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motorcity-thoughts · 7 months

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OK i want ur opinions on this: would motorcity’s ost be better if it had more techno/dnb(?) elements in it like the pilot? or is the metal rock soundtrack already perfect as is?

personally, i feel like it shouldve been more of a mix of both. specifically depending on where they are or which characters are involved. the more deluxians there are, the more electronic elements take over the song, and the more motorcitizens are involved, the more rock elements! but not all of the songs would be a mix tho, it could switch back and forth between the genres separately in their own songs :o

heres kinda an example of what i mean

#oo maybe during the more scary scenes in deluxe the music should distort a lil idk #yknow cuz like.. corruption.. and like.. yea #theres only like one or two songs that arent rock that play during the scenes in deluxe but i mean i kinda get it cuz like those arent rlly #action songs but like during the action scenes imagine if it was an ACTUAL mix between edm and rock #god this album is so good idc if it was literally made for trailers n shit THAT MAKES IT BETTER!!!!#motorcity #disney xd #Youtube #OHMYGOD ITS NO STRAIGHT ROADS AGAIN

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seedlessmuffins · 7 months

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there’s something so important, about that win yesterday. not only did we beat a team that has stanley cup aspirations, which has two of the best players in the world on their team (which we shut down), overall it was a stunning performance from every single player on the ice. from jt miller’s five points, to boeser’s four goals, to demko’s .955 save percentage with the flu to the introduction of hughes as the captain in a stunning fashion, across the board it was a great night not only for the team, but for the fans

(full tactico thoughts below the cut)

what we saw last night was a full team effort, not just the top 6 forwards and top 2 defensive pairings clicking. everyone across the line up was pulling their weight and clicking into place last night. because of injuries, illness, and our salary cap situation, we ended up playing with a player less, and with 11 forwards and 6 defensemen. this meant that the bottom 3 wingers especially needed to play more then they usually would, against the tough opponent of the most complete oilers team they have ever iced since they drafted mcdavid. and the bottom five did exceptionally well in the positions they put themselves in!!

lafferty, for being a new acquisition, knew exactly what he was doing. he positioned himself well, especially during the pk, right near the goal and was always in a good place to either pass or get the puck within shooting range of the net. he is such a smart player, drawing that penalty in the third is absolute genius and he just knows where to move within his line and how to create a good pass. i think hoglander worked well with him, as he made some nice little plays especially behind the edmonton net during one of the power plays (i think in the third period?) to keep possession of the puck. i was glad to see him make the roster, i think he’s a smart player and a solid person to have on the 4th line.

i adored joshua’s game, honestly he was one of the standouts of the night for me. he was willing to use his body, not only to block shots on the pk but also to drop the gloves less than 5 minutes into the game, but he was also able to position himself well to be in scoring positions and it paid off as he scored the 8th and final goal for the canucks. joshua is one of my favourite players, and i hope he continues doing well this season both with his physicality and his scoring, he is nothing but an asset and really is a necessary staple of our third line at this point.

the hirose/juulsen pairing did well when they were on the ice, nothing notable, however the cole/meyers pairing was incredible. very physical, both in hits and blocking shots, able to get back quickly and had some nice puck distributions, and other then meyer’s stupid penalty in the first period, they were great. ian cole is an amazing addition to the team and i can’t wait to see what more he will do, especially on the pk, he was excellent and i can’t wait to see more.

the “pbj” line of di guiseppe, boeser, and miller was incredible and so productive. near the net all night, lighting the lamp, excellent puck possession and was able to fight the hard battles in the corners. of course boeser’s 4 goals deserve to be celebrated, they were incredible (especially the first goal? sexy, sexy hockey), but di guiseppe and miller’s passes made it possible for boeser to finish the passes with incredible accuracy. these guys also did great work on the pp, they made up an excellent second unit to keep the pressure in the edmonton zone without the stars on the ice, and i think boeser got his groove back. lets see 30+ goals this season.

tocchet really loaded up the top line and the top d pairing, with hughes/hronek and garland/pettersson/kuzmenko as the top lines. i thought both lines did an excellent job not only creating chances, but also shutting down the mcdrai line when they were both out at the same time. petey had some stunning, sexy passes (i’m still thinking about his first pass to garland for the first goal,,,, holy shit that was sexy) and garland was able to hold his weight and finish the chances he was given practically on a platter. kuzya had a quiet night, but he made some productive moves to keep possession and he was able to keep the puck in the offensive zone during pp time so i’m not mad at how he played, i know he will only improve from here. hughes/hronek were exceptionally productive, both in passing and in blocking shots, and they had mcdavid shut down all night. the oilers not registering a single high danger scoring chance AT ALL at 5v5 with petey on the ice?? yeah that’s my selke candidate right there

and demko, how can i forget about thatcher demko? he made save after save, and the dmen gave him space to do so every time. he had a clear line of vision, and he used it. he made some incredible saves and came away with a save percentage that reflected that, all while having the flu! shoutout to desmith, though he only was in for 10 minutes he made some strong saves and didn’t look as nervous between the pipes as he did during the preseason. i’m glad he settled in nicely.

overall, we worked very well as a team. special teams were cooking, goalies were cooking, everything looked cohesive. there were some big hits, from joshua, meyers, and petey notably, and some good blocks. other then the first 5 minutes of the first period, and some sloppy passing in the middle, it was a strong, dominant game. we choked the life out of the oilers, even getting noted most boring man in the nhl to make salty comments about our decisions. i'm most proud of how we handled ourselves in the third, as edmonton were losing their heads with sloppy hits and stupid penalties, we kept ourselves together.

we fucking won. it was a great game. i'm so excited for this season. see you on saturday in edmonton.

