#that are sort of choreographed but not really

[rockshitty]

oh. OH! that makes a really good metaphor for explaining the difference between ttrpg fighting and real fighting, for those fuckos who think their character should be able to one-punch someone out, because they know how to fight irl and can one-punch someone out in the 7-11 parking lot if the matchup is bad enough.

the best fighters in the world are the guys who make it look good, who can show off the highs and lows of a battle to the death in a quick, tightly choreographed sequence.

Bruce Lee is the greatest fighter the world has ever known because he's fun to watch. Bubba-Lee from Fort Wayne Indiana could rip his arms off irl, but Bubba-Lee the character archetype is the sort that gets side-stepped, tripped, and falls off a roof into a dumpster, and then the hero turns around and faces the real bad guy.

The trick to understanding tabletop RPGs which pride themselves on simulating reality rather than emulating genre tropes is that their designers' notion of "realism" is typically informed by popular fiction which bills itself as "realistic" – which is, itself, a genre with a discernible body of tropes.

[rearranging-deck-chairs]

obsessed with their different reactions to being called starcrossed lovers

[yieldtotemptation]

WISH ft. Giselle

giselle x male reader smut

8k words

"It's a Christmas miracle!" —is how Giselle chooses to make her grand entrance, swinging open the door to your bar, a fresh powder of snow dusting her shoulders. She shrugs it off. "My favourite person in all of Seoul."

You deadpan, "That's very concerning."

She laughs off your quip with the same ease that she does everything else. Sways her hips, saunters over to you, fire engine-red heels clacking against wood as she rushes to take her usual stool. Not like she'd have to fight anyone for it, there's no one else here.

Besides, even if there were—it's always been hers.

You're sliding over her drink before she can even open her mouth to order, because that's what you do for her. Anticipate. Your job in a nutshell, really. Knowing what she wants.

Her thanks is in the blush colouring her cheeks, flushing them a rosy pink, matching her hair in hue.

Just so immediately pretty.

She raises the drink, grinning at you through the glass. Gets a little too dramatic with her gasp.

"Exactly what I wished for! How did you know?"

"Made a list, checked it twice."

That earns you a giggle, has Giselle leaning forward, propping an elbow on the bar, chin in her palm. Her usual routine—just sitting there, all beautiful and flirty and really, really fucking out of place amongst the dim lighting and worn-out leather.

And yeah, you’ve committed it all to memory, seen it in every light and shadow; the smoky liner ringing around her eyes, the gloss that makes her lips look shiny and sweet and oh so soft. The absolutely devastating smile that never seems to leave her—only gets wider, warmer, parting when she laughs and slaps a hand on the table, or lands it on your forearm.

Accidentally, of course.

"Does that mean I get to sit on your lap later?"

It’s a touch early for her to throw out bait so blatantly. That’s more of a three-drinks-in kind of thing.

Still, your mouth answers for you before your brain can catch up, “Depends if you've been naughty or nice.”

“I think we both know the answer to that one,” she says, far too casually for you to handle, daring you to let that thought linger. Let it rattle around your head with all the other loaded thoughts involving her in various states of undress and in all sorts of compromising positions—underneath, on-top, kneeling. Thoughts that are better kept on a tight leash.

Because you know what would happen if you were to give in to them.

How you’d reach over the bar separating the two of you, pull her onto the counter. Send all the glasses, the bottles, crashing to the floor, and just kiss that smile right off her face, right here, right now. Tear off her clothes and leave her bare and exposed to the cold December air, make her yours, fuck her absolutely senseless. Render her nothing but a victim to your fingers, your lips, your cock, to all the need that’s been boiling inside you over the past months and—fuck.

She's got you good.

There's no point in pretending like it hasn't been this way since the first time she found you—at the end of an alley that's at the end of another alley, down the stairs and into the underground proper. Waltzing her way into the hovel that is your whiskey bar; all for reasons that you’re yet to fully untangle.

Months of performing this same dance—it's late, she walks in, typically perfect and bouncy, like some half-remembered fantasy or a libido-driven hallucination. Only, she must be real, because there’s no way you could ever conjure up someone like her.

It's embarrassing, you really should be far more used to it now, built up at least a partial immunity to her brand of charm. But somehow, she still finds a way under your skin. You’re only human, after all. And she’s… she’s Giselle.

Undeniably, in-your-face gorgeous, Giselle.

Dead-set and determined to throw herself at you until you break.  

"Perfect," is her evaluation when she's taken her first sip. It plays out like it’s been choreographed: she licks her lips, flashes that million-dollar smile, lets loose a sigh of pure joy. Looks at you all wide-eyed and impressed; like you're the only person in the world who's ever given her exactly what she wants. Like she doesn't already live in a reality where everyone else falls flat on their faces to ensure that the needs of Aeri Uchinaga are met. “Always perfect.”

And you have your own steps to follow. You're glued to the pulse in the curve of her neck, the gentle slope of her shoulders, the naked collarbone when she shirks off her coat to reveal tits that are much too ample for her dress to contain. All these little things that make her so fucking distracting.

She says, surreptitiously, "You know, I didn't think you'd be open today."

"And yet you came anyway."

"And yet I did."

There's the loaded insinuation stacked on top of her words like a teasing question mark:

('I came looking for you.'

'I was waiting.')

"Like I said, a Christmas miracle," Giselle repeats, softly this time. Barely audible over the Christmas tunes you’ve got on a loop, some self-inflicted torture you’re wreaking on yourself for purposes unknown. Maybe to get into the spirit of things. Maybe to keep the silence at bay. Maybe to make Giselle's efforts feel less effective.

It doesn't work.

It does, however, have you leaning in just to hear her better, and that's a mistake right there. Getting too close that you can follow the lines of the dress she's picked out for the night. A sheer black, strapless number that hugs her figure close, dipping at her chest, giving you just enough of a glimpse to send the alarm bells ringing.

Ending short of the tops of her thighs, because of course she's wearing stockings, and of course they have tiny little bows holding them up, and you're already thinking about how easy it would be to get your teeth in them and pull them apart, and the walls are starting to feel closer and closer with each passing second.

But you don't say anything. You just try to remember to breathe. You chance a look back at her face, aiming for unaffected.

Her eyes instantly undo you.

Giselle uncrosses and crosses her legs. The stockings stretch.

"Like what you see?"

Now seems like an optimal time to pour yourself a drink. Something strong to fortify the weakness in your knees, to maybe bolster the resolve that's threatening to crack like the ice frosting over the windows outside.

You grab a glass, pour a good measure of whiskey and throw it back without even bothering with the usual ritual. You need it. The burn is a good distraction.

You turn her question back on her. Shame on her for asking something so obvious. "What do you think?"

"I think," Giselle smiles, tilts her head, that curtain of bubblegum-pink cascading over her collarbone and down onto the bar, "That it appears that all the effort I put getting into this tight fucking dress was worth it."

You're unable to stop yourself from saying, "Don’t need the dress if that was the intention." It slips out of you, like an idiot, and you decide to busy yourself by pouring two more drinks, because you really don't know what the fuck else to do at this point.

“Duly noted,” she says, likely adding it to some mental file she keeps on you. Ways to get you to drop your guard. Ways to get under your skin. “But don’t you think unwrapping presents are half the fun?”

You’re rolling your eyes, it’s too much, but Giselle’s too good at this whole thing. Got the two of you sliding deep into the easy rhythm of conversation you've found yourselves in many, many times before; when it's just you and her in the waning hours of the night and you're finding excuses not to close up and she's finding excuses to stay.

And the drinks just compound on it even more. All the alcohol really seems to do is blunt her filter and dull your better instincts, bringing you both to that tipsy point where everything that comes out of your mouths can’t help but sound like shameless innuendos; all terrible ideas that you both absolutely must indulge in.

Talking and flirting and drinking until you’re finally crossing that invisible line drawn over the counter of your bar, forgetting about that ethereal wall of separation that keeps you on the straight and narrow; that would normally stop you from doing things like reaching over and brushing a strand of pink out of her face and over her ear.

You keep your hand there, your thumb padding the soft skin of her cheek. She leans into your palm.

“So,” she says, and it’s accompanied by the kind of pause that holds a whole universe of possibility. She takes a sip of her third drink of the night, her eyes fixated on you, studying the lines on your face. Trying to find the cracks.

“So.”

“Why haven’t you made a move on me?”

She might as well have gathered snow from outside your door and thrown it right at your face. You blink, the warmth of the whiskey in your cheeks fading fast. “Very confident of you to think that I would want to.”

“Don’t dodge,” she chides. “We both know you didn’t open tonight for the amazing business rush. So. Spill. Why?"

You’re about to spout off an excuse—something about a Hippocratic oath, or bartender-customer privilege, but Giselle cuts your lie short before it can even leave your throat.

“You’ve been staring at me like you want to eat me alive every night I’ve been here, and you expect me to believe you’re not interested?” Giselle leans closer, her breath warm on your hand. Her eyes piercing through, stripping away every defence you’ve ever had. “You’re barely hiding it you know? How badly you want me.”

There’s an implicit challenge underneath her words. You get the message loud and clear:

Don’t you know how badly I want you too?

"It's—" you start, before course correcting when you catch the smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. You swirl the whiskey around in your own glass, watching the amber liquid catch the light and dance. "Complicated."

"Oh really?" Giselle's eyes light up at that, and you're beginning to feel like you're falling into some trap she's set up. It just hasn’t revealed itself to you yet. "I like complicated. I live off complicated."

"I'll bet," you reply, not missing the fact that she's now taken your hand into hers, threading her fingers through yours. "Probably why you're here so often."

Giselle clicks her tongue, runs it across her lips. You'd die for a taste. "I thought I asked you to stop dodging. But, if you really want to know, I come here because I like the company," she explains, before ending her thought with, "and the attention."

"Because being an idol doesn't give you enough?"

"Not in the way I want it."

"And I do?"

"Not yet," she says, with an air of finality. "But give it time."

The silence stretches between you, thick with the weight of the unspoken. The air in the bar feels charged, like the moment before a storm hits. You're reading her, acutely aware of the things running through her mind, because you can see it in her eyes, because they're the exact same thoughts that’s never left yours.

You want her.

You need her.

She’ll give herself to you.

Giselle’s the first to break the pause. “Ask me.”

“Ask you what?”

The corners of eyes crinkle ever so slightly, and that's about where you realise your fate's been sealed from the start. She takes a deep breath, her chest rising and falling. You’re aching already. "What I really want for Christmas."

You don't need a map to know where this is headed. But you still ask anyway. "And what is that?"

"You."

You set down your glass with a clink. "Look, Giselle—"

"Let me finish," she interrupts, and now her hand's sliding up your arm, leaving a trail of static wherever she touches. "For Christmas this year, all I want is for you to do whatever you want to me."

A second attempt, "Giselle—"

"I know you want to. You know I want you to. We've danced around this for too long and I'm running out of ways to subtly tell you that if I don’t get my hands on that perfect cock that I know you're hiding, I just might burn this place to the ground. So," she says carefully, intentionally. Making sure you feel each word coursing through your every nerve ending, winding their way down to your cock, until you’re throbbing in your pants.

Giselle bats her eyelashes. Bites her lip. Leans even closer. Her tits get very close to winning the war against her dress.

"Don't you want to make my Christmas wish come true?"

You never stood a chance. "I do quite like my bar in one piece."

"I do too." Giselle's smile turns devilish. “But I like the idea of having your cum inside me more.”

"Then we better get you out of your clothes."

Only, a slight amendment.

"But keep the stockings on."

—

Giselle kisses you like a woman starved. Messy, sloppy crashes that has her nose bumping into yours and her teeth finding purchase in your lip. She seems determined to leave her mark. You’re more than happy to let her.

It’s a far cry from what you’re used to—the build-up, the slow crescendo where you both pretend that you don’t immediately want to jump to the inevitable—but Giselle clearly doesn’t give a fuck about any of that.

The moment you’ve dragged her over the bar, fulfilled your fantasy and cleared the countertop so the only thing standing between you and her body is the crumpled mess of her dress, she's on you. Moaning, whining into your mouth, desperate. Tongue hunting down yours, pressing into it, trying to wrestle it into submission.

Taking your cheeks into her hands, holding firm, the only thing keeping her steady as you match her hunger, heat against heat. Her taste is everything you've ever wanted—sweet and sharp, like the whiskey burning through your veins, warming you from the inside out.

"God, I needed this," she whispers in the breaths between your kisses, as your hands get adventurous and run down the length of her spine, pulling her closer into you.

You make good on your promise, finding the zip, peeling it down, leaving the fabric to sag off her shoulders. Her skin is cold underneath your fingertips, the curve of her back breaking out in goosebumps. Your touch makes her arch, her back bow, her breasts push up against her dress until it can't hang on any longer and the whole thing pools around her waist.

“Merry Christmas to me,” comes tumbling out of your mouth when you finally get to appreciate Giselle.

The full, round tits, naked and begging for your hands. The smooth curve of her waist, the dip of her stomach. The way her hips flare out, giving way to thighs that you know, just know, will be the perfect grip. And the stockings. Holding up the suspension of your disbelief—she’s so ridiculously out of your league and yet so, so needy for you.

“Fucking gorgeous, Giselle,” you’re telling her, making her sigh, her eyes closing shut as you reach out to fill your hand with her chest. Your touch makes her nipples pebble, stiffen underneath your thumb. She leans back, pushing her chest out even more, giving you as much of herself as she can for you to touch, to tweak, to worship.

And she’s so much smaller than you, so much softer than you’ve ever allowed yourself to believe. The reality of her in your arms is far more intense than any fantasy you’ve ever concocted in the quiet of the night after she’s long gone and left you with nothing but her memory. But she’s giving herself to you now, wanting you to do it all.

Letting you push into her, kiss the skin between her neck and her clavicle, press into her a brand that will linger long after you’ve both unwinded and unraveled each other.

“Just like that,” Giselle whispers in your ear, hands finding your neck, needing you even closer still. “Don’t stop, just keep touching me. You can do whatever you want—tell me what you want, and I’ll do it. Just don’t stop.”

Nothing else to do but oblige, to give in to your baser instincts, to bring every fantasy, every lurid thought to life. Giselle’s been living in your mind rent-free. Filled it with thoughts of fucking her into oblivion again and again—so you already know exactly where to go, what to do next.

You know to trace the edge of her stocking with your thumb, pressing down on the bow, watching as the skin around it flushes from your touch.

You know to drag your hand up, higher up her thighs, push the hem of her dress to her waist, slip under the elastic of her panties and hold itself there. Leave her trembling in anticipation of your touch.

“Please,” you’ve barely started and she’s already begging, breathless. Needing for you to explore her.

But first, you need to tell her how.

“I’m going to touch you,” you say, voice gruff, and she shudders, her hands tightening around your neck. “I’m going to get my fingers into your cunt, I’m going to squeeze your tits, I’m going to make you scream my name, and you will, because you’re going to be such a good girl for me. Understood?”

Her eyes flash open, meeting yours. Not an ounce of doubt. Just pure need.

“Yes,” she says. A single word that’s more a plea than a response. “Please. Do whatever you want. Make me feel good.”

She just about collapses when you yank her panties down and push your hands between her thighs.

“God—fuck—” and she’s sobbing already.

“You’re so drenched,” you’re remarking, sliding your fingers higher, feeling the wetness that’s been gathering there for who knows how long.

“For you,” she’s gasping, repeating herself, “For you.”

It’s so easy to find the heat of her, to push in and down on the top her mound. Give just the right amount of pressure on her clit that makes her jerk. Makes the muscles in her face twitch, her mouth open wide and moan. It’s a melody in your ears, and you press down harder, swirling now, and you’re beginning to think you’ve found your true calling.

Fuck making her drinks; making her fall apart is why you were put on this planet in the first place.

Her breasts jiggle with every tremble that runs through her, flickering in reach of you, taunting you with their bounce. You can’t help but lean down. Not when they’re calling to you like that.

You lick a path from the base of her neck to her collarbone, and then lower, to one of those perfect peaks that’s been begging for your attention.

Giselle inhales sharp through her teeth, her chest heaving as you start to suck on her nipple. You work your tongue around it, roll it in your mouth until her knuckles turn white against the edge of the bar, her nails digging into surface. The sounds she’s making, these choked gasps that are so raw, so needy.

Showing how good she feels with every part of her body—pushing her breasts up and into your face, her hands tangling in your hair, legs spreading wider, thighs shaking at the effort of staying upright.

You don’t let up, keep going—tongue swirling, fingers moving at double-time over her cunt, her other tit.

Listening to her turn your name into something filthy, something that sounds like a curse.

You pull back off her, cool air kissing the wetness you leave behind, making her quiver, her high, fuck-me heels knocking against wood.

“Giselle,” you say, taking in this look of bliss on her face. The teary eyes, the trembling lip, her cheeks now so very red. “Gonna make you cum now.”

You don’t wait for permission. You already have it. You step forward, lifting her legs up and trapping her atop the bar, spreading her wide open.

Two fingers at first, all at once, no hesitation. Giselle’s pupils blow wide, shocked, teeth bite down on her bottom lip, muffling a cry that you feel in the pit of your stomach. She’s so soaked that you slide right in with ease, a slow push that makes her whine, the slickness making the sounds of your fucking echo over the din of the empty bar.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck—” Giselle stutters, all breathy and desperate. Hands flying to your shoulders, nails digging in. Holding on for dear life, writhing as your fingers curl upwards, pushing up against that magical spot inside that has her clenching.

“Such a good girl,” you say, the words slipping out of your mouth like they’ve always been there, just waiting for her to hear them.

The whimper that she makes—the noise alone should be illegal.

“So tight around me,” you tell her, pushing on, focusing entirely on pulling more of these noises from her, doing your best to ignore how hard you already are, how unbearable it is to not be inside her. “So good for me.”

It’s the praise that makes her keen, makes her whine. Pushes herself onto your fingers, trying to get more, trying to get all of you. Just so fucking hot for you.

You can see it playing out across her body, the way she’s losing herself to the pleasure, giving up control of her own functions to you.  So helpless, so beautiful. So fucking delighted to finally have you using her in ways she’s only dreamt of.

You’ve never seen anything like it. You’re addicted before you’ve even had her.

“This cunt is going to feel so good around my cock.”

Giselle's nodding, slurring together a string of yeses and thank yous in response.

Her pussy’s pulsing around your fingers, juices soaking your hand, she’s already so close. So close that you can almost taste the orgasm on her skin.

“You want it so fucking bad, don’t you, Giselle? Want me to fuck you senseless.”

Her eyes are glazed over, barely there. Just stunningly beautiful even in the midst of her desire, and you’re not even sure she’s heard you at all until she’s panting out, “I want it. Need it. So much. Oh, God, please, fuck me with your cock. Make me cum. Make me scream.”

But you get in close, lips to her cheek, a command for only her to hear. “You’re going to cum all over my hand. You’re going to show me how badly you want it. Understand?”

“Yes—yes, please—” is the most she can manage, a harsh whisper that barely gets through. You feel it more than hear it, a shiver running through her, down her spine and up yours. “Do it. Give me more, I need it.”

She’s nothing short of incredible. Writhing under your touch, losing herself to your fingers—there’s never been anything—anyone—like this. Anyone that runs this hot,  that pleads this much, that is so eager for nothing but you, as much of you as you can give.

There’s no excuse for why it's taken so long to get here, why you let every other opportunity skate by. But now’s not the time for regrets. This is all just catch-up. Getting to this moment that’s been burning a hole in your mind. Making up for all the times when you should’ve been bringing her to her knees, should've been marking her up as yours.

“Mine,” you’re claiming, taking her lips once more, feeling the tremble in her chin. “You’re going to be mine, aren’t you?”

“Yours,” her voice quavers back into your mouth.

She kisses you back like she’s drowning, like you’re the very air she needs to breathe. And it’s all you can do to finger-fuck her faster, pressing deeper into her wetness. It’s filthy, borderline disrespectful the way that you’re owning her now. But it’s all necessary, if that’s what it’s going to take to get to feel her shatter in your arms.

But just as you can feel her hips bucking up off the counter and into your wrist, as she’s about to tip over the edge, you pull back, breaking the kiss, leaving her choking for air.

“Look at me,” you tell her, forcing her glassy eyes to refocus, to snap to yours. “I’m going to make you feel so good. You’re going to cum so hard for me. You’re going to look at me when you do.”

Giselle opens her mouth answer, but all that comes out is a whiny mewl when you slide your other hand from her tits to the back of her neck, pulling her into you, hard enough that you can feel her pulse drumming against your palm.

“That’s it, such a good girl,” you say to her, adorning her with all these sweet words that absolutely wreck her. And it’s so easy to because all of them fit. Your good girl, your slut, your baby, your whore. She deserves to hear them all. “Take it, take it all for me.”

“Fuck, please, I’m almost—” She tries and fails to put the syllables together—your fingers are too good, too precise in their frenzy. Playing her body, hitting every key, every beat, rushing to that final chorus.

And then it hits her, without warning, just a sigh and then she’s—

“I'm—I'm—cumming!”

Eyes trying to stay on yours, losing focus, turning wild, until she’s barely even there anymore.

Giselle cums.

Locking her in place, rippling across her body. Every muscle tensing, cunt quivering, hips lifting off the bar as her juices paint your hand.

“Thank you, thank you, fucking thank you—"

Her voice dies out, trapped in her throat, her words becoming nonsense as your fingers have her riding waves. You’re utterly transfixed, watching the orgasm rip across her face, melting her down to a messy puddle. Barely hanging on to you, mouth lolling open, eyes screwed shut, breaths coming in sharp and fast.

She’s limbless, her body goes slack, and you debate giving her the space, or even just a second to catch her breath, to come back to reality.

But you just don’t.

You don’t stop moving, don’t stop working her, because something tells you that the last thing she’d want is for you to stop. Something tells you that she’s one of those girls—the ones who love to chase the high. Who love to be pushed, who love to be told that they’re doing so well, that they’re perfect.

And Giselle is.

“Again,” you press into her neck, and she gives you the closest approximation to a nod that she can muster. “Again and again, I’ll make you cum until you can’t walk straight. Until you forget what it was ever like to not have my cock inside you.”

The nods come faster, insistent, following a whine as your fingers slide out of her cunt, all sticky with her juices. You bring it up to her, hold it in front of her face so she can see the mess she’s made of your hand.

Her breath hitches when she opens her eyes, catching sight of your glistening digits. You don’t even need to prompt her; she takes the initiative—she’s sucking your fingers without a second thought.

Moans when she tastes herself, sucking them clean, tongue flicking across your knuckles, pulling them into her mouth, relishing her own flavour.

“So fucking needy for it, aren’t you?”

You withdraw your fingers, enjoying the cry of protest at the loss, but you’ve got better plans for her. Pressing a kiss to her temple, before backing off completely, leaving Giselle empty, her legs wobbly.

You're quick to lose your clothes, stripping yourself off without much ceremony, tossing them aside with little care for where they end up.

And yet Giselle’s eyes rake over you, following your every move—she’s seen you before, you’ve caught her staring at your arms, your biceps, making no secret of assaulting you with her gaze at any chance she can get.

But now it’s the unbuckling of your belt, the vanishing of your jeans, the reveal of your cock. Springing free, hard and heavy.

Giselle wants it. Mouth salivating, pussy leaking at the sight of it. Oh, how she wants it.

It gives her energy, has her reaching out for a touch, a stroke. But you stop her, gently taking her wrist into your hand before she can make her Christmas wish come true.

She even has the audacity to pout. “Haven’t I been good?”

“Good?” You repeat, and you’re laughing. “You’ve been downright angelic.”

The pout quirks into a smirk, and there’s that familiar mischievous spark returning. “Then don't I deserve a little reward?” Giselle’s fingers go to her folds, spreading them apart. Putting her cunt on display, proud to show off how ready she is to be filled. “Like that big, beautiful cock of yours in my perfect little pussy?”

You don’t bother with the usual finesse, there’s no need for that. This doesn’t land anywhere on the normal spectrum of casual hook-ups to making love. This is about fucking. About need, raw and unfiltered.

“So, would you please—"

You’re yanking her by the waist before she can get started, lifting her off the bar and setting her down in front of you. There’s that thrill rushing through her, at being so easily handled, so effortlessly claimed.

She’s panting, breaths fogging up the air between you, waiting for your instruction.

“Get rid of the dress.”

Her compliance is instant—she steps out of her outfit, her panties. Until she’s just standing before you; the charm, the sex appeal, the big beautiful eyes all in view, so full of hope and desperation for the special kind of bliss only you can provide her.

Just Giselle, her fucking gift of a body in a pair of tight black stockings and high stiletto heels.

“Now,” you say, tilting your hips forward, your cock jabbing into her stomach, pressing a stamp of need into her skin. Giselle preens at the contact, practically vibrating at your touch. One more thing— “Beg.”

“Fuck me,” she says. Simply, honestly. With every ounce of her soul. “Fuck me good. Take me. Please. I need it. I need to feel you inside me. I’ve been dreaming of this, of you fucking me just like this, so—please, make it real.”

“Begging’s a good look on you, Giselle,” you murmur, finishing the rest of the thought in your head. ‘You're going to be doing a lot more of it tonight.’

She yelps when you flip her over, force her to brace herself against the bar. Her lovely ass high up in the air, her pussy drooling onto the floor.

You don't bother warning her.

You stuff your cock into her.

She fucking screams.

So wet, so slippery. Sliding in and out of her, forcing her cunt to mould itself too you. So fucking tight that you have to bite back a groan, have to fight the urge to just pound into her, to fuck her into the counter.

But there's still a pace you're setting, a rhythm that’s not quite as frantic as her needy cries. You’re in no hurry, not yet. You want to savour this. The feel of her clenching around you, the way her back arches with every thrust, her palms slapping against the bar top, leaving little smudges of sweat behind.

“God, this—” Giselle tries, but finds herself lost for words, unable to properly articulate just how good it feels to have you inside her. But the noises she makes—whimpers and gasps and moans and groans—speak volumes.

You complete the thought for her— “You fucking love this, don’t you?” You’re grunting, pressing your body to hers, nipping at her ear. Slurring these dirty thoughts like they're sweet nothings, these words of pure filth into her neck. “Love being fucked like this. Been waiting for it for so long. So goddamn desperate for it that you can’t even fucking talk.”

She’s fucking amazing. Not just the feeling—hot and tight and perfect—it’s the way she moves with you. Pure pleasure ricocheting through her, the slap of her ass against your hips, the sway of her tits underneath her, her cunt desperately trying to swallow you whole.

It’s her, her body, so alive and responsive and sensitive underneath yours. Taking your cock so deliciously, her cunt fluttering around like it’s trying to hold onto it, like it’s never going to let go.

“So, so fucking hard,” she’s found her voice, clawing back some level of composure. Enough to tense her cunt, squeeze her walls around you. Needing you to know every inch of her body, every inch of her pussy, needing you to know that it’s all yours for the taking. “God, it feels so good—doesn’t it? Fucking me here. Tell me. Tell me how good I am. Tell me I’m a good girl. Tell me you’re never going to be able to spend another second here without thinking of my pussy.”

You know she’s right, she’s leaving a part of herself here, branded into the very fabric of this bar that’s been your sanctuary. It has you pushing in deeper, a violent thrust of your hips, a little punctuation to drive her point home.

She swallows as you pick up speed, chokes on a half-formed moan—so, so fucking close. But you’ve only just begun.

Grabbing her hair, winding your fist in pink, pulling her up so she's forced to listen. The details on her face are all hazy, her makeups smudged from tears, from where she’s rubbed at her face, trying to keep the pleasure at bay. But that’s not how this goes. That’s not how any of this goes.

“You want to hear how good you’re being for me?” A harsh whisper for her, and it takes so much effort for her to just nod in response. “You want me to tell you all the filthy things I’m thinking? Everything that I’ve been dying to do to you?”

“Yes,” she pleads back. “Tell me, please—I need to hear it all.”

So you do. You lay it all on her. Every unfiltered, explicit thought you’ve had—every depraved fantasy that’s on the tip of your tongue whenever she’s around. You tell her all of it, how much of a whore you’re going to turn her into; how much of a slut you want to make her.

How this isn’t the last time. No, there’s going to be hours, days, weeks of this after.  Of you fucking her here, of her coming to you just to have another taste of your cock. It’s a revelation, a promise, and it fucking ruins her.

“Every single time you've walked into here, every single time you've sat across form me, I've thought about this," you're grunting now, giving in to the urgency that’s been building up in your chest, the pressure that’s been weighing on you for what feels like an eternity. “I’ve thought about bending you over this very bar. Making you beg for it, making you scream out my name when I fuck my cum into you. Making sure every single person out there knows that this cunt is mine to take whenever I fucking want.”

It’s so fucked, the effect that hearing all this has on her. The sound of your voice, your darkest desires, the harshness of your words, it’s all too much for her, it’s everything she’s ever wanted to be told.

You’re unlocking something in her, something she’s never admitted to anyone, not her closest friends, not her bandmates, not even herself. The way you speak to her, the way you’re treating her like a perfect little fuck doll—and you’re realising that maybe, just maybe, it’s because no one’s ever fucked her well enough to find out.

There’s no room here to be gentle, there’s no way in hell she’d ever want you to be. You tighten your grip in your hair, slam into her harder, skin slapping against skin, mixing with the wet sounds of her pussy taking all of you. Each cry you fuck out of her is music, each one a little higher pitched, a little more desperate than the last.

“This is what you want isn’t it?” You’re demanding of her, even when she’s blubbering, barely able to breathe let alone respond. Just trying to hold on.

But you’re not letting her.

You’re taking her to that place that’s beyond words, that’s beyond thought. The place where all she can do is feel and react. And she’s doing that so beautifully, her body shaking, her cunt quivering around your cock. It’s building and building, the things you’re doing to her, saying to her, making her choke on her own spit, making her eyes roll back and her mouth drop open, until all she can repeat, over and over again is your name.

“Again,” she shapes another word, another plea. She’s a total disaster of need. “Please, again, make me cum again.”

“You'll cum when I say you can,” you growl, forcing her to choke on another whine. The strangled noise goes straight to your cock; makes it throb harder inside her, drive deeper into her. You let go of her hair, only to palm her tit, squeezing into the flesh hard. Giselle jolts, a squeal escaping her lips. “But since you’ve been so good, I’ll let you cum before me again. Just this once. Just because it’s Christmas.”

You’re being evil, you know it, she loves it, but it's the best part. She clearly wouldn't want it any other way.

”Yes.” Giselle’s beaming, shivering with excitement. Getting fucked into utter ruins and thanking you for the privilege. “Thank you, use my pussy, do whatever you want, just let me cum.”

That sparks an idea, “Whatever I want?”

“Whatever you want,” Giselle pants, not a single idea of what she’s agreeing to. But maybe that's the whole point. “Anything.”

There’s a grin that splits your face that you can’t help, that you don’t bother suppressing. “I’m not going to ask for permission anymore, Giselle. I’m just going to fuck you the way I want. Make you addicted to my cock. Take you how I want, cum in all your holes, fill you up over and over again.”

Giselle’s eyes go wide, nearly stops breathing entirely. So close. Knowing that the next words out of your mouth are going to decimate her completely.

“Gonna make you start the New Year knocked up.”

She freezes.

“God—” Giselle’s a fucking wreck, on the verge of something explosive, something else entirely. “Oh my God.”

She just needs you to give her that push.

“You love it, don’t you? Being made nothing more than a fucking cumdump for me? That’s what you’ve always wanted, isn’t it?”

You’re fucking her too hard, hammering into her too roughly, it’s a wonder that she can even manage a stuttered, “I—I—”

“Fucking say it, Giselle,” you say, “Spit it out.”

It’s too difficult for her to fit the words together, to form her reply, so it means all that more when she manages to tell you. “I want it.”

“Want what?”

“Your cum in me. All of it. Until I’m, until I’m—” She’s there, lost in it, in the idea of you ruining her in such a permanent, irreversible way. Or maybe completing her, making her whole, making her perfect for you and only you.

But you’re so close too. Right fucking behind her. All she has to do is say it.

“Until you breed me. Fill me with your cum, give it to me. I need it. Make me your permanent cocksleeve and never let me go. Make me yours—completely, forever yours. Make me your fucking whore.”

“Good girl.”

And with that, she’s gone.

Hits her like a fucking meteor. Leaping right off the most intense high she’s ever climbed. Bucking and quaking against your bar, your cock still impaled inside her, mercilessly undoing her. It’s nothing short of fucking pornographic, fucking depraved the way it’s destroying her.

Seizing her entire body in pleasure, her nails digging into the wood, scraping up marks that will prove to be a sweet, everlasting reminder of the exact moment she became yours. Fracturing her, breaking her apart into a million tiny pieces and then remaking her all over again as something purely sexual—something that only exists for your satisfaction.

“So fucking good, your cock, God it’s you, just you—” Giselle’s words dissolve into a keening cry that shatters the remaining silence of the bar. “Breeding me so good—”

Nothing short of a miracle that she’s still on her feet, that she can still do anything at all. One last thing she needs to do in the dying embers of her lucidity, one final goal—choke your cock with her cunt, wring you dry, make you flood her with your cum.

“Cum, cum, fill me, breed me, give me your—”

“Take it,” you exhale, “Take it all.”

And it’s Giselle in her entirety that overcomes you, overloading your senses with the pure, distilled feeling of just her. The smell of her sex, her perfume, the feel of her curves, her softness, the perfection that is her pussy, enveloping your cock, drenching it in her wetness. These things that you’ll never, ever be able to forget.

But it's her words that make you erupt.

“Breed me, Daddy!”

You cum deep into Giselle’s pussy.

Buried inside her, rushing white hot, thick and heavy. Ropes and ropes of it, spurting inside her, painting her insides, coating her walls until it’s just sheer heat and you making her whole.

Her cunt’s clenching around you, she’s begging, slurring moans and whimpers that there’s no fucking chance you have of comprehending—just basking in the knowledge that they’re desperate, needy sounds that are all for you.

She can’t keep it all in. But she needs to.

Something knocks the architecture out of her legs, but you’re quick enough to wrap your arms around her, holding her tight, keep her on her feet. Keeping her from collapsing entirely, just letting her pulse around you, clench and quiver.

You’re kissing her into the shoulder, cooing these affirmations, keeping her with you, telling her the truth of it all, “Such a good girl, Giselle. Taking my cum so well.”

Giselle can’t say anything. She sobs. Face buried in her hands. Not from pain, not even close. You’ve never seen pleasure look so much like agony. So much like release.

It’s overwhelming.

You try to make a move, take a step back. But Giselle flexes her cunt, clutching you tighter. Reaches back with her hand for your thigh to stop you.

“Wait,” she whispers. "Not yet. Don't move. Keep your cock inside me. Don't let a single drop get out."

You give her the time, because she’s just so perfect like this. So unfathomably gorgeous, all fucked up and cum-drunk. In ways no one should ever be. Like you’ve torn the wings off an angel, brought her down to Earth and made her yours.

You revel in it.

“Take your time,” you breathe; the exhaustion, the strain, the adrenaline pumping through your veins all coming to a head at once. Keeping your cock plugging up her cunt. Leaving all your cum inside.

Neither of you are moving anywhere. Not until she says so.

Giselle laughs.

“Perfect,” she sighs, voice hoarse and shaky. “I knew it would be perfect. I knew you would ruin me like this. God, I don’t ever want to go back.”

You’re laughing too, harsh, airless chuckles that feel like they’re being torn out of your chest. You twitch your cock inside her. “You think you have a say in the matter?”

“I guess I don’t,” she giggles.

You look around at the scene of the crime, the evidence you've left on her. The marks on her skin, her shoulder, her neck. The ruins of her dress, her panties. The tearing of her stockings. Her tear-filled eyes, her smeared mascara, her drooling lips.

And her cunt, so full of you, so very yours.

It’s barely believable. She may not have burned down the bar, but there’s certainly a fire that’s been set. One that’s not likely to die down anytime soon.

It has you swelling inside her all over again.

Gisele feels it.

“Say,” she starts, wriggling her hips against you, making you groan. “You didn’t have any Christmas plans, right?”

Your hands slip down to her hips, idly massaging into the small of her back. “None at all.”

Giselle’s laughter subsides into a contented exhale, her lashes fluttering as she looks at you with a soft smile. Her hand reaches back, caressing the side of your face. “And the rest of the year?”

“Nothing that can’t be cancelled.”

“Good,” she says, her breath sweet against your cheek. “Cancel them all. Close up for the holidays. Shut all the doors. Stay inside with me.”

You raise an eyebrow. “And do what?”

“Get to work,” Giselle answers, pulling you into a last kiss, threatening to undo you all over again. “You did promise to knock me up by New Years.”

[himblebo]

My brain is like. Weird right now. Is it related to not taking my Lexapro because I know it doesn’t interact well with dayquil and I needed the post nasal drip to stop? Theoretically but also this has been building for days.

[astronomical-bagel]

my classmate has been SPAMMING me with terrifying emails about how she is “so scared” and “can’t do this” but REFUSES to tell me what the problem is until we meet up on Thursday with is THIRTY MINUTES BEFORE THE FINAL. I can’t fucking do this I need to pass this class so badly and she just ISNT WORKING WITH ME. IVE BEEN CARRYING THIS TEAM ON MY BACK AND SHE’S SPIRALED SO HARD AND WONT! TELL ME! WHY!

I HATEEE group projects this sucks so fucking bad

[soft-beams]

choreographer!vi and dancer!reader...

when i say choreographer!vi, i mean she'd be like bada lee (if you don't knkw baba lee, PLEASE LOOK HER UP AND THANK ME LATER) where she's so so cool and easy with her moves. she moves effortlessly, forceful yet smooth, and her classes are always booked because people want the chance to learn from her.

(plus she's immensely hot, which only serves as an incentive of sorts)

you're a dancer who's a regular in vi's classes. you're always there, having earned yourself somewhat of a permanent spot on vi's roaster. in the dancing videos that vi's team uploads, you're never missing, and there's a reason why: you're incredible, and you keep up with vi easily.

the chemistry between you is palpable too; the way you dance around each other never fails to have the audience screaming. it's hypnotic how you two communicate with your bodies, especially when you're dancing as a pair. vi following your every move with what looks like hungry eyes, while you tease her with a sly look.

there's speculation that the both of you are dating. but there's almost little to no proof about that. aside from a few blurry pictures of vi standing really close to you during breaks, offering you a bottle of water. or of you with your arm loosely around vi's waist, your chin resting on her shoulder as she talks about something.

which could mean anything.

it's better to not read into things, you two are probably just two really good friends.

[luv-y0urself]

boynextdoor when they have crushes

boynextdoor x fem!reader genre: fluff, slice of life, mayhaps...? | wc: 2026 words | warnings: all sorts of tropes ahead !! all of the boys are the same age as the reader in the fic, although not mentioned :) 𖤐．thank you to the anon who requested this ! i'm so sorry it took this long to get out... i might've gotten a little carried away (psst... i didn't tell you this, but i might be using this as a small teaser for a future series...!)

boy #1: park sungho

to me, sungho genuinely feels like the type to fall for his childhood best friend. it’s the feeling of comfort that he feels with her that suddenly morphs into something more, y’know? he’s having a casual night out, grabbing a quick drink with his friend for successfully ending the semester in one piece when she shows up dressed with her hair done, makeup immaculate, and a dress that fits her curves perfectly and accentuates all the nice things about her. he can’t help but gape at her form once he lays eyes on her, and is dumbfounded for a few seconds before he’s able to murmur a soft compliment in her direction. she merely laughs it off, telling him that he looked rather dashing that night as well. it was common for them to care for each other in that way; they didn’t think of it much when they were complimenting each other… but on that night, at that moment, sungho meant every word. once sungho is able to fully mull over the situation (and fully realizes that he definitely has a crush on her), sungho would go out of his way to care for her. he’s always sending her texts (much more than usual), usually things like “your class starts soon, are you at school yet?” to things like, “don’t skip lunch even if you’re working.” he strikes me as the type to bring lots of sweets to his gal when mother nature decides to pay her a visit, or for him to cook her some of her favorite broth if she’s feeling under the weather. at one point, i feel like she would realize that sungho has changed a little bit; she asks the other friends in her group about it and her friends can’t help but smack their foreheads at how dense sungho’s crush is, then help sungho set something up for him to actually overcome the fear of losing his friend and confess to her.

boy #2: lee riwoo

to be completely honest, i feel like riwoo is the type to fall for a girl that he met at a dance competition. riwoo would be one of the judges, waiting for the last performance to go on stage and dance their hearts out. he’s beyond tired, having gotten at the site more than six hours ago, and having sat in his chair without moving for four of those six. but once she comes onto stage, riwoo would feel the spinning world stop. all he can see is her, dancing her heart out to the choreographed routine that she and her group mates put together for everybody to see. it’s unprofessional, really — riwoo should be watching the performance for all of the rubric points, but all he could focus on was the way that she moved; the way that she waltzed with the song, her arms elongated and her steps light but strong, hitting each beat with undeniable passion that she must’ve practiced with. riwoo isn’t able to do anything the day of, however — that would be even more unprofessional than how distracted he was during the performance. no, the real time he would be able to do something is when he holds a surprise pop up class with a limited number of students able to attend, and she’s one of them. when checking their form, i feel like riwoo’s eyes would subconsciously stay on her form for a little longer compared to the other students, and if she had a question, he answer it to the best of his ability, and then some. riwoo doesn’t strike me as the impulsive type, but with her in the room, i feel like he would change the choreo that he's teaching to a pair dance, choosing her in the room to dance with.

boy #3: myung jaehyun

god, myungjae would be the loudest guy out there once he has a crush. he definitely strikes me as the type of guy to go shouting in the group chat, saying that he just spotted the “goddess” of their school while walking around. he probably also wouldn’t waste any time beating around the bush; the very next time he spots her, he would probably go up to her and say some cheesy pick up line (“so, aside from taking my breath away, what do you do for a living?”) although the girl would definitely be surprised, and maybe even annoyed at his seemingly insincere ways of telling her, myungjae would do everything he can to regain her trust in him (aka. making her fall for him, according to his boasting). whenever he spots her on campus, myungjae makes sure to make himself known. he often waves at her from hundreds of meters away, running to her from wherever he saw her from (and ditching whoever he was with, which, most of the time, is poor woonhak) just to strike a conversation with her. he asks her about all kinds of things, like what she’s doing today, how she’s feeling, if anything happened to her in the past 16 hours which he hasn’t seen her, anything. (once, she replied back that she was going to go meet a long distance guy friend, and myungjae immediately got sooo jealous. he would ask all kinds of things, like what he looks like, how tall he is, whether she’s ever liked him in the past or if she does now, how long she’s known him for, etc. she would definitely tease him for being jealous before leaving in a flash, purposely mentioning that she needs to “get ready” for her hangout with the said guy. myungjae is absolutely distraught, to her delight.) but, if she’s feeling down, he’s there for her always, giving her a shoulder to cry on if needed. he provides lots of advice for her if she opens up to him in that way, glad that he was able to be of help to his one and only.

boy #4: han taesan

boy oh boy, han taesan. definitely the type to fall for the girl working at the lp shop that he’s a regular at. taesan was just walking around the shop, seeing if there were any albums that were recently added that he hadn’t seen the last time he was there. that’s when he spotted her listening to the legendary nirvana album (in his opinion), bleach (1989), and she was humming the melody to “about a girl” when he couldn’t help but be intrigued about her. the lp shop was old; taesan was close with the owner of the shop, since the old man had cared for taesan like his own son. taesan would definitely ask about her the next time he sees the man (which is very soon), surprised when he mentions that she’s working at the shop now; taesan came to the shop almost everyday following that short encounter, often staying at the shop much longer than necessary when she was around (and leaving the shop quickly when he wasn’t able to see her at her usual spot at the counter), trying to get a better look at what she was doing or if she was listening to anything else that he enjoyed listening to, too.  the first time that taesan would actually make a move is when he catches that she’s sick from the rapidly changing weather. he spots her erupting into small coughing fits, which she suppresses quickly with a quick drink from her practically steaming tumbler. the next day taesan walks into the shop, his pockets are a little heavier than usual; he’s carrying with him some cough medicine and tylenol, packaged nicely in a clear bag, perfected with a clean note inside (which he definitely didn’t take 15 minutes to write two lines of). when she’s not at the counter, cleaning something at a different end of the shop, taesan slips over and places the bag of medicine containing the note next to her tumbler so she can’t miss it, smiling a little as he exits the shop.

boy #5: kim leehan

would it be a surprise if leehan falls for the girl working as a docent at the aquarium? she's all he’s been looking for; an expert on fish that shared the same love for marine life that he did. i feel like leehan would meet her coincidentally at his local aquarium; usually he likes to stay home and just look at his own fish tank, but that day, he felt like going out. it had been too long since he left the house, anyway; the last time he’d left was a few days ago, when he went to go find some new fishies for his fish tank (if leehan has his fish tank and his phone, he could probably stay at home for a whole month without leaving it once).  usually, leehan is the type to walk around the aquarium by himself; he already knew a lot about most of the fish there, and if he didn’t know anything, he was the type to stand in front of the description for a while in order to read everything about the new fish. but, something about her voice stroke a chord in him; her voice was different from the other docents that he had walked by, and he saw himself just trailing the crowd that was following her, listening to her words that were flowing out of her like she was telling the story about the fish for the first time. after the entire tour, when she seems to go on break, leehan would call out to her according to her name that she had mentioned at the end of the tour, letting the people know that she was always happy to talk about fish if they ever spotted her around the aquarium another day. he would then proceed to question her about some of the new species that had recently been added to the aquarium tanks, piquing her interest in him as well. i think they would meet a couple more times at the aquarium itself before leehan would ask if she would like to see his own fish tank at his house ;)

boy #6: kim woonhak

woonhak is the epitome of boyish love. there’s no denying it… he just reminds me so much of the type of guys that would endlessly tease and poke fun at you just because he doesn’t know how else to express himself. i think the person that he would do this to would definitely be a somewhat calm person… like a student volunteer at his school’s library!! he would definitely fall for her when he’s checking out his textbooks at the beginning of the year — he’s never stepped into the textbook room prior to this (since this was all a new system that the school implemented) and woonhak just saw her working hard, interacting cordially with the kids she knew and genuinely looking like she was enjoying her job there. her genuineness sparked something deep inside of him, and after that day, i feel like he would visit the library all the time. he’s going to memorize the days and periods that she’s working at the library and get out of class during those days just to go to the library and try to see her. because he visits her so often, i just know that they would start to talk and that would just make woonhak fall even more for her — she’s such a passionate individual, always working hard for what she wants to achieve in the future. whenever she talks about her ambitions, woonhak just can’t help but be mesmerized about everything around her; her pretty, sparkling eyes, the soft breeze from the window that tickles her hair, being able to easily tune out the bustling of the students around them as if they were alone, and her voice, making him truly wonder if she was born under the extensive care of angels. at one point, though, i feel like she would ask him why he always visits her but never actually looks at any of the books or the library in general. woonhak’s ears would burn a bright shade of red before he clears his throat, finally asking her out on a date (“actually, speaking of which… do you want to, uh, go out this weekend?”)

reblogs + feedback are greatly appreciated ! © luv-y0urself / 2024

[seuonji]

彡on a variety show w your svt bf!

๑ idol!svt x idol!yn secret relationship series! no storyline, just fun.

one ๑ two ๑ three ๑ four ๑ five ๑ six ๑ seven #mlist

notes ๑ variety show 'my alcohol diary' has mentions of drinking & getting drunk.

your group plays esports (valorant, leave of legends, apex, etc) against svt as a hybe special!

wonwoo gives you a look when you both sit at the end of your respective tables, you on the right, him on the left making you two sort of beside each other.

as you both play, the host points out that your skills are extremely good. your group member brings up the fact that recently you’ve been spending a lot more time gaming in your free time to which wonwoo rests his head on his hand to cover his smile knowing that he’s the reason you’ve been gaming more. the host adds on that your play style is a bit similar to wonwoo giving both groups chills. “perhaps it’s what’s adapted after a long time of playing,” you calmly respond.

on the other hand with soonyoung— he keeps messing up, at one point he shot one of his members, “the keyboard isn’t following what i want to do.” and you’d fr just face palm yourself. the host mentions, “even yn is getting tired of your antics.” “what antics!? im really trying.” you hope he can make it when technology evolves further. after filming you meet up with him. “wasn’t i cool earlier?” he asks. “i think my baby cousin can beat you.”

jeonghan would be such a menace in this scenario cause omg he would target you. like if he spots you he will not stop shooting and chasing until he gets you— your group member watching all of this go down would try to shoot jeonghan yet somehow he’s dodging and still hunting you down— “let me breathe!?” jeonghan shouts at your member. “you’re not letting ME breathe?” you shout back.

๑

random play dance! (random song is played and you have to dance the correct choreography)

beforehand you'd ask seungkwan to help you with the dances but he was not about to help you out while you were in a different group! until in one of the rounds where you looked lost, seungkwan comes to the front and dances clearly as a way to help you. "you're helping the other groups! get to the back," competitive seungcheol would shout. "sorry i got excited," seungkwan laughs it off. being fr tho how does that man know that many choreographies.

i imagine seokmin/mingyu would whisper to you, "i got you, just follow me," and then he would be one of the first to be eliminated.

vernon keeps on looking at you and copying your dance— you can’t help but laugh at his facial expressions when he doesn’t know the dance but also somehow he’s surviving.

wherever you are in the arena, chan always ends up beside you.

๑

youngji's program 'my alcohol diary'

you’d go alone to promote your groups album. your episode was relatively short— they covered it up with 'yn got drunk super fast' but actually, whether you have a high tolerance or not, in the end when you got drunk, you just kept on gushing about your boyfriend. (bf can be any member)

when youngji asked you to teach her the dance of your song you went through it step by step until a certain part, “oh soonyoung choreographed this part and i gave it as a suggestion and it made the cut to the official choreo,” you said with a big smile. // “my boyfriend likes this part,” you danced the bit then nonchalantly continued to teach youngji but she’s standing, there still in shock of everything she’s heard.

after filming, your boyfriend would pick you up and take care of you till you sober up.

the next day youngji would message and reveal something to you.

yn: im so sorry for the short episode run-

youngji: if it makes you feel better, seungcheol/soonyoung/mingyu/minghao talked about you way more than you did about them.

๑

chinese whisper game as a mini game (there’s a given word/phrase and the word is passed on through all players, last players needs to shout it out word for word)

you’re standing in front of jeonghan/minghao and he keeps on blowing into your ear before he starts actually saying the given phrase—

but if it was the noise cancellation version (have to read lips or body actions to get the word/phrase)

seungcheol pouted at you when you couldn’t understand what he was saying which a lot of viewers found weird since he would usually only do that with his members.

you almost hug jeonghan/joshua/wonwoo when he got the word correct—

jun/wonwoo/jihoon keeps on giving you high-fives every round.

you consider choking soonyoung when he can’t get the word correct for shit.

you and minghao/chan kept on bickering over the way he would execute the word. the staff and your members would be more interested on how you guys fight rather than the word being finally passed over to the last person.

[ronearoundblindly]

A Casual Kiss

Bucky Barnes x reader, one of my Valentine's Fics of 2024

It's just adorable fluff, really. No warnings. Divider by @cafekitsune WC 547

A lot has happened to Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes over his long life. He used to be a ladies’ man and a traditional sort of soldier. He used to have all his natural limbs. He used to take maybe a touch too much pride in his appearance. A lot has also changed.

Wars change people. Injuries change people. People simply change over time.

And Bucky Barnes has been around a long, long time.

You knew all this from the beginning, of course, because his whole tragic history had already been slashed across newspapers and television by the time you started work in the same building.

He started out cold, then he became reserved, and then he was cautious. You didn’t even know he knew your name until the day he—very formally and awkwardly—asked you out, and the relationship developed…predictably.

That’s the best word for it. Predictable.

There were a few dates before he hugged you goodnight. The next time, he kissed your cheek. The next, you got a chaste peck on the lips. So on and so forth.

Measured increments of intimacy.

It was predictable and still wonderful.

Bucky isn’t good with ‘easy-breezy’ anything, you see. He’s intense and considerate. He plans ahead and for all contingencies, and so you’re taken aback by this random passing in of your department leaving the conference room and Buck’s team coming in.

There’s plenty of people around. Normally, that means a kind smile, perhaps being asked to step aside for a moment so he can say hello and check on your day, maybe check on your plans for dinner, but today? Today is different.

He’s smiling alright, smiling wider and brighter than you’ve ever seen him on the job. His shoulders are relaxed and loose. He’s strutting right for you, and suddenly, like a choreographed dance move, he twists, kissed your forehead, and twists again, still walking but backwards now.

Bucky winks at you as his metal hand finishes a soft graze down your arm.

Butterflies erupt in your stomach.

“Love you, doll,” he whispers though at least half the room can probably hear.

It’s not as if no one knows at work. You’ve dated for months, and for that whole stretch, Bucky’s been a perfect gentleman, just very…not casual. This is new.

So why not make it even stranger?

Your boyfriend snaps his flesh fingers like he just remembered something, nearly skipping the couple of feet to your side.

“Hey, so, I know we were doing movie night, but Sam’s taking some folks out to the corner bar. His treat.”

You can’t help but snort.

“Oh? And let me guess. You—who is unable to get drunk—would like to make him pay for the multiple bottles of top-shelf liquor you can consume.”

Bucky waggles an eyebrow, and you’re stunned.

“Know me so well,” he coos, leaning in to plant one more solid smooch on your lips.

Your lipstick stains his mouth until Bucky’s tongue wipes it away.

“I’ll pick you up at your office.”

You’ve hardly controlled the flutter in your gut but now have a grin fighting to break free. All you can do is nod, heading for the exit, thinking:

People always change over time…and sometimes, change is for the better.

A/N: Yeah, so, absolutely no one requested this and I don't care because HE DESERVES THE KISSES.

James Mace and a kiss without motive ⬅️ ➡️ Jake Jensen and a kiss to distract

[Main Masterlist; Light Masterlist; Ko-Fi]

[merakiui]

So the Vil horror movie role starring darling… I just googled how simulated sex scenes happen in film. There is usually something called an Intimacy Coordinator who “is a professional who facilitates, choreographs, and establishes boundaries for actors during scenes that involve intimacy, from kissing all the way to full-on sex scenes…” It’s usually a closed set so very few people are involved during filming

but Vil knows how everything works and how everything goes and knows his way around things like that

what if Vil is the reason the film had to go from rated R to rated M for Mature?

👁 👁 Vil who becomes too immersed in the role. The director doesn't stop him because this is exactly it!!!! This is what they're looking for, and Vil pulls off the role so well!!! He's able to get into the mind of a villain in such a way that his portrayal is truly admirable! Worthy of all kinds of awards. When you aren't filming, you're even commending Vil on his acting, smiling sweetly and saying how honored you are to be able to work with him. And Vil's able to respond in kind, but deep down he's thinking about how great it would be to lock you and your pretty smile away so only he would be granted the pleasure of seeing it.

It unlocks something primal in Vil during the chase scene and he's in character...... grabbing your ankle to drag you out of your hiding place, and you do such an amazing job acting like the terrified victim. >_< he had to call for a break partway through filming because seeing the tears in your eyes and hearing the wobbly fear in your voice went right to his dick. ;;;;;

As for the intimacy coordinator, they establish everything as per the requirements and you and Vil are both aware of what's to be done for the scene where he non-cons you. Those improvised lines Vil says during that scene are actually his real thoughts. The director keeps them in because they think it's much better than what was on the script, and since it's Vil it's bound to turn out wonderful. Really, Vil just wants to get away with saying all sorts of depraved filth and speaking just a few of his fantasies while he acts out this scene. And it's all hidden under the guise of flawless acting.

[eternalbuckley]

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ WISTERIA VINES. (an aemond targaryen series)

— chapter one: Your Romeo. Your Juliet.

SUMMARY: You and Aemond find out that you got the roles of Romeo and Juliet but didn't know yet about the other one. You only found out that Aemond will be Romeo through a phone call with Helaena. And Aemond got the news about you from his older brother. How do you both react to these news?

word count: 4,415

genre: just some tiny angst i think? | no specified reader, queer!reader, bipoc!reader and plus-size!reader friendly

warnings/tropes: modern au, Y/N and they/them pronouns are used a few times, english is not my first language, slightly proofread and edited — if I forgot something, please let me know!

a/n: i'm more than excited to finally share the first chapter of this series. i've been working on this whole project for a while now and i really hope you'll enjoy reading it as much as i enjoy creating it! this will be my last fanfic this year, so i hope you'll have a great start into the new year or had a great start (whenever you're reading this) <3 reblogs, feedback and comments are highly appreciated and welcomed! ♡

disclaimer: please do not repost or try and take ownership of my work or post this anywhere without my consent. i don’t give you my permission to use my writing for any ai related things, don’t do it. do not translate my work and post it anywhere — i give you no permission to do that. i only post my stories here, so if you find my work anywhere else please let me know!

dividers by saradika-graphics

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ navigation | wisteria vines masterlist | main hotg masterlist | series taglist

You nibbled nervously on your nails while you sat on your couch in front of your opened laptop, rocking with your leg as you waited for an e-mail from the production team that produces the ballet show of Romeo and Juliet of the upcoming ballet season. Ever since you’ve first seen a performance of this production, you wanted to be a part of the ballet as well, especially in the role of Juliet. You’ve always dreamed of it and worked hard for your dream.

You’ve already worked with the choreographer before and would love to be able to work with her again. You’ve worked with her on two different productions before; the Nutcracker and Sleeping Beauty. You loved working with her and were fascinated by how she was able to put her visions into reality.

You first got into ballet shortly after you turned five and started having ballet classes. It didn’t fill you with joy in your early stage of being a ballet dancer, you sort of disliked it, but you grew to love the art of this dance over the years. One of the main reasons for falling in love with ballet was a performance you saw with your family in a theatre when you were almost seven years old. You were fascinated by the dancers, the costumes and the whole representation of the stage. It was magical for you and since then, you were determined to get better each day, hoping you’d be as good as the dancers you saw on stage. Eventually, you were allowed to use pointe shoes for the first time when you were thirteen years old – causing you to be the happiest person.

Officially, you have been a professional ballet dancer for a few years now. When you were seventeen, you had the opportunity to be able to dance in a bigger role in a Nutcracker production, which changed you into a better person and was a big step for your ballet career. It was one of your favourite times you’ve ever had, thanks to different people who were involved in the whole process.

“Come on…” You whispered to yourself and refreshed your e-mail inbox for the hundredth time today, hoping there would be an e-mail for the production. You wished there would be a positive message – a message which would tell you that you were a part of the production in the next ballet season. You’d be happy enough to be a part of the production in general, but your main aim was to get cast as Juliet. But after all, you would be happy either way.

You stood up with a sigh and walked into your kitchen to get yourself a glass of water. While you poured the water into your glass, you got a notification on your phone – an e-mail.

‘Casting Results for Romeo and Juliet’

You widened your eyes and immediately sat down your glass on the counter to sprint to your laptop and refresh your inbox to read the e-mail. Your pulse increased and your palms started sweating as your nerves almost exploded. You deeply breathed in, opened the e-mail and read the first lines.

“Hello Y/N,

we are more than happy to tell you that you have been selected as our Juliet for the Romeo and Juliet ballet of the following season. Congratulations!

The complete casting list will be released in the following days. The date for the first rehearsal will be sent to you with the official casting announcement – please make sure you’re prepared for everything!

Until then, relax as much as you can. We’re sure everything will be more than perfect this season! We’re very excited for it.

See you at the first rehearsal,

your production team :)”

You reread the lines multiple times, you couldn’t entirely believe it yet that your dream has just come true. “OH MY GOD!” You happily screamed out loud, jumping on the spot multiple times – you were more than happy. A few tears slipped out of your eyes while you unlocked your phone to call your best friend – Helaena Targaryen. Your hands shook a bit from feeling overwhelmed by the news.

You met her through ballet classes you took together when you were nine and ten years old, and you became best friends very quickly, grew up together and were inseparable. You were thankful to have her at your side. You were there for each other whenever you needed each other and built each other up whenever the other one wasn’t doing well. Especially when Helaena had a knee injury when she was eighteen and sadly had to give up on ballet. She wasn’t doing well mentally and lost her love for it. For a while, she tried to avoid it at every cost after her injury. Even you. You never blamed her for acting the way she did, you understood her. You would probably act the same way if you had to stop the thing you loved because of an injury.

It wasn’t an easy time for Helaena, but over time, she found other interests, and slowly got happier again when she discovered her interest in fashion and designing. It filled her with joy to create her own clothes and bring her ideas to life – it was Helaena’s passion. Being able to design clothes in the way she wanted brought her self-confidence back and gave her a voice. While you thrived in the world of ballet, she thrived in the world of fashion. You support each other in every step and success you’re able to make. Over the years, she had designed your costumes for different performances you were a part of. Seeing you in her creations whenever you danced on stage made her proud. Both of you moved in together shortly after your nineteenth birthday and had been living together for six years by now.

Your phone rang a few times until Helaena eventually appeared on your display. She wasn’t home because she was currently in Winterfell for a design job.

She smiled at you and leaned against the bed headboard in her hotel room. “Hi babe, what’s–“ Helaena began to speak but immediately sat up and gasped as soon as she saw your happy expression, “Did you get a part?!”

You nodded quickly while you walked over to the couch in your living room and sat down cross-legged. “YES! I will be a next Juliet,” you grinned proudly and excitedly while you put your phone against the plant pot that stood on the coffee table.

She clapped, “Oh my god, yes!! Congratulations, babe, you deserve it so so much,” she matched your excitement but then became a bit more serious for a moment, “Wait… Do you already know who your Romeo will be?”

You shook your head, “Not yet, the e-mail said that the complete casting list will be announced soon. I don’t know when, but I hope soon, and I hope it will be someone who’s…” You noticed her serious expression and how she nervously bit down on her lip, “Wait… What do you know?” You furrowed your eyebrows – you were confused.

“Nothing…” She cleared her throat to hide the nervous tone in her voice, but you knew she was lying because she wasn’t looking at you anymore.

“Helaena,” you said warningly, “Tell me what you know?”

She sighed and nodded her head. “Aemond just called me before you did,” she began, and your face faltered for a moment – you knew what this meant, “He will be your Romeo.”

“Oh… Uhh,” you cleared your throat in surprise, “That’s fine. Really. I’m sure it will be fine, I mean… He’s a wonderful dancer, and I adore his passion, but…”

“You’re afraid it will be weird between you? Considering that you’re not together anymore?” She interrupted you without a second thought. Her face showed sympathy as she asked you a question you tried to ignore for yourself.

Your shoulders were slightly slumped, and you nervously bit down on your lower lip. “Yeah,” you nodded slowly and shrugged. “But we’re professionals, and I’m sure we’ll be able to work through it in the next months. I doubt there will be any problems; we ended on good terms. In some way. We agreed to stay friends, remember?” You inhaled and put a few hair strands behind your ears.

“Babe,” she tilted her head, “You two can’t really be in the same room with each other. Every time you stare at each other like two lovesick puppies that obviously still love each other. When was it the last time you actually saw each other?”

You were aware that you and Aemond were extremely professional and wouldn’t let personal feelings ruin any experiences for your careers. But even if you agreed to stay friends and that you wouldn’t let any personal feelings between you, you had to stop dancing with him entirely. The weird tension between you was too heavy after your breakup. You and Aemond used to be dance partners, even before you got into a relationship. You only hoped it would end well.

“I don’t know. It probably has been a few months by now.” With an apprehensive sigh, you leaned against the backrest of your couch and placed a cushion on your lap to play with the fabric. “And besides, the moments you mentioned probably happened shortly after we broke up. I’m sure he and I moved on and can be professional. You know how important our careers are for us.”

Helaena hummed teasingly and nodded her head, “Of course, of course…. I’ll pretend I believe it now.” She chuckled as you rolled your eyes and huffed. If she were here, you’d have thrown the cushion at her. “Whatever! This only means that I’ll finally be able to design another dress for you,” she smiled and clapped excitedly. You chuckled and smiled at her through the screen, her excitement made you happier.

You talked for a few more minutes with her before she had to end the call because she got called by one of her clients. You sighed after the call ended. This was not what you had planned. This was not what you thought would happen. You weren’t exactly sure how to feel about it that you’d be dancing together with Aemond, especially in such a story as Romeo and Juliet. If you were honest, it didn’t bother you that you’d have to dance with him, but you were nervous. More than nervous that something might not work out in the way it should be.

You weren’t lying when you told Helaena that you and Aemond decided to stay friends, but she wasn’t lying either. You barely saw each other or were able to stay in the same room for long without staring at each other when the other one wasn’t looking. There were still feelings between you. Feelings that both of you tried to ignore and deny, even if it was obvious that they were still there. Especially to Helaena – she knew what you and Aemond still felt for each other. She deeply hoped that you would get closer again someday and maybe be honest with yourselves and each other.

You met Aemond and the rest of Helaena’s family when you were having a sleepover at her place for the first time when you were ten – it was like a little celebration of your friendship. During the first years of your friendship with Helaena, you barely talked with Aemond or any of her brothers, you barely knew them, only the things Helaena had told you about back then. The interests were too different, even if Aemond was into ballet and a ballet dancer as well. You couldn’t really find a way to connect with him.

Surprisingly, you had talked with Aegon more than with Aemond, despite the slight age gap. Aegon was like an older brother to you and treated you like a second sister – even if he technically had two already. He was happy to see that Helaena had someone who shared her interests and didn’t judge her for the way she was. You had met the other half of their family only a handful of times so far. Even if everyone tried to be polite with each other as much as they could, you were able to notice the tension between everyone – some had more and some had less tension, but it was there.

But over the years and the older you were, you grew closer to Aemond and became friends. You found interest in each other and realised that both of you had sides inside you that neither of you were aware of. You had been spending more time with him after Helaena had her injury and wasn’t able to dance anymore. Whenever you weren’t with her, you spent your time in the studio with her younger brother. You started to like him more after you got to know each other better. You trusted him, he trusted you. Both of you motivated each other for your dancing and after some time, you tried to dance together, and it was like you were made for each other. Dancing with him always seemed more than easy and the chemistry between you made it even more magical. You supplemented each other, which resulted in both of you being able to dance in a Nutcracker production together when you two were seventeen. It was the start of the best time of your lives.

Both of you were able to turn your hobby into your career and danced together in many productions, even the teams behind every production were mesmerised by the chemistry between you. Many times, you were asked by other dancers if you two were in a relationship – which you had to deny every time. Although, you had a crush on each other, but you never told each other, even if everyone around you seemed to notice the underlying feelings between you.

Especially Helaena noticed it, then and even now, and she loved teasing you about it. Even Daeron and Aegon seemed to notice something after some time. They cracked jokes about it many times before, about how well you’d fit together. Both of them didn’t even notice the glares Aemond gave them or how his and your cheeks heated up. Nevertheless, it took some more time until Aemond got the courage to officially ask you out on a date when you were rehearsing for a production. You didn’t realise in the first place that he was asking you out but once you did, you agreed happily.

You were the one who was able to bring out a happier and more cheerful side of Aemond, one he mostly only shared and barely let out due to different things that had happened in his life. Especially since he was ten years old and got into an incident with his younger nephew and lost his left eye to it. Since then, he has been wearing a prosthetic eye, which brought him his own difficulties from time to time. There had been days when the pain would be unbearable for him, and nothing could help him to ease the pain. Before he had been with you, he wanted to get through this alone and show everyone that he was strong enough, but he slowly let you comfort him and be there for him, the more he trusted you. But even then, there had been days when he pushed you away and wanted to be alone.

In your presence, he was mostly able to forget about his burdens and worries and could feel peaceful because of you. Especially whenever you danced together, he was much calmer and able to forget about his problems during these moments. He may have gotten rude comments about him being a ballet dancer from different people throughout the years, but he paid them no attention. Ballet saved his life in a way only you could understand.

Luckily, your relationship didn’t end because anything negative happened between you. It was rather a decision the two of you had made together almost a year ago, so both of you could focus more on your careers as ballet dancers without any distractions. You had been quite busy with your schedules and barely saw each other that much anymore, given that you and Aemond had to work on different performances and were busy with your training, classes or rehearsals all day. At the time, it was the better decision to part ways and stay friends.

Even if that worked in some way, neither of you wasn’t truly able to move on. Even if you had agreed to stay friends and act normally, it wasn’t easy to see each other afterwards. You kind of grew apart even more and only saw each other rarely. Before and during your relationship, Aemond used to visit you and Helaena a lot, but after your breakup, he rarely stepped into your and Helaena’s apartment. Only if he knew that you weren’t there.

It hurt Helaena to see her younger brother and her best friend growing apart like that, she felt kind of helpless. She didn’t want to get between you, but she understood your decision and tried to be there for each of you as much as she could. Even if it could be difficult for her sometimes – she tried her best, and so did you and Aemond.

After a while of thinking about old memories, you cleared your throat and got up from the couch to distract yourself. You didn’t want to spend the rest of your day thinking about your ex-boyfriend and what you experienced together. You wanted to focus more on being happy that you were finally going to have the opportunity of your life – you were a next Juliet in the ballet world.

You walked into your kitchen and took a sip from the glass you poured yourself before you received the email with the news of the casting. Your phone lit up with a message from Aegon – he congratulated you on getting the part in the production. You smiled and shook your head, Helaena must have texted or called him after her call with her client. You quickly opened the message and replied to him before you started to cook yourself dinner.

Meanwhile, Aemond cut some vegetables for his dinner and was on the phone with Aegon. He just told him that he got the part of Romeo and was more than excited to start the rehearsals – but Aemond didn’t know yet that you were going to be his Juliet. He hoped that the other dancers he’d work with would be as professional as he was.

“How was the first concert, by the way?” Aemond asked his older brother and got a pan out of his kitchen counter – fully unaware that Aegon was texting you.

Aemond furrowed his eyebrows when Aegon remained silent, “Brother?” He placed the pan on the stove and continued to cut the vegetables.

“Hmm? Yeah?” Aegon cleared his throat on the other side of the phone, “Sorry, what did you say?” He changed the position of his body while lying on the couch of his hotel room, a quiet groan leaving his lips as he tried to find a comfortable position.

“Your first concert… How was it?” Aemond repeated his question with a short sigh and added the vegetables to his pan and turned on the stove. But he didn’t get a reply again, which caused him to snap slightly, “Aegon, are you even listening, or what are you so busy with?” Aemond hated it when his brother wasn’t listening or was only half-listening.

“I’m just–“ Aegon paused and thought about his next words for a moment before he continued, “I’m wondering… How does it feel for you to know that you’ll dance with Y/N again?” He furrowed his eyebrows in contemplation.

Aemond stopped his movements, and the grip on his knife tightened with Aegon’s question. “I have no idea what you mean?” He hoped that he just misunderstood Aegon, that it was just some mistake, but how could it be a mistake? Aegon used your name, he must mean you, it could only be you. The words echoed in his mind as he gulped with the consideration that Aegon was telling the truth – that he’d have to dance with you again after everything that happened.

Aegon chuckled nervously. ‘Didn’t he already know that he’d have to dance with Y/N?’ He asked himself and cleared his throat. “I uhh…,” he sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, he couldn’t save himself anymore, “Helaena called me before you did and told me that Y/N got the part of Juliet. And you’ll be Romeo. So… They’re your Juliet. I thought… You already knew.”

Aemond stared at his cutting board, did he hear his brother correctly? You were going to be Juliet? No, he must have misheard something, right? This newfound information caused him to stay quiet for a few moments. He wasn’t sure what to do with that information. On one side, he was happy that he got the part of Romeo, but it meant to dance with you. He felt conflicted about it, he knew that dancing with you always felt magical and easy, but he wasn’t sure how it would be after everything that had happened. Even if it has been a year since the end of your relationship, he didn’t know what to expect. He should’ve expected that this could happen, but he didn’t.

“I certainly didn’t know that at all. I only got the news of my part…. They’ll announce the complete list of dancers soon, but I didn’t know about Y/N.”

“Sorry, I–“

Aemond cut him off and shook his head, even if Aegon wouldn’t see it. “Do you know if they know that we will... You know,” he cleared his throat, he felt somewhat tense, “Dance together?”

“I don’t know, perhaps?” Aegon replied, quite unsure of his answer, “If you already have told our sister about it, then I’m quite sure that Y/N knows too by now.”

Aemond hummed and pursed his lips. Should he text you and congratulate you on getting the part for Juliet, or should he wait until you see each other for rehearsal? But what if you didn’t know yet that he would be your Romeo and that you’d find out because of him? It could be strange. After all, he knew what the whole Romeo and Juliet ballet meant to you, so it wouldn’t be weird to congratulate you for getting the role you always wanted, right? But he wasn’t sure if he should reach out to you after all.

“We’ll talk later. I’ll prepare my dinner now. I’m sure that you… Must prepare for your show tonight. Bye,” he quickly ended the call and let out a desperate sigh. This wasn’t how he thought he’d spend his next months.

You haven’t seen each other in months, how would things be between you two? He was excited about the production if he was thinking about his career, but he was nervous about his personal feelings.

Later that evening, you found yourself sitting on the couch of your living room, one of your favourite blankets wrapped around your body while a movie was playing on the TV in the background. You shivered a bit, even if the room was warmed up by the fireplace. But you weren’t sure if you shivered because you were cold or because you were feeling nervous. You stared at the screen of your phone, eyeing the chat with Aemond – you were considering if you should text him or not. After all, you were about to spend your next months together, almost every day until the last performance at least. It wouldn’t hurt to text him quickly, right? But did he even know about you being his Juliet?

Your thumb hovered over the chat with him, your nerves causing your hands to sweat a bit, and your pulse beat strongly in your ears. It was just a simple text; it shouldn’t be anything you should worry about. But your pulse was still beating strongly, your mind flooded with a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions.

Little did you know that Aemond was in the same situation as you while he was lying in his bed. His blanket covered half of his body while only the small lamp on his nightstand brought some light into his bedroom. One arm was placed under his head while he held his phone in his other hand. His thumb hovered over your chat as well. He desperately wanted to text you and let you know how happy he was for you that you were going to be Juliet. He was happy for you, but the thought of dancing with you caused his nerves to hit him deep inside. Aemond rarely felt nervous, but if it involved you? Completely different. You made him feel things no one else could, even after your breakup and not having seen each other in a while. The thought of you increased his pulse immediately.

After some more thinking, both of you tossed your phones away, letting out a long and exasperated sigh. Both of you covered your faces with your hands while your shoulders relaxed. This wouldn’t be easy. If you couldn’t even text each other a simple ‘Congrats’, how should things go when you would dance together? How were you supposed to spend your days together in such intimate moments? You’d have to be close – very close with each other and trust the other one. You were sure you could trust each other, but you were afraid of what else might happen.

And that’s when it hit both of you all of a sudden – he immediately sat up, his shoulders tensed while yours did as well as you both realised what it meant to be dancing as Romeo and Juliet.

You’d probably have to kiss each other.

On stage.

In front of so many people who would watch the performances.

It would most probably be a part of the choreography, and neither of you could change it, even if you could – neither of you wanted it to be changed, either. It is such a delicate moment between the characters and displays the feelings between them – it would be foolish to erase that moment. The next months surely would be interesting.

[gotta-winwin]

RELATIONSHIP WITH SEVENTEEN <> HYUNG LINE

SCOUPS - older brother figure

THEN: When Cyana was first announced to be joining seventeen, Coups was more than hesitant. It was a huge change to be adding a member two years after seventeen's debut, let alone a female member. He was stressed, pressed and worried with how the media would represent this change, and how Cyana would feel having to be around 13 boys. NOW: Now, Coups could never imagine seventeen without Cyana. Although it was a tough adjustment for everyone, she became his little sister and was basically adopted into the Choi family. He plays the role of her guardian, always worrying about her well-being. Don't be fooled however, the eldest and maknae often get into their own crazy schemes for the sake of "fun."

JEONGHAN - comfort buddies

THEN: Jeonghan didn't really mind having a female member. Sure, he was a little confused why the company decided to suddenly make them 14, but he took it in stride and made it his mission to befriend Cyana. They grew close despite the language barrier and became a chaotic force. NOW: Jeonghan's seventeen's therapist and that applies to Cyana as well. She often finds herself going to Jeonghan to vent about the struggles she is having. They are late night walk buddies and although they've had their spats throughout the years, the bond they have is inseparable.

JOSHUA - hometown besties

THEN: Similar to Jeonghan, Joshua didn't really bat an eye about a female member joining them. He knew it was bound to change their routine, but he was just excited to have another member from LA. Cyana immediately gravitated towards him, as Joshua helped her with navigating the language barrier and idol life. NOW: Cyana and Joshua, although not as close as they were in the beginning, still have that older brother-younger sister vibe. He's the first one she calls whenever good news happens and they often travel back to LA together to visit their families.

JUN - platonic soulmates

THEN: Jun was a member Cyana wanted to get to know well simply because he could speak Mandarin. It took them awhile to get close however, as both of them were naturally shy and could not say more than a few words before choking in the awkward silence. Jun took many steps (forcing Cyana to watch a Chinese drama with him) to become closer with the girl. NOW: Currently, Jun and Cyana are still inseparable. They facetime the most often out of everyone, often having each other on call while they do other things, just for the presence of each other. Watching Chinese dramas is still their tradition, and Jun has played a big part in helping Cyana feel confident enough to being acting.

HOSHI - frenemies

THEN: To put it quite frankly, Hoshi was terrified to know they had a female member joining them. He knew it would change up the chemistry they already had onstage, and although he was excited to try choreographing for a female idol, he figured it'd be awkward. Upon meeting however, Hoshi fell in love with how cute baby Cyana was and also realized they bonded easily over dancing. NOW: Hoshi and Cyana have a sort of love-hate relationship. Hoshi enjoys teasing Cyana to no end and gets upset when Cyana doesn't participate in his tiger agenda. They're like hot and cold, Hoshi pushes Cyana out of her comfort zone and Cyana reminds him to calm down a bit. They're a storm onstage, often collaborating in duo dances for special events.

WONWOO - twin flames

THEN: Besides Woozi, Wonwoo was the member Cyana took the longest to get to know. It didn't help that Wonwoo avoided her every chance he got, resulting in the most awkward tension filling the room. It took lots of failed attempts to finally grow closer, as Cyana realized Wonwoo was just nervous and Wonwoo discovered how much he had in common with the girl. NOW: The members often describe Wonwoo and Cyana as twin flames. They compliment each other well and often spend hours parallel playing in silence. Wonwoo's the first person Cyana goes to for solace, and vice versa. Fans love to joke that Wonwoo's Cyana's personal cameraman because he's often the one behind all the shots.

WOOZI - coproducing maniacs

THEN: Woozi was probably the one that was the most against Cyana joining the group. It didn't make sense to him why it would be a smart move, and he sadly did ice her out for most of their first comeback with her. It wasn't until Woozi stumbled across Cyana's notebooks filled with lyrics did he realize maybe he's got it all wrong. NOW: Woozi and Cyana are known in the Kpop industry as the producer duo. They co-write and co-produce most of seventeen's songs, and due to the close proximity the work calls for, they grew close over the years. They're often found huddled together at Universe Factory and their chat logs are filled with song ideas and demos.

[fastcardotmp3]

welcome to dot drops something that's been sitting in her tumblr drafts for 4 months Saturday I hope you enjoy your visit mwah! Steddie; Ballet AU; Dancer!Steve; mentions of cancer treatment; 1.5k words

Dress rehearsal is supposed to be a mess.

That's the point of it, really, to get all the mistakes out of your system and start the actual show run with a clean slate. Or at least, that had been the point of which they'd all convinced themselves when Steve was the one performing.

Bad dress meant good show, or so the old adage went, and so at least there was some ease of worry with the collective understanding that it won't happen on the night within the company.

That was the case when Steve was a student, when he was an apprentice, even during his time in the big leagues at Joffrey, but right now? At the end of a truly abysmal dress in this run-down theater on the edge of a town from which he'd once run away?

Steve is not the performer. He's the guy in charge.

And so he spirals.

He'd never wanted to be a director or an instructor or the head of a studio like this. It had never been in his plans. Steve was a man of action, where the people who do these jobs are the brains behind the operation.

Steve knows how to work hard, how to force his body and even his mind into submission until he gets the steps just right, but this? These past six months back in Hawkins temporarily helping out?

(God, please let it be temporary.)

He's not built for this. He's sitting center stage after everyone has left with only half the house lights to illuminate his misery and he's not. Built. For. This.

Not built for being a mentor or a leader or a role model; not built to handle the strenuous nature of his mother's legacy; not built to carry the name she's made for herself as a teacher and a choreographer and a shaper of young dancers.

Steve's not built for it!

They'd had a shitty fucking dress.

"Hey, uh, you gonna be a while? I kinda need to close up for the night."

The voice echoes across the empty space, bouncing off the high ceiling and straight up to land on the Marley floors at Steve's feet. The stage isn't built for dancers, much like Steve isn't built to be here, so they'd had to pull up the floors from the studio and drag them halfway across town just to roll them out here.

"Hello? Are you, like, alive up there?"

Steve sighs. "Yeah," he calls back, catching sight of the figure talking to him at the back of the theater, the young guy who runs the place and who Steve met a grand total of three days ago. His name is Eddie and he dresses more like he's running a music venue than a local community theater, but he's mostly stayed out of Steve's way so far. "Sorry, I'll get outta your hair."

"Sure," Eddie says, but he's just sort of leaning against the back wall by the window to the sound and lighting booth without an ounce of urgency to him as Steve drags himself to his aching feet and lugs his three separate bags of show stuff onto his shoulders.

There's an energy to an empty theater, one which has held a performance and one which now holds the ghosts of that performance, which tugs at the anxieties sitting buried deep beneath the more immediate ones.

Fears about his mom's health, about what will happen to the studio if she doesn't win this particular battle, about what will happen to him.

There's an energy here in the creak of the steps which lead down off the front of the stage and there's an energy to the plod of Steve's sneakers up the long, racked aisle between the seats.

There's an energy, but it's also not empty, is it.

"Hey, good show, dude," Eddie says, pushing off his wall as Steve grows nearer. "Like, talented kids you've got there."

Steve scoffs before he can help himself and then pinches the bridge of his nose in a grimace for not being able to help himself.

"Uh, yeah, thanks," he grits out, thinking about his bed. Thinking about how he never made time for dinner and he has to be here early again tomorrow.

"Wow, resounding confidence on this one," Eddie snorts, and when Steve opens his eyes it's to genuine amusement, genuine curiosity in the tilt of a head and furrow of a brow.

"No, just," he shakes his head, "you should see 'em when they're really on their game, y'know?"

Eddie hums, and when did Steve come to a stop right in front of him? He's leaving. He has to leave. Go home. Think about all the spacing corrections he needs to fix tomorrow and run through with the girls before show time.

"Bad dress, good show though, right?"

Steve startles. Maybe a little too visibly because Eddie is actively holding back laughter at the sight of him.

"What, I've worked at a theater for four years and I'm not supposed to pick up a thing or two about the ballet?" he snarks good-naturedly. "Caroline, the lady who did your job before you, she was a chatty one, taught me everything I know about Giselle."

It's a knife between the ribs. It's a soothing sort of heat, like from a roaring bonfire.

"You--" he clears his throat, "you know Caroline?"

"Highlight of the job honestly, before she retired," Eddie shrugs.

"She didn't retire."

"Oh. She...?"

"Chemo," Steve doesn't know why he's saying it all so willingly, why after months of trying to run the studio without having to talk about how's your mom doing, sweetheart? he's opening up to this stranger with the curly hair and curious eyes. But he knows her. He's-- Well, he knows her. "I'm just here to-- to fill in until she can come back. So."

Eddie is studying him now. Curious eyes turned intelligent, knowing, sad with the weight of realization.

"You're the wonder boy," he says on a breath like oh, I get it now.

"The what?" Steve balks.

"Her kid," Eddie says like it's simple. He's leaning against the wall again, like he's not planning on getting back to work anymore, "she was-- Shit, man, she loves the hell outta you. Oh, you should see my son, he's in Les Corsaire this season! Oh, my boy, he's just gotten promoted to soloist, he'll be a principal in no time! Oh, the talent on him, the--"

"Okay, okay, Jesus," Steve cuts him off, a half-hysterical laugh bubbling up out of his chest in the process.

"You should tell her I say hi next time you see her," Eddie isn't remotely deterred by having his little, lilting performance derailed. There's a softness to him that deserves a smaller space, walls less prone to echo.

"I will," Steve nods. His bags grow heavy on his shoulders.

"And you should chill out a little bit," he says, this time with the kind of glint to his eye that needs a bigger space, needs to be up on the stage to the point where it has Steve floundering, "y'know, about the the shitty dress that, between you and me," he leans in conspiratorially, close enough to feel the heat of his breath, "wasn't really all that shitty."

Steve sucks in a breath.

It strikes him somewhere old, the reassurance, somewhere young deep inside of him. The comforting from a mother that if he just works hard enough he’ll land that double tour in fifth some day soon, the unbroken promise that she would never give him special treatment as the son of the studio owner, but that she would never hesitate to reward him when he’d earned it on his own.

It strikes him because no one tells you how little reassurance the guy in charge is ever offered and it strikes him because it’s been such a long day and it strikes him because—

“Hey, have you had dinner yet?”

Eddie’s eyebrows lift high on his forehead and Steve sees it, the attitude on this dude that his mother absolutely would have loved in an instant. There’s a performer in there, even just in the brief interaction they’ve shared so far. There’s a spotlight pointing inwards and a show begging to be dragged out.

“No,” Eddie drags out slow and curious, “you offering, ballet boy?”

Steve needs a sounding board and he needs another set of eyes and he needs his mom to be okay and the show tomorrow to prove that he can handle this for her if she’s not, but maybe what he needs most right now, on the other side of a spiral in a dark and echoing theater, is this.

“Meet me at Benny’s in thirty,” he says simply as he makes his way for the door. “Since you’re such an experienced test audience.”

Eddie’s responding laugh is bright and his eyes glitter with curious amusement and maybe this is what Steve needs because maybe all of this is one big rehearsal at a big new life in and old small town.

And maybe this is his chance to make a mess of it. At least until the real show starts.

[yeosangs-horizon]

Silhouette (Wooyoung x neighbor!Reader)

Genre: Neighbors -> Lovers | Fluff & Smut Word Count: 4.2k Member: Wooyoung | Group: Ateez Warnings: smut, fem!reader Author's Note: Oops I haven't posted an Ateez fic in ages, hi!! I've had this one cookin in the drafts for a year and never felt like it was good enough to post till now, I hope you enjoy. I've had intense Ateez brain rot recently again. I've also been enjoying writing longer fics with more plot/lore so expect more of that :^)

Your neighbor was quite peculiar, always turning up his music just before your bedtime and going out wearing a black face mask and a hat that shielded his identity. You had never confronted him before, the closest you got was thumping on the wall that connected your room to his when he was playing his music too loud and he seemed to get the hint. You were getting ready to take the trash out when you heard the music playing again, it was the third day in a row and you had an early day at work the next day. 

Grumbling to yourself, you recounted the tasks you had to complete by the end of the work day, knowing that you had to finish your portion of editing a music video for the entertainment company that you worked with. You opened the front door, trash in hand as you strolled by your boisterous neighbor’s apartment. 

You glanced in, curious as to what he was doing with music blasting at such late hours. You saw a tall silhouette moving to the rhythm in sharp and fluid motions. You stood there for perhaps a bit too long, gazing at the mesmerizing motions of your neighbor. 

Noticing that he turned his head and the music had stopped, it snapped you out of your trance as you saw the figure come up to the window that you were staring at. You saw a trace of his red locks before you dipped and ran down to the dumpster on the first floor, feeling embarrassed that you were seen. The thought of you confronting him to turn his music down went out the door after the events that night. 

The next couple nights were quiet, you were accustomed to the muffled rock songs that were playing by this point that you found the silence a bit lonely. You had forgotten your phone charger in your car so you forced yourself to grab your keys and make a quick trip to the parking lot to grab your charger. 

A gust of wind found itself blowing past your face as you huddled to yourself, but not before turning your head to your neighbor’s window and seeing the silhouettes again, this time of two figures standing in the middle of the living room. You turned your gaze away before making your way down to the parking lot as you heard the door to your neighbor’s flat open. You searched around in your car and snatched your charger before walking back up the stairs. 

“Good practice today San, get back safe!” you heard the voice call out. 

“Thanks Woo, get some rest!” the other man’s voice rung out. You briefly made eye contact with the man with a duffel bag in hand as you made your way up the stairs. 

You found yourself gazing at your neighbor, the one with red locks, the silhouette you were staring at a couple nights ago. 

“Oh hey there! You’re my next door neighbor right? Sorry if my music has been bothering you, I’m Wooyoung!” he beamed, holding his hand out. You were taken aback by his forwardness.

“Don’t worry about it. You always manage to turn it down by the time I go to sleep for some reason, so I didn’t bother confronting you,” you spoke out, telling him your name whilst taking his hand in a firm shake. 

“Sorry for uh, staring at you through the window the other night,” you admitted. 

“Ah that was you? I got worried it was some stalker that got a hold of my address…” 

“Does that happen often?” you inquired, wondering more about your mysterious neighbor. Perhaps that would be why he always went out shielding his identity. 

“You could say so, with my profession,” he vaguely hinted. 

“You’re a dancer or choreographer or something of the sort? You looked… really good from that night,” you blurted out, realizing you may have been a little too forward you took a step back. He chuckled and shrugged.

“You could say that. Sorry if I haven’t been too welcoming, I know I moved here a month ago but never got a chance to introduce myself.” 

You felt a bit bad for misjudging a nice character just because he blasted music in the evenings. 

“No worries! I also dance a bit in my spare time but I’m nowhere near as good as you,” you continued. A gust of wind in that moment made you shiver a bit, wanting to get inside, but also wanting to continue to talk to your neighbor. 

“I’d love to see sometime. Ah also let me get your number, it’s always good to have that connection with the people you live closest with!” Wooyoung beamed.

With shaky hands you typed in your number in his phone. “Have a good night Wooyoung!” you called out as you slipped back inside your place. 

Not only was your neighbor mysterious, he was also very attractive and looked somewhat familiar, but you couldn’t place your tongue on it. Wanting to let lose a bit, you grabbed your speakers and picked your favourite song to dance to, ‘Snapping’ by Chung Ha. 

You had memorized the choreo and the conversation you just had with Wooyoung had reminded you that you wanted to practice on your dances again as some of your girlfriends had mentioned that they wanted to get a dance cover group together. You got into the groove of things, moving your body to the beat as you heard a notification on your phone. 

‘Snapping, good song choice, it’s Wooyoung btw, not some weird stalker lol.’ 

You laughed to yourself for a second before turning the volume down, not wanting it to be your turn to be the asshole of a neighbor.

It was a stressful day at work as the deadline to the music video you were tasked with working on was coming to a close. After you would have somewhat of a break and then be put on another project with the cycle repeating itself over and over again. Your thoughts trailed back to your neighbor, as you stared at the music video you were working on. 

You were lucky enough to work at a well known entertainment company, being able to stare at the talented idols that your company manages was a highlight to your day. Your inspiration and love for dancing also came from them. 

You tilted your head, idol… was Wooyoung a part of a group or an upcoming soloist? You kept up with older groups so you had no idea about the newer generation of idols. You shook the thought of your head, perhaps you could ask him later on down the line. Although you didn’t have any direct line of communication with the idols your company manages, you could imagine how invasive fans and even strangers could get about their profession. 

It had been about a month or so since your run in with Wooyoung. The two of you had been texting occasionally and making small talk when you saw him in the hallways, needless to say you grew quite fond of his presence within that time. You found yourself anticipating when the next time you’d see hoping to get any excuse to talk to him when you’d step outside. 

You found that other than dancing, you had other common interests with him such as tending to plants or cooking and experimenting with recipes. You’d sometimes get a whiff of his cooking when you’d crack open the window for some fresh air in the morning. 

Most of your conversations were initiated by him texting you, ‘hey did you hear that noise?’ or ‘was that you hitting the wall?’ He was silly to say the least and you were a little surprised to see him standing in front of your door when you came home from work that day. 

“I texted you but you didn’t respond, but I wanted to see if you wanted some cupcakes. It was one of my member-- I mean coworker’s birthdays at my company and we had a lot of extras!” He asked cheerfully, holding out a plate of sweets in front of him. 

“That’s very sweet of you Wooyoung, sure!” You replied, exhausted from a day’s worth of editing and wanting a snack anyway. 

“Wait, if you’re not busy, you could come in?” he suggested. 

Why not? You shrugged and turned towards him, “I’m down, anything to get my mind off of this deadline at work.” You slipped your shoes off, following him into his couch and coffee table. 

The layout was the same as yours, but the place looked minimalistic and very modest. You turned your head and gazed at the speakers that were the culprit of the noise that you had once complained about. 

“Oh yeah, my speakers have been busted so that’s why it’s probably been quiet for you,” he chuckled. 

“Damn, sorry about your speakers,” you apologetically replied. 

“It’s cool, I’ve been using my phone for music but don’t worry, more speakers are coming in soon,” he grinned. You took a bite of the cupcake Wooyoung had offered you and smiled into the sweetness. 

“Thanks for these by the way,” you mumbled through your bite. He rested his hand on his cheek, staring at you sweetly. 

“I saw you dancing the other night too, you were pretty good,” he mused. You almost choked on the cupcake. 

“I didn’t watch on purpose, you didn’t close your curtains but I’d know that choreo from anywhere, it was Blackpink’s Kill This Love right?” 

You nodded, feeling a bit flustered from being exposed like that. “Yeah um, some of my friends and I wanted to get a cover group together sometime so I was just practicing,” you sheepishly replied. 

“Y’know the guy you walked passed that night that we started talking? He’s my main dance buddy, we practice and hype each other up all the time. If you need anybody at a hand’s reach, I’m here,” he grinned. 

He was a professional and he was offering you a chance to learn from him? 

“Maybe I’ll take you up on that offer sometime,” you replied back, letting your gaze meet his. 

This was the first time you had the chance to stare at his face without it being awkward. His dimples are adorable, you thought, letting yourself admire his features. A sudden hand on your face pulled you out from your trance as you felt Wooyoung’s finger slide across the corner of your lip.

“Sorry you had frosting there,” he mumbled, removing his hand from your cheek, the warmth still lingering there. 

You gazed down, feeling warmth arise to your cheeks and smiled to yourself. “Thanks, uh, one of my friends really wanted me to learn the choreo to a song that I thought was really difficult, if you wanted to help me with it. I haven’t started but the dance practice looked intimidating,” you spoke out. 

You felt his gaze on you as he spoke, “Of course, which song is it?”

“Hala Hala by Ateez. The music video looked cool but the choreo seemed intimidating so I’ve been putting it off. I wish I could incorporate the editing style in that music video in my work, but my skills are nothing compared to those editors,” you sighed

You trailed your eyes to Wooyoung after your train of thought stops to see him staring at you with his jaw a bit agape. “Yeah sure, of course. I um, know that dance really well don’t worry!” He exclaimed, trying to hide his shock. 

“Does Sunday work for you? I can’t do tomorrow since I got a work thing,” he gestured vaguely. You nodded. 

“I am indebted to you Wooyoung, I should study the choreo a bit and let you know the more difficult parts to make your life a little easier,” you laughed. You felt him tense up a bit across from you. 

“You haven’t studied the choreo at all before?” he asked. 

“Not much, I was only shown the performance music video like once from my friend,” you shrugged. 

“Thanks for having me over by the way, I gotta do some chores back next door but I’ll be seeing you Sunday!” you smiled as you got up from your seat. Wooyoung seemed a bit tense as he sent you off through the doorway. 

“‘Course, see you Sunday…” He was a bit nervous if you would make the connection that he was with Ateez. Any sensible person would put two and two together with the amount of information he slipped out to you already and the fact that you knew his face. 

He hoped that you wouldn’t react badly or sabotage him in anyway, he had developed some sort of feelings for you as your love of music and dance had captivated his attention and you were just as adventurous as him. 

As night rolled around, you were finished with cleaning your apartment and were sat at your desktop ready to relax and study the choreo for Hala Hala as you said you would for Wooyoung. You had heard of Ateez here and there, but you didn’t know any of the members much less their names and what they looked like. 

All you knew was that your friend was obsessed with the song and to do a cover of this song with her dance group was her dream. You clicked on the music video as you saw the members in their outfits popping up one by one. 

You took in their accessories and appearance as they flashed by on screen, suddenly a familiar face popping on screen. You blinked twice and had to rewind. Wooyoung, your neighbor? No way… you thought, as you kept on staring at the face on screen. 

All this time you had thought that he was just a backup dancer for a group or something of the sort, although him being an idol ran through your mind as well. You decided you’d ask him about it sometime later as you started to note down parts of the choreography. 

Sunday had rolled around quickly with no texts from Wooyoung. You had hoped that he was still available and it wasn’t like him to not send you texts. You had been accustomed to texting him replies of the random messages he sends. You hadn’t heard from him even as you were practicing with the music a little louder than usual the night before. You shrugged it off as you stepped outside to knock next door. 

“Wooyoung?” you called out, after knocking a couple times. It took a minute or so, but you were about to head back into your place as the door opened. 

“Hey, sorry about that I was um… cleaning,” he smiled. In truth, he knew you were at the door but was a bit nervous to see you again knowing his identity might be spoiled. He decided he had to come clean. 

He let out a sigh as he spoke, “Listen I…” 

“Can I ask--” the two of you spoke at once. 

He let out a stifled laugh as you walked into his flat. “I wanted to come clean um…” he started. His nervous energy confirmed what you were thinking about. 

“I know Woo, don’t worry. Everything’s still the same between us if you want it to be, I mean I work for an entertainment company so I’m aware of the stress that idols go through. I genuinely didn’t know you were part of a group until recently,” you stammered. 

He let out a sigh of relief. “Thanks for not being crazy about things, I was afraid you’d resent me or leak my address or something,” he mumbled. 

“You guys are humans too, plus I just wanted to add you looked so cool in Hala Hala and I may have been listening to some of your other songs,” you gushed. 

“Makes sense as to why you’d blast music and practice at that time, you work so hard. Don’t worry I haven’t been stalking you online either, I wanna get to know you genuinely,” you smiled. 

“In that case, let me teach you to master the choreo to my song then,” he beamed. You gazed at the openness of his living room, furniture pushed back to the back of his apartment, taking in the new speakers as well. 

“They finally arrived huh? I can be back to listening to your music at ungodly hours of the night,” you jokingly nudged him. 

“Maybe I’ll turn it up just for you,” he grinned, turning the speakers on and putting his song on. 

You had shown him a couple parts that you had picked up the other night, but you fumbled during the chorus and ended up tripping on yourself and falling onto his hardwood floor face first. “Yeah, the chorus was definitely what was intimidating,” you groaned. 

“Shit you okay?” Wooyoung rushed to your side and held out his hand. You nodded as you slipped your hand in his, using his weight to hoist yourself back up. 

“Let me show you how we did it,” he offered, stepping next to you. 

“So when we approach the ground, it’s a slow descent and keep your weight balanced in the middle to keep yourself from falling,” he gestured, showing you the move again. “And when you pop back up, do it lightly or else you’ll have a lot of neck pain, take it from me,” he chuckled. 

You grinned at his enthusiasm for you to learn the choreography, taking in his words and repeating the motions that he eagerly showed you. “Was that it?” you asked, gazing around for him. You felt his hands wrap themselves around your arm to readjust their position at the ending pose. 

“There…” he mumbled behind you. “Now that’s perfect,” he smiled, letting you relax your position. “You dance really well y’know? I’m glad I got to see it up close this time,” he grinned. 

You felt flustered at his compliments, coming from someone who was way more trained than you were. “You’re too sweet Woo,” you breathed out, feeling a bit tired and sweaty from practice at this point. 

“I’ll get you some water, we can take a break for now,” he gestured. 

You nodded, catching your breath and letting yourself slump on his couch that was now pushed back against the wall. A minute later he plopped down beside you with a glass of water. You gulped down the hydration as you noticed his gaze on you again. 

You put the glass down and met his gaze, he was smiling at you as he always did when the two of you had a rare moment like this, you felt the flutter in your stomach again as you heard his soft spoken voice. 

“You’re really gorgeous when you dance.” 

You blinked twice, sure that you were daydreaming. 

“Wait what?” 

“I’m serious, you have good rhythm and flow, and not to mention… you’re so pretty,” he confessed.

You felt flustered as he let his gaze linger on you. You weren’t sure when the distance between the two of you got closer but you knew when it closed as he pressed his lips on yours. Truth was, he had been pining for you for awhile and after realizing he could trust you and that his identity was safe with you, he let his feelings take over. 

You let yourself melt into his kiss and soon his touch that enveloped you in a hug. His lips were soft against yours and he didn’t hesitate to deepen the kiss when your mouth parted open. He put his weight against you and pretty soon, you were laying down as he was on top of you, taking in your taste as his digits intertwined with yours. 

“Mm Woo,” you mumbled against his kiss. He pulled back, a bit afraid that he had gone too far to fast. 

“The curtains, people can see,” you breathed out, eyes still hooded. 

“Shit we don’t want that happening again,” he cursed before he closed the curtains, leaving the room a bit dim and nice for the atmosphere that was to come. 

“You’re okay with this yeah?” he mumbled, wanting more of you. You nodded, 

“Yes Woo, please…” you exhaled. He brushed his lips against your cheek before planting a kiss there. 

“Thank god, I’ve wanted you so bad. You’re so hot…” he whispered to you. His breathiness went straight to your core as you squirmed in your arousal. 

“Guess your dancing just does something to me,” he teased before pressing his lips back onto yours. 

He let himself grind his hips on you, relieving you of the ache that you had been missing from your core as you felt his length hardening against his cargo pants. You tilted your head back in pleasure as he started to trail his kisses from your jaw down to your collarbone, still grinding his hardness against your arousal. 

“I want to… feel you,” you managed to breath out. 

You managed to shimmy your pants off with ease as he kicked off his cargo pants. You also got your shirt over your head to toss to the side, even with his touch and kisses around your neck. Wooyoung trailed his hand down to your core, feeling the arousal soaking through your panties. 

“So excited… and all for me hm?” he teased, pressing his finger onto your aching core. 

“Yes Woo,” you moaned out. 

You felt his cock twitch in the confines of his boxers. He quickly stripped off the remainder of his shirt and undergarments. You gazed at his defined muscles, droplets glistening as a reminder of your dance practice now turned into an intimate waltz with one another. You gazed down to see the length of his hardness, now dripping with precum as a result from his arousal. You did your best to kick off your panties as your own arousal ached for him. 

“So pretty…” he mumbled, taking in your form. 

He leaned down to cup his mouth over your breast as he let his cock slide around your folds before finally slipping himself inside you with ease. You let out a stifled whimper as he stretched out your hole. It had been awhile since you had any action but  that didn’t mean that you didn’t have fun by yourself once in awhile, and recently it had been to the thought of Wooyoung. He was attractive nonetheless but you never thought you’d be in this position. 

“Fuck love,, I won’t last if you’re this tight,” he breathed out. Your core clenched around him as an affect of his words to you. 

You let your hands trace his defined figure, taking in his beauty and his red locks that fell inches away from your face. You felt him move and slowly start to thrust in you. He planted kisses on your breasts, even taking the time to suck a love mark onto one. 

You let out a breathy moan as he continued to thrust in and out of you, slowly increasing his pace. You instinctively wrapped your legs around his torso, wanting to feel more of him. You let out a sharp hiss of pleasure as you felt him bottoming out inside of you. 

“Woo… mm, you feel so good…” you moaned. He quickened his pace as your core clenched around him. 

“God you’re so hot like this,” he breathed out, his eyes lustful as he gazed upon your naked form below him. You let your hips take reign as you bucked up to meet his pace. 

“Woo I’m so… close,” you whimpered. 

“Finish for me,” he whispered in a deeper voice. 

That was enough to send you over the edge as your core spasmed around his hardness. You felt him twitch inside of you before he let out a high pitched moan and spilled into you, rocking himself into you to chase the high. 

“Shit, I um, didn’t mean to do it inside of you,” he stammered, feeling shameful of his actions. 

“Wait Woo I should have said something earlier but I’m protected, on the pill so don’t worry. I should have still said something earlier though!” 

You reassured him, running your fingers through his locks as you gazed lovingly at him. He let out a sigh of relief as he slowly slipped out of you. “Some dance practice we had today right?” You chuckled. 

“One that leaves me to clean up my couch,” he laughed along with you. 

You let yourself relax into his touch as he placed an arm around you, pressing a kiss onto your temple. “What does this make us?” you asked. 

“Anything you want it to be, but I should have asked you out on a date before this…” 

“Well I mean our actual dance practice could have been our date,” you giggled at his realization. 

“Let me take you out on a real one then. I like you a lot!”

[ragana62]

So I finally watched the Wicked movie...

Obviously I have thoughts about the ways they're sort of edging towards a more explicit Gelphie and not just in the press tours without invalidating the canon relationships with Fiyero, about some of the changes made between stage and movie, but honestly my biggest thought just kind of won out over all of it:

It's really nice seeing movie musicals made by theater kids for theater kids.

Being able to trust that changes being made between the musical and the movie version will be made in good faith and for the benefit of the story instead of because the director secretly hates musicals? Fantastic.

A main cast that was cast specifically because they can do musical theater, not just because they can sing so hopefully they don't look too stiff or because they can act and we can just dub the voice? Amazing.

Splitting what was one piece of source material into two movies, not because we want to make a lot more money off of people but because we actually are making use of the extra time and mainstream audiences probably aren't ready to commit to 5 hours in one sitting at the movie theater? Where was this in the mid to late 2000's YA adaptations era?

Knowing that your cast needs physical sets and practical effects to interact with if you're going to do these choreographed numbers and make them feel tangible and then actually building them instead of doing everything on a green screen with a few little tables to run around on? Wonderful.

Anyway, like I said, I know I'm going to have more thoughts on Wicked (the movie), but I just really enjoyed being able to walk in knowing that it was a movie musical that understood and appreciated musical theater instead of just wanted the known IP but didn't actually want to make a musical/wanted to make everything into radio-friendly pop songs for no reason/whatever other lazy cop-out we've been getting lately, and then not being disappointed. That was nice. More of that please.

[hotvintagepoll]

Robert Helpmann (The Red Shoes, Chitty Chitty Bang Bang)—an extremely enticing combination of graceful and balletic and scrungly weirdo who looks kind of like if you put fred astaire and young boris karloff circa the black cat into the splicer machine from the fly. a literal actual ballet dancer, choreographer, shakespeare actor, and theater director, who left a mark on the psyches of many children as the terrifying child catcher in chitty chitty bang bang. undeniably scrungly but elegant and spidery in his scrungliness. in powell and pressburger's opera film tales of hoffmann he can be seen playing four different characters!

Jack Haley (The Wizard of Oz)—Whenever i see him out of the tin man costume, I think, what's that jazzy little fella side-eying everybody through fifty tons of eyeliner? And then I realize it's Jack Haley. He did not really have much opportunities to scrungle inside the tin man costume, but I do think any man who hears the previous guy nearly died on the job due to the aluminum makeup then decides to do it anyway in a .....hambone sort of style should be considered scrungly

This is round 1 of the contest. All other polls in this bracket can be found here. If you're confused on what a scrungle is, or any of the rules of the contest, click here.

[additional submitted propaganda + scrungly videos under the cut]

Robert Helpmann:

In the interests of honesty i will say that I have only seen Robert Helpmann in Chitty Chitty Bang Bang , but honestly does it get weirder, scrunglier or more delightfully creepy than the Child Catcher? REALLY. He is so gracefully off-putting (and thereby utterly captivating). One of my very favourite aspects in one of my favorite chilhood movies. And ASIDE from the child catcher, just LOOK AT HIM!!!

I know we all know him from our childhood traumas from Chitty, but he was also an extremely talented dancer. you can see him here in the red shoes (he is the one who plays her lover).

Jack Haley: