#to borrow the way he says an adjacent lyric in that song!!!!!

[idsb]

So High School 1000% literally sounds and is written like a pop punk song and because that’s what Taylor listened to when she was high school aged I just KNOW that was intentional and you have nooooo idea how obsessed with that I am

[badsext]

Request - AU with Tessa Thompson as a Bodyguard (female reader) Part 2

Part 1 is here: https://badsext.tumblr.com/post/184635133097/request-au-with-tessa-thompson-as-a-bodyguard

****contains violence and smut****

That night when the rest of the band arrives for the sound check, Tessa is back to her cool professionalism. She shows no recognition of what happened in the gym. When she speaks to you it is polite, but terse. The concert goes really well in spite of the tension. Music is your safe space. Each time you perform your songs you feel them deep in your heart. It is like this emotional energy that flows out of you and into the audience. You can feel it radiating back from them too.

After the show your bandmates suggest going to a club in town. You aren’t a huge fan of the club atmosphere, but you want to get your mind off things, so you tell Tessa your plans. She agrees, but lets you know that you are making her job much harder. Nobody tells you it’s a strip club. It has both male and female strippers dancing on different stages. The club still has strict rules and is really difficult to get in. Your bandmates are kind of using you for your celebrity status, but you don’t mind that. This place is the perfect distraction.

After a few very strong drinks, you set your sites on a male dancer. He looks like a Greek statue, but with a much larger cock. You pay for a lap dance and you are so fascinated by his tight abs, you forget the no touching rule and start feeling him up. Tessa stands watching this play out. If she has any reaction at all it doesn’t show.

In your drunken state of mind you don’t even register the fact that you are trying to make her jealous. I need to try harder, you think as you stuff a few twenties into his g-string and dismiss him. The female stripper on the adjacent stage is also pretty hot with her pink hair and tattoos. When you pay her for a lap dance she immediately recognizes you.

“Oh my god, I love your music,” she says as she mounts your thighs.

“Thank you. I appreciate that, but please don’t ruin this for me. I’m drunk and I just want to get off.”

She nods. Tessa is a few feet away. Unable to hide any of your intentions, you blatantly watch Tessa for her reaction while the stripper begins to gyrate her hips and whip her long hair. She arches her back, pushing her bare tits into your face. Tessa just looks back at you with calm resignation. Against everyone’s protests you order several more drinks.

You don’t remember getting home, but you wake up tucked into your hotel bed. Tessa hands you a cup of tea. “Oh my god, how bad did I embarrass myself last night?”

“I’ve been told your publicist is working on it,” she says fighting back a smirk.

“Look, Tessa, I appreciate whatever you did for me last night, but the media is going to eat me alive and I don’t need you condescending to me. It’s unprofessional.”

You are only trying to save face. In reality, the only opinion you care about is hers. It kills you that she saw you behaving like that. You think seeing how you were trying to make her jealous probably ruined any attraction she may have had towards you.

For the next few stops on the album tour you settle into an all business relationship with Tessa. You hate it, but it becomes the new normal for a while. You find yourself leaning on social media for comfort. Tessa tells you to be careful and lays down some rules which you immediately disobey. It’s not long before one of your accounts gets hacked. Tessa comes to warn you about all the information that might have been breached. You tell her she is being too dramatic, your assistant is taking care of it.

The next city on the tour is San Diego. You daydream about seeing Tessa in a bikini or at least something sleeveless. You think about going to her and apologizing for being such a stupid twat, but your stubborn pride won’t let you.

The concert is full of die hard fans. As part of your social media blitz, you set up a meet and greet for them after the show. Tessa was dead set against it as you knew she would be, but you insisted. As you wade through the crowd of screaming fans hugging and taking selfies, Tessa and her team are vigilant. Some of the people are holding handmade signs with messages of love, song lyrics, and fan art.

That’s when you spot something that makes the little hairs on the back of your neck stand up. One of the signs is a photo of you changing inside your previous hotel room. Scrawled under it you recognize one of the usernames you blocked before getting hacked. You look over at Tessa. She has already seen it and is now giving orders to her team as she puts her arm around you and quickly shuffles you into the car. Tessa starts driving while you catch your breath.

“Breathe, Y/N. It’s going to be okay, but we have to assume that every location on your itinerary is compromised. I’m taking you somewhere safe.”

“Hey, um, Tessa?”

“Yeah?”

“I want to get in the front seat if that’s okay.”

Tessa stops the car. You get into the passenger seat. You show her the text message you just received from an unknown number. It is another photo, this one of you asleep in your hotel room last night. Tessa immediately turns the phone over and removes the SIM card from the back panel. She opens the car door. Tessa starts the car and drives over the card, her face filled with quiet, focused anger.

“Do you have any other devices in the car? Tablet? Laptop?”

“No, it’s all back at the hotel.”

Tessa starts driving again in silence. Her left hand is on the wheel, while her right rests on her thigh. You place your hand on top of hers. Instead of brushing it off, like you thought she might, she turns her hand over and gives yours a little squeeze. Then she brings it up to her lips and kisses it softly. You start to cry.

Tessa takes you to a small basement apartment. She turns on the light, throws her jacket on the chair, and drops the keys into a dish by the door like she’s done it a thousand times. You realize that this is her place. It’s covered with art, tons of old books, and bohemian print fabrics everywhere. Not what you expected, but it’s cozy as hell. Tessa tells you to make yourself at home while she makes calls to the authorities with the details about your case. They are trying to get an arrest warrant. She hangs up the phone frustrated.

“No luck?,” You ask timidly.

“I’ve done everything by the book. This guy is good. I mean, he’s disgusting piece of shit, but he’s good.” Tessa sits down on the bed and hangs her head.

You sit down next to her and gently rub her shoulder. You close your eyes and rest your head against hers. You place a light kiss on her jawline. She turns slowly until her lips make their way to yours. The kiss awakens all the yearnings the two of you have buried past few months and they come rushing to the surface. She wraps her arms around your waist and pulls your shirt over your head. You start working on the buttons of hers and you both stand up to remove the rest of your clothes. The sight of her naked takes your breath away.

You lie back onto the bed and she follows on top of you. The warm touch of her smooth, brown skin feels like home. You melt under her, gradually reaching up to run your fingertips lightly down her back. You feel her shudder. She kisses your neck. She smells so good. Her kisses travel down to your breasts. She gathers them up one by one and starts sucking on your helpless little nipples. You inhale, arching you chest up to meet her mouth. Your pussy is already drenched when she slowly inserts her middle finger. “Oh, honey,” she says when she feels just how wet you are. She adds another finger and curls them rhythmically inside you. It is almost too much. She slides down until her face is in your pussy. You open your legs wider to accommodate her. She flashes you a sexy little smirk. Gently spreading you with her fingers, she licks you first for the taste. “Mmm” she moans, closing her eyes. Her tongue laps at your clit. You are trying to keep yourself from going over the edge, but it feels so good. She begins gently drawing the sensitive flesh between her lips and running her tongue over the little pink bundle of nerves. She slides her fingers back into your pussy while sucking on your aching clit with growing hunger. You twist and tense and buck while the orgasm pulses through your body. You are still so sensitive and she keeps going. Overcome with the pounding pleasure still rising up through your pussy, you explode again. The sheets are soaked beneath you. Tessa nuzzles up beside you beaming. You smile back at her and kiss her, tasting yourself on her lips. You feel like your heart might burst if this gets any better. She suddenly sits up. “Don’t go anywhere. I want to return the favor,” you say, reaching for her.

“Not on the first date. I want to tease you a little,” she jokes.

“You are killing me, T.”

She throws on a tank top and a pair of shorts.

“I’m getting some water, you want some?”

“Yeah…Hey can I borrow some clothes?”

“Help yourself.”

You head for the top dresser drawer. There you find a variety of underwear, one for every mood. Yours are ruined, so you take a dry cotton pair. Then you notice something peeking out from under the layers of fabric. You pull out a strap on with a generous hot pink silicone dick. You don’t know wether to be embarrassed or excited about your discovery.

Tessa comes back into the bedroom and catches you. You look up at her wide eyed and speechless. She holds out her hand for it. “I’ll take that, thank you.” You hand it over and she replaces it with a glass of water. “Slow down, Y/N. That’s for another day,” she winks. You guzzle down the water and finish getting dressed.

“Tessa, I –”. She cuts you off with a silent finger to her lips and steps between you and the bedroom door. You hear a scraping noise. It gradually gets louder. A figure appears in the doorframe dragging a large hunting knife along the wall. He looks up brandishing the knife. His eyes are swollen and bloodshot.

“You have to learn not to be such a fucking tease, Y/N,” he yells through sobs.

Tessa reacts, kicking the knife out of his hand and hits him square in the temple with a left hook. He staggers back, dazed. Tessa attempts to recover the knife, but then he lunges back at her, slamming her to the ground. He has her pinned and presses his forearm against her throat. Before he can lean all his weight into it, you step in and attempt to pry him off of her. He rears back and knocks you into the dresser. Everything fades to black as you lose consciousness.

Tessa grabs the knife and plunges it into his exposed abdomen. He groans and lunges again, desperate, arms outstretched. She grabs the knife handle, still protruding from his belly and twists it. He collapses to the ground, blood leaking into the carpet. He gasps as the life drains out of his face. Tessa rushes to your side, checks your breathing and pulse, then calls 911.

You wake up in the hospital groggy and confused. Once you get your bearings, you hit the call button to summon the nurse. She tells you that you suffered a concussion and you should be fine. She helps you sit up and has you sign release papers.

“Do you have a ride home, honey?” You are still in shock. Before you can answer, a professionally dressed, middle aged man steps into the room.

“Hi, Miss. (Your last name), my name is Paul. I’m your new bodyguard. He reaches out his hand. There is an awkward pause.

“That is…if you’ll have me. I have more than 15 years experience.” More silence. You start sobbing.

“Where’s Tessa?” You ask hesitantly.

“Tessa resigned her position after what happened last night. She asked me to come down here and pick you up, but that, of course, is up to you.”

“We were attacked. What happened to?-”

“He’s dead.”

You take a minute to process what happened. Your sadness turns to anger. How could she leave after what you’ve been through together?

“Take me home.”

You spend the next few weeks hiding. No interviews. No social media. No visitors. Questions keep swirling around in your brain. Did she have regrets about that night together? Did she feel like she couldn’t protect you? She almost died for you!

One day You decide it’s time to leave the house. You’ve started getting friendly with Paul and he suggests an industry party in The Valley as a good way to reintroduce yourself to the world. When you arrive at the party, Tessa is standing there looking better than ever. She is wearing a pink suit with matching heels and instead of a crisp button down shirt, a low cut white satin camisole. Your heart beats out of it’s natural rhythm and your mouth is suddenly dry. You look back at Paul who shrugs wearing a guilty expression.

Tessa looks uneasy. “I worried you wouldn’t want to see me if I showed up at your house. I’m sorry I left. I fucked up. There was a lot to process and I had to figure it out before I saw you again. Bodyguards are not allowed to get involved with clients. That’s why I’m not a bodyguard anymore.” She nods at Paul. He nods back.

You can’t hide your smile.

“I’m picking up some movie stunt work. Also my girlfriend is a hot shit pop star and I have to stick around so I can be her date to the Grammys.”

You leap at her, wrapping your arms around her neck and kissing her with weeks worth of pent up emotions. You draw the looks of the other people attending the party, but you don’t care. Someone cheers and others follow. Soon the whole room is rooting for you. The party hostess taps Tessa on the shoulder. “You need to take this girl home,” she laughs. “Go, get the fuck out of here!,” she says, playfully shooing the two of you out the door.

“Paul, I’m giving you the night off,” you say as you walk out the door, your body wrapped around Tessa’s.

[noahfence1d]

Queer people who took time coming to terms with our identities know the dance of avoiding definitive terms and labels. We know what it can look like when someone is a baby queer in waiting; we certainly understand what it’s like trying to figure out how to exist both authentically and safely in the world, calculating the risks of being your true self, and why that waiting period exists—and, for some, never really ends. This process of coming to terms and coming out, however, poses different challenges and has specific implications when you’re a celebrity. Some celebrities—especially those with teen fanbases, like Shawn Mendes or Taylor Swift—are no strangers to being pinned as queer icons because of their presentation, language, or even the friendships they have, despite not being out as queer. However, figures like Mendes or Swift are known for vehemently pushing away from any narrative defining them explicitly queer. Other celebrities, like Harry Styles, have strongly leaned into queerness—or at the very least, embraced being coded as queer.

Look up “Harry Styles queer” on Google and you’ll get a range of headlines from “We need to talk about why Harry Styles is a lesbian icon” to “Harry Style’s New Music Video is Extremely Bisexual.” Styles often dons floral suits and a more stereotypically feminine demeanor alongside lyrics like ones from his song “Medicine,” which are unmistakably bisexual: “The boys and the girls are here/ I mess around with him/ And I’m okay with it.” Recently, Styles announced a tour with artists similarly dubbed queer icons, Jenny Lewis and King Princess, a musical setup that seems like it was made in heaven for queer fans. On his new Saturday Night Live appearance, Styles played a sexually ambiguous character in the Sara Lee sketch, referencing being thirsty for men, almost locking in his “brand” of queerness yet again. In October 2019, Styles’s single “Lights Up” was also deemed a bisexual anthem by certain members of the queer community, especially as the corresponding music video shows a nearly naked Styles surrounded by people of all genders who are touching and carressing his body.

In a 2019 interview with Rolling Stone, he explained why he often dons rainbow flags on stage at his concerts and why he’s been so vocal about supporting queer people. “Everyone in that room is on the same page and everyone knows what I stand for. I’m not saying I understand how it feels. I’m just trying to say, ‘I see you.’” At this point, Styles isn’t new to curiosity surrounding his sexuality. Throughout his time with One Direction, rumors about his sexuality swirled, as he had a close relationship with bandmate Louis Tomlinson. The relationship became a hot topic, and one hugely obsessed over in fan and fanfiction communities. In a 2017 interview with The Sun, while discussing the way that celebrity sexuality is constantly questioned, he said, “It’s weird for me—everyone should just be who they want to be. It’s tough to justify somebody having to answer to someone else about stuff like that … I don’t feel like it’s something I’ve ever felt like I have to explain about myself.” At his final show for his tour in Glasgow in 2018, Styles announced onstage, “We’re all a little bit gay.”

For much of his career, it’s almost seemed like his fanbase is rooting for his queerness. One reason that online communities seem to be so obsessed with queer-adjacent celebrities like Styles is that they normalize queerness, making it feel more accessible. “If they were to come out, it would be a huge benefit to LGBTQ visibility in the media, and a lot of people in the LGBTQ community would love to have a celebrity of that stature on ‘their’ side,” Ash, a bisexual woman, told me. But Styles doesn’t actually claim queerness just because many fans, queer and otherwise, have hoped that he’ll one day do so explicitly. “Can straight people be queer?” asked a 2016 Vice article about the impact of the term’s increasingly broad application. The fact is that cis, straight people can’t be queer—so what does that mean when queer communities tout artists like Styles or Swift as part of our culture?

At some points in history, having these kinds of allies for the community who are not queer themselves, like Lil’ Kim, who has advocated for gay men and against homophobia in the rap community since the early 2000s, has been monumental. Queer audiences of yesteryears also gravitated toward performers like Dolly Parton who didn’t have to be queer themselves because they were accepting and loving toward all, and used their platform to normalize and uplift the queer communities that have celebrated them. In this day and age, however, expectations of performers have heightened. Unlike other celebrities dubbed “queer icons” who happen to be straight, including Madonna, Janet Jackson, or Parton, the fanbases of artists like Styles’s skew younger. And younger audiences don’t just want performers who see and welcome them. They want performers who are them—artists who understand the queer experience because they are queer, and they’re here to reflect audiences back to themselves.

So why the critique if there are seemingly so many positives to any representation or acceptance? It’s not that Styles, or any celebrity or public figure for that matter, owes us any information about their sexualities. On one hand, simply by existing in such a public manner, these celebrities offer a sliver of hope that there might be someone just like us navigating the world of queerness and identity. Celebrities like Styles or Swift—who has made use of queer aesthetics herself, and whose friendship with model Karlie Kloss has been the subject of rumors—remind us of who we were when we navigated our queerness more subtly before we were ready to explicitly tell someone close to us, or our resident queer community. Entertainers like Jackson or Parton became queer icons because they embraced queer fans during a closeted time, and perhaps it felt okay to have acceptance without representation. It was clear the performers weren’t trying to be queer. On the other hand, with Styles or Swift, the lines are blurred, and it’s unclear whether they’re trying to say they’re one of us or merely accept queer fans while borrowing from the culture to fit in and create a brand.

“I think it’s important for white queer folks to interrogate the whiteness of their queer idols, and work to understand why they feel more inclined to celebrate the visible queerness of one artist over another.”

There’s often a concern that celebrities are co-opting queerness as a marketing ploy. With the long history of queerbaiting (using the possibility of or undertones of queerness to gain favorability with queer people) in popular culture, there’s a certain level of disingenuousness to letting the bait and switch go on with minimal critique. The kind of support and lauding that celebrities like Styles receive for more playful expression and experimentation is not always present for queer people of color like Syd (formerly of The Internet), Alok Vaid-Menon, or Big Freedia. When she sees mostly white, thin, able-bodied figures with “queer energy” centered as icons in the queer community as opposed to queer people of color, Olivia Zayas Ryan, a queer woman, wonders why. “If you’re showing up for a pretty white boy in a tutu, where are you when Black and brown queer folks are vilified, ridiculed, and worse?” she told me. “If you are excited and feel seen when queer aesthetics are in the mainstream, what are you doing to honor, protect, and recognize the folks who created them? I think it’s important for white queer folks to interrogate the whiteness of their queer idols, and work to understand why they feel more inclined to celebrate the visible queerness of one artist over another.”

Conversation around both queerbaiting and our curiosity about celebrity queerness is an ongoing and complicated one. For example, there are theorists who have posited that Kurt Cobain was a closeted trans woman. “Many transgender women see themselves in his shaggy hair, his penchant for nail polish and dresses, and his struggles with depression,” Gillian Branstetter, a transgender advocate and writer, told me. Cobain’s fascination with pregnancy (“In Utero”) and his distaste for masculinity (“In Bloom”), as well as his partner Courtney Love’s references to having a more fluid lover (“He had ribbons in his hair/ And lipstick was everywhere/ You look good in my dress”) stoked this interest in his sexuality and presentation. “It sounds very familiar to trans women whose own relationship with masculinity and femininity was often expressed in coded ways before they came out,” says Branstetter. Styles, who like Cobain shows disinterest in conforming to a traditionally masculine rock-star presentation, seems to spark the same interest in fans from the queer community.

With our investment in Styles or other celebrities who are likely straight but exude “queer energy,” it feels as if we’re looking for a mirror of ourselves, seeking to claim the most popular public figures as our own, and in turn feel more normal and accepted. Perhaps our obsession with artists like Styles comes down to the excitement of feeling visible—but what do fans of potentially straight queer icons like Styles actually want? Can we thread the needle between feeling seen and normalized in our queerness while also feeling the imbalance between Styles’s privilege and the most marginalized people in the queer community’s lived experiences? Ultimately, it’s queer fans who get to decide if Styles’s kind of allyship and solidarity with the queer community is enough, or if it’s begun to give off the all-too-familiar stink of disingenuous baiting.

[sweetpea-cc]

I Wanna Know You

Summary; Betty Cooper had been Jughead Jones’ crush for years. When he finally gets the courage to ask her on a date and she agrees, things don’t exactly go to plan. Warnings; Bughead fluff :))) Word Count; 906 (excluding lyrics)

Jughead was panicking, his breathing increasing by the minute as he struggled to get everything perfect. She would be here any minute, and he was still trying to get the bread to toast correctly, only to end up burning it slightly, causing the kitchen to fill with the smell of overcooked food.

He stirred the pasta sauce counterclockwise, dipping his finger in it to taste the flavor; it was okay, but something was missing. He jotted over to the pantry, rummaging through various spices, making twisted faces at some of the names. He struggled to find anything in this kitchen, considering it wasn't his; it was Archie's, and his best friend had been gracious enough to let him borrow his house for the night. To allow him to impress his long-term crush, Betty Cooper.

When Jughead has finally worked up the courage to ask the beautiful and charismatic girl out, he had wholeheartedly expected her to turn him down, or worse yet, laugh in his face. But instead, she had just smiled brightly and agreed, handing him her number and turning on her heels, her famous blonde ponytail swaying back and forth as Jughead stared at her in awe.

It was 7 P.M now, and Betty would be here any minute but not everything was completed, he still needed to set up the table beautiful and perfect, find the right song to fit the mood, make sure the food was edible, and calm himself down.

Somehow in the midst of his madness, he almost didn't hear the doorbell ring and quickly, Jughead rushed to the front door, slowly down just moments before he opened it up to catch his breath. Inhaling deeply, he stood tall and cracked open the door, revealing Betty, the moonlight illuminating her already beautiful features.

Betty wore her classic pink color scheme, a flower print dress that fell perfectly below her knees and hugged her curves wonderfully. She wore her blonde hair down, save for the few strands that were pinned away from her face. Jughead once again had lost his breath, she was just one of the most amazingly talented and sweet person he had ever come into contact with.

"Hi, Jug." Her voice was angelic, and Jughead found himself smiling like a fool, he was head of heels for this girl. Stepping back, he made room to allow Betty into the house, leading her down the foyer and into the dining room, where he had set up or had started setting up a nice romantic table. The centerpiece was a few roses that he had nabbed from the corner store, and he hoped Betty liked them.

Walking over to the table, Jughead pulled out a chair for Betty to sit in, which she did graciously. He disappeared into the kitchen to prepare two plates of his not-so-famous spaghetti served with a slice of burnt garlic bread. When he returned to Betty, he found her admiring the few roses, a soft smile printed on her face when Betty saw that Jughead had come back, her smile grew bigger.

Careful not to let her nerves get the best of him, Jughead places a plate in front of Betty and the other across from her, sitting down in the adjacent chair. He was so nervous and unsure how to start a conversation, but he figured he would just wing it, hoping that Betty didn't wouldn't notice what a nervous wreck he was.

"This is really good." Betty complimented, and Jughead wanted to laugh, he knew that she was just lovely because honest to God, the pasta made him want to throw up seeing as it was terrible.

"Thank you, I tried."

"Well, that's what counts right?" Jughead cracked a crooked smile at the angel sitting before him, how he had even managed to get her to agree to this date was beyond him, but he figured it was best not to tempt fate, assuming such thing existed.

The rest of the night went without so much a hiccup. Betty and Jughead laughed, talked, and joked around for what felt like a peaceful eternity. He thought the only way thing that could finish off the night, was perhaps a dance, but maybe that was a dumb idea. Still, he was a believer in "you never know unless you try." So mounting up his courage again, he fished his phone out of his pocket and swiftly searched for a song, landing on "Dive" by Ed Sheeran.

Jughead didn't fail to notice the confused look on Betty's face as he stood up, holding out his hand for her to take. At first, Betty was hesitant, but one look at Jughead's reassuring smile, all of her worries slipped away. Placing her hand in his, Jughead led Betty to the center of the room, instinctively, one of his hands went to the small of her back while the other one softly held her hand. Everything in this moment was perfect, and Betty couldn't help but rest her head on his chest as they swayed back and forth to the melody of the song, the lyrics filling the room with its poetry.

"I could fall, or I could fly Here in your aeroplane And I could live, I could die Hanging on the words, you say And I've been known to give my all Sitting back, looking at every messy that I made So don't call me baby Unless you mean it Don't tell me you need me If you don't believe it Let me know the truth Before I dive right into you."

Tag list; @glambyoko // @fafulous // @srainebuggie