#k watches hockey #hockey tactico talk #canucks posting #vancouver canucks #canucks #sorry this is so long ignore my ramblings #the people (the discord) said they wanted more tactico talk so this is what you get #blame abi and ro for encouraging me #was going to go more into the importance of this win for the culture of the team but this is so fucking long already like damn girl shut up #that will come later idk maybe tomorrow dw #van v edm #game recap

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t3tr0m1n0 · 7 months

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internet brainrot by tdstr is part really cool interesting hardcore techno and part memefest. and as someone who, i feel, has really engaged with meme-heavy musical compositions that still take themselves seriously, i kind of prefer the memeless side of music. i think the point of dariacore is to heavily use obnoxiously memetic samples on top of the general intense hardcore sound. i seriously like the high tempo, varied melodies, heavy bass & intense percussion- all the hardcore side of it. i like hardcore edm that uses lots of samples. and i like music that is just memetic samples into music (see neil cicierega's mouth albums). but with this album i kind of think that the hardcore edm side would stand better on its own or with less of the meme Culture bogging it down. it's when it starts leaning into irony stylings or reveling in some subculture/fandom's iconography that i think it loses me. another station was a really great track but then when damn right came on and i heard familiar sample after familiar sample bring me into something with no hablo americano as its leading sample i got pulled out. and damn right is a pretty good track, i like it a lot! it's just the swing of the focus kind of prevents me from getting into the right mindset to enjoy self-serious hardcore edm or bite-sized high-effort melodic shitpost-inspired music. in short, this album lives up to its title, and it's almost disappointing for that. it's like i went to someone's house and in order to make me feel comfortable they had their computer open to tumblr with my account logged in. like oh i wasn't aware that's how you decided to do things around here

#this is maybe not my most coherent review. trust me it's not the fault of this album #i feel like i'm seriously well qualified to review dariacore considering i take music seriously and i have such experience with #the sort of musical memespace that's come out of siivagunner + soundclown #i'm going to have to look into more albums in this genre. by the way i had no idea this is what dariacore was #i'd heard the name tossed around a fair amount before without knowing what it sounded like #music reviewssic #i haven't reviewed it but i've listened to because maybe as well as other releases by renard/lapfox tracks #and i was reminded of it by this album. with the sample-heavy hardcore edm that seems sooorta like #speedcore? not breakcore. i'm saying ''hardcore edm'' a lot because i don't know what subgenre to refer to #bet if i listened to enough camellia i'd get an idea #the difference being that. i think in the time of because maybe internet subcultures did not go as deep as they do now #or if they did go as deep as they do now they didn't also have the scope of today's #there are siiva-derived communities that are kind of ''deep'' into internet subcultures that still have a following #rivaling that of more average internet communities circa 2010. that's how it feels at least #when i listen to because maybe &c i'm like ah i recognize these samples because they're pop culture #not fully pop culture but definitely pop culture to ''the internet''- sonic 2/retro games & mcr & maximum the hormone #when i listen to internet brainrot. well now. the title speaks for itself like i said #also sprach #i think im just made uncomfortable for being met so squarely at my own level of internet familiarity by something as impersonal as an album #like this album isn't just in an adjacent level of internet depths resided in it's kind of slotted into the exact same section that i'm in #...again. i need to listen to more dariacore #c u thru the q #my final word is that i prefer an album that i don't have to adjust the volume on between songs. god this got loud

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yuribalisms · 8 months

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So I answer this phone call, and the lady is like “I’m getting the documentation to approve this” and I’m like oh thank GOD but then she says “I have to order you specific ear plugs that the company approves of :)” and I’m like “wait ear plugs as in to cancel all noise” and she’s like “yes :)” and I’m like “no this was about ear buds or headphones, things being completely silent is just as bad if not worse for my sensory issues” and she gets real quiet and is like “I’m a going to have to talk to your doctor about this then for some more clarification” and I’m like HFDJSIDKJDKDJDK that is what the letter SAIDD it specified ear buds so I can play things that I know help regulate my sensory issues and it also said in the letter to contact my therapist if anyone had more questions why are we even having this conversation are you fucking stupid it’s already been a MONTH since I turned all this in and now I have to wait even fucking longer because no one can read and wants to be as difficult as possible

#also the entire call she kept saying shit like ‘it’s very normal for ppl with your conditions to have sensory issues it’s nothing #to be ashamed of 🥺’#like girl…. I never said I was ashamed why are you saying that…..#also hate hate hate that she specified they had to be ‘specially ordered and company approved ear plugs sent directly to the warehouse’#if they end up clearing this but do the same thing with ear buds I’m gonna lose my shit #just let me use MINE that connect to MY PHONE that I already HAVE that I like the adjustments on I’m BEGGING 😭😭😭#also she kept specifying that I could use a ‘calming app’ or ‘calming noise’ maybe once I said ear buds #if they try and tell me I can only use ‘company approve software’ for this I’m going to LOSE my shit #like no if you try and make me listen to the fucking ocean or like smooth instrumental shit for eight hours I will snap and go insane #I regulate with screamo and metal and edm THATS what helps with my sensory issues #overly ‘calm’ things tend to make them WORSE #I’m just so tired….. like idk could we maybe just trust that disabled ppl know what they need for themselves more than randos who had like #two conversations with them and then decided this was ‘better’#I’m so fucking tired #she also exclusively referred to me with my deadname the entire call #despite all my emails AND THE FUCKING LETTER FROM MY THERAPIST using my chosen name #like girl…. 😭😭😭😭😭#I hate it here I hate this company I hate it so much its unreal #kaz rambles

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deedee-sims · 1 year

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Wow, wrapped is here with their false statistics lol I didn’t even listen to EDM and where’s deathcore??

