#I was struck by the similarities between the songs

[artfulusername]

"You Oughta Know" by Alanis Morissette is what happens when the singer of ABBA's "The Winner Takes It All" feels allowed to voice their underlying rage about their break-up instead of just sinking into despair.

[formulawolff]

el tango de roxanne - t.w.

pairing: figure skater!reader x toto wolff

word count: 2.8k

warnings: cursing, angst, (slight) age gap relationships, (slight) casual friends to lovers arc, allusions to smut, toto being a jealous fuck, yadayadayada

song inspo: el tango de roxanne by ewan mcgregor, jacek koman, and josé feliciano (if you couldn’t tell by the title hehe)

a/n: if you haven’t watched tessa virtue & scott moir’s iconic moulin rouge routine… where have you been? anyways. this fic was inspired by a request & this routine! i highly recommend watching it hehe. also idc if 2024 is summer olympics… this is my au! let me be!

he couldn’t bear it.

not for one more second.

yet, he couldn’t muster the strength to look away. to avert his gaze from what was unfolding on the ice below, as you glided so beautifully across, your partner in tow.

fuck, you were so breathtaking in this moment.

the way your hair was pulled so neatly into an intricate bun, your features enhanced by makeup. the way your eyes shine as you face your partner, several feet separating the two of you. the way your ensemble sparkled under the intense lighting, the skirt fluttering ever so slightly.

this is where you shone.

like a star in the night, bursting to the brim with nothing but pure, bright light.

while he may excel in the paddock, the rink was your element. where you truly belonged. where you were as cool as the ice, calm and collected as the dramatic flair of the strings amplified your movements, the audience roaring in response.

as you move, it’s magnetizing, the austrian shifting in his seat as your partner wraps you up in his embrace, holding you tightly as the two of you sail across the ice.

his jaw clenches as he notices the way your partner’s hand grasp the exposed skin of your back and shoulders, the routine almost executed perfectly as the music continues.

fuck, how he absolutely despised the way your bodies molded together. the way he held you, lifting you into the air, or onto his thighs, keeping you in close proximity.

of course, he has to remind himself that this is strictly professional. that there is nothing romantic going on between you and your partner, jack probst.

well, not like he could really be upset either.

there was nothing going on between the two of you.

at least, that’s what toto wolff thought.

the two of you met at a cocktail party for the launch of the 2022 formula one season, at the mercedes headquarters in brackley. although you were quite new to the world of racing, you were a plus one, as your best friend invited you to tag along with her. since she was part of the marketing team for mercedes, she had an in.

although you were terrified beyond belief of the idea of mingling with engineers, investors, and well, the drivers, you had reluctantly agreed to come with. as a prominent figure in the realm of ice skating, you were aware that you at least had one thing in common with the racing world.

in order to be successful, every little aspect of the routine had to be executed flawlessly.

just like the engineers and mechanics had to prep the car in order to race, you had to ensure that you had the right skates.

just like how the pit crew had to time their stops perfectly without fail, you had to maintain rhythm with the music, so that the routine would flow.

additionally, you were very similar to the drivers.

you yearned to step foot on that podium, no matter the cost.

at that party, you happened to run into the team principal and ceo of mercedes, mr. torger wolff. the two of you struck up a conversation, the team principal complimenting your career, as well as your dress.

although your best friend thought he was flirting, you had brushed it off, stating that he was just being polite.

however, toto wolff was not being polite.

he wanted you, oh so desperately.

and he was patient. he was going to wait until you were ready.

even if watching your routine with jack absolutely tugged and squeezed at his aching heart.

even if every fiber of his being screamed at him to look away before that jealousy burned through, the flames licking at every part of his being.

there was no denying you had effortless chemistry with jack, as the media speculated the two of you had been an item for years.

however, what toto did not know was that you were in a similar predicament.

after that fateful night in brackley, the team principal reached out to you via email. you wondered how he even got his hands on your email address, but your best friend gave that away with little to almost no interrogation.

allegedly, toto was interested if you, completely allured and entranced by your presence. so, he approached your best friend, inquiring about your contact information. not wanting to give him your number right away, she simply provided him with your email instead, urging him to “slide into those dms.”

so, he did. the two of you hit it off immediately, emailing one another constantly. after a couple of days, he mustered up the courage to ask you politely for your number. with no hesitation, you gave it to him.

from that moment on, a friendship blossomed between the two of you. although he was a bit older, he had this charm that pulled drew you in, wanting to learn more and more about him. also, formula one intrigued you, as you wanted to learn more about the sport.

he showed you the ins and outs of racing, while you educated him on the graces and virtues of skating. a few months into your friendship, he invited you to a grand prix, offering an all-exclusive ticket for the weekend. all you had to do was say the word and it was yours.

however, there was only one thing holding you back.

if you went, you would miss a week or so of practice. which, wouldn’t go over well with jack. especially during the initial stages of the season.

and even more so, with the olympics quickly approaching, you would feel guilty missing so much time.

so, you ended up passing on his offer.

which, hurt his pride just a tad, but not enough to deter him from his end goal.

he was going to have you.

one day.

he just wasn’t sure when.

eventually, you accepted one of his many offers to attend a grand prix. settling on the 2023 monaco grand prix, where dutch driver max verstappen claimed victory.

somehow, someway, the two of you ended up in bed together that night.

you weren’t quite sure how, and neither was he, but you mutually agreed to never speak on it again.

no matter how much it was on your mind.

which, was almost every second of every single day.

on his end, it was nearly detrimental, consuming his every waking thought whole.

to make matters worse, that night in monaco awoke something that you had been trying to keep hidden for months.

you were hopelessly and utterly in love with the team principal.

even if he was twenty-five years older than you. even if his schedule was jam-packed with meetings every minute of every hour of every day. even if he could only call you every so often. even if he was a single father, recently divorced after nearly a decade of marriage. even if there was something unspoken between the two of you, the tension blanketing over like a thick haze.

what toto could never know was that you pictured him right there with you, gliding along the ice, his hands roaming your body. you could almost feel him murmuring in your ear how beautiful you were like this, blissfully lost in the music.

no matter the circumstance. no matter the soreness lingering in your muscles or the sheer terror of falling or missing a beat, that thought alone is what got you though the routine.

it never failed.

and tonight, it was not going to fail you.

despite the stakes at hand, you were a natural at this, showing no signs of fear as the final notes rang in your ears.

this was it.

the end of the routine, jack dipping your body as your head rolls back, dramatically falling.

there’s a beat of silence, before the entire arena explodes.

the sound of thunderous applause fills your ears, jack pulling you in for a tight embrace, clutching you against his chest. sobs rack your body, your shoulders shaking as the realization washes over you.

you guys did it.

you had performed with minimal errors. no major mistakes or noteworthy point deductions.

a flawless routine.

the endless hours put in memorizing the movements, the sleepless nights at the rink, the doubt that you could pull this off, were washed away, slipping from your memory as joy bubbles up within your chest.

“representing their home country, jack probst and ____ _____!”

the boom from the announcer drowns in your ears, jack saying words you can’t quite decipher. you feel his hand in yours, but you’re not here.

you’re somewhere else, somewhere far from the packed arena.

you’re dreaming of his expression right in this moment. how his thick brows are probably furrowed together, his tongue swiping along as his lower lip, knee bouncing ever so slightly. his fluffy brunette locks are probably a ruffled mess, as he probably had ran a hand through it a few times, anxiously awaiting for a glimpse of you before your routine.

jack rips open the foam padding to the rink, where you’re greeted by your coaches. they engulf you in their arms, shouting praises over the hum of the crowd.

meanwhile, toto wolff sits in the stands, hands on his knees as he anticipates the final verdict. his knuckles are nearly white as the denim bunches under his fingertips, his knee bouncing slightly as clips of the routine. replay across the ginormous screens all across the arena.

he's surrounded by you.

your stunning figure as it gracefully flows with the music, every movement absolutely exquisite. your breathtaking smile the moment you're finished, eyes shining like the stars as jack envelops you in his arms.

a pang of envy rises in his chest, yet he swiftly suppresses it.

this moment was not about his jealousy towards your skate partner. he shouldn't be feeling this way.

this moment was about you.

an olympic medal on the line, the future of your skating career at stake.

"the scores please," the announcer booms, blood roaring in toto's ears as he straightens in his seat, leaning forward, eyes scanning the rink.

it does not take him even a second.

you're sitting next to jack, your coaches on either side. although he was a distance away, he could sense your nerves, as your smile was tight-lipped, your hand shaky as it blows a kiss to the camera.

"_____ _____ and jack probst have earned in the free dance 122.60 points, bringing their total to 206.27 points. they are currently in first place!"

the crowd erupts into applause, jeering and screaming throughout the stands. your heart skips a beat as jack springs up, slamming the padding before wrapping you up in his arms against you once more, nearly knocking the wind out of your lungs.

he lifts you, his voice shaky with the promise of tears, "we did it! we fucking did it!"

"i can't believe it," you nuzzle into the crook in his neck, "i can't fucking believe it."

the rest of the night is a blur.

as the two of you stood on that podium, gold medals dangling from your neck as your national anthem played, you couldn't help but shake this aching feeling.

you yearned for him.

you longed to feel his strong arms around you, squeezing you against his chest as his husky voice flooded your ears, brimmed with his accent. to feel his hands glide along your body, their warmth sending shivers down your spine.

there were lengthy interviews, each one nearly draining your remaining energy with each journalist or media outlet. you didn't mind, as you basked in the afterglow of your gold medal win, a grin plastered to your face all evening.

before you knew it, you were in an uber, on your way to a new destination.

toto wolff's hotel room, a luxurious suite in the heart of the city. although every muscle in your body stung, exhausted from the events of the day, your mind is wide awake, buzzing from a torrent of thoughts swirling in your brain.

what would be the first thing that fell from those lips? would he embrace you first? what was he thinking in that moment when you won gold?

as you enter the elevator, punching the correct floor, your heart races, thumping against your rib-cage.

sure, competing in the olympics was nerve-wracking.

but facing the man you were helplessly in love with?

that was enough to make your knees buckle, your body swaying back and forth as the elevator ascended, palms clammy as you wiped them against your sweatpants.

surely he wouldn't mind that you were in sweats.

a shrill ding! rings in your ears, announcing your arrival. sucking in a shaky breath, you turn right, making your way down the hall. his room was not difficult to locate, as it was one of the first ones.

bringing your knuckles to the door, you knock, blood roaring in your ears.

he opens it almost immediately.

"hey," you beam, "i hope i wasn't too-"

lips collide with yours, his hands meeting with your waist, pulling you closer in to him. you melt under his touch, nearly crumpling to the floor as a shiver jolts down your spine. the kiss is fiery yet tender, as if lovers were reuniting after months of separation. it's a kiss of longing and love, bursting with passion.

yet, he pulls away, allowing you to catch your breath. there's a dusty pink hue tinging his cheeks, his chest heaving as he pants slightly.

"i'm sorry. i shouldn't have-"

"don't even," you shake your head, wrapping your arms around his neck, "come here."

he doesn't hesitate, his mouth molding with yours once more as he brings you in the room, nearly slamming the door shut. this time, the kiss is brimmed with lust, an insatiable desire burning deep within the austrian as a whine rises in your throat.

his tongue glides along your lower lip, your head tilting back to grant him access. his hold on your is nearly unbreakable, as if he never wanted to let you go ever again.

your hands roam, inching up the base of his neck, tugging on the roots of his messy brunette locks. there's a rumble in his chest as he guides you to the bed, your back meeting the mattress.

however, he breaks away once more, eyes locking with yours.

"do you have any idea how long i've waited to do that?"

"you didn't have to wait until i won a gold medal," a giggle bubbles up in your throat, fingers sweeping a strand of away from his temple, "hell, maybe if you did that sooner, i would have earned more points."

an airy chuckle fills the space, his lips curving into a radiant grin, "congratulations, little star. there's no one who deserved that win more than you."

"toto," you murmur, his eyes softening at the way his name drips from your sweet lips, "can i tell you something?"

"of course schatzi," his hand cups your face, thumb caressing along your cheekbone, "what is it?"

"i sort of have a method to my skating," you can't help but shrink a little as the embarrassment begins to wash over you, "it helps me focus."

"and that is?" his brows knit furrow.

"instead of jack skating with me, i picture you."

at those words, the austrian nearly collapses.

"you do?"

"i do," you nod, "lately, it's been the only way i can follow a routine without mistakes. it helps me get lost in the rhythm, the flow of the music as it guides us. um, well, as it guides me."

"oh my beautiful girl," toto's mind reels, his heart swelling, "you're always on my mind. lately i can't focus in my meetings or at the paddock or in my office. you consume me."

you consume me.

bliss ripples in your heart as you lean in, the tip of your nose brushing against his, "toto wolff, i'm in love with you. i can't hide it anymore. i can't deny it. i love you."

toto blinks, ensuring that this was no dream. that you were really here beneath him, in his bed at his hotel room. surely this wasn't heaven. surely this wasn't some sort of delusion or mirage.

yet, you were here, nothing but pure adoration swimming in the depths of your warm gaze, your lashes fluttering as his mouth ghosts over yours.

"and i'm in love with you, schatzi. what do you say? should we try to make something work?"

"i think we could make something work," the words are merely a whisper, "actually, scratch that. we're going to make something work."

"that's my little olympian. are you ready for sleep or can i show you just how much i love you?"

[kylieswift31]

Taylor Swift and the Truman show

"Well, for me, there is no difference between a private life and a public life. My life... is my life, is the Truman show."

Tied together with a smile

Taylor is currently at the peak of her career as she's now breaking her own records and reaching a level of fame only seen by the greatest such as the Beatles and Michael Jackson. Yet underneath all that success is a layer of conflict due to the discrepancies between her private and public life. With closer inspection it is clear to see that Taylor has left a trail of breadcrumbs that reveal that she has been queer since the beginning of her career. The ‘love struck and boy crazy’ version we first saw of Taylor was supposed to be a temporary step in her career during the fearless era, but through a series of unfortunate events she has spent the entirety of her career in the closet.

Now with the ending of the rerecords and eras tour in sight, Taylor has begun to reveal the cracks in the facade of her public persona so that we can see who she really is underneath. Her performance of 'delicate' on the eras tour is a visual representation of this process. Throughout the song we slowly see cracks forming in the glass, one at a time until at last there are so many cracks the entire stage shatters into a million tiny little pieces.

But what causes the cracks?

Taylor.

And it’s all inspired by the Truman show…

Daily life

In the mirror

The first time you watch the Truman show, the focus is on Truman and his journey. He lives a normal life in Seahaven with his wife Meryl, has a successful career in finance and spends his free time with his best friend Marlon. There are small cracks in the facade of his picture perfect life from the beginning, but halfway through we reach a turning point as it becomes clear that Truman is also the star of a 24 hour reality TV show that broadcasts his life to the public without his knowledge. Every move he makes is being observed by the outside. And then when you get to the end of the movie you start to realise that not everything you saw was as it seems.

Taylor has several well known Easter eggs that reference the Truman show, but with further investigation we can discover that she also relates to his story on a personal level. In the song 'mirrorball' Taylor explores the theme of wearing a mask that reflects back what the viewer wants or chooses to see. Just like an iceberg, if we stop at the surface level of what we see of Taylor’s personal life, we’ll miss the depth of what lies underneath. Many of her music videos echo Truman's story in a way that leaves her truth hiding in plain sight.

Good neighbours

Truman’s day starts with a moment of quiet reflection as he gazes at himself in the mirror before greeting his neighbours on his way to work. “Good morning! And incase I don’t see ya, good afternoon, good evening and good night!” His iconic catchphrase is repeated each day. Even though Truman’s the only person in Seahaven who isn’t a paid actor, he’s having the same scripted interactions day after day. His life is centred around acting the part, just like everyone else. The only difference is that he’s wearing a mask to hide how he really feels underneath. Truman's day is very reminiscent of the groundhog day trope to highlight how scripted and repetitive his life has become.

Taylor's life in the public is very similar to Truman's now that she can't go anywhere without being recognised. The once unfiltered teen that was vocal on myspace has become selective and restrained with what she shares online after years of having her life picked apart for all to see. The chasm between Taylor's public and private life has grown to the point where removing the pop star mask will impact her career.

Product placement

The Truman show is sustained through the revenue generated from the products advertised on the show. The first time we meet Truman's wife Meryl is when she's showing him the latest gadget she's picked up from the store on her way home from work. This feels subtle at first, but as more products are mentioned throughout the show it becomes more obvious and the advertising feels more akin to a late night shopping channel. We start to see that everything from the decor, wardrobe and food they eat is for sale. Every aspect of Truman's life has become commodified to generate revenue and to keep the show running.

All the little Easter eggs throughout Taylor's 'lover' music video seem like personalised advertisements now that we’ve seen that they advertise memorabilia on the Truman show in a similar way. However, within her career marketing is an integral facet of Taylor's career. "When you realise the rules of the game you're playing and how it will affect you, you got to look at the board and make your strategy. But at the same time, writing songs has never been a strategic element of my career. But I'm not scared to say that other things in my career, like how to market an album, are strictly strategic."

Hidden in plain sight

It's not obvious at first that Truman and Marlon have found a way to communicate with each other honestly whilst remaining undetected. Truman is often sharing his plans of going to Fiji to get away for a while. However, when he's really planning to leave Truman says "Just between you and me Marlon, I'm going away for a while." This allows the viewer to believe that it's just another wishful thought about going to Fiji, but said in a way that lets Marlon know that he is serious this time. Beer seems to be both another advertisement and a signal to indicate that he's been sent by the director. "It's all true. It's all real. Nothing here is fake. Nothing you see on the show is fake. It's merely controlled." Later on when we're shown that the director is feeding Marlon his lines, it's clear that he has always tried to be as honest as possible with Truman.

Taylor mentions wine frequently through her discography. Perhaps this is to show us that her truth has become so watered down within her lyrics that she lost sight of who she was before. Taylor has changed up pronouns and added hidden meaning to words and phrases mentioned frequently throughout her discography. Through this process she has become incredibly skilled at seamlessly adding connections to multiple muses within a song.

The first crack in the glass

Everything changed

From what we can see, Truman has known from the beginning that he's been the central character within his town to some degree. Truman appears to be fairly content with the life he had created for himself, despite the confinement he felt (he hasn't known any different). This all came to an end when Truman realises that his father is still alive. This changes everything as the first cracks in the facade of his seemingly perfect life become visible.

Intercepted

A very similar experience happens with Taylor in the 'delicate' music video. We can see that this interaction leaves Taylor more aware of those around her. "People often greatly underestimate me on how much I'll inconvenience myself to prove a point…" In her real life there are several events we could attribute to being her motive for change including the sale of her masters (ownership of her first six albums) to investors, a relationship changing or something that affected her reasons for remaining closeted.

Chance of rain

We see Truman sitting at the beach reflecting on how his father drowned when he was a child. As it starts raining he gets up to leave, only to reveal that there's just enough rain to encourage him to get up and go home. We slowly start to see how manufactured these scenarios are. Throughout Truman's week there are planned situations that are designed to test for any changes in his behaviour, like if he's still petrified of the water. These actions reveal just how much pressure they've placed on Truman to prevent him from leaving. It leaves us asking how much free will does he truly have with his choice to stay or go? At this point it feels like the choice has been made for him.

Taylor recreates this rain scene in the 'lavender haze' music video. We see her sitting at the end of the bed with a rain cloud over her head while her lover is asleep. We can infer that Taylor is showing us that she identifies with how isolated Truman was feeling in this moment. Taylor has given up a lot in her personal life for the success of her career, but how much of that was her choice to do so?

Reflecting on the past

Truman goes back home and opens up a trunk full of childhood memories. He's looking at photos of his family while trying to make sense of what he saw with his father still being alive, and the implications of that. This is the beginning of Truman questioning how far those in his life have gone to keep up this lie. If his father is still alive then what else have they lied about?

In the 'cardigan' music video we can see that Taylor is reflecting on her past in a similar way, but this time through playing her piano. Both 'the tortured poets department' album and summation reveal a similar theme of reflection, but with an honest exploration of the agony that comes along with it. "Nostalgia is a mind's trick." This album is a reflection of her career, highlighting the toll it's taken on her personal life along the way.

The one that got away

Love triangles

As Truman pulls out a red cardigan from a plastic bag, we get flashbacks of his high school years. His attention is torn between Sylvia and his current wife, Meryl. During a moment alone with Sylvia they sneak away together, but she appears anxious knowing they don't have much time alone. They share a chaste kiss before Lauren gets dragged away by a man claiming to be her father. She hastily reveals that everything Truman knows about his life is a lie, that it's all done for him and that everyone is watching him. Her father claims that she is just having an episode and reassures Truman by saying that he's taking her to Fiji to receive more help. Sylvia's interaction with Truman is the catalyst for her character being removed from the show. This reveals that even in high school Truman's love interest was planned out for him, despite his attraction to Sylvia.

Taylor wistfully talks about the fictional teenage love triangle during the 'folkmore' set. She describes how James is longing for the one that got away, which seems to contain an element of truth from her past. In 'imgonnagetyouback' she talks about how she won't stop fighting until they're back together again. I tend to lean more museless, with the queer side of Taylor being the one she's fighting for most of all (and with any other muses being secondary to that). If we consider the love triangle from that perspective we can see that the muse she lost was a cherished piece of her history, but the part of herself she lost along the way is the one worth risking everything for to be able to feel whole again.

It's all in the details

Through the development of Sylvia's character we start to see the significance of the colour red. To the viewers at home it is a symbol of heartbreak and loss, and that Truman's attachment to the cardigan is based on his feelings for her. But for Truman we can assume that it is more like a symbol of hope that he might finally be free one day. Other symbols we see her wear include a red seahorse pin (their school mascot) a green bauble bracelet and the 'how's it going to end?' badge. When he reads the badge in the library he quietly admits that he's been wondering that too. This is the earliest insight we witness of Truman not being fulfilled by the life that has been scripted for him.

Many of Taylor's Easter eggs are a reference to the Truman show. These include Sylvia's rose shirt, the eras tour poster, 'karma' door, the song 'how did it end?' and many of her music videos. In the 'lover' music video there's also the bauble earrings, her lover has a seahorse patch on his jacket and the board games are Taylor Swift themed. These all seem like amusing connections until you pick up on the deeper correlations to Truman's story.

Cardigan

After Sylvia left, all Truman is left with is her red cardigan. Sylvia begs Truman to come and find her, but as the flashback ends we find out that Truman didn't follow her to Fiji at the time because his mother got really sick. Instead he settled down and married Meryl, while living with the loss of what could've been with Sylvia. After Truman finishes reminiscing about the past, he slyly reveals that the badge is still pinned onto the cardigan. This reveals that his attachment is not so much to Sylvia now, but to the idea of leaving one day so that he can be free to live his life authentically.

Taylor's song 'cardigan' is one of her most significant references to Truman's story. In the 'cardigan' and 'willow' music video we can see that it is a symbol of the memories she carries from her past and a reminder of what she's left behind along the way. The stars on the cardigan hold a similar sense of hope, just like Truman's pin. "You drew stars around my scars, but now I'm bleedin' 'cause I knew you." This imagery evokes the pain of carving into skin to emphasise the heaviness that comes with sitting with the memory of what could have been.

The bar

After Truman's flashback scene we get a glimpse of commentary from a bar as they're watching the show. This juxtaposition reveals how watching the Truman show is an ordinary occurrence during their daily lives, just like many of us tune in to watch the eras tour on a grainy live stream. The 'delicate' music video ends with Taylor walking into a very similar bar to meet up with a secret admirer, but it remains unclear which one is sitting there waiting for her.

Cracks in the facade

The one worth fighting for

Once the nostalgic moment is over we see Truman holding a photo frame of his wife Meryl. It seems like a loving gesture at first, until he turns it around and opens it up to reveal that he's been collecting a collage of facial features in an attempt to recreate a portrait of Sylvia from memory. This contrast between the memory and Truman's reality exposes how much he has sacrificed along the way by staying in Seahaven. Holding onto the cardigan, pin and picture of Sylvia is an act of defiance when everything else in his life has been decided for him.

Taylor left everything behind when she left her old label, including the ownership of her first six albums. She was not given the option of buying them back without having to commit to producing another album for each one she earned back. Unfortunately this is something many in the industry have had to endure. With hindsight we now know that Taylor was able to rerecord her past albums with added vault tracks, but at the cost of reliving her past. Taylor's back tattoo in the 'you need to calm down' music video conveys that the memory of her life's work was the only memento from her past that she was able to take with her.

Glitches

As Truman is driving to work again, his car radio starts glitching and he ends up on a channel that contains the directions everyone else is hearing in preparation for his arrival before work. From our point of view all of these mishaps are new, but there would have been flaws like this in the system a lot longer than that. But if Truman has known he was the star of the show from the beginning, what was the point of the movie? To reveal the truth to us, and the viewers at home, slowly over time. And to give us a chance to understand his point of view as we prepare for his departure.

