when you are.”

You faced the mirror again and shook your shoulders a bit, forcing your body to loosen up. After twisting your neck a few times, you hit play on your phone, quickly placing it under the trampoline as the familiar synths of the song started blaring from the speakers. You tried to feel the confidence you were usually able to conjure up on stage, closing your eyes and swaying your hips, ponytail moving from side to side. 

As soon as you heard your own voice through the speakers, instrumentals going deeper, you got into position. Your eyes opened up to focus on your own reflection in the mirror as if it was a fan in the crowd watching. Mouthing along to the lyrics, a playful smile on your lips, you hit every move as you had envisioned. Once the chorus came up, you dropped to your knees on the trampoline, grappling the edge as you performed the routine. Pushing back against the springs gave you the velocity to keep your moves fluid, your body twisting and turning, flipping over and hitting the next move. You made sure to move your hips deftly, aware that you had enough curves to allow you to pull it off, and kept your facial expressions in line. It had to look effortless. 

You felt your ponytail swing along with your movements as if it were an extension of you, and sat up on the trampoline. The chorus came to an end and you used your arm strength to twist yourself around fast enough, gracefully falling back on your chest whilst keeping your toes en pointe in your sneakers. The tips of your fingers were touching the floor as your legs crossed, moving to rest your elbow on the edge of the trampoline and resting your chin atop your palm. You lip synced to the final words of the chorus, gaze alluring as you finished the move, and the music stopped.

You slowly sat up straight on the trampoline, crossing your legs, and slid your hand underneath to hit pause on your phone. You looked towards Bada expectantly, but the question got stuck in your throat. She was staring at you, mouth slightly agape, with an unreadable expression. For a split second you were reminded of your trainee days, when you had just finished a routine and were met by your choreographers’ stern faces; they wouldn’t spare you a single compliment, and instead listed off every mistake you had made.

But then, Bada blinked once and then twice, as if in a daze, and let out a soft “woah”. She started applauding you, shaking her head in bafflement. You felt your shoulders drop in relief.

“That was incredible!” The choreographer took off her cap, fixing her bangs before putting it back on. “You came up with this?”

You nodded slowly, the tips of your ears glowing hot. “I used to be a gymnast.”

“I can tell—” Bada spoke bluntly, but then snapped her mouth shut as if she said something wrong. “I mean, that was really good. Every part of your body was in command. Your team didn’t like it?”

“They think it’s too much, compared to my usual routines.” You had the urge to go off on a tangent, but ultimately you didn’t know Bada well enough. Unfortunately, you were naturally quite expressive and the disapproving frown on your face was on clear display.

“Too much? I kind of wanted more, actually.” She laughed softly, looking down to where her legs were crossed. You felt your heart skip a beat and bowed your head in lieu of a thanks. 

Subsequently, the bright green light of the camera caught your attention. It was still recording. 

“Hey, I think the camera is still on.” You spoke before you realized, and hoped it didn’t sound accusatory.

“Huh? Oh!” Her expression was almost akin to a child being caught with a hand in a cookie jar, the way she swiped at the camera to turn it off. “Sorry. Good call.” She mumbled shyly, tucking it behind her. 

You weren’t sure what to say next, still flustered at her lofty praises, but luckily Bada broke the momentary silence.

“I had an idea…” She began, her hand rubbing at her chin pensively. “I don’t know if you’ve had the chance to watch my draft yet?”

You shook your head abashedly. “No, sorry, I honestly didn’t get to it.”

“It’s fine.” Bada waved her hands dismissively. “Maybe instead of doing the trampoline routine in every chorus, we could only do it in the middle? Exactly as it is. I wouldn’t change anything. And then for the other two choruses, we could keep some key moves but keep it on the floor.”

You mulled it over for a second, glancing up at the ceiling contemplatively. Using the trampoline the whole way through was not an option, according to your team. They had felt you were toeing the line with ‘raunchy’ much too closely. Perhaps you could find middle ground this way, while still keeping the part of the routine you felt most proud of. 

“Okay.” You agreed, nodding slowly. “We would need something special for the final chorus, then.”

“I had another idea for that, if you’re fine with it. Would you like to watch my draft with me?”

————— ୨୧ —————

Her draft was good. Really good, actually. 

Bada and you were sitting on the floor next to each other, the taller girl holding her phone out in front of you as the draft played on the screen. You were sitting quite closely together, but not close enough to be touching, a conscious decision on your part. You were a bit too aware of her presence, something about her was heightening your senses in a variety of ways. It wasn’t even as if she was stern or unkind, she just had an aura that intimidated you. At least, that’s what you were telling yourself.

A blonde girl you didn’t recognize was dancing your parts. Six other dancers, one of them being Bada, were in formation behind her performing the choreography perfectly in sync as your song played in the background. While you should really be paying attention to the girl in the center, your eyes couldn’t leave Bada’s figure. In the video she was dressed in loose-fitting cargo pants, just like today, and a crop top. Once again she wore a cap covering half her face, and even a face mask, but her hair hung loose over her shoulders. 

You were always impressed by the small movements she was able to squeeze in, emphasizing certain parts in ways the other dancers weren’t able to. However, it was the final chorus that had your hands turn clammy.

The final chorus was a duet formation. Bada, with a quiet confidence in her step, and the blonde girl moved towards each other in the center of the room. They were effectively dancing for each other, the blonde girl whipping her head back as Bada stared her down, swaying their hips together rhythmically. Their steps were coordinated in such a way they almost mirrored, Bada rolling her body one way and the blonde girl moving the other; but it still felt cohesive. It was an intimate choreo. There were a few split moments of hips grinding against crotches, but it never lasted long enough to be straight up inappropriate. Still, you couldn’t help but realize you would have to practice this routine with Bada as well, and you felt yourself getting hot under the collar.

The choreo ended with the blonde girl giving Bada a playful shove, and the taller girl backed away slowly, a saunter in her step, before moving off the screen along with the other background dancers. The video ended and Bada dropped her phone in her lap, not looking at you.

“That was good.” You were relieved your voice came out evenly, and Bada started nodding in her trademark way, hands clasped together. “The formations were really clean and— I loved the final chorus.” You blurted.

She smirked, head raising and meeting your eyes for the second time today. You were starting to feel eager, greedily watching. 

“I’m glad to hear. We definitely need to finetune the first chorus, line it up with your routine and all that. I really don’t want to lose your input.”

“That sounds great, thank you.” You felt a surge of gratitude in your chest, and shot her a wide smile. “I’m looking forward to working on this together.”

Bada dropped her gaze again, worrying her lower lip. You felt miffed at the brusque interruption of your shared eye contact but didn't show it. 

“I suggest we start with practices tomorrow, we will edit the first chorus as we go,” She whipped out her phone, looking at her calendar. “We should practice the duet together until you’ve got a handle on it, and then I can bring over some of my guys to prep for the actual performances. I know someone for my part. He’s worked with some of your labelmates before, I’m confident he’s right for the job.” 

You couldn’t tell if you were anxious at the prospect of practicing such a choreo with Bada, or if you were disappointed that the eventual product wouldn’t be performed with her. It made sense, though. If your label was already worried your concept was too mature for the country, having two women perform such a choreography wouldn’t be received well at all. 

“Great. Same time tomorrow, just the two of us again?” 

“Same time tomorrow,” The third time she was willing to meet your eyes, and once again with a small smile playing across her features. “Just the two of us.”

————— ୨୧ —————

Working with Bada the past few days has been surprisingly easy. 

On the first day, she brought some iced coffee for the both of you and presented it with an exaggeratedly deep bow, holding out the plastic takeout bag in front of her as if she was a lackey presenting you a treasure. You giggled, muttering an incredulous “thank you” as you took the bag from her hands. Through sips of coffee, the both of you fast forwarded through the recordings trying to piece the choreography together. You were able to bounce ideas off of her in a way you never felt comfortable enough doing with other choreographers. Bada was attentive, patient and, above all, eager. 

On the second day, you wanted to repay your debt and entered the studio with a box of doughnuts. She let out a surprisingly girlish squeak when you laid the box on the table, and barreled over to grab one. That day she was wearing a beanie instead of a cap, something you inadvertently preferred as you could now lock eyes and take in her features. Sometimes you had the impression she was hellbent on looking anywhere except into your eyes, but you didn’t want to mull it over for too long; some people just had a different way of interacting. Everything else about her still left you with a warm feeling.

Sometimes you both took turns performing for each other. She would pull her beanie further down her head as she took the center of the studio, and each time something inside you would brace itself. You could only watch in awe: her movements were sharp and magnetic, her entire body language changing in the blink of an eye. While your attention should be on her footwork, you were instead hypnotized by the sway of her hips, greedily drinking her in. You chalked it up to her being such a captivating dancer.

However, little could explain how much you relished in her undivided attention. When it was your turn to copy the moves, you made sure to give it your all and put on a show. Without a hat obscuring her eyes, you could tell where her eyes were looking and it wasn’t always on your reflection in the mirror. You swore you could feel her gaze burning in your lower back, but you didn’t mind. It encouraged you to hit your moves a bit harder than you usually would.

“You’re a fast learner,” Bada said at the end of the day, drinking from her water bottle as you watched her throat bob. “Keep it up and you won’t need me anymore.”

You didn’t like the sound of that.

————— ୨୧ —————

By the fifth day, the both of you had started working through the details of the duet. 

The familiar song sounded through the speakers, the room filled with the sound of your singing voice and the squeaking of your sneakers on the floor. 

You were painfully aware of the way Bada closely danced behind you but you kept your eyes down, forcing yourself to keep track of your footwork. You bent over slightly at the start of the next line, your hips popping out and letting your hair whip to the side as you hummed along to the lyrics. In tandem, Bada moved her hips the opposite direction but gyrated closer to you, her hand coming up to tug her cap lower. You spared the mirror a glance for a split second, realizing Bada was much closer to you than you had realized, but you pushed the thought away.

You looked good together.

“Pause real quick.” She spoke suddenly, stepping away from you and bending over to stop the song. You immediately halted your movements at the command, trying to control the heaving of your chest and willing away the warmth of your cheeks. 

She stood up again, meeting your eyes in the mirror before steadying herself behind you, body close to yours.

“You’re doing great, but,” A tentative hand slid to your hip, fingers curling over in a loose grip as she subtly urged it to move to one side. Both your eyes remained locked through the mirror. “I think we should move together in this part. Like this.” She repeated the motion, her grasp on your hip tightening ever so slightly before pulling you flush against her pelvis. Her hips rocked along with yours, and you could only follow. 

She hummed close to your ear, and you felt her breathe along the side of your face. “Just like that.” Her voice was quiet, gentle even, though her stare was everything but that. It was intense. 

In an attempt to sound casual you replied with an “okay”, but it came out softer than you had hoped for. 

Her eyes dropped from the mirror, opting to look down at you directly, but you couldn’t find the confidence to return the favor. “You should do that thing again," she continued quietly, "Where you throw your hair back, but look at me when you do it.”

You repeated your steps, but this time both her hands came down to hold your hips in place. You turned your head as requested, your hair falling over your shoulder as your eyes finally met. Her gaze was intense but undecipherable; she hadn’t been looking at the mirror at all this time.

Bada was so close, unblinking and heady. The thought entered your mind before you fully realized: if you craned your neck you could kiss her. In a careful motion, you felt her hands slide up and down slowly, smoothing along the curve of your hips.

“Perfect.” She said, and it sounded so intimate you felt lightheaded. Usually she voiced her approval with an animated smile and a thumbs up, but she spoke to you as if she was scared you would set off running. “You got it. You want to try that again with music?”

You nodded slowly and her hands dropped from your hips, leaving a burning sensation in their wake. As she bent down to turn the song back on, you brought the back of your hand up to your cheek; checking if it was as warm as you felt. Then you ran your fingers through your ponytail, tightening the hair tie with a sharp tug in an attempt to snap yourself out of whatever daze you had fallen into.

It meant nothing. She had merely workshopped a move and there was no need to feel so nervous.

The final chorus of the song began thumping again and the both of you got into your starting positions. Bada’s presence was palpable behind you, but you tried to force your head back into performance-mode. You kept your moves sharp, lip synced as if the voice came directly from your own throat and smiled playfully at all the right lines. 

As the instrumentals of the final chorus got louder, you twirled a finger around your ponytail, playing with the imaginary crowd in front of you. Bada pressed up against your back. Your hips moving in tandem just as the choreo required and you could no longer repress the urge to grind back against her. You saw Bada smirk in the mirror, her eyes obscured by her cap, but you could tell she was enjoying your blunt display of confidence. That made you laugh for real, putting an extra ‘oomph’ into the roll of your hips, dropping even lower, and feeling Bada take what you gave her with a great amount of enthusiasm. You heard the choreographer let out a "woo!" and you giggled.

At the very end of the choreo, you were meant to face Bada and push her away; making room for a final solo moment. So you turned around, meeting that familiar mischievous grin and your hand came up to curl into her collar. Bada sucked in her lower lip, greedily towering over you and looking down expectantly. 

But something about the giddy atmosphere had you feeling bold, so you tugged her even closer instead. Her mouth fell open, but she followed you down nonetheless, eyes becoming half-lidded. You were mere inches removed from each other, and her breath fanned across your face. For a split second her gaze lingered on your lips, and you held your breath, heart fluttering in an unfamiliar feeling. A fleeting thought told you to bridge the gap, pull her impossibly closer by the grip you had on her collar, but your body acted before your brain could. 

You reached for her cap and tugged it off her head, putting it on yourself in one swift movement and then shoved her away as you were supposed to do; effectively breaking the spell. You turned on your heel to look back at your reflection in the mirror, consciously blocking Bada from your periphery and closed out the song. The music stopped.

Now that the studio was quiet you could hear the both of you catching your breaths, and rather than facing Bada while your face was still heating up, you flopped onto the floor, limbs spread out. You moved Bada’s cap atop your face, blocking out the bright lights of the practice room, feeling exceptionally winded. 

You felt Bada sit down next to you and she promptly pulled her hat off your face.

“Ow,” You uttered lamely, arms coming up to cover your face instead. Surely the shame you felt was on wide display and you had to save the little bit of the reputation you had left. You could already hear her voice, albeit uncharacteristically, echo in your head: “What was that?” “Why didn’t you just stick to what I told you?” “That was highly unprofessional.” Your stomach churned.

But instead she said: “That was incredible.”

“Huh.” You exclaimed unintelligently. You tentatively moved your arms from your face and were met with Bada staring you down, her hat back in place. It would probably be too weird if you went back into hiding, so you dropped your arms uselessly. 

“That was incredible,” she repeated, a fond smile on her lips. “You are incredible. I’m telling you, we’ve got a hit on our hands.” She extended her arms excitedly, as if she had to convey the sheer magnitude of potential you both had crafted.

“You really think so?” You sounded breathless, the warmth in your chest blossoming. 

“I know so. Seriously? If your team doesn’t like this, they’re idiots.” Her bluntness kicked a laugh out of you, and you playfully whacked her knee. “No, I mean it!”

“It wasn’t too much?” Slowly you sat up, tugging at the front of your shirt clinging uncomfortably to your body from the sweat.

Bada tilted her head, blinking at you sympathetically as she weighed your words carefully. 

“I’ve already told you,” her voice was quiet, as if she was worried someone else might overhear, “I can’t get enough of you. The same goes for the public, by the way.” 

That made you want to kick your feet like a teenager, butterflies fluttering in your stomach as you fought the impulse to fall into her arms. Instead, you dropped your head with a timid smile hoping that did enough to show your gratitude. 

Bada placed a hand on your shoulder with a touch so soft she might as well be reassembling a broken vase, urging you to look at her. “Let's take a break, order some bubble tea and then watch the recordings. Sound good?” 

You leaned into the touch with exhilaration. “Yeah. My treat, though.”

————— ୨୧ —————

The tenth day coincided with a photoshoot in the morning. You had gotten up at 4am to get to the location early enough so that there was enough room for your stylists to get to work. 

The first thing you noticed was the visual board you had worked on tirelessly a few weeks prior.

It had changed.

Some of the images jumbled around or left out entirely, replaced by ones you did not recognize or even liked to begin with. Even the color scheme had changed. Before you could ask your manager about it, however, your hair stylist beckoned you to follow her into the booth. Still groggy, with just a protein shake in your belly to keep you at bay, you followed without objection.

But then, after you emerged fully made up with your hair in intricate braids and ribbons, you saw the backdrop you were going to work with and the outfits you would be wearing: they looked nothing like what you had agreed on. 

Once sown into the baby pink corset, you looked at your reflection in the mirror with a glassy expression, too exhausted to even express the anger that was simmering in your chest. 

“What happened to the costume I commissioned?” You asked your manager in a flat voice, fully realizing you wouldn’t like whatever the answer would be.

“Oh,” But he didn’t sound surprised at all, “We didn’t really like how it turned out, so we decided to go with something else. Pink looks good on you, you know.” He added hurriedly. 

You blinked, clenching and unclenching your jaw. The last thing you wanted was to cause a scene in front of all the staff. Firstly, it wasn’t their fault; secondly, word got around quickly and the last thing you needed was a trending blind item about diva behavior. With great difficulty you swallowed the venom down your throat and walked over to the camera crew without sparing your manager a single glance. Bowing to everyone separately, you turned on the autopilot. You just needed to get through the day. You posed for the flashing of the cameras, turning your brain off.

“That’s a wrap! Great work, all.” The photographer’s voice snapped you out of your daze, and you slowly stumbled away from the backdrop, blinking back tears.

“Great job everyone, thank you for your hard work.” You hoped your voice sounded even and hurried away to get changed.

Once alone in your dressing room, you bent over the sink with your hands in your hair. You didn’t understand. They had seen the choreography Bada and you had worked on, and approved. They had been enthusiastic even, and it felt like your team and you had finally buried the hatchet. Now you understood why they were so pliant in their acceptance of the final choreo; they had found something else to exert their control over. You didn’t want to cry, so you grit your teeth and untied your hair, fingers smoothing out where the braids had been.

Bada.

In the bustle of the early morning you had almost forgotten you were meant to start your first practice with the entire dance crew today, with Bada as the lead choreographer ensuring everything played out exactly according to your collaborative vision. It had been almost two days since you had last seen her, yesterday being a day off for the both of you, and for some reason it felt like a lifetime.

You wanted to see her, but you weren’t sure if you could dance today.

You arrived at the studio about an hour later, right on time, with most of your makeup cleared from your face and dressed in joggers and a crop top. This time you were sporting a cap as well, hoping the dancers wouldn’t notice the fatigue etched on your face on your first day with them. 

Everyone was already there. Some dancers stretching, others practicing and a few watching the recordings while in deep discussion with Bada. Her flannel shirt was bunched up at her elbows as she made grand gestures with her hands, explaining something to the dancers in front of her. As the sound of the door opening and closing filled the room, the tall girl perked up mid-sentence, shooting you a wide smile. 

“Hey! I got you some coffee.” She spoke brightly, walking over to you in big strides as her loose braid fell off her shoulder. You had just finished bowing to everyone when you turned to Bada, feeling your chest swell at the sight of her. “How was the shoot?”

She must’ve noticed something. Perhaps it was the sag of your shoulder, the way you bit your lower lip or the exhaustion in your eyes; but her smile faltered slightly when she got a closer look. 

“It went alright.” You spoke neutrally, unable to meet her eyes but adding a nod to come across as reassuring as possible. “Thank you for the coffee.”

Bada stood a bit helplessly but seemed to understand that prying any further would be futile. “Of course, it was my turn, after all.” She smiled carefully. “You wanna get started?”

“Let’s do that.” You agreed, hoping that dancing would get your mind off of things. 

Bada gathered everyone together and gave a small speech, making a conscious effort to do all the talking so you could comfortably hide the swelling insecurity you felt deep in your chest. You nodded at the right times, smiled at the dancers (some of them peeking at you in awe) and tried to come across relaxed. 

Once Bada finished talking, she called for everyone to get in position as she strode to the far end of the room, where she had the most optimal view. You moved to the front, right next to your trampoline, facing the mirror and vaguely took note of a tall guy with a buzzcut who now stood in the spot Bada did when you had been practicing with her. Something about her not being part of the dance anymore, even though you perfectly knew this was going to be the plan all along, made you feel even less secure.

You shook your limbs loose, trying to empty your head for the sake of the dancers who were all blind to your inner turmoil and instead incredibly excited to be here. You did not want to waste their time. Once again, you forced yourself into auto pilot. 

The song started playing, bubbling synths building up to your first lines, and you danced. You danced as you had practiced with Bada, but weren’t able to envision the crowd in front of you. Instead you relied on muscle memory, which worked out well enough. Even when the tall guy was behind you for the duet, hips grazing yours, you didn’t feel very aware of your surroundings at all. Sometimes you all had to stop midway when Bada noticed that someone was offbeat or out of position, but you slid back into the moves easily. The team was strong, too. You danced the choreo once, twice, thrice and a fourth time. When you grabbed the guy’s collar, you pushed him back immediately, unlike what you had practiced with Bada, and finished your move.

Bada clapped her hands together with a cheer.

“That was solid, everyone!” She strode over, giving everyone a thumbs up. “Some things we have to smooth over, but we are way ahead on schedule. Let’s take five. I— Are you okay?”

You barely realized your own actions until you felt the warm tears run down your cheeks. You had sat down on the trampoline in such an unceremonious way, body shaking from exertion as you tried to hold back hiccups. Panic began crawling up your body and into your throat. Suddenly aware of the dancers seeing you in such a state, you took your cap off and held it in front of your face.

“Actually, since we are ahead on schedule, let’s make this a short day.” Bada’s authoritative voice declared to the entire room. The dancers nodded along nervously, glancing at your hunched figure with palpable worry. “Great work everyone, make sure to get home safe. Same time tomorrow.” 

You croaked out a soft “Thank you, everyone” through your fingers, but your voice was barely audible. You couldn’t face them.

Footsteps rushed around the room, the dancers gathering their backpacks off the floor. You barely registered the hushed voices slowly echoing further and further away from you, until the door shut with finality; a lock sounding in place and silence reigning over the space.

Bada’s hands came to rest on your shoulders as you felt the trampoline sink with her added weight. Then she pulled you into her arms with a tenderness you had never experienced from anyone before. Your arms tightened around her frame in instinct, dropping your cap onto the floor, and your heart constricting painfully as you hid your face in her chest. 

She didn’t speak as you hiccupped soundlessly, letting the exhaustion pour out of you with quivering shoulders. Bada’s hands traced comforting lines along your back, her cheek pressed against the top of your head as she waited for the trembling of your body to subdue. In turn, you tried to focus on the steady rise and fall of her chest, her breathing lulling you. 

After ten minutes of complete silence, Bada was the one to speak in a hushed voice: “What happened?” 

You glanced up at her, tears still running down your cheeks as you choked back a particularly pathetic sob. “I’m sorry…” 

Bada let out an affronted gasp, bringing her hands up to cradle your face instead and letting her thumbs wipe the tears from your cheeks. “Please don’t apologize. Tell me what happened.”

“My team,” You began with a slurred speech, “They still don’t believe in me. They don’t think I can pull this off.” 

Your voice sounded heartbroken: “They make sure to remind me every chance they get. My manager is certain I am going to embarrass the nation, because there is only one thing I can do and it’s not this. I can’t be sexy. I don’t have good ideas. And maybe they’re right! I don’t have the charisma to pull this off. My fans are going to hate it, because it’s not the person they wanted to support—” There was nothing you could do except keep going, like a faucet running, and Bada let you, “—I can’t even wear what I want. My visual board was cybercore inspired. I had a red PVC two piece outfit custom-made, but they put me in a pink dress and ballet shoes.” You added, horrified; not at the clothes, but at the clear disconnect between your team and you.

Bada, who was nodding along to your words with a serious expression up until that point, chuckled at your words, thumbs still catching tears. “Well I always thought you looked like a pretty princess, but that’s indeed a bit on the nose.”

The follow-up to your rant died in your throat, eyes widening at her words. Your brain was short circuiting. “You think I’m pretty?”

The taller girl scoffed at that, brows furrowing. “I can’t believe you just asked me that.”

“Why?” You asked, genuinely.

For a moment she gawked at you, deep in thought and searching your face for insincerity. Bada was unable to find it. 

“It’s not the only thing I think of you.”

Something about the atmosphere in the room changed when she spoke, and you almost forgot why you were upset in the first place. She carefully tucked your hair behind your ears, her eyes staring into yours unblinkingly. It reminded you of the way she had looked at you during practice days prior, when you had pulled her close by her collar for the first time. Her attention on you was suffocating, but you were glad to be drowning.

You sucked in your lower lip for a split second, releasing it, and waited with bated breath for her to continue. Her eyes dropped immediately, following your movements. She slid one hand down to the crook of your neck, slowly, the tips of her fingers tracing along your skin and leaving shivers in their wake; her other hand curled under your chin with a loose grip, tilting your head back slightly. Your head felt so heavy you could only lean in closer, wanting more of something you couldn’t even put in words.

But as always with Bada, she seemed to know what you wanted before you could open your mouth and ask for it. She closed the distance, brushing her lips against yours in a soft peck, and it was when you realized she was also holding her breath.

Her thumb trailed along your jawline, breath fanning over your lips. “Is this okay?” She asked quietly. You placed your hands on her thighs to brace yourself, your own lightheadedness overwhelming you, and nodded.

There was a shadow of a smirk on her lips when she kissed you a second time; lips connected with more force this time before gliding together in tandem. She tilted your head to get impossibly closer to you, her hand moving from your chin to tangle her fingers into your hair and cradling the back of your head. When her lips parted and closed around your bottom lip, nipping eagerly, you inadvertently let out a soft noise at the warmth of it all which only seemed to spur her on further. 

You curled your hands into the front of her shirt as her back straightened, crowding around you as if her goal was to subdue, the trampoline creaking underneath your shared weight. She seemed to relish in overpowering you, inhaling sharply through her nose when you parted your mouth for her further.

You felt the tentative prod of her tongue, and accepted. The wetness made you shiver as she swallowed your quiet gasps. The hand that was previously nestled against your neck slid lower, began exploring along the curve of your waist and feeling the bare skin your crop top couldn’t reach to hide.

She parted the kiss, and you let out a soft whine. Biting her lip in an attempt to hide her smile, but ultimately failing, her eyes were drinking you in. You could only imagine what you looked like as even Bada was flushed all over, chest heaving from excitement. Then, as if she was reading your mind, her eyes glanced over to the mirror in front of you. 

Bada shifted her position behind you, running her fingers through your hair before ultimately placing her palm against the other side of your waist. Steadily, as if she were correcting a move during practice, she turned your body to face the mirror. At this rate you simply accepted the effect she had on you, and wordlessly obeyed her ministrations. She planted her feet on the floor, long legs on either side of you; and ultimately caged you in, nestling her chin into the crook of your neck. Her eyes never left the mirror.

She brushed some of your hair over your shoulder as if she were propping up a doll, and spoke in a hushed voice: “Look at yourself.” 

The sight made you feel all the more dizzy. Through half-lidded eyes you barely recognized your own reflection; hair slightly mussed and lips swollen and lovebitten. Someone did that to you. Bada did that to you. 

The taller girl, pressed up against you, placed a kiss on your shoulder, fingers running up and down your body and making the hairs on your arms stand straight in exhilaration. You loved the way she touched you, how it made you feel; as if she was tracing the lines on an art piece. “You’re beautiful,” she whispered against your shoulder, “people would kill to see you like this.” 

The honesty in her voice made something in your stomach roll. “Bada…” You began, but you didn’t even know what you wanted to say.

“You have no idea how other people look at you.” Her hands cradled the small of your waist, fingertips digging into your hips. “So let me show you how they look at you.”

She began kissing up your shoulder, soft and warm presses of her lips, before parting her mouth against your neck with a tangible hunger that left you sighing. You tilted your head to the side to give her more room and every inch you freed, she swarmed eagerly. Her tongue swirled against a patch of skin, hand flattening on your lower stomach as the other traced higher and higher, along your ribcage, before inquisitive fingertips moved under the hem of your top. As she sucked a mark onto your skin, you clenched your thighs together at the familiar sensation between your legs. Your eyes slowly fell shut as she crept up higher, lips pressing right below your earlobe with a barely-there hum.

She whispered: “Keep looking at yourself.”

You obeyed bashfully, right when Bada reattached her lips to your skin. She had been tracing lines along the hem of your sports bra, enthralled with the way you shivered in her grasp, before slipping a hand under; her hand was warm as she kneaded your breast, but your nipples stiffened at the sensation all the same. You pushed out your chest to convey your delectation, and she rewarded you by sinking her teeth into your skin. Suddenly, with a swift movement, both her hands hoisted up the hem of your top and bra, and pulled it upwards, your breasts releasing from its confines. The cold air made them perk up and Bada’s hands cupped the underside.

She detached her lips from your skin with a wet sound before looking up at the mirror, taking you in with her saliva-slicked mouth agape. 

“So pretty,” Bada muttered, bringing your breasts a little higher, “Are you sensitive here?” She wondered loudly before tracing her thumbs right below your nipples. Once again your legs squeezed together, feeling yourself throb from excitement, and Bada picked up on the hint with a wide smile. “You are.”

In your reflection you saw Bada bring her fingers up to your mouth, thumb pressing down on your bottom lip imploringly, and you opened your mouth. She slipped her digit past, pushing it back against your tongue and you sucked obediently. Her eyes were drilling into yours through your reflection, enthralled by how pliant you were under her care. 

You released the digit with a wet ‘pop’ and Bada promptly brought it to your nipple, rubbing it in circular motions as her other hand continued to knead your other breast. A quiet moan escaped you, chest rising into her touch and Bada giggled, pressing another kiss on your shoulder. Your own hands ached to touch her, but she kept you firmly locked between her legs; instead you squeezed her upper thighs, feeling her shapes through the baggy cargo she was sporting. 

“Give me a kiss.” She commanded, and you immediately twisted your neck to capture her lips. 

It was all teeth, wet noises echoing through the room as your tongue swirled against hers; the taller girl groaning into your mouth at the sheer force you exerted. She gave your nipples a pinch before rubbing her fingers over them repeatedly, and she swallowed your breathless moans greedily. You dug your nails into her thighs as she cupped your breasts again, her tongue slipping out of your mouth to trail along your bottom lip instead. Your head was chanting her name, getting drunk on the near delirious attention she gave you. Tilting your head back even further, you connected your lips again even though the angle was uncomfortable. You were starting to feel desperate, hips lightly rocking back against the firmness of her body as Bada sucked down on your tongue.

One of her hands released your breast and trailed down the expanse of your stomach, once again breaking the kiss and instead opt to look at you in the mirror. Her fingers found the knot of your joggers as your eyes met in the reflection, and she pulled on the string; untying it. 

“Okay?” Bada inquired meaningfully, and you nodded much faster than you intended. “Let me hear you say it.” The tone of her voice, which was otherwise so gentle and quiet, made your full body shiver.

“I want it.” You spoke breathlessly, squirming impatiently between her legs as her fingers finally slipped down your pants.

She trailed along the sweatband of your underpants before cupping your heat over the fabric, fingers pressing against your folds inquisitively. Her eyes never left yours, quietly measuring your reactions. Unwittingly your thighs clamped around her wrist, breath hitching in your throat as she began to caress you with a touch so gentle it didn’t fit the precarious position you both were in. 

“You’re so wet.” Bada spoke coyly, smirking at the way your eyes squeezed shut in embarrassment. She began rubbing circles over your covered folds, feeling your wetness spread as if on command. Your breathing turned into whining, subconsciously grinding back against her hand. 

She removed her hand much to your distress, until you realized what she wanted: Bada began tugging the fabric of both your joggers and underpants down as far as she could, before giving your hip a commanding pat. You raised your hips to assist her ministrations, and she pulled the clothing down past your knees before you kicked them off fully. 

Your thighs were pressed together when you got back in place and suddenly felt self-conscious at how exposed you were despite your own eagerness. Bada wasn’t having it: her eyes were taking in your figure, hands immediately coming down to smooth along your thighs. Then, she squeezed tightly and wrenched your thighs wide apart, making you expose yourself for her. Before you could instinctively close them, her long legs hooked over your ankles, forcefully keeping them in place. All of it only made you throb harder.

“You don’t want to know how often I’ve been thinking about this these past few days.” Her hands smoothing along your sides in marvel, cupping your breasts once more. The tip of her nose pressed against the shell of your ear. “How many times I’ve watched those recordings and imagined you, exactly like this.” Her fingers fit into your mouth once again, and you sucked on them, letting your tongue swirl along the digits as if you were starving for it. “I think I lost count.”

Her confession made you moan around her fingers, shivers running down your spine. She scooted back ever so slightly, pulling your hips back with her unoccupied hand until it was the angle she needed, and then dropped it between your legs. Her fingers spread your folds and she sucked in a breath, completely mesmerized by your reflection. You were still swallowing around her fingers and she hummed encouragingly, hand cupping your vagina and spreading your wetness across your heat. 

She removed her fingers from your mouth and you caught your breath, fingers digging into her upper thighs as you braced yourself. As one hand kept your folds spread, the other, spit-slicked, began rubbing slow circles against you. You gasped at the sensation, mumbling her name in amazement. You raised your hand to the back of her head; grabbing a hold of her braid to simply have a hold of something, but it earned you a particularly sweet noise from the girl behind you. Your hips rocked back against her movements trying to find more friction in the right place, and Bada slowly sped up, moving her wrist up and down to try and find the spot that did it for you. Her lips pressed against the back of your neck so tenderly, and something about the dichotomy between that and the way she was touching you between your legs made your eyes roll back; lids closing as you thrusted back against her hand.

You didn’t understand how she was able to build up to that familiar knot in your stomach so soon, and it almost made you feel embarrassed, until you realized Bada was savoring every second of it. Her eyes never left your form, as if she were studying just another choreography, lips parted in an awestruck way. You had long foregone the urge to keep quiet, vocalizing exactly what she was doing to you: You let a particularly loud moan leave you when she rubbed along your most sensitive spot. Trying to pull more sounds from you, she pressed against your clit with more force and rubbed faster. Your hips could only chase her touch as your lower stomach constricted. 

Bada brought her hand up to her own lips and lapped at her fingers, effectively pausing her motions for a split second and thus drawing a broken whine from you; both because her hand wasn’t where you needed it to be and also because she had no qualms about having you in her mouth. It didn’t last long: she hushed you soothingly as she put her hand back where you felt it belonged and used the added wetness to add faster friction against your clit. Your head rolled back and you tugged at her braid, pulling an attractive groan from the girl behind you.

You weren’t far away anymore. Your lower stomach was unbearably tight with desire and you were a gyrating, frantic mess against her hand while her fingers rubbed against you in vertical swipes, her name falling from your lips repeatedly as if you were reciting a prayer. 

You managed to utter an “I’m close”, and Bada crowded against you before you could start begging her for release. “Come for me.” She demanded, and then immediately captured your mouth in a desperate kiss, teeth clashing together while she drank your sweet moans. 

As if on cue, the tension in your stomach imploded and you gave her braid a sharp pull. You gasped into her mouth, no longer kissing each other but rather breathing each other's air, as your orgasm rippled through you.

You felt your whole body quiver and shake in pleasure as Bada led you through your release, thighs trembling despite the hold the choreographer’s legs had on you. Her fingers hadn’t left your core, but the rubbing slowed down until you were gasping at the overstimulation, yet unwilling to make her hands leave you. As if she read your mind her movements came to a halt, but she pressed her palm against you; almost possessively. She planted kisses along the side of your throat, whispering praises against your skin as you caught your breath.

Once you had the rise and fall of your chest under control, her arms curled around your waist in a fond embrace, and you turned your head to look directly at her. She had already been staring at you, meeting your eyes with a bashful smile. The two of you laughed at each other, and Bada pressed your foreheads together.

“That,” You mumbled, eyes falling shut as you relished in her open affection: “Was amazing, thank you.”

“Was happy to do it.” She responded playfully, rubbing the tip of your noses together affectionately. 

“Will this happen every time I get self-deprecating?”

“I definitely intend to do this more often, but you could also just ask nicely.” Bada retorted with a smirk before pecking your lips. You giggled, putting your hands over hers and leaning back into the embrace.

After several more shared kisses and hushed whispers, both of you decided to get a move on: you were starting to get cold in your exposed state so Bada urged you to get up. She helped you step back in your clothes, a smug self-satisfied grin never leaving her face when she noticed the unsteady wobble in your legs. 

When you pulled your bra and top back over your breasts, Bada pouted. You gave her a playful shove but she caught your arms instead, bringing them around her neck as her own enveloped your waist.

“Wanna grab dinner?” Her eyes were round and hopeful.

“I would love that.” You replied, and gave her a kiss.

As the both of you tidied up the practice room and gathered your things, Bada listing off food suggestions in the background, your eyes slid to the table at the front of the room.

A familiar device remained perched on the edge, a small green light lighting up proudly.

“Hey, Bada.”

“Hm?”

“Camera’s still recording.”

She stumbled over looking mortified, snatching the device off the table and rewinding haphazardly. 

“Oh, fuck.”

[adragonprinceswhore]

Rumours

Aemond Targaryen x (Ex)Wife

Chapter VI: Storms 🎼 Masterlist

Summary: Aemond’s wife left him following an explosive fight last week, and he hasn’t been able to find rest since.

Warnings: 18+, AFAB reader, she/her pronouns, depictions of a toxic relationship, possessive Aemond, shitty and useless coping mechanisms, reference to violence and injuries

Word count: 2300

A/N: Thank you always sweet sweet Justine (@theoneeyedprince) for looking this over and giving me ideas 🤭 ILY! The lyrics are interwoven with the story in this chapter, hope it makes sense! As you can tell, this is set a week after his wife left him, and before he wrote his new songs for Rumours…

‘Every night that goes between, I feel a little less’

8 hours and 25 minutes.

That’s how much sleep he’d gotten in the last week.

Since the fight.

Fights. Plural.

It wasn’t the first time he’d gotten into a physical altercation with his brother. His childhood memories are tainted by endless disputes, especially after their father died, back when Aegon would sneak out to get drunk while their mother worried sick at home.

Why was his brother seemingly incapable of behaving well? Aemond saw how his mother worried herself sick over her oldest son, while also having to deal with grieving the loss of her husband, and navigate the internal political turmoil the death of such an influential man left behind. And Aegon couldn’t even spare her further heartache.

Fucking pathetic excuse of a man.

It was, however, the first time he had hurt his wife. Physically, that is. She’d told him he’d hurt her before, when his jealousy got the best of him.

He knows he’s crossed a line. As soon as he lost his temper and threw that plate against the wall. Dangerously close to where she was standing.

He regrets it all. Why did it even have to happen in the first place? If she had just cooperated with him; worked with him instead of against him. Instead of hiding things from him, talking with Tyland behind his back.

He always knew that she’d leave. One day.

He’d never leave her.

Frustrated, Aemond lets out a quiet sigh and gets up from the bed, moving to sit on the edge, slouching as he places his head in his hands. He suddenly notices how quiet the room is; the loud thoughts echoing in his mind momentarily disappear as he ponders what he could do instead of sleeping.

He moves quietly to not wake Alys next to him, whose heavy breathing provides the only real sounds in the room. It is almost eerily quiet now that he thinks about it; such a stark contrast to the insufferable buzzing of thoughts roaming around in his head.

Rest doesn’t come to him anymore. 

His mind can’t provide him with any repose. Not even for a second.

He closes the door to the bedroom with a quiet ‘click’ and exits, moving towards the balcony connected to the large, open-plan living room.

She had picked this apartment, together with him.

Our home.

The memories of going to look at cabinets for the kitchen together, choosing a sofa together, fucking on said sofa, overtake his mind before he can distract himself.

‘As you slowly go away from me’

When he realised that she’d left and wouldn’t come back, he tried to erase her from the space, shoving all of her belongings into one of the wardrobes in the spare bedroom.

He couldn’t bear to throw them out. He couldn’t bear to see them either. She’d left behind everything he’d ever given her; all gifts he’d carefully picked out for her. Seeing her wedding ring on top of the kitchen island, next to the divorce papers and the shattered plate on the floor had made his stomach turn when he came home from the hospital.

‘This is only another test’

He’d suffered much harsher trials than this.

When he lost his eye in a car crash at only 10 years old, he suffered through the most excruciating pain of his life. He had to relearn everything; how to focus his gaze, how to read and write without developing a headache, how to play his favourite sports without running into his opponents. 

He’d managed all that, yet this time he felt consumed by an aching sense of dread.

A hopelessness deep in his chest.

‘Every night you do not come’

It was all too late. No turning back.

‘Your softness fades away’

He knows that the aching dread is the longing he feels for her. The thought of never touching her again, never being close to her again. 

Never being in her embrace again.

He feels a chill run through his body as he settles on the armchair placed by the wall, overlooking the bright lights of King’s Landing.

Reaching for the pack of cigarettes on the nearby table, he takes one out and lights it before taking a long drag, closing his eyes and letting his head fall back to rest against the back of the chair.

She’d chosen the patio furniture as well.

He fucking resents himself in this moment. Why is his body, his mind, incapable of doing what he wants? Forget her. She sure as hell wants to forget him.

‘Did I ever really care that much’

‘Is there anything left to say’

When she left during the fight backstage last week, he had wanted to run after her. But then he threw one quick glance at his older brother, and could barely see his expression due to all the blood smeared over his face.

He called out to him, but Aegon didn’t answer, laying limply on the old leather sofa with one arm hanging from the side and his mouth open. That was when Jace had come back in, face turning white in an instance as he was confronted with the scene before him, pulling out his phone from his pocket with a shaky hand to call an ambulance.

Aemond went with his brother to hospital, waiting by his side until he regained consciousness while trying to calm his distressed mother and wide-eyed sister. They had looked at him in the same way she had; eyes filled with animosity. He could barely meet their gazes as shame left his cheeks scalding.

‘Every hour of fear I spend’

‘My body tries to cry’

All he could think of at that moment was coming home. Home to her. To her warmth.

‘Living through each empty night’

‘A deadly call inside’

He takes another drag of his cigarette. Not being able to sleep, to eat, to think clearly is so foreign to him. It’s like when he lost his eye; he has to relearn everything. How to fucking breath.

There’s this restlessness inside him that won’t disappear, no matter how hard he tries to exorcise it. He’d tried going for walks; his usual go-to when he needed to clear his mind.

On one of those walks he’d smoked an entire pack of cigarettes.

How much time had passed? How long had he been out? He could hardly remember where he’d gone, what he’d seen or what time of day it’d been.

He’s lucky to have grown up in the centre of King’s Landing, knowing every street by heart, intuition leading his steps as he eventually finds his way back home. To an empty flat, haunted only by the memory of her.

She haunts him worst internally though, through his own mind.

There, in the eye of his mind, he sees his greatest fear; her with another man.

Any time he closes his eyes, the same image greets him; her, naked in the arms of another, throwing her head back in bliss.

She sighs and moans, letting her new man know how good he’s making her feel. She tells him too; that he’s the best she’s ever had.

She runs her hand down his cheek, unmarred and smooth. No harshly red scar, no unpleasant raised skin. Someone pretty, like her.

‘I haven’t felt this way I feel’

‘Since many a years ago’

He tried drinking; Aegon’s lobotomy of choice.

After downing two bottles of the Dornish red he’d received from some business associate when he was still working with his grandfather, he found sleep for 1 hour and 12 minutes before waking up with a racing heart and body covered in a slick sheet of cold sweat.

He would have tried talking to someone, if the only person he wanted to speak to hadn’t blocked his number. He’d realised that after being connected directly to voicemail each time he called her. That didn’t stop him from leaving messages though. First, they were filled with apologies and promises of never losing his cool again, of being better for her, of reassurance that he loves her. But as he grew to understand that she wouldn’t come back, his frustrations got the best of him.

He called her just to scream at her, into the nothingness that was her disconnected voicemail.

“I always knew you’d leave me! You fucking liar”, he spat as he threw his phone against the same wall he’d smashed the plate against.

It doesn’t matter. She’ll never hear them anyway.

The tiny bit of relief he felt afterwards hadn’t made any significant difference. He still couldn’t sleep, couldn’t find even a moment of tranquillity.

He places the cigarette between his teeth as he reaches forward to grab the notebook on the patio table next to his seat.

There’s one thing he still hasn’t tried.

As he plucks the pencil from where it's hanging on the side of the hardcover, he begins writing without thinking too much of what’s coming out, letting his hand guide his thoughts as he brings his plagued mind down on the paper.

‘In those years and the lifetimes past’

‘I did not deal with you, I know’

‘Though the love has always been’

His most recent attempt at finding respite from his mind was sleeping in his bed.

Our bed, he corrects himself with a wince.

He’d met Alys Rivers, manager at Riverland Creative Agency, earlier that day when he stopped for a drink during his quotidian nightly walk. She recognised him instantly, swiftly approaching him to mask her true intentions with some saccharine small talk. He knew she wanted to inquire about his band’s management; if they were satisfied with Tyland or if they’d be persuaded into joining her instead.

But all he could focus on was her hand casually placed on his shoulder as she spoke, her large, green eyes locking with his as she playfully teased him about his stoicism.

The heat radiating from her palm alone lit a fire inside of him, but rather than lust, he felt something akin to longing.

Yearning.

For warmth.

He asked her if she’d like to have a drink at his house, and when she replied with a wink and a cheeky retort, he knew she’d give him what he craved.

‘So I search to find an answer there’

‘So I can truly win’

Alys didn’t feel like her. Didn’t set the fire within him ablaze. Nor did she extinguish it. He didn’t feel better; he felt the same.

Restless.

Uneasy.

Different.

Broken.

‘Every hour of fear I spend’

‘My body tries to cry’

‘Living through each empty night’

‘A deadly call inside’

His hand moves on its own accord, words pouring out from him without having a chance to pass through his consciousness.

‘So I try to say goodbye, my friend’

‘I’d like to leave you with something warm’

Maybe he never gave her comfort?

Maybe all he did was take?

No. He knows he’s been a dutiful husband. He’s always been by her side, supporting her no matter what.

Unlike his own father; a shitty husband who was more of a burden on his mother’s shoulders than a pillar to lean on. Aemond knows that he’s nothing like his father. He gave his marriage his all; he never neglected his wife. 

He gave her all of him.

‘But never have I been a blue calm sea’

‘I’ve always been a storm’

But she didn’t want his love. She didn’t appreciate all he’d done for her. She didn’t understand him, not really. If she did, she wouldn’t shut him out like this.

Fuck her selfishness.

When he left his grandfather's firm to pursue music full-time, Otto Hightower had threatened to disown him, telling him that he’d make sure all ties Aemond had to the Hightower name would be cut off.

All he knew was how to be a good son and grandson. How to please his grandfather and mother. But when he confided in her about his predicament, asking her for advice on how to handle his grandfather's wrath, she’d cupped his cheeks and gazed into his eyes as she reassured,

“I am your family now, Aemond. We’ll always have each other” 

Liar.

He feels bile rise in the back of his throat as he keeps writing, allowing the feelings he didn’t know how to express some outlet. The thought of her now makes him feel sick.

‘Always been a storm’

‘We were frail’

He feels stupid; blinded by the light of her love.

‘She said, “Every night he will break your heart”’

‘I should have known from the first, I’d be the broken hearted’

Being given such warmth from another person. That’s what made him addicted to her.

He’d never experienced that before, not even from his mother or sister. There was always this restraint; this rift between them, for as long as he could remember.

But she let him in with open arms; let him into her comfort without resistance.

And now she’d taken that away from him.

‘I loved you from the start’

Looking at the lyrics written down in front of him, he doesn’t feel better. His shoulders don’t feel lighter. His chest doesn’t feel less tight. All he knows is that she did this. She promised to be by his side forever and broke that vow.

He leans back in the chair, fiddling with his lighter in one hand as he reads over the text again. What would she say if she saw how much she hurt him?

Would she come back?

The fleeting thought makes a tight knot form in his throat and he swallows forcefully to make it go away.

She’ll never come back.

He picks up the paper, letting the fire from the lighter in his other hand grace over the bottom corner, and sets it alight.

A/N: No, this is not a song form Rumours 🤭 but technically he doesn’t record it, so I think it’s fair! Tysm for reading 🩵

[voidspiraling]

AGGHH I deleted the original post I’m so saddd.

Anyways I wanted to talk abt this pic idk if it’s canon or just a non canon drawing but lets assume that it is significant for this analysis.

In this pic Till is wearing his R2 outfit, his mic headset and his mouth his open like he’s singing. This makes me think that he’s onstage in Round 2 singing his Unknown (Till the End) song. HOWEVER. While he’s singing this song the background is red with shooting star, meteors, debris whatever it is.

Doesn’t it remind you of something? My thoughts are that while Till was outwardly singing about his love for Mizi he was actually thinking about Ivan.

The thing abt Alien Stage is that everyone’s an unreliable narrator. In Round 1 everything seems like a sci-fi idol show until the ending where Sua dies. Then in Round 3 we are led to believe that Till never glanced at Ivan when that is in fact a lie and Till DID look at Ivan. Methinks Round 2 is also told by an unreliable narrator, only the thing that’s unreliable is Till himself. In Round 1 we are fed false info abt the type of world they live in. In Round 3 we are fed false info abt Till’s attitude towards Ivan. So in Round 2 I think we are being fed false info abt Till’s feelings.

Here’s something that always struck me as off. Here Till has just finished his “confession” but he doesn’t even acknowledge Mizi off stage. Usually after you confess to someone, you check for their reaction right? Onstage Till looked at Mizi after he smashed the guitar. But here when he is physically closer to her he doesn’t even attempt to look at her. Compared to Ivan who kept looking at Till even when he was being shot, and kept his eyes on him even as he died, turning to look at Mizi shouldn’t be too difficult.

Some of the lyrics of the song were also weird too (I’ll be using the Eng translations so some things maybe lost in translation)

First the line “I wanna know all about you” this line was weird bc how do you not know everything abt Mizi already? Mizi lived a very sheltered life, so she never had to build any walls to protect herself. If you wanted to know all abt Mizi you just had to look at her. She doesn’t hide anything at all, everything abt her can be found on the surface. It would’ve made more sense to say “I want you to know all about me” considering that Mizi isn’t aware of Till’s feelings.

Second is the line “How dare you think this time’s enough” this line is so… aggressive. Like I can’t imagine Till actually saying this to Mizi at all. Till is usually super shy and freezes up around Mizi. Could he actually say something so confrontational to her. I can’t imagine that all.

But I can imagine him saying that to Ivan.

“I want to know all about you” bc I spent so much time with you and I still don’t understand you and “How dare you think the time’s enough” when you don’t understand my feelings. You just assumed what I felt you don’t actually know how I feel about you.

(Till is actually the character I understand the least. This is just my imagination lol)

Another thing that makes me think Till was crying is this scene. (How does he look so pretty when in distress. Till I can’t you’re too endearing wth)

Here it looks like he’s sweating a lot but it also looks like there’s a tear slipping from his left eye. He even does a little sniffle which makes me think he was sobbing.

My theory is that Till was trying to tell himself a narrative in order to cope with his traumatic life. And the narrative he tells himself is that the only person he loves is Mizi and that the only person who can save him is Mizi. So while he’s onstage he sings abt his feelings for Mizi, but while he’s singing he accidentally also sings abt his feelings for Ivan.

Don’t you think it’s weird that Ivan doesn’t show up in the R2 flashbacks. Considering how often they were together growing up you’d think he’d at least me off to the side somewhere. I mean Sua was in the flashback but Ivan wasn’t? I think Till was intentionally suppressing his thoughts abt Ivan in order to make a point that he only loves Mizi. However bc the song can also apply to Ivan he inadvertently sings abt his love for Ivan and starts crying. That’s bc his love for Mizi is just a performance for the world and for himself.

In his personal narrative it is better to be the guy that loves the kind and gentle Mizi than the boy who is hopelessly entangled with the enigmatic Ivan. It hurts less that way. Till can look at Mizi at a distance bc she is like a bright light in his bleak world. But Till can’t look at Ivan because he is too bright, he fills up an entire sky with light and it haunts Till to this day. I remember reading somewhere that Till can’t escape from the red sky. The red sky could represent Till’s feelings for Ivan.

It’s where we see Till at his happiest.

It’s where we see Till the closest with another person.

As well as where he’s the most conflicted/scared.

Basically the picture of Till crying shows how he actually feels abt the meteor shower scene and how bc of his feelings for Ivan it haunts him even when he’s trying to sing abt someone else. He loves Ivan but he also can’t bare to be with Ivan. Maybe he realizes the self-destructive nature of their love. Maybe he knew it was dangerous for them to be in love in this world. Or maybe he was just to afraid of the pain and wanted to protect his heart in any way he could.

I don’t think we’ll ever get an answer. But I think that Till idolizing Mizi is just a fantasy he uses to cope with his awful life. And that bc his relationship with Ivan was uncanny and different from the love he received from his mom Io, he tries to reject even the thought of Ivan. Bc if he thinks abt Ivan too much he’ll unravel bc love is obsessive and all consuming. And Till def would have been consumed by his love for Ivan. It would have just been consumed by the aliens for entertainment. Their love is doomed no matter what he does. Might as well pretend it never existed maybe then it would hurt less.

It didn’t ;-;

[81folklore]

dress - VETTEL

pairings: sebastian vettel x famous!reader (fc: taylor swift)

summary: its known that seb has been married for a few years now despite the public never seeing is wife, its also known that yn is in a committed relationship and has been since she disappeared from public eye. maybe they are more connected than people realise

authors note: i have had this idea on my mind for SO LONG so im very pleased to finally be writing it. essentially in this, yn is taylor and seb is joe but no one has ever seen him nor know his name, if that makes sense? honestly i have no clue how this will turn out but i needed to write it

authors note 2: this is set in the midnights era however i switched the songs a bit so ‘dress’ is on midnights instead of ‘sweet nothing’ and vice versa!! also ‘dress’ is going to be a single. i also apologize for how all over the place this is, especially the tweets

authors note 3: just pretend whatever says taylor swift says your name and the photos with her hands have a wedding ring!! i also got so confused when trying to screenshot the twitter stuff so the timeline ones are backwards

authors note 4??: haha didnt realise there was a 30 pic limit... pt 2 here :)

masterlist

ynupdates

liked by user3, user18 and 10,628 others

yn on her story today, possibly posting song lyrics! thoughts?

view comments

user3: NEW ERA INCOMING

user18: OH I AM SO READY FOR THIS

user13: NEW MUSIC NEW MUSIC

user66: is this hinting at her reputation era?

user13: i was just thinking this, more specifically the time just before reputation

user72: MUSIC ABOUT LOVER?? OH I AM SO HERE FOR IT

user55: if it is about lover and the time before reputation this will BREAK ME like,, HE SAW THE BEST IN HER EVEN IN HER WORST TIMES😭😭

yourusername

liked by gracieabrams, ynupdates, olliebearman and 7,277,739 others

everyone thinks that they know us, but they know nothing about…

this album has been such a rewarding piece to create and im so glad that soon enough you will all be able to listen and enjoy it with me! one thing i love in particular about this album is the song ‘dress’

dress was originally a piece i started to write when making reputation however i felt it was right to keep it to myself, to keep it between my partner and i for a little while longer. however recently our lives have been changing for the better, and while that lid of privacy will still be on, i want to share more with you guys

you have all been on this journey with me and you have treated my partner and i with the upmost respect and for that i thank you. for me dress is a letter, its statement, its a declaration of my love for him and im very grateful to be able to give this to you all

this song is one im very proud of, i really enjoyed writing this the first time, and getting to revist and polish it up felt very special to do.

dress out now on all platforms🖤

comments on this post have been limited

sebupdates

liked by user34, user5, user88 and 23,683 others

seb in suzuka with the grid at his turn 2 bee (insect) hotels,, we've missed seeing him at the track :(

view comments

user3: of course the grid come together for him :’)

user5: im not crying!! just hay fever!!

user5: oh i have missed him SO MUCH

user7: NO BECAUSE YOU DONT GET IT HES BACK

user88: DID YOU GUYS SEE THE VIDEO OF HIM HUGGING CHARLES😭😭

user34: the way he was like a teacher throughout the whole thing😭

user18: does anyone know if hes staying the whole weekend or is it like monaco??

sebupdates: we believe hes staying the whole weekend but unsure if hes with a team or not!

user18: ok thank you :)

user77: the way the first thing lewis asked him was if his wife was okay, oh what if i cry😭😭

user66: im kind of new here, have the grid met sebs wife?

user77: i know they all at least know about her and know who she is, i dont think everyone has met her but i know lewis has met her quite a bit!!

part 2!

[littlexdeaths]

stage tech eddie munson x actress reader

warnings: modern!college au, lots of making out

y’all can blame this brain rot i’m currently having on a conversation i had with @rebelfell about techie eddie that ended up spawning all of this… thanks sarah for indulging me xx. 😘

also big kisses to @taintandviolent and @uglypastels for giving this a look over for me <3

“hey— sweetheart. you’re gonna miss your cue.”

eddie all but mumbles against your lips as you pull him in even closer, your bodies wedged between the heavy stage curtains.

“don’t care,” you reply almost breathlessly, allowing your lips to trail over his neck.

you are no longer interested in listening for the inevitable call of ‘veronica?’ to leave barb’s microphone. the music begins to swell just as you are supposed to rush out on stage to finish off the opening number.

while robin was initially supposed to help you with your quick change, when you rushed off stage you were surprised (and delighted) to find eddie in her place instead. the male gave you a cheeky grin as he had your blazer and skirt combo draped over his arm.

but the way his eyes continued to linger a little too long on your half naked figure once you slipped your costume up over your head— would only spell out trouble for both of you.

which was how you ended up half-dressed, blue blazer dangling off your shoulder and your lips smashed against his own. his hands tug you inevitably closer, rings digging into the meat of your hips while he effectively steals the air from your lungs.

your fingers grip tightly onto the cotton of his black t-shirt, feeling the heat radiating from his chest beneath the worn fabric. your lips eagerly drag across the thick skin of his throat, sucking harsh bruises onto the pale skin there.

this had been building for weeks— it had all started when eddie had offered to help you with your scene work. the male almost too eager to have you in his lap, grinding on him while you belted out the lyrics to dead girl walking.

but he’d had his eye on you from the moment you walked into that first rehearsal, all bright eyed and giddy. the more he saw you blossom under the glow of the stage lights, the more he wanted to call you his. little did he know that you felt the same way, despite your initial reservations.

the cast and crew should never mix— that’s what you were always told.

however your eyes would always seek out his lanky figure in the light booth during rehearsals. and you’d ‘accidentally’ leave your prop package of red vines out for him to steal, just to have an excuse to go up to booth to see him. only for him to hold them hostage above your head, dimples on full display as you fought to get them back.

but when you had to kiss your on stage JD— all you could think about how much better his lips would feel slotted against yours. and eddie can’t help but feel a sense of relief wash over him after you receive some feedback that the passion between you and jonathan was less than stellar.

but that low burning jealousy would rear it’s ugly head when you steadily began to improve.

wanton hands would paw at each other hungrily, those once dull kisses becoming increasingly more passionate with each rehearsal. and that blissful expression that flitted over your features while you gazed into the warmth of jonathan’s eyes has eddie crumbling the pages of his script beneath his fists.

but if this sudden improvement was because you were picturing eddie during your scenes together, no one was the wiser.

the mutual pining between you was palpable and downright maddening, to everyone involved in the production. so if some of them began to scheme a little behind the scenes to bring you two together, neither of you were aware of this recent development.

but everything finally come to a head with the culmination of what your cast mates so lovingly called, hell week. with the stress of opening night looming over your head, and the ever mounting tension between you two— it didn’t take much for your remaining resolve to crumble.

so when he gave you that look, all bets were off.

when eddie desperately tugs your mouth back to his, any worries that you shouldn’t be getting involved with one of your crew members is thrown out the window with each heated press of his lips. you can taste the lingering cigarette on his tongue and you’re engulfed in the musky, spicy scent that is so distinctly eddie when he reaches up to cup your cheek in his palm.

you are so wrapped up in each other that you don’t notice when the music stops abruptly and the burst of confused chatter erupts on the stage. eddie just pulls you in closer, eagerly swallowing the small whine that leaves your lips. the two of you only manage to pull apart when you hear nancy’s annoyed voice ringing out from behind the curtains.

“where the hell is veronica?”

you are a flurry of limbs and fabric as you struggle to pull on the rest of your costume, eddie’s rings accidentally getting caught in your hair during the process. he presses a soft kiss to your forehead in a silent apology before pushing you toward the bright lights of the stage.

you subtly wipe the gloss that was smeared across the corner of your mouth when you rush back out from behind the curtains. unaware that your blazer was buttoned incorrectly in your haste to finish dressing.

“sorry! costume malfunction! can we run it from the bridge?” you ask innocently.

nancy gives you a disapproving look from her stage manager’s seat, flipping the pages of her script back with a raised brow. you’re just thankful the director wasn’t here for this run through— or you’d have your ass chewed out for missing your big entrance.

“alright from the top of the bridge people, places!” she calls.

everyone utters a ‘thank you places’, while you duck back behind the curtain to get into position.

you can feel how flushed you are, adrenaline still pumping through your veins. whether that was from the way his lips were pressed against your own or the melting warmth of the stage lights, was hard to say. but you manage to catch his eye as he makes his way past you and the male can’t help but grin despite himself.

“don’t miss that cue again, sweet thing.” he teases, giving your ass a little pat before continuing on his way back towards the light booth.

[leesolbeesol]

I LOVE YOU! 愛してる! 사랑해!

sungho x fem!reader (ft. mild instigator!taesan and mistaken!woonhak)

GENRE: pure unedited fluff! SUMMARY: Sungho keeps avoiding you... so why is he confessing to you in Japanese? WARNINGS: she/her pronouns used one time | highschool!au but you can ignore that most of the time | this is my world and overtly self-insert so reader doesn't speak japanese and takes chinese in school NOTES: everyone say thank you boynextdoor for the fantastic comeback! seriously though, all their songs are so good i cant even believe it also no proofreading we post like god intended. WC: 2.2k (woww)

It was all Woonhak’s fault—that’s what Sungho thought, at least. He set up the damned snowball fight after all. 

The first time you saw—really saw—Sungho was when you cast a snowball at him and the icy contents landed right in his face and froze him when they snuck through his coat down his neck. You’re not sure why he didn’t block it, you saw him evade others thrown with far less warning and far more force. Instead, he stood with a ready snowball in his gloved hand. That’s the problem—he stood. He just stared at you as your attack wet his brown hair and dropped between his collar and his neck. You had met Sungho a handful of times, but when you did you didn’t speak to him much at all. He was kind of quiet and there were plenty of other mutual friends around for you to chat with, so you didn’t press it. He was pretty, of course, but that alone wasn’t enough for you to individually pursue him. Plus, anytime you showed up it’s like he suddenly had somewhere else to be. You eventually assumed he just didn’t like you all that much, and that was fine. A little disappointing, but fine. After your attack, his expression didn’t change, save for his eyebrows which raised a little. The poor boy looked like he had seen a ghost. You would have put more thought into it if another friend of yours, Taesan, cruelly dared you to a fire—or, snow—fight by crashing an icy cold ball of snow right onto your head. Almost as fast as Sungho had come to the front of your conscious, you were taken away again. The image of him, however, was burned into your mind. Why did he look at you like that? Why did he not react? How did he look so perfect? Those were some pretty frequent thoughts, though the last one you tried to ignore. Regardless, it kept coming back. The image of his soft brown hair, long for the boys your age, sprinkled with snow and his surprised, slightly parted lips came to you at the most inconvenient times.

—

The second time you saw Sungho, he was sitting on an uncomfortable plastic chair on the slightly raised wooden stage of your auditorium, his navy guitar slotted in his hands, about to start another song to the cheers of the small audience that had gathered during their free period. You remember him prefacing the song with something along the lines of ‘this is a work-in-progress,’ he tsked, ‘so it’s not done yet, but I hope you like it so far.’ You join the group on the periphery, smiling and nodding along to the song he starts. His voice rings clear around the room as he strums the hook. His hair falls just over his eyes that close when he starts singing the lyrics. You shoo away the thought that tells you he looks handsome—really handsome, especially in his element with the music swirling around him. It makes no sense, but when you look at him you want to talk to him. You want to ask him what inspired him to write it, you want to ask him how he got into music, you want to ask him. The song is heartfelt throughout, but the lyric that sticks with you is ‘yeah, I’ve got it bad,’ because that’s the line that preceded the chorus, the tentative chorus in which he critically screwed up when he saw you. You swear it was like his brain stopped for a minute when he saw you swaying along. Wrong chord, wrong lyric, wrong chord, again. You could feel the glances being exchanged by the confused crowd. After he tore his eyes away from you, he barely got it together for the end of the in-progress work. You looked to Woonhak, a few people to your left, and he just shrugged. The song was good, but still, you couldn’t quite figure out what was up with Sungho.

—

The third time you saw Sungho, you barely saw him at all. This was because of the open door, the paper thin walls of your classroom, and Sungho’s loud voice that fills whatever space he’s in. You infer that that’s how he is normally—‘normally’ meaning specifically not around you. It’s beneficial here, though. You were mercifully sitting against the interior wall and took the golden opportunity to rest your head and take a break from thinking so hard about… well, lots of things. Classes, new collectables, what you were going to have for dinner, you know what it’s like. It was Taesan’s, not Sungho’s, voice that broke you from your cursory peace. Taesan’s voice is certainly loud, especially when he’s surprised.

“You’re joking!” Taesan said and was quickly shushed by Sungho. It appeared to just be the two of them. It was strange—you were friends with most of Sungho’s friends, but barely friends with Sungho himself at all.

“Quiet down! I’m not kidding.” Sungho groaned, and you heard a clunk against the wall your ear was against, so you assumed he was leaning too. “This is just what I’m like, I don’t know what to do at all. I’ve got it really bad.” Taesan laughed at his friend’s complaint. It’s funny, that line was almost the same thing he said in the song. “It’s not funny.” He sighed. He was scolding Taesan, but you feel yourself frown as if he could hear your thoughts about his recurring phrase.

“It’s a little funny.” Taesan presses him. Sungho does not sound like he thinks it's funny.

“I’m being serious, Taesan. She’s all I ever want to think about.” Your ears perk up at the mention of a pronoun. Sungho has a crush? That’s news to you, at least. You mean, maybe it could be something else, but it damn sounds like he has a crush. This makes your heart twist in a way that you are highly uncomfortable with. “Everything's a mess, I’m all over the place. I can’t figure this… this thing out.” He laments. You kind of get it, though. Something you don’t get, however, is the way you hope he doesn’t figure it out. The part you refused to think about was that you didn’t want him to like someone else. God, you hadn’t even spoken to this boy. This is pathetic. You tore your ear away from the wall and covered your ears. Out of sight—or, earshot—out of mind, that’s how it works right? Apparently not, because even after you can’t hear him and that moment gets farther in the past, you think about him. Why can’t you stop thinking about him? This is so stupid.

—

The Friday that Sungho came to school late with his hair sticking up and wearing wrinkled clothes was, counterintuitively, the day you found him the most attractive yet. He sat down after whispering a hushed apology to your frowning teacher. He wasn’t even wearing his contacts, and he always wore his contacts. His glasses framed his face nicely, you decided. You looked back down at your paper as quickly as you looked up at the latecomer entering your classroom. It was hard to focus on your work for the rest of the day. In your Mandarin class, you bombed your quiz. How do you even write that character? You had no idea. All of the sudden, ‘高’ only made you think of Sungho and his stupid broad shoulders and not at all if there’s a hook at the bottom or not. Damn you, Sungho! You got what he meant by the lyrics in the song he had played in the auditorium. You got it bad. As you glanced out the window, you saw the very beginning of the budding cherry blossoms. They look so happy, all bunched up together and starting to bloom in hues of soft pink.

They look the same as you exit from the main door, pink and falling and beautiful. You pause outside those doors, taking in the sight. The trees are pretty, even against the gray sky. You feel more like the gray sky, conflicted. Especially so because you heard Sungho tell Taesan that he “couldn’t take it anymore,” and was “going to tell her today.” That certainly dampened your mood. Not that you have any skin in the game, but you secretly hope that he finds a reason not to. 

You hear a commotion near the doors, and see Sungho rather unceremoniously shoved out of the door by, by the looks of it, more than one set of arms. He looks like a deer in headlights, but starts moving anyway. You watch him, puzzled, before he starts walking over… to you. Behind him, you see Woonhak’s face poke out of the door frame before he looks to be pulled back by someone. You turn your attention back to Sungho, and realize you weren’t mistaken at all. He was walking towards you, holding something behind his back. A slight smile plays on his nervous lips as he closes the remaining distance between you, and you can’t help but glance around to see if this is some kind of joke. He was “going to tell her today.” Is he serious? Are you dreaming?

“What is it?” You ask, though you’re not quite sure why you’re asking or what you hope the answer is. He says nothing, simply extending a hand from behind his back and presenting you with a neatly folded piece of white printer paper. The ink on the inside bled through, slightly visible on the back.

“Aishiteru. Open it.” He encourages you and rolls his bottom lip in his teeth. You had watched him long enough—not in a stalkerish way! Just… in the way that you like looking at his face—to know that this is the face he makes solving a difficult equation. You also know enough about Japanese to recognize the romantic nature of his initial phrase. Why the hell is he speaking to you in Japanese? Regardless, if you weren’t blushing already, you definitely felt heat creeping up to your cheeks now. Doing as he instructs, you gingerly open the folded paper like it’s an artifact that could disintegrate if you so much as touched the paper the wrong way. 

It doesn’t disintegrate, but it might as well have. You stare at what’s written with a blank face. You recognize every other character (your Chinese teacher would be proud), but this is definitely not Chinese. You do recognize the swirling nature of what’s written, however. You furrow your eyebrows, why the hell does Sungho think you speak Japanese? Why is he writing to you in Chinese? Now you’re more confused than nervous. The butterflies in your stomach have settled, evidently asking the same questions you are.

“Sungho,” his name isn’t a question, but it comes out sounding like one, “I can’t read Japanese.” You hold up the paper to him as if he didn’t know it was in Japanese, and he looks absolutely petrified as your words hit him.

“Really?” His voice comes out high-pitched, and he clears his throat. “I mean, you actually don’t speak Japanese?” His register is back to normal, and now he sounds just as confused as you.

“I take Chinese, who told you I take Japanese? What does this even say, anyway?” A smile tugs at your lips. Oh, Sungho. He’s not stupid, you don’t think, maybe it was Woonhak who told him. Woonhak could probably mistake Chinese for Japanese. It could’ve been Jaehyun.

He groans, “Woonhak did.” This satisfies the first part of your question, but he seems hesitant to answer the second part. You raise your eyebrows, prompting him, “well, this is super lame,” what you don’t know is that he internally curses himself, Taesan had told him ‘no self-deprecating statements,’ oops, “but I thought it would make the way I told you unique.”

“Told me what?” You cock your head. The butterflies are back. Thanks to Taesan, you have a sneaking suspicion of what it is, but you refuse to celebrate until you get confirmation. It’s like in debate (your friend had told you way too much), you can think you won the most rounds but you can’t say you won anything until you’re officially told so. It’s like that.

I love you! 愛してる! 사랑해!

“I like you. I like you a lot. I’ve got it really bad.” He smiles and you think your heart might melt or explode, you’re not sure which feels more imminent. You’ve been told you won. It’s like a big weight has been lifted. The cherry blossoms look pinker.

“That’s what you wrote in the song!” You remember, hoping that he’ll be impressed you were paying attention.

“Yeah,” he says sheepishly, rubbing his neck, “that was about you.” It might be the best sight you’ve ever seen. This kind, handsome boy telling you he wrote a whole song about you. “It’s finished now, I can play it if you want… is that embarrassing?” He’s asking for reassurance, and, oh, do you give him reassurance. Reassurance comes in the form of putting your arms around him. Actions speak better than words—that’s your reasoning, at least.

“That’s not embarrassing. That’s cute.” You tell him, though your words are slightly muffled since you’re not speaking directly to him anymore. The butterflies in your stomach cheer you on as you muster all the courage you can find in the deep crevices of your heart and mind, “I like you too, Sungho.” You tell him, and you can hear his heart beating through his coat.

FINAL NOTES: yippee!!! going to a debate tournament wont post for a few days love you mwah

[papurgaatika]

Scarcely Can Speak For My Thinking, What You’d Do To Me Tonight

Pairing: VA! Joel Miller x f! reader 

Minors DNI with my work please!!

A/N: howdy howdy my lovelies. I know what yall are thinking: papaya didn't you post a fic literally less than two weeks ago? And to that I would say yes, yes I did. However, I have been working on this one for a while and somehow managed to finish it on the plane! Thank you as always to my lovely beta readers @carlynkurin and @joelsdagger The title is a Hozier lyric (are yall really surprised?) This is officially dedicated to my beloved @joeloverture and despite my darling vetty's step off of tumblr, she truly deserves the world. also if you're mean to her i will find you. that is a threat

I hope y'all enjoy the read, and that the filth keeps you going in times of need. Peace and love on the planet Earth from me!!! Remember that TLOU is created by a zionist so please look at the resources at the end of this fic and in my bio on ways to donate and educate yourself!!

Tags: Erotic voice actor Joel! AU, Young Joel, No outbreak AU, smut, condescension, degradation, f! masturbation, praise, squirting, smut, LOTS of dirty talk, oral (f receiving) friends to lovers, fingering, voice kink, Joel loves thighs, Joel Miller arm appreciation, the reader is a mess, no use of y/n, Joel can pick reader up but he’s HUGE so it makes sense, no description of reader, 18+ Word Count: 5.2k

Summary: you have been using audio erotica to get off for a month, and manage to accidentally let it play in Joel's car, leading to an awkward night in 

You let out an exhausted huff as the dim light of your phone reflected on your face. Your headphones connected, your vibrator was charged, but in some godforsaken twist of fate, there was not a single thing worth listening to on the newest audio erotica page you could find. Videos hadn’t been doing it for you, the ethical concerns were too high for you to be horny, and as much as you liked a good fanfic, you had gone through most of the ones you liked and needed something new.  You click on a post with semi intriguing tags, immediately rolling your eyes and exiting out of it when you hear the all too familiar vocal fry of men trying to sound hotter. News flash: you don't. 

You were moments away from calling it a night and opening your backlog of smutty ao3 fics when another post caught your eye. You let out a snort at the username save_a_horse and glance at the tags. Okay you were definitely interested now, a degrading instructional… you hit play with baited breath, prepping for the worst, but you were so mistaken. 

“Filthy little thing aint ya?” the voice rings in your ears, heat pooling between your legs embarrassingly quickly. “Must be so pathetic if you’re clicking on a mean stranger's voice to get ya’self off” his voice was like hot honey. Sickly sweet and keeping you waiting for his every word but with an edge that stung in the best way. You shuffle yourself back onto the pillows and throw your covers off, fully prepared to enjoy this rare gem. Your breathing picks up, heavy with want as the man in your ears calls you a desperate little slut. 

“Go on, get your toy wet slut” his voice croons out at you “know ya have one, too fuckin’ needy not to.'' Always eager to please, your lips find the base of your curved g-spot vibrator and let the soft plastic fill your mouth, drawing sounds that were almost too debauched for you to be sitting in bed alone. “Bet you love havin your mouth filled like that.. Lord, I'd love to have your pretty little lips around my cock” your eyes practically roll back at that, spit running down the base of your toy before he finally tells you to put it in.  

“Atta girl, such an eager thing” The toy sinks into your sopping cunt with ease as the voice envelops your mind, solely focusing on him. You listen with intense obedience as he tells you how deep, how quick, how much you were allowed. “Go on then, fuck yourself on it. We both know you want to” 

You let out a soft cry as you slip the toy in and out, the curve just hitting the spot that makes your back arch. Your breathing hitches as you press down on the button to turn the vibrations on. “Creamin’ all over yourself I bet,” it was like he could see you. Like he was able to see your arousal dripping onto the sheets below you, how the damp sheets clung to your thighs as they shook and twitched with pleasure. 

“Bet you’re so damn close.. Go on then slut, cum while listenin’ to me'' he taunts slightly as your orgasm washes over you in waves. “Gonna ruin ya,” his words are assertive, less of a promise and almost a threat “ain’t gonna cum unless it's to my voice anymore. Good fuckin’ girl”  You take a few steadying breaths as the audio clicks off, and you blink up at your ceiling unsure of how to go on from there. You glance down at your phone which has made its way to the opposite side of your bed and move to grab it.

You hit play on another audio. 

As the weeks go on, you and the mysterious cowboy in your ears have an immensely good time together. You practically spend every night listening to every one of his audios, leaving silly comments on the ones that make you cum particularly hard. It might have been an issue, how often you found yourself waiting for him to upload, how quickly you would pause your tasks to listen to new updates, but you were having fun and it wasn’t like you were hurting anyone in the process. 

You had just finished an audio before the blaring noise of a horn outside your door rattled you. The clock on your phone taunts you as do the several missed calls and texts from your best friend. “Fuck. fuck okay” you grumble, grabbing a towel and wiping yourself off before tossing a pair of comfy shorts on and grabbing your bag, and heading outside “have you never heard of a virtue called patience miller?” you quip as you slide into the passenger seat of his truck 

“Had it for the first five minutes, but about 10 minutes after that, I was damn ready to break your door down myself” he scoffs “what took you so damn long?” he rolls his eyes as you fiddle with the bluetooth in his car, not wanting to be stuck with what you call ‘old home music’ 

“I was just finishi-” your words are cut off when the sound of a moan plays over the speaker. Just your luck. You kept the grumpiest man alive waiting and then played porn in his car. Hooray for you. “Jesus fucking-” you squeak, fiddling with your phone and closing out of the app “Joel-” you start, cheeks burning and excuses already at the tip of your tongue, before he silently shakes his head and puts the car in reverse. 

The ride back to his house is awkward to say the least. “Joel listen I didn't mean for-” you mumble out meekly, but his sharp gaze on yours has you clamping your mouth closed immediately. You fiddle with your fingers, thinking about playing music, but it just doesn’t feel right anymore. The grip Joel has on the steering wheel is practically iron-clad, his knuckles almost white with the tension as he pulls into his driveway and puts the car in park. You walk into his house with a huff, your weekly game nights off to a bit of a rocky start, but you’ve had to deal with worse with him. Joel had given you moral support when your menstrual cup had gotten “stuck” during one of your first times using it, he could deal with knowing you listened to porn. 

You plop down onto his couch, stretching your legs out on the coffee table while he gets you a glass of iced tea. You take a sip of your drink and mentally prepare yourself for how bad he was going to tease you about this, but are met with shocking amounts of silence. For a man who is ruthless on game nights, the lack of trash talk and absolute avoidance was almost irritating you. Finally, after you beat him in uno for a third time in a row, you snap “What is your issue tonight miller?” you groan, placing a +2 card down “Listen I know that was awkward but we’re both adults I don't see what the big deal is'' 

Joel groans and places another +2, changing the color (much to your annoyance,) “just drop it, nothin’s the issue”  You, petulant and stubborn as ever, did not drop it. You huff as you have to take like 5 cards from the deck before getting one that you can play, and narrow your eyes at him. 

“Bullshit” you move to sit cross-legged on the couch “I never beat you in this game, something is wrong with you tonight,”  it was almost as if nobody had ever taught you not to poke a sleeping bear. Or maybe you figured that the bear was your best friend and probably wouldn't bite your head off… probably. 

“Just drop it peaches,” his words are terse, hands gripping his, now slowly diminishing, uno cards much tighter than he needed to. You groan again when you have to get another few cards. The irritation at his childish behavior, coupled with the stack of 20 cards in your hand makes you more of a menace than you probably should. 

“Don't be such a baby, Miller,” you poke his leg with your foot knowing full well he hates it, a yelp leaving your lips as he grabs your ankle and pulls you forward “Joel!” Your cards fly out of your hand 

“Told you to fuckin’ quit it peach.” His voice is a low timber, stirring something deep in your belly. “Never fuckin’ listen to me” 

You just snort at him when he releases your ankle, moving to pick up your cards, “you suck at uno today Joel” you hmph, rising to your feet “'m gonna get something else” you hear Joel protest and try to grab at your arm but you’re too determined and he’s far too comfy to get up quick enough.  You manage to make it to his spare room, swinging the door open, imagining you’d see a shelf with his board games only to stop dead in your tracks, “what the fuck-”

What you had always assumed was just his spare junk room or random linen closet, was what looked like an at home recording studio. A desk with a PC and speakers, full microphone set up, and what you could only assume was something to help with soundproofing  “What the fuck Miller?” Your voice is slightly full of awe, “are you recording shitty male superiority podcasts now?” you tease, a sly grin on your face. 

Despite how pleased you are with that crack at him, he looks absolutely unamused. He practically clomps over at you, big finger poking your ribs ``you know damn well I ain't doin’ that shit.” He rolls his eyes at your teasing. The idea of Joel Miller getting on the internet to talk about women in a way that wasn't him sitting at his desk going ‘they’re the best damn thing’ was laughable. He was a perfect gentleman to everyone, except maybe to you, but frankly you deserved it for all the shit you gave him. 

You squeak when his finger prods at your skin “okay, okay well what creepy shit are you doing in here then?” you wiggle your eyebrows at him, sauntering to his PC set up. The computer and speakers were calling out to you like a siren, and you did not have the common sense to plug your ears. 

Joel knew you. He could read you like a fucking book with how close the two of you were. He used to say that the one braincell you had spent fifty percent of its time inside his mind with how predictable you were to him. “Peach do not fuckin’ dare-” his voice is low, warning you. 

If you had better self preservation skills you would have probably heard the alarm bells ringing in your head telling you that he was serious, or paid better attention to the way his sweats were a little more tight. But you unfortunately were a complete menace, so neither of those items really registered to you. You clap your hands in an evil little giggle when you move the mouse “still no password? Shit you make my life so fucking easy-” you grin as you see the different clips of audio layered together in whatever program he uses 

Joel has somehow silently appeared behind you, his hand pulling you away from the computer. “Quit it peach, I’m not fuckin’ around,” he grits out, the hold on your wrist almost impossibly tight. He means business this time, and despite how much of a hellion you can be to him, you didn’t have a death wish. 

You scrunch your nose at him trying to pull your wrist out of his grip “okay jesus chri-” you yank your hand away from his, elbow bumping into the keyboard and are cut off with the sound of a gravely moan coming out of the speaker. Both you and Joel look like deer caught in the headlights. Your eyes flick between Joel, whose face has gone impressively red, and the screen of his computer.  “I- joel this is-” you stumble over your words, unsure of what to say in this situation. 

“Not a fuckin’ peep.” he practically growls at you. Your mouth clamps shut as he leans over you and presses pause on the audio. Your mouth is drier than it had ever been. That was a clip of your best friend, the one who was looming over you at this very moment, moaning into a microphone. You were certain that if you had listened any closer you would have been able to hear the sounds of his hand stroking his cock. The slight creak of his chair, the wet noise of the lube, or was he a spit guy? He however, was not interested in sharing any more of the audio with you, and you would deny it if anyone asked, you were a little disappointed. 

You need to say something, you had to, and despite your better judgment telling you not to, you do. “I mean you sound nice-” You sound nice?? You were so fucking ridiculous, even you knew that wasn’t the thing to say. Joel’s eyes darken at your words, and for a moment you fear he’s going to kick you out, to get truly pissed off at you for the first time since you finished his Dr. Pepper stash.  “I didn't mean-” you try to backtrack “I just meant- it... You sounded like you were enjoying yourself at least-'' you were actively digging the hole that you were in deeper, rambling and stuttering, all while Joel just stared at you silently, his eyes burning into you

You swallow hard, his eyes still not leaving yours “listen I can go I'm sorry I shouldn't have-” you go to make a beeline out of the room but a firm hand pulling you back into the chair stops you. You fall back with an oof and look up at Joel, who by all accounts looked pissed but there was something else. His pupils were blown and his eyes trace every single one of your movements. The bear had managed to lock in the own cage you had set out for him. 

“Didn't tell you to leave.” he practically grunts at you. Ladies and gentlemen, your best friend, always the most well spoken person in the room. You move to protest again, but the look he gives you stops the words before they even form on your tongue.  you bite your lip and fiddle with your fingers unsure what to do “think I sound nice peaches?” his voice cuts through the anxious rambling in your brain and you're almost certain you've heard him wrong 

“Huh?” you look back up at him through your lashes. He was leaning against the wall where his microphone was set up. His sweats were riding low on his hips and his hoodie covered the toned muscles of his arms, that if anyone asked you had never stared at. The tanned skin you never dared to fantasize about in your bed. The hair that covered his arms, the veins that often made more appearances when you asked forced him to do manual labor that you refused to do yourself. 

“Asked if you think I sound nice, Peaches?” he hums, raising a questioning brow at you. your mouth opens and closes ridiculously a few times before you simply just nod at him  “that's good..” he muses as he comes back up to you “do you think about me?” he prods, a patronizing pout on his lips as you gape up at him. “when you're listening to those dirty little audios and lettin’ your fingers touch that needy cunt?”  you can't help but squeak at his words. the way he said them, the way he spoke was just so… familiar  “come on, pretty peach, tell daddy what you think about when you're fingering that slutty little pussy” he practically grins at you and it fucking clicks. 

Daddy. Daddy. It was him. The stupid cowboy, the random man whose voice sent your tummy into knots, the one who had been getting you off for weeks now was your best friend.  “Joel-” you practically whimper at him. You can feel your heart pounding in your chest and also very distinctly between your legs. “Listen i didn’t know it was you-” there’s a shit eating smirk on his face, one that you would have told him to wipe off his face before you smack it off in any other scenario. 

“No?” he hums at you, his brow quirked up as he towers over you in that stupid recording chair “didn't know it was me when you were commenting all those pretty little reviews?” You whimper out a noise, somewhere between a no and a general sound of timidity, as his hand tilts your chin up to meet his eyes  “Lemme see if I can remember what it was you said before I got you in the car today peach?” he takes a moment to obnoxiously tap his forehead mocking the way you recall things “what was it you said? ‘This made me late to see my friend, but it also made me ruin my sheets’? Was that it peaches?” 

You take a shaky breath, your skin burning under his intense gaze, chin still in his hands. You nod softly at his question, knowing that if you didn't, he would just push you until you did. His grin turns wolfish at your confirmation, and you feel him shift his legs between yours, pushing them apart “yeah peach?” he tuts at you “made me wait for almost 20 minutes outside your house. just so you could cum to my voice… ain’t real nice of you” You take a wobbly breath at his words and try to reply, unsure of what you would even say. An apology maybe, an explanation? But before you can even move to open your mouth he’s cutting you off again 

“Woulda just given you the real thing baby,” he tuts at you “all you had to do was ask.'' His voice is low and almost condescending. You shouldn’t let it turn you on, you should tell him to fuck off, but you feel yourself gush at his tone, your bottom lip getting caught between you teeth. He whistles at the look on your face, his cock practically straining against his sweats, “bet you’re just creamin’ in those slutty little shorts baby'' his words aren’t a question, he’s stating it like he can read you like a book because he knows he can. His legs shift to press your legs further apart until your knees are bumping into the arm rests, your eyes unwavering from his.

Your breath is caught in your throat as he leans down to you, his lips pressed up by one of your ears “Listen to me like this peaches?” he whispers into your ear, a warm breath making you shiver before he moves to the other side “like having me in your ears with your legs spread?” 

“Yes.. fuck yes yes I do-” your words are rushed and lustful as you feel his hands dip into the waistband of your panties. Your hips jolt up into his touch, panties absolutely drenched with your arousal. Your eyes flutter shut for a moment, lips parting with a silent cry of pleasure. 

“Knew she’d be droolin’ all over” he hums as he brings his slick covered finger up to his lips and tastes you with delectable pop when he pulls off. “Tastes like I fuckin’ imagined. Like a fuckin’ peach” he groans and for a moment you swear you could cum just like that. 

“Shit Joel please-” he cuts you off with a shake of his head and a shushing noise, as he steps away from you. Your legs are still spread against the chair and you practically whine when he moves away from you, flicking on his recording set up. “Joel what-” he shushes you again, giving you a look that leaves no room for argument. 

“Quiet,” he mumbles, fiddling with the mic and pulling the rolling chair closer to it. “Like listenin’ to me so much, thought i’d use you for better effects. You okay with that peaches?” he asks, looking down at you. Despite the teasing and the mockery, you knew he would stop if you told him you didn't want it. But the idea of him stopping, even for a moment was going to make you explode. You nod, maybe too eagerly for someone about to get fucked on microphone, and he grins. 

“God always knew you were fuckin’ desperate for it” he kneels between your legs, and you stifle a giggle when his knees pop.  “Quit it you menace” He swats at your thigh playful smirk on his lips, making you jump slightly. “Gotta stay real quiet for me, understand?” you watch with bated breath as he moves the mic so it rests delicately in the tension filled space between your spread thighs and his face. 

You nod, lips parted, pupils blown, cunt practically dripping for him. He lets out a soft hum of approval, lips pressing a soft kiss to your thighs “nothing fuckin’ softer than a pair of soft thighs” he muses, half to himself, half to you and the mic “could just live between them forever, die happy if a girl pretty as a peach would let me bury my face there.” You feel yourself clench around nothing, feeling maddeningly empty all of a sudden. You shift to try to gain some friction, the chair giving a slight creak at the change in position. Joel looks up and glares at you, your body going still immediately under the intensity of his eyes. 

He sticks his hand out behind him, pausing the microphone from recording. “You need to stay. still.” he grits out at you “don't need the whole internet hearing how much of a desperate little thing you are.” You nod at his words, hands gripping the armrests so hard your knuckles turn white. He flicks the mic back on and his lips find your thighs again. Nipping and kissing the soft flesh just below the hem of your shorts. He slides his hands further up, popping the button open and you have to bite down on your fist not to moan when he drags the zipper down with his teeth. He shimmies you out of your shorts, leaving your bottom half clad in your embarrassingly wet panties. 

He lets out a growl at the sight of your cunt, clothed and practically dripping for him. “Look at her… practically creaming already and I ain’t even touched you yet” He lets his thumb press against the wet spot the slight pressure just barely teasing your sopping hole dragging a breathy sigh out of you. You look down at him, eyes hooded and lips parting, practically begging for him without uttering a damn word. 

He looks up at you as he slides your panties to the side, blowing a stream of cold air straight onto your clit, making you jump. “Pretty fuckin’ pussy…” he practically salivates at the sight of you “nothin’ fucking better than seein’ a drippy, needy, little cunt in front of me…” he presses a kiss to the inside of your thigh, right next to where you want him, where you need his lips 

You feel a shiver run down your spine at his words. Somehow it felt filthier being able to see the look on his face, the absolute need he had to taste you. The grip he had on your thighs was bruisingly tight, not helping your arousal die down in the slightest. His mouth finally finds your slit, tongue licking a hot wet stripe at an agonizingly slow pace. He lets out a guttural moan and practically salivates at the taste of you. “Taste so fuckin’ sweet” he groans, tongue dipping back down to taste more of your slick. One of your hands leaves the armrest of the chair and moves to cover your mouth when his lips place three gentle kisses around your clit before relenting and wrapping his lips around the aching bud, with a quiet hum. 

You bite down on your hand to stifle the moans threatening to spill, desperate and eager to please him. Your thighs shake when he slips a finger into your dripping cunt and curls them to hit that spot. He lets out a chuckle, lips still sucking on your clit. The vibrations of his warm breath on your aching clit elicited a desperate wine from your mouth, despite how hard you were trying to be quiet for him “Ffffuck-” 

He raises a brow at you, not even pulling away from your skin, his baby eyes just gazing at you from between your legs as his fingers work at you. Your bottom lip gets caught between your teeth in an effort to stop your sounds, but your attempts seem futile as your climax starts to draw near. Joel slips a second finger inside of you with embarrassing ease, the sound of his fingers curling inside you, joined only by your soft little breaths and his lips on your clit. His fingers stretch you in ways your fingers never have, scissoring and sliding inside of you with practiced precision. “Atta fuckin’ girl..” he growls as your toes curl instinctively, heels digging into his shoulder blades as the coil inside of you finally snaps. You feel yourself gush on his fingers, your thighs clamping around his head as he works you through it “squirtin’ all over daddy’s face huh like the needy thing you are.” 

He pulls your legs off from his legs and hits save on the audio, before glancing back at you with a smirk. “Ain’t posting that anywhere..” he whispers, the gentleness a shocking turn around from the filth he whispered to you earlier. Your breath is still coming out in shaky pants, looking up at him through hazy lids “keepin’ that all to myself” he hums, pressing a little kiss on your head. 

He scoops you up like you’re a ragdoll and practically clomps over to his bedroom, throwing you onto the bed. His fingers work deftly at the tie of his sweats, pushing them off. You squeak softly when you see the trail of hair going down his pelvis, the lack of boxers making heat rise to your chest. You work your top off, while he throws his hoodie across the room, a guttural groan leaving his mouth as he sees your breasts. “Fuckin’ perfect..'' His words aren’t necessarily for you, his thoughts just find themselves being voiced aloud. His calloused hands grope and knead at the softness of your tits before he presses wet kisses to each of your nipples. “Need to be inside ya” he practically begs, cock hard against his stomach leaking pre-cum. 

You could salivate at the sight, hell you truly might have a little bit. “Fuck me, Daddy, need you to fuck me Joel, please i can be good im ready, I'm on the pill-” your words were babbled, fast and rushed together, your intense desire for the man in front of you the only thing your brain could comprehend. Your legs part on the bed, your arousal dripping down your thighs calling to him like flowers call to a honeybee. 

“Christ, baby,” he groans before grabbing your legs and pulling you to the edge of the bed. He fists his cock and slides it through your aching pussy, both of you letting out simultaneous cries of shit when your wetness coats his length. He slides into you with gentle thrusts, letting you adjust to his size slowly, before sinking in all the way with a soft whimper “take me so good…” his words are quiet and breathless, almost as if he was in awe of how your body made room for him. 

“Oh my god-” you cry out, your hands fisting in the dark sheets under your skin. “so fucking big joel..” you clench around him, body on fire with how good he felt inside you, with how perfect it was. It was like you were made to take him like this. His thrusts get faster and your legs curl around his waist, pulling him in as deep as you possibly could. The feeling of his hand pressing on your lower stomach has you arching your back into his touch. 

“Perfect fucking thing,” he grits huskier than usual, with a thrust that knocks the air from your lungs. “Feel me peaches?” he thrusts into you again and presses on your tummy “right fuckin’ there.. Right where I god damn belong…” his words were lust filled and hazy, his own need and orgasm clouding all judgment. Your hips roll against his, the coarse hair brushing up against you, and your head lolls back into the mattress as his thrusts get sloppier. 

“Inside, Joel fuck-” you whimper at him, eyes wide and pleading as your second orgasm builds in the pits of your belly “please cum inside me, wanna feel you please..” for a moment he swears he’s died and gone to heaven. The sounds of your pretty little moans and begging are like a dream come true for him. He just nodded and shifted so he was practically cradling your body under his, cock buried so deep inside you that you knew you’d be feeling it for days afterward. 

He grinds his hips lazily against yours while his thrusts are shallow and pointed. Your legs shake while you meet his lips in a sloppy kiss, all tongue and teeth as you both fall apart practically molded together. “Jesus christ-” his breathing is ragged and hoarse “takin’ me so damn good, gonna fuckin’ fill you up” he gives a few more thrusts before he pulls out of your quivering pussy, your own orgasm sending stars into your eyes. 

You both stay like that for a moment, Joel's forehead resting softly on your shoulder as his cum spills out onto his bed. You shift softly to pull him next to you and curl into his touch, giving him a cheeky smile as you tilt his face to meet your eyes. “You…” a breathless little laugh escapes your lips “how long did you know I was commenting on your posts?” you ask softly, brows raised at him. 

He snorts at the question and flicks your forehead gently, earning a playful pout to be thrown in his direction. “Bout damn near two weeks ago” he replies, classic shit eating grin plastered to his face. “Figured it was you when you came over lookin’ like you’d won the damn Powerball and some little fan called peaches_and_cream left a comment about cummin’ three times to one damn post” you let out a muffled groan and bury your head into his chest, mumbling something about him being an asshole before you both shift into a comfortable silence. 

He moves, patting your hip and telling you to go use the bathroom after a few minutes, preaching his favorite safe sex speech and you roll your eyes at him before you saunter over to his bathroom. “Oh and Joel-” you call out before you walk in, eyes meeting his as he waits for you to finish your sentence “send me that audio, would ya?” 

A/N: From the river to the sea, Palestine will be free

READ: This account stands with Palestine unequivocally, and so— I require everyone who interacts to educate themselves, and support/donate. READ THESE; 1, HELP HERE, BOYCOTT. Silence is complicity, do not scroll past this.

DO NOT BUY THE REMASTER, TLOU2, TLOU1, OR ANY GAME FROM NAUGHTY DOG! neil druckmann (the creator) is a zionist.

PLEASE READ THIS. AND REBLOG THIS. 

Thank you for reading, and free Palestine

[sabreensthings]

Lucanis x Rook

summary: coffee with a demon and something more.

"You mean you didn't spend all that time dreaming about having coffee with your inner demon?" Rook teases, eyes flickering to the empty seat beside her, as if she could see the demon in question. Lucanis smiles, follows the movement of Rook's gesture. Then he casts his gaze downward and pauses, considers his next words, his next actions.

He wants to reach across the table, reach for Rook's hand, but the table is too long and her fingers are too preoccupied with the porcelain of a cup. Lucanis considers, then stands from his seat, instead walks around to where Rook is and closes the distance as much as he can before he is standing just inches from her and the aroma of Chamomile tea tickles his senses. She looks up at him with her honey eyes and he blanches on the spot. He can hear the distant tune of an old tavern song, upbeat and cheery, with lyrics that praise of a young girl and tales of rebellion. Eyes sharp like a razor. The song keeps him grounded, keeps him situated as he tries to find the right words. The right way to show Rook his feelings and his devotion. Mierda, was it alright for him to take her hands? Lucanis hesitates and decides to simply meet her awaiting gaze, uncertain of his actions, his own hands remaining firm at his side.

"And with you." He begins, careful. "But here we are."

Rook smiles. Bright and expectant. She sets down her tea and Lucanis continues, his expression softening.

"Whatever this is, I'll take it."

Lucanis was never a master with words, but even this felt insufficient compared to what he truly felt in his heart. He did not wish to cross any unseen boundaries as well, however. There was more than simply friendship between the two, but other than the found hours of the night with quiet whispers, lingering after candles burned low, and the occasional fleeting touch, there was nothing affirming a romantic relationship. Rook was patient. Understanding. He knew she would move at his pace, but Lucanis didn't even know how to move forward.

Por la sangre del Hacedor, he thinks. He is terrible at this.

Rook, with eyes soft and an expression of rare vulnerability, breaks Lucanis out of his nervous stupor. She takes the initiative this time and gently grasps one of Lucanis's hands. They are warm, comforting. He could hold her hand forever if she'd let him. Rook gives him the small push he needs, though doesn't pressure him, makes sure the tempo of their relationship is still dictated by him. She takes his other hand, her gaze sincere, but also curious.

"And what is this, exactly?" She wants to hear the confirmation from him. Lucanis's breath catches when Rook's thumbs brush against his knuckles and he just about crumbles.

"I..." He pauses, searches her eyes for any signs of discontent, but is only met with encouragement and a gentle squeeze of her hand. Lucanis collects himself. "I would like this to be something more."

"More...Like what?" Rook inquires, however, there's a hint of a playful flare in her tone. Like she wants him to spell it out for her even though she fully understands his intentions. Of course she would tease him, even now. Lucanis groans with a shake of his head, the corners of his lips curling into an exasperated grin. Always too close to the edge, she was.

"Rook." He sighs, unable to hide his fondness for her. "You are impossible."

She flashes her signature smile and tilts her head. "In a good way?"

Lucanis doesn't hesitate this time.

"It's what I adore about you."

Now it was Rook's turn to pause, to fall silent and stare up at him with widened eyes. She wasn't expecting the sudden sincerity, and the absolute reverence across Lucanis's face makes her flush. Emboldened, he raises one of Rook's hands to his lips and presses a soft kiss to her palm. Gentle, like a promise.

"I want to be with you, Rook." The words tumble from his mouth without a second thought, releasing the waves of buried feelings and yearning as if he would not get another chance. "To bare my soul to you, my heart, and anything else you wish to take because it all belongs to you." And he presses another kiss to her hand, another promise of devotion. Lucanis was never a master of the heart but he is earnest in his resolve. The depth of his passion diligent.

Floral and warm. Delicate. Nurturing.

The flash of purple in his peripheral doesn't make him pull away this time. On the contrary, Lucanis and Spite have reached a mutual understanding.

We belong. To Rook.

[gamergirl929]

I Want To Ruin Our Friendship (We Should Be Lovers Instead) (Sophia Smith x Reader)

You weren't big on social media, you never got in on the TikTok craze, but when your best friend, and long time crush Sophia Smith asked you to make a TikTok, you couldn't say no.

You were never big on social media, in all honesty, you didn’t see the appeal, especially when it came to TikTok.  

Anytime you saw your teammates recording a TikTok, you’d roll your eyes, but go along with whatever they were doing when the camera was turned your way, half-heartedly of course. 

They were big on TikTok trends, and often recorded them at camp or at friendlies. 

Somehow, you weren’t entirely sure how, you’d been roped into one of these said trend, but here you were sitting side by side with your best friend, Sophia Smith, the woman noticeably fidgeting. 

“Hey.” You say softly, the girl’s breath hitching when you place your hand on top of hers.  

“You alright?” You ask, your brows furrowed. 

Her throat bobs, her brown orbs darting to your lips before again meeting your eyes. 

“Y-Yeah.” She stutters and you hum, giving her hand a squeeze before letting go, missing the light twitch at the corner of her mouth. 

You were well aware that something was bothering her, you knew her too well to NOT know something was wrong.  

She was your best friend and had been since you’d become roommates in college. 

You knew Sophia Smith better than anyone, and she knew you better than anyone. 

She was the first person you’d come out to in college, and unsurprisingly, she was incredibly supportive. 

However, there was one thing she didn’t know, and that was that you were deeply in love with her and had been since college. 

You inhale deeply, pulling yourself out of your thoughts before clearing your throat. 

“So, what exactly are we doing here?” You ask, wondering what TikTok trend you were actually doing.  

Sophia clears her throat. 

“J-Just listen to this song.” She says softly before, pressing play on your phone, music filling the air 

Your brows arch when Sophia starts humming, her cheeks dusted pink. 

You wouldn’t admit it but you liked hearing her sing, something she did almost every morning in college when she was making coffee before class. 

You’d act like her early morning peppiness was annoying, but in reality, you loved waking up to the sound of her voice. 

“I think I’ve heard this song.” You say, vaguely remembering hearing it come from your best friend's phone one night. 

“Y-Yeah?” She stammers tugging at the hem of her t-shirt and you nod. 

It’s then that the lyrics start, the woman beside you singing quietly.  

“Y/N, darling, you’re my best friend.” She sings and your cheeks flush. 

“But there’s a few things, that you don’t know of.” 

You quirk your eyebrows, noting that Sophia glanced away, her cheeks flushed.  

“Why I borrow your lipstick so often.”  

You stop yourself from playfully teasing the woman that you in fact didn’t wear makeup, but you didn’t want to interrupt her. 

“I’m using your shirt as a pillowcase.” She puts her hands together and leans against them, feigning sleep. 

The look on her face changes as she cups your cheeks, your breath catching in your throat. 

“Soph?” You say, her throat bobbing as she sings the next set of lyrics. 

“I want to ruin our friendship.” She whispers as she leans in, your heart pounding wildly. 

“We should be lovers instead.” She sings before closing the distance between you. 

You kiss back with no sense of hesitation, wrapping your arms around her middle as you pull her close, your lips never disconnecting. 

Her arms wrap around your neck as you kiss softly.  

Your lips disconnect momentarily as she crawls into your lap, her legs wrapping around your middle before your lips meet again and again, each kiss sweeter than the last. 

“I’ve been wanting to do this for so long.” Sophia whispers against your lips and you smile.  

“Me too.” 

The TikTok you were making is entirely forgotten as your lips reconnect, the two of you smiling against one another's lips. 

You pull back, chuckling when the woman in your lap whines loudly. 

“How long have you been wanting to kiss me?” You ask, playfully bumping your nose against hers and she blushes as she turns away.  

“A while...” She mumbles and you smile, taking her chin between your thumb and index finger and turning her back towards you, your Y/E/C orbs meeting her dark browns.  

Her cheeks darken and you smile softly, your eyes holding a softness that makes her eyes go glassy and her heart skip a beat.

“When you walked into our dorm room, tripped on the carpet and fell on the floor.” She giggles and you throw your head back with an annoyed groan.  

“I was so embarrassed.” You mumble and she smiles, ducking down to press a gentle kiss to your lips.  

"It was adorable.” She teases and you snort.  

“Sureeeee it was.” You stick your tongue out and she hums.  

“What about you?” She asks, your brows furrowing in question your head cocking to the side.  

Sophia giggles, cupping your cheek.  

“How long have you been wanting to kiss me?” She asks and you ponder thoughtfully, already knowing the answer as you cover her hand with your own.  

“When I got up off the floor and you did everything you could not to laugh when you introduced yourself.” You grin and she giggles, stroking your jawline.  

“I was trying SO hard.” She says, giggling even harder and you roll your eyes.  

“Oh, I know. I heard you laughing when I left to get my stuff.” You say and she snorts, burying her face in your neck as she giggles.  

“Oh my god, I’m sorry.” She laughs and you scoff.  

“Yeah, you SOUND really sorry.” You say as you squeeze her sides, the woman squeaking loudly.  

You grin maliciously, the woman attempting to scramble out of your lap, but she’s too late considering you’d rolled the two of you over and now had her pinned beneath you, your fingers digging into her sides.  

She bats at your hands as you playfully tickle her sides, only stopping when the woman’s chest is heaving as she tries to catch her breath.  

You hover over her, your eyes darting around her face as she fills her lungs with air.  

“You’re gonna pay for that.” She pants and you hum, burying your face in her neck and kissing her jawline.  

“Oh, am I?” You ask, Sophia’s breath shuddering as you kiss her pulse point.  

“Y-Yeah.” She sighs, giving you a playful glare when you pull away from her, her shining brown orbs locking with your sparkling Y/E/C’s.  

“You know...” You start, Sophia’s brow arched.  

“I guess TikTok isn’t THAT bad.” You shrug and she giggles.  

“Does that mean you’ll make more with me?” She asks and you smirk.  

“If they end this way every time, then hell yeah.”  

Needless to say, you made A LOT of TikToks after that, and they all, in fact, end the same way every time.  

[nataliescatorccioapologist]

Starting a Yellowjackets tag!

I want to get my mind off of things so: If you want, answer any or all of the questions below and tag 10 people (or however many you want) who also might want to share! I would love to see what you guys have to say!

1. Are you team Rational or Supernatural?

2. Who is your favorite teen timeline character? Favorite adult timeline character?

3. What is your favorite needledrop?

4. What is your favorite ship?

5. What is your favorite episode?

6. Who do you want the Antler Queen to be?

7. What is your favorite scene in the entire series?

8. A theory or prediction you have about Season 3?

9. Which character do you relate to the most, and why?

10. What is the craziest thing you’ve done in the name of Yellowjackets?

Bonus:

11. What’s your most controversial Yellowjackets take?

—

Here’s mine!

1. I am mostly Team Rational because I love the way this show depicts trauma but I also love seeing the supernatural side of things through the survivors’ eyes if that makes sense.

2. Natalie in the teen timeline because I love her compassion and softness underneath the front she puts on. Lottie in the adult timeline because I love her internal battle with herself and how afraid she is of her own mind. Misty is a close second in the adult timeline!

3. “Cornflake Girl” playing while Nat sees the mossy tree for the first time, Callie seeing the Adam Martin driver’s license in the barbecue, and Shauna eating Jackie’s ear. It just goes so perfectly with everything that’s going on (especially the elevated piano while Nat and Travis are scaling the mountain and the lyrics while Shauna takes the bite!)

4. LottieNat is my favorite ship I can’t help it Nat and Lottie are my favorite characters so having them together is a dream (TaiVan, JackieShauna, and TravNat are up there, too).

5. 1x09 “Doomcoming” is just amazing and captures everything I love about Yellowjackets. I love when they let the girls go batshit crazy, hoping we get more Doomcoming vibes in S3.

6. I want the Antler Queen to be Natalie because that would show a true descent for her in the Wilderness from being the most morally grounded one to the leader of the group at their most unhinged and primal. But honestly I think that Shauna might be the AQ after all…

7. I think the Jackie-eating scene is the best in the entire show. The “Climbing Up the Walls” song choice, the bacchanal feast flashes as a way of coping with the horror of what they’re doing, seeing them go fully feral for the first time, it’s such a well crafted scene.

8. I know this probably won’t happen but I’m just going to throw it out there that Cabin Daughter is alive and she will be revealed to have been Javi’s “friend”!

9. I relate to Shauna the most because I also admittedly have a bit of an obsessive/intense personality and I, too, internalize my emotions to a very unhealthy degree sometimes. I also grew up being in love with my childhood best friend who is very, very much like Jackie (and now we have been dating for 7 years!)

10. Mine is a mix of going to a Yellowjackets panel and sitting like 5 feet from the showrunners, doing everything in my power to score early screening tickets to Heretic and Companion, and pretending I was sick so I could go home early from work the day that the S3 trailer came out.

11. The male characters on this show get too much hate🫢 I like Travis, Jeff, Kevyn, and Walter (even though his introduction and storyline are rushed and forced). I don’t like them more than the female characters, but I like them nevertheless and appreciate their contributions to the plot.

No pressure tags! (I’m tagging 15 bc I feel like it) @before-it-felt-like-a-sin @baked-potatoes-rule @jackiesnats @deerest-deer @whodoesnataliehave @stilllsage @fairytwles @glitterfairy-21225 @lesbianforlottie @tr4vnat @lauraleetaylor @cassioo @natsboygirlfriend @soapyjackets @pinkkkkat @natgf123 +literally anyone else who wants to!