Either way, more Spiritbox was listened to, to no one’s surprise

#nonsims #deedee's weird music #spotify stuff #these stats are always wonky #p sure i listened to more dance gavin dance than erra #oh wait maybe shivering counted as an edm song?#it's only one song still

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skrillien · 11 months

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remember when this was a waycest blog

#there will be more edm spam.#maybe not now. but there will

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eyes-on-the-weather · 3 months

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internet brainrot by tdstr is part really cool interesting hardcore techno and part memefest. and as someone who, i feel, has really engaged with meme-heavy musical compositions that still take themselves seriously, i kind of prefer the memeless side of music. i think the point of dariacore is to heavily use obnoxiously memetic samples on top of the general intense hardcore sound. i seriously like the high tempo, varied melodies, heavy bass & intense percussion- all the hardcore side of it. i like hardcore edm that uses lots of samples. and i like music that is just memetic samples into music (see neil cicierega’s mouth albums). but with this album i kind of think that the hardcore edm side would stand better on its own or with less of the meme Culture bogging it down. it’s when it starts leaning into irony stylings or reveling in some subculture/fandom’s iconography that i think it loses me. another station was a really great track but then when damn right came on and i heard familiar sample after familiar sample bring me into something with no hablo americano as its leading sample i got pulled out. and damn right is a pretty good track, i like it a lot! it’s just the swing of the focus kind of prevents me from getting into the right mindset to enjoy self-serious hardcore edm or bite-sized high-effort melodic shitpost-inspired music. in short, this album lives up to its title, and it’s almost disappointing for that. it’s like i went to someone’s house and in order to make me feel comfortable they had their computer open to tumblr with my account logged in. like oh i wasn’t aware that’s how you decided to do things around here

#music review #[originally written 10/1/23]#]archived reviews #]archived tags:#this is maybe not my most coherent review. trust me it's not the fault of this album #i feel like i'm seriously well qualified to review dariacore considering i take music seriously and i have such experience with #the sort of musical memespace that's come out of siivagunner + soundclown #i haven't reviewed it but i've listened to because maybe as well as other releases by renard/lapfox tracks #and i was reminded of it by this album. with the sample-heavy hardcore edm that seems sooorta like #speedcore? not breakcore. i'm saying ''hardcore edm'' a lot because i don't know what subgenre to refer to #bet if i listened to enough camellia i'd get an idea #the difference being that. i think in the time of because maybe internet subcultures did not go as deep as they do now #or if they did go as deep as they do now they didn't also have the scope of today's #there are siiva-derived communities that are kind of ''deep'' into internet subcultures that still have a following #rivaling that of more average internet communities circa 2010. that's how it feels at least #when i listen to because maybe &c i'm like ah i recognize these samples because they're pop culture #not fully pop culture but definitely pop culture to ''the internet''- sonic 2/retro games & mcr & maximum the hormone #when i listen to internet brainrot. well now. the title speaks for itself like i said #my final word is that i prefer an album that i don't have to adjust the volume on between songs. god this got loud

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cl6teen · 4 months

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affection, ln4 ❀ chapter ii. the need to know

masterlist || chapter i || chapter iii

summary: [4.5k words] drunken nights spent in lando’s townhouse are an ode to your friendship, and maybe just a little bit more.

pairing: lando norris x fem!reader

contains: lando and reader are in denial, self friendzoning, lots of reminiscing and fluff, lando taking care of reader, very lazy smut, one night stands, oblivious flirting, talks of sex, intoxication, unprotected sex, pull and pray.

note: not proofread, this can be read as a stand-alone or as part of my affection series, however this is not a required read for said series. (sorry for such a long wait! exams were rough and this was difficult to write for some reason)

❀ silverstone ❀

The overarching sounds of EDM and conversation ring through Lando’s ears in a destructive harmony that’s sure to hit him tomorrow morning in the form of a stupid migraine. Still, he pushes through the sea of bodies crowding around, trying to huddle in close enough to him to hopefully snag a photo of ‘Silverstone’s P2 driver’. It has a nice ring to it, since you said that with Max in this competition, P2 is the new P1, so he should be nothing more proud of his performance.

Prideful he was, enough to confidently down shots with today’s true winner, forgetting how the Dutchman always lets as loose as he can during these after parties. And while they didn’t seem to hit whilst manning the dj turn-tables for the last hour or so, the newfound alcohol in his system was certainly making itself known now.

His hands run through brown tufts of hair as he scans the club entrance for you, “Y/n?”

“Over here.”

You’ve sat yourself in an armchair close to the women’s washroom, where you nurse a half-full lukewarm bottle of water in your hands before taking yet another prolonged sip.

“You look like shit.” He chuckles, leaning down to fix the strands of your hair that stray from the rest.

“Tell me about it,” you roll your eyes playfully, a laugh escapes you both, “you’re not one to talk, either.”

Fair point, he shrugs. With tousled hair that manages to go in every direction except for what it was originally in, sunglasses threatening to fall off the bridge of his nose, and the faint red lipstick marks stained on his unbuttoned white collar, Lando looks far from put together. He’s impossible, how can he have the nerve to talk to how you look on a night out while he was so quick to leave you with Oscar (who you had no problems being with—he just didn’t seem to be the party type) after receiving a shameless once over from a leggy blonde passing your group by upon arrival.

“So, where’s tonight’s girl?” He stares when you passively fold your arms into each other and question, completely unaware of how the movement pushes your chest together. He clicks his tongue, stop looking, Lando.

“Hell if I know.” He sighs in fake disappointment, in hopes of cutting that conversation off as quickly as it was introduced, “you’re staying at mine tonight.”

Okay, you nod. You don’t question it—you never do. Instead you sit quietly and watch him swipe around on his phone, no doubt shooting Max (Fewtrell) a quick text to let him know you were both leaving before calling up an Uber Black. Was this normal? To go home with Lando after a long night out? To you, the answer was always yes—hell, if you need him, say the word and he’s on the way, isn’t that what friends were for?

But other people can’t fathom the idea, they look at the two of you with doubtful eyes after explaining that although you can’t seem to go anywhere without one another, Lando’s just a friend. You sigh in exasperation at the thought, Lando Norris isn’t dateable; at least, not to you. He texts you about the girls he’s on dates with and nitpicks about how their breath smells, or how they had food in their teeth, or the potent perfume they drench themselves in to the point of inducing headaches in people they pass by. He’s whiney, and picky, and—

Lando’s fingers snap in your face and bring you out of your stupor, “What’s got you thinking so hard?”

“Nothing.” Your little jump earns you a perplexed look from Lando, who can only stare you down, “nothing, just want to get some rest.”

“The car is here, but it’s a little walk across the street.” He notices the heels toppled over each other next to the chair—you truly are a mess. “Do you have your purse?” You nod, flimsily holding the bag up for him to see.

Lando is no Superman, he knows that well after an ambitious jump off a bunk bed and straight into an ER visit and a three month cast at the age of ten; but now he feels like he’s got the power to do it all, looping the straps of your heels on a finger and hoisting you into his arms bridal style. It’s far from a pretty sight, but it still manages to grab the attention of partygoers nearby, who point and whisper and gush at the scene in front of them. “People will see, Lando.” You look up at him through dark lashes in an unfamiliar way that gets his gears turning—more than anything, he just wants to get you to this car.

“Yeah, but that’s okay.” He smiles nervously, letting you burrow your head into the crook of his neck to hide from the nipping British breezes outside. It's probably anything but okay; pictures might make their way around, and make both his life and your own a pain in the ass, but he can’t rain it on you like that.

The subtle aroma of your perfume invades his senses, and all of a sudden he’s become so hyper aware of his touch on your skin, the rhythmic rise and fall of your chest—he shakes his head.

In Lando’s mind, you’re but one thing to him; a friend—one he intends to keep like that.

—

Silent car rides in the backseat have never been Lando’s thing, not when he’s drunk, not when he can’t use his phone because he has to watch you. He’s not complaining, really—but there’s a fleeting moment of relief when forty minutes later, the two of you find way to the steps of his townhome, and he's fumbling around in his pockets for the keys while you stay huddled close to him to keep warm despite already sporting his jacket.

He’s profane as he fiddles with the door handle. You’re lucky he’s sweet enough to give you his clothing, because even though he practically threw it at you after listening to your nonstop whines about the cold, and how he ‘wasn’t even fazed by it’, he is actually freezing now.

“Tonight was…”

Rough, Fun, you both say in tandem; Lando’s enthusiasm is unsurprising, he finds himself at home in these situations. Work hard, play harder, he would say—it makes sense, his job is high stakes, stressful, the media is a pain in the ass; you would look forward to the fun bit too.

However, you’re not Lando, you don’t vacation in Ibiza or party with Max Verstappen on weekends—you travel to Thailand and read on rafts, but your best friend making podium during a home race is more than enough reason to show face for the night, so you make your peace with it and thank whoever that you’re home now.

“I need to change out of this,” you refer to the dress you’ve spent the entire after party readjusting and pulling down only to tug back up. “Lend me a shirt?”

“Did you really need to ask?” He speaks from a hunched over position while clumsily taking off his shoes. “You know where my room is.”

It’s a painfully familiar place; Lando’s never around enough to change it up anyway. When was the last time you were here? Maybe two years ago, during summer break, your memory is too foggy, but not to the point where you can forget your first time visiting. You and Lando were nineteen and twenty, and he wanted to use his well earned ‘Y/n’s daddy’ funded bonus on something practical. A house was not what you had in mind, but twenty five year old Carlos had a bottle of wine and a pipe dream of a three person housewarming party (one your father wasn’t too stoked to hear about, no doubt). It ended just as expected, wine drunk and full on that no bake cookie dough, albeit against the wishes of the drivers’ nutritionists, and you somehow bundled up in Lando’s brand new King bed while the other two found their comforts in plastic wrapped couches tucked away in the living room.

The only thing different in Lando’s bedroom are the bedsheets (thankfully), and frames full of podiums that showcase just how far he's come.

The smile you fight while reminiscing falters when you reach to tug at your zipper and fail. For what you spent on it, the list of inconveniences following your dress just seems to grow.

“Lan!” An exasperated huff escapes you, “could you come in for a moment?”

“My zipper, it’s stuck and I can't get it.” You want to cringe at your words, it’s a cliche—one of the many the universe seems to put you two in. Turning away from him, you move your hair out the way to expose your back, “do you mind?”

His fingers feel warm on your back, it’s a foreign feeling that creeps over the expanse of your nerves and has your breath hitched uncomfortably in the back of your throat. Something is just…different—maybe the alcohol, but you’ve been drunk around Lando one too many times and never has it ended like this, with his fingers nervously fiddling with the metal zipper, tugging at your dress material while gently trying to yank it down.

“Lando, that hurts.” you breathe for the first time in what feels like ages.

He kisses his teeth in frustration, placing a firm hand on your waist to keep you from squirming around, “You need to stay still.” The thickness of his accent becomes more apparent with each word.

You feel so weak, letting just a simple touch bully you into submission, silently you nod. The zipper's journey down is agonizing and slow, for both of you; at this moment, Lando wants nothing more than to leave the room, yet his feet seem glued to the ground he stands on. It’s dimly lit, but you can still feel eyes burning holes into your bare skin, up from the nape of your neck and down to the top of your hips that the lace material underneath clings to.

He watches the thin straps of your dress struggle to stay atop your shoulders and fall down your arms, further exposing the skin of your back—he sees a tattoo, one that he convinced you to get in Vegas last year, it looks good, better than he thought it would.

“—did you hear me? Are you done?”

He should leave.

“Yeah, yup. I just got it down,” and as quick as he came, it feels like Lando’s miles away, “I’m gonna go now, just…grab whatever shirt you would like.”

–

“Hey.” You say quietly, padding your way to the kitchen island.

Okay. Things seem a lot more normal between you two. Maybe all that was needed to fix whatever tension between you both was a fresh change of clothes and some bright lighting.

“You hungry?” He prompts, leaning against quartz counters with the world famous boyish smile signature to Lando himself. “I can make us a little snack before bed, just to lighten the hangover you’ll probably get tomorrow.”

You hum sweetly, the time reads 1:53 am—it’s earlier than you thought, time always blurs together when you’re drunk. “Could you get me a glass of water please?”

“Here you are, missy.”

You scrunch your nose up at his tone, “any name but that.” He laughs obnoxiously, proud of how he manages to get under your skin in a way only he can.

The sizzling sounds of grilled cheese on the pan accompanied by the dull hum of a faulty ceiling light are the only ones in the kitchen (you’re constantly telling him to get it fixed, but Lando never seems to follow up on your suggestions, opting for the answer of ‘I don’t even live here like that anymore’). Sipping from your glass, the lipstick stain on his collar catches your eye again—you’re curious, why didn’t he just go home with her?

“So what happened with the girl?”

“What?” He turns to look at you, brows furrowed into a knot. It’s not until you make a little gesture to the base of your neck that he looks down at his own to see what you mean. “Oh, her, what was her name again…Abby, Aria—no, Amy. She was too…onto me, only talked about racing and the other drivers. Don’t get me wrong I like, love, racing, but I want to have a natural conversation.” he searches for the right comparison, “like how you and me flow.”

You and me.

Empathetic, you sigh into your hands, Lando is simple, adjacently, he likes things that are simple; routine and normal, like you two. “Lando, if you keep comparing girls to me you’re going to chase them away.” You think his attitude will be his undoing, but he says if it hasn’t happened now there’s no chance of it happening ever. “Even worse, they’ll think I'm your girlfriend.”

He shrugs calmly, so normal about the entire idea, “Max says they already think that.”

“Yeah well,” you huff out in mild annoyance, stuttering over your words at the thought of Lando discussing your relationship status with someone. “Max doesn’t know everything.”

“Yeah, I wouldn’t date you in a million years,” mouthing off, he turns to look at you with a sour face, “too snobby.”

“You talk like you’re not daddy’s money too.” The reaction of your middle finger poking out is almost reflexive. “You’re not my type anyway.”

“That’s a lie. You thought I was cute when I first met you.” It is a lie, a painfully bad one at that—Lando has always been a cutie; though, his constant need to annoy you in some way seemed to drown that aspect of himself out.

“And then your personality came to light.”

The witted banter between you always comes naturally—he would poke and prod at your last fiber of patience with him until you finally find yourself giving your attention to his words and firing something back that would be surefire dig deep had it not been aimed at somebody like Lando.

“Doesn’t mean you don’t think I’m hot.” Sniggering, he shoots you a teasing wink, “don’t worry, I think you’re hot too.”

“I know that, everyone thinks I’m hot.”

He scoffs to himself, he says you’re a narcissist, you say it’s not narcissistic if it’s true.

The spurt of banter is short lived, and soon enough you’re back to hearing the hum of the kitchen lights. It’s peaceful enough, better than the crescendo of club music from an hour ago.

But you’re inebriated—and needing to talk to keep yourself from falling asleep while waiting on Lando, you start, “Have you ever thought about it?”

“About what?”

“You and me,” you repeat his words from earlier, but they’re not laced with the cool and calm confidence Lando had—instead, they’re shaky. You’re unsure if you want to know the answer to your own question.

“Like…dating?” The pitch of his accent goes higher in confusion.

“Uhm, not dating per say…” you down your saliva to slow yourself before continuing, with the liquid courage flowing through your veins, the mental filter that once barricaded stupid nonsense from revealing itself is nowhere to be seen; which sucks because you could really use it right now.

“Do you mean hooking up?” Lando takes the meek stare you give as a yes, and your sudden shyness has him wanting to press you for more, “Have you?”

Have you thought about it? Screwing Lando Norris? Embarrassingly so, you’ve always wanted to sleep with an F1 driver (to know what makes these girls so insane for them, that’s what you tell yourself), but you prefer to keep those fantasies in your head, locked away in an untouchable space where nobody can reach. Still, it would be a lie to say it hadn’t crossed your mind—even if you harbor no romantic feelings towards him, people don’t usually mind sleeping with someone they find physically attractive.

“And what if I have?” You probe, arms folding into each other as you watch Lando watch you out of the corner of his eyes.

You’ll put him into a lot of trouble soon enough, and he dreads the day you do. “You’re funny.”

“So it never crossed your mind?”

Of course it has, look at you—unbelievably pretty even while piss-drunk and dressed in an old wrinkled t-shirt riding up your thighs. Though, he would never tell you that to your face; it would do him more worse than good. Lando might not love you in that sense, but he is a single man with an appreciative eye; he thinks many of the other drivers on the grid can attest to the fact that you’re stunning, some even going as far as using him as a means of snagging your number. He does you the favor of turning them down in your stead, though, because you would never get with any of them—he’s sure of it.

At least, that’s what he hopes.

“Every guy has thought about hooking up with his best female friend, at least once.” He shrugs, not seeming to care about the way your mouth hangs open at his nonchalant vulgarity. Lando doesn’t actually know if it’s the truth, but he sure as hell feels that way about you, wrong or not. You don’t notice, but he’s already turned the stove burner off before facing you with a jerkish smirk, “what, did you want to try tonight?”

“Jesus, goodnight.” You shove at his left shoulder and try to make a b-line back to his bedroom, only to be held back by Lando's outstretched arm that wraps itself around your shoulder.

“Okay, okay,” he’s quick to plead, and he’s equally as quick to overlook the plans of goosebumps that settle across your body at his touch. “What I said was a dick move, I admit it.” Through a fanned breath, he heaves out, “but seriously, hm? What’s got you thinking about all that?”

What has got you thinking about all of this? The shots of Patron making its home in the pits of your stomach mixed with rumors that never seem to die down, maybe. There should be a warning sign, Patron & gossip: can lead to shamelessly flirting and innocently talking about topics like hookups and sex—with Lando Norris no less.

And Lando…

He’s better than this, he knows he’s better than this, letting your suggestions lurch him into a debauched daydream of the two of you coming to a head in the bedroom of his home, skin hot from fleeting touches instead of warm alcohol, hands grabbing underneath the shirt hung over your body and finally being able to do what no other man could—

“It’s not going to happen.”

—do for you.

You bring him out of his thoughts when you quickly dismiss the entire idea (disappointingly so), “I brought it up because I’m…bored, and drunk.” the tone of your voice goes high enough to pan your mumbled words out as a question, even you sound unconvinced of yourself.

Lando recognizes your doubts just as you do. “You suuuure about that?” He says in a way that has you giggling schoolgirlishly into his arms and makes this a little more not-so-awkward. “You know you don’t need to lie to me.”

While there's probably some truth to his reassuring words, he’s being bad, he wants this—maybe even more than you do, you can tell. It makes you a bit more still, knowing that he’s also, to some extent, got a hard on for you in a one-off sense. Meanwhile, Lando’s mind is going a mile a minute (it’s characteristic of someone who actually goes a mile a minute for a living), carefully observing your expressions to see what it is you’re thinking—to some degree he is a gentleman, if you say the words, he’ll forget anything was ever mentioned.

But boy does he want it.

Glassy eyes seem to pierce yours for what seems like an eternity, “Lando…” You hope your voice is calmer than how you feel, but it’s not promising; the world around you feels standstill—like you can’t even breathe for air.

“Don’t say my name like that.” He mumbles, eyes softening at how your body relaxes into his own. The two of you dance around the point of no return, still, magnetically you gravitate towards it. You want to embrace it tonight, and worry about the mess brewing tomorrow.

“Fucking hell.” He curses in the endearing way only a Brit can, arm circling the small of your back and lips ghosting against your own, “it’s just a one time thing.”

“Just this once…”

Just this once is what you tell yourselves when his lips catch your own, tongue languidly breaching your mouth whilst pulling you closer into him as you fall into his touch and wrap your arms around his neck. It’s just this once that he’ll push away plates and keys to pick you up and sit you on the kitchen counters for you to entangle your fingers within his curls, moaning for more as he kisses his way around your neck.

It’s just this once you’ll sleep with him.

—

Lando, like with everything else, is a massive tease. You should complain, but the feeling of warm hands hiking up your t-shirt short circuits your nerves and limits whatever capability you have to bite back, so you take it all; the ghostly touches, trailing kisses along your jaw, and hands wandering from the crux of your neck down to your entrance.

It aches so unfamiliarly, cotton panties are tugged haphazardly to the side and your pussy is wet and overstimulated.

Yes, that’s the word you’ve been looking for. It’s all so overstimulating, the fading pulsations of your last orgasm brought on from having two thick fingers scissoring out of you, the puffiness of your nipples still sensitive from Lando’s ongoing oral fixation, and the feeling of his dick messily slotting itself between folds and up against your clit, it’s all just so much.

“Lando…” You whine, “c’mon.”

He mocks you with a haughty smile, repeating his name shamelessly in a pitch much higher than your own. There’s little to be embarrassed about, yet you feel so exposed, in both a literal and figurative sense. He’s drawn two orgasms out of you with such ease, like your body is as simple to navigate as a track, all without even fucking you properly. Somewhere deep down you’re grateful he’s so observant; it’s a wildly different experience than what you’re used to in every way possible.

“Did you want me to do something? You need to use your words.” He feigns ignorance, like he doesn’t feel the clinging drag of your naked hips against his crotch. Right now, there is nothing nice about Lando—he’s brought you to the edge and left you to plead for him to dig his hands into the meat of your thighs and finally fuck you as promised.

And with eyes barred shut, you do ask for it, muttering a quaint just put it in with a hushed whimper that shoots straight through him, fueling some kind of excessive desire to give it to you straight.

“Lan!” Your instincts to twitch take hold of you when you feel the tip inch into you, stretching you out more than anything else.

“Relax.” He soothes not only you, lazily thumbing your clit to distract your body from the unnerving stretch of him bottoming out, but also himself; there’s a prayer he’s mumbling at the back of his mind, asking for strength to keep him from succumbing to the biting grip your walls welcome him with, he could cum on entry alone. “That feel good?”

It feels great, but you can’t find the words to talk, so you opt for the drawn out whine that amplifies to a full moan when he finds his rhythm. You guess Lando fucks like he races, wild but calculated, hard and fast. His thrusts push you up closer to the headboard, and you think you see stars with each one. Lando’s dilated eyes are focused on the way your boobs move in tandem with his hips, which roll into your own unforgivingly.

If this is what he gets when he does well, he needs to get those wins and that championship, as soon as possible.

“Just like that, Lan.” You exhale out, fingers darting to grapple at his wild brown tufts, “I want more of you. Need it.”

To hear you say you need him, it makes him somewhat insane. His body is eager to close in on your own, lips ghosting over your jaw and inching closer to your ear as a hand gently finds its way to your neck.

“You feel so perfect.” He’s so breathless, practically whining into your ears about just how good you feel, It doesn’t reach you, you’re too focused on feeling every inch of dick buried into you. It feels like he’s mushing up your insides, hitting spongy walls that desperately cling to him. Every thrust is harder than his last, and the way the trimmed hair resting above his base brushes against your clit provides all the extra stimulation that has your head lazily rolling to the side.

You’re not sure when you cum, but you do. It’s wet and his name is hot on your tongue, as if you’re cheering him on to fuck you through your orgasm, and who is he to deny you? Lando’s undoubtedly happy to see the pleasure he’s giving you, his eyes blowing wide at the feeling of his lower abdomen growing soaked by your arousal.

“Look at you,” he marvels, prideful and horny, “ever done that before?”

You haven’t—it freaks you out, yet despite all of your hurried apologies and groans of embarrassment, Lando finds himself dipping his head into the crux of your neck to suppress a groan. You’re so pretty it hurts him, his hips bore deeper into yours, hoping to get closer than humanly possible.

When he kisses you, your legs slither around his waist as if to cage him. You’ll be the death of him—the two of you are playing a dangerous game, and you both know it.

“You shouldn’t do that,” he smiles against your lips, and your body melts like putty, malleable enough for him to pry your legs from its digging into his back and push them closer towards you by your thighs.

His pace noticeably falters when you flutter around him. You’re muttering something about coming inside, pleading for it—but he pays you no mind; you’re intoxicated by the feeling of dopamine, and as much as he would love it, the feeling of stuffing you full, he’s a smarter man than that.

He cums with a guttural fuck, barely managing to rip himself away from your clutches and spill himself onto your stomach—and you just watch, doe eyed and jolted by the warm feeling on your skin. You both pant heavily against one another, until all you can hear is the noise of the London night leaking in from an ajar window.

“Hey.” He lazes out, rubbing circles on your thigh.

“Hi.”

“This can’t—” happen again, get out to anyone—there’s so much he could say, but you would rather not hear it. Not tonight.

“Yeah.”

❀❀

tags: @babyvinnie @leclercdream @im-an-overthinker@ririyulife @1655clean @sukisheadlights @harrysdimple05 @drunkinthemiddleoftheday

(if bolded i couldn’t tag you i’m so sorry!)

#f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 smut #lando norris x reader #lando norris imagine #lando norris smut #f1 x female reader #f1 x black!reader #f1 x you

1K notes · View notes

dallaji · 6 months

Text

Hope we make it to the Cloud.

♡ bada lee x idol!reader / NSFW❗

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

WORD COUNT: 10k

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

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

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

————— ୨୧ —————

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You had seen Bada around.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“They’ve been on your case, huh?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Right, of course.

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

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

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

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

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

Proving you wrong, she smiled back.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

————— ୨୧ —————

Her draft was good. Really good, actually.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

————— ୨୧ —————

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

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

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

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

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

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

You didn’t like the sound of that.

————— ୨୧ —————

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

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

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

You looked good together.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But instead she said: “That was incredible.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

————— ୨୧ —————

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

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

It had changed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Bada.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Bada clapped her hands together with a cheer.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why?” You asked, genuinely.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She whispered: “Keep looking at yourself.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey, Bada.”

“Hm?”

“Camera’s still recording.”

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

“Oh, fuck.”

#bada lee x reader #swf2 #bada lee #bada lee smut #street woman fighter 2 #dalla!writes #im sorry in advance bhahaha #idk what i did

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amourrs · 22 days

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rich!abby who lives in a veritable bachelor pad- a five million dollar penthouse strewn with loose bills on the floors & residual white powder on all the flat surfaces. she enjoys fucking models- there’s something so fucking addictive about the innocent wide-eyed hunger of a twenty year old who’s just moved to LA to “make it big” in the industry. they’re always so willing, so pliant- after all, anderson pharmaceuticals is a household name and surely it can’t hurt to get on the heiress’s good side… especially when she promises to pull some strings and get them on the guest list at exclusive clubs where the the leering scouts and creepy freelance photographers are actually famous and not just pervs. it’s at one of these clubs that she meets you for the first time- at least four years her junior, hips swaying to the beat of some shitty edm blaring from the state-of-the-art sound system. she’s instantly enraptured. you’re not one of her usual conquests- no, abby recognises you from a couple of pretty big campaigns, the kind you see plastered on billboards advertising the latest prada bag or this season’s must-have $6m watch. she can’t really promise to get you famous when you already are. instead, she approaches you and places her hands on your hips from behind, swaying with you as the song changes to something more seductive, one of the latest chart hits. abby’s heard it before, she thinks absentmindedly. probably from one of the girls she fucked last week. tuesday? no, thursday. maybe. fuck it, who cares- not her, especially not when you’ve turned around and instead of pushing her off have leaned in closer to her, bumping and grinding to the bass as abby leans in close and breathes a question in your ear. “wanna get out of here?” you laugh back at her and shake your head and abby’s shocked. nobody’s ever turned her down and she doesn’t know what to do with it- so she shoves her thigh between your legs in a desperate attempt to change your mind. you roll your hips downwards, whining slightly at the friction and yet never missing a beat. abby just stands there like an idiot and watches you as you get yourself off on her thigh in the middle of the club, clit throbbing as you bite down into her shoulder before coming undone. she expects you to maybe give her your number or something before you walk away, y’know, seeing as she just gave you an orgasm in the middle of one of LA’s most exclusive nightclubs- but you simply pick up a shot from a tray held by a passing server and turn around to send abby a wink over your shoulder. jesus h christ. abby shifts uncomfortably in her damp boxers, makes a mental note of the name of the club & then calls her driver. she doesn’t even get a mile down the road before shoving her hand down her pants.

#abbyanderson #abby anderson smut #abby anderson x reader #abby anderson #the last of us #abby anderson blurb #bachelor!abby

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alllgator-blood · 17 days

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I s2g if you add the layers of these comic pages together, it's over 350 layers. THIS is why I don't do full color for my comics lmaooo- ANYWAY EVERYONE HERE HAS AN AU APPARENTLY, SO THIS IS A BRIEF GLIMPSE INTO MINE. I don't know what to call it yet but I'm thinking of calling it "famous prophets" because 1. I like that car seat headrest song, 2. it's about shamura who is prophetic, 3. it's about trying to outrun fate with the Power of Love (and failing. Like the song!!!). It takes place when all the bishops were teens/kids during the age of hundreds of gods at war, and were trying to survive as a family.

I'm really excited to work on stuff for it but it's all gonna be drawn out of order. Maybe I'll write a full explanation of what it's gonna be about when I have a better idea...I want to channel my eldest sibling angst in a productive way, and maybe establish a QPP between shamura and a completely random npc everyone forgets about <3 also kallamar is trans too cause I said so. I'll do a comic about it eventually. Instead of an absence of gender he has TOO much gender. It simply cannot be contained.

I like that nonbinary genders are normalized in cult of the lamb to the point where nobody singles anyone out for being a they/them, it's not like "THIS IS MY SIBLING SHAMURA. THEY ARE NONBINARY AND USE THEY/THEM. ALRIGHT BACK TO KILLING YOU", it's just like "don't you fucking dare make my poor sibling wake up from their nap to kick your ass. Cause they deserve better than this."

But at the same time I like having the freedom to be more specific, and say "shamura is voidpunk and their gender is best described as the feeling that overtakes you during the first snow of the year, when everything outside is deathly quiet". This comic is actually derived from the time I was walking through a forest that's been torn down for a few years, and came out to my little sister as trans. I must've been like 13 or 14 and she didn't really get it as a 10 year old, but it was better than my mom FREAKING OUT about me coming out. So it was a nice little bonding moment between just the two of us. I don't have a good memory so I don't recall how it went unfortunately...

Now, the climate is a little different. My sis tried out transmasculinity for maybe 5-6 years before feeling happier as a woman, my mom is trying to be Based and flaunt her Woke trans children, and my dad remembered "oh yeah trans natives have existed before colonization. Maybe me being transphobic is a product of my culture being erased" and has gotten better about calling me the right thing. I have a mustache (thanks pcos!!) and wear skirts and am not a repressed "tomboy" teenager anymore. But I can't help but wonder what would've happened if I could've been like shamura and just...been nonbinary without people being fucking weird about it. Or been born as a badass war god who will tear you to shreds before you can perceive my birth sex. I know they're fictional but they are my ultimate gender envy GRRRRR BARK BARK BARK

Here is the secret image for this post- I listen to mostly EDM when I draw cause it keeps the energy up, but as I was finishing up shamura's poetry part, I was like THESE ARE JUST KMFDM LYRICS so I made this

#cotl #cult of the lamb #famous prophets au #alternate universe #shamura #heket #kallamar #narinder #the one who waits #leshy #comic #violence tw #blood tw

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f6bron · 6 months

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sequoia.

pairing : iso x gn!reader

notes : mutual pining ? i’ll let the audience decide , might be ooc since i wrote this based on all of his available voicelines so far ( . — . )

The echoing clang of bullets hitting metal targets reverberated through the shooting range as you took aim alongside Iso, the new recruit to the Valorant Protocol. You’d been itching to get to know him better, and what better way to break the ice then some target practice?

“Clean shot! I should let Chamber know he has a rival now.”

Iso shrugged and chuckled, as an acknowledgement to your compliment.

“So, Iso… I heard you isolate your enemy into that domain of yours? Interesting…” you remarked, keeping your eyes trained on the target as you shot a bullet straight to the head.

Iso nodded shyly, his fingers still gripping the handle of his pistol.

“Y-yeah… Just my way to secure a 1v1 duel…”

Oh, what the hell am I saying, Iso thought, mentally facepalming at his awkward response. He felt silly for acting awkward in front of you. To be honest, he finds you really, really beautiful. Maybe that’s the reason.

But to his surprise, you merely gave him a soft smile.

“That is sooo freaking cool ~! Can you bring me there someday?” you asked, your tone playful and light.

Iso was surprised, his eyebrows knitting together.

“Why would I bring you there? I don’t think having a gun duel with an ally there is a good idea–”

You giggled, which interrupted his words. “Not in a gun duel, silly. I just wanna know what it looks like in the dimension.”

Warmth crept onto Iso’s face, his cheeks tinged with embarrassment at having misunderstood your context. “O-oh… Yeah, sure. I hang out a lot there even though there’s nothing much… Mostly when I need alone time to read my books or… listen to music.”

“And, having company once in a while would be nice.” He smiled, his eyes glanced at you.

“Mhmm, then I’ll be waiting ~” you replied, your curiosity piqued. You adjusted your stance, firing a few more rounds with precise accuracy.

“Oh ! Talking about music,” you continued, gesturing to the earbuds that Iso always had whenever you saw him. “I always see you got your earbuds on all the time. I assume you’re a music enthusiast, yes?”

Iso nodded, his fingers fumbling with the gun’s magazine as he exchanged it. “It helps me to stay relaxed and focused. Music has this way of grounding me, you know?”

You smiled, appreciating his honesty. “That makes sense. What kind of music do you listen to then?”

As Iso put his pistol down, he began to list off his favourite genres and artists. You noticed the way his purple-coloured eyes lightened up. You were surprised by the variety of his tastes, from classical compositions to high-energy EDM tracks. Your conversation flowed seamlessly, as Iso continued geeking over his profound hyperfixation.

“So, do you have a favourite song?” you asked, genuinely interested.

Iso took a moment to think before answering. He has so many favourites, heck, he could create millions of playlist when he thought of it. Then, a song came to his mind, “There’s this one song that I find myself going back to quite often. It’s called ‘Helena’ by My Chemical Romance.

The name caught your attention, “Wait ! I know that song ! What’s the worst that I can say ~”

Iso chuckled, he continued singing along, “Things are better if I stay ~”

“So long and goodnight, so long and goodnight.”

Both of you started giggling, which lightened up the mood surrounding the both of you.

Iso started to fiddle with his gloved fingers, his expression softening. “To me, that song carries a powerful and cathartic expression of one’s emotions surrounding the loss of a loved one, so it has become one of my favourites.”

You were touched by his description and decided to make a mental note to listen to the song again later. As you both finished up with the training at the shooting range, you couldn’t help but feel a connection forming between you and Iso. He’s slowly getting along with you, no longer the quiet and reserved recruit.

Someone you could genuinely relate to.

As the both of you left the shooting range, the two of you talked and laughed, not just about combat training but about music, books and everything in between. His giggles caught your attention, the way he would bring up his hand to stifle his laughs.

Goddamn, he’s cute.

You didn’t expect the training you had with him could be the perfect time to bring you both closer. You couldn’t wait to explore Iso’s unique dimension with him, discovering not just his hidden talents but the beauty of the world he had specifically created for himself.

“So, about that dimension visit,” you teased, “When can we make that happen?”

Iso grinned, the embarrassment from earlier dissipating. “Whenever you’re ready. I’d be happy to show you around the place.”

“Can we make that a promise?”

“Yeah, promise.”

(A/N): my love for iso is growing… he’s so cutie patootie… do u get me…

masterlist.

#f6bron #ITS SO ISOVERRRRR #valorant iso #valorant iso x reader #iso x reader #valorant imagines #li zhao yu #iso x y/n #iso x you #valorant fanfiction #iso headcanons #valorant x reader

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