We have seen plenty of glitches like this occurring in Taylor's performances on the eras tour, and many of these have been intentional (such as the screens glitching and swallowing bugs). This draws our attention to the cracks in her pop star facade, revealing glimpses of the person she is underneath. And just like Truman, she's giving us the opportunity to slowly adjust to the changes she plans to make in the lead up of what's to come.

Breaking down

Truman appears to be overwhelmed as he starts to reveal just how much of the town he lives in is choreographed around him. This is the start of Truman escalating his reactions to create more cracks in the facade, in the hopes that more viewers begin to see the challenges he faces living in the spotlight.

This purposeful increase in revealing more of the inner versions of themselves is exactly what Taylor is portraying during the 'delicate'' performance on the eras tour. Slowly allowing us to see them as normal people behind the larger than life character they had become in the spotlight. The way Taylor begins creating the cracks on purpose allows us to understand that what's to come is purposely being exposed.

Life's a stage

Truman attempts to enter an elevator, only to discover that it's fake. This is a big step towards seeing what's behind the magician's curtain the first time you watch the movie. When you watch it again this is the point where you start to discover how complex the set of Seahaven has become over time to keep the show running. Many elements of the town act as rest stops and exit points for the actors away from Truman's view.

Taylor pushes down the walls of the bedroom during the 'lavender haze' music video, revealing that the relationship had always been a facade to begin with. Interestingly, this is the only music video that we see begin after the clock ticks over to midnight. Just like Cinderella returns to her original state at midnight, so too does Taylor. This correlation to Cinderella's story implies that the lavender haze we see hidden beyond the walls of the bedroom is the most honest version of Taylor underneath everything else. Lavender is heavily used as a subtle reference by queer people, especially lesbians. Koi fish can be seen in all of the 'midnights' music videos except for 'karma'. They are well known for swimming against the stream, something many neurodivergent people experience feeling. Koi fish are often associated with the yin and yang symbol and together they symbolise balance, courage and perseverance, much like the song 'you're on your own kid'.

Turn up the heat

Invisible

As he seeks out his best friend Marlon for help, we learn that Truman feels concerned that he is being followed or set up for something. Marlon appears calm until Truman mentions that his father is still alive. It appears that this detail may not have been disclosed to the public. Truman demonstrates that everyone in the store is so preoccupied with fulfilling their roles that they will ignore him at all costs. This is a very unnatural reaction and wouldn't be a new discovery for Truman.

The bodyguards in the 'delicate' music video react in a similar way, just like the guards at Buckingham palace are trained to stay focused and ignore distractions. On an emotional level, this behaviour feels like no one is interested in you unless you're wearing the mask of who they expect you to be. "The actors were hitting their marks." Many neurodivergent people experience this disparity between who they are on the inside and the curated version they present for others to see. This act of reflecting back what the viewer wants to see is often done out of necessity to remain safe, but leaves the inner and truest version of oneself feeling invisible. "I want you to know I'm a mirrorball. I'll show you every version of yourself tonight." Unfortunately, you have to participate in their performance if you want to be seen, but the version you they see isn't who you truly are on the inside.

Just for you

After an evening together, Truman is left alone when Meryl offers to take his mother home. As the TV is playing in the background we hear how the presenter is incredibly specific when describing the next episode of 'show me the way to go home'. "Where we learn that you don't have to leave home to discover what the world's all about. And that no one is poor, who has friends." This is a form of subliminal messaging telling Truman that he's better off staying home, implying that there's no point trying to leave because they will prevent him every step of the way.

In the 'lavender have' music video Taylor is watching a similar weather station, but when she gets closer she pulls the screen apart to reveal that there's nothing but space and koi fish behind it. This likeness to Truman's story presents an intriguing insight into the obstacles and road blocks Taylor has faced as a queer woman throughout her career. The koi fish behind the screen also highlight Taylor's determination to challenge the status quo and how she has been working towards much needed change within the music industry.

I do not

Truman is flipping through a photo album full of photos of his family and life with Meryl. His mother stresses her desire for grandkids while she's still alive. Truman continues to look through the album after they leave. The final straw for their relationship comes when he reveals that Meryl had her fingers crossed when they got married, implying she was never fully committed from the beginning. Looking through the photo albums seems to be a weekly routine when his mother visits, so we can assume this wasn't the first time Truman's noticed this detail, the only difference is that he's pointing it out now because it's the next step in his plan to leave Seahaven.

Many of Taylor's music videos emphasise the facade she has played into of the life society expects her to maintain. This has become more evident than ever with her current relationship with Travis Kelce. They want her to fulfil the 1950's lifestyle as a happily married wife with two children, a house with a white picket fence, to stay home each day as a housewife and to serve her husband when he gets home from a long day at the office. 'The man' music video highlights the disparity between these expectations and the lifestyle men are usually celebrated for, so that we can understand that this isn't the life she wants for herself.

Undressed

After Truman attempts to confront his wife about the photo, he follows her to work in his pyjamas. She works at the hospital and claimed to be doing a leg amputation from the elevator incident, a story they made up to explain what he saw the day before. When he locates her within the hospital the actors are forced to begin the procedure to keep up appearances.

Taylor was wearing a corset with a pattern very similar to Truman's pyjamas underneath her blue dress recently while out with Travis Kelce and his friends. Everyone in the group was wearing matching pant and shirt sets, with Brittany Mahomes in actual pyjamas. This may have been a hint that Taylor's beginning to escalate the cracks in the facade of her pop star persona.

The failed escape

Predictable

Truman is sitting in his car when Meryl gets home from working at the hospital. When she gets in, he locks her in the car and attempts to leave town. "Blocked at every turn. Beautifully synchronised, don't you agree?" This is the point where he's revealing that he knows how predictable everyone around him has been, pointing out that the same three people keep going past on schedule.

Logically if Taylor knew what the roadblocks were before she left her old record label, she would have known how her opponents would retaliate after she left. "Blood's thick but nothing like a payroll." It seems likely that they were planning to sabotage her once she left, with her first album in particular. If they were predictable enough, Taylor could've had time to plan ahead to mitigate the damage done to her career. This could include holding back on releasing certain songs, which has now lead to the rumours of 'lover' vault tracks.

Just like clockwork

Truman begins to drive around the round about over and over again to highlight that he has figured out that the townspeople move around him like clockwork, but again this isn't new information to Truman. The director's attempts to prevent him from leaving are incredibly predictable and they always have been. Truman would have been able to pick up on this pattern when he was still in high school, if not earlier. "When you're young they assume you know nothing." The benefit of them being this predictable is that Truman could foresee their reactions and blindside them when they least expected it.

Taylor uses many clocks throughout her music videos as easter eggs and to draw our attention to time and dates that might be relevant in the future. One element of interest is the concept of routine and the predictability that comes with that. The arena in 'the hunger games catching fire' seems to be inspired by the Truman show as well. Katniss figured out that there are new threats in each segment that changed on the hour, ending with a lightning strike at noon and midnight. This kind of predictability allows one to plan in advance. Three years perhaps?

Planned to fail

After driving around in circles Truman claims that they're headed to Atlantic City, only to find out that the end of their street is blocked up with traffic. He concedes to going back home after all, just to announce suddenly that he has changed his mind. As Truman doubles back and attempts to leave for the second time, he discovers that the traffic jam had magically cleared up after they left. He was accurate in predicting that his plan to leave would be counteracted by some form of intervention. Truman's actions are forcing the director to reveal his hand, only to call his bluff and get further than the director expected him to. And despite her fear, Meryl is still putting on a performance for the camera here too.

It's a possibility that Taylor set up a similar scenario to unfold with the release of her 'lover' album. The contrast between the aesthetic and themes of the 'reputation' and 'lover' albums could have been done on purpose to blur the lines between the two in an attempt to mitigate the damage done from being sabotaged. Underneath the vindictive theme of 'reputation' was the romantic songs her opponents had been anticipating from the 'lover' album.

The bridge

Truman stalls at the bridge due to his fear of water but forces Meryl to drive across while his eyes are closed, willing to do whatever it takes to leave. "We're over the bridge!" he exclaims when they make it across. As Truman continues to escape, they are still faced with roadblock after roadblock. The escape plan eventually fails when the road is blocked because of a leak at the nuclear plant. They thank the officer for his help but when the officer says "you're welcome, Truman" he runs away from the car in a panic, but is quickly captured and returned home again.

Taylor draws attention to the bridges of her songs at the very beginning of the eras tour because they are the most authentic lyrics in all of her discography. She often begins a song with a very optimistic perspective, only to end with the most brutally honest observations of her experiences in hindsight. Taylor has told us that she tells lies. In 'love story' the lie is that she's singing about being in love with Romeo. When the perspective changes during the bridge, she's being honest when she describes being in love with Juliet and wanting to marry her. In 'lavender haze' we hear how stifling it's become to continue hiding her truth. "The only girl they see is a one night or a wife. I find it dizzying, they're bringin' up my history. But you aren't even listening." If we don't listen to what Taylor is saying during the bridges, we are avoiding her truth.

The turning point

What was once lost

When they return home Truman confronts Meryl, but she calls out for help and Marlon arrives with beer. Meryl leaps into his arms crying as he comforts her, but he's looking at Truman when he says "everything's going to be okay, it's all going to be fine." The next scene cuts to Truman and Marlon sitting at the end of an unfinished bridge together as Truman begins to tell Marlon what he's been through. "Maybe I'm losing my mind, but it feels like the whole world revolves around me somehow." Marlon replies by saying "The last thing that I would ever do is lie to you. I mean, think about it Truman. If everybody is in on it... I'd have to be in on it, too." The screen cuts to the director feeding him the lines but we can also see that Marlon has been as honest as he could be within his role on the show. To placate Truman and encourage him to stay, he is reunited with his father who he hasn’t seen for 22 years. Truman seems apprehensive about the reunion, but Marlon encourages him to go along with it.

In the 'willow' music video Taylor enters a glass display case and starts performing for the crowd of an old fashioned circus. As her lover approaches for the first time they reunite through the glass pane but it feels like the glass was intentional to keep them apart, despite their intentions to be together again. This imagery is echoed over and over again throughout Taylor's music videos and the eras tour. We can interpret this as a visual representation of being closeted in plain sight or as a form of protecting something that's delicate. Judging by the way they all end up shattered in the end, they seem to be foretelling what's still to come.

Test run

Truman was never really planning on leaving the first time because he had planned to fail. There are a few benefits of acting in this way. Firstly, we know that Truman had never crossed the bridge before and his attempt forced the director to play his hand by revealing what obstacles were ahead if this was his exit route. Enacting his bigger plan before seeing what was ahead would mean that he's more likely to fail if he crosses the bridge while under prepared for what is on the other side. Secondly, if everyone has assumed that he has failed, they won't see his bigger plan coming if they believe he's feeling defeated. They placated Truman by reuniting him with his father, but that backfired on them when he escaped when they least expected it.

Taylor mentions that "Every bait and switch was a work of art" in 'mastermind'. I wasn't sure if I was using this term correctly when search results were full of business examples and psychologists were linking it with the act of gaslighting, but the type of bait and switch I was intrigued by is akin to a chess move. This type of move is often referred to as the 'queen sacrifice'. By purposely leaving the queen unguarded, your opponent is lured into the trap, only to be met with a devastating counter attack. This, and the element of a trial run before the big reveal, is what lead me to consider that the 'lover' album may have been used as bait for the sale of her masters. If she alluded to coming out straight away to entice the sale that was going to happen anyway, that obstacle wouldn't get in the way of her bigger plan. (It is not my intention to imply that this theory is true, so this is just a hypothetical option in favour of the bigger picture.) If this was a prelude for a bigger plan, it still would have been extremely devastating when it did happen.

The show must go on

This is the turning point in the movie when we begin to see Truman's life from the directors point of view. "An entire human life recorded on an intricate network of hidden cameras, and broadcast live and unedited 24 hours a day, 7 days a week to an audience around the globe." We start to find out how they had to manufacture ways to keep Truman on the island. His father dying played a big part of that, but to the viewers it's just another plot twist in the show they've been watching for entertainment. They have 5,000 cameras around Seahaven now, but started off with just one before he was born and they've been watching Truman's life unfold ever since. "We accept the reality of the world with which we are presented." This is the director's response as to why Truman has never left Seahaven or found out about the show. This contradicts everything we've seen from Truman's point of view. Just because he could leave doesn't mean he could leave freely. How much harder does he have to try before the director will let him go? He goes on to explain that with Meryl's decision to leave the show, a new love interest will be introduced and he has hopes for the first on air conception to occur. It's evident that Truman leaving would derail the directors plans for the show going forward.

Taylor has described how writing a song is like sucking the snake venom out of a bite. Expressing herself creates distance between the heaviness of what she's experienced and I believe this is why she sees herself as the narrator (or director) of her discography at times. During the 'folkmore' set on the eras tour she describes herself as the narrator of the teenage love triangle. It's also common for Taylor to be more than one character at once. At the end of 'the man' music video we discover Taylor is the director, and then it's revealed that Taylor was also the male actor that had been wearing a disguise. This implies that Taylor is James in the love triangle and based on the evolution of her speech, we can infer that as the director she chose Betty in the end. This feels like a clue that we should consider that she has been showing us her version of events from different perspectives all along.

The doll house

Everything on the show is for sale, including their wardrobe, food products and dollhouse style versions of the homes they live in. These elements are jarring after seeing the level of animosity Truman was experiencing with each road block he faced. It feels like they've overstepped a boundary by consuming every detail of Truman's life.

In the 'lover' music video, we first see the lover house is within a snow globe and our first shot of Taylor is through the peephole. The couple dancing throughout the house seem to be sharing a romantic moment, but the entire experience feels voyeuristic. No rooms are off limits as we see them in the bathroom swimming inside of a fish bowl. "Can I go where you go? Can we always be this close, forever and ever?" plays at the same time. It feels like we're asking that of her. It becomes uncomfortable to realise how much we want to have access to every detail of her life.

Back to normal

Headquarters

Not only is Seahaven contained within a dome, the director and his control centre is housed within the moon structure. From the interview with the director we can ascertain that he doesn't usually reveal this much behind the scenes, but the return of Truman's father required some damage control.

The vault in the 'I can see you' music video is reminiscent of the moon shaped structure the director worked out of. The connection between these and the overall theme of the music video reminds me of the scene in 'the hunger games mockingjay' where they rescue Peeta from the capitol, only to find out he was trained to attack Katniss. This scene has an eerily similar asylum vibe like the 'fortnight' music video as well.

The mask

The next morning we go back to Truman in the bathroom again, as if he's just started another regular day. He seems cheerful as he's using a bar of soap to draw an alien outline on the mirror, while at the same time implying that he feels alienated in real life. This facade of normalcy he is presenting after his plan had failed is on purpose to lull the director into a false sense of security. If everyone thinks he has given up and believes he is resigned to staying after all, nobody would see his final escape plan coming.

Just like Taylor showed us with the visuals of the delicate performance on the eras tour, the mask is breakable. Now that we know that Taylor is the one breaking down the facade herself, it becomes harmful to refuse to see Taylor for who she really is underneath the pop star persona. And just like with Truman leaving in the end, Taylor has shown us that she's choosing herself now, regardless of the consequences. So we can either choose to join her, or sit back in defiance until she walks away.

Back to work

As Truman returns to the office it becomes more obvious where all of the cameras have been hidden in plain sight. They're everywhere, including inside his pencil sharpener. But the least obvious camera is the one Truman is wearing, his wedding ring. This came from his father, something he purposely gave to Truman as he was supposedly drowning. He never took it off because it was a reminder of what he had lost at such a young age. Truman was able to escape in the end because he took the ring off and left it behind. They had no way of tracking him if he wasn't wearing it. In hindsight we can see that Meryl's necklace also contained a camera that was used frequently.

If all of the moon and black holes references are a codeword for cameras or surveillance in the Truman show, we can consider that Taylor has used them in her music videos in a similar way. 'The man' music video begins with a similar office scene with a man who is charming and magnetic, but the wink at the camera implies that he's also putting on a performance. At the end of a work call Truman mentions that "life is fragile" after he's introduced to his new love interest. Just like Truman's comment, Taylor has used the word delicate to to describe the fine line between the brittle nature of the facade and how easily it could all fall apart, like what occurs during the 'delicate' performance.

This place is mine

After Meryl left, Truman moved down to the basement. This is the only room in the house that contained anything that was truly personal to Truman with his padlocked chest of mementos and remnants of old hobbies. But on top of all this it was also the room with the least amount of cameras, making it the perfect place to hide.

In the 'lover' music video the only space that is personal to Taylor is the attic, and it’s just like Truman's basement as both rooms are typically used for storage. If you look closely you can see a familiar trunk to the side as she's reminiscing over old pictures on a projector. On the eras tour the only real piece of the lover house is the attic seen throughout the 'folkmore' set, the rest was burnt away on screen and ever since the setlist changed it has been falling over instead. This change reveals that it was a facade all along, similar to how we begin to see behind the scenes half way through the Truman show.

The escape route

The map

Truman's desire to travel to Fiji is heavily featured as Truman's motivation for leaving Seahaven. There's evidence of this throughout the basement, including a large map of the island. Was this really his dream destination? No. Talking about going to Fiji encouraged the director to reveal his endeavours to prevent him from leaving. If Truman was constantly being challenged with his fear of the water, he was also being exposed to potential exit routes and obstacles. Truman's desires to go to Fiji was a facade to masquerade his true intentions of plotting his escape without raising suspicions.

One of Taylor's latest songs explores wanting to escape to 'Florida!' and reflects Truman's dreams of moving to Fiji. Another map Taylor has shown us in her music videos is the man wall. It's seen as a road map for her future rerecords with the end goal of coming out as queer, similar to what Elton John did at the peak of his career. Now that we can see that Truman revealed his dreams to travel as a means of testing his opponent, we can begin to understand that Taylor may have used her attempts to come out as queer in a similar way. If Taylor had expressed her intentions to come out of the closet behind the scenes, she would have been reminded of the challenges she would face if she did so. We see a small portion of this scenario play out with political discussions during the 'Miss Americana' documentary.

Behind the curtain

The director is concerned about Truman being asleep in the basement so Marlon is sent to investigate. When he arrives he finds a decoy in the bed and a tape recorder of Truman snoring. As he searches the rest of the basement, he pulls back the map to reveal what's inside the closet. This is the moment everyone discovers that Truman has escaped and that the map of Fiji was a disguise for his master plan all along.

The man wall is the most fundamental Easter egg for many Swifties, with endless theories on how to decode it. But what if the biggest Easter egg of all is actually set up as a trap to draw our attention in, so that we become so focused on it's significance that we don't notice the bigger picture? The subway wall is made up of small square tiles, with Taylor Swift themed posters and the rerecords written with spray paint over the top to mimic graffiti. But if you look even closer still, you will see that there's also a crack down the middle of the man wall map. This suggests that there's something hidden behind it, just like with Truman's map.

The tunnel

When Marlon opens the closet in the basement, we discover that Truman had dug a hole through the ceiling and this is how he escaped. Marlon climbs up the stepladder and we see his head pop out of the hole in the garden. We could assume Truman began digging this hole after Meryl left because we can see he left behind the same multi tool that she advertised in the beginning, but he was in the middle of digging in the same spot when she came home that day. All we had seen was an awkward shot of Truman from behind as he was working in the garden bed. Truman also purposely left patches of grass unmowed so he had an excuse to be frequently working on the old lawn mower in the basement, something that was quickly replaced once Meryl left.

The ending of the 'delicate' music video is what sparked this deep dive into the Truman show. I discovered that the bar Taylor enters is called the gopher, an animal famous for digging holes underground. This unexpected connection to Truman's method of escape was unbelievable after picking up on many of Taylor's hints towards a departure.

The trap door

If Truman had been digging a tunnel in the garden from the beginning, how did he get away with it? He disguised the hole by filling it with balls and rocks in just the right size that were painted to look like garden ornaments. This is echoed in the scene where Truman is telling Marlon about how he wants to go to Fiji. Marlon asks if Fiji is near Florida, so Truman demonstrates with a golf ball to show that it's practically on the other side of the world. The way Truman is describing it implies that the tunnel is hidden on both sides in a place where the cameras can't find it, and all that's left now is to plan his escape route.

Taylor’s version of Truman’s golf ball is the painted nails aligned with the 2 and 8 on the karma coffee cup, pointing to where her journey through the tunnel starts and finishes. Other ball shaped references include the pearl coloured balls floating around Ice Spice in the 'karma' music video, the golden orbs in the 'willow' music video and the tennis balls in 'the man' music video. When Taylor attempts to leave the glass case in the 'willow' music video, she finds it has been boarded up. She tries to find a way out through the glass, only to reveal that she knew that there was a trap door underneath her feet the entire time. We hear the lyrics "I come back stronger than a 90's trend" at the exact same time Taylor goes down the tunnel. And which trend is she referencing? The Truman show, of course.

Leave everything behind

Cut transmission

Once the director had realised that Truman had really escaped, he was left with no choice but to cut transmission on the live broadcast for the first time since the show began. Panic ensues for the viewers who didn't see this coming, meanwhile we see Sylvia watching from home in anticipation. Ratings for the show are at an all time high as everyone at home waits to find out what happened to Truman.

It's interesting that Taylor drew inspiration from this loading screen for the eras tour poster considering it's a reference to the moment Truman escaped. It draws a very clear parallel to his story, implying that what we're watching on the eras tour is the Taylor version of the Truman show.

Lost at sea

It's unclear how long Truman had after he escaped before the search party started. At first it seemed possible that Marlon left the car door open when he arrived for Truman to escape, but it's more likely he was just in too much of a hurry. It' seems 's likely Truman had some time to escape on his bike undetected. His fear of water meant checking the ocean would be the last place they would think to look for him, which is exactly what happened.

This moment after Taylor entered the bar in the 'delicate' music video reveals a sense of clarity just before she opens up her eyes. The ending of Taylor's story is yet to happen, but from what she's said throughout the tour, she's not planning on slowing down anytime soon.

The note

As Truman sails off we see him pull a note out of his pocket. All he took with him was the collage picture of Sylvia. This symbol of hope for his future was the only thing he took with him. "The only thing that's left is the manuscript, one last souvenir from my trip to your shores."

When Taylor left behind her life's work and started over by herself, she carried a picture of the one that mattered most with her when she left as well. If you look close enough at the man wall, you can see a polaroid shaped outline underneath the black karma letters, as if something that was once there had been taken away. Just like Truman's collage picture, this missing piece represents the secret note from the 'delicate' music video. The one piece of evidence that meant something to them, when so much of their lives were full of half truths and lies. And what's on the polaroid picture? Proof that Taylor is queer... "Like a rainbow with all of it's colours."

It's time to go

Almost drowned

Once they locate Truman as he's escaping on the boat, the director utilises his power to create a storm to derail Truman's attempt to escape. When his first attempts to force Truman to turn back fail, he orders the workers in the control room to hit the boat with the largest wave with to intentionally capsize the boat. They object to risking Truman's life, but the director goes ahead anyway. The wave overturns the boat and Truman almost drowns. As the director escalated his attempts to make Truman stay, it became clear that he would rather let Truman die than watch him leave if he refuses to stay. This highlights how unethical the director's attachment to Truman and the show had become over the years.

In the 'cardigan' music video we see Taylor clinging to her piano in the ocean, just like Truman did with his boat. This shows her determination to fight for her future despite the cost. The trap door Taylor escaped out of in the 'willow' music video is just like the exit points under the stage of the eras tour. Taylor's most iconic exit is after the surprise songs when she dives into the stage. Her character then swims against the current just like Truman did and when she reemerges again it's for the beginning of the 'lavender haze' set.

The getaway boat

Despite the director's attempts, Truman recovers from the storm and sails far enough that his boat crashes into the side of the dome wall. Truman managed to escape Seahaven after a lot of planning, but I think he had some help along the way. If Marlon was aiding Truman's escape plans, he would have been a crucial liaison behind the scenes. Throughout the interview with the director we get a glimpse of Sylvia and find out that her home is full of anti the Truman show propaganda. These include pictures of cast members that could be open to joining their side, with Marlon listed as being their best bet. It's possible the protestors worked together to smuggle Truman's father into Seahaven to encourage Truman to leave. One of the posters shows a young Truman in what appears to be a pizza themed clown costume. Pizza is mentioned a few times by the control centre workers and by the security guards of a car garage. This could be the common factor connecting the protestors helping Truman escape, as well as providing an inconspicuous meet up place to swap information that wouldn't draw attention.

Just like Truman had help, Taylor had a team working together in the 'I can see you' music video. This depicts an alternate view of Truman's escape, with a team breaking in from the outside to rescue Taylor from the vault. Many of the guest appearances in Taylor's music videos are representing the other side of Taylor, more so than any particular muse. Many of the scenes featuring Ice Spice in the 'karma' music video also mimic the ending of the Truman show.

The stairs

Truman found the stairs that lead to the door and is so close to leaving behind the only place he's known. All of this is unfolding because Truman reached a point where his own wellbeing was more important than the character he had been portraying for the audience. Sylvia warned him in the beginning that everyone was watching him. This would have confirmed any suspicions Truman already had and lead to a life of being on high alert knowing he was being monitored at all times.

Both the public and private sides of Taylor have experienced the same restrictions over time, forced to keep a large part of her life hidden from others at all times. The scene with the moon and Saturn implies that an alternative ending to Truman's story is in store for Taylor. The moon was the home of the control centre watching over Truman day and night. Capturing the moon and Saturn in the 'karma' music video suggests that both sides of Taylor have worked together to reclaim the role of director, and are now working together to rewrite their story so that they can reunite and move forward together.

Captive

Finally in a last ditch effort to persuade Truman to stay, the director talks to Truman for the first time. It's clear the director has grown attached to Truman to the point that he doesn't see Truman beyond the character he's crafted over the years, but he only sees the public persona of Truman. The director is pleading for Truman to stay, to let the show continue as it is and claims that he knows Truman better than he knows himself. "You've never had a camera in my head!" is the only thing Truman says in defence. This sentence epitomises everything Truman has experienced living in Seahaven. After all, he was wondering when it was going to end when he was still in school. If the director truly knew what was best for Truman, he would have ended the show years ago.

When Truman told the director that you can't see inside my head, we can assume Taylor is trying to say that we can't see inside her heart. During the 'Me!' music video Brendon Urie opens a heart shaped door that reveals what's inside his heart. This implies that the music video revealed what was in Taylor's heart from the beginning. "When it's like, "me-ee-ee," it's like dancers, cats, gay pride, people in country western boots. I start riding a unicorn, like just everything that makes me me." This is how she describes the music video during the 'Miss Americana' documentary. "And for a fortnight there, we were forever." I believe this is a reference to the fourteen songs on her 'debut' album. Her first and potentially most authentic album is full of songs she wrote before she became famous. And then beginning with 'fearless', Taylor actively added in male muses to her songs to camouflage her queer identity. Unfortunately this was also the beginning of the gap between her public and private life growing apart. Looking back we can see that despite the pain this caused, she never lost hope of reuniting them again.

How did it end?

The final bow

The Truman show challenges our perception of how ethical it is to have such unobstructed access to Truman’s life. We’re left questioning if our entertainment was worth the price he was paying by spending his whole life living in the spotlight. He bows for the audience watching at home and ends with one final “Good morning! And incase I don’t see ya, good afternoon, good evening and good night!” before he turns and walks through the door. The director was left with a look of disgust as he realised Truman had been preforming for the audience all along. Those who had seen the signs watched on with anticipation and those that didn’t were left feeling shocked and confused.

At the end of a theatre performance, the cast will come back on stage one last time to give their final bow of the night as the audience applauds the performance they've just witnessed. We then have to consider that Truman and Taylor's final bow was an acknowledgement of the fact that they had been putting on a performance the entire time. Just like in 'the manuscript', "looking backwards might be the only way to move forward." Going back through Taylor's history and finding the bread crumbs she left along the way will help us understand that the queer version of Taylor had always been there, we just had to know what we were looking for to be able to see it.

The door

As he steps through the door we wait in fervent anticipation to see how Truman's story ends, only to watch as the credits start rolling without an epilogue. This feels frustrating when we had been hoping to see Truman and Sylvia reunite after many years. Instead, this kind of ending is encouraging us to go back to the beginning and reconsider the story through a new lens after learning about how it ended. Each time you rewatch it you can pick up on the deeper layers of the story, seeing more evidence of Truman's discomfort from living an inauthentic life, and how much determination it required to overcome the challenges he faced along the way. Any further explanation would have diluted the magnitude of the moment Truman felt free for the first time in his life. Just being able to walk through the door in the end was the ultimate accomplishment.

The story Taylor has been showing us was never a revelation of her muses, but a slow unravelling of her experience as a famous person who has had very little privacy throughout her life. She's giving us a peak behind the curtain and allowing us to see who she really is beyond the larger than life character we've all built her up to be. And whether we like it or not, she choosing herself now above all else.

The only difference between Taylor and Truman’s story is that Taylor’s not leaving, she’s simply just stepping out of the closet.

Meet me at midnight?

After turning a pumpkin into a carriage and creating a fancy dress to wear, the fairy godmother forewarns Cinderella before she leaves for the ball.

“You must understand, my dear. On the stroke of 12, the spell will be broken, and everything will be as it was before.” 

The same is true for Taylor.

No matter how much she accomplishes in the spotlight, she is always going to be the truest version of herself underneath the layers of her pop star persona.

"Dear reader, will you still want me when I'm nothing new?"

When the clock strikes midnight, are you still going to want Taylor when you can finally see who she really is underneath?

Who she has been all along?

"A pathological people pleaser who only wanted you to see her."

A tortured poet,

Kylie x

🧡

[stardustvanfleet]

Rediscovery — Josh Kiszka x F!Sapphic!Reader

SMUT. 18+ ONLY! MDNI!!!

Pairing: Josh Kiszka x F!Sapphic!Reader

Word Count: 10k

Summary: Your crush on your best friend, Josh, has been becoming harder and harder to ignore. There’s only one thing holding you back from admitting your feelings— most of your experience has been with other women, and you know that Josh’s history is equal and opposite, having mostly been with other men. But after one of your usual nights out, aided by a few drinks and a joint, things are finally coming to the surface. And you’re about to rediscover everything, together.

Warnings: Friends to lovers smut with switchy!Josh. Oral (m & f receiving), fingering/handjob, unprotected sex, dirty talk. Both the F!reader and Josh are written as explicitly queer in this fic.

A/N: This might be one of the most self-indulgent fics I’ve ever written… and I couldn’t be more excited to finally share it with everyone after spending the last few months working on it. I’ve noticed that even though there’s a huge sapphic community in the Peaceful Army, there aren’t a lot of fics written from the perspective of an explicitly queer woman! I absolutely poured my heart into this one and I have some amazing friends I need to thank for the endless encouragement and inspiration. My best friend, my love, my moonbeam @sinsofstardust — thank you for all the hours of discussion that lead to SO many incredible ideas. I love you ENDLESSLY!!! I also want to give HUGE thanks to my loves, @jakesguitarsolo @losfacedevil @kenobicoffee for being my beta readers and giving me the motivation I needed to finish writing 10,000 words… I love all of you SO much 🤍

FIC BEGINS BELOW THE CUT!

//

There was just something about Josh Kiszka.

Maybe it was the way he seemed to radiate a kind of warm, exuberant energy; one that was impossible to ignore from the moment he walked into the room. Maybe it was the little gap between his teeth when he grinned that you’d found yourself immediately drawn to, or those wide, sparkling brown eyes. There could have been a hundred reasons, and, in truth, it was more than likely that there were that many— and then some.

Regardless of what had caused it, the fact that you had a rapidly developing crush on your best friend was becoming harder and harder to push into the back of your mind.

You and Josh had met almost a year ago now. One of your favorite bars downtown had karaoke nights on Thursdays, and on a whim, you had come in after a particularly stressful day at work. You weren’t planning on doing anything but sip your drink and listen to strangers perform their favorite songs, but to your surprise, the curly-haired man sitting next to you at the bar had struck up a conversation so easily and naturally you couldn’t help but fall comfortably into chatting with him. The two of you had a lot of things in common, with a similar love of music and an interest in meditation. And when he told you he was going to go up and sing, he offered his arm as an invitation, which you gladly took, leaving you blown away by his voice as he covered Adele better than anyone you’d ever heard. The two of you had spent the entire night talking, and had exchanged numbers with the intention of hanging out some more, and over the next several months, you two had become incredibly close. And yet— there was one important caveat that, beyond his standard affectionate touches, had kept things between you and Josh entirely platonic.

One of the biggest things that you and Josh had bonded over during your numerous deep conversations was the similar way you both seemed to experience your sexualities. Like Josh, you didn’t put a label on yourself, finding that the way you felt love and attraction to be hard to pinpoint under one term, but the majority of the lovers you’d had throughout your life had been other women. Josh’s history was both equal and opposite, with his experience mostly having been with other men. Being queer was something that was extremely important to both of you, and you knew that. And yet, throughout it all, the increasing feelings you held for Josh were growing stronger and stronger. Eating you alive. Burning into your mind and body.

Talking to Josh was always so easy. So why did it feel so impossible to breach this particular topic?

//

It had been another one of your frequent nights out with Josh. The two of you had gotten into a routine of meeting up at least once a week for drinks and a joint or two, and it quickly became evident to you that spending time with Josh was undoubtedly the highlight of your week. Knowing you’d be able to sit with him, laughing and joking and talking about everything that had stressed you out over the past several days, had become a thought that would get you through even the most difficult times. You tried not to linger too hard on what this could possibly mean for you and your heart, and instead let yourself just try to enjoy the present moment with the ethereal man sitting beside you on the couch.

It was late, very late. Tonight, you’d met up with Josh at a local bar that he had introduced you to a few months earlier, one that was only a few blocks from his apartment. His neighborhood was easy to get to from where you worked, but it was admittedly somewhat out of the way from where you lived. By the time the two of you left the bar, the trains had stopped running, and Josh had insisted that you shouldn’t have to pay a small fortune for an Uber when he had a perfectly good spare room in his apartment.

Josh’s apartment was just as cozy and inviting as he was, and his living room featured a low coffee table surrounded by beanbags and large floor cushions. The couch was pressed back against a cream-white wall decorated with prints and paintings that surely all had a story behind them, framed by the glow of string lights and the numerous plants both lining the walls and hanging from the ceiling. He had immediately offered you one of his t-shirts, and a pair of his own pajama pants that fit you surprisingly well, given that you were both of similar height.

And now, here you were, sitting side-by-side with Josh on his couch as he lit up a joint, with one of his favorite records playing softly on the turntable in the corner. The domesticity of the moment was not lost on you— the clothes you had borrowed still smelled like him, his intoxicating androgynous scent of spicy bergamot and soft jasmine. You both had already had several drinks over the course of the night, and Josh’s cheeks had flushed to a familiar rosy pink that signified his tipsiness. As of right now, all of your energy was going towards not letting your gaze linger on how beautiful he looked. On how hard your heart was beating.

As Josh took a long drag from the joint, his eyes fluttered shut, and you felt your heart skip a beat, unable to stop yourself from watching him. You were still gazing at him when his eyes slowly opened through his long exhale, the cloud of smoke intertwining with the plumes rising from the incense he had burning on the coffee table. He turned to face you as he cleared his throat a little, giving you an affectionate smile and holding out the joint for you to take, which you gladly accepted. Your fingers brushed his as he passed it to you, and you tried to ignore the way the contact made your brain start to buzz.

Now Josh was watching you as you took your hit, his eyes already a little glazed over as the high began to settle in. That was when he spoke, using his favorite pet name for you that you liked far too much to ever admit. “Doin’ alright, mama? Hope I’ve been a good host, though if I haven’t, I’ll be blaming the Fireball.”

You couldn’t help but laugh a little as you exhaled your first hit, nodding towards Josh and managing a grin as you said, “Josh, I promise, you’d be a better host blackout drunk than most people would be sober.”

His face lit up at your words, and he let out a laugh of his own as he replied, “I’ll be sure to hold you to that statement if I manage to set the whole damn place on fire,” his eyes lazily following the plumes of smoke you had exhaled before his gaze fell back on you when you giggled, his pupils blown wide in the low light.

“Okay, now that sounds like you,” you teased, moving to pass the joint back to Josh. As the familiar hazy feeling began to settle over your mind and body, you found yourself inching just a bit closer to him as he took it from between your fingertips, bringing it to his lips with a smirk and a twinkle in his eye as you continued, “Well, if it comes to it, I’ll make sure to implement an accidental-house-fire clause in my perfect host assessment…”

“I wouldn’t expect anything less,” he grinned, the joint dangling between his teeth as he did so, and when his mouth suddenly closed around the end to pull a deep hit, the sight of his plush, puckered lips sucking around the joint was enough to make your head spin. He held the smoke in for a moment, before pulling the joint from his lips with two fingers, letting his jaw fall slack and exhaling the smoke in one large cloud, a sight so effortlessly sexy it made your breath catch in your throat. Josh turned to you, and you thanked your lucky stars that any difficulties you were having finding your breath could be chalked up to the smoke now beginning to accumulate in the room. His head cocked to the side just slightly as he looked over at you, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips, his eyes having grown heavy-lidded as the weed began to take its effect. “Well, I’ll say tonight’s adventure got us off to an interesting start…”

You began to giggle again, memories of the evening you two had enjoyed so far flashing through your mind. Overall, it had been another fun and relaxed night out, with you and Josh having met at the bar and recounted how the past week had gone in your usual playful fashion, delving into the stress you’d been dealing with at work and his frustrations with his brothers through overdramatic storytelling and a lot of inside jokes.

After you two had been out for an hour or two and were beginning to feel pleasantly tipsy, two people had sat down at the small high-top table beside yours— a guy and a girl that looked to be around your age. They had been speaking loud enough that it quickly became evident that they were on a first date… and it became increasingly clear to you and Josh throughout the night that this couple’s date was not going well. You had spent the next hour or two getting increasingly tipsier and trying to stifle your laughter whenever the man at the other table made another comment about his crypto startup.

“We really got our own personal reality TV show tonight,” you agreed with a laugh, unable to take your eyes off of Josh as he took another drag, his brows furrowing for a moment as he held the smoke in. Beginning to exhale, he started giggling through it, and you felt your heart rate heighten even further.

“Talk about shitty dates,” he said, shaking his head as if to express pity. “And I’ve been on my fair share of dates with mediocre men…”

“That guy doesn’t even get the recognition of being called mediocre,” you said decidedly, taking the joint when Josh offered it to you again, before he leaned back against the couch, stretching his arms out against the back of it as he watched you speak and grab the lighter. “He didn’t even let her get a word in edgewise…”

“Ouch! Tell me how you really feel…” Josh said with feigned betrayal, making you laugh again and move even closer to him so you could smack his arm playfully— the feeling of his firm bicep underneath your hand making your brain grow cloudy for a moment.

“Oh, shut up, Josh… it’s cute when you do it,” you teased, feeling a twinge in your own heart while using words that were so secretly reflective of your own feelings, but this was how your friendship with Josh had always been. Verbally and physically affectionate, especially in these moments—- but platonic. Never escalating. “Besides, you don’t ramble about crypto…”

Josh nodded, grinning and sticking his tongue between his teeth; “Okay, you’ve got me there.” While gazing over at him, you found yourself caught off guard by the way his cheeks suddenly seemed to be reddening even further. Reminding yourself that Josh blushed frequently, and that this could be caused by any number of things, you did your best to shove any distracting thoughts as far back into your mind as you possibly could while lighting up the joint again. It’s nothing. He’s your best friend; that’s all. Your thoughts, however, were interrupted by Josh’s voice, which continued, “Although, I don’t think he’s as bad as the guy I saw that one time who yelled at the waiter…” As Josh recounted how awful this one particular date was, complete with impressions of the terrible guy in question, you were giggling wildly, the high only intensifying the absurdity of the guy’s entitlement in the story.

“And that is exactly why it’s been so long since I’ve dated a man,” you laughed, shaking your head, remembering the nightmarish experience you had a few years ago that had made you opt for a long break on going out with men. “The last date I had with a guy? Absolutely terrible. I swear… he was trying to get in the Guinness Book of World Records for ‘most complaints on a first date’…”

Josh laughed at your sarcasm, watching with amusement as you took your hit. You could feel his eyes on you, even when your own eyelids fluttered shut thanks to the smoke you were holding in. You let out a long, slow exhale, and when you opened your eyes to let your gaze fall on Josh again, you found yourself wondering if he had inched a bit closer while you weren’t watching him— then quickly doubted your own assumption, telling yourself it must be the high only making it seem that way. Once you had taken your hit, you continued, hoping you were maintaining your external composure, “Seriously, you’d think he had a personal best that he was trying to beat. Nothing was sacred. The restaurant, the people around us, my outfit…”

“Your outfit?” Josh asked incredulously, shaking his head in astonishment as you handed him the joint again, which was now over halfway gone. “Well, if he screwed it up with you, I already could’ve told you that he had bad fucking taste, but that really seals the deal…”

You felt heat rising in your cheeks at the compliment, reaching out and squeezing his arm affectionately in thanks without even thinking, making him giggle— the sound of which left you positively reeling. The high which had settled over you made everything feel a bit hazy, a bit dreamy, on top of the fact that you couldn’t take your eyes off of Josh. Everything about him was just as intoxicating as the liquor and the weed you’d shared that night, if not more so, and you could feel your heart hammering in your chest as he took another slow, long hit, while you continued talking to fill the silence that threatened to tug even harder on your heartstrings. “Seriously, though… I can’t believe he was the last man I ever fucking kissed.”

Josh’s head suddenly turned to face yours, the joint smoldering between his fingertips. He raised an eyebrow, and gave you a look that mixed pity with disbelief, along with… some other emotion, one that you couldn’t quite place. “You actually kissed that guy, mama?” There was a touch of irritation in his voice that, if you didn’t know better, you might have placed as jealousy.

You kicked yourself mentally for the thought, while simultaneously, you hadn’t moved your hand from Josh’s arm. For some reason, the pull felt magnetic.

Scoffing a little, you nodded, saying, “I know… not my ideal scenario.” In your tipsy, high state, the words seemed to be spilling from you without any internal consideration, and suddenly, you found yourself blurting out, “I mean… him? Why couldn’t it have been another guy, someone I actually like being around… or literally anybody else?”

As soon as the words fell from your lips, they were hanging in the air. Floating. The breath left your lungs in an instant when you realized what you’d just said, as Josh’s brows furrowed for a moment, those particular words seemingly bouncing around inside his mind. He blinked a couple of times, his lips parting slightly, and it was impossible not to notice the way his gaze seemed to intensify, studying you a little. He cocked his head, the rise and fall of his chest having intensified as you felt your heart rate heighten even further— and that’s when he finally opened his mouth to speak, his brown eyes on you, his pupils blown wide.

“Y/N… do you… do you want it to be… somebody else? The last man you kissed?”

Your mouth fell open, but your thoughts were moving so much quicker than your words could. All you could manage was a soft utterance of “Josh…” as his gaze once again fell to your lips. More openly this time. Lingering. Your head was spinning, your fingertips beginning to grip tighter at his arm. You knew you had to find your words before you lost the wave of courage that was beginning to wash over you, and breathlessly, you let out a soft, “Yeah, I do… I just never thought…”

All coherent thoughts fell apart when Josh’s hand suddenly rested on top of yours, and you trailed off, your breath catching in your throat. Quickly and almost effortlessly, without ever letting his gaze leave yours, he ashed the smoldering joint in the little glass tray on the table with his other hand, and he murmured, “Neither did I…” beginning to lean closer, starting to close the distance between the two of you. Through your rapidly increasing lightheadedness, your lips were already parting in anticipation, your mind racing, your hands trembling. Inches turned to centimeters, and then millimeters.

And when he finally caught your lips with his, it was as if the whole world melted away around you. There was nothing else. Nothing but Josh, his lips taking you in passionately and eagerly, the feeling of his warm, flushed skin against your own…. and, soon enough, his tongue swiping across your bottom lip, as if begging for entry— which you couldn’t help but grant. You could feel his soft facial hair brushing against you as he deepened the kiss, and the feeling was both new and dizzying. All inhibitions you had been holding within you melted entirely away as Josh licked into your mouth, and you found yourself falling into him, your bodies colliding and hands beginning to reach out, touch, grab. Without ever letting his lips leave yours, he was suddenly pulling you by the waist into his lap, and you were letting him, throwing your arms around his neck and fully straddling him, savoring the heat of his body underneath you, the feeling of his firm, solid chest… god, it was all so new, and intoxicating beyond belief.

His kiss was warm, inviting, and all-consuming. A fire had been lit within you, burning incessantly and licking up through your lower stomach as Josh let out a soft sound resembling a moan right into your mouth. It was so pretty, with the slightest hint of a whine, and the thought of hearing more from Josh… sounds increasing in need as he slowly unraveled… immediately made you lightheaded with arousal. An involuntary moan that matched his in its intensity slipped from somewhere deep within you as Josh’s tongue explored your mouth, and the instant tightening of his grip on your waist and arching of his hips right up against you proved beyond any doubt that your sounds were eliciting a similar reaction from the man beneath you. You moaned again, louder this time, and Josh groaned immediately, pulling back just enough to murmur a breathless “You sound… fuckin’ divine, mama,” before hungrily pulling you right back in, your hands sliding up to tangle in his curls, tugging at his roots as he hummed with satisfaction and need, right against your lips.

You were rolling your hips against him now— and with a nearly overwhelming shock of desire, you were suddenly aware of the way Josh was hardening underneath you as he continued to sigh and moan into your mouth. Most of the people you’d been with didn’t have the anatomy that Josh had, and the realization that you were making him hard had you lightheaded. Breathlessly, you started giggling into the kiss, and he pulled back for just a moment to look at you curiously, his cheeks flushed red and his brown eyes wide, sparkling. “What are you giggling at, mama?” he asked playfully, sticking his tongue between his teeth as he watched you rock against him, his pupils dilated with lust.

“It’s just… oh, fuck…” you giggled again, throwing your head back for a moment as you let the feeling of him underneath you just wash over you. “God… I forgot what that felt like, Josh….”

He was licking his bottom lip now, looking just as giddy and flustered as you felt. When Josh’s gaze pulled itself away from your eyes for a moment, he let it drag down your body, right down to where you were grinding down onto him, before right back up to resume looking right at you– as if he were able to see something far deeper in you than what was on the surface. There was a mischievous twinkle in his eyes.

“Tell me, mama…” he started, his voice low and breathless, his eyes remaining on you as he began to roll his hips to the rhythm you had established. “...tell me how it feels.”

“Fuck,” you whimpered, his ability to slip so easily back and forth from needy to commanding making your head spin, and the word slipping out made Josh lick his lips, clearly enjoying being able to watch your expression shift as your arousal grew. Focusing on every feeling, you breathed out, “So good, Josh. Feels so fucking good…”

“Paint me a picture, mama…” he sighed, his eyes glazed over with desire, his hands beginning to glide up and down your body, exploring you slowly and passionately, as though trying to commit your every inch to memory by means of touch alone. Everything had escalated so suddenly, in such a frenzy of accidental admissions, and you didn’t even care. You couldn’t even begin to think of a damn thing beyond what was happening in this present moment, and just how fucking badly you needed him. You couldn’t believe how wet he had made you so quickly.

His desire to hear you speak on your pleasure was intoxicating. You were breathing heavily, unable to take your eyes off of him. He looked angelic, his curls framing his face so delicately and beautifully despite the way your fingers had been knotting into his hair moments earlier. Josh was practically glowing in the dim, warm light, his features illuminated in a way that was simply and undeniably breathtaking. There was a look in his eyes that was making your whole body tremble, and the feeling of his cock continuing to harden underneath you was almost overwhelming. You had never felt an ache quite like this one before. It was different, and it was… good. Focusing all of your attention on exactly what you could feel beneath you as you both grinded against each other, the words left your lips in a breathless, rambling moan.

“Feels… so fucking hard… and thick, Josh… oh, God… I’m soaked… I’m burning for you…”

He let out a shaky groan, his plush lips falling open as he watched your eyes flutter shut while still rocking against him— and you let out a soft cry of need when you felt him twitch against your clit through the layers of fabric between you. “Fuck… mama, you’re a poet…” he panted, leaning his head back for a moment as he bucked his hips up against you. “God… It’s been so fucking long…” When the words left his lips, the thought occurred to you that, just like it had admittedly been a long while since you’d been with a man, it had likely been just as much time since Josh had been with a woman— and the realization somehow made your hunger for him grow even greater.

“Too many clothes,” you managed to gasp out, and Josh was nodding, his eyes having darkened even further, allowing himself to pull his hands from your body long enough to sit back and watch as you pulled your top— his own t-shirt —over your head, throwing it onto the floor without a second thought. You had taken your bra off when you changed into his pajamas, and the sight of you topless was enough to make Josh’s breath audibly catch in his throat, his eyes wide and ravenous, taking in every last inch of skin that had been revealed to him.

“Fuck,” Josh breathed out, his cheeks flushed with arousal, “You are so fucking beautiful…” his words making your head spin as he found the hem of his own t-shirt, tugging it over his head and tossing it to the floor alongside yours. You had seen Josh without a shirt on before, but never anything like this, and being so close was damn near overwhelming. Immediately, you were running your hands up his chest, savoring the feeling of his toned, firm skin underneath your own.

“Josh, you’re fucking beautiful,” you sighed, and the look in his eyes was unlike anything you had ever seen— astonished, adoring, voracious. His own hands began to slide up your body, mirroring the way you were exploring his, before moving to cup your breasts. Dizzily, you were left reeling at the size of his hands, his long fingers, the way he touched… giving your tits a gentle squeeze at first, your resulting moan encouraging him to squeeze harder, pressing your cleavage together as a low groan escaped his throat. You bit your lip, looking back at him and watching how his eyes devoured you. “Do you like them…?”

Josh’s gaze immediately flashed to meet yours, and the eye contact felt like a shock going straight down your spine. A sound resembling a growl escaped from the back of his throat, and your mouth fell open involuntarily as he said, “God, I fucking love them…” continuing to grope and squeeze, his cheeks red, his chest heaving. Your hand continued to slide up his chest, your fingertips finally reaching his necklace, and you just couldn’t resist— tugging it towards you, pulling Josh towards you and kissing him as hard as you’d ever dreamed of doing, drunker now on the feeling of him kissing you back than on anything you’d had at the bar. His hands slid around to the small of your back to pull you into him, your tits pressing up against his bare chest for the first time. The contact made you practically light-headed, moaning into his mouth as the kiss grew sloppier, before Josh’s lips began to trail down to your jaw, leaving wet, open-mouthed kisses in his wake. Your hands slid up to grab at his hair again as he continued his journey downwards, beginning to kiss and lick at your neck— and you were left gasping and writhing underneath him.

“Oh my God, Josh…” you panted, feeling the way his tongue was now beginning to flick and tease at your pulse point, your fingers tightening in his curls. “Fuck…” Your words elicited a moan from Josh against your neck, and you found yourself bucking your hips against him harder at the sound. He continued kissing lower, down your neck to your collarbones, seeming determined to explore every inch of your skin with his mouth, and his obvious desire was making the heat between your thighs burn ever greater. You couldn’t take your eyes off of him as he reached the top of your breasts, letting his mouth and tongue kiss and caress sloppily downwards, looking up at you through his lashes all the while.

He pulled back only for a moment, licking his lips as he gazed up at you, breathing out a low, heavy, “You have no fucking idea how many times I’ve imagined this…” his words sending shock waves straight to your core that were only amplified when, without warning, Josh leaned in to press a hot, open-mouthed kiss right to your nipple, sucking it right into his mouth. The pleasure was so sudden and so overwhelming that your own mouth fell open wide as you arched into him, crying out and gripping him even tighter. Josh let his tongue trace in circles around the hardened bud, before flickering it over you at a speed that had you gasping and whimpering, making your mind reel with possibilities of what else his tongue could be capable of. Your moans were growing louder and more desperate as he moved to pay the same attention to your other nipple, one of his hands sliding up your body so his fingertips could continue playing with the first.

It was already so much. He was so skilled with both his mouth and his fingers, and your anticipation of what was to come was matched by an insatiable hunger burning deep within your core. “Oh, fuck… Josh… that feels so good,” you moaned breathlessly, your voice already shaky, overwhelmed by the way he was working both nipples at once while continuing to grow harder underneath you. The look in his eyes was dark, mischievous. He was clearly being encouraged by your praise, and he was chuckling against you, both the sound and the vibrations enough to make your body shiver against him. He continued worshiping your tits like this for minute after minute, his sighs and moans against you making your head spin and your arousal pool between your thighs. After a while, the feeling of his hard cock rubbing up against you through your pajama pants was becoming impossible to ignore, and the layers of clothing between your bodies felt far too much. Your next words escaped you in more of a whimper than you had intended, thanks to Josh’s relentless tongue against your left nipple and his fingertips rolling and tweaking the right. “Please, Josh… baby… I’m so wet, I need more…”

The words made Josh’s eyes flutter shut for a second, groaning with need as he pulled back from your nipple with an obscene pop. “Fuck, mama… I’ll give you more… lover… let’s get these off you, yeah?” he asked, his hands reaching the hem of your pajama pants as you nodded voraciously, the new pet name he’d just used sending chills up and down your spine.

Swiftly and almost effortlessly, Josh was pulling you off of his lap to press you up against the back of the couch, kissing you deeply all over again as he repositioned you, before pulling back to look you in the eyes as he moved to untie the pajama pants you had borrowed from him. You lifted your hips to aid him as he hooked his fingers underneath the waistband of both the pants and your panties, his gaze meeting yours as if to check in for one final time that this was what you wanted, and you were nodding before either of you even had the chance to speak. “Please…” you breathed out, and that was all the confirmation he needed, tugging them all the way down your legs and lifting your ankles to pull them off of you. Your head was reeling as you watched him kneel before you through heavy-lidded, lust-clouded eyes. Slowly, as if uncovering something sacred, Josh’s hands landed on your knees, gently pulling them apart, revealing you to him— all of you, for the first time.

His lips parted in astonishment. “Oh my fucking God, mama…” He was devouring your pussy with his eyes, staring at you as though witnessing the divine. “You’re so fucking wet… fuck, you’re a goddess… Aphrodite incarnate.”

You were left breathless at his words, and if that wasn’t enough, in a frenzy, Josh’s mouth attached itself to your inner thigh, kissing eagerly, lapping against your sensitive skin, and beginning to climb higher by the moment. Utterly overwhelmed by the feeling, by his desire, you found yourself growing lightheaded, panting out, “You wanna taste it, Josh?”

Between hungry kisses to the inside of your thighs, he looked up at you with a wild ferocity in his eyes you’d never seen before, and his voice was husky as he breathed out a low, hot, “Not want. Need.”

He had left you speechless, the only sound escaping your lips a desperate whimper of arousal that made Josh groan against your skin as he continued his ascent. Moving higher with every kiss, every lick, every graze of his teeth— you were trembling as Josh grew closer and closer to your burning heat. It had been a long time since any man had made you ache like this, and you couldn’t believe just how badly you needed him, how little you cared about anything beyond the promise of his tongue.

Josh was nearing the apex of your thighs now, only inches away from where you needed him most. The feeling of his lips and his facial hair, watching the way his nose pressed into the soft skin of your upper thigh… keeping your eyes on him felt addictive. He was a work of art, devoting his mouth and body to your pleasure, and you couldn’t look away. That was, until Josh fulfilled his promise— hands gripping your thighs and eyes right on yours as he pushed his head forward, immediately pressing a slow, wet kiss directly to your pussy.

The cry that left your lips was louder and more desperate than any of the moans Josh had already drawn out of you, and your thighs immediately tightened around his head, your hands flying back into his hair as you threw your head back. Josh had flattened his tongue, licking a stripe along the entire length of your slit, before letting his tongue explore your folds, his lips kissing and sucking all the while. You were practically incoherent already, astonished at how he could possibly be so good at this. Expletives were falling from your lips completely outside of your control, your desperate moans of “Oh, God… fuck…!” only serving to encourage Josh further, pressing his face in even deeper and sucking at your clit, his mustache tickling at your most sensitive spots while his hands kept a white-knuckled grip on your thighs.

You were practically seeing stars, tugging at Josh’s hair in unbridled ecstasy as he started flicking his tongue against your clit, at a speed you couldn’t even begin to comprehend. The feeling made you let out a sound so needy and pornographic, you hardly recognized yourself. Pleas began to tumble from your lungs as your thighs started to shake, the pleasure building quicker than you ever could have imagined. “Please, please… oh, God, Josh, don’t stop…”

His fingers dug into your thighs as if to assure you that he was not going to stop, his tongue continuing to flick and lash at your clit from every angle, lapping at your wetness, humming and groaning into your heat. Devouring you as if it was his last meal, Josh looked up at you with his brown eyes wide, sparkling, practically innocent; and the sight had you choking on your own breath, his name escaping your lips in a desperate whine— and the sound of that, perhaps combined with the taste of you, left Josh’s eyes rolling up into his head, eyelashes fluttering wildly, as he worked your cunt with his tongue. The sight, combined with his relentless worship of your pussy, the lapping of his tongue against your clit, sent you right over the edge— all at once, you were moaning louder than ever as wave after wave of pleasure crashed over you. Your thighs clenched and tightened around Josh’s head as he groaned into your pussy, licking up your release as you gushed onto his tongue. The orgasm was all-consuming, wracking every inch of your body with shudders, and Josh made sure to work you through every second of it, keeping his pace until you began to come down. Only then did he slow his tongue, beginning to press slow, passionate, gentle kisses to your pussy as the last few spasms of pleasure coursed through you. He only pulled back when your grip in his hair loosened, turning to gentle strokes of your fingertips through his curls.

With one final, soft kiss to your heat, Josh came up from between your legs, licking his lips and looking at you almost bashfully, his face flushed and slick with your release. The sweetness in his gaze combined with the depravity of the moment sent yet another shiver down your spine. Chest heaving and eyes glazed over, you let out an incredulous giggle, savoring the softness of his hair under your fingertips, and the way he was looking at you. “Jesus, Josh… you didn’t tell me you were so good at that,” you teased, still somewhat in shock at the fact that all of this was really happening.

“You never asked,” he teased back, sticking his tongue between his teeth, and the sight had butterflies erupting in your stomach all over again. You were struck by an overwhelming need to kiss him, and you again let your hands find his necklace, beginning to tug him back up towards you, and you watched Josh’s eyes widen and lips part as he raised himself to close the distance between the two of you once more. This time, when your lips met and Josh licked into your mouth, you could taste yourself on Josh’s lips and tongue, and that little fact combined with his soft moan into the kiss left your body growing hot all over again.

You kissed sloppily for another minute or two, letting your hands begin to slide up and down Josh’s chest, and the sounds your touches were eliciting from the man positioned between your legs were making your mind grow foggy. In the midst of the kiss, Josh’s hips pressed up against your core, his clothed erection rubbing up against your bare cunt, and the feeling made the both of you gasp. Josh pulled back a little to capture his lower lip between his teeth, his eyes fluttering shut for a moment. When he opened them again, you already knew exactly what you wanted. “Josh…?” you asked softly, seductively, and his gaze on you alone had you practically seeing stars. “You made me feel so good… please… let me return the favor…”

As the words left your lips, you were sliding out of your position on the couch, keeping your gaze directly on Josh. “Stand up for me? Please?” you asked, your eyes wide, your teeth grazing your own lower lip. He was mesmerized, looking at you with so much visible desire that you could hardly think straight, but stood up for you, his body practically glowing in the soft, golden light. Through your haze, you were able to sink down onto the floor, finally ending up exactly where you wanted to be. Kneeling in front of him. At eye level with the bulge straining through Josh’s pajama pants. Looking up at him with those same doe eyes, you slid a hand up the inside of his thigh, and Josh let out a soft, melodic groan, his own hand falling to stroke your cheek and run his fingers through your hair. His tender touches only served to encourage you more as your hand stroked further and further upwards, before finally reaching its destination— wrapping around the visible bulge in his pajama pants and giving it a squeeze, arousal flooding your veins at both the feeling of his hard cock in your hand and the moan that escaped Josh at your touch. It had been so long since you’d done this, since you’d been with anyone who had a cock, but… Josh knew that. He’d known that for almost as long as you’d known him at all. And somehow, the fact that it was him you were here with, exploring, rediscovering— truly made any nerves or hesitation you might’ve had disappear without a thought. “Fuck, you’re hard, baby…” you breathed out, looking up at Josh through your lashes, and the use of the affectionate pet name made his grip tighten in your hair.

“It’s all for you,” Josh replied, his voice husky, his breaths coming hard and fast. The sight of his toned chest rising and falling so rapidly in combination with his words was making your head spin as your hands slid higher, hooking around his waistband. He groaned a little, his hips bucking involuntarily at the loss of contact, but his next words were low, seductive. “You wanna see what you do to me, mama?”

A soft moan slipped from you at his question, and you were nodding before you found the words. “Yeah, Josh… I wanna see it…” His teeth sunk into his bottom lip once more as he watched you through lust-blown, darkened eyes, cocking his head, which made his curls fall across his forehead in a way that made you squeeze your thighs together involuntarily. Finally, you couldn’t resist any longer, tugging down Josh’s pajama pants while he kept his gaze on you, hungry and intense. And when you laid eyes on his cock for the first time, the wave of desire that crashed over you was enough to leave you utterly and completely dazed.

“Prettiest cock I’ve ever seen,” you whispered, almost reverent, and Josh let out a giggle so breathless and aroused that you felt yourself grow practically lightheaded, his cheeks somehow flushing even redder at the compliment. The statement was the inarguable truth; you had slept with comparatively few men as opposed to women, and not one of them had a cock that left your mouth watering the way Josh’s already had— upon sight alone. He was deliciously thick, the head of his cock an identical rosy pink to his plush lips and slick with precum, making his own desire more than evident. You were left awestruck, staring at all of him for a moment, wondering how it was possible that tonight’s events had truly led to the situation you were currently in.

He was gazing at you through heavy-lidded eyes as you lifted your hand, reaching out and letting your fingertip trace all the way up the one pretty vein that ran up the underside of Josh’s cock. At your feather-light touch alone, Josh shuddered, his fingers curling in your hair and a sigh escaping his lips. “God, lover…” the words left him in a husky whisper, so low and breathy, and the sound had you squeezing your thighs together all over again. Blinking up at him innocently, you spit into your hand, shivering when Josh let out a little growl at the sight. Your heart racing, you wrapped all your fingers around the base of Josh’s thick cock, savoring the feeling of his warm skin, and the moan that slipped from him was so pretty you couldn’t wait any longer, starting to pump your hand slowly up and down his length. You couldn’t take your eyes off him, watching the way his expression changed, how his plush lips fell open, his brows knitting together a little, as he moaned out, “Oh, fuck…” Stroking him up and down, you began to repeatedly swipe your thumb over the head of his cock, and the action was making Josh grow breathless underneath you. You heard him sigh your name, his chest heaving, his hips beginning to buck against the motions of your hand.

Feeling drunk on desire and the way Josh was somehow continuing to harden in your grasp, you were unable to make yourself wait any longer. “I love this cock, Josh…” you managed to breathe out, another wave of desire washing over you as he tugged harder at your roots, biting his lip. “…and fuck, I need a taste….” The arousal was written all over Josh’s face, his cheeks flushed red and his mouth still hanging open.

His voice was breathier, a little shakier, when he opened his mouth to reply. “Go ahead, lover… it’s all yours…” The sound of that particular nickname leaving his lips while urging you to go on, his tone almost needy, made your eyes nearly roll back into your head with desire. Keeping your gaze on Josh while you continued to stroke his cock, you leaned forward, your head spinning and breaths coming fast and heavy. And when your lips touched his sensitive skin, pressing a soft, open-mouthed kiss to the head of his cock, the sound that escaped Josh was enough to send a lightning bolt of arousal straight through your entire body. His eyes were wide, lust-blown, his pretty lips hanging open as his chest heaved, tangling his fingers in your hair as your kisses turned into kitten licks to his head, exploring his soft skin, lapping at his arousal.

Josh was falling apart so quickly, and you couldn’t take your eyes off of him. Reeling from the taste of him, you started taking him deeper into your mouth, flames of desire licking up into your lower stomach with every moan from Josh, every buck of his hips. Expletives fell from his lips like a prayer as you continued, feeling every inch of him as you took him deeper into your mouth, further down your throat. Practically gagging on the sheer size of him, you finally reached the base of his cock, the tip of your nose pressing up against his pelvis as you blinked up at him with wide, almost innocent eyes. A strangled noise somewhere between a moan and a growl escaped him, his fingers holding a white-knuckled grip in your hair, while his whole face, neck, and even the top of his chest were flushing pink with arousal. “God… fuck… look at you… so fucking beautiful,” he was panting out, his words coming out in a desperate, rambling groan. You had never seen Josh so incoherent, and the sight was beyond dizzying. His praise was electrifying, and finally, you hollowed your cheeks around him, beginning to bob your head up and down his length. Josh let out a loud, uninhibited moan, throwing his head back and letting out another strangled “Fuck… oh, Jesus Christ…”

His moans, his body, his cock; it was all so unbearably addictive. The way his chest was rising and falling with such rapid, intense gasps. The way he was bucking his hips back against your eager mouth. The way his fat cock was somehow still getting harder, thicker inside your mouth. Swelling. Throbbing. The drool was practically dripping down your chin as you sucked him off, bobbing up and down, using your tongue to explore as you watched his contorted, blissed-out expression shift with spine-tingling curiosity. Josh’s hands were practically trembling in your hair as he continued to moan, praise, and curse— the words seeming to fall from his lips entirely involuntarily, as though erupting from his soul itself while you let his pleasure build.

You had almost entirely lost yourself in the taste of his cock, the way it was stretching your jaw, how it felt filling up your mouth and throat, that you were caught by surprise when Josh started pulling back with a shudder, his hard cock slipping from your lips with an obscene pop. Any confusion that you felt, however, was immediately dissipated when Josh breathed out, voice husky, “God, mama… I’m gonna fuckin’ cum if you don’t stop… and, fuck…” he was helping you stand to meet him at eye level again, his eyes dark and desperate as he stroked a hand through your hair, down past your cheek, dragging his fingertips down your neck. “I need to fuck you, lover…”

Hearing him say those words made your mouth fall open a little, beginning to nod before you could even speak. “Oh, God… please, Josh… fuck me. I need it. Please, just fuck me…” Upon hearing that, Josh was growling again, the sound still making your entire body tremble, as he began walking you backwards towards his sofa, his hands on your body and his eyes on yours, intense and hungry. Before long, you were trying to keep your breathing steady as Josh laid you down on the couch, his eyes all over you, his necklace dangling over you enticingly. Your heart pounding, you sat up against the arm of the sofa, biting your lip at Josh as you slowly, teasingly opened your legs wide for him. His gaze was ravenous as you blinked up at him, breathing out a soft, tantalizing, “Come and get it…”

That was all Josh needed. Immediately, he was climbing on top of you, positioning his flushed, firm body between your legs and letting one hand rest on either side of you on the arm of the couch. His face hovered above yours, his cheeks red and his eyes dark with arousal, as one hand landed on your shoulder, pinning you to the arm of the couch underneath him—- the action immediately sucking all of the air from your lungs. His free hand now began to slide down your body as he cocked his head, studying your expression with hungry brown eyes as he groped at your tits, then let his hand slide down your stomach, before letting his fingers part your folds. You moaned, bucking your hips into his touch, and a groan escaped Josh at that as he stared at you incredulously. “Fuck, mama… you’re so fucking wet…”

“God, Josh, it’s what you fucking do to me,” you panted, little whimpers and sighs escaping your lips as he gathered your wetness on his fingertips, before trailing up to play with your clit. After a moment of this, he trailed his fingers down, letting his index finger tease and press at your entrance, and you were moaning, nodding your head, the eye contact that Josh was maintaining heightening every feeling, every sensation. Upon your nod, he was pushing one long finger up into your cunt, and you were crying out all over again, your walls immediately clenching around him— and that drove both of you into near madness, as you immediately leaned up to kiss Josh as hard as you possibly could, moaning into his mouth, bucking your hips against his hand as he began to fuck you with his finger, pumping it in and out, getting your cunt ready for his cock.

You were grabbing at his body, at his necklace, his curls, pulling back to stammer pleas desperately against his lips. “More… God, Josh, I need more…” the words left your mouth in a rambling, desperate beg, and the low groan of desire that escaped him in response made your eyes roll back a little even before he slid a second finger into your pussy, fucking them in and out of your wetness as you writhed beneath him.

“What do you need?” His voice was husky, teasing, his eyes heavy-lidded and never leaving yours, his nose hovering millimeters above your own. Your heart felt like it could give out within your chest at any moment as Josh’s fingers worked you, stretched you. “I wanna hear you say it, lover…”

“Fuck, Josh… oh, God, I need your cock. Please…” you begged, reaching out and tugging at his curls, savoring the way he leaned into your touch. “…I’ve imagined it so many times, baby… please just fuck me…”

Those words, the admission that you’d pictured this before on numerous occasions, must’ve been exactly what Josh was looking for, as a moan even lower, darker, huskier left his lips. “Fuck, mama… sound so fucking pretty when you beg….” You shuddered at this, looking up at him with pleading eyes, as Josh nodded slowly, and pulled his fingers from your dripping pussy, the loss of contact making you shiver. You watched, dazed, desperate, as he wrapped those same fingers around his hard, thick cock; giving it a few solid pumps before lining it up at your entrance. The look in his eyes was unlike anything you’d ever seen before— powerful, commanding, full of need, while still unbearably affectionate. Practically loving. You could hardly think, drunk on your desire, gaze fixed on the beautiful man hovering above you. Teasingly, teeth sinking into his lower lip, Josh began to rub the head of his cock up and down your soaked slit, and the friction left you whining and bucking your hips desperately against him, his own mouth falling open at the contact. “Gonna fuck you so good, lover… so hard, so deep… gonna have you fucking screaming for me, mama…”

He didn’t even give you the time you needed to process his filthy words— because it was right as Josh spoke that he was pushing his hips forward, his hard, fat cock parting your folds, sliding into your tight, soaked cunt, inch after inch filling you up and stretching you out. Your eyes flew open wide, your mouth falling completely open alongside them as a moan louder than any you’d let out all night escaped your lungs. You weren’t alone, Josh’s own mouth hanging open with pleasure as his eyes rolled back a little, lashes fluttering wildly as he pushed in, up to the hilt. Your chest was heaving, hands desperately reaching to grab at Josh’s body, his strong arms, as little gasps and whimpers left your lips. “Oh, Josh… fuck… you’re so thick…”

He was groaning a little, fighting to keep his eyes open against the overwhelming pleasure of your cunt wrapped around his cock. “So fucking tight…” he managed, his voice restrained, rough, almost shaky. “…gonna move, lover…. you ready? You wanna get fucked?” It was all so overwhelming already, so dizzying, and you were nodding with unbridled desperation, clinging to his biceps as you fought to catch your breath. Yet, as Josh fulfilled his promise, it was clear you wouldn’t be finding your breath anytime soon.

Slowly, he was pulling back nearly all the way… before immediately thrusting his hips forward with such intensity, such purpose, that you cried out instantly, your hand flying to grip Josh’s necklace, which had been dangling just above your breasts ever since he climbed on top of you. He started slow, but the measured pace didn’t last long as he began to pick up speed, starting to thrust harder, faster, deeper. You were so quickly being rendered incoherent as his thick cock pushed in and out, hammering into your cunt and stretching you deliciously with every hard thrust. Moans of his name began to fall from your lips as he fucked you, and you found yourself wrapping your legs around his torso, hanging your head back with overwhelming pleasure as Josh fucked up into you again and again.

“You feel that, lover….? Fuck… you’re squeezing me… so fucking tight…” Josh was groaning, his gaze heavy, his eyelids fluttering, his eyes threatening to roll back again and again. He was twitching inside of you, throbbing, even, and the feeling was beyond intoxicating as you felt your thighs beginning to tremble around him.

“Oh, God… don’t stop, Josh, don’t stop… feels so good…” you were moaning, rolling your hips in response to his relentless thrusts, feeling your pleasure beginning to build rapidly for the second time that night. He growled, beginning to fuck you even harder, adjusting so he was slamming his hips into you from a new angle— and when the head of his cock began to shove up against your g-spot with every thrust, the cry that left your throat was so needy, so desperate, so whiny that it elicited a moan of matching intensity from Josh.

“I can feel you… fuckin’ clenching,” he was groaning, not once slowing the pace of his thrusts, his hand still pinning you to the arm of the couch below him as he fucked you. “You gonna cum again for me, sugar? Yeah? Gonna cum on my cock this time?”

You were whimpering, nodding, tears beginning to well in your eyes as Josh pounded into you, your tits bouncing with every hard thrust of his cock into your pussy. He never once hesitated, only continuing to hammer into you, his gaze intensifying, his sounds growing hungrier, more uninhibited. “Not gonna stop, sugar… gonna fuck you ‘til you’re cumming all over this hard cock… make this tight, pretty pussy cum for me…..”

His words were growing filthier by the moment, and it was only making your head spin even faster, your thighs tremble even harder, your grip on his necklace tighten as the heat began to build deep within your core. Tears began to spill from your eyes; the pleasure starting to become almost overwhelming, moments away from the edge— and Josh must’ve been able to tell, because all of a sudden, his fingers were right back on your clit, circling it mercilessly as his cock slammed into you again and again… and that was all it took.

With a desperate, pornographic cry of his name, you were clenching down onto Josh’s cock as your orgasm crashed over you. Wave after wave of pleasure wracked your entire body as you clung desperately to Josh, moaning again and again and trembling, shaking almost violently against him, seeing stars and practically sobbing as you melted into euphoria.

Josh was groaning, fucking you as hard as he could through your orgasm, his eyes beginning to roll back— and he managed to pull himself from your cunt just in time, your name leaving his lips in a desperate moan alongside a string of obscenities as he exploded all over your stomach, stroking his cock and bucking his hips into his hand. His expression was damn near angelic, his brows knitted together, his mouth wide open with ecstasy, before he caught his lower lip between his teeth, thrusting up into his hand as he finished riding out his high.

Slowly, slowly, gasping for air, you found yourself beginning to return to Earth, your grip loosening on Josh’s arms but refusing to let go, still savoring the feeling of his soft, warm skin; his muscles flexing underneath your fingertips. The chorus of moans between the two of you had evolved into breathless sighs as Josh collapsed onto you; and when you finally managed to open your eyes, you found yourself giggling without even meaning to— your head still spinning, your heart still racing.

Josh was breathing hard, a bashful grin on his face as his own eyes fluttered open, gazing down at you with what could only be described as adoration. Reaching up to run a hand through his tousled curls, you giggled again, your heart swelling in your chest at the way he was looking at you, before he began to join you in your shy laughter. “Wow…” you managed, biting your lip a little, as he let out a giggle of his own, nodding in agreement. You felt heat rising in your own cheeks as you admitted shyly, “Josh, I… you have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that with you.”

He smiled at you, the affection in his gaze making you practically breathless as he said, “Truthfully? I think I do… because I’m sure I’ve wanted it just as long,” letting his arms slip around you, and the feeling was a new kind of dizzying. You giggled again, before leaning up to press another kiss to his lips— this one soft, slow, lingering. The frenzied hurry that had motivated the majority of your actions had dissipated as you realized, with a rush of excitement, that you had all the time in the world.

When the kiss broke, you were laughing again, running your hands across his arms, up to his cheeks, savoring the way his eyes fluttered shut at your touches. “All the time we’ve wasted…” you sighed with a grin, thinking about the months you’d spent pining after him, certain that your thoughts and feelings weren’t reciprocated. He was smiling down at you, holding you close to his body.

“We’re here now,” Josh said with a grin, pressing another kiss to your cheek. “And I intend to make the most out of every moment…” as you felt yourself blushing all over again, your heart racing. This really was just the beginning.

It was a long time before the two of you managed to work up the motivation to move from your positions tangled together on the couch, but Josh’s promise of a warm shower and the invitation to share his bed was more than enough to convince you. As he helped you to your feet, his arm wrapping around your waist while your thighs trembled, you felt your heart nearly overflowing with affection. When you turned to look at him, however, a thought struck you that left you giggling all over again, leaving Josh looking at you with a curious grin, arching an eyebrow inquisitively. “What’s bringing on that cute giggle now…?”

You grinned at him, biting your lip and leaning in to press another kiss to his cheek. “Tonight may have been our best adventure yet.”

He laughed again, his happiness utterly infectious, as he leaned in, his lips only millimeters from yours. “And we’ve got plenty more to come, lover.” Closing the distance between the two of you, this kiss was gentle, passionate. A promise that he was yours. That you were his.

As you two headed towards his room, his arm around your waist, there was one thing that was certain. No matter what else was to come, you knew that Josh was right. You two had so many adventures in store.

And you couldn’t wait to rediscover it all.

//

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[guardianofrivendell]

Drunk in Love

Fíli x wife!reader

Requested: yes, by @carnotaurus-celeste​, back in January for my 2022 followers sleepover. Sorry it took me so long! This was a gif drabble request (that got a bit out of hand), the gif they chose is similar to the one I put underneath. 

Warnings: mentions of drinking, drunk Dwarves, adorable Fíli, not proofread

A/N: this was my last request from the January sleepover, only about 8 months late lol :) It was a way to try and get out of my writing block. Enjoy drunk Fíli! 

Still half asleep you turned on your other side, clutching the sheets and furs in an attempt to keep the warmth inside your little cocoon, and scooted over to Fíli’s side of the bed in search of his body heat.

Being married to a Dwarf meant you never had to feel cold anymore, his body your own private furnace he was more than happy for you to use at any time. Every night you fell asleep in his arms, your cheek pressed into the soft curls of his chest, inhaling his intoxicating scent while you let his heartbeat guide you to the land of dreams.

But your searching fingers didn’t find the heated skin you were looking for, instead finding a cold and empty spot where your husband was supposed to be sleeping.

You opened your eyes and sat up straight, looking around the dimly lit room for any sign of Fíli. The fire was still smoldering, which meant it had to be in the early hours of the night, too early for breakfast, but too late to be waking up to an empty bed. Where was he?

Fíli and you didn’t go to bed together that night, for the first time since well… your wedding night. The reason for this change of pace was very simple: last night marked the seven year anniversary of the reclaiming of Erebor and almost five year anniversary of the rebuild, and as the newly set tradition went there was a grand feast to celebrate.

Even though you had been enjoying the festivities - the sight of the Durin family and Company members being happy and carefree warmed your heart every time - as the feast went on, you grew rather tired.

When the clock struck midnight, you’d left Fíli in the company of his brother and their friends in the Great Hall, and that’s where you probably had the most chance of finding him at this hour. Or you hoped so, because the last thing you wanted to do was roam the halls of Erebor in your nightshift in search of your husband. You could only imagine the rumors that would go around at the breakfast table! 

You stepped out of bed and shivered when the cold of the night greeted you, so you quickly let your feet glide into your thick fur boots and threw your winter robe on to cover yourself. 

Fíli was most likely still celebrating and simply lost track of time, nothing to worry about, but you couldn’t suppress the tiny voice at the back of your mind that kept repeating something was wrong.

What if he was so drunk he lost his way or he fell off one of the many bridges or stairs? When you’d suggested railings for them during one of the many construction meetings, everyone bursted out in laughter. “The first Dwarf to lose their footing on stone is yet to be born, lass,” they’d laughed, wiping the tears out of their eyes. You never thought about asking again. 

You kept your pace steady but fast, a little slower when you crossed a bridge or stairway, making sure to check every corner and every nook in case your husband decided in his drunken haze that it was a perfect place to settle for the night.  

But the hallways of Erebor were abandoned and eerily quiet, as they should be at that hour. 

As you reached the corridor that led to the Great Hall, the sounds of careless laughter and chatter swelled. The celebrations were definitely not over yet, and just like you guessed, your husband wasn’t done partying.

Fíli was standing on top of one of the long dining tables, feet firmly planted between dirty plates and empty beer mugs, his brother Kíli at the other end, their friends scattered around the table, watching them dance and perform a drinking song. 

You leaned against the heavy open door and watched the scene with mirth. Up until now you hadn’t had the pleasure to see your husband so inebriated and… well, carefree. 

“Fee, catch!” Kíli yelled and next thing you knew, one of the dirty plates flew across the table right into Fíli’s outstretched hand. The crowd surrounding them cheered and encouraged by their fans, Kíli started another song, one you knew quite well. 

Blunt the knives, bend the forks!

And just like that you were thrown back to that cozy hobbit hole in the Shire, when you’d first laid eyes on your husband,  at the time a total stranger to you. Even though the last few years had taken a toll on him - both mentally and physically - he was still as handsome as ever and he still managed to fill your belly with butterflies as his rich baritone filled the great hall. 

Both brothers had some difficulties getting the song right, their words slurred and lyrics in the wrong order but there was no denying they were having the time of their lives. By the time the song had ended the tableware stood perfectly stacked in the center of the table and everyone in the hall burst out in laughter and applause. 

You applauded along with everyone else and it didn’t take long for Fíli’s eyes to meet yours. 

“Amrâlimê!” he exclaimed, his face splitting in a wide toothy smile, his mustache braids dangling under his nose as he moved towards you. They’d grown a few inches in the past years and you wondered if he would keep them as they were, or maybe start braiding them into his beard. 

Fíli threw his arms around you and lifted you from the ground, spinning you both around until he started to sway and he had to let you go in order to grab the door frame. 

“Everyone! Thiz iz my wife!” he yelled, throwing an arm around your waist.  “Kíli!! Come and meet my w-wife!”

You had to hold back a laugh. “Fíli, your brother knows who I am. Everyone here knows me.” 

Fíli’s eyes widened at that and his features turned from incredibly happy to heartbroken in a matter of seconds. You patted his chest in an attempt to comfort him, but it made him stumble again and you quickly grabbed a nearby chair for him to sit on. 

With a heavy sigh he let himself drop in the chair, arms crossed and with an incredibly adorable pout on his lips. There was nothing you wanted to do more than kiss it away and make him smile again, but you were in a crowded Great Hall wearing a robe and your nightclothes. Not the best place. 

“What’s wrong, yasthûnê?” (my husband)

He crossed his arms. “How come they all knew you before I did?”

You couldn’t help it. You giggled. You hadn’t giggled in you don’t know how long, always thinking it was for dainty girls with golden curls and rosy cheeks. But drunk Fíli was hilarious. And cute, very very cute. 

At the sound of your giggle he lifted his head to look at you and his mouth fell open. 

“Mahal, you’re gorg- gorsh- groce-,” he tried to get the word out but his tongue betrayed him every time, until he gave up with a frustrated groan. “You’re really prrrretty, you know zat?”

“Yes Fíli, you tell me every day.”

“Your huzband iz one lucky Dwarf,” he hiccuped, his smile dropping when he clearly believed you were out of his reach. There was no use in trying to let him know he was the husband he was talking about and that he had referred to you as his wife not even five minutes ago, clearly too far gone now. 

“I’ll make sure to let him know,” you said, cupping his cheek. He placed his hand over yours to keep it there and closed his eyes, clearly enjoying your touch. 

It gave you time to look around the Great Hall, your eyes roaming around the room until they spotted the Dwarf you were looking for. 

Kíli was still standing on top of the table, belting out some Elvish song - or something that was supposed to resemble Elvish, you couldn’t decipher a single word. You gestured towards Bofur, asking him to take care of the youngest Durin and to make sure someone helped him get to his chambers safely. Both of them were lucky Thorin wasn’t here to see them like this. 

Bofur chuckled as he saw the state Fíli was in. “D’you need help with your lad as well?”

You shook your head, “I got it covered, thank you.”

Fíli’s hand dropped in his lap and you thought he fell asleep for a moment, until he let out a disappointed grunt when you removed your hand from his cheek. 

“Come on handsome, let’s get you to bed,” you smiled, helping him get to his feet. Fíli groaned, finally realizing how tired he was. 

“Fine, ‘m going to bed wiz you,” he gave in, before he let his voice drop to a whisper. Well, you were sure he thought he was whispering, in reality he was shouting the whole corridor awake. “But my wife won’t like this!”

It took you almost half an hour to get him to your chambers, shushing him every time he tried to sing and guiding him in the right direction when he tried to wander off. By the time you finally reached your chamber doors, your back was covered in sweat and Fíli was getting clingy. 

Undressing your husband was something you’d normally like to take slowly, enjoying the sight of every newly uncovered patch of skin, caressing it with a kiss or featherlight touch until goosebumps appeared while you worked to get every piece of clothing on the ground. Now however, you couldn’t work fast enough. 

You left him bare chested but still in his breeches, relieved you were finally able to get to sleep again as you gently pushed him towards the bed. And that’s when Fíli started to resist.

“Miss, I’ll have you know that I’m a married man… Dwarf,” he muttered, voice already thick with sleep. “I love my wife very muts- oof!”

You’d pushed him on the bed and before he had the chance to get up again, you grabbed his legs and lifted them onto the mattress. As soon as his head hit the pillow and his body sank into the fluffy covers of the mattress, he sighed in contentment. He wasn’t going anywhere. 

The furs you’d left on the bed earlier would keep him warm during the night, even though you didn’t think he would need it. You quickly ran to the bathroom to fetch a bucket, in case he would get sick during the night and placed a pitcher with water on his bedside table. 

You watched him lay there for a few seconds, completely at peace, not a single sign of stress on his face. The deep crease between his brows was gone, the tension in his neck nowhere to be seen. 

You couldn’t resist and gently wiped a few loose hairs from his forehead. Fíli opened his eyes, blinking a few times in slow motion so he could focus on your face and a lazy smile appeared when he recognized you. 

He lifted his head and placed a soft peck on your lips.

“Mahal, you’re beautiful,” he whispered and returned the gesture, tucking a loose strand behind your ear. “So beautiful.” 

“Fíli-”

“Ssshhh,” he shushed you, pressing his finger on your lips. “Don’t tell my wife.”

You chuckled as you tucked him in and kissed his forehead, not even surprised to hear his soft snores again. 

“I’m pretty sure she already knows,” you whispered before you crawled next to him. 

You couldn’t wait to tell him all about it in the morning.

Permanent taglist: @roosliefje​ @kata1803​ @entishramblings​ @artsywaterlily​ @sleepy-daydream-in-a-rose​ @marvelschriss​ @kumqu4t​ @the-banannah​ @dark-angel-is-back​ @the-fandoms-georgie​ @lathalea​ @xxbyimm​ @sokkasdarling @katethewriter​ @aredhel-of-gondolin​ @elvish-sky​ @moony-artnstuff​ @kirenia15​ @vicmackeybullshxt​ @hey-its-nonny​ @beenovel​ @cassiabaggins​ @shethereadinghobbit​ @justfollowtheroad​ @laurfilijames​ @fizzyxcustard​ @brokennerdalert​ @linasofia​ @naimadrawsstuff​ @errruvande​ @amaryllis23​ @enchantzz​ @narniaandthenorth @sketch-and-write-lover​ @blairsanne​ @ruthoakenshield​ @midearthwritings​ @alone19-24 @medusas-hairband​ @ren-ni​ @kyramaximoff​ @megnotfound​ @middleearthpixie​ @aduialel​ @tree0frog​ @trappedinlimbo15​

Fíli taglist:  @bluewingedangel​ @spidergirla5​ @otakumultimuse-hiddlewhore​ @clumsy-wonderland​ @i-always-come-back-xoxo​

[lewkwoodnco]

Hii I want to request Anthony Lockwood!fem reader, with the song I Can See You, where they are rivals kinda like him and Quill, and she hates him because his annoying, and he just likes to flirt with her to annoy her. And they get put on a case together by DEPRAC, and I don't know you could make some scene like from Lockwood&Co season 1, where he and Lucy where discovered by the relic man and his wife, I don't remember their name, but like something similar, where he is willing to do anything just so they don't hurt her. Also, could you put a dagger to the throat scene in somewhere, where the reader is holding a dagger to his throat, but all he can think about is kissing her. Obviously, you can make the plot so it suits the song. I hope you could write this as long as possible because I love long fics, and your Lockwood fics are just amazing!!

I Can See You - Lockwood x Reader

A/N: Had a bit of writers' block with this for a while, but I think it's one of my favourite works yet. TW slight suicidal and death mentions, spoilers for the ending of the second book in the series. 5.9k, enjoy!

Lucy Carlyle was currently looking back and forth between Lockwood and the leader of one of the teams from Fittes. Both of them were just staring intensely at each other in silence, expressions inscrutable. The Fittes agents watched their leader apprehensively while George was practically beside himself with glee.

"George, who's that?"

"Y/N L/N. Lockwood's had a bit of a thing for her for a while."

"Bit of a thing...?"

"They hardly agree on anything. Makes for some very entertaining cases, if dangerous. I've put money on her setting his coat on fire within five hours."

Lucy opened her mouth to ask more questions, but George shushed her impatiently.

"Look what the cat dragged in."

"Nice to see you too, Y/N.”

“Can't say I return the sentiment, Andrew.”

“Charming as ever, I see."

Barnes had sent them a letter a few hours ago, requesting their immediate assistance on yet another DEPRAC misson. That was nothing new, and neither was them being partnered up with a team from either Fittes or Rotwell. But a boyish glow had washed over Anthony as he skimmed the letter; he looked pleased enough to start humming. George didn't have as intense of a reaction, but his eyebrows had disappeared into his hair and he hadn't wasted time dawdling like he usually did. And now this stand-off. Strange.

“At least the papers get my name right.”

“I’d rather your lips get my name right."

"Oh, fuck off."

"You kiss your mother with that mouth?"

There was a small kerfuffle as her teammates lunged to hold her back as she tried to launch herself at Lockwood.

"I take it back. Fuck you Lockwood, you and your agency can go to hell. Oh, hi George. Did you get my biscuits?"

"They were lovely. This is Lucy, by the way. New recruit."

"Hi Lucy. I like your boots."

"Thanks. I like your belt."

"Really? I got it for a really sweet deal."

"Well, while we're exchanging compliments," Lockwood began all too innocently, unperturbed by her glare, "I really like your jumper, Y/N."

A curious silence followed as she stared at Lockwood, trying to figure him out. Next to Lucy, George inhaled sharply as realisation struck. "Now that I think of it, might be best to lower it to three hours."

She finally broke the silence, but she didn't want to give him the satisfaction of falling for his only seemingly innocuous bait. "Right, well, I don't care. I hate it, in fact."

"Really?" He had the gall to raise his eyebrows as if genuinely surprised. "Hmm. I suppose you're right. It would look better on my bedroom floor."

She was too flustered to come up with any clever sort of response, only this choking sound that was a cross between a scoff and an expression of disgust. It was only because it was completely uncalled for, she reassured herself. Why would she want to know anything about his bedroom, floor or otherwise? She suddenly became aware of the murmurs running through her team and she rallied her senses as best she could.

"In your dreams, Lockwood."

"Ass-kisser."

"Rule-breaker."

"Goody-two-shoes."

"We're starting!" Barnes hurried in, so she had to settle for giving Lockwood a very dirty look. "Well, not much to it this time. We're missing source, a pair of opera glasses, recovered only a few hours ago."

Barnes holds out a file and Lockwood and her both lunge for it, but she's just a fraction quicker. Feeling unusually smug, she takes her time smelling the paper, flicking the page, glancing at the ghost of the competitive smile on Lockwood's lips.

"...we think it's more likely that they're still inside the house they were found in, but it's always possible that they've already been stolen-"

"Wait, a poltergeist?" She was holding the file open to the second page. "Inspector Barnes, you can't be serious!"

"You'll manage. Reports don't point to it being particularly vicious, and visiting the house is more of formality. We don't expect the source to still be there, buy we didn't check for hidden walls or flooring." One of Barnes' assistants leaned forward to whisper in his ear, and he nodded. "I have to go. Find the source."

With that, Barnes left, and the two teams stepped forward to absorb the space he left, Lockwood and her facing each other directly.

"Well then, to the house we go."

"Are you crazy? With a poltergeist? That's a suicide mission."

"But isn't that what Inspector Barnes said?"

"I don't know what kind of agency Lockwood & Co. is, but at Fittes we address our superiors with respect."

"If the source is at the house, we won't have to deal with Winkman. Case closed."

"My team would rather deal with Winkman than a poltergeist. Case open."

"No, your team wouldn't think that if they had actually dealt with Winkman before, like we have. Case closed."

"But-"

"Look, you do not want to deal with Winkman. Trust me on this."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The air in the house was stale, and the creaky floorboards made her jump while the wind howling through some draft kept her on edge. In short, the worst kind of house to deal with a poltergeist. The corridors were so narrow, shrouded in darkness except for light from the ghost lamps filtering through the cracks in the ceiling, and everything smelt like death. They were walking in a single file, Lockwood and her at the end, just to make sure no one got left behind. Of course, that also meant that she had no respite from his incessant chatter, his warm breath tickling the nape of her neck.

"Would you quit it? I'm trying to Listen."

"We'll be fine. I happen to have the-"

"The best Listener in the country, yes, so you've mentioned. A few billion times."

"Aw, cheer up. I'm sure you're not half bad either."

"I'm perfectly cheerful, thank you very much."

"Then I wonder what you're like when you're actually all wound up."

That was her breaking point. She needed to assert herself if she had any hope of being even remotely civil towards Lockwood on what was beginning to look like a very long case. She spun around, pulling out her dagger and pushing the flat of the blade against Lockwood's neck while the rest of the party continued on, oblivious.

"Still no rapier? Y/N, you're going to get yourself killed. That butter knife of a weapon isn't going to do anything to a ghost."

"Listen, Anthony, I'm here to do a job, not entertain your charades, and I'd like to do so with as little casualties as possible. But if you don't stop, I think I can make an exception for you. Stay out of my way, and I'll stay out of yours. Are we clear?"

She revelled in his stunned expression, mouth ever-so-slightly agape, finally receiving his full attention. But as the glow of her satisfaction faded, she felt a lump growing uncomfortably in her throat, suddenly aware of the simmering hunger in his gaze, completely unable to tear her eyes away. Maybe it was a trick of the light, but she could have sworn he ever so slightly licked his lips, and unbidden images of what they could, or would, do if they were alone flashed in her mind's eye. She felt rather than imagined his mouth pressed unyieldingly against hers, his hair in her fingers, their bodies pressed impossibly close to each other.

She inhaled sharply, blinking, unknowingly withdrawing within herself, her dagger resting on his collarbone rather than his throat. Lockwood's expression was back to normal, insufferable and aggravating as always, but there was a slightly less arrogant tilt to his head now.

"If you wanted me up against a wall, all you had to do was ask."

"I'm not even...going to deign you with a response to that. It's scarring to just think about." Not her best, but it was all she could force out without giving away the need bottled up inside of her. But she could see in the way that he wasn't quite meeting her eyes that he felt it too. That moment had permanently shifted their relations. From professional, if slightly hostile, to something far more intimate. It made her dizzy with want, or fear - she couldn't decide.

One of her teammates had stopped at the door at the end of the corridor, hand hovering over the doorknob. Lockwood squeezed past the single file, barely brushing against her, razor-sharp focus on the door. She hated the way her cheeks flushed at the slightest of his touches. He became a totally different person when he was working: dedicated, professional, capable, and the Fittes-agent in her couldn't help but find that efficiency desperately appealing. But it was more than that. As big as his ego was, he clearly didn’t think much of his casual nonchalance or confidence, and there were these increasingly frequent moments where she would be possessed by this sudden insanity to wrap her arms (rather than her hands) around his neck.

Months of suppressing and denying feeling anything other than despisal towards him certainly didn't help matters. It made her feel unstable, like she didn't have proper control over what she would do or say when she was around him. Kiss him, kill him, push him over a bridge...She spent half of her time with him enraptured and the other half trying not to think about him. She bit the inside of her cheek. There was something about his daring, his ability to throw himself in the direct line of fire that made him so dangerous, so addicting.

The boy at the front stepped back, relieved, as Lockwood pressed his ear to the door. He started turning the doorknob.

"Lockwood, don't, you can't hear a poltergeist. He's probably heard us by now but he hasn't done anything yet. Don't be foolhardy. It could be a trap."

"I don't think it's a trap."

"You don't know it's not a trap. We need to think about what to do next."

But it was too late. Lockwood swung the door open. In an instant, the floor heaved, then gave away, and suddenly she was falling through the air.

"Lockwood, I fucking hate your guts!"

Out of nowhere, she felt herself being grabbed by the waist and then almost immediately slammed into a wall. There was this awful ringing noise in her ear, but at least she had someone to hold onto.

"Please, save the dirty talk for the bedroom."

She groaned, wishing it was literally anyone else, trying to block out the warm feeling of his body pressed against hers.

"That's twice I've saved you now, by the way."

All she could manage was an incomprehensible scream which made Lockwood wince, not realising her lips were on the shell of his ear. Strangely enough, despite her panic, she felt oddly grounded by the feel of Lockwood's rough coat desperately clutched in her hands and his annoying yet normal quips. It was a new sensation. Plastered against her mortal enemy, and yet it was the only thing keeping her breathing? The intimacy of how she was wrapped around him made her breath hitch, and the anxiety it induced was enough to drive her back to the present.

Looking down was nauseating, and looking up was somehow worse. Lockwood had wound a loose wire from the ceiling around his knuckles, and it was digging a cut into his palm. She felt her grip loosen as her head spun, but the arm around her waist tightened. She felt a brief flicker of peace, or maybe hope, and then the ceiling started to crumble.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The last bits of debris were still falling when she came to, but she could have sworn she had blacked out in fear for a moment. She couldn't feel any broken bones, only a heavy weight on her hip. She blinked away the blood and dust and saw the weight take the form of Lockwood.

"Well. I didn't know you were so scared of heights."

Lockwood didn't like admitting fault, and she didn't like admitting weakness. It was such a silly thing to be afraid of, but and when all Lockwood did was push her to the precipice of territories unknown, she didn't know what to do with the fear running through her. Didn't know what to do, except lash out.

"Get off. Get off.”

"Geez, take me out to dinner first." She finally snapped.

"This is all your fault!" She yanked him towards herself by the lapels of his coat, yelling at him through tears. "That's twice you've put our lives in danger, idiot. I told you it wasn't worth it, that we would be so much better off at Winkman's, but you just had to go for the more dangerous option. You just had to open that door. Anthony Lockwood, you're a professional show-off. What if someone on my team died today? You'd just skip on home while I would have to live with that grief for the rest of my life. You don't know what it's like to see someone Ghost-touched in front of your eyes and being completely and utterly helpless."

The lines on his face hardened. "Y/N, if the worst thing to you is death, you won't stand a chance against Winkman."

"What do you know? You've demolished an entire house. Face it Lockwood, everything you touch gets destroyed."

He was finally out of smartass quips. She felt small just saying that. She knew it was too far, and under-handed, but she was just so mad she couldn't help but spit fire. Why did he have to be so reckless? Didn't he realise his luck would only last him so long?

She felt an awful prickling at the back of her eyes, and she tried to convince herself that no one noticed the rough edge to her voice. "I think it's best we go our separate ways." With a heavy heart, she turned, her team tiredly following her, no one pulling her back to stay this time. Feeling the floor fall beneath her feet and seeing Lockwood grasping for life with his fingertips was too frightening for her to stay, and if that meant she was a coward, so be it.

Too much of a coward to even look him in the eye.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Her team decided to stop for supper before tackling Winkman, not that she managed to eat much. The events at the house sat like lead in her churning stomach as she turned the memories and images in her head, until she felt numb. It was either that, or acknowledging that she just might be the worst person in the entire world. Distantly, she heard her team discussing their plan of attack at Winkman's, and suddenly her mouth was forming words her brain wasn't aware of.

"I'll go. No point in all of us going, we wouldn't be stealthy enough. Besides, I'm responsible for all of you. Contact DEPRAC if I'm not back in 12 hours." With that, she stood up and left before she could properly hear her team's protests.

As she drew nearer to Winkman's, she heard repeated dull, echoing thuds of metal hitting metal. She crept up cautiously with her hand on her dagger, then visibly relaxed when she saw it was just Lockwood hammering away at the lock.

"Oh. It's you." Apart from a glance, Lockwood acted like he didn't even hear her, or know her, with an impassive expression. A part of her was angry, but another part knew it was what she deserved.

"You're lucky it was just me. That dagger's not scaring off anyone." She fumed. Did he have to be so antagonistic? Why couldn't he be nice or just civil like a normal person?

"The dagger works perfectly fine for me. I have no trouble scaring anyone off."

"Yeah, I can see that." His voice was so rough with hurt and resentment that she instantly regretted everything she just had to say. She opened her mouth to apologise, but was interrupted by the final clang of Lockwood's rapier and the thud of the lock falling off.

"Lockwood, I'm really sor-"

"Save it. Somehow, that's still not the most frustrating thing about you."

Her mouth dropped open, and it was a good few seconds before she spluttered and found her voice again. "Frustrating? ME? Are you out of your mind?"

She felt her back slam against the aluminium door, not much different from how she had cornered Lockwood in the house. Lockwood's arms caged her in, but he didn't make her feel nearly as claustrophobic as her emotions did, threatening to claw their way up her throat. He was impossibly close, breath ghosting over her face, overwhelming her senses, and she felt every rational thought scatter in her brain, like loose marbles. His voice was gravelly, almost tender, and she didn't trust herself to speak.

"What would you do..." She didn't resist the arm snaking around her waist, nudging her closer. "If I held you like this..." His other arm reached into her scalp, sending a shiver down her spine, cradling her head and exposing her neck in a way that made her feel too vulnerable. His breath tickled her ear, threatening to snap every single one of her highly-strung nerves, mouth just a few inches below her temple. "...and kissed you?"

For a few short seconds, all she was aware of was her distracted, erratic heartbeat and the feel of Lockwood all around her. She felt her legs losing circulation and her knees threatened to buckle at any moment. He pulled back, cold air rushing in to take his place and sting her scarlet cheeks. Her answer must have been written all over her face, making Lockwood laugh sardonically.

"But no, Y/N L/N is too good, too proud to be involved with anyone beneath her. So she'll deny and push down any sort of feeling or passion," he spit that word out with such vehemence, "Like she's some saint, too holy to meddle with mortal sins like love. No, no, so in your perfect, sensible words, let's just stay out of each other's way." Even though they were her own words, it stung to have them thrown back in her face with such malice. Lockwood started on one end of the warehouse, and she started on the other end, sifting through the hoards of trinkets as if on autopilot.

"I wasn't kidding before. It really is dangerous to carry a dagger instead of a rapier. You'd be ghost touched before you realised."

Lockwood's voice floated above, somewhere beyond the walls of junk. Her hands trembled as she continued, guilt gnawing away at her, fixating on the feeling of his hands on her.

"And just so you know, if someone on your team died, whether or not it was because of me, I would very much care. I don't think I would be able to live with myself."

She groaned internally, the beginnings of a migraine spreading through her temple. Why did he have to be so complicated? "Which is why," he continued, "you should go back. I've handled him before, and I can handle him again. You're way out of your depth here."

"I've been an agent nearly as long as you have. I'll be fine. Just focus on finding the glasses so both of us can get out of here."

"No, you won't. Trust me on this. Leave."

"Lockwood," she began irritatedly. She was so very tired. Why did Barnes ever think they would make a good, or even functional team? "I mean it. Stop being an ass and just look for the glasses, okay? Lockwood? Lockwood?"

She crept around the aisle, peeking from behind a tapestry. Her vision was limited, but she could see enough. Lockwood was kneeling, talking soothingly to this little boy of about five. There didn't seem to be anything obviously hostile about him, but something about the scene deeply unsettled her. Suddenly, there was a flash of electricity at Lockwood's neck, and he slumped forward. She bit her lip to stop herself from screaming, tasting blood.

She turned away as the woman who had shocked him dragged him off. Her heart shifted into overdrive. She looked around blurrily, fighting back tears, shoving down the panic and bile rising in her throat. She had to save him. No, she had to find the glasses first. Then she would come back with reinforcements. It was only logical. But what if it was too late by then? She clumsily searched the little cartons, making more noise than she would have liked, breathing shallowly as she desperately fought the panic attack hovering over her.

Maybe it was just her heightened anxiety now that she was alone, but she felt the hairs on the back of her neck prick up. She spun around and was badly startled by that same boy - Winkman's grubby gremlin of a son. Oddly enough, it grounded her enough to stop spiralling. "What are you looking at? God, you're so creepy. Quit it with that smile, your cute act won't work on - oh."

And it was just as those words fell from her lips and the world turned black that she realised her horrendous, absolutely awful mistake.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

When the world came back into focus, she felt terrible. Every joint in her body was screaming for relief and her sore muscles ached. Once she had adjusted to the blinding light, she felt the rough floor against her cheek, heard voices around her; one behind her and one in front. She felt...distant, somehow, but she was sure one of them was Lockwood's...so the other had to be Winkman's.

She shifted her fingers as much as she dared, heart in her mouth for fear of being caught at any second. The muffled voices continued miles away from her, as if she wasn't even in the room, one of them becoming increasingly agitated. What was Lockwood even doing? Couldn't he see that she was awake?

She blinked imperceptibly, and the blood roaring in her ears finally died down. Her head hurt and her senses were too stimulated to think straight, but she managed to pick out Lockwood's voice eventually.

"I'm telling you, I don't know her. We're not even from the same agency."

"Is that so?"

"She might not even be an agent, I don't see a rapier on her." She felt a stab of annoyance and then overwhelming relief. Her other hand was stuck beneath her, but if she could just wriggle it around enough - yes. She still had her dagger. Her fingers closed over the handle, waiting for the right time to strike.

"Then you won't mind if I..." Winkman trailed off, and her glow of happiness was immediately extinguished by the feeling of a cold barrel pressed against her skull. It took all her efforts to not openly panic. She closed her eyes tighter, bracing for the pull of the trigger as she heard the gun click.

"Don't!" Lockwood's voice reverberated in the dingy room, startling everyone.

"So you do know her."

"I don't, I just think that she shouldn't have to die when she hasn't done anything wrong. She just got caught in the middle of this. Please, she can't tell you anything. Just let her go."

"How would you know? Fittes uniform...looks like some higher-up. She probably knows something of value, and I could probably force it out of her," he pressed the gun more insistently into her skull, "if not out of you."

Her mouth was dry as her heart hammered against her chest. She was going to die here, she could feel it. Suddenly, she heard Lockwood speaking in a rush, breathless, and she felt her heart sink.

"Fine. I know her. And I know she doesn't have anything you want. But I do. Whatever you want to know- want to do, do it to me, I'll tell you everything. You can kill me, I'll never see the light of day again, and no one will find out. No one will come looking. Just let her leave, she won't breathe a word of this to anyone else, I promise."

She could feel Winkman consider his words, and after a moment or two, she felt the barrel being lifted from her head. That was all she needed.

With her free, outstretched hand, she grabbed the barrel, hoping and praying Winkman's finger wasn't on the trigger. Her prayers were answered, and she jerked the rifle upwards, which punched him in the jaw. His grip loosened, and she turned the rifle on him, slipping Lockwood her dagger with her other hand to cut himself out of his restraints.

"Take one step towards us, and I'll shoot." Winkman was right where she wanted him, because there was nothing more terrible for a man as selfish as him than dying, missing the chance to enjoy his spoils. Her voice was calm and belied the rage simmering underneath her. How dare they hold Lockwood hostage like that? They were going to pay, and she would make sure of it. She was so furious, and all reason had been thrown out the window by that point.

"Actually, I don't need a reason to blow your fucking brains out." She raised the rifle, taking aim, just about to pull the trigger, when she felt Lockwood's hand on her shoulder. She didn't even turn to look at him, but she immediately felt the anger bubbling within her flow out, replaced by the gasping relief that everything was going to be fine.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

She kept the rifle trained on the couple as best as she could with her trembling hands as she and Lockwood slowly backed away, then broke into a sprint, rifle tossed to the side halfway through. When they had finally run far enough into the city, they stopped at a bench underneath a ghost lamp, and for several seconds there was only the sound of their panting as they struggled to catch their breaths.

"I think," she began breathlessly, "that's the third time you've saved my neck." Lockwood looked at her from the corner of his eye, and she smiled so earnestly that they couldn't help but laugh. Their laughter swelled in the silence of the night.

But the laughter was temporary, just like their relief, and once they fell silent, the tension from earlier returned and occupied that vacancy. She pulled out a mini first-aid kit and started cleaning up his cut, which looked grimy and almost definitely infected by now.

"What was that, at Winkman's? You were practically begging him to kill you."

He didn't respond, and his eyes had taken on a dull sheen. It confirmed everything she needed to know.

"I...I guessed, a little...never would have thought it true."

It was like talking to a mannequin, except for the occasional wince when the rubbing alcohol stung. She didn't even recognise her own voice. It hurt to think about her being more attached to Lockwood's life than he was. The vigour with which she bandaged his cut grew with her words.

"It...It feels weird when you say things like no one would come looking for you. Your friends care about you so much. George would burn down the Archives if it meant saving you-" Lockwood groaned at the idea. "-and yes, he will bitch and moan about it for probably years on end, but if it meant you sticking around? He'd do it in a heartbeat. And I'm sure Lucy is no different either. I don't know how you got this weird idea that we'd just move on with our lives if you disappeared, because we wouldn't. Lockwood, people care about you, so stop being an arse and just let them."

"Even you?"

She paused, pretending to focus on the ointment. Opening up was as difficult as cracking a walnut open, but it was a bit too late to avoid all this. "I get restless if I don't see you in the papers for a while, whether it be for burning a house down or actually getting a job right. And every morning when I pick up the paper, I hope...I hope i don't see your obituary. So yes, Lockwood, I would hate it if you were dead. Who else am I going to butt heads and dream about making out with?"

Lockwood sat up, suddenly very interested. "Relax, it was a joke, just trying to breathe some life back into you. There, you're all done."

He fidgeted, looking down at the blood bleeding through the thick layers of the gauze bound almost a little too tightly to his palm. In the pale yet weak light of the ghost lamp, he suddenly seemed years younger, someone just like her. Someone who may have been a rival, but first and foremost, was an equal. She felt this sudden pang inside her heart. She dropped her voice, as if saying it a little louder would make her feelings for Lockwood all the more real.

"I didn't mean, what I said, earlier." Lockwood waited for her to continue. She had said a lot earlier. "About you being...destructive. I guess I was just furious that you had me a wreck when you weren't even trying all that hard. I'm such a mess, Lockwood, you have no idea. My dagger?" she pulled it out with some difficulty, wiping away the grime on it with her sleeve, her bloody face staring back at her. "It's just because I suck at using a rapier. I'm not even middling, I suck so bad it's not even funny. Stop!" Lockwood's mouth was twitching at the corners and when she finally looked up, looking like a cat left out in the rain, all because she couldn't handle a rapier, he lost it. "You know, you wouldn't be laughing like this if you actually saw me-" That just made him laugh even harder. She shook her head, waiting for him to finish.

"Y/N," he began, once he was done laughing. "You really are better than any medicine." He interlocked his fingers with her, raising her hand to kiss the back of it. "You can't handle a rapier yet, so what? I'll teach you. And then you'd need loads and loads of practice before you could get anywhere as good as me."

"I'm not done." He threw his head back dramatically. "I have a list!"

"Of course you do."

"I heard that." There was something infectious about his teasing smile, but its warmth was fading fast as she unpacked a memory she had shoved into the corner of her mind. She didn't like thinking about it too much, it made her too hopeless. Even now, she felt waves of despair crashing over her. "I didn't mean to fly at you like that earlier. It's just, my mum's been ghost-locked for a few months, and I'm not having the easiest time dealing with it."

She felt Lockwood still next to her, hating yet craving his sympathy. It had been so hard to wake up each morning, put on her suit, and go about her life while fighting the very real fear of never speaking to her mother again. It was like a long, drawn-out death that repeated every day. He wordlessly pulled her in as she sobbed into his chest, unravelling at the seams. If it was anyone else, she would have been mortified, but with Lockwood...it was different. It always had been.

"I understand," he murmured into her hair, "my sister was Ghost-touched in front of me. "If I had cared a little more...she might still be alive today."

That just made her sob even harder. How did he stand it, her hurling every insult in the book at him, when she didn't know the first thing about him? She don't know how long she cried, long enough to release months' worth of pent up grief, but Lockwood didn't show a single sign of wanting to let go. She wrapped her arms around him as she calmed down. She never wanted to let go of him.

"I never thought you were beneath me." Her voice was muffled as she spoke into his chest. "You own a property in central London, for God's sake."

"Not much else, mind you."

"If anything, I would have thought myself beneath you." She finally peeled her face off his shirt to see him raising his eyebrows with mock innocence, and she nearly shoved him off the bench. "Gosh, not like that. You're like a walking...sex...maniac. Is that all you ever think about?"

"When I'm around you? Most definitely." She groaned, but for the first time, she allowed herself to laugh too.

"If I didn't know any better, I'd say you had a crush on me."

"Lucky for you, I don't know better, and I can say I do." They sat in comfortable silence, enjoying the first respite in what had been a very chaotic night.

"I still can't believe Irene's been Ghost-locked."

"Irene? Have you been...corresponding with my mother?" Lockwood shifted awkwardly, jerking his head up.

"Do you hear that? Is that Barnes?"

"Lockwood."

"Yes, that's most definitely Barnes."

"Barnes isn't even here! Lockwood. Lockwood!"

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

She was sitting in the waiting room outside Barnes' office. It was morning now, and the room was filled with a pleasant warmth. She had already given her account of the events while Lockwood was being stitched up by the paramedics, and now she was waiting for him to finish his report after her head was bandaged up.

The door opened with a soft click, and Lockwood stepped out wearily, the exhaustion finally catching up to him as well. He smiled weakly. Even after a long night she sat with perfect posture, legs crossed neatly, looking the paradigm of innocence with hair gleaming like honey in the sunrise. It was maddening to Lockwood. He could never get enough of her little intricacies.

"You have no idea how much I've hated your necktie. It distracts me so."

"It's not a necktie, it's just a tie. You'd know that if you weren't so pretentious."

She grinned, reeling him in by his tie, pressing a small kiss to the corner of his mouth. She pulled away, walking out of the waiting room where the rest of her team was waiting.

They had discussed it on the way to DEPRAC's headquarters. The papers would have a field day if they caught wind of their relationship, and they would spin it and twist it in every which way. The less negative press they got, the better.

"I'd lose my job."

"Come work for me."

"Does your insurance cover ghost-lock of family members?"

Lockwood swore.

Now, he reluctantly followed her out, where George and Lucy celebrated him being in one piece. They turned to leave when she spoke up across the lobby.

"Lockwood."

Both agencies froze, watching uncertainly. George hopefully wandered towards the fire extinguisher. "I'd absolutely hate it if I needed your agency's help on our next case."

"I'd hate it even more."

"Good to see we're on the same page. Fingers crossed I never see you again."

She quirked the corner of her mouth, and Lockwood had to purse his lips to keep from smiling. Lucy looked back and forth, as confused as she was at the beginning of the case, turning to George.

"What was that about?" George groaned.

"Never mind that, you have no idea how much money I've lost..."

[fillinforlater]

FEAR----

Male Reader x Huh Yunjin (ft. Chaewon)

Length: 2420 words

Tags: con-non-con kink, change in pov, piss kink, water sports, public sex, choking, gagging, a kinky robbery, humiliation, crying, name calling, missionary, messy make-out, all the bodily fluids, roleplay, dacryphilia maybe, misattribution-of-arousal-kink!Yunjin

TW: cnc kink, water sports (pee), (role)playing with fear

Inspiration: ffs, I have no clue why my brain comes up with these. Maybe I'm just insane? Or stupid? Or too horny for my own good?

(A/N: yeah, I think I will have to take a break after this. Something very different will come up next, but I still need time to write it lol, so please be patient. For those that love these kinks, you're welcome, I won't write them (especially water sports) often.)

"What are you thinking about right now?"

Chaewon’s quiet, tender whisper is calming like a cool breeze in blazing summer heat. It takes you out of your short trance, which you spent gazing at the ring on her finger. You look into her concerned eyes, then towards her blonde friend at the bar. A heavy sigh leaves your lips as you set down the untouched cocktail.

"You know I like the idea," you start your rant, hoping it removes the uncertainty burdening your heart, "and I know you're completely fine with it. But the more I look at her—I just don't know if she knows what she really wants. You get me?"

"I think I do. Hmm,” Chaewon ponders for a second, caressing your palm, "Look, how about we ask her right now."

She turns around and with a wave of her hand she gets her friend's attention. The young woman quickly walks over, a bright, beautiful smile on her features. She stops next to your wife and straightens her postures when she looks at you. Before she can greet you, Chaewon whispers a long message into her ear. It makes her face sweaty and redder with each word.

"So," Chaewon loudly announces at the end of her explanation,"what are you thinking, Yunjin."

"I—"

Yunjin locks eyes with you. Her hands fidget, her upper body tenses up and her breath responds to her increased heartbeat. You can almost see the small muscle in her chest throb. She hesitates, even with Chaewon's reassuring smile and strokes on her back. Before you can speak up however, Yunjin's firm answer catches you by surprise:

"I still want it. I don't know what else to say, but I really want this and I don't care about the dangers."

"Alright," you respond blankly, though slightly in awe of Yunjin's clarity, "I appreciate your trust."

#

It's way past midnight when Yunjin leaves the area around the well-lit HYBE building to walk home. Dark, narrow corridors in between cold, lifeless concrete buildings are her choice, as she is eager to get to her flat quickly. Yunjin will always sacrifice a bit of lighting for effective short cuts. With her cell phone as a flashlight in one hand, her Louis Vuitton bag in the other, she confidently finds her way in this now well-known maze.

At night, she doesn't have to be extra careful about someone noticing her or the song she hums. An unreleased track, self-composed, with lyrics that have meaning to her and the other bandmates. At night, Yunjin is free to sing those words and feel a bit of burden fall from her shoulders.

A gentle breeze makes her blonde hair sway off of her shoulder and the loose jacket flies along with it. Yunjin has to stop in her tracks to adjust the leather garment. It's this time of the year where it's warm enough at night that you don't really need any extra clothes. However, each cold wind reminds Yunjin that it's good to have something on her. She can't allow herself to get sick.

It's also the time of the year where almost every night sky is littered with dazzling stars that dance on their designated spot, billions of miles away. It's a spectacle, each and every single one of them, so similar yet so different. The human eye cannot escape from this beauty, and Yunjin is no different. She stands there, star struck, the white lights dancing on her irises like it’s the parquet of a musical. Yunjin hums the melody to their performance. 

The bushes behind her rustle once. A dark figure shots out from behind them like a lightning bolt. Yunjin gasps and quickly looks behind her shoulder to see a black ski mask right in her face. Her ensuing scream is muted by a cloth forced into her mouth. She tries to escape, but the person is just too fast. Yunjin is grabbed at the top of her dress and forcefully shoved into a nearby wall.

“Money?” the figure asks in a cold, rough tone. Yunjin tenses up when she feels freezing metal run up her exposed thigh. Her eyes tremble in fear, even more so her legs. She is only held upright by the man's hand and his leg trapping her in between dead concrete and death personified. 

The man tears on Yunjin’s dress and groans angrily. Yunjin is too scared to test his patience, so she shakes her head. Her lips lose all their moisture to the cloth in her mouth, but maybe it’s just traveling to her eyes, to her sweat glands and down low.  

“Not even in that bag? Not even at home?” the man continues to ask. He guides the metal object further up, right to Yunjin’s core. A few swipes on her bundle of nerves make the young woman burst out into tears. It’s certainly not a knife that he is holding. The death bringing object right on her most private part makes her flinch, head shaking rapidly. 

The man grabs her face roughly. It’s like a slap he stopped as soon as he felt her skin. It reassures that the cloth won’t fall out of her mouth. The man groans once again. With small kicks against her shoes he forces Yunjin’s feet further apart. He then leans in right next to her ear.

“I know that you know what this is,” he whispers and presses his gun against Yunjin’s pussy, she wails, “and if you don’t tell me where the fuck I can get my money—tell me, or else.”

The flow of Yunjin’s tears is like an endless waterfall. Her hands are pleaing, begging, showing that she has nothing. No possession at hand, no money, maybe the bag is worth something, but the man does not seem interested in that. He wraps one hand around her gentle, fragile throat and slowly pulls out the gun from underneath her dress. She can look right into the barrel. There is a bullet waiting at the back, her name on it. 

This is it. Everything inside her is building up to this moment. Her body reacts the only way it can, the only way it knows how to, the only way she wants to. Instead of the bullet hitting her, the man shoves his knee in between her legs and pushes up. Yunjin screams against the gag, her fingers dig into her attackers back as she starts to pee violently. The clear stream immediately soaks her thin white panties, then runs down her pale, goosebump covered legs and begins to soak her shoes and his pants. The dark spot seems invisible on his dark pants, but he definitely feels and hears Yunjin’s eruption. 

“Bitch, what the—how dare you!” 

The man pulls out his knee and closely watches as the last sprays of Yunjin’s pee cover the dry asphalt below. He doesn’t even notice the gag falling out of Yunjin’s mouth as she makes no attempts to scream for help. She feels like all her dignity is stripped from her and sobs uncontrollably. Snot and salt water with small hints of make-up mess up her beautiful face, but she doesn’t cover it up. She still holds on to the back of this cruel stranger.

“Bitch, you are crazy.”

“Pl-please d-don’t ki-kill me.”

“Shut up,” he snarls and presses his gun against her panties again, “slowly take them off, or else..”

Yunjin’s throat is dry. Her sobs begin to sound like croaks as she leans down and grabs the wet lingerie. In the most embarrassing performance of her lifetime, she drags down her panties, feeling her own clear, barely gold liquid on her skin. She steps out with one leg, then the other, and both times the man kneads her thighs for a short time. Another breeze flies through her hair, but this time she only notices it because of the freezing touch on her wet core.

“Wring it out. With one hand, right onto the street.”

Yunjin closes her eyes as she closes her fist around her panties. They worked like a sponge and now all of her piss shoots out of the gaps in her hand. She is mortified by how the warm liquid feels on her hand. 

“Fuck, you’re insane,” the man says with awe and amusement and grabs Yunjin’s hair. He yanks her across the street, into the bushes where he came from. Behind them is a small patch of grass, where Yunjin is forced to lay down and spread her legs. She whimpers ‘no, no’ repeatedly, but the threat of the gun is right there, in his hand. Now it’s next to her head as he opens his zipper. 

“Pl-please don’t,” she whispers and her fist forms tighter. It draws even more pee from her panties.

“What’s your name?” the man coldly responds, fishing out his hard cock. 

“Yunjin.”

“Do you want to die, Yunjin.”

“No, please, no!”

“Then shut up—and do it again.”

Yunjin has no idea what he meant by this last statement. However, when he shoves his entire, surprisingly large cock inside her hot cunt, she doesn’t even remember it anymore. To pee in front of a stranger was pure horror, but this takes it to another level. If it weren’t for his hand on her mouth, not even the fear of death would have stopped her from screaming at this feeling. Pain, pain that feels great, fantastic, orgasmic even. Yunjin’s head begins to spin and her eyes roll into the back of her head.

“Hng, fuck,” the man groans and leans down to Yunjin’s face, “Yunjin, you’re fucking pretty. Great to have met you.”

A sinister laugh as he begins to bite the skin on her cheek and then on her shoulder. It’s not enough to leave marks, but definitely enough for Yunjin to feel something other than the cock hammering her pussy. It’s enormous size and width stretch her out more than any of her toys did before. Her flailing legs begin to go numb.

Suddenly, the man pushes his lip-sealing fingers into her mouth. He plays with her tongue, while hitting just the right spot inside her over and over. As she yelps, Yunjin comes to a shocking realization. The water on her face is not just tears, but also drools from the heavy pounding. Her mind becomes blank every now and then. It feels insane, better than anything she tried before. Something is building up in her lower regions and this filthy criminal gets her filthy pussy closer to another release. 

“Do it again, Yunjin,” he huffs into her face while retrieving his fingers from her mouth again— “I know you’re a kinky slut. Do it, or else.” —and wraps them around her delicate throat. Simultaneously, he begins to make out with her drooling mouth and press down on her throat. Yunjin screams into his mouth. Her body has given up. It’s completely resigned to him, but her mind is tormented by the inevitable. 

He hits the right spot, and her bladder is still so full. No, she can’t let it happen. She’d rather die and drown in her own spit and snot. It’s so humiliating, so bad, but at the same, her dopamine level has never been this high, it’s good. It will happen, it will happen, he just needs to tip her over, please tip me over.

“Or else. Now.”

The moment he stops fucking her tight cunt, Yunjin starts to piss again. A violent, clear stream erupts from her and she waters the grass and bushes around her like a gardening hose. Her hips buckle up, but she doesn’t feel his manhood anymore. She opens her teary eyes and sees the man's cockhead above her abdomen, unloading his warm, sticky semen all over the dress. 

Gooey white and runny light-yellow still shoot out of their bodies, but the two are entangled in a sloppy kiss with no care for the mess they are making on each other and the grass below. This might be someone’s property and they will surely notice. Not that Yunjin really cares, as her tongue is thoroughly sucked on and her limbs feel numb from the pleasure filled violation.

Suddenly, he reaches for the pee-soaked panties in her firm grasp. He guides her pale legs together and forces the undergarment up to her still twitching pussy. Yunjin gasps at the sensation of stained, wet clothing forced upon her. She loves how he continues to rub his thumb on her now covered clit and stares at her face, stupid from his attack. 

“Kinky slut. Now fuck off. No cleaning until your home. Or else.”

#

Quiet. Not a single sound. You’re able to close the door behind you without it creaking. Your wife will probably be asleep by now, but you want to make sure it stays that way. Carefully remove your shoes and sneak over the smooth tiles into the living room. Absolute silence. She is not here. Search in the kitchen, just a light humming of the refrigerator. There is no sound a human would make, until you reach the stairs. 

Wet squelching and soft moans. They get louder with every step you take upwards. You decide to leave the mask on and move faster, still careful to not stir up attention. The sounds of self-satisfaction come from the playroom. Take a look inside and there she is.

Chaewon sits on the couch, panties around her ankles. Three of her fingers slowly move in and out of her pussy as she rubs her clit in circles. She throws her head back against the rest and the moonlight gives you a perfect view of her pleasure ridden face and closed eyes. The squelching gets louder and in between moans, Chaewon forms a clear sentence.

“Yes, fuck her like that. Don’t stop, don’t stop—”

Three quick steps and you’re right in front of the half-naked Chaewon. She pulls her fingers out in shock but you replace the emptiness of her hole with yours immediately after. Chaewon gasps as you lean closer to her and pump slowly.

“My wife is a kinky bitch.”

“Sh-shut up.”

“No, you shut up. Keep imagining it. 

How I fuck your friend as she cries and screams. The way her body trembles while you look from the bushes. The way my cock pierces her pussy until she starts to pee all over herself.”

“Fuck!” Chaewon screams out and her body begins to shake.

“You like that? Then cum for me, Chaewon. 

Or else.”

[fili-urzudel]

From Afar - Thorin Oakenshield x Reader

Part 3 to Second and Girl in Calico

Summary: Thorin must live with the reality that he has created, and despite everything, is determined to do so with some degree of joy. Based on the song From Afar by Vance Joy.

Warnings: heartache (to be expected from this series), angst, closure!!

Word count: 1.1 k

Your family accepted Thorin's invitation. Later, you also accepted an invitation of Bard's: to settle in Dale. After that, your visits only became more frequent. It took a year or so—though you would say only a few months—for your daughters to warm up to it all, Asa in particular. The girl had her father's black hair and your eyes, and a will that could move mountains. It was no wonder she had charmed Fíli like she had. 

Naturally, your families had to come closer together after that. You or Symir were usually there at least once a week, acting as chaperones. Dwalin was forced to enter Dale once in a while to do the same. Kíli and Lena had a good deal of fun making fun of their older siblings, but the lovebirds bore it all with grace. 

It was you and Thorin chaperoning—from a respectful distance—in the gardens of the Erebor Conservatory when Fíli formally decided to propose marriage. You couldn't help yourself—you covered your mouth with your hand and grabbed his upper arm to avoid expressing your joy too loudly. Thorin laughed and smiled and let you cut off his circulation as he watched the happy blush on his nephew's face. And pretended not to notice the strands of hair beneath your fingers.

The engagement ball was... an event. But we need not consider that at the moment. Before the two kingdoms were to know anything of the happy news, the two families gathered in the private dining room of the Durins to celebrate among themselves.

As the fathers—or at the very least, father-like figures—of the couple, Thorin and Symir once again found themselves in each other's company. Neither minded. They had struck up a friendship, finding that there was no reason for ill-will between them, and had they met under different circumstances, they would almost certainly be friends. There was no harm in being friends under these circumstances as well.

Thorin could hardly deny the similarities between Symir and himself. The dark hair was a start. Both were quiet, dedicated to their families. Loyal and passionate. Hardworking. The race, the height, the build, the eyes, the social standings were all different. Of course, those didn't really matter. The most important difference was that Symir stayed.

Thorin tamped down that persistent ache in his chest once more. There was no use in dwelling upon something he could not change. It would only serve to keep him up at night. Not that he slept much anyway.

"I'm going to go see if they need any help in the kitchen," you said, picking yourself up to your tiptoes to peck Symir on the lips. He graciously stooped to make it a bit easier. 

"I'll miss you," he said jestingly, warmth in his tone and a smile on his face. "Don't be gone too long."

"I'll be back before you know it," you promised.

Thorin never knew quite where to look.

Symir took another drink, allowing his smile to comfortably fade and letting himself listen to the music before speaking. "You're still in love with her, aren't you?"

Thorin took a long, steady breath, not sure how Symir wanted him to answer. He is your friend. Despite everything, he is truly your friend. "I still love her," he finally corrected. There was a difference. Both he and Symir knew there was a difference. "From afar. I would... I would never dream of disrupting the happiness she's found with you."

"From afar, hm?"

Thorin took a breath. "It can be farther, if you need it to be."

Symir's mouth twisted for a moment. He took another drink. "Not necessary," he finally delivered. "I don't see the danger in it. As long as you're comfortable as well."

Thorin let his hands hang at his sides. He wasn't. He never really was. He was gripped with guilt every time he looked at you, but he knew that if you weren't around, it would only be worse.

"I am glad that you will be family soon," he said instead. "I am glad that my nephews will have people like the two of you in their lives."

You were happy. Fíli was happy. Asa was happy. That was what mattered.

Symir looked down at him, clapping a hand on his shoulder. "You are a good man, Thorin Oakenshield. I am glad that we have met."

The king got a feeling inside that Symir knew what he was thinking, and yet allowed him the dignity of ignoring it. Allowed him to learn to cope with it on his own. Trusted him to do so.

Fíli caught him leaving, running to catch up to him before he reached their wing. "Uncle!"

Thorin turned. 

"May I speak to you?"

They sat on a settee in the hall.

"I can't help but notice your hesitance," Fíli said honestly. "You seem happy, but... there's just... something, I'm not sure what. Do you have concerns? Do you disapprove of our union? I value your insight, uncle. Please, tell me."

"No!" Thorin answered quickly. "No, I do not disapprove of your union. It brings me the greatest joy, to see you so happy, and I know that Asa's family are the good sort of people."

Fíli watched him carefully. "Then what is this," the word dawned upon Fíli visibly. "sadness I see about you?"

"It is what every dwarf wishes for," Thorin said softly. "To overcome the trials of his time so that those who follow are not plagued by them. So they are happy... when it was more difficult for him to do."

Fíli sat back, digesting his words. "You regret not marrying?" He asked. The words had not dared to leave his mouth in years past.

Thorin looked at him, but said nothing.

"Uncle, it is not yet too late, you know," Fíli tried to be helpful. "You are king of Erebor, the most powerful and most beloved ruler of—"

"For the one who my heart belongs to, it is," Thorin admitted. "It is too late."

Fíli whispered your name as a surety. The silence from his uncle was all the answer he needed. "Why did you not say anything?"

"I feared it would influence your decisions, and that would be the last thing I wished," Thorin said earnestly. "I still hope it does not."

"This causes you pain, uncle."

"No," Thorin insisted. "Nothing that I cannot bear."

Fíli sighed. Thorin could see the battle in his young nephew's mind and hoped that he lost. "Very well."

"Be happy, gamzûn," Thorin advised, pressing his forehead to his nephew's.

They stood in front of multitudes at the engagement ball. And they laughed, and they smiled, and for all the world, they were as happy as any new family could be.

Thorin supposed it was better to have you in his life in this way than not at all.

[quixoticall]

The View Between Villages

Summary: Steve Harrington offers to be your ghostly tour guide after your mysterious, unexpected death.

AN: Hiiiii, if you’ve been wondering where I’ve been then, first of all thank you for thinking of me, and secondly, I have been sick with bronchitis for weeks. Tbh I never understood in Regency novels where they would make such a huge deal about someone being sick until now. That shit took me out. Anyway, in my convalescence I watch the show, School Spirits and I couldn’t help but see the similarities between Wally and Steve—both men of the 80s, hot labrador retriever jocks with a compulsive need for parental approval? So, that’s how this lil piece was born. I would love to continue writing in this universe so please, if you have any requests, send them in! In the meantime, I am hard at work on This Could Get Ugly and a lovely lil Eddie number inspired by another Noah Kahan song.

Warnings: School Spirit!AU, Major Character Death, talks about own death, brief mention of violence and death, angst, this is sad! Ghost!Steve and Ghost?Reader

Pairing: Steve Harrington x f!reader

WC: 2K

It’s Steve Harrington who first declares you dead. Admittedly it takes you an embarrassingly long time to realize, it wasn’t like they sent out notices for these types of things either, as convenient as a note would’ve been:

To Whom it May Concern:

We regret to inform you that on February 12 of this year, you will unfortunately perish under unclear circumstances in the city of Chicago, Illinois at Northwestern University. Please make sure to get your affairs in order before the set date.

No, none of that, instead you had attended three whole lectures before noticing that no one was acknowledging you—not your professors when you raised your hand; not your classmates when you asked if they could loan you a pencil; not even your best friend when you ran into him in the hall. You thought it could’ve been a weird prank. Then the news began to spread, you were missing. Reported by your roommate after not having come home from a late-night study session at the library. And then they found traces of blood in the boiler room of the library’s basement.

Still, you thought to yourself, maybe you were having a really long terrible dream. Or maybe you were in a coma. Or doing one of those VR headset things. Or maybe you were dead and cursed to spend the rest of eternity haunting the very campus where you died.

Your friends were never the gym type, which is why you end up at the school’s pool in an effort to avoid the pain and desperation you feel every time you see their tired but still-hopeful faces.

That’s where you see him. Or, more importantly, where he sees you. You first spot him sitting at the edge of the pool, observing the ongoing swim team practice and are immediately struck.

Sure, you may be stuck in some weird reality where you may or may not be dead but you can still appreciate a hot person. Especially one as handsome as Pool Guy who’s striped swim trunks sit low on his hips and he has a smattering of dark hair trailing from his belly button almost up to the base of his neck. Thick, chestnut-colored hair swoops in his handsome face in golden-touched waves and gracefully frame a pair of honey-hued eyes. Of course you were going to stare.

You’re sure you stare for an indecent amount of time, but it wasn’t like that mattered, you remind yourself, you’re invisible to him like you are to everyone else.

Except you’re not invisible to him because Pool Guy was making eye contact and worse, he was waving, solidifying the fact that he is very aware of your presence. He can see you.

“Hi, you must be new here. I’m Steve Harrington, class of ‘86,” he introduces himself, with way too much verve once he swims over to where you’re still frozen in place.

“You can see me?” You ask, once you find your voice, “How can you see me?”

You reach out to grasp his offered hand and to your shock, your fingers don’t go straight through his, like it would with anyone else’s. Instead you’re enveloped in the warm solid grasp of his hand.

He cracks a smile at this, “because I’m dead too. Which, I totally get you’re probably wondering how someone this good-looking could’ve died so young but i will—“

“Dead?” you squeak out.

“Sorry,” he says with an awkward grimace, “I know not everyone likes that term, um, how do you identify—?“

You cut him off once again, “I didn’t know I was dead.”

It’s his turn to be confused.

“Really? Most people are really quick about putting it together. When they see their body the memories all come back. I mean even I put it together and I was never the smartest even before the accident—oh, shit. You’re the missing girl. The one from all the flyers.”

Clearly he’s referencing the myriad HAVE YOU SEEN ME? flyers with your face on them that paint the campus. Up until now, you had been categorically missing not dead, and now that someone has spoken your fate out loud, you’re certain it is all but sealed.

“Listen, I am so sorry. Let me go get someone who’s way better at this than I—“ you cut off his apologetic rambling,

“I need to leave right now.”

Before he can say anything else you’re running in the opposite direction as quickly as you can.

You don’t go back to the pool after that.

Being dead wasn’t so bad. Sure, you had spent a solid five weeks distraught over the loss of the life you had once lived and mourning everything you will never get to do. And yeah, it was a uniquely painful type of loneliness getting to see all your friends and never getting to interact with them, especially during those first few weeks when your disappearance was hot on everyone’s lips and heavy in the hearts of your friends. But outside of all that, being dead was okay. At least, you didn’t have to submit any more papers or do laundry.

After your encounter with Steve Harrington, class of ‘86, you decide to hole up in the library. You desperately convince yourself that if you search the shelves enough you’ll be able to find something in one of the many books that talk about the afterlife that might provide you some clarity about your newfound ghostly status. Surely there’d have to be something helpful. Anything. A ghost manual, perhaps or some graduate research paper about being stuck in between realms. You’d easily settle for a Chicken Soup for the Ghostly Soul.

Or you think traitorously to yourself, a tour guide to the afterlife, someone who has experience with being dead and a great set of abs. Every time you’re close to convincing yourself to go back to the pool, the embarrassment of your mortifying first encounter pulls you back. No way you were going to see him again. Just because you were dead didn’t mean you’d lost all your dignity.

Your internal back-and-forth ends up not mattering because he ends up coming to you.

You spot his well-coifed head maneuvering through the tall shelves from where you’ve holed yourself up on the fourth floor mezzanine and watch as he weaves through the unassuming crowd, completely unnoticed, just like you.

He’s wearing clothes this time, which both disappointing and surprising since you haven’t quite figured out the mechanics or social expectations of how often ghosts should be changing clothes. In a pair of snug-fitted jeans with a Northwestern Athletics sweatshirt and a pair of high top Nikes, he takes the winding steps up to your unofficial perch two at a time . If this is what he looks like some 40 years dead, you can’t imagine what he looked like when he had a pulse, it must have been like staring into the sun.

“Hi,” he offers tentatively when he approaches, like he’s sure you’ll run off spooked.

“Hi.”

“Sorry to bother you, it’s just, well, my friend Robin told me she saw you here and I wanted to come by and apologize for what happened. At the pool. I truly had no idea, sometimes I just say things without thinking, which I am working on, trust me.”

You smile, appreciative but defeated, part of you was hoping he was coming up here to tell you that there had been some sort of mistake.

“It’s okay, it’s not your fault, it was just a bit of shock, is all. I guess I’m still adjusting to this whole being dead thing,” you joke weakly.

“Yeah, about that, if you ever need help adjusting or learning the ropes or anything like that, I—we are always happy to help. There’s a few of us that band together and we’d love to have you. Truly,” he claws nervously at the back of his head as he makes his offer the tip of his sneaker digging into the worn library carpet.

“Thanks,” you say, genuinely, “I really appreciate that.”

He looks at you now, finally, and his gaze is golden, warm honey and it’s like a shot to the chest. Like you’ve promised him the moon. A hand is extended towards just slightly, a twitch, and you realize he’s expecting you to take it.

“I can’t right now, though,” you say, lamely and you watch his smile waver. Quickly you add, ”I need some time, I think, before it becomes permanent. If I go with you, I’m dead. Alone up here, I’m still just missing. Does that…make sense?”

He nods, furiously, “It makes total sense. You can come find me by the pool whenever you’re ready. I will be there.”

He makes a move to leave and you register the paper in his hand for the first time. It’s a flyer with your face on it, different than all the ones before.

“Wait, what is that?” You ask, fingers skimming the plush of his sweatshirt to get his attention.

“Oh, um,” he swallows thickly, “they’re having a vigil for you tonight, I wasn’t sure if you’d seen or if you were going, but if you were going, I was going to see if you wanted some company. “

His voice is small now and the regret is etched thickly on his face.

Fingers shaking, you extend a hand out for the flyer. Steve sighs but gently places it in your trembling grasp nonetheless.

It’s true, what he said about the vigil, you had no clue. You’re not sure how long you spend staring at your own face, long enough for the words to stop making sense, but not long enough for them to stop meaning anything.

Steve stays the entire time and when you sink to the floor, tear tracks heavy on your cheeks, he sinks with you. You cry, and he stays.

“I can’t go,” you admit, and then, in the same breath, plea, “How can I go?”

Next to you, Steve lets out a shuttering sigh.

“When I died, they did something similar, my parents came down from Indy and everything. I couldn’t bring myself to go either. But shit, maybe if I did, I would’ve gotten what I needed to move on from here. Closure or whatever. Or maybe not, who knows? But I will never know and I would hate for you to never know.”

It’s still too hard to go you decide, but you can’t pretend it’s not happening. Instead, the two of you sit on the roof of the library, feet dangling over the ledge watch a river of candlelight flowing through the center of campus. You can hear, faintly, as your friends make speeches talking about how kind you were, how good, how funny and undeserving until their voices fail from holding back tears.

You cry the whole time, but you don’t regret it.

The two of you stay sitting there far past the end, Steve’s arms wrapped around you, holding the pieces of you together.

After, when you’ve had enough of it all and the last candle has gone out, you turn to Steve and say, “thank you, that did make me feel better. You were right.”

He chuckles wryly.

“I don’t hear that I’m right very often,” he admits before cracking another smile, “but I could get used to hearing it, especially from you. Now, what do you say about getting some ice cream? No offense, but that thing was a total downer.”

You laugh, genuinely, not only at his joke, but the absurdity of it all before playfully shoving his shoulder. In response, Steve pretends to lose his balance and almost fall of the ledge and you both know it’s silly but it makes you smile so it’s worth it.

Dying is probably the worst thing that has ever happened to you, but at least you are not alone.

[tornrose24]

I was recalling a certain moment from ‘I want to dance with some-Ollie’ and I realized just how the episode unintentionally parallels Scratch’s backstory.

First off, this image of Scratch being sad after the argument between him and Molly always struck me since I saw the episode for the first time. The way he slumped over, was in tears, and also, just how alarmingly human-like his face felt to me. And just to painfully remind you guys–this is one of the times where he cries and it’s not played for laughs:

And looking back, that moment holds more importance because it reminds me of a certain part in ‘Maybe Next Time/Scratch’s Lament’–Scratch did an almost similar type of body language at one point in the song that always stuck with me because of how sad it is:

The way he slumped over in regret/defeat....

So what I think what happened is that when Scratch was saddened by the fact that he was fighting with and unwittingly pushing Molly away from him in the dance episode, he might have been unknowingly reliving the worst day of his life. He already lost one friend because of his actions and was close to losing another. Both of them left him in silence and refused to respond back. He wouldn’t have known it, but Molly leaving him during the argument likely hit him harder than he was prepared for.

While he had more of an urgent/understandable reason to get on Molly’s bad side (the fact that she was showing interest in someone who was an actual danger to Scratch, and he was interfering with the relationship) compared to Adia (constantly refusing to join her), he was dangerously close to repeating the past. Especially considering that he was almost subjected to a fate worse than death (being captured and was likely hours away from being imprisoned in one of those canisters for who knows how long) which paralleled him losing his soul. Which, you could argue, is also a bad fate, except this time around he could have lost his freedom instead of his memories and human body.

However, there was a difference this time around. This time Scratch had someone who was concerned about his well-being, was close by, and who could come to him in the nick of time.

While I get why Adia would have cut Scratch off (and I say this as someone who has had people who would constantly have excuses/reasons not to hang out), I feel like she should have at least come to him personally at some point instead of just always traveling wherever she went. If she had been there in person, would it have made a difference? Who knows, but she wasn't back then.

But Molly was there to save him this time.

I think the past that Scratch forgot about may have played a part in him apologizing to Molly, because he truly did not want to lose her–or, unbeknownst to him, he didn’t want to lose another friend. It also reflects his growth across the show and within the story's timeline.

[inexplicablymine]

WIP WEDNESDAY

Here is a little more of Little Drummerboy, the rockstar drummer au!

(chapter two posted today this is a snippet from chapter 3)

A song lyrics snippet preview for the next chapter! And yes you should be reading between ALL of those lines ;) The song is entitled “Every other Weekend” you might possibly imagine this to a somewhat similar tune to Conan Gray’s Heather if you so please:

you tried it for years/love wasn't enough/the front yard grew weeds/roof started to rust/you said it’d get better/trashed every one of my letters/broke bicycle training/rust under the mainframe/the car you brought by/when you’d teach me to drive/every other weekend

why would you ever miss me/stuck half alive in your memories/you gave me your word/you left me unheard/I stay undeterred/till the worlds end/every other weekend

stuck behind, loveblind/aged out of a system of bliss filled remission/ wandering halls long empty phone calls/ you walk by, what a sight for sore eyes/ bleak words of admission/ every other weekend

why would you ever miss me/stuck half alive in your memories/you gave me your word/you left me unheard/I stay undeterred/till the worlds end/every other weekend

so I fucked it up/so I ran it off/so I blew a fuse/till the world stepped up/but then you took me down/ran the weekend gambit/took my love for granted/should’ve guessed you planned it/we struck a match/ burned the whole place down/ took the weekend off/ gave you the runaround/ but still you stand/ by that bygone date/ for your sacred meeting/ some sick twist of fate/ so I hold it up/ for all to see/ every other weekend/ but you’ll never get all of me (you’ll never get all of me)

stuck half alive in your memories/you gave me your word/you left me unheard/I stay undeterred/till the worlds end/every other weekend

Can’t wait to continue posting more of this over the course of February!!!

Read Here: Part 1 | Part 2

Thank you for the tags: @whimsymanaged @futureseaempress @hgejfmw-hgejhsf @onthewaytosomewhere @kiwiana-writes @suseagull04 @cha-melodius @three-drink-amy @orchidscript @heybuddy-drabbles @wordsofhoneydew @sherryvalli @firenati0n

And some more Wednesday tags!!: @anchoredarchangel @anincompletelist @affectionatelyrs @adreamareads @babiemonk @cricketnationrise @cultofsappho @celaestis1 @celeritas2997 @daisymae-12 @dumbpeachjuice @dragonflylady77 @everwitch-magiks @14carrotghoul @gayrootvegetable @gay-flyboys @lizzie-bennetdarcy @iboatedhere @hillerskas @leaves-of-laurelin @leojfitz @ninzied @nontoxic-writes @nocoastposts @ships-to-sail @indomitable-love @rmd-writes @welcometololaland @happiness-of-the-pursuit @read-and-write- @littlemisskittentoes @saintlynomenclature @raysletters @notspecialbabe @onward--upward @magicandarchery @msmarvelouswinchester

[miasmaghoul]

Don't think about Rain's strong fingers plucking at Dew's hard nips. They're so puffy and red and sore and Dew's whining so loud and needy. DON'T DO IT, MIASMA. DON'T THINK ABOUT IT.

oh no cait

i thought about it

(heavily ft Dew's hand kink because of course it does)

For Dew, watching Rain during practice might as well be foreplay.

He's theatrical as a rule, but Dew swears Rain puts on even more of a show when he feels him staring. Always caressing the neck and body of his bass with deliberate touches, long fingers dancing over the fretboard. Taking a minute between songs to stick his pick between his lips and pluck the strings instead. Every move is intentional, fluid and graceful as Swiss's hips.

Rain's hands, so skilled and precise, work those strings with a sort of ease you can't help but be impressed by. Even in his own time as a water ghoul, Dew had never quite felt at home on the bass. His guitar suits him much better, he thinks, so watching Rain treat his instrument as an extension of himself is nothing short of entrancing.

But mostly it's a thinly-veiled excuse for Dew to stare at his fingers. Dew used to be subtle about it - stealing glances between bridges and solos, letting his eyes wander during a water break, maybe sneaking a peek around Mountain's kit if he stood in one particular spot. That had lasted all of four practice sessions - Rain caught him every time, giving intentional flexes of his fingers to watch Dew gulp - and now he simply leers to his heart's content.

He swears he can feel Rain's phantom touch when he does this. Can feel rough but delicate fingers drifting over every inch of his skin - grazing his pulse point, ghosting over his chest and stomach, kneading his thighs. Wrapping around his cock and curling deep inside him. It's work to keep a straight face as his mind wanders, but he tries. Sort of.

Dew licks his lips as Rain picks out a handful of notes, adjusting his own guitar. He's been watching for a solid few minutes now, leaning against the wall opposite Mountain's kit while he and Rain chat. Practice is winding down and he has no reason not to. Sure he could put his guitar away and help straighten up, but where's the fun in that? Besides, today is a rare occasion.

Today, Rain can't seem to stop staring at him either.

Dew had picked up on it hours ago, when they'd met up in the dorm hall on the way to practice. Rain's steps had stuttered for a no more than a second when Dew had greeted him, but it was just enough to notice. His eyes had lingered a little too long on Dew's chest before he'd resumed his casual saunter, but Dew hadn't had the chance to ask about it before they were joined by a very loud Swiss.

The other two struck up a conversation while Dew looked down at himself - did he have cum on his shirt again? No, not that he could see. He'd shrugged and carried on, but the weight of Rain's gaze had been palpable the whole afternoon. Any time they were facing one another, Rain's focus was on him. Dew couldn't deny the tingle in his dick at the attention.

He strums out a few chords as the others pack up, calling out see-you-later's to Aether and Swiss when they head out together. Rain bids a similar goodbye to Mountain and Cirrus, sitting cross-legged in his chair. Their eyes don't travel though, Dew's caught on Rain's fingers and Rain's on Dew's shirt. It's only when the door clicks shut that Dew pushes off the wall, shrugging off his guitar and moving to put it away. Rain tracks his every motion, and by the time Dew is done the other ghoul is craning his neck to keep a hungry eye on him. Dew snorts.

"You should take a picture," he snaps the case shut, setting it in it's place on the storage rack, "it'll last longer." Rain hums in assent.

"I would if you'd let me," he replies, smiling around the words in a way that makes Dew's stomach warm. He's still staring when Dew makes his way back across the room, the little ghoul raising an eyebrow.

"Is there any particular reason you're drooling over my shirt? I promise it's too small for you." Hell it's practically too small for him, one of Mist's shirts he'd absconded with years ago. It clings to him like a second skin, the hem resting just above his belt.

"It's white," Rain says simply, tilting his head. Dew blinks, glancing down. Yes, it certainly is white. "You never wear white."

"I guess not," he shrugs. "Is that-"

"It's so tight," Rain murmurs, halting Dew's line of questioning. "I can see them." Dew's brow furrows as he looks back down.

"See wh-"

He's interrupted by Rain reaching out and pressing two of those long fingers to the center of his chest. Directly between his incredibly noticeable nipples.

Dew doesn't know how he hadn't seen it before, but the shirt is so thin that the outlines of his piercings are very obvious. As is the way the little pink nubs themselves are hard and peaked, poking through the old, soft fabric. He's tempted to cross his arms, to cover up, but then Rain drags the pad of one finger over his chest, circles a nipple, and the urge rapidly fades.

"That's why you've been staring?" Dew watches Rain's bony digit slide over the shirt, dimpling the fabric. His own hands twitch at his sides when Rain hums again.

"Maybe." He sounds so amused. His other hand leaves the neck of his bass and comes to rest on Dew's hip. The little ghoul looks up from his chest to finds Rain smirking, eyes sparkling. "What's your excuse?"

"Fuck off, you want us all to stare," Dew grumbles, leaning into Rain's lazy touch. The other ghoul barely grazes one of his rings and Dew can't hide the little shiver it brings. There's no point anyway, they both know how sensitive he is here.

"And you don't?" He rubs his thumb over a nipple and Dew feels himself flush, feels the way he's already starting to chub up behind his zipper. He groans low in his throat when Rain tugs the ring.

"I- I didn't realize," Dew mutters, watching Rain's handsome face. It's true - he's gotten so used to the look of the jewelry over the years that he barely notices it when he doesn't have a shirt on. Unless, of course, someone is paying his chest the attention it deserves.

"That's a shame," Rain says, nonchalant as can be. "Such a pretty sight shouldn't go to waste." He gives a sharp pinch and Dew lets out a surprised chirp. He swallows when Rain drags his knuckles featherlight along his jaw.

"Gonna fix that?" Dew sighs when Rain lays a callused palm over his heated cheek.

He expects more teasing. A playful smirk, a quick, flinch-inducing flick, maybe some choice words about him being an attention whore. Rain always seems to have them at the ready. Instead, the other ghoul flashes him a grin filled with too many teeth.

"Until you're begging me to stop, pretty boy."

Dew's legs carry him from the room before he can think of a comeback.

Dew snarls and Rain snickers, patting his cheek. He takes his hands back and stands, setting his instrument in its stand and not even bothering to look back over his shoulder.

"My room. You know how I want you."

One day, he'll figure out how Rain does that. How he uses that stupid assertive tone so effectively, the one that kills any desire in Dew's brain to do anything but listen. He's tried to work it out on his own, to school his own voice into something low and threatening, enticing, but he can never quite get there. It ends up on just the wrong side of bratty. Whiny, even. He knows he'll manage it one day, and when he does, Rain will be the first one he forces to obey.

Dew squeezes his half-hard cock through his jeans as he steps into Rain's room. It throbs at the pressure, Dew letting out a pathetic little groan as he kicks off his boots and flops face first on the bed. The sheets smell like Rain - like sea salt and soft citrus - and the groan Dew looses into them is decidedly more wanton. He ruts against the mattress, burying his nose in a pillow. He could cum like this - he's done it before, at Rain's behest - but that's not the game today. Today, he forces himself to crawl up the mattress and settle against the headboard. To stare at the dresser against the wall before him.

The one with the massive, silver-framed mirror resting on it.

Dew swallows hard as he shifts, getting himself centered. He can see the twin points of his still-stiff nipples poking through the thin fabric of the shirt. How had he not noticed? Seems impossible not to. Now that he thinks back on it, Aether had been much redder than usual during their mid-practice shit-slinging...Dew settles into the nest of pillows with a huff and waits, eyes stuck on the pressure behind his zipper and wishing a certain set of elegant fingers was helping to relieve it.

It's maybe ten minutes before Rain comes gliding into the room, a dark look in his eye. He's all smiles, overly pleased at the sight of Dewdrop exactly where he told him to be, and the little ghoul shudders under the weight of it. Rain's eyes remain glued to his chest even as he crawls up the mattress, Dew caught on the way the muscles in his forearms shift. He's panting softly by the time they're nose-to-nose, a wordless exchange of breath the only communication they need. Dew is certain Rain can smell how worked up he is. The way the other ghoul's sweatpants are tented says he is too.

Rain slots himself behind Dew, wedging that lanky form between his sight body and the headboard. He hooks his ankles around Dew's knees and drags those legs open nice and wide, one arm around the little ghoul's waist holding him close. Dew bites back a whimper at the feel of Rain's rigid cock pressed against his lower back. He wriggles a little, unable to resist teasing, and it pulls a wonderfully satisfying noise from Rain's throat. The other ghoul hooks his chin over Dew's shoulder, staring him down in that oversized mirror.

"Look at you," he breathes, nosing at the sensitive spot behind Dew's ear. Dew tips his head with a sigh, giving Rain all the access he could want to fuck up the pale column of his throat. But Rain doesn't so much as lick at his delicate skin, choosing instead to run one hand over Dew's clothed stomach with a soft sigh. "You look so good like this."

Dew takes in his reflection with heavy lidded eyes. The simple presence of Rain, the weight of him against his back, is a sensation he doesn't have words for. He's not all that much bigger than Dew - long and lean, but not broad - and yet the little ghoul still feels dwarfed by him. Rain's eyes shine with something mischievous and bright, something that makes Dew's stomach twist and his cock pulse. He licks his lips, voice thick when he speaks.

"Like this?" He shivers when Rain huffs a breathy laugh over his throat.

"At my mercy."

Dew can't hold back the groan in his throat when Rain's fingers glide up to his chest, circling his nipples through soft cotton. It always goes the same way when Rain gets in one of these moods - slow touches, but not ones meant to tease. Firm, massaging presses of his fingertips into what little meat Dew has there. Thumbs catching his rings, tugging and shifting the metal threaded through those little pink buds. Dew doesn't bother being quiet - Rain would only chastise him for it anyway - instead letting a sweet stream of breathy encouragement escape his lips. His eyes never leave the mirror, bouncing between Rain's skilled hands, darkened eyes and his own crotch.

The other ghoul's touch is practiced, intentional. Minute after agonizing minute filled with the intoxicating drag of fingertips over eager flesh, the sensation barely hampered by the thin shirt. He toys with them, twists and pinches until Dew can't help but push into Rain's groping hands.

He doesn't beg for more, though. Doesn't demand. There's no point, they've done this enough times that Dew knows better. He can whine and plead all he likes, but it won't matter. Rain will take as much time as he wants. Will drag this out until Dew is a writhing mess, sweaty and desperate and so far beyond words that all he can do is shake.

"So responsive today," Rain purrs into his hair, nipping at the pointed shell of his ear. Dew huffs out a soft uh-huh, tipping his head. Exposing more of his throat to the predator at his back. Willful submission, a display that has Rain throbbing against his spine. The other ghoul gives an appreciative sigh, breath cool over his heated skin.

Rain mouths at his jaw, his throat, nimble fingers drifting down his sides. Dew gasps when callused digits slip beneath the hem of his shirt, dragging over soft skin. Rain lays his palm against the flat plane of Dew's stomach, huffing out a soft laugh at the way the little ghoul's muscles jump. He slides that hand up, lifting the shirt with it, and Dew moans low in his throat as inch after inch of pale skin is reveled to his own eyes. Rain meets his blown-out gaze in the mirror, his other hand coming up to gently grip his jaw. Dew's mouth drops open on instinct, Rain's thumb grazing over his plush lower lip.

"You're taking it so well, pretty boy."

Rain yanks his shirt up fully, gets him properly exposed, but before Dew can so much as whimper his mouth is made busy. Rain gathers the fabric in one hand and shoves it between Dew's teeth, the little ghoul powerless to do anything but bite down. The sight of his reflection - pink cheeks, pinker nipples, glazed eyes and straining zipper - sends heat flooding through him. He's so hard, rocking his hips with a pained whine.

"Please," he tries, the word coming out muffled and stupid around his makeshift gag. Rain chuckles, watching the way Dew ruts up into nothing. He licks at his ear just to make the little ghoul shiver, and when those fingers find his nipples again Dew writhes, throbbing in the confines of his jeans.

"Does that hurt?" Rain peers over his shoulder with a downward nod, voice light. Dew gives a frantic nod, pleading eyes locked with Rain's. He hums. "Looks like it." Rough fingertips flick over those taut nubs and Dew makes a vague gurgling sound, melting back into Rain's chest and struggling to keep his head upright. "Take it out, let me see how hard it is for me."

Dew's hands shake, knuckles stiff from how tightly he's been gripping the sheets below. He fumbles with his zipper, sucking air through his teeth when he fishes his aching length from his boxers. It pokes so perfectly out of his fly, stiff and arched up towards his belly, foreskin rolled back just enough to expose the slick, pink tip. The little ghoul moves to wrap a quivering hand around it and Rain tuts at him.

"Hands off, sweet thing," Rain murmurs, low. "I'm the only one who gets to touch. You know that."

Dew makes the saddest little sound, but he can't hide the way his cock kicks. The way a pretty pearl of pre beads up at the slit. He drops his hands to the bed in defeat, resigning himself to Rain's ministrations.

"Good boy," Rain lilts, giving the little ghoul a full-body squeeze. "Let's see how much you can handle."

Rain attacks his chest and neck with renewed vigor, plucking at those tight nubs as though they were his strings and sucking dark marks into the pale column of his throat. Dew whimpers even as he sags further into the other ghoul, watching nothing but the way those strong fingers toy with his nipples. It never takes long for Rain to get them all dusky, tender flesh swollen and overworked. His neglected cock twitches constantly, every pinch Rain provides drawing more and more pathetic noises from Dew's lungs. His whole body burns with it, and Dew feels himself starting to drool around his shirt.

"You're making a mess," Rain croons, grinding into the little ghoul's back. Dew whines through his nose, squirming as best he can. Desperate for friction. He tries to squeeze his thighs together, but Rain's legs don't allow it. Dew chews on his shirt, sniffling and fixing Rain with empty, pleading eyes.

"Rain-" he tries.

"Look how wet it is," Rain coos into Dew's ear as he ignores him entirely. His fingers are so rough, or maybe Dew is simply too sensitive now, but every flick over those reddened buds has the little ghoul wincing. Rain tugs at his rings and Dew cries out around the shirt, tight and pained. He's shivering constantly now, dizzy with sensation.

"Rainy, please," he slurs through wet fabric, swallowing around the lump in his throat. "Hurts."

"Think you could cum like this?" Rain grinds against him again, watching Dew's suffering with genuine amusement. "Sure looks like you could."

Dew hisses and shakes his head vehemently, even as another glob of pre drips from his swollen tip. He can't. Rain knows he can't, they've tried before. Rain knows he cant. Dew drags his eyes away from his flushed, twitching cock just long enough to meet the reflection of Rain's predatory gaze. The smile he wears is knife sharp at the edges.

"Well I think you'd better try."

[marley-manson]

Well I succumbed and watched the Pilot and first ep of Due South last night.

Really struck me how central the theme of Fraser's estrangement from his father is in the Pilot. Fraser mentioning that the last time they spoke was Christmas, essentially saying that the only times they speak are presumably brief calls at holidays. Gerard responding with a platitude - "I guess the more you know someone, the less needs to be said" - but it becomes quite clear that Fraser feels he doesn't know Bob at all, and has to learn about him through his journals.

And yet they're cut from the same cloth: "I always thought your father was the last of a kind. I was wrong - you are." And this is tied to the mountie stereotype lol.

Bob and Fraser both repeat the lines, "You're going to shoot a mountie? They'll hunt you to the ends of the earth," and they're both wrong. No one wants to pursue Bob Fraser's death except Fraser, and no one's happy with Fraser for solving the case because it uncovered corruption. He gets exiled for it. Bob and Fraser are the only mounties who "always get their man," lol, and it's because of Bob's neglect in the course of duty that Fraser follows in his footsteps and becomes so similar to Bob. He idealizes his father and wanted to grow up to be just like him - we can see that admiration in the drawing of him he finds in Bob's things that he made when he was a child eg, or in the song Superman that plays while Fraser reads his journal in the diner. But he doesn't know him. And he pursues duty above all else because he has nothing else of his father.

And then you have Ray, who seems to exist as the opposite of Bob. If there's one thing Ray is, it's there. He is there for Fraser to hunt down suspects, to invite him to a loud family dinner, to save him from an explosion, he tracks him down to apologize for being dismissive, to invite him to dinner, and he flies to the Yukon when he can't reach him by phone. In the diner scene in particular he's directly positioned as a contrast to Bob's absence both in life and death. Fraser is alone trying to understand his father through his journals (looking for something "he missed" ie his dad), and Ray joins him, ending the thematically significant song montage, and eases his solitude. Fraser says he doesn't have family, and Ray shares his own with him.

And after the pilot case, there's nothing drawing them together except friendship. They're not a mismatched pair of cops assigned together who have to learn to get along, they work together unofficially because they can't help but spend every waking moment together.

Bob represents absence and Ray represents presence, distant admiration vs actually knowing someone.

And I'll probably have more to say on that as like, poles Fraser is caught between, if/as I rewatch more of the show. Ray's position is a little muddy especially because pre VS he buys into Fraser's image to an extent, as pointedly examined in Heaven and Earth. But again, more on that another time.

[that-ari-blogger]

Conflict!

It is often said that "conflict drives a story" and while that is mostly true, it isn't helpful writing advice. It's just an observation. A story is about a character wanting to do something, and their struggles to do that are the conflict, that's where the conflict stops. You don't need antagonists or villains or fights or even arguments in a story, you just need stuff, and conflict will arise.

Essentially, conflict brings about character by putting individuals in unusual situations and showing off facets of them that aren't usually on display.

But what happens when two characters are in conflict with each other? Then (if the writing is decent) you get an emotionally dense few moments, and in a musical, you get a song like Old Wounds.

Let me explain.

SPOILERS AHEAD

This isn't a long song, and there aren't that many branching paths (you get two choices in the entire song). But there is a lot going on here, emotionally speaking.

I noted in another post that Persephone is heavily associated purple. And that remains here, although it has softened slightly as you have got to know her to a more maroon-ish palate.

Appollo is also associated with a colour, that being blue. As in, he's the sun and the blue that surrounds him is the sky. Hence why this shot is so cool:

It's Grace literally having to choose between her two allies. Also notice what is happening. The blue light is shining over a plant, helping it to grow, while the pink shows an image of Calliope. It could be a photograph, it could be a painting, I'm not sure. The blue represents the future, while the purple the past.

Also, Persephone has an image of somebody she knows looking regal in her office. Why does she have this? What is the history between these two? (Historians will say they were good friends)

Anyway, what are these two characters arguing about? I mentioned conflict, and there is definitely some here, but what is it? The two of them just start bickering out of nowhere. And that's exactly it. Apollo picks fault with Persephone's wording, then they call each other blind, then the real wounds come out.

What's interesting here, is that Persephone has been established to have an old wound, Hades, and this song explores it. But Persephone doesn't engage this, Apollo does. Apollo is the one who starts the fight. Why?

Guilt. In my reading of this song, Apollo is playing incredibly defensive here. He has accepted his guilt and his need to change earlier in the story, at least verbally. But when push comes to shove and the consequences of his actions come into play, he immediately lashes out verbally.

And it's what he takes issue with that piques my interest. Persephone has rationalised that people deserve what they get, actions have consequences. Apollo doesn't agree with that.

Then there is this shot. As the two of them bicker and talk over each other, the camera swirls and the colours that represent them become intermingled, a neat little metaphor for the difficulty of this situation. And above Grace's head, forgotten by both of them in this moment, the reason they are both here, and the consequences for both of their actions.

"You abandoned me to a terrible fate." "You replay your injuries till it's too late." "This is not about you"

Here, the theses of both characters. One is stuck in the past; one is avoiding it. One is trying to grow away from the past without truly reconciling with it, the other has rationalised in a way that is self-destructive. Neither can move forwards without the other, there is a balance that needs to be struck.

What strikes me, however, is how similar these two characters are. They use the same insults for each other, they believe extremely similar things. When we met Apollo, Phantom Pains was almost exactly Persephone's current viewpoint. That's why they are so irreconcilable. These are two characters with some deep self-loathing issues who see themselves in their opponent. Specifically, they see the worst parts of themselves. Guilt, loss, anger.

That's what this conflict is about, looking to the past or looking to the future. Grace needs to take a middle road, but she can't because these two can't get over themselves. That's why this final choice is so difficult, because they are both so right, and both so very wrong.

Previous - Next

[jarenka]

finally I finished this pic. Maybe you remember it from the post I MADE IN FUCKING JUNE... a very old post.

And here is the scene in the fic I invented the whole opera plot for:

Anakin closed his eyes, lost in memories.

He and Obi-Wan took a day off to go to the Opera House of Senra together. Even with Anakin's driving habits, it took them four hours to get there. 

The theater building, as was customary in Karati, was located in the center of the park, and Anakin and Obi-Wan managed to take a little walk before the performance. Last time Anakin went to the opera with Palpatine more than twenty years ago.

 "Did you ever hear the tragedy of Darth Plagueis The Wise?"

 He thought these memories would haunt him now, but as soon as he and Obi-Wan entered the theater building, all bad thoughts flew out of his head. They climbed the wide stairs, found their seats in the parterre. Until the lights went out, Anakin observed the hall decorated with intricate wood carvings and beautiful lamps modeled after different local flowers. Anakin and Obi-Wan were wearing their regular civilian clothes but the majority of spectators chose traditional evening clothes of East Catari, embroidered silk tunics. 

“Do you remember the first time you tried to dissuade me from going to the opera?” Anakin asked Obi-Wan. 

He was still very young back then, not even a teenager. In the dining room Anakin overheard other Jedi discussing the latest premiere in Galaxies Opera House. At that time he did not even know what a "premiere" was, and he saw something remotely similar to the theater play only once, when his mother's friends arranged an amateur performance for the children on... some kind of holiday? Anakin no longer remembered. He liked it. Aunt Sey portrayed a farmer and sang funny songs. 

“You were eleven," Obi-Wan replied. “Not every adult can handle opera, and I thought you wouldn't understand.”

He really barely understood anything. It was a historical drama with political intrigue at the end of which the hero was killed by his old enemy, and even as an adult Anakin found this plot to be overcomplicated. But then he was struck by the singing, and the music, and the and the actors in stunning costumes, and the soft play of light and color on stage. He sat almost motionless until entr'acte, and moved only when the curtain fell. "Is it the end?" he asked Obi-Wan, disappointed. "No, there are three acts, but in the meantime we can rest a little." 

In the opera they were currently watching there were only two acts and it took two and a half hours total. When the lights went out, the orchestra played a short overture in the dim light of the bulbs in the orchestra pit, then the lights went out, the music subsided. The hall was plunged into complete silence and darkness. 

And then a voice rang out — an amazingly beautiful contralto. Bluish light flooded the stage, illuminating the scenery of the palace garden with palm trees and bushes strewn with flowers; the palace itself was visible in the distance, a squat building with round domes; two female figures with spears guarded the entrance to the terrace where Princess Akarias was waiting for her beloved. The voice of the actress, at first quiet, now filled the whole hall, she pressed her hands to her chest, tormented by terrible forebodings. Her lover, Saria, a general of the royal army, had to lead troops to war with a neighboring kingdom, and Akarias was afraid that she would die. 

Anakin froze in awe just like years ago in the Galaxies Opera House. He had no idea that theater still could invoke such strong feelings in him.

It became a little brighter on the stage: dawn was approaching, and Akarias was afraid that her beloved would not come to her. 

This production was much simpler than any that was done at the Coruscant. No holoprojectors or complicated machinery. To change the scenery, the lights were turned off between scenes, and at some point Anakin was even able to distinguish the silhouettes of workers in black clothes who were carrying the royal throne from the stage. 

The author of the opera took the plot from the ancient history of Palia, the home planet of the current inhabitants of Carati. After the long war, the king of Asteria and king of Kadasa decided to marry their children Princess Akarias and Prince Tarr in order to establish peace between the kingdoms, but instead of becoming a pledge of peace, on the wedding night, Princess Akarias killed her husband. In the opera, this murder, as expected, was committed out of passion: Akarias was in love with the general Saria, who died in the war at the hands of Prince Tarr, and she agreed to the marriage only to take her revenge.

The last scene took place in the Prince’s pavilion decorated for newly married couple. Sitting in front of the mirror without her upper dress, Akarias sang that she still loves Saria. She prayed to the gods for her and Saria to be together in the afterlife despite her marriage with Tarr. She begged the spirit of Saria for forgiveness, and assured her that she entered into this marriage with only one goal: to do to Tarr what he did to Saria. From the bodice of her dress she took out a knife that had been with her all the wedding ceremony. The metal shone brightly in the spotlight. 

Tarr was waiting for her sprawled in the bed with only his undershirt on. He dreamed that he would finally make love with his beautiful young wife. He propped himself up on his elbows when Akarias approached him, and froze when, instead of going to bed with him, she picked up the knife. Akarias killed him, and then, after offering another prayer to the gods, she killed herself.

Only when the lights came on did Anakin notice that he had grabbed Obi-Wan's arm. He hastily unclenched his fingers and looked at Obi-Wan's palm. He felt a bit dizzy with excitement. 

“Does it hurt?” he asked. After all this beautiful music and beautiful voices his own voice sounded a bit weird to him. 

Obi-Wan replied with a puzzled look. 

"You adjusted the prostheses, didn't you?..” 

Anakin didn't adjust anything. He hadn't held hands with anyone for so long that it hadn't even occurred to him. 

“Well... I forgot.”  

Obi-Wan's gaze softened. 

“It's all right. Apparently, the factory settings suited you.” 

The actors came out to bow, and Obi-Wan and Anakin applauded them along with the rest of the audience.

[sammywentmad]

What's the difference between pop punk and punk rock, and if I listen to a lot of pop punk but not a lot of punk rock, can I still be a punk?

Thanks for the question, of course I can answer that!

Punk is fast, angry, and usually highly political. There are often aggressive, brash, or just plain vulgar lyrics.

Pop punk is punk's cleaner, more popular, and more agreeable younger brother. Pop punk takes a few things from punk.

Pop punk is often either less political or subtly so. Take Green Day for example! They are a political band absolutely, but the takes are either less radical or not explicitly said. Punk on the other hand has something to say and will do just that. That is to say that punk is direct, not that it won't use metaphors. On the other hand, every Dead Kennedies song is political, whereas Sum41 has plenty of songs that just aren't.

They sound different! Pop punk sounds *poppier!* It has a cleaner sound (every instrument and vocal is more distinct), often some sort of autotuning/electronic additions, and it is much more rhythmic/melodic.

It takes the fashion and glamorizes it. Punk fashion comes from need (durability and safety with leather, layering for warmth, cheap clothes, patch repairs, etc.) and makes it cleaner.

Because of the cleaner sound and lyrics, it's also more marketable. This means that you get more pop punk on radio stations and stuff like that.

One thing to note is that these things aren't necessarily bad, they're just different (:

Also, note that genres like skate punk, pop punk, and melodic punk can sometimes sound similar, and that genres are messy. It's okay for things to not be clean-cut sometimes!

I don't know you personally, but I don't love all classic punk either. The Exploited and The Sex Pistols aren't for me, and that's okay!

As far as listening to pop punk and still being a punk, of course you can call yourself that! Everyone has to start somewhere and as you listen to more pop punk, you'll find other genres you love too! No one comes out of the womb being punk, and intense music is legitimately an acquired taste. If you never expand your music taste past pop punk, that's okay too!

If you want to ease into something a little different, try these: