#You can imagine I have a lot of feelings about the Rim scene

[offshore-brinicle]

Hi I have finally logged unto Tumblr after dissociating for 3 days after having an internal episode and then jumping on a plane to end up in my sunny Hellish homeland of Latinoamerica and before I know it both Gaymael is real and so is Ishcliff I am very lost but also in joy but also sad because the past haunts me

[gashotbox]

I know that this is not a respectful thing to do, and I actually would never do to anyone, but I was thinking about waxing with laser or not, and farting while someone is waxing your ass, near your asshole... And then you simply fart on their face and they can't complain - actually they can, but let's imagine a scene that they can't complain, and they just have to endure your gassing fumes. And you can also blame the pain your feeling with the process, or the position your are, holding your ass cheeks apart and pointing to the air your butt...

And now we have a whole lot of things that can happen after...

You can tell them it's hurting and then they just start massaging and kissing your asshole and cheeks, trying to ease the pain, while you just blow your farts on their face...

OR

They can get really mad about it, and simply at YOUR face and fart during all the waxing session, just to teach you a lesson...

OR

You can be really bad and simply shove their face in your ass and tell them your paying for the service, so they shouldn't complain about anything...

OR...

Ok, maybe I got carried away, but that's it

And obviously these are just fake scenarios, that just works on imagination , cause no one should be disrespectful with anyone in real life... But imagining it, oh, it's a little hot, right...? Do you want me to shave your ass, babe? 😏 /j

and it's cute how they try to keep it professional, even if you're so goddamn hairy they can't even see your asshole behind the jungle of curls rimming your pucker. yet. not even when it splutters open and sprays a rancid one right into their face.

it's adorable how theyre still fighting to treat you like their darling customer, as if you don't keep grunting and pushing out steaming farts into their mouth. the tuft of your asshole hair puffs with each expulsion — brushing their nose as you buck your hips purposefully. you can feel their fingers trembling while they spread your fleshy cheeks apart, knowing full well they could let go and stop getting a face-full of your radioactive gas but they don't, because they pride themselves on their impeccable customer service and they're not about to stop now.

not even when you abruptly back your hairy hole up against their face and let the real bubblers fly out. deep, guttural rippers that come right from the pits of your stomach — droning on for several seconds and flecking their cheeks with wetness. they start hacking, coughing, turning to the side — and that's when you grab the back of their head, shove their face into your plump, swampy ass and let them know how to serve you for real.

[thatsdemko]

tale as old as time - p.gasly

the art of attraction series — part one

masterlist

warnings: fluff

a/n: decided to provide the wedding scene!!! I have some other little fics working around the first part as well! xx

age 23 & 25

the proposal

he’s always known he was going to propose. it was when was the hardest part of the question to answer. folks back home both yours and his family always eagerly searching for a ring on your finger. he knows your antsy, seeing friends and extended family members get the beautiful diamond ring and begin to start families. you’d longed for that idea, but you’d wait for whenever Pierre found the timing to be right.

it was summer break when Pierre asked pascale leclerc and Lornezo, your eldest brother, for permission. with teary eyes, it was an easy yes from the two of them. he now only needed your answer.

—

you’re in your hotel bed. makeup removed and dessert from a local bakery sit mixed in the comforters of the bed, you two are snacking amongst yourself when he turns to you.

his eyes say every word he wants to say. with tears brimming the rims, your mouth curls into a smile knowing what’s next. he says he wants more nights like this, and says he can’t imagine anybody else he’d love more than you.

“y/n leclerc, will you marry me?”

“yes.”

age 25 & 27 (now)

the gasly’s.

Charles watches his best friend pace the floor of the tiny church room. he’s sure Arthur and Lorenzo have you safe from a nervous spiral, while Charles struggles to find words to calm his best friend before the best day of his life.

he knows these nerves aren’t bad thoughts. rather, excited for the future and the big celebration. months, years, of preparation went into this wedding. from the flowers all the way down to the shoes you both wore, all the details were planned out.

part of Pierre wants none of the traditions. he doesn’t care for the ministers approval and the shitty piano music his mother got teary eyed about.

“do you think you can get ordained as a minister?”

“like now?”

Pierre shoots Charles a pointed look, “why would I ask if it wasn’t for right now?”

Charles frantically pulls out his phone, nervous hands shaking as he types it in the safari. he becomes ordained in a matter of minutes and soon enough he’s pulling you out of your bridal party with Lorenzo and Arthur.

Pierre waits outside the church, your white dress coming into his vision like an angel or a cloud in the sky. with your hair pulled back, veil covering your face, and the white train trailing behind you, he felt tears slipping down his cheeks.

“Aw don’t cry or else I’ll cry and they spent hours on my makeup.” you wipe your thumb across his cheeks until they stop and Charles marries you two in the parking lot of the church. an hour earlier than the actual wedding.

“I should’ve married you along time ago.”

“I agree, it took you long enough to ask.”

—

the reception is in the summer home. the bedroom you first fell in love with him, is the place you two hide from greeting guests and faking smiles.

“I can’t believe we have to go down there again.” you groan throwing your body against his crisp clean suit.

“if you get tired of this, go up to the attic and I’ll come to you. I can hold off the family for you.” he presses a kiss to your forehead, two of you finally deciding to get up off the bed and make your way down the stairs. family and friends begin to holler and cheer seeing your arrival to your own party. Pierre kisses you once again, lips colliding like there wasn’t going to be another time for this. the hollers and whistles become background noise to the sound of his heart beat and how his fingers feel against the white silk material. you want to capture these emotions forever and put them in a bottle.

Pierre holds on to his promise, he chats with your family and his family while giving you time to eat and linger with friends. all sorts of people compliment your dress, the taste for the venue, etc. there’s not a single opinion you could care about while you sit and listen.

“I always pictured your wedding happening here.” Arthur says from beside you at the dinning room table. the two of you tucked away from the rest of the guests.

“really?”

he nods, “yeah, the flowers in the backyard are the ones you’ve always picked for Enzo, the sunset is visible from here, and this is where you fell in love. I was shocked when maman told me you picked a silly church.”

you laugh at your younger brothers words, but ultimately agree. you’d wished you didn’t settle on the old church and rather just get married in the backyard. you didn’t have many guests as it was, and Arthur was right, this place did hold a special spot in your heart.

“you should get married here then. the place belongs to Pierre now.”

Arthur laughs, “no I’m getting married in bora bora. churches are a yawn.”

you scoff giving his shoulder a shove, “wow where were you at the wedding planning meeting?”

“sleeping. I didn’t care to hear about bouquets and bridal showers.”

—

the early morning/late evening hours seems to slip by you both. you’re curled in bed, fingers intertwined when you hear Pierre shift in bed. his suit jacket was draped across your lap as a blanket, while his dress shirt was torn off somewhere across the room. you’d both been to exhausted for anything fun to happen that night, but from the looks of the room it’d say otherwise.

your eyes flutter open— well attempt with yesterdays mascara sticking them together— you look over at Pierre in his peaceful state. you’d, shockingly, never noticed the contrast color of his lashes to his blue eyes, how the hairs under his lip were getting a little thicker, or even the finest line across his forehead from stress. these were things that seemed to come with time, but beauty you loved so deep within your heart.

“I should make you breakfast, shouldnt I?”

his voice startles you from your thoughts, his hand reaches across the bed to your leg. the guarder you’d worn was torn off, and you proudly wear nothing but spandex and Pierre’s tie around your neck. somehow along the lines you’d lost your bra, but your dress still lays perfectly across the floor.

“don’t be ridiculous, let’s just order breakfast.” you shift closer to him and reach across for his phone on the charger. he takes the chance to kiss your cheek while you enter his passcode and scroll through the millions of breakfast places open.

“I don’t think I ever told you how beautiful you looked last night.”

you give him a pointed look, “and yesterdays makeup doesn’t still say beautiful?”

he laughs pressing a kiss to your shoulder blade, “amour, you’re beautiful everyday. just even extra yesterday.”

you feel the typical butterflies you get around him, but there’s even more than usual when you’re around him, you couldn’t pinpoint the feeling but it softened your heart and made you sink closer to him.

“what do you want from McDonald’s, mr. gasly?”

“whatever my wife wants.”

tags: @oconso @xcicix @imsorare @weasleyswizardwheezes-blog @monzabee @lpab @frreyaa @motorsp0rt @smoothopz @jaehyunluvcult @iloveyou3000morgan @lunnnix @leclerc13 @toalltheboyswhowastedmytime

want to be apart of my taglist? let me know here!

[jsagirly]

𝐅𝐨𝐫𝐛𝐢𝐝𝐝𝐞𝐧- 𝟏𝟖+ 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬

𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 & 𝐏𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 ❥ 𝐆𝐨𝐣𝐨 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 & 𝐆𝐞𝐭𝐨 × 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐉𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐚 𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐬𝐩 𝐚𝐰𝐚𝐲, 𝐬𝐨 𝐜𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐲𝐞𝐭 𝐬𝐨 𝐟𝐚𝐫..

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩.𝟒 𝐂𝐫𝐨𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐟𝐢𝐬𝐡.

𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬✔︎𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐟𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐭𝐲,𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐛𝐮𝐥𝐥𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠,𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐬𝐭𝐭, 𝐍𝐨𝐛𝐚𝐫𝐚 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐢𝐧𝐠.

𝐖𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭! 𝟏.𝟑𝐤

(𝐲𝐞𝐚 𝐟𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐤 𝐨𝐜𝐞𝐚𝐧 𝐭𝐰𝐨 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐚 𝐫𝐨𝐰)

“What colors are we supposed to be getting again?”

“depends on what we decide to make.”

How was it that it was already Thursday? You really let the week slip away from you, and you had signed up for the charity event to crochet things to sell for a children’s hospital.

The only issue? Your projects were due on Friday. As in the next day, Friday. Well luckily you weren’t alone! No because you had dragged Nobara into this with you.

As friends you had a few similarities, one of those being procrastination. So here you were in Hobby Lobby searching for last minute yarn.

“Okay so it says here the only project no one signed up for yet was….”

“Hm? What is it” Nobara says leaning against the shopping cart.

“crocheted fish?.. they’re pretty small but it says 26 of them” you say looking down at your phone and the spreadsheet on it.

“oh that’s cute! Plus we can split it and make 13 each!”

“Hmm it doesn’t exactly list a color though, just says pick anything bright?”

“I call orange! I want to make a bunch of goldfish” She says excitedly.

“alright then I’ll do red!” Putting down your phone, before reaching up to the top shelf to grab the colors you’d picked out.

“It’s too high up! Hold the cart still I’m gonna use it to step up there”

“okay.. but be careful!”

You place one foot on the rim of the cart and the other on a shelf. Your fingertips graze the two bundles you need. And slowly you’re able to slip them down in your arms.

But then as you see Nobara smile and mini cheer your victory. You feel your legs get wobbly and..

“WOAH”

“Y/N?!”

You fall backwards and land straight on your ass. The two bundles land right beside you as Nobara comes to your side to check on you.

“I’m so sorry! I let go for two seconds I shouldn’t have. I'm so so sorry!” She reaches out a hand to help you up.

“oww it’s f-fine” you wince as the pain aggravates as you stand up.

“well.. now I have even more a reason to spend my afternoon sitting down and relaxing?” You say while smiling.

“mhm! I’ll help you with anything, don't worry!”

You reach your apartment and dump out all the supplies on the table. “Okay let’s get cozy we have to make 13 each after all.”

You grab a few blankets and pillows to set on the couch, before you both settle down on it. As well as popping a show onto the tv.

“sooo what’s been going on in your life, we haven’t actually talked about you in a while” Nobara says, still focused on her “project”.

“It’s been calm.. you know like I guess not boring but also not hectic ?”

“And that’s perfectly fine for me.”

“I’m just glad I got to escape the whole small town scene quickly”

“eugh me too! that whole area is a mess” she makes a disgusted face to accompany the severity of her words.

“I could not imagine even one more year with our class.” You say rolling your eyes.

“Highschool really was rough on you wasn’t it..”

you stop for a moment, looking down as your eyes soften. “I guess that’s the right word for it..it was unbearable at the least”

“I wish I could forget most of it, to be honest”

“Really? even all our senior trips!”

“yea.”

The memory resurfaces..senior trips..

——————————————————

It was your first one, your class had decided to go all the way to San Diego. Sunny, lots of beaches, and gorgeous sunsets.

You hadn’t had many friends during that time, most of them had left you after a huge fight with the group.

Nobara being the exception, so when you heard she was going on the trip. You figured it wouldn’t be bad if you tagged along! So you signed up for it on the board outside the gym.

That’s when the “setup” happened. One of the guys in your class came up to you just as you were signing up. He called you cute and asked for your number.

Naivety got the better of you and gladly you handed it over like candy on halloween. You texted him everyday starting then, surprisingly you both shared a lot of the same interests and on late nights you’d stay up talking to him about everything.

You even went as far as telling Satoru about it.

“He’s really sweet! And I think we have a connection.”

He looked down at you and raises an eyebrow.

“I’m serious toru.”

“I don’t know… he has a reputation.”

“Even if I did care about that, he's different.. I could never see him doing that to me”

“Just.”

“Just what?! This is like a rare time a guy finally has interest in me, why can’t you just be happy for me?”

“Just be careful is all I’m saying.”

“whatever toru.”

You have to admit you did find it a bit strange he didn’t sit with you on the flight there. But you could understand it, he wanted to sit with his friends and you wanted to sit with Nobara. It was reasonable in your mind

The part about it that you really found weird was that he didn’t even want to hang out on the first day there?

You’d find the reason out very quickly. You and Nobara had just spent your whole first day lounging and relaxing on the beach.

But as the sun set over the beach all was calm. The only sounds in the air was the loud crashing of waves against the sand, each one pushing and pulling. The other sound? Your quiet sobbing.

You pulled your legs in towards your core as you just sobbed and sobbed and sobbed into your knees.

You’d waited till Nobara went back to the hotel, making the excuse that you just wanted to absorb the view a bit longer. Then you just sat there by the sea and cried. That’s when he found you.

“Are you okay?..”

Only the voice of one guy, Gojo Satoru. Stood over you as you sniffled and tried to gain enough composure to talk.

“It was all *hic* a fucking *hic* setup” You tried to croak out while you wiped the tears off your puffy cheeks.

You hear him sigh before he sits down next to you. “I’m not gonna say I told you so right now. Only because I’m more angry at that asshole”

“It wasn’t even *hic* all him it was my stupid friends they told him to do everything” You said, now just peeking your eyes over your knees to look at the ocean .

“They told him everything I liked and what I wanted to hear, they knew it all and they used it against me.”

“I’m so stupid, why, how could I fall for this. I should’ve known it was too good to be true” ducking your head back down”

“Hey no stop, look at me.“

He says before lifting your head up by your chin. “Your not stupid for that you’re so much more than that”

“Those fucking weirdos are stupid for messing with your life like that.”

He sighs “any guy would be lucky to end up with a girl like you. I could list a million reasons why”

“You don’t mean that.” you say gently shifting your head down again.

“No. I’m serious” he says while looking out.

“well..” you shift to look toward him.

“thanks”.

——————————————————

“whaaat?! How come you’ve never told me about that!” She says with a frown.

“I don’t know, I just didn’t want to involve you with them”

“that was sweet of Satoru though. Didn’t know you guys were that close, I mean yea he did apply for the same college and moved here with you but like woah”

“Yea I met him junior year, he’s practically been with me through everything”

“all that time?! How have you not fallen in love with him yet?”

You hesitate before saying “I don’t— I don’t know”

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: 𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐩𝐬𝐬𝐭 𝐍𝐨𝐛𝐚𝐫𝐚 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐬 𝐟𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐧.

[palfriendpatine66]

Making of Monday - Nursing home au edition

Posting what was the first scene of my big bang fic, Say Anything, after I made the call to edit it out. I feel this scene is mostly background info that I had to get set in my mind before I could jump into the story, but we don’t necessarily need while reading. I have a hard time bidding goodbye to these kinds of details, but I think it will be a stronger opening for it.

Cw: aging angst

Heavy. 

Impossibly heavy.

Slowly rising from the murky waters of a medicated sleep, Obi-Wan isn’t quite able to break through the surface and into the clear air of consciousness. His eyelids twitch but remain closed, his body weighted down and dragging him back under. Just as he decides not to fight it, to surrender and spend the day adrift in the peace of the liminal space in which he finds himself floating, it lets up. 

The first rays of light are blinding, too intense, and he squeezes his eyes shut and furrows his brow against the unwelcome intrusion. He reaches full consciousness and becomes aware of his body just in time to wish he hadn’t. He feels terrible, more than the average my bones feel every day of my age sort of terrible that he's come to expect. At some point the body just decides it has had enough, and he’d crossed that point years before. 

“Nuh-uh: I saw that,” a familiar voice teases from somewhere nearby. “You won’t be fooling anyone today. After we change your bandage you can eat in the dining room just like everyone else.” 

Obi-Wan finally makes some progress in his fight against the cursed brightness. The room comes into focus once his hand instinctively feels along a bedside table until his fingers wrap around a pair of thick rimmed glasses and slides them into place. 

“Perhaps I’ll starve to death," he suggests dryly. "Save you the trouble.”

The nurse by his side is one of his favorites, Ahsoka, and this fact alone considerably improves his outlook for the day. He had recognized her voice but seeing her kind eyes, and the not altogether surprising addition of nearly fluorescent streaks of blue in the hair that frames her easy smile, is a welcome comfort. 

Young and determined, Ahsoka is still filled with the desire to make a difference. Not yet burnt out by years of burdens that come with the job or else the bitterness of being bound by uncaring constraints of budgets and bureaucracy, she is a breath of fresh air in what can be, at times, a stale atmosphere. Fierce and kindhearted and terribly clever, she reminds Obi-Wan of the daughter he had once imagined he might have. It had been a daydream fated to remain just that, but he thinks she would have turned out a lot like Nurse Tano, attitude and all. 

"Don’t go getting any ideas; do you have any idea how much paperwork that would leave me with?” She arches an eyebrow as she bustles about, preparing her supplies. “Besides, it was just a slip and fall; you didn’t even break a hip. There’s life in you yet, old man.” 

“Oh yes,” Obi-Wan can’t help but scoff at her irreverence. “Just look at me. Practically a spring chicken.” 

It had been a slip and fall that had brought him into assisted living to begin with, and continues to serve as an unwanted reminder that he is the frail remainder of the man he used to be, his adventurous spirit now a relic of a bygone age. He doesn’t need to push a motorcycle to its limit or free climb towering cliffs when he craves a taste of danger to get the adrenaline pumping these days; hazards like slick surfaces and uneven flooring are as plentiful as they are potentially fatal.   

The beginning of the end had arrived while exiting an otherwise unremarkable shower that wouldn’t have stood out from any of the rest he’d taken over the course of his life had he not lost his balance and fallen. When he had eventually come to, awkwardly splayed across the cold tile, he’d been unable to move beyond the effort it took to reach the corner of his towel with his outstretched fingertips and drape it over himself to preserve the one lingering shred of dignity he had left. 

There was no telling how long he would have stayed there if fate hadn’t been on his side - in the form of a leaky sink, which never did get fixed. The plumber had arrived as scheduled first thing the next morning to find his client laid out on the bathroom floor, weak and clearly in a great deal of pain. He didn’t quite get to the job he’d been hired for. Obi-Wan called out, “would you be a good chap and call me an ambulance? The phone is in the kitchen, thank you,” as if the plumber hadn’t already pulled out his iPhone and dialed 911. 

After a surgery to repair the hip that hadn’t managed to heal quite right and broken ribs that had slowly and painfully stitched themselves together, an ornery Obi-Wan had turned even more oppositional when he’d been visited by the hospital social workers. With shrugs that said this is for the best they’d insisted he was unable to return home without someone there to look after him. He’d angrily defended his right to live alone and do whatever the damn hell he pleased with his days, even if that included an amount of whisky that was slowly pickling his liver (not that he added that particular detail or any other that might provide further fuel to their arguments). But eventually he’d changed his tune when he was told - threatened, really, if you asked him - that if he refused his case would be brought to the courts and a judge would determine whether his aging mind was fit to make his own decisions at all. 

He had known he was backed into a corner and had reluctantly raised a white flag of surrender. He’d been convinced it would be better for him to go willingly, to permanently move into an assisted living facility after the short period required to rehab his hip, and maintain his autonomy to make other decisions for himself. 

His house remained as it was, leaky sink and all, a monument paying homage to his past life. His in name but not in practice, it was a problem to be dealt with by someone else at another time. 

When he’d recovered enough strength to walk with a cane he’d returned one last time to collect his effects. His home was filled with artwork and trinkets and more books than most would read in a lifetime; all the things he had gathered throughout the years that, taken together, told the story of his life. But he couldn’t take it all with him and when he considered what he needed the answer wasn’t much. The necessities all fit into one suitcase but once he’d thought on it he’d filled a second with what might be nice to have as well. 

Those things and the memories they carried were what made his bland apartment, a level one-bedroom with things like handrails and non-slip mats and emergency pull cords, bearable. But having an echo of himself and the life he’d lived along its neutral walls didn’t automatically make the place to live a home. He’d begrudgingly seen the wisdom of the move shortly after his first heart attack, and made more of an effort to lay down some roots, to connect with the other residents and staff. It still wasn’t what he would have chosen for himself, but it helped. 

“Oh, don’t put yourself down," Ahsoka chides as she effeciently tends to whatever injuries lay beneath his bandages — Obi-Wan can't see and decides he doesn't feel the need to exert the effort to look. "I’ve seen the way the knitting circle all giggle like school girls when you enter a room.” 

“Yes, well, slim pickings and all that,” he rolls his eyes and decides he must be pulling through. Surely sarcasm will be one of the first faculties to go? “It’s hard not to outshine the meager competition.” 

“Yeah, you still have your hair,” Ahsoka nods in agreement as she gently unwinds the bandages holding him back together after his nearly fatal run in with his dangerous arch nemesis: the shower. 

“And teeth.” 

They both laugh at that, although there isn’t all that much humor in the simple fact that vegetables served in the dining room are frequently steamed to the point of liquidation. Some might call Obi-Wan vain, and maybe he is, but it’s a point of pride that after having lost so many things over the course of his life that his smile isn’t one of them. 

“What if I told you I have insider intel? Would corn on the cob be enough for you to show your face in the dining room and let everyone see for themselves you made it? Come on,” she needles, leaning into his side, sensing victory, “dispelling the death rumors, sinking your teeth into a fresh, firm vegetable, and getting ahead of the oncoming shame induced solitude? This sounds like a win/win/win to me.”

And to think he’d been inwardly praising her. Ahsoka’s bedside banter is probably, according to both nursing school textbooks and official policies, terribly unprofessional. And yet, seeing as how she’s one of the few who makes him feel like an autonomous adult rather than an errant toddler, in Obi-Wan’s opinion, it’s the very best.

[dc418writes]

•|Re-Match|•

✨Pairing✨: NBA!Colin Sheaxblack!reader

Summary🪄: It’s time to settle a long lasting dispute

⚠️: partial nudity, likkle bit of playful, sexual tension, pretty much all fluff in the form of a hilarious game of horse

A/N🎙️: a little sneak peak of a story I’ve been thinking of inspired by the iconic basketball scene from “What’s Your Number?” I hope you guys like it☺️!

“Colin, if you get us arrested I swear-“

“Relax peaches we’ll be fine,” he winks holding open the large, metal door leading to the quiet tunnel.

Knowing Colin everything definitely would not be fine.

The hum of the AC and low squeaks of your sneakers along the linoleum wood - appearing freshly polished from its shine of the few overhead lights on above - is all you hear in the empty arena. Looking around at the vacant seats imagining the cheers and shouts from fans, you understand how it could become addicting.

“And you’re sure you can be in here?”

“I’m a player aren’t I?”

“Yea but not with the Lakers,” you answer. Arms crossed against your chest anxiously biting your lower lip it reminds him of the you he knew from his childhood. Incredibly shy at first, but once comfortable enough around him - and only him at the time - he found just how sassy you could be.

“Will you tell me why we’re here now?”

A grin spreads along his pink lips squatting down to his duffle. “We’re gonna settle this once and for all.”

Watching as he removes the orange and black basketball, you suck your teeth before huffing a laugh of disbelief.

“Are you serious right now? Colin it’s one am.”

“And neither of us could sleep, so what better way to kill time?,” he responds as he repeatedly bounces the ball. Of course he knew of a better way that would definitely tire both of you out, but with your situation this would have to do. “Or do you not wanna play because you’ll have to cheat again to beat me?”

“I didn’t cheat! It’s not my fault you were off your game that day.” Little did you know the reason was you and all the feelings you awoke in your childhood friend that he didn’t fully understand until becoming an adult.

“We’ll see.” He bounces the ball a few more times warming it up - even dribbling between his legs in cocky yet impressive fashion - before passing to you. Your finger pads running along the smooth yet bumpy surface bring back so many memories you’ve desperately tried to forget.

Although some of your happiest times, the unresolved trauma always had to tag along growing obnoxiously louder the longer you reminisced.

Colin lightly bouncing on the balls of his feet flapping his arms like a chicken is his tactic to spur you on. Smirking as you narrow your pretty brown eyes, he sees it’s working.

“You’re so childish. It’s been over 10 years and you’re still thinking about that game?”

“Fine,” he stops, taking a step closer to you. “No more kids games. We play See-Horse.”

“See-horse?”

Colin nods with that famous boyish grin. “Still horse. But every shot you miss, I’m gonna see a lot more of you. And vice versa.”

“So..basically strip horse,” you state trying to ignore that pesky tingling you feel.

“Yep, an adult game for those who aren’t at all childish. Here, I’ll even give you a one up.” Before any words could pass your lips, all you see is his bare chest littered with more tattoos than you remember. The formerly single quote on his left pec now joined by various pictures and words scattered along his torso and sides. You swear you see what looks like a peach on his ribs, but his arm blocks you from further investigating.

“First point is yours.”

Rolling your eyes, you begin to dribble stepping closer to the net. “I don’t need your petty point Shea.” You stop at the corner spot closest to the rim bouncing the ball a couple more times before flicking your wrist and easily sinking what would be a point in a regular game.

He easily catches your pass grinning as he gets into position and readies his shooting stance. “Alright then peaches.”

•

About an hour later Colin is down to his boxers with bare feet padding around the court thinking of what to do next while you stood in your lacy, black bra and grey biker shorts. Your own bare feet starting to get cold the longer you waited.

“Cmon Shea, before we turn 100.”

“Hey I didn’t hassle you with your shots. Gimme a minute.”

Hands up, you silently giggle watching him pace back and forth trying to come up with something to stump you. He finally settles on a half court shot, surprisingly making it look simple as the ball easily slides through the net with a swish.

“Your turn sweetheart,” he winks passing you the ball once he’s retrieved it. It shouldn’t make your gut flutter the way it is now, but you’d be lying if you said you didn’t enjoy the feeling.

Standing in the exact same spot, you analyze the space between you and the net trying to figure out how you could do this.

“Take your time,” Colin states with a knowing grin. Your glare just makes him chuckle with arms crossed on the top of his head. “Just trying to be encouraging peaches.”

Dipping the ball between your legs, you swing both arms up with all your might hoping for that swish but it falls just in front of the rim before bouncing into the chairs that were the floor seats.

An air ball that of course tickled the man a few feet away from you. “You messed me up.”

“How?!”

“You talking threw off my concentration,” you grumble. Along with your tattoos, big arms, and stupidly muscular body. Turning around reluctantly removing your shorts and tossing them in the little pile with the others, you miss the way his eyes rake over your body greatly appreciating how you’ve grown up and filled out in all his favorite places over the years. Not to say he didn’t admire you as teens, because you were beautiful then - although he knew you didn’t think so. But grown you with this confidence and newfound attitude of not letting anyone get in your way or treat you any less than what you deserved? Let’s just say this moment was the most self restraint he’s had to use in a long while.

“Well, looks like I win again.”

“Um..I’m sorry?”

“I have two pieces left on, you only have one.”

He snorts with hands on his hips. “Only because I don’t wear a bra.”

“Excuses excuses,” you tsk making him playfully narrow his eyes.

“Whoever misses their next shot loses.” Dribbling the ball he begins his jog to the board, but any further movement is interrupted by a bright beam of light shining down on the both of you.

“What’s going on here!?,” a baritone voice yells clearly not pleased with what they’re seeing. Colin’s quick to shield your body from any further view as your feet keep you stuck in place. Your brain seemingly not functioning either being solely focused on your embarrassment and how mortified you were to be in this situation in the first place.

Colin’s clearly nervous too how his finger taps against his thigh, but definitely holding himself together better than you could. “Uh, hey! Um..i-it’s not what it looks like!”

“So you and that beautiful young lady behind you weren’t in here trespassing?”

“Well..,” he nervously chuckles scratching the back of his neck, “I mean..”

A group of giggles breaks the silence confusing both you and Colin as he tries to peer through the light to see what was going on.

“I think we scared him enough Q,” a much higher pitched voice states before giggling herself.

“Mouse?”

Very fitting nickname.

Colin’s confused yet relieved tone let’s you know he’s familiar with whoever Mouse is which eases your newfound anxiety. There’s also a hint of something else taking its place though. Jealousy? Possessiveness? Anger? You’re not sure and equally don’t know why it’s there in the first place.

The light suddenly goes away to show a group of five standing in what would be the upstairs press boxes. You shift just enough to the right - peering through his underarm - that you can see the shortest, and most petite, of the group standing with arms crossed over her chest. Behind her three other women ranging in races and heights, and one man. All wearing exercise clothes of some sort.

“What are you doing here?”

“Well, seeing as though we have scheduled practices, being cheerleaders, I’d say we have more of a reason to be here than you do,” she replies earning another set of hushed chuckles. The man still shielding you simply nods with hands on his hips. An embarrassed “right” slipping from his lips as he reaches behind to press you to his back.

The pleasure seeking portion of your brain enjoys the warmth of his palm resting on your lower back instantly igniting your body, while the logical part knows better trying to push against his skin to re-establish space between you.

Feeling his muscles bunch and move beneath your fingertips only incites your internal pleasure seeker to want for more though.

“Um what are you doing?,” you ask with a hint of annoyance.

“Trying to keep you covered while also getting our clothes if you’d stop moving back there.”

“Oh no worries! We’ll give you guys some privacy,” the girl termed Mouse smiles with gleaming teeth. “Heads up though, Bobbie the security guard is on his way. He usually meets us out here, for safety reasons of course, and he might not be as understanding as us.”

You and Colin manage to sidestep in sync until you can get to your clothes; pressing all of them close to your front seemingly not caring about Colin and his black boxer briefs.

“Thanks. We’ll be out in a few seconds,” he waves. “And uh keep this between us guys?”

Sliding her manicured, pinched index finger and thumb across her lips she mimes as if she’s zipped and locked them before throwing away the key. “Our lips are sealed,” she winks. “Always nice seeing you Colin. And friend!”

•

Arriving back on your floor, the mood is noticeably lighter than when you first left the arena. Colin of course apologized before trying to charm his way back to your good side noting how nothing happened like he said.

“Cmon peaches, we’re good! You gonna be mad at me the rest of the week now?” Meanwhile you silently contemplated if you could get away with this man’s murder.

In conclusion, yes but only if he wasn’t such a notable player.

“Well, I guess in the end it was a good thing your friend was the one to catch us,” you state before a yawn bombards its way through your throat even catching you off guard.

“Why you gotta say it like that?,” he asks with an amused tilt to his thick brow. His fit body leaning against your doorframe prevents you from escaping this conversation and to your bed calling out for you louder and louder as the seconds pass.

“Say what?”

“Friend. Why’d you say it like you don’t like her or something?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” You did. Those feelings from earlier still hadn’t left, which only annoyed you more - in turn making you crave the safety and solace of your room. “I just met her, how could I not like her.”

Tilting his head back, his eyes study you like a teacher knowing he’s caught his student in a lie. You don’t make it any better tucking your lips between your teeth growing more antsy the longer he gazed at you.

Clearly a guilty move you’ve had since your youth.

“Colin come on it’s almost four and I need my bed.”

He grins slowly standing up while he bites the corner of his lip. The remnants of his cologne hitting you with one final, dizzying punch as he leans forward hovering just above your ear. “Alright. See you tomorrow peaches.”

“S-See you,” you quietly reply watching him saunter to his suite right next to yours throwing you a final wave.

Finally on the other side of your door, your feet drag but help you to your neatly made, king bed. You don’t even bother changing into your pajamas instead opting to stay in the oversized hoodie comfortably draped over your upper body.

The hoodie that you now remember is not yours, but the man sleeping next door.

Hey, forgot I have your hoodie..I’ll bring it over later (sent 4:12 am)

Keep it (sent 4:13 am)

Have a feeling you’ll get more use out of it than me 😉 (sent 4:13 am)

The light fluttering building in your gut at his words is soon replaced with hot bricks from your newest incoming message. Suddenly - with a harsh pause - your soft smile fades as you’re brought back to the reality you seemed to forget the moment Colin Shea entered your life again.

Morning babe❤️! About to go in the office (sent 4:20 am)

Know you’re still probably sleeping but hope you’re having fun! (sent 4:20 am)

Not too much tho since I’m not there lol😘 (sent 4:21 am)

[talesofesther]

Do you have any tips for writing strong characterization and descriptions?

Oh boy, that is one of those questions that I break my brain to answer lol.

Okay so, as with everything that I answer regarding writing, this is what works best for me personally, other people might have different views or it might not work for you.

But ultimately, I use my imagination.

With characterizations, I obviously try to know as much as I can about the character I'm writing for, and especially I like to see them going through extremes (sad, angry scenes and such) it gives me a better idea of what they're like when vulnerable. And when I'm writing, I usually play the scene I wanna write in my head first; I imagine the character going through that scenario and see if it would fit their personality or not. I also pay attention to their mannerisms in the show/movie and try to apply that in my writing. Take Wednesday for example, whenever she's in a vulnerable place she usually blinks, sets her jaw straight and has trouble talking.

With describing a place or scenario, I take a minute to visualize said place in my head and take the main things that call my attention, the main aspects that form that place.

Let's think about a hospital room for example; if it's a sunny day outside, there will probably be rays of sun coming through the window; hospitals usually have a distinct smell to them, try to describe that; try to visualize in your head how you want the room setting to be, is it a room with multiple beds, or a single room, are there other people there or just one, things like that; what also helps a lot with making the story more immersive, is dedicate a bit of time to write about something happening around the main character, it gives the reader a feeling that the world around them is alive (like if there are other people in the room, try to write just a little bit about what's happening to them.)

Here's a quick example of what I mean: Hospital hallways had a knack for looking and feeling like the perfect setting for a horror movie, especially on nights like these, where said hallways were mostly empty. It was a good thing, for a hospital not to be crowded, but with the cold air, the white walls and tiles, the lonely chairs beside the snack machine, and the only company in sight being the receptionist; your skin was constantly crawling with goosebumps.

Your sneakers were scratching against the recently mopped floor, the pungent smell of disinfectant made you scrunch your nose. It was a bit of a sight, your jeans and red flannel under the white doctor's coat your mother insisted you wore. That's probably why you hardly told people about it.

I'm not saying it's an easy thing to do, describing a place like this took a me a while to get used to, but if you focus on these main points, I'm sure you'll get the gist of it very quickly. Describing an outside area is not much different, you can say how the sky looks, what trees are around, if their leaves are moving with the wind and with that you can already say if it's a cold or warm day. Things like that.

Also let's not forget that over describing is also a thing, if you describe something or a place to it's minimal details, it gets too tiring to read, so just be careful with that.

Describing a person is not much different than that, just think about what they look like/what you want them to look like and try to put it into words. How does their hair look? Are they wearing a type of clothing you want to describe? Is the weather around them affecting them in some way, making them shiver, sweat? Also think about the main aspects of that person that stand out to you and try to describe them. Emotions are also super useful when describing someone, if they're happy you can say they're glowing, cheeks molding around big smiles and eyes crinkling because of it; if they're sad their eyes get puffy and red rimmed, the lip quivers and such.

I really hope I could help, you can hit me up anytime for writing advice and I'll try to do my best. <3

[kaijuposting]

So I watched Pacific Rim for the first time yesterday, in my late 20s (holy shit holy fuck holy shit why did I not see this sooner et cetera).

I've got a copy of the sequel Uprising too but I've heard some less good things about it (that it may contradict stuff in the first one etc) - would you recommend Uprising or is it better to just stick to the classic?

It depends on the movie experience you're looking for/what you're willing to put up with. In order to explain fully, I'll have to drop some mild spoilers, so be warned.

Uprising goes whole hog with a very pro-cop, pro-military attitude. Mako Mori is basically a cop. Jaegers are weaponized against civilians. There's child soldiers. Where the first movie presents the PPDC as a problematic institution that sometimes performs useful services (its bias toward protecting the wealthy is noted), Uprising presents it as unambiguously good and desirable to be a part of. The film seems to be completely unaware that the world it depicts is utterly dystopian. To see a sequel to a Guillermo del Toro film basically go "police states are cool and cool people support them!" is... jarring, let's say.

And then of course there's the whole storyline with Newt and Hermann. Some people enjoy it for the angst/angst fic potential. I personally just hate it because to me it just feels like what fundamentalists think will happen if you crack open a medieval grimoire or use a Ouija board or something. Like, it just feels this close to a corruption story from a Chick tract to me. Also, the movie turns Hermann into this utter doormat around Newt. It's very hard to imagine that this version of Hermann Gottlieb ever actually argued with Newt, and it's very difficult to imagine that the Hermann of the first film would have put up with Newt's behavior in this movie.

And yes, there's some... continuity weirdness. Like Newt's supposedly been drifting with the kaiju brain chunk from the first movie for ten years, even though the chunk being good for only one drift was a major plot point in the first film. Now of course minor continuity errors aren't a big deal, but here it just feels really sloppy; and in light of the way the second film lionizes the PPDC, it feels like another case of just not caring what the original film was doing.

And of course, what ultimately ends up happening with Mako Mori was a severe [everybody disliked that] moment.

The jaeger designs aren't as varied as they are in the first film, and the fight scenes suffer from a lot of visual clutter. The kaiju themselves are fine, but it's kind of hard to appreciate them when all of the clutter just makes it difficult to register what you're seeing.

And speaking of visuals, if you were really into the look of the first film, or into the way del Toro used color symbolism, Uprising is going to be a letdown. Like the first Pacific Rim film uses the color yellow for Raleigh. Uprising basically uses the color yellow because the first movie used the color yellow.

And then on the other hand... there's Jake Pentecost and Liwen Shao.

John Boyega's acting is great. He makes the character incredibly funny and likable. Sure, the whole thing with Jake being Pentecost's son doesn't really make a lot of sense, but when I actually watch him I just can't really care that much. Mainly I just wish he'd been in a much better movie, where maybe he was Pentecost's nephew or something. He and Nate Lambert read as ex-boyfriends, and for me their interactions are fun to watch.

Liwen Shao is so fun to watch as this genuinely kind of terrible person. In my view the character is utterly wasted on a story that doesn't really seem to appreciate why she's terrible. However, she's kinda got that whole evil girlboss vibe. If you like it when women are kinda evil, you might enjoy Liwen Shao.

So yeah, it's really down to what you're interested in and willing to put up with. It's really not a good film, but some parts of it can be enjoyable.

[catwingsathena]

5, 19, 21 for the writing meta asks?

Thank you for the ask, friend! You sure do know how to pick these, huh 😂

5. What character you’re writing do you most identify with?

Thinking about the Jailbreak Squad, it’s funny, because Jon, Mike, and Karolina are the three I tend to relate to (and project on) the most, but like… in extremely different ways, because they’re very different people! And yet the things they do have in common are very much places I can relate: smart, stubborn, intense, autistic, nerdy, and incapable of doing anything with less than 110% commitment. There’s… I don’t know how to say it, a directness to them? Almost a purity, though not at all in the moral sense. What I mean is that they are what they are at all times and at full volume. You know they’re not being manipulative when they talk to you, not because they’d have any issue with it on principle, but because they’re just flat-out incapable. Sincere by lack of other options. Which is SUCH a me mood. It’s not that I wouldn’t lie to you, I’m just really bad at it…

19. Is there something you always find yourself repeating in your writing?

Thistle, you know the answer to this question. You know all of the many answers to this question. However, as per your request, I will expose my faults to the world, because I love you and it will objectively be funny.

My characters breathe to express emotion way too often (this becomes especially annoying when I’m writing about characters who don’t need to breathe) (confession time: I established early on in A World of His Own that Jon still takes deep breaths to calm himself, even though he doesn’t need to, because I knew some would inevitably slip through even if I tried not to have him do that, so I decided to just give myself an excuse). In particular, people take deep breaths, or deep, shaky breaths, or deep, shuddering breaths… you get the picture. Like many writers, I overuse nods and head shakes. People also say or do things slowly a lot. (As you would imagine, people in my fics nod slowly far more often than they should.) I’m much too fond of the words “wry” and “rueful,” which probably says as much about the kinds of characters I gravitate towards as it does about my writing, but still. People “give” expressions or sounds (“she gave a shaky smile”) instead of just doing them. I do, in fact, overuse the phrase “in fact” in that particular construction. There’s more, but that’ll do for now.

As for tropes, plots, characters, et cetera… sorry, disclosing my word choice sins on this webbed site was quite enough oversharing for one night :)

21. What other medium do you think your story would work well in?

I’ve definitely imagined some Jailbreak Squad comics! You could do super fun things with perspective for the Vast people and Helen’s corridors, I bet, and Helen would have a great time interacting with panel boundaries/sound effects/etc. and ambiguously breaking the fourth wall. Jon is also an occasional fourth wall breaker, and you could do some really cool playing around with text boxes for him, I feel like? Incorporating speech into the images in various ways, having an entire panel background that’s just words, that sort of thing. I actually have some little scenes in my head as comics, including but not limited to “may the gods ensure your suffering,” “go to horny jail,” “SoL,” “squeaky,” the carnival not-date, and the Pacific Rim movie night idea we were talking about. I also think Do Not Ignore the Mermaids (for everyone who isn’t Thistle, Harriet and Oliver’s first meeting) could be FANTASTIC as a comic.

Once again, thank you for the asks, my dear! Hope my answers were satisfactory 🙂

[eleanorfenyx]

For the ask game:

What is the perfect environment for you to write in?

Do you prefer to write AUs, canon divergence, or canon-compliant fic?

Is there a trope you haven’t written yet but really want to?

What is your most underrated fic?

What is a line/scene you’re really proud of? Give us the DVD commentary for that scene.

What’s your favorite minor character you’ve written?

♥ Thank you for sending something back! Also in order of asking (and with the numbers of the asks fixed as promised lol):

(here's the link to the askgame for anyone curious)

5: Perfect environment to write in? - I wish I could say it's something nice and healthy-sounding like at my desk with a cup of hot chocolate yada yada yada but it is, unfortunately, in the dark in the middle of the night writing furiously on my phone to get my insomnia to be quiet and let me sleep. There's just something about that perfect storm of circumstances that leads me to bang out thousands of words at a time, thumbs flying, even if I'm super stuck every time I open my laptop when I could get so much more done so much faster if my brain would cooperate. So weird!

9: AU's vs. canon divergence vs. canon-compliant? - I've written all three and I really love them all in different ways at different times, but I think my favorite right now is AU's. I've been doing ones inspired by other media as well as just straight AU's (i.e. my Pacific Rim 3zun-centric AU vs. my ensemble/multiship 90's Strip Mall AU) and they're both super fun. I really really love getting to the point where I feel like I know characters well enough that I feel like I can pluck them up out of their source material and redesign their world to something new. Plus I get a really big kick out of people commenting that my characterization still feels realistic to them even when the circumstances are so different from canon.

12: A trope I haven't written but want to? - I think I'd really like to do something with identity porn/mistaken identity/shenanigans. I'm a big fan of miscommunication (done well, not just to draw things out unnecessarily [I have noped out of so many dramas for committing this crime against my sensibilities]) and I think that identity shenanigans can play into that really well. I read a lot of them and I think they're really fun, so I think I'd enjoy doing that sometime. Either that or mind-reading stuff like Cherry Magic AU's and the like, that also seems like such a good time.

16: My most underrated fic? - Hmm it's a bit of a tough choice. I think right now I feel like my ongoing 3zun-centric Pacific Rim AU 'Soldier, Poet, King' isn't getting nearly as much attention as I'd thought it might when I first started writing it. Pacific Rim AU's used to be everywhere back in the day and people ate that shit up like it was candy, and I suppose I'd expected that same excitement to still be around because why wouldn't people be excited about giant love-powered robots fighting aliens? I also started writing it while there was still a lot of really active buzz about Xiran Jay Zhao's fantastic 'Iron Widow', so the timing felt right and I'm really proud of what I've done for it so far, but alack alas it (feels like it) is going largely ignored. (Even accounting for the fact that 3zun is a much less popular ship than Wangxian, it still feels weirdly quiet)

18: A line/scene that I'm proud of and some commentary for it? - Two years ago almost to the day, I wrote/posted some of my first fic for CQL. It's a relatively short re-imagining of the Jingshi scene in episode 43, when Wei Wuxian is realizing that if he has no one else he still has Lan Wangji, and he comes in out of the cold to sit with his zhiji. They have a brief conversation about the time Lan Wangji spent waiting for Wei Wuxian and mourning him, and have this brief exchange:

“What if I had never come back?” [Wei Ying] whispers and the quiet heartbreak that shatters through Lan Zhan’s stoic facade steals his breath straight out of his lungs.

“I would have hoped for another lifetime together to be kinder to us.”

I'm still really proud of this even though it's so simple and I've written just shy of 800k other words, according to my AO3 stats. I think it really sums up Lan Wangji and his love for Wei Wuxian. If given no other choice but to wait then that's what he'll do, and he would have done it hoping that he and Wei Wuxian would be given another chance one day, because one lifetime just was not going to be enough. Like it would have hurt and he would have been in mourning until the moment of their unknown second chance arrived - and probably after too - but he would have seen no choice but to wait and hope. I feel like I hit the core of Lan Wangji's characterization (in the ways I want to write him, anyway) so it still colors everything I do with him in it.

20: Favorite minor character I've written? - MO. XUANYU. But particularly my Mo Xuanyu from my time-travel fix-it universe that was begun in my first ever longfic and has now spiralled outward into a much bigger universe than I'd originally thought it would. So basically Mo Xuanyu in this universe had the chance to grow up in Koi Tower from a young age, but a Koi Tower in which Jin Zixuan is the Sect Leader and Jin Guangshan is already dead. So he gets a very large, loving family who supports him and loves him for his oddities and his gender fuckery - that is 100% my self-projection - based solely on the fact that he was known in canon for wearing makeup. Like I took that and RAN with it, and now in my universe he's essentially a full-time feminine cross-dresser, though he identifies as both masculine and feminine and isn't too fussed about picking one or the other. He's everything I wish my gender fuckery could be, and I love him and want all good things for him, so I'm very attached to him. The very close runner up is my Lan Jingyi, both in that universe and in a more canon-compliant setting, so I feel like it's no wonder I got it in my head that they should be together in my fix-it universe lol.

[interxstitial]

@mconlight:

( source! )

haneul always liked rainy days like this. the sky is dark and grey and the rain has steadily been pitter pattering his window panes all day. it's a day for big blankets and good food. it's a day for jiwon to come over— for him to lament about the emptiness in haneul's love life, and for haneul to dutifully pretend to listen. it's how their hangouts usually go anyway, and haneul expects very little deviation from it.

but when it does, he takes it in stride.

haneul hums, stirring the pot on his stove. he knows jiwon— knows his friend enough to know how his thoughts eat away at him from time to time. he knows because his do the same, and maybe jiwon would know better too if haneul ever spoke on it. "do you think you're not a good person?"

haneul already knows the answer, though. jiwon wouldn't ask if he didn't think so— at least a little bit. but it's all very silly. jiwon, the man who teaches dance to kids. jiwon, the man who wholeheartedly believes in the idea of a true love. jiwon, the man who fights fate tooth and nail to try and find such a love for someone like haneul. and jiwon, the man who found it in him to befriend haneul. jiwon thinks he may be a bad person.

imagine that.

"i think you have a good heart," haneul answers honestly. and it's as simple as that. "i've seen a lot of bad ones. yours isn't like that.”

autumn is finally in full swing. grey skies, steady rain. homemade pumpkin spice lattes, complete with sticks of cinnamon tucked into pillowy mountains of whipped cream. jiwon has his fuzzy sock-clad feet tucked under haneul’s legs to keep warm, as if the oversized blanket and sweater somehow weren’t doing their jobs. on the television, amy adams and matthew goode are cooking coq au vin together, looking every part the married couple they’re pretending to be. this is the part where jiwon should be squealing and kicking his feet like a giddy fool, so thoroughly enamoured with love that his body simply cannot contain it.

instead, he brushes a nervous thumb back and forth along the rim of his mug, sombre gaze trained on the specks of cinnamon sprinkled in the whipped cream. an uneasy feeling swells in the space between his lungs, stunting his already shallow breaths. jiwon is a fool in love with love, but he’s not so ignorant as to miss the flashes of disappointment and, worse yet, bitterness in haneul’s demeanour after each of jiwon’s attempts at matchmaking. he knows quite well how it is, feeling like nothing will ever work out.

and then there are tears in his eyes, blurring the scene of the pretend-newlyweds sharing their first proper kiss. jiwon doesn’t bother stifling the sniffle that tears through him. he is, however, careful not to spill his drink as he sets it on the coffee table, then scoots over to hug one of haneul’s arms and rest his head on the other’s shoulder. this is familiar, too, these little bursts of overly affectionate gestures. jiwon enjoys these much more.

“yours is good, too,” he whispers, cheek smushed from the tightness of his embrace. “i hope you find your declan one day. or maybe your anna..? since you’re the one who can actually cook.”

[the-firebird69]

There are so many Harley-Davidsons being retrofitted it's not even funny and even old ones and they put cooling on them it's crazy it's huge tires they're not really massive but they're big and just a giant number of them and a lot of them are like Enduro and you see them on the road they go really fast and on the road and they're all over the world and there's not one person who's that a leader who doesn't have one already they make that roaring sound and yeah you have to rework the exhaust and they're really really loud and really fast it took my breath away when I saw the numbers this morning really took my breath away the number of light cycles really speaks tired really big tired of Harley it's ridiculous it's like 50 trillion already and it's never going to stop there's so much easier to drive and you're really driving it as opposed to fake it and the number of hogs was ridiculous I've never heard of anything like that the number was huge literally a surround 175 trillion and that's the annual production of Earth of new motorcycle and one day and out there are probably about 8 or 10,000 trillion Harley-Davidson's in about 3/4 of them are newer I mean after 1990 and all of them are getting retrofitted I think all of them is ridiculous and it's too fast and all this fast cars will have to develop and because of the bikes and they're looking at her son because of Catwoman and she's been getting in trouble on TV she said it too this is coming and I'm feeling it already and she said why the hell would we do that and it's true you need to she checks out notes lightweight rims airless tires enduro stripping down. it is a huge deal. And there's tons of tons of people doing it and all over the world. It's one of the biggest movements in the history of mankind. We have it well documented. We're seeing who's saying what and who the players are and we have pictures and video it's really nice it shows how it was progressing and how to get faster and faster and ridiculously fast and now it's going to be huge cuz these bikes will come out today it's really much bigger and bigger and ridiculous and new bike sales will be up and it's crazy but they're already looking at the design change

-you have other things to announcement we're going to publish

Thor Freya

Olympus good work on this before you for others too Frank Castle hardcastle took a blockbuster behind the scenes and it's too can you come Duke nukem Blockbuster and they did a lot of work and it came out nice because of that

I'd like to thank you because it took a lot of work and he always says that they used to do a lot of work and we have been working very hard and want people to know this requires due diligence beyond what you would imagine and we need help with it

Fred Castle hard castles

And right now it would be great if you can sign up others too and people who need to sign up need to sign up

Continental Blockbuster and Duke nukem yes

[winderlylandchime]

The fact that he kind of dreamt your future fic is making me laugh so hard. He really is an idiot by day and a psychic by night. This also now made me excited for your future fic, can’t wait for when that comes around. I might fuck around and actually do give him fics to read ngl.

Also yes! When we first started watching the show, he did think that Gale looked a little bit like Ashton and it was the funniest thing ever to me. He did only talk about it in the pilot though. Btw I am so tempted to later on give him Gale’s out of the box interview to watch. He was asking me yesterday about the actors and if they still act and where are they and I didn’t answer because well, one of them abandoned his podcast so i don’t know what he’s up to and the other one we dont even know if he’s still alive since theres been no new photos. I do wonder how he will react when he finds out Gale is straight though because he mentioned to my neighbor and i did get the feeling that he thinks everyone is gay. So i am tempted to ask him questions about what all he thinks of the cast since his only introduction to them is the show.

And yes! He has been going on and on about Brian’s growth and how he’s changed since he clocked it around 4th episode. He is so happy that he’s growing and allowing himself to be happy and in love even if he doesn’t want to admit it, that i just know the second 5x01 will start, he will have a mental breakdown and it will be very valid of him.

Your celebrities/therapist story actually made me curious now because how can a famous celeb that is known everywhere, even get a therapist then omg. I had no clue this was kind of a thing. And yes! My brother would absolutely launch into it, he’d have pictures and everything ready for it. I mean his confidence when it comes to talking to everyone and anyone about anything in his life (usually interests and shit he’s done thats funny to him or in this case the show) is impressive as fuck but also for an innocent bystander like me? actually a nightmare to be around that. He truly doesn’t give a single fuck! He just tells anyone who will listen (not in a trauma dumping type of way but his interests and such? No shame) When he was in high school he made an entire poster presentation for his class to talk about his love for the movie School of Rock and HE DID IT BY SINGING A FAKE ROCK N ROLL SONG (id give anything to remember the lyrics). Mind you, the presentations was supposed to be about current events in the world and School of Rock came out like a year or two prior so it had no relation to the exercise and yet that didn’t stop him. So you best believe he would do the exact same for Gale or more importantly QAF/Brian. And as someone who does shy away from talking about qaf just because it is a lot, it is insane watching him talk about the show because he truly gives zero fucks. When we started watching the show, he was fully explaining to the nurses/doctors/anyone that would listen about how the show is AND HOW BRITIN MET! He TALKED ABOUT THE RIM JOB! I NEVER EVEN FUCKING TOLD YALL THAT! IMAGINE MY SHOCK WHEN HE RANDOMLY BROUGHT UP THE SHOW FOR THE FIRST TIME TO SOMEONE RANDOM! AND HE DECIDED TO DO IT BY BRINGING UP THE SEX SCENE! HE TALKED TO OTHER HUMANS ABOUT THE RIM JOB! So if you ever feel like maybe you’ve said a bit too much about something you like? Fear no more because my brother has for sure shared even more.

Dear sweet anon. I just signed onto tumblr on desktop and it looks like I never responded to this message?!?! It says it’s from 4 days ago.

I thought I did. I’m sorry <3 <3

I am still dying over all of this. Your brother has no embarrassment. Maybe we can all take a page from him (although don’t corner people at their place of work to discussing rimming, even fictional rimming).

[wakaoujisenhime]

Hello! Lots of love to you. 😘 can I request GoM+ Takao thinks reader is going to breakup with them but is actually not. It can be funny misunderstanding or angst anything really. Happy ending.

A/N: Lots of kisses for you my dear anon! 💋 I tried to keep them all the same length, but guess what?? I failed (✌︎ ՞ਊ ՞)✌︎ Hope you’ll enjoy these nonetheless!! <33

Tags: GoM and Takao x reader ✅ SFW ✅ fluff ✅ angst ✅ jealousy ✅

image/art source: Takao -> Pixiv (by もいさま)

━━━━☆ ━━━━☆ ━━━━☆

Kuroko:

Being in a relationship with Kuroko was filled with nothing but tranquility and love. The two of you rarely had any type of conflict with each other, but one very urgent problem you’d always had in mind was the lack of communication. Because your boyfriend was so silent and barely complained whenever something was amiss, you tended to misunderstand each other…

One morning after you’d entered Seirin’s school building, you immediately caught a glimpse of your blue-haired boyfriend, and just as you were about to go up to him and greet him with your usual hug, he wordlessly turned his back to you and disappeared in the crowd. His behavior was quite unusual, but you figured that he just didn’t see you and went on with your day.

Unfortunately, the young man kept showing you the cold shoulder on that day, and by the end of his team’s basketball training, he’d even gone back home before you.

“Did something between you two happen?” asked Kagami as soon as he saw your dejected reaction to the unexpected news. Your grip on your school bag’s rims tightened and you simply shook your head.

“Not that I’m aware of anything…”

“Then why don’t you just ask him?”

His teammates stared daggers at the tall young man who had once again said something insensitive, but to you, it was a simple summary of the constant problem between your lover and yourself, so you couldn’t help but giggle at his question and nod.

——

Just where have you hidden yourself Tetsu?!

Annoyance had distorted your usually calm facial features and was chasing away any of your classmates that hoped to approach you for whatever reasons. After Kagami had given you the necessary push you needed, you made it your mission to find your lover and confront him once and for all, but he was nowhere to be found. No matter who you asked, where you went, what you did, it was as if he never came to school. At times such as these, his low presence proved to be pretty useful and a damn nightmare for you, but you stayed vigilant and even decided to make use of some…unexpected tactics.

During the second break, you sprinted to your lover’s classroom, knowing fully well that he was already gone, and called for his partner, who only very reluctantly agreed to accompany you during your search. The plan you’d forged relied entirely on Kagami’s strong presence that - according to his teammates - was so strong that even the people who saw him daily couldn’t help but stare at him. You knew that Kuroko was more or less immune to this and preferred to look down at his book, so you were positive that with this plan you’d find the odd one out of the crowd pretty easily.

Luckily for you, the plan was a success and after just a couple of minutes you’d caught sight of the familiar blue hair, but when you locked eyes with your loved one, a sharp pain ran through your chest. Kuroko looked heartbroken and had to bite his lip to hide his anger and tears.

“(Y/N), this is your chance! Go! Run!”

The unexpected encouragement from the man next to you managed to wake you up from your trance and not even a second later you were running after your lover. Fortunately for you, he wasn’t that quick and on top of that, you were convinced that he ran extra slower than usual because somewhere deep inside of him he wanted to talk to you as well.

“(Y/N)…I-”

“We can’t continue like this Tetsu,” you began and intended to take a small breather before you continued, but the anxious face of your counterpart made you reconsider, “what I mean to say is, that we can’t ignore our constant misunderstandings due to miscommunication. I love you Tetsuya and whenever I am with you everything is nearly perfect, but we need to do something about your aversion of expressing your opinion and my reluctance to speak up about it.”

You couldn’t blame him for being so surprised that he couldn’t answer instantly since you surprised even yourself with how direct you were. Just as you were about to break the uncomfortable silence between you two, Kuroko unexpectedly wrapped his arms around you in a hug.

“Thank god…I thought you wanted to leave me for Kagami-kun.”

“Excuse me, what? Why would I-” you stopped for a moment and remembered the scene he saw just a couple of minutes ago before you corrected him, “…I needed his help to find you, since all of my earlier attempts were futile against the legendary Phantom Sixth man, you know?”

And with that small joke, you both chuckled, kissed each other, and decided to spent the rest of the break hand-in-hand, while you resolved the small thorn in your relationship.

Kise:

Being Kise’s lover was pretty tiresome and restricting. Since he was a famous model a lot of rules had to be followed by not only him but you as well.

Any selfies you took are not to be shared with anyone and not to be published. Bragging about him as your boyfriend was out of the question. Public dates? I think not.

When his manager had first thrown all of these at you, you were pretty stomped and ready to burst with anger, but he stopped you and after your talk, Kise reassured you that you would still do the majority of the things “normal” couples do, but you’d simply have to be more careful and aware of your surroundings than others. You trusted him of course and he didn’t lie, in fact, he made an enormous effort to provide you with a proper love life, one that you deserved. Much to your surprise, everything was working out just fine and you got used to the abnormalities of some situations pretty quickly, but as we all know life can rarely be filled with nothing but sunshine and rainbows…

-` EXCLUSIVE INTERVIEW WITH MODEL №1 KISE RYOUTA ´-

That was the headline of one of the many magazines your boyfriend was featured in. You always made sure to show your support for his career by buying almost every issue that had a section dedicated to your blond lover, that and the fact that the photographers and designers always made him look hotter than he already was. With a big grin on your face, you browsed the magazine until you found the corresponding pages and began reading yet another interview.

At first, the questions were pretty standard and tame, asking the young model what his future plans were, how he manages school, basketball club, and modeling without being stressed out at all, and many more similar questions such as these. Being his significant other, you caught a few lies of his that he had to make up in order to keep your relationship a secret and even though it didn’t sit entirely right with you, you brushed it off since you knew that he couldn’t help it. With mixed feelings, you read on until one particular question and answer caught your eye.

-` Q: A lot of your female fans have been constantly speculating about what type of boyfriend you’d make, what’s your take on that subject?

-` A: (laughs) Well you see, I hate to break it to everyone, but I like the type of women that don’t tie me down. I just can’t imagine myself being with the same person every single day, it’d be quite suffocating, you know?

You stared at that answer for a while, hoping that the words would just merge into something that didn’t sound so…ruthless, but to no avail. Just as you were about to continue your lecture, the front door to your apartment opened and the familiar voice of your lover echoed, filling your home with more life than before. While the blond removed his shoes and jacket you quickly hid away the magazine and forced yourself to smile, hoping that he wouldn’t notice…

——

“You damn idiot, what were you thinking?!”

“Oh (Y/N)…what do you even see in him?”

“I have never been more pissed off to be in the same team as you…”

The moment Kise had entered the gym to participate in today’s training all of his teammates had surrounded him and had begun reprimanding him for something he couldn’t quite understand because of how chaotic everyone was. It took a while, but when they became more or less calm he used to chance to find out just what’s got them so pissed off.

“Isn’t it obvious you imbecile?! That over the top answer of yours is what we’re so mad about”

“Kasamatsu-senpai I can’t quite follow…what answer are you referring to?”

After being kicked down by the shorter man and lectured yet another time, Kise finally understood just what this fuss was about. You’d been quite out of it since his latest interview got published, so the guys decided to find out what had you so bothered and the answer was, of course, Kise…who else?

“B-But I didn’t mean it! It was just for show an–”

“Does (Y/N) know?” interrupted Moriyama with an unusually serious tone. Your lover intended to answer fully confident that you were aware, but a small voice inside of his mind stopped him in his tracks. How were you supposed to know that he didn’t mean it when he never explained himself? What if the reason you’d been so absentminded these past few days was that you were planning on leaving him?

N-No…I can’t let that happen…i-if we break up then what am I–

“Excuse me, is Kise here?”

At the unexpected sound of your voice all of the members instantly shut up, turning to you, but before anyone could answer you, the blond took off sprinting right towards you and wrapping his muscular arms around your body.

“Please forgive me (Y/N)-cchi, I…I figured we’d been over this and that you know that no matter what I say to the press, I never really mean it. It’s all supposed to be a façade to make me more attractive to the public, b-but you know me, right? The real, insecure, weak, and ambitious me…the one that’s no good without you…”

Even if he’d taken you by surprise with his sudden hug, his words rendered you pretty much immobile and left you with no choice but to listen to his desperate apology. He held you tighter and buried his face in the crack of your neck. The moment you felt something wet drip down on your clothing, you wrapped your arms around him protectively, gently caressing his head, and kissing his temple all the while he whispered one apology after the other, begging you to never leave his side.

“I won’t ever leave you, Kise…I promise”

Midorima:

“…and with that, we’re coming to today’s last and unfortunately most unluckiest signs of all…Cancer!”

At the sudden announcement, Midorima flinched, grip tightening on his iPod, as he continued listening to his daily horoscope. His sign being the unluckiest out of all was quite the rarity and that alone was worrisome, but the fact that today’s misfortune was predicted to be in his love life made the man the more afraid. Usually, he’d ignore any prognosis that went beyond his career, but the moment you had become his girlfriend, Midorima couldn’t help but lend an ear every time the presenter of his favorite show mentioned the word love.

Your lover’s flame for you has been near extinction, I suggest breaking up with them before they do, or else this pain will haunt you for eternity…

With heavy steps, the green-haired man made his way to his school, lucky item in hand and a never before experienced fear deeply rooted in his heart. If possible he’d try to avoid you as much as possible today, so that you couldn’t break things off with him. He was aware that his behavior was quite over the top, but that was his way to cope with the anxiety of losing you - his most important person. In Midorima’s eyes this was a solid plan, but putting it into action was harder than expected.

Every time you jogged up to him with your angelic smile, your big and beautiful eyes that sparkled the moment you saw him, the energetic way you waved to your boyfriend when you spotted him across the hallway were so adorable and heart-warming that whenever he had to act extra cold towards you, it felt like his heart was being torn apart anew every single time. While he was beating himself up over his behavior, you simply shrugged it off and figured that he was on his usual tsundere trip for some reason and decided to ask him about it after basketball practice.

“Shin-chan sure is acting weird today, huh?” asked Takao with a hint of amusement in his voice as he sat down next to you on a bench in the courtyard. You simply looked up at him and nod with resigned smile on your face as you answered: “I’m somehow used to his antics, but something must’ve happened for him to act so…distant.”

The boy next to you studied your expression and despite his usual enjoyment of watching a misunderstanding between the two of you unfold, he could see how much the green-haired man’s behavior was weighing on you, so he broke his silence and told you about Midormia’s plan that he’d schemed following today’s horoscope.

——

“Midorima Shintarou, we need to talk…now!”

Your loud and sudden order startled the young man in gym clothes, who was mere movements away from throwing his umpteenth three-pointer, as well as his teammates. If it weren’t for the serious tone in your voice, he would’ve come up with some kind of excuse to dodge the upcoming conversation.

Now that the two of you were outside of the gym you didn’t beat around the bush and got straight to the point: “Are you seriously avoiding me all day because of Oha Asa’s words? Is that how little you believe in me and my feelings for you?” Your boyfriend never quite knew how to deal with such straightforwardness and seeing how with each question you uttered, the tears in the corners of your eyes grew, pushed him even further into a corner until he couldn’t handle it anymore and just needed to shut you up. Out of nowhere Midorima took a tight hold of your shoulders, seizing your frantic movements, and pressed his lips firmly to yours, kissing you in the process.

“…now that I finally have your attention, allow me to explain myself, will you?” he asked and waited for your nod before he continued “Look…I know I overreacted and to be honest, my behavior bothered me more than you think. I was just…j-just so afraid to lose you. Up until now everything Oha Asa said came true, s-so–”

Before he could finish his sentence, it was your turn to kiss him on the lips and use his moment of confusion to stop the train of negative thoughts that were about to overwhelm him. “I love you Shintarou…more than any horoscope could ever hope to calculate and sure, every time you listen to this show it all comes true, but did you forget that my sign is on that show as well?”

Your sudden question caught him a little of guard, but the moment you pulled something small out of your pocket he couldn’t help but smile to himself as a light blush spread across his cheeks.

“Unfortunately for you, today is my lucky day and your beloved presenter advised me to be more assertive than what I’m used to, and show my lover just how much he means to me.”

Aomine:

With quick steps, you neared the basketball club’s gym while frantically looking around for your boyfriend, who’d once again decided to ditch today’s training and laze around somewhere.

“Captain, we might have a problem!” you shouted out the moment you entered the building, ready to break the unpleasant news to the young man in glasses, who looked surprisingly relaxed, even though one of his best players was missing yet again. But before you could even say anything he simply put his hand up, motioning you to look behind him with his head, and there you saw the wanted man, crouched down while reading something.

With a heavy sigh, you joined Imayoshi and Wakamatsu, who was looking at the power forward with hopeless and annoyed expressions. After explaining to them that you couldn’t find him at his usual spots, you asked how they got him to join practice that quick.

“Oh you know…the usual” the blond said as he tapped a few times on his mobile phone, searching for something, and the moment he found it, he showed you the typical photo with which they always managed to catch Aomine: one of his favorite gravure magazines being held above a candle’s flame. You eyed the image a tad longer than what the men next to you were used to and then replied drily: “I see.”

The two players you were standing next to, were quite surprised by your reaction and couldn’t tear their eyes from your back as you walked towards the bench where their coach and manager were seated. They wanted to brush it off at first but the moment you had sat yourself down, your sad expression managed to guilt-trip them to such an extent that they immediately walked to the dark-skinned young man to lecture him.

“Aomine, you idiot, stop reading these things already!”

Said man didn’t even flinch at the sudden scream from the blond and continued looking through his magazine. Wakamatsu was already agitated enough and ready to throw punches at his sitting teammate, but the captain stopped him with an unobtrusive head-shake and took his chance not short after: “Ya see…your cute girlfriend’s over ‘ere and she looks mighty disappointed at the fact that ‘er boyfriend gives some random women more love ‘n attention than ya give ‘er. If ya keep that up, then who knows what could happen.”

It didn’t take much to annoy or upset your boyfriend and if you were as tactful as Imayoshi, you could do it whenever you felt like it, but this time he intended to make the man before him aware of what seemed to be a minor problem.

The two of them watched as Aomine finally closed his magazine and stood up, a terrifying glare fixated on the wall before him, and hissed out: “My relationship with (Y/N) has nothing to do with you, so don’t even butt your noses where they don’t belong.” He turned and just as he was about to leave and enter the practice match, he stood beside the man with glasses and stared at him with the same amount of bloodlust he had whenever he faced a strong opponent, and whispered: “Call her cute one more time and see what happens, captain”

——

What the hell is going on?

With a furious expression and gritted teeth, Aomine’s eyes followed your frantic movements in annoyance. He watched how you held Sakurai’s hands and whispered something to him to calm him down, how Wakamatsu ruffled your hair as thanks for bringing him a bottle of his favorite drink and a towel, and how Susa and Imayoshi patted your back while praising you. Today was the first time he actually noticed this, but now everything was making sense.

Since the beginning of this week, Momoi told him that she’d be away for two weeks and couldn’t manage the team in that timeframe. Her childhood friend wasn’t interested, so he didn’t ask any further details such as why she going away or who’d take her place for the time being, but now he wished he would’ve.

During her absence, he didn’t receive any of those dreadful SMS and for the first few days, he was living his life, skipping every single practice day. He did ask you a couple of times whether you wanted to ditch your class and come hang out with him, but he got rejected pretty quickly. Additionally, he rarely asked you out himself so the lack of messages from you wasn’t surprising to him, of course until he heard some of the substitute players comment something about how well you were doing your job as temporary manager.

“So that’s why you were so busy, huh?” he asked in his typical monotone voice the moment you had come back to the bench where he and the coach had taken place. Without sparing him even a single glance you took your clipboard and began explaining something to the older man. Seeing how you ignored him, paired with your cold attitude made Aomine involuntarily remember his captain’s words.

If ya keep that up, then who knows what could happen.

Your conversation with the coach was quickly wrapped up and not soon after just the two of you were left sitting on the bench. Your boyfriend’s deep blue eyes glanced briefly at you and observed how you were writing something in a small pink notebook that most likely belonged to Momoi. He never considered the fact that you would actually lose interest in him or perhaps even break up with him, but your recent behavior change matched exactly that and it scared him more than he let on.

The moment you finished writing and intended to pack everything up, a big hand took a gentle hold of your wrist. Slightly startled and taken aback you looked at the man beside you, who was covering his lower face area as he murmured something that only you managed to hear and understand.

Please don’t go…d-don’t leave me

A small smile slowly adorned your lips as you took his hand in yours, intertwining your fingers, and squeezing it ever so slightly. You figured that the reason he was hiding his face was because of the blush that had painted his cheeks in a shade of dark red. An unusual but very welcome sight as well as a great reward for the plan the entire team had come up with alongside you. The goal? Teaching your lover a small lesson that he’s surely not forgetting that quick.

Mission accomplished…

Murasakibara:

“Hey Atsushi, my friend told me they’d be opening a new store in–“

“Mmm…I don’t wanna go (Y/N)-chin”

You were stunned at the sudden refusal of your boyfriend even before you’d finished your sentence and couldn’t help but giggle to yourself as you looked at his slightly annoyed face.

Of course, he’d say that…

And with that prompt rejection, the conversation between you two died down and you wordlessly continued watching the movie you’d put on for tonight, while gently caressing the purple head of the large man who was using your thighs as a pillow.

——

“Eh? You rejected (Y/N)’s invitation again?” asked the black-haired young man while he handed his gigantic friend a tissue for his sticky fingers. With a slightly annoyed glare, Murasakibara snatched the handkerchief from him and hurriedly removed the honey residuals from the snacks he had finished a couple of minutes ago, before answering: “Of course I would…I’m not in the mood to go shopping for hours in this heat.”

The man’s laziness never failed to surprise Himuro everyone who has ever talked to him was aware of his quirks and despite it all, no one has ever left his side. The same goes for you as well. Since the first time you’d seen him, your heart already belonged to him. It was easier to pursue him than you’d expected since his team liked you very much and always helped you out by telling you about his schedule or when he’d come to practice. He was pretty cute once you got to know him better and unbeknownst to you, he had also fallen in love with everything about you. Your smile, the adorable way you tried to follow his basketball practice, the way you panicked when he told you that he didn’t like the type of candy you’d picked out, and everything else about you made his heart thump hard against his chest.

“You know Atsushi…if you keep your indifferent attitude up, your relationship might end pretty soon.”

“W-What do you mean…?”

With a perplexed expression on his face, Himuro took a glance at his friend who had panic written all over him, and reluctantly explained how you could feel neglected by him, or even think of leaving him because he seemingly doesn’t want to spend time with you. The purple-haired young man opened his mouth, wanting to protest but anything he said was immediately rebutted by his friend who told him that he was the wrong person to tell this to, and with that, Murasakibara sprinted out of the room. His destination: your home.

——

You were just out of the shower and preparing yourself to go to bed, when suddenly the doorbell starts ringing furiously, scaring you in the process. With a thumping heart and silent steps, you made your way to your door and took a glance at your peephole, needing less than a second to recognize just who had decided to spontaneously visit you this late at night.

“Atsushi, what are–”

“I’m sorry (Y/N)-chin, please don’t leave me! I-I promise I will go to that store reopening with you a-and to any other event you’d like, I’ll even do it without you having to buy me over with sweets, just–”

Thrown aback as you were, you took a tight hold of Murasakibara’s arms, squeezing them while you screamed at him to hold on and stop talking. Despite your reassuring words it took him a good while to calm down, so you made use of it and prepared some soft drinks, and put a couple of his favorite snacks in a rotating multi bowl set. After putting everything down on the small table in your living room, you got your boyfriend his favorite blanket, covering him with it, and finally sat down next to him.

“Now then, I’m almost afraid to ask you this, but…why are you pleading with me to not leave you?”

With his big and almost puppy-like eyes, he looked at you and asked with a slightly trembling voice: “S-So you really w-want to l-leave me?”

“Heavens no! Who even gave you that idea?”

The moment these few words left your lips, the tension finally left the young man’s body and he slumped back on your couch with a relieved sigh, whispering a silent thank god before massaging his closed eyes. You had never seen your lover being as worried as tonight and you figured that whatever has been bothering him must’ve been quite serious, and that made you in fact even more curious than before. Despite that, you figured you’d wait for him to start his explanation, or at least that was what you’d planned, but after a couple of minutes of nothing but silence, you decided to speak up and reassure him first.

“I’m not quite sure what happened, but it seems like you’re feeling bad for refusing my invite from some days ago, and well…I was kinda disappointed about not being able to go with you there, but I’ve known you for so long now and truth be told, I was prepared for such an answer so I’m not pissed off or anything, you know? You’re just the type of person to prefer staying indoors while lazing around…that’s just how you are and how I love you, so…”

You got embarrassed after a while and the young man’s missing reactions didn’t make it any better, so you eventually stopped mid-sentence and called out to him.

Silence.

“Atsushi…?”

You put your hand on his shoulder and gently shook him, causing his arm with which he was covering his eyes to fall to the side, revealing his slightly puffy eyes and sleeping face.

D-Did he…fall asleep…?

Who would’ve thought that your reassurance alone would have such an impact on him and cause him to fall asleep?

You giggled to yourself and gently caressed some strands of his hair away from his face, giving him a soft kiss on his cheek as you silently wished him a pleasant nap. A few seconds passed during which you contemplated whether you should go to your room or snuggle up to him, you picked the latter and as carefully as possible, leaned your head on his shoulder, closed your eyes, and missed the small smile that adorned Murasakibara’s lips.

Akashi:

Akashi usually isn’t one to get jealous of other people, since he is quite confident that there is no one better suited for you but him. And yet whenever he sees how you talk to Mayuzumi he can’t help but feel a tight pain in his chest and notice how his mood instantly drops. He’d immediately turn away from the sight of the two of you and go somewhere else, preferably the gym where he can either let his frustrations out on the ball or on some of the unmotivated basketball club members. When you were close to him during one of his bad days he was prone to behaving rather rude and harsh and even though he regrets it seconds after opening his mouth he just can’t stop himself. One day though, he truly lost it.

Everything was seemingly going well and then he saw both Mayuzumi and you come in the gym together, hand in hand, laughing, and worst of it all: you were blushing. The red-haired young man watched how his upperclassman helped you sit down on the bench and the way you two looked at each other made the captain feel sick. That’s when a certain thought entered his mind.

What if (Y/N) is planning on breaking up with me for….

While you laughed alongside the older member of the basketball club, you noticed out of the corner of your eyes the way Akashi approached you two and immediately sprung up to calm him down. “S-Sei, please calm yourself down!” you pleaded as you held onto his wrists, but no matter what you said he wasn’t listening, he only had eyes for the man behind you.

Out of desperation you wrapped your arms around the slightly trembling body of your boyfriend and began whispering how nothing was going on between the two of you, how Mayuzumi had only helped you reach the gym since you had sprained your ankle on the way, and how he had teased you for loving the captain too much. As if released from some sort of spell, the young man came back to his senses and returned your embrace in slight confusion. While you were quick to forgive and forget the sudden snap of your boyfriend, the grey-haired man behind you wasn’t in the mood to just forget how the first-year would’ve stabbed him with a ballpen if it weren’t for you. Luckily the other main team members came to calm their teammate down, while you excused yourself, took Akashi by the hand, and went out for a walk to help him calm down.

——

Holding tightly onto your boyfriend’s hand you dragged him off to a more remote area where you could properly talk to each other and resolve any type of doubts that seemed to sprout inside of his already restless mind as a sudden and unexpected whisper caught you off guard. You halted mid-step, turning to the young man behind you, and asked him to repeat what he’d just said.

After a short moment of reluctance, he nodded and did as asked. “I’m sorry for losing myself back there.” His sudden apology caught you quite off guard and made you forget your initial plan. The Akashi you knew rarely showed such enormous remorse for his actions, he might have finally found inner peace with himself and his insecurities, but that didn’t mean that he was now a completely changed man who’d thrown his entire pride away. Not being able to hold back your curiosity, you asked why he felt the need to apologize.

“The way I was ready to lash out at someone older than me, in the same way, I did with Kagami back then was uncalled for…not only that but your expression,” he paused, softly caressing your cheek and continued with a silent voice “that fearful expression you had when you saw me…I-I don’t want to see it ever again.”

Now I get it…

A sad smile adorned your lips as you squeezed his hand tighter. You were secretly thankful for his small outburst right now because it showed you not only that he indeed loved you as much as he usually told you, but also that despite his perfectionism he was very much flawed. He was afraid of losing you and equally afraid of you hating him for expressing these worries. Without saying anything you wrapped your arms around him in a hug and held him tightly as soon as he’d returned your embrace.

“Seijuro…please don’t try to tackle every worry you have on your own. That’s why we are a couple, right? Anything that bothers you, no matter how trivial or serious it is, please share it with me instead of tackling that burden on your own, ok..?”

His sharp yet beautiful eyes looked directly into your own before he leaned his forehead on your shoulder and murmured: “I know, it’s just…I’m still not used to having someone so dependable as you by my side, offering me so much support that I don’t know what to do with it.”

You giggled at his statement and kissed his head, thankful that you had more or less resolved one part of his issues, but more than anything you were happy that from now on he’d involve you more in his worries and problems.

Takao:

Everyone from Shuutoku warned you multiple times that being lovers with Takao would cause you to have severe trust issues and you didn’t believe them at first, but after a couple of weeks, you finally understood their warnings. The lively young man was surprisingly a jokester and tended to take certain things not serious enough for your preference, but since it was a part of his personality, that you’d fallen in love with, you decided to overlook it for the majority of the time.

Usually, his jokes were kinda misplaced and sometimes even more sympathy-inducing than fun, but they never failed to make you crack even the smallest of smiles. But lately, though his jokes started focusing on love and were constantly dealing with the topic of breakup or cheating and it made you quite anxious and hurt that he took these two so lightly without considering your feelings.

Day after day you put up with them until you just couldn’t take it anymore and interrupted him, saying that he should just stop talking for a moment. You were so agitated that you failed to notice his taken aback expression.

“Hey (Y/N)-chan, you do know that I’m just joking, right? There’s no need for you to take it seriously!”

There he goes again with the same excuse…

The young man attempted to take your hand in his, an usual gesture he made every time he upset you, but right now this was the last thing you needed. When his slender fingers brushed yours, you slapped his hand away.

“Not this time Kazu-chan…I’m sorry” you whispered and hurried off, leaving your boyfriend behind who was blown away by your reaction.

——

A few days passed since your little outburst and you’d been avoiding Takao ever since, afraid of being confronted with what you’d told him. You felt bad of course for treating him like that, but you were just not ready to talk to him yet and needed some time to come to terms with your thoughts first.

“What’s with you two always gluing yourselves on me whenever you have some kind of problem?” asked the green-haired young man who you’d forced to stay by your side since then. You responded with a giggle and told him that thanks to his confident behavior and direct words you felt placid and could sort your thoughts in peace. He simply sighed and looked at his lucky item for today, a silver ring with a small green jewel, which he’d once again gotten from his captain, who told him that it was yet another merch of his favorite idol.

“You shouldn’t avoid Takao so much. We both know that he makes jokes to hide away his insecurities and weaknesses and what do you think might happen if he sees us right now?”

He’s…right

You bit your lower lip and slumped forward, leaning your elbows on your thighs as you nodded a couple of times. Nothing good would come out of you brooding over this on your own and having Midorima with you wouldn’t make your little “fight” with Takao just disappear. Seeing you so lost in thought, the young man behind you had an idea, one that he didn’t entirely like, but right now all he wanted was to make you feel better, so he swallowed his pride and handed you the ring.

“Take it…i-it’s not like I’m giving it to you forever s-since it’s not mine and all…b-but Oha Asa said t-that Scorpio might need some k-kind of symbol o-of…love so” he stuttered as he held out his hand, the fragile ring between his bandaged fingers. You were at a loss for words at his gesture and all you could do was whisper out his name in surprise.

“Shin-chan! What do you think you’re doing?!”

Suddenly someone took a hold of your slightly outstretched arm and tugged on it, causing you to stand up and fall against their chest. You looked at the face of the person and it was none other than Takao who was glaring at his friend through glassy eyes. As if bitten by a bug Midorima jumped up and began protecting himself, but all you could focus on was the man who had his arms wrapped tightly around your body. While the two men insulted each other and bickered you realized just how stupid this entire situation was and couldn’t help but smile.

You placed your hand on your boyfriend’s cheek and turned his head, so that he was now facing you, and kissed him, shutting both of them up almost instantly. It took the young man a shot while to return your kiss, but when he did he also took the opportunity to properly embrace you.

“I’m sorry for overreacting Kazu-chan, it’s just that I-”

“No, don’t apologize (Y/N), I know I went too far this time. You know I love you more than anything else in this world and that I’ll never think about leaving you.”

The smile that adorned your lips widened as you nodded energetically and reassured him that your love for him is also one that will most likely last forever.

While you two made up, smiling at each other, the green-haired young man looked at the ring and grinned to himself.

I knew it…Oha Asa is never wrong

[snackhobi]

pairing: taehyung x reader / word count: 13.3k / genre: fluff, friends to lovers, smut (NSFW, 18+)

summary: you’re used to being in love with taehyung. you’ve had a lot of time to get good at it, after all—by this point you’re the world’s expert at keeping your less-than-platonic feelings hidden from him, what with the amount of practice you’ve had.

but then he signs up for a massage therapy course, because apparently you can never catch a break.

or: the one where taehyung gives you a full body massage and then some.

warnings: sexually explicit content, massage with a happy ending (literally 🤧), cursing, edible massage oil/lube, fingering (f), unprotected sex (be safe when you have sex please), multiple orgasms (f), oral sex (m), cum swallowing, pet names, body worship?, brief mention of shower sex

a/n: I swear this was meant to be pwp. this was literally meant to just be pwp with some massage shenanigans. and then I blinked and it had become a soft 13k fic which honestly… kicked my ass quite a bit. but I hope you enjoy it!! thank you as always to @hobi-gif​ for beta reading this and encouraging me and putting up with me changing this multiple times, what would I do without your support miss hope?

--

Taehyung goes through a lot of different phases.

He just finds so many things interesting. Photography, art, art history, music, fashion, thrift shopping; heck, there was even the time he got weirdly into making tea and became some sort of connoisseur, going through the whole rigmarole of buying the loose leaves and weighing them out, checking the temperature of the water, brewing for a precisely measured amount of time.

You still remember the look on his face when you said it all tasted like hot leaf water to you.

Because, of course, as one of Taehyung’s best friends and his roommate, you’re inevitably swept up in everything he does. You’re used to the weirdly acrid smell of photo development fluid and how cold dark rooms can get. You use phrases like chiaroscuro and sfumato to describe the simplest things after listening to Taehyung do the same for so long. You’ve lost count of the amount of times you’ve tripped over his saxophone case when he leaves it lying around the apartment. You regularly wear the baggy t-shirt with the face that Taehyung had painted on it—even if you still refer to it as the Squidward-House-Shirt despite the fact you know he was inspired by Basquiet and Schiele and not the Easter Island themed stone head that Squidward lives in.

You don’t mind getting dragged along with whatever he does, honestly; you don’t have time to attend every class, but go with him when you can. It’s always good to expand your horizons. You also love watching Tae’s face whenever he learns something new, the various expressions that flit across his features—from wide eyed excitement and eyebrow raising astonishment to the more solemn side that appears whenever he’s taking something in and thinking deeply about it, turning it over in his mind, mulling on it.

(You love watching Tae’s face all the time, actually, but that’s a whole other can of worms you’d rather keep shut.)

However, the latest course he’s signed up for is not one you’d been expecting.

“Massage therapy?” Your face twists in equal parts confusion and surprise.

Taehyung’s dropped this latest nugget of information while you’re cooking, trying to fry some rice while also peering at the phone screen that’s been thrust into your face. You’re not bad at multitasking, per se, but Taehyung’s iPhone is drifting so close that you’re almost cross-eyed and it’s blocking you from seeing what’s going on in the pan. 

“I had a coupon,” he says, as if that explains everything. (It doesn’t.)

“Scooch,” you say, and he immediately moves so you can turn the gas off.

“Jiminie and Jungkookie say that my massages help with dance, and that's just from Youtube tutorials.” Taehyung continues to talk as you bustle around the tiny kitchen. He’s already set the table so now he’s free to watch you finish doing the rest of the work. “And Joon-hyung says I have the perfect hands for it.”

You fumble with the pan as you’re scooping the steaming rice into a large bowl, only just managing to save food from scattering everywhere. You’ve thought about Taehyung’s hands a lot, about how large and long fingered and beautiful they are, but he doesn’t need to know that.

“Really? Huh. That’s nice.” You stare at the pan, fixated on getting every grain of rice so you can avoid looking at Taehyung’s face. And hands. Which are still cupped around his phone. Which looks so small in his big, pretty grip.

Jesus Christ.

“It means I can give you massages if you ever start to get tense.” Taehyung sounds pleased, lovely grin on his face at the prospect of being able to rub his hands over you. As if that isn’t going to make every single one of your muscles lock up and turn you into some sort of coiled rope of a human being, which is the complete opposite of what a massage is supposed to achieve. 

“Great.” Despite your inner turmoil, your voice is level and steady as you meticulously scrape the last grain of rice into the bowl, chasing the tiny fleck of white around the huge pan. Scrape, scrape, scrape. “Sounds fabulous. Can’t wait.”

Of course Taehyung would sign up to learn something that he could use to help his friends. He’s so big-hearted and loving. Big-hearted and loving and kind and funny and affectionate and beautiful and deep-voiced and so entirely overwhelming in every single way imaginable. 

You do what you always do when confronted yet again with your all-consuming crush—you bottle that shit the fuck up until he’s not in the room.

And then you have a miniature breakdown at Pickles.

“I am going to die,” you whisper-scream. “He’s going to offer to massage me and he’s going to get a bottle of massage oil out and he’s going drizzle it onto his massive hands and I am going to fucking die.”

The bearded dragon cocks his head as he stares at you. Taehyung had come home with the reptile one day, tank and all, saying that someone on Facebook had been giving him away because they were moving house and could they just look after him for a little while, please, pretty please? Until they found a good home for him? Please?

That was over a year ago. (You’ve always been bad at saying no to Taehyung.)

“I hate my life,” you lament to the lizard, but then you hear the noisy flush of the toilet and know that Taehyung is going to emerge from the bathroom soon, so you have to wrap this miniature meltdown up pronto. “I wish I was a bearded dragon too, you know. All you do is get fed and sit under the heat bulb. Your life is so easy. You don’t even know what capitalism is.”

The silence you get from Pickles is far more support than you get from your human friends once you tell them. Yoongi just raises his eyebrows while Seokjin and Hoseok laugh outright in your face, just like they always do when you cry to them about Taehyung.

You need new friends. These ones are defective. (If only you’d kept the receipt so you could return them.)

“We learned how to do neck and shoulder massages today!” Taehyung says brightly after the first session.

You hum in response. You’re rewatching Pacific Rim together, cuddled up against Taehyung’s side, and you don’t have to turn your head to know what expression is on his face. There’ll be that little upturn to his lips, happiness at learning something new. That warmth in his eyes at being able to share it with you, even if you couldn't be there with him. Those little freckles on his face, under his eye, his nose, his lip; the one you’ve imagined kissing more times than you can count.

“My teacher says I have a natural talent with my hands,” he adds, and you’re so grateful that you can blame your sudden intake of breath on the scene that’s playing on the screen, as high stakes as it is. 

“That’s nice,” you say, and mentally pat yourself on the back at keeping the strain out of your voice. You've had a lot of practice at this. “I’m not surprised, though. You’ve always been good at doing things with them.”

That’s not a euphemism. Taehyung’s always so careful when he makes things; you’d learned how to fold different origami patterns together, matching crane for crane, lotus for lotus, and he’d always been so delicate with his fingers. He’s always so careful and considerate with you, too, fingers splayed wide across your shoulder as he squeezes you closer to his side, leaving you breathless.

“I wish you could come too.” Taehyung sounds disappointed. “We always have so much fun together.”

For the first time in your life you’re grateful that your manager at Olive Chicken is such a hardass and won’t let you swap shifts, so you’d had to miss signing up for the massage course with Taehyung—because you know there’s no way you’d be able to keep it together if there was some sort of tandem practice in class or whatever. Your crush on him is filled with equal parts of tenderness and lust and you’re well aware of that. You’d rest your hands on the soft skin of Taehyung’s shoulders and back, the lust would overwhelm you, and you’d immediately burst into flames like some sort of demon stepping over the threshold of a church. 

Why oh why did God have to make Kim Taehyung so hot?

Why oh why did God have to make you so… not?

You know Taehyung doesn’t see you in a romantic light at all. You’re grateful for this deep, platonic relationship you have, and you love him to pieces, but holy hell is it hard to walk around with Kim Taehyung looking the way he does and wanting to jump his bones while simultaneously being aware that it’s never going to happen. Whenever he smiles at you, or touches you, or holds you, it’s in exactly the same way as he treats any of his friends—and as happy as you are to be one of those friends, it also kind of kills you inside. 

(Because you know you don’t have a chance, have never had a chance, and will never have a chance.)

The idea of offering to massage Taehyung is one that makes you want to melt into a puddle of horny goo. But when he offers to massage you, it’s because you’re a convenient practice partner who he’s comfortable with. It’s no big deal. You could strip naked and slather yourself up in oil and stand in front of him with your bosoms heaving and say ‘Have at me, big boy’ and Taehyung would say: ‘Sweet! A chance to practice deep tissue massage! Gee, thanks for being such a great pal!’

The kind of deep tissue you want Taehyung to massage is very different to whatever he’s talking about.

… Anyway.

You manage to avoid Taehyung using his apparently magic fingers on you for a surprising amount of time, though you’re kept up to date with his progress, because he shares everything with you and tells you about everything and you always, always listen. Because, more than being your crush, he’s one of your best friends and you love him.

Which is why you try your best to be gentle, graciously refusing his offer of a shoulder massage after he sees you wincing, even if with anyone else you’d just tell them to back off with zero hesitation.

“It’s fine,” you say, flapping a hand at him. “I just slept on it funny.”

“A massage would help! It won’t take long, I promise. Five minutes? Please?” 

Taehyung’s looking at you with those big puppy eyes of his, pleading. You waver. You’re torn between being steadfast and avoiding a situation you’ve literally had nightmares about (Taehyung had offered to massage you, and you’d said yes, but then you’d fallen over as you were walking to him and suddenly a lasagne had appeared in your hands and you’d spilled it all down your shirt and he’d pointed and laughed and laughed and you’d felt so embarrassed that you’d woken up, cheeks burning), but then he pouts and you give in like the spineless and lovesick fool that you are.

“Five minutes,” you say, and Taehyung nods emphatically, looking pleased.

(You have the backbone of a chocolate éclair.)

You send quiet thanks to whatever God is listening when he doesn’t ask you to take your top off and doesn’t break out a bottle of scented oil. Instead he just asks for you to straddle a chair, clutching a plushie against your chest to cushion where it leans against the backrest, and tells you to get comfy.

“Just relax,” he says, as you desperately try to remember how your body works and coax it to relax like Taehyung wants you to. You fail miserably. You feel like a ball of rubber bands, each muscle a layer of tighter and tighter elastic that’s circled around you. “Lean forwards a little?”

At least Taehyung can’t see your face from this angle. You have no idea what sort of expression is twisting your features; consternation and horrified anticipation, probably. You're basically throttling your plushie, taking out your tension and frustration on the poor thing, Rilakkuma's placid face morphing into a twisted expression of sympathy under your grasping fingers.

“Perfect,” Taehyung says. The sound of praise in his deep voice has your insides turning into overheated syrup, hot and thick, dripping down and pooling between your legs. You hate yourself. Getting turned on by the most innocuous words from your best friend, really? Get it together.

The second you feel Taehyung's warm hands touch the back of your neck, your shoulders hunch up faster than a whiplash, a turtle sucking its head into its shell. Your friend laughs.

“This is the opposite of relaxing,” he says, voice warm with amusement. 

“You surprised me.” You dig your nails into Rilakkuma's soft brown fur. Taehyung just thinks you're not used to being massaged, not that you're being weird because it's him that's touching you. Because he touches you a lot. He’s just never done it like this. “Sorry.”

“It's fine,” he replies, unruffled and oblivious. “Let me try again?”

You bite your lip, desperately trying to quell the mix of arousal and tension that’s churning in your stomach, begging your muscles to unwind. You’ve kept your crush a secret from him for this long, you can keep that energy up. (You have to keep that energy up.) “Um. Okay.”

You’re still tense when Taehyung puts his hands on you again. The touch is warm through your clothes, firm but careful, digging into the sharp line of tension laid across your shoulders; despite the way your heart is threatening to launch itself out of your chest, you start to loosen up, because holy shit that feels nice, actually.

You melt against Rilakkuma and smother the bear's face in your chest. “Your teacher wasn’t kidding when they said that you’re good with your hands,” you mumble. 

You’ve never gotten a proper massage before but it feels so damn good that you can’t help but unwind, turning to jelly at the confident presses of Taehyung’s fingers and palms into the soft skin between your neck and shoulder. A little sigh spills past your lips when Taehyung starts to work at the part that’s been twinging after you lay crookedly on it, limbs akimbo in your sleep after a long night at work. “Oh, right there, Tae.”

Taehyung goes still for just a second before continuing, trailing his fingers over your shirt. “Here?”

Your eyes have drifted shut so you can focus on the sensation of that tension being pulled out of your body. “Yeah, right there,” you repeat, massaged into a state of lazy euphoria. The breath you let out is long and deep, catching in the back of your throat at a particularly firm rub of Taehyung’s hands; if you weren’t so blissed out you might be embarrassed at how much the noise you make is like a moan, but as it is, you don’t even notice. You just let out a little sound of discontent when Taehyung’s fingers stutter in their motions, displeased that he’s stopped even for a second.

By the time the massage is over, you’re so relaxed that you feel like you could melt into the floor, a wobbly puddle of unwound muscles and loose limbs. It’s official. You’re a massage convert.

“Holy shit.” Your eyes flutter open as you lean away from Rilakkuma so you can turn around. They’re the first coherent words you’ve spoken for a while; small sighs and sounds have been dripping from your lips and it’s only now that you’re able to regain your breath. “Tae, that was amazin—”

You’re met with the sight of Taehyung’s back as he power walks away, steps rapid, a little shaky, awkward. Before you can ask what’s wrong, he’s stepping into the bathroom. 

“I need to wash my hands,” he says without looking at you, before the door slams shut.

You don’t remember Tae telling you about how quickly you have to wash your hands after finishing a massage. But, thinking about it, you suppose it makes sense—you know, with massaging multiple clients or whatever—even if it’s surprising exactly how fast he’d hoofed it away from you. It sounds like he’s switched both taps on full blast as well, noisy even through the wooden door, and judging from how long he’s in there, he’s being very thorough. Hand washing must be a lot more important than you’d realised. 

Once Taehyung emerges, his face is a little flushed, cheeks a soft red. You wonder if the hot water tap is playing up again and filling your dinky bathroom with hot steam, and make a mental note to look into it. You smile at Taehyung from your perch on the sofa, Rilakkuma plopped on your lap, smile spread across your features; one that Taehyung returns, as pink-faced as he is.

“How’s your shoulder feeling?”

“So much better, honestly,” you admit. It’s incredible. He hasn’t even finished the course yet and he's already this good. He really does have magic hands.

“I’ll have to give you massages more often,” Taehyung says, though the end of the sentence trembles a little. He must be light-headed after all the steam in the bathroom.

The thought of more massages doesn’t fill you with as much mind-numbing trepidation as it might have earlier, utterly languid as you flop across the sofa, muscles uncoiled after the lovely touch of Taehyung’s even lovelier hands. No wonder people rave about spa days if they leave you feeling like this. Maybe if you’d been staring at Taehyung in the eye when he’d been touching you, then you’d feel a lot more awkward—as it is, it’s no worse than usual. Your crush is still all-encompassing but you also got a massage out of it, so.

“Sounds great.” This time you don’t even have to fake your excitement. “Now come sit your butt down so we can order some takeout and decide what to watch.”

When you bend down to speak to Pickles later, the bearded dragon is lolling on his favourite branch. “There’s still a high chance that I’m going to die,” you say in a low voice, before you flick the lights off so the lizard can sleep. “But he hasn’t broken out the oils yet, so I think I’ll be okay for now.”

--

Your luck doesn’t last.

“Strawberry and champagne, lychee martini, mint mojito, white chocolate, or tropical coconut?”

You look up from where you’re painting your toenails. “Huh?”

Taehyung bundles into the room and throws himself onto your bed, flopping on his belly and ignoring the way the mattress is jostled. You, of course, are used to his antics, which is why you’d swept your open bottle of nail polish up before he could spill it everywhere.

“What do you think sounds best?”

“Well, that depends,” you say, squinting at your toes and carefully sweeping the polish over the freshly buffed nails. “For candles, I think they sound pretty nice. For sauces to pour over a steak, I’d say I’d give them all a hard pass. What’s it for?”

“Massage oils,” Taehyung says blithely, too busy staring at his phone to see you muffle a curse when your hand slips and you paint your entire little toe blue. “I was wondering which you think sounds best.”

“Oh. Uh.” You fumble to clean your toe and salvage the now-terrible pedicure you’re trying to give yourself. It was only a matter of time before massage oils were going to become part of your life. Taehyung never goes into things half-hearted, so of course he’s going to invest in oils, too. God’s sake. You can never catch a break, can you? “Why these ones in particular?”

Taehyung pauses for a suspiciously long time, but it gives you the chance to furiously rub at your toe while he’s distracted. “We get a free bottle from the course,” he says eventually.

Huh. Okay. “That’s pretty neat. What was the last one? Coconut? Stick with the basics, can’t go wrong with that, right?”

“Coconut is always tasty,” Taehyung comments absently, and you glance up from your Smurf toe.

“Agreed, but it’s not like you’re about to eat massage oil, are you?”

Taehyung pauses, and then buries his face into his phone screen—suddenly very intent on rereading the list of ingredients in each bottle, it seems. “No, of course not, you’re right,” he mumbles.

He’s almost finished the course. He’s not going to be an accredited masseuse or anything, but you definitely think he could be, if he wanted to—you’ve never had less tension in your shoulders and neck in your life. Taehyung always eases his way into your personal space anyway, casual and effortless after years of friendship, but now you’re used to his fingers sliding over the back of your neck, a gliding touch, sending tense little goosebumps over your skin while simultaneously making you melt. 

“It’s pretty cool that you get free stuff, though.” Your toe is clean, thankfully, no longer blue. “And not just, like, a generic bottle of oil or something. They all sound really fancy. I didn’t realise that you could get massage oils that were scented like that?”

Taehyung makes a non-committal noise, which is uncharacteristic of him, but you’re too focused on repainting your final nail to pay it too much mind, letting out a loud huff of triumph when you’re done.

“Get me a bag of shrimp crackers, please?” You have a sudden craving but you don’t want to penguin waddle to the kitchen and risk getting anything on your wet nails. “Ya girl is hungry.”

“Got it.” Taehyung rolls off the bed without protest. You’re used to his antics, and he’s used to yours, indulging you whenever you feel lazy or want him to do something for you. “You need me to feed you?”

“I wasn’t going to use my toes to feed myself,” you laugh, but Taehyung ends up feeding them to you anyway.

When you recount the list to Seokjin later, his face crumples in a way that’s equal parts offended and disgusted. “They all sound terrible,” he says. “White chocolate should stay in chocolate form and not be turned into an oil. Why does massage oil even have to smell like anything?”

You’re both holed up in the tiny smoking nook behind Olive Chicken; neither of you smoke, but it’s a good excuse to go outside and get fresh air during longer shifts. 

“Hey, don’t ask me, I’m not the one who’s taking the course. I think lychee martini sounds interesting, though.”

“Agree to disagree.” Seokjin unwraps one of the complimentary chocolates the restaurant gives to diners with their bill, swallowing it whole. “Besides, we all know Taehyung could approach you with dirty, used fryer oil and you’d let him dip you in it.”

You slap the next chocolate out of his hand before it reaches his mouth. He’s unmoved and simply plucks another from his pocket, which is apparently bulging with them.

“Yoongichi,” Jin says, calling to the delivery boy, who’s just appeared from the dark like some tired-eyed spectre of fried chicken. “Tell me this. If I were to ask you what smell of massage oil you’d prefer, what—”

“I would say that I really could not care less.” Yoongi flops down on one of the rickety fold-out chairs before silently accepting a chocolate from Seokjin’s stash. “And then I’d ask why you’re asking me in the first place, seeing as you’re the one using it, not me. If Taehyung’s asking what massage oil you’d prefer, Y/n, it’s because he wants to rub it all over you specifically.” Yoongi munches on the chocolate, already filling in the blanks without needing to be told the context. You really are that transparent, huh. “Please, we’ve been over this.”

Jin pouts. “You ruined my set up. I had a whole speech prepared.”

“Oh no.” Yoongi remains blank-faced. “How terrible.”

“I hate both of you,” you say. “I’m going to tell Pickles how mean you are.”

“I bet if that lizard could talk, he’d tell you how tired he was of you two dancing around each other, just like the rest of us,” Yoongi says.

There’s no dancing around, though, no matter what your friends say. Well. Not on Taehyung’s end anyway. You’re out here doing the fandango, castanets and all, while Taehyung just stands stock still, oblivious.

You let out an incredibly long sigh. Seokjin hands you a sympathetic chocolate.

The massage oil doesn’t make an appearance in your life for a little while, though. The end of the course comes and goes, Taehyung proudly flapping the laminated certificate at you, wobble-wobble-wobble, filling the apartment with the sound of rippling plastic. But no coconut oil.

The scent of ‘tropical coconut’ has started to haunt your dreams, in a way that’s both good and bad; when you wake up in a sweat, heart pounding, it’s not because you’re having nightmares, let’s just put it like that. It’s like there’s an invisible countdown that you can’t trace and it’s only a matter of time before it ticks over and the shoulder massages (that you’ve gotten very comfortable with) edge into something different. Taehyung’s going to innocently offer to give you a backrub and uncap that bottle of scented oil and you’re going to explode into a mess of putty under his hands.

Well… then again… you had been worried about that with all the shoulder rubs. Now look at you. You weather those like a champ. Sure, your skin tingles and you run hot and you think about the sensation of Taehyung’s hands gliding over you whenever you’re alone, but you’re basically fine. Your friend who just so happens to also be the great love of your life remains none the wiser.

You bet a full back rub would feel great after a long week.

Which is why when Taehyung steps into the apartment with a look on his face that you immediately recognise as tiredness, you sort of wish you knew how to massage people, too.

He falls into your arms with little fanfare. It’s been one of those days, one of those ones that everyone gets, even Taehyung—he’s usually so Switched On and Exuberant and Alive, and people don’t seem to realise that even he feels exhausted, sometimes.

“You alright, bubs?” You can’t massage him but you can rub his back soothingly, let him snuffle against your neck. Sometimes you think about that little space between your chin and collarbones as Taehyung’s, a hollow that’s perfect for him to press his face into, hair tickling your chin as he curls up into you. His and his alone. “Did something happen?”

He just shakes his head.

“Okay,” you say.

(Close proximity and skin on skin with Taehyung doesn’t always have your pulse rising and your heart racing. Sometimes it’s just this: quiet and soft, your heart bright with fierce affection for this boy, the only thought in your mind that you want him to be happy, forever.)

The long silence is broken by the sound of Taehyung heaving in a breath before letting out a long, exhausted sigh. 

“Thank you.” His voice is quiet and low, far less energetic than his usual self.

“Nothing to thank me for, Tae,” you reply. “Always here for you. You know that, right?”

He doesn’t respond straight away. He just burrows closer, draped over you, until he murmurs, barely audible. “Why?”

Your face twists. “Why, what? Why am I always here for you?”

“Yeah.” Taehyung squeezes himself impossibly closer, skin warm against yours, forehead pressed to the skin of your neck. You can’t see his expression from this angle.

“Because you’re one of my best friends and I love you,” you answer, immediately. You don’t even have to think about it. “Because you’re important to me and if there’s anything I can do for you, I will. I’ll celebrate the good things in your life with you, and I’ll be at your side during the bad times, just like you are with me. Please don’t ever forget how much I love you, okay?”

There’s a pause, and then it feels like all the tension leaves Taehyung’s body, slumping his whole body weight against you. “Okay,” he murmurs. “I love you too. Thank you,” he says again. You just reply by squeezing his shoulders.

He’s a little quieter for a few days after that. You’re not sure why, because he’d perked up after a lazy evening of lying around and eating too many snacks, flopped against you like an oversized, clinging starfish—but you’re gentle with him nonetheless. 

(Well. You’re always gentle with him. It just takes you half a second to fold in the face of his whims, rather than a whole, full second.)

So when the dreaded bottle of oil finally appears, you’re far less ready to fight off Taehyung’s insistence on a full body massage, caught off guard after days of indulging him. Fuck. 

“You’ve had a long week!” Taehyung insists as you scrabble your way over the sofa’s backrest so you can hide behind it, clutching a cushion to your chest. “You need to relax!”

Without looking you fling the cushion over the sofa. Judging from the fact that Taehyung doesn’t make a sound, you’ve missed. “I was feeling perfectly relaxed until you started yelling at me about it! Why are you so obsessed with the idea of me being relaxed?”

Taehyung doesn’t respond. Oh, crap. Maybe you did hit him with the cushion?

You pop up from behind the sofa. Nope. It's an embarrassing distance away from Taehyung, who’s got that surprisingly large bottle of oil held loosely in his hands. There’s an expression on his face that you can’t decipher; a little crestfallen, a little unsure, but there’s something else there, too, something you can’t put a name to.

“Taehyung?”

“I just… wanted to help,” he says. “You’re always there for me when I’m not feeling great, and you calm me down, and I wanted to do the same for you.”

You immediately feel like the worst human being alive. Take the feeling you get whenever you accidentally step on an animal’s tail, multiply it by infinity, and that’s only just a drop in the ocean of awful, awful guilt that you’re drowning in. 

“Oh, Tae,” you say. Your voice comes out so much softer and sweeter than you mean it to, but you can't help it. “I’m sorry. I was just joking. It’s really nice of you to be so concerned. You just surprised me. You do help me relax and your massages are great.” (You tell him that often enough that he should know it, but it never hurts to repeat a compliment.)

His face lifts. It’s like the sun bursting forth from the clouds after heavy rain, and you have to resist the urge to shield your eyes, blinded by the brightness and beauty. Kim Taehyung is so unfairly gorgeous (but what else is new?). “So I can give you a massage?”

Despite the fact the prospect makes you want to fling yourself into space, when you’re faced with Taehyung’s dark eyes and wide smile and large, warm hands, you cave, because of course you do. If, way back when you’d first been frying up that kimchi rice and letting Taehyung thrust his phone into your face, you’d been told you’d end up in this position, you would have laughed outright. Haha, yeah, sure, like you’d be stupid enough to let yourself be wrangled into such a vulnerable state in front of Taehyung, nowhere to run, helpless under his fingers. Not.

But here you are. Whipped for Kim Taehyung, forever and always.

The pastel blue towels under your stomach and chest are soft as they shield you from the cold, hard floor. You’re incredibly aware of how chilly the apartment feels, air prickling against your bare skin; you shift to try and get comfortable, glancing over your shoulder to fiddle with the towel that’s draped over your hips and ass, making sure it’s covering everything. Taehyung insists on authenticity (as if you’re not lying on the floor of your apartment rather than on a massage table) and he says that it’s normal to be completely naked for a full-body massage, even underneath any towels that are covering you up.

Authenticity is also why he’s in the other room, warming up the massage oil, because that’s apparently a thing?

(You’re going to die.)

It doesn’t matter that Taehyung will only be able to see the back of your head, your shoulder blades, the small of your back, a slip of your thighs, your calves. None of these things are especially scandalous; all the parts of your body that someone might find more interesting are out of sight, pressed against the floor or hidden under a layer of Egyptian cotton microfibres. 

And yet you can’t help but be hyperaware of how you’re entirely unclothed. Even if it doesn’t bother Taehyung—what with, you know, the fact he’s not interested in you like that and doesn’t find you attractive at all (sigh)—embarrassment creeps hot and uncomfortable under your skin.

It just feels so crazy intimate to be laid out like this, even if people do this all the time, happily strip down to let professionals rub the tension out of their body. 

(Then again, most people aren’t best friends with their masseuses and haven’t harboured long, one-sided crushes on them, either.)

Just breathe. You can do this. You love the shoulder massages that Taehyung’s been giving you; just think of this as a shoulder massage. 

… A shoulder massage that involves warm oil, near-nakedness, and Taehyung’s hands sliding all over you.

… You are going to have a very long venting session with Pickles after all this.

You’re so distracted by your own self pity and distress that you don’t register the sound of Taehyung entering the room; the little pause when he steps over the threshold, feet stuttering, just for a moment. It’s only when he’s kneeling down that you notice his presence, body jolting from surprise before you let out a slip of high laughter.

“Jesus, Tae,” you say. In any other circumstance, you’d be clutching your chest. “You scared me.”

“Sorry.” He sounds genuinely apologetic.

Your cheek is pillowed on your arms. When you turn to look at your best friend you immediately regret it; he’s settled back on his ankles, knees spread wide, and you come eye-to-eye with his crotch.

In an effort to look away from his clothed dick, your gaze flies up to his face, which might be even worse. He has this intense look in his eyes, and wow, alright, you’ve never been able to see Taehyung’s face as he’s been massaging you, but you never realised exactly how seriously he seems to take it, judging from his expression.

(Do all massage therapists look like that when they work?)

“That’s alright.” You’re a little breathless, but you’re going to blame that on how your boobs are smooshed into the floor, and not on anything else, nuh uh. Shoulder massage. It’s a shoulder massage. It’s just like a full bodied shoulder massage. (Maybe if you repeat it to yourself often enough then you’ll actually start to believe it.) “Uh. Do you need me to… do anything? Or do I just lie here?”

Taehyung’s expression lightens a little at the uncertainty in your tone, smile curling up the corners of his mouth. “You’re perfect right where you are,” he says, and then he reaches for the bottle of oil.

You turn your head away again, cheeks burning. There’s no way you’ll be able to handle the visual of him slicking his fingers and palms up. “Cool,” you say, voice only a little strained. “Coolcoolcoolcool.”

(It’s not cool.)

You don’t have a visual, but you do get the auditory experience thanks to the relative silence in the apartment. Goosebumps ripple down the back of your neck and trail down your spine at the sound of Tae’s hands sliding against each other, thoroughly coated in the warmed oil, and you’re so glad that you can blame it on the chill in the air.

At first, it’s okay. Taehyung starts at the parts of your body that are used to receiving his attention, though it’s different without the barrier of clothing in the way, not to mention how easily his palms glide over you, the air full of the light scent of coconut. It’s different, but manageable, and you think you just might be okay; as always, his touches are firm but careful, and your body is used to this by now, relaxing.

But. The second you feel Taehyung’s touch between your shoulder blades, you stiffen with a shiver. The oil is the perfect temperature against your skin, but you’ve always had a sensitive back; you can’t help but clench your fists, digging your fingers into your palms. Relax. Just breathe. 

“You’ve got a lot of tension here.” Taehyung’s voice is low as he digs the heel of his palm into the dip of your spine.

It’s because you’re touching me there, you think to yourself, but just let out a non-committal hum of agreement instead. 

You feel Taehyung's hands, a repeated sliding motion between your shoulder blades; the tension starts to leak out of you again, but your breath hitches in your throat at how you're pressed downwards and into the cotton towels beneath you, nipples hardening against them.

Thank God you're on your front so Tae can't see what effect he's having on you.

“Better?”

Taehyung's voice is always deep, but you'd swear it was even deeper in this moment, pitched low. Maybe that’s because the sound of blood pumping is filling your ears so it’s hard to discern. At this point, who even knows? Not you, that’s for sure.

“Yep.” Why are you so breathless? You haven’t moved at all, but you sound like you’ve just run the 100m sprint, winded and weak. “So much better.”

You regret agreeing to this. You are so out of your depth and there’s no way you’re going to be able to hide exactly how much this is affecting you and you want to collapse in on yourself and shrivel up like a sundried tomato, tiny and wrinkly and underwhelming. 

Taehyung shifts to reach more of you and you squeeze your eyes shut so you don’t come face first with his crotch again, shielding yourself from the view of his loose linen trousers stretched almost taut with how wide his knees are. It’s both a blessing and a curse—a blessing because you’re saved from aforementioned view, but a curse because your sensation of touch is heightened, and all you’re aware of is his hands sliding down your sides. You’d swear those fingers were so long he could circle your waist with ease.

(Massages are meant to relax you and yet you’ve never felt so tense in your life.)

Taehyung clicks his tongue against the back of his teeth. “I can’t get a good angle like this,” he mutters.

Before you can think anything or say anything, you become aware of the sound of moving and shifting and—

Your eyes fly open. Taehyung’s straddling your thighs, heavy and warm, and you suck in a breath so sharp and fast you can feel your chest expand, brain full of the screaming clang of warning bells. There’s no way this is a normal masseuse thing. There’s no way. It’s intimate and entirely too physical and there’s absolutely no way that this is something Taehyung learned in class. 

(What is he doing?)

But then any coherent thought in your brain slips when his hands settle on you again.

They so, so lightly brush the hem of the towel that preserves your modesty, and you can’t help the full-body shiver that wracks through you. You suck your lips into your mouth, swallowing down the noise that threatens to bubble up in your throat. There’s the sensation of fingers trailing up the line of your spine, feather light, smoothed by the slide of oil, and you feel like molten lava, burning hot and bright.

“Taehyung.” Your voice is high and faint.

His fingers splay down your ribcage and run down your sides, confident and smooth, warm with that coconut-scented oil, and you’re dying, you’re living; you want to disappear, you never want this to end. 

“Taehyung,” you repeat. Your voice shakes.

He hums, low and indulgent. “Yes?”

“M-my thighs,” you stammer, unable to articulate yourself. Why are you on my thighs, oh God, you’re so warm and heavy on top of me, oh God oh God oh God.

Taehyung completely misunderstands you. “Oh? Of course.” He sounds nonchalant. “I’ll massage those next.”

You can feel the drag of his linen trousers against your skin as he moves down to rest on your calves, and hear the bottle open as Taehyung drizzles more oil over his hands, far more than he could possibly need. His palms feel so broad and warm against the smoothness of your thighs, touches firm and confident as he digs his fingers into the muscle, and, oh, fuck, this is, this is too much—

Your legs jump when Taehyung hitches the towel up, just a little, baring more of your body.

“Fuck.” You can't keep quiet any longer. “Tae, I’m fine, I’m feeling way less tense now.”

He’s still, for a moment, before his hands slide up the back of your thighs. “Are you sure? You want me to stop?”

It’s only then that you realise how deeply Taehyung is breathing, fast and low, voice rough and gravelled. His fingers rest in wait, warm and slick with oil; you’re so close to losing any modicum of modesty, only one motion away from that towel being rucked high enough that there’s nothing protecting you from Taehyung’s touch and eyes.

“I haven’t finished yet, though,” he continues, digging his thumbs into your skin as he pulls his hands down your thighs, mindlessly following the motions he’s been taught. “There’s still more to go.”

You could twist around to look at him but you’re almost afraid to look at his face, afraid of what you’d find there. He sounds as affected as you are, but there’s absolutely no way. There’s no way.

“You don’t need to do the whole massage if I’m feeling relaxed, right?” 

(Because you’re feeling so relaxed right now, of course, and not like you’re about to go supernova and burst into heat and light. Absolutely.)

(But.)

(But. Taehyung’s hands settle at the back of your knees, swiping the sensitive skin with his thumbs. You can’t see his face, but you can feel something in that touch, something more than skin deep, like it’s sinking into you, through skin and muscle and bone, in in in, settling inside you, a flicker of—of—)

“Want to do this perfectly for you,” he murmurs. You clench your hands at the husky note in his voice, nails digging so hard into your palms it hurts. “You deserve the best. I want you to feel good.”

He must be able to see your back rise and fall as you breathe in sharply.

“Taehyung.” Almost pleading. 

“Yes, love?”

You suck in another sharp breath. The pet name sounds so soft and sweet in his mouth, somehow, even with the heated edge to his voice. One that’s definitely there. You’re not imagining it. 

(You’re not.)

“Do you want me to make you feel good?” he continues.

Before you can think, you nod.

“Yes,” you whisper. “Please.”

You’re trembling. Taehyung’s still heavy and warm across the back of your calves, sliding one hand to the inside of a knee and up the soft skin of your inner thighs. You instinctively shift them apart, as far as you can with Taehyung trapping your legs, and, oh, his hand is going higher, oh—

His hand is so big, cupping your overheated sex. It’s hard to tell where the oil ends and your own arousal begins, flushed wet and hot; when he dips his middle finger between your lower lips, long and gentle and firm, you let out a noise you didn’t realise you were capable of. The angle is off, a little awkward, the motions of Taehyung’s fingers stifled by how you’re lying flush to the ground, but God, you’re so turned on it barely matters.

You’re hyperaware of everything. The soft touch of air on the cooling oil across your skin. The fall of the towel, bunched around your waist, slowly slipping to one side. Taehyung’s hand, his fingertips easing through the heat of you, sliding over your clit, over your entrance, slow and soft and amazing. 

“Again,” you plead. “Again, Tae, please.”

“Feels good?” He asks, and you squeeze your eyes shut as you nod, cheek still pillowed against your arm.

“So good,” you say. “But I want more, please, Tae.”

“Anything you want,” he murmurs.

Taehyung’s hand shifts between your legs again, so hot, so big, so reverent. The slide is smooth as his fingers press into your folds, practically gliding. You twist beneath him, letting out a noise of displeasure when he draws his hand away, but then he lifts off your calves. You let him thrust your legs apart before he resettles between them.

Just as you’re distracted with the towel being tugged away from your hips, baring you entirely, Taehyung slides a finger into your weeping cunt.

You whine. It's so long. Now that your calves aren’t trapped, there’s nothing to stop you from rutting back against his fingers. He splays his other hand over the soft flesh of your ass, encouraging the rolling motion of your hips, and you’re gasping, wanton in your noises of desire and pleasure. One finger becomes two, and then three, Taehyung’s voice a low undercurrent to your stuttered moans as he presses them as deep as he can.

“Just like that, angel,” he breathes. “Want you to feel good, keep making those pretty noises, let me know how good it is—”

“Taehyung,” you whine, dragging the syllables of his name out when he curls his fingers inside you, so amazing, hitting you in all the right places.

“Baby.” He sounds wrecked, words sliding together, and you haven’t even touched him yet. “You’re so hot n’ wet, fuck. So perfect. Just like that, keep moving like that.”

You can hear the slick sounds of his thrusts into you. He’s already learned what you like, twisting his fingers in a way that leaves you breathless; they’re so fucking long, sliding into your greedy cunt with ease, reaching so much deeper than your own can. His pretty lovely hands are on you, inside you, and you’re heady at the thought.

“There, Tae, don’t stop, please, p-please.” The coil twists tighter in between your legs, a taut thread that’s ready to snap. He listens, repeating the motion that’s pulling you closer to the edge, eyes wide, staring at the way you’re writhing underneath him; the way the oil on your back and legs shimmers in the light, the evidence of his touch all over you, shining. “Tae, oh, God, right there, yes, yes, yes—”

Your entire body goes tense and then you’re cumming around Taehyung’s fingers, clenching your thighs together, trapping him inside as you buck your hips. You grind back against his hand, a loud moan falling from your lips, drowning out the noise of awe that Taehyung makes when he feels your walls pulsate around him. You're warm and tight and wet, arousal flooding thick against his skin, and he lets out a stuttered groan, fingers buried knuckle deep inside you, feeling every wave of pleasure that rocks through your core.

You’re panting by the time you settle back down and barely make a sound when Taehyung drags his fingers out of you. When he leans down the oil on your skin feels tacky against his clothes, material sticking to you, chest to back, hips to ass. You can feel the hot curve of him through his trousers, his cock heavy, getting harder—and it feels sososo good.

Taehyung’s face is so close, now, chin hooked over your shoulder. Even though you can feel the hardness of his cock pressed against you, the smile on his face is so gentle. Your heart thrums in your chest.

“So cute n' pretty,” he says, and presses his nose to the soft curve of your cheek. Rather than coconut, all you can smell is his shampoo, familiar and homely and heady. “All over. God, I can’t believe you’d let me touch you like this. I’m so lucky. Was that good, baby?”

“Yes,” you say, and then, because you’re still floating in a light haze of disbelief: “I’m the lucky one.” 

Taehyung laughs, low and quiet. It’s a honeyed moment, dripping slow and sweet, even sweeter when he tilts his head forward. His lips are soft against your cheekbone, your jaw, and when you turn towards him, they’re even softer against your mouth. You can feel the shape of his smile, and it tastes so bright, small kisses that turn open mouthed, so perfect. Because you’re kissing Kim Taehyung, your Taehyung, something you’ve been dreaming about for so long, now—even if this entire situation is pretty unbelievable, honestly.

When you pull back, his eyes spark with unadulterated joy. He’s warm and heavy, pinning you down against the towels that are soft against your front; arching your spine, you lean back against the weight of Taehyung’s body, his cock fattening up through the layers of clothes that separate you. He lets out a breath of surprise before he grinds down, pressing that hard heat against you, and your cunt clenches.

“Can I finish the massage?” He asks, sounding almost eager, even with the rasp of lust in his voice. You can’t help but laugh, an affectionate giggle that has you knocking your foreheads together.

“Of course,” you say, and he catches your lips again, swallowing the last of your laughter, sweeping his tongue over your lips, inside your mouth, wet and hot and a little messy, but good. 

“You need to be on your back,” Taehyung continues, slow after the kiss is broken, and, oh, okay, that has you shivering. “If you want to?”

Of course you want to.

“Okay,” you whisper. “Let me move.”

He shifts to give you room, but not before pressing a kiss to the back of your neck, the bump of the top of your spine, lips sliding against the oil that he’d rubbed there earlier, goosebumps erupting over your skin.

“So good to me,” he whispers. You don’t think he even means for you to hear it. 

(It’s said without thought; not thoughtless, no, but a soft little thing that says so much. A thought that’s slipped across his mind and fallen from his lips, warm and tender. Like you’re always good to him, and he sees it, he knows it, he feels it, he thinks it, and he’s almost in disbelief about it, because you’re so good to him.)

You feel warm and languid after cumming, loose-limbed as you flop onto your back. There’s no going back now. There’s no going back from this moment, naked and vulnerable under Taehyung, nothing hidden away any more—the soft fall of your breasts, your stomach, the lines of your hips, your fingers tightening in the towels spread beneath you as Taehyung’s eyes drink you in, wide and overawed at the sight of your flushed cunt, ripe and slick and ready for him.

(There's no more hiding how much you want Taehyung to have you, body and heart alike.)

You can see the shape of your body silhouetted on his clothes, where the oil has seeped into the material from how close he’d been pressed against you. You can see just how affected he is, cock straining against the loose linen of his white trousers, and you bite your lip to try and stifle the sound you make.

“Look at you,” Taehyung breathes, kneeling between your legs. “You’re so perfect.”

Your cheeks burn. “Taehyung, please,” you say, embarrassed. You really aren’t, especially in comparison to model-gorgeous Kim Taehyung, eyes dark and full of heated lust, hair falling in his eyes, effortlessly beautiful, always.

“You are,” he insists. “You have no idea how perfect you are.”

Before he reaches for the massage oil, he sucks the taste of you off his fingers, sloppy and messy. Your pussy throbs at the sight. And—you were also right about the visual being too much to handle, breath catching in your throat as you watch it drip into his broad hands. His palms shine as he rubs them together, interlacing his fingers, so graceful in their motions. You’re so wet from your orgasm, only getting wetter as you stare back at Taehyung, whose gaze has been heavy on you the whole time.

He starts at your collarbones. It’s even slower than before, and you ease underneath him, revelling in the softness of his touch. He sweeps his hands over your shoulders, down your arms, circling his long fingers around your wrists before lifting one of your hands. Your eyelashes flutter as he presses a kiss to your palm, a motion so full of adoration and tenderness it steals your breath away, and you squirm, shy.

“Tae,” you whine. “You can’t just do that.”

Of course he doubles down, lifting your other hand and repeating the motion, letting his lips linger between your head line and your heart line. “I can,” he says, words warm in your cupped palm. 

“I hope you didn’t do this in class.” Your voice is too weak for it to come out as the joke you mean it to be. 

Taehyung just shakes his head, mouth brushing over the tips of your fingers. “Only for you,” he says. “Did the whole class for you. I wanted—wanted an excuse to touch you more,” he admits, and your heart feels like it’s going to launch itself out of your throat.

“Then touch me,” you say, trying to sound confident even if your cheeks burn.

And he does. He lets your hands drop, gliding his touch back up your arms, down your body, over your legs; he massages your thighs and calves, digs his thumbs into the arches of your feet, circling his fingers around your ankles, shackles you don’t want to escape from. You feel so relaxed and lax, somehow, even if every touch has you biting your lip, anticipation roiling  in your stomach for what’s to come, Taehyung laying your legs down softly before he shifts back up, hands held out towards you—

—then he cups your breasts in his big, big hands and your back arches, fingers sliding over your nipples, glistening with coconut oil, circling them with the pads of his thumbs. You let out an embarrassing whine.

“Oh, Tae,” you beg. “More, please.”

“Whatever you want, sweetheart.”

You smile at another soft, unexpected pet name, flustered, but then your eyes slide shut when Taehyung bends down to kiss your neck as he continues to run his hands over the swell of your breasts. He trails his lips over your oiled skin, shifts down, drawing a line from your neck to the valley of your chest, the hard line at the center of your ribcage.

“Tae,” you murmur, and then, feeling bold under the heat of Taehyung’s dark eyes— “Baby.”

He hums before laying another sloppy kiss against your sensitive skin. You can feel the curve of his smile in the kiss. “Yes, love?”

“Is it really okay for you to… you know… get that oil in your mouth? I don’t want you to get sick,” you say, concerned, even through the haze of your arousal. His lips shine with it, at how he’s been trailing his mouth over all the parts of your body that he’s touched.

There’s a short beat, and then Taehyung buries his head against your neck—in that little hollow that’s his, in a motion he’s done dozens of times. Except this time you’re naked and he still has fingers splayed across the soft skin of your chest, nipples dragging underneath his palms.

“You’re always so considerate.” His words are muffled against your skin. “It’s fine. It’s edible.”

“You got edible massage oil from your course?”

Taehyung hesitates. “No,” he admits. “I bought it. It’s edible and, uh. Safe for intimate use.”

You’re silent, just for a moment, and then you can’t help it. You start to laugh. 

“Kim Taehyung,” you say, body shaking with amusement. “Did you buy edible massage oil that you can also use as lube?”

Taehyung pulls his face away from your neck and glances up. You’re giggling at him, and he feels so full of love and affection; he can’t help but join in, both laughing at him, loud and carefree.

“It’s why I asked which one you liked,” he confesses, once he can catch his breath.

“I can’t believe you lied to me,” you say, but you don’t mind, really, and he knows it. You lift a hand to push hair out of his face, running your fingers down his scalp. He leans into your touch with a smile, bright and lovely, before he abruptly shifts one of his hands down so he can lick a hot, wet stripe across the skin of your breast.

That stops your laughter pretty fast, surprised hiccup shifting into a broken moan when he engulfs your nipple in the heat of his mouth. “O-oh,” you gasp. “Oh, Taehyung—”

“Been thinking about this for so long.” Taehyung’s eyes are lidded and dark as he leans back, watching the way you react to his touch, arching up towards him. “Wanted to touch you like this so much.”

“Wanted it too,” you breathe. “Wanted—oh, God, Tae, fuck—”

It’s overwhelming. Not just the way Taehyung is flicking his tongue over each of your nipples, pressing his lips against your skin, no—but the idea that he’s been hoping for this, too. Each wet motion of his tongue over your pebbled skin drags pulls out of you; Taehyung’s cock twitches at a loud keen that’s drawn from your lips, a wet patch of precum seeping through his boxers and trousers, darkening the fabric, even though you haven’t touched him yet.

When you reach out to grasp him through his clothes, his hips jolt forward and he bites off a surprised gasp, cutting through the sound with his teeth. He feels long and heavy as you stroke him, thumbing over the wet patch at his tip, hot, even through all those layers between your skin and his.

“I want to feel you, Tae,” you say, staring at him. “Inside me. Please.”

His breath hitches when you tighten your fingers around his shaft and drag your hand upwards, slow and intent. 

“The oil isn’t condom friendly,” he admits, abashed. 

“Then you can cum in my mouth,” you reply. No hesitation.

Taehyung’s eyes are so wide, but then he smiles, eyes squeezing into crescents, mouth turning up into that lovely, broad grin of his. He looks so sweet and sincere, and you feel like you could explode, stuffed overfull with love for him.

“You really are perfect,” he says.

“Only for you,” you reply, your smile just as bright.

He lays one final kiss to your chest, above your beating heart, before he starts to strip. The oil has obviously soaked through his shirt and onto his skin because it sticks when he peels it off and carelessly throws it aside. 

Just like his heart, Taehyung’s body is soft and lovely. You sit up so you can touch him properly, catching him off guard when you pull him in for a kiss—one he eagerly leans into, and without the shirt in the way you can feel the way your skin slides against his, softened with oil. 

There really is no one as beautiful as Kim Taehyung. You drag your hands over him, so warm and wonderful under your palms; his chest, his cute tummy, his waist, his hips, the soft skin above his red, neglected cock. He’s radiant in his nakedness, every easing line of his body so perfect as he kneels in front of you, the flush of his skin, the heavy weight of his arousal, head shining with precum, so wet it’s practically dripping.

You lean in to kiss his neck and nip at his Adam's apple as his hands slide over your shoulder blades and down your back, the parts that make you shudder.

“Want you, Tae.” You whisper into his mouth, a soft secret that isn’t really a secret at all, not any more. “All of you.”

“Going to give you everything you want.” The words flow out of him with ease. “Everything you want.”

His chest and stomach shine with the massage oil that’s rubbed off from your own skin. You run your hands across him, and when you finally grasp his cock without the barrier of cloth in the way, he’s almost burning under your grasp, thick, his entire body shuddering when you pump his length. So sensitive to your touch.

“I’m goin’ to make you cum again,” he promises, and you love it, the way he talks when he’s losing himself. “Bet you’ll feel so good around my cock, so perfect.”

A shiver skates through your body. Taehyung’s fingers dig into your skin when he feels you trembling under his hands, and all you can think about is how you want him in you.

“Please,” you say. “Please, wanna make you feel good too—”

“Hands and knees, angel,” he rasps, and, God, yes, those words cut straight through you, sharp and electric.

Maybe you should feel embarrassed at how quickly you obey. The towels underneath you, so carefully placed at the start, perfectly flat, become rumpled as you shift into position; you arch your back, wanting to look as good as possible, and glance over your shoulder to see if it works.

Judging from the look on Taehyung’s face, it does. He looks like he’s never seen anything more awe-inspiring, eyes wide and mouth a little slack, dumbstruck. But then his jaw snaps shut and he splays his hands over the soft skin of your hips, your waist, your ass, shuffling closer to you; you feel the curve of his cock slide against your skin and you bite back a noise of need.

“Fuck, so beautiful.” He ruts forward, and you can feel the wetness of his precum slicking against you, a beaded line drawn across the sheen of massage oil. “My beautiful, perfect girl.”

“Tae,” you plead, already overwhelmed with need, heart squeezing at his words.

“Just one more thing, angel, I promise.”

It’s a good thing that the bottle of massage oil is so big, considering how liberal Taehyung is with it. You gasp when he uses one hand to spread your ass and before you can react there’s a drizzle of oil falling onto your skin, down-down-down, over your cunt, dripping over your inner thighs; Taehyung catches the excess with his palms before he slicks himself up, spreading that sweet coconut over his throbbing cock.

(You wonder what it’ll taste like when you lick it off him.)

When you feel the blunt head of his cock nudging at your pussy, your entire body lights up in anticipation, nerve endings on fire, every inch of your body singing under Taehyung’s touch—and when he finally sinks in, it’s almost effortless. He’s thick and long but everything slides so easy; you gasp and he moans, both lost in how your body opens up for him, hot and wet. By the time he’s bottomed out you're a quivering mess, collapsed onto your elbows. You’re so full. You feel split open in all the best ways, wanting to draw him in impossibly deeper even so.

Taehyung is gripping your sides, hands unmoving even with the slick oil underneath them, fingers digging into your skin. He’s breathing so loud, and when you experimentally shift your hips, he bites back a noise that cuts through that breath.

“How’s it feel, love?” His words slur together in arousal, but the hand that strokes your back is slow, thoughtful. “Feel good?”

“Fuck me, Tae, baby, please,” you beg. It’s so, so so much, so good, amazing, hotter and bigger and harder than anything you’d let yourself imagine, your entire body taking Taehyung and holding him in, in, in. “Please, I need it, it feels good but I want more, please.”

When he pulls away it’s slow and torturous and he goes so far he almost slips out, cock nearly sliding out of your folds. You whine, a little shameless, mostly needy, but then—

The snap of his hips drives you forwards, towels shifting underneath as you scrabble for a hold on something. Each sharp motion of Taehyung’s body has you choking for air and letting out whimpers and gasps, drowned out by the slap of skin on skin; his hipbones meet the soft flesh of your ass, again and again, but all you can focus on is the thick heat of his cock inside you, in-out-in-out, the press of his balls against your clit, everything so wet and smooth and slick.

You can feel how you’re losing yourself to that heady place that’s golden bright with feeling, lust and sex, the rest of the world gone, unimportant. There’s nothing but this—Taehyung touching you, filling your body so well, so perfect, helping you chase that high that’s growing faster and faster, that precipice of pleasure that he’s going to throw you over again, intent on it.

One of his hands trails up your back, between that sensitive dip of your shoulder blades and into your hair, locks tangling with coconut oil before he urges you up. He doesn’t yank or pull but his hold is firm and you end up back on your hands, arms trembling as you try to keep your balance, back bowed, overwhelmed. 

“Baby,” he rasps. “Oh, you’re so tight n’ hot, so pretty, fuck. You feel so good, do you feel good?”

Your answer is almost a wail, so overcome with pleasure, sensation, the glide of his hands over your shining skin, the mix of oil and arousal that drips out of you, only getting wetter with each thrust of his hips into you. “So good, o-oh God, Tae, baby, fuck, oh, theretherethere—”

“Here?”

He punctuates this with a roll of his hips, using the hand still on your hip to pull you back onto his cock as he fills you up once more, throbbing heat. He bends over you, and this time, there’s nothing stopping the skin on skin contact, the slide of his chest against your back as he kisses the soft skin behind your ear, nipping at your lobe, and that’s it, you’re gone. Your eyes slide shut and your mouth falls open as another orgasm crashes through you, legs shaking as you cum around Taehyung’s cock, grinding back against him to drag out that pleasure; the only thing holding you up is the hand still in your hair, the lips trailing up the side of your bared neck, the hard cock inside you, keeping you against him, so many points of connection with Taehyung.

(His chest pressed against your back, heart beating so hard you can feel it, your own heart moving in tandem, matching him.)

He’s been whispering filth to you, heated praise and love, how good you feel, how beautiful you are, what it’s like to see you like this, touch you like this, have you like this. Lovely, pretty, perfect, gorgeous, hot n’ wet n’ tight, fuck, love, oh.

You’re still shivering, the final pulses of your orgasm curling through you with each unintentional shift of Taehyung’s hips, the drag of his length inside your inner walls. You can feel something dripping out of you; oil, cum, you don't know, but fuck, it feels so so good.

“Oh, God,” you say. Breathless. “Oh, Taehyung, oh.”

“Pretty darling,” he murmurs. He swivels his hips, grinding against you, and your entire body jolts with oversensitivity, clit swollen where his balls press against it. You tighten around him and groan at how hot and big he still feels inside, even as you still shiver from the come down of your second orgasm. “Gonna roll you over so I can see that perfect face.”

And when you’re on your back again, fucked out and mussed and wrecked, he just stares at you. You’ve watched his face for so long, seen so many expressions flit across his features, but never something like this—it’s a mix of amazement and awe and tenderness and lust and love, a lift to his brows and a spark in his eyes and a set to his lips.

And when he leans down to kiss you, that look doesn’t leave. It melts and softens around the edges as you catch each other's mouths, as you kiss and kiss, small tender things interspersed with longer, deeper touches, lips and teeth and tongue—his eyes darken and his mouth flushes darker pink, kiss swollen and so beautiful, but that expression stays. It stays for you. 

Kim Taehyung is beautiful and lovely and unique. Kim Taehyung is so far out of your reach it’s kind of stunning, actually. And yet, here you are, existence of his touch over every part of you, in every part of you, lust driven, love full; the carefully balanced weight of his body splayed over you, pinning you down, keeping you close.

“I wanna see you cum, Tae,” you say. “Please?”

And just like he always does, Taehyung indulges you, just like you indulge him. He presses back inside you, cunt opening up for him so easy, so smooth, like his touch has already been etched into the memory of your body, perfect for him. He stays pressed close, face so near as he rolls into each thrust, sweat and coconut oil painted across your skin as your bodies shift together.

He’s been covering you in his words, both heated and sweet, and now you return the favour. You tell him how good he feels, how beautiful he is, so good, so perfect, so considerate, how much you’ve wanted this. So good, so long and thick, oh, Tae, feels so good, ah-ah-ah, baby, you’re unreal, fuck.

You can see the exact moment he starts to reach his high, the way he sucks in air, the way he lifts his chin, starts to thrust a little harder, a little faster, chasing that thread of pleasure that’s spiralling through him, and you urge him on. You lift your hips and clench so tight it has him gasping, hips stuttering, and you press your nose against his jaw, saying give it to me give it to me give it to me, wanting him to feel the same pleasure he’s given you. 

When he pulls out, you’re too busy moving to pay attention to how empty you feel, settling between his legs and swallowing down his shining cock almost desperately. There’s no coconut. You can only taste yourself and when you lave your tongue across his slit it’s all Taehyung-Taehyung-Taehyung, hot and salt and bitter; he gasps and his hips jump and you take it all, lowering your head as far as you can, the head of his cock at the back of your throat before you pull up, dragging your tongue over the pulsing vein at the underside, messy and wet. You drink down the wetness of his cock, your own arousal, mixed with his, the precum that beads at his head, staring up at him, your hands sliding over the sheen of his stomach, his thighs, cupping his balls, everything slick with oil and sweat.

“Oh, God.” Taehyung’s eyes are blown and his hair is a mess and his mouth is wide open as he pants for air, watching. “Baby, baby, I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna cum.”

You suck hard, dragging your lips up from the base of the cock to the rounded tip, swirling your tongue, bobbing your head faster—

“Oh, fuck—”

—and you swallow down each wave of cum, swallow down the way his cock twitches as he spills the evidence of pleasure into your mouth, swallow down the lovely noises that shudder out of him, watching him the whole time, never wanting to look away.

When you take your mouth off his softening cock, you draw a line of kisses with your mouth, up the soft skin of his body, stomach to chest to neck to mouth. He licks the taste of coconut oil off your lips, the taste of himself off your tongue; you curl up in his lap, settled against him, the apartment’s cool air even sharper against your skin, magnified by the oil that still lingers.

(Even without the oil painted across him, Taehyung would still shine, even under the weak light from the cheap lightbulb that hangs above you.)

You feel soft and warm and small in the circle of Taehyung’s arms, pulled close, and you can hear the words in his chest as he speaks, a resonance that touches against your skin.

“‘M sorry,” he murmurs. 

You pause.

“Baby, love, darling.” The endearments are sugar sweet in your mouth, soft against his skin before you pull back to look at him, confused, concerned. “Sorry for what?”

“I really—I really was just planning to do a massage, but you’re so…” 

You let out a slip of laughter. The room smells of coconut and sex, but when you lay your head against Taehyung’s collarbone all you can smell is the light tinge of his sweat. You breathe in, deep, like you can hold onto that ephemeral part of him. “Oh, Tae. I’m so what?”

“You’re so good,” he says. “So good and kind and lovely and—and so beautiful. I was going to do the massage to make you happy and then… tell you. About how happy you make me.”

You burrow your head into the hollow of his neck, the way he does to you, shy. “I’m not as beautiful as you,” you reply. “Tae, you are literally the most beautiful person alive, and—God, I’ve. I’ve been. So head over heels for you.”

There’s a pause. “Really?”

When you pull back to fix Taehyung with all the surprise in your gaze, you can see that he’s surprised, too. His hair hangs into his eyes, and he looks a little unsure, like he believes you, but finds it impossible to fathom.

You leave massage oil on his cheeks when you cup his face in your hands, staring at him with wide eyes. “Kim Taehyung, I have had daily breakdowns about the intensity of my love for you to Pickles ever since we got him. You’re the first person I think about each morning—usually because we wake each other up—and the last thing I think about at night—well, usually because you end up climbing into my bed more often than not, but, it still counts,” you say. You’re both tangled together in so many ways already. “You’ve had my heart for a long time, you know. I just never thought I had a chance?”

When Taehyung kisses you, it’s brief, a hard press of his lips before he rests his forehead against yours. “You really, really have no idea how perfect you are,” he murmurs. “I’ve wanted—I want to do everything for you to show you how grateful I am for everything you do for me.”

“You don’t have to,” you protest, but he just smiles.

“I don’t have to, but I want to,” he says. “Like you don’t have to look after me, but you do.”

“That’s because I love you,” you say. “Like, capital L love you.”

You’ve been so afraid of confessing, so convinced that it was an unattainable dream; that Kim Taehyung would never, could never, has never seen you as more than a friend. But the way he’s looking at you now, the way he’s touched you, the way your body still echoes with the feeling of him inside you: you’re not scared, any more. You don’t need to be.

Taehyung’s eyes are so dark and warm when he replies, easy and effortless. “I love you, too.”

Your relationship has always been a give and take, is the thing. When you climb in the shower together, he washes the oil from your back while you massage shampoo into his scalp, laughing when he makes devil horns in his hair. He catches you by surprise when he presses you against the tiles, swallowing your moans when he coaxes one final orgasm from your tired body, rubbing tight circles over your clit as you buck against his hand and water cascades over you both. His cock hardens in your hands, sliding between your legs when you press them together, tight-tight-tight, his length rubbing against your cunt as he fucks your thighs until he’s moaning and shaking and cumming again.

(The water’s cold by the time you finally climb out, but that’s okay. You giggle and kiss as you dry yourselves, each other, excuses to keep touching and feeling, driven by affection, not lust.)

When you’re both clean, and dry, Taehyung’s leg thrown over your hip as he tugs you in, flush with his body under the covers, you press your lips against the line of his jaw.

“Taehyung?”

“Yes, angel?”

You smile and hunch up even closer to him, scrunching yourself up as small as you can to plaster yourself against his side. “Thank you for the wonderful massage. Definitely the best massage I’ve ever been given, ten out of ten, would do again.”

Taehyung laughs, pressing his rectangular smile into the kiss he lays against your lips, and you think that nothing tastes better than the happiness curling his mouth.

“Love you,” he murmurs. Always romantic. “I love you love you love you.”

“Tae-honey-hyung.” And it feels so nice to not have to filter your words, to bite back that second layer of meaning, to try and keep things platonic and chaste when you speak. “I love you.”

And it feels so nice to have your Taehyung beside you, your body still aching with the press of him inside you, a good ache, a nice ache. A physical ache from good love, rather than a heartache from a love you didn’t think was reciprocated. But it is, somehow, each of you so bowled over by each other.

--

(“Hey, Pickles.”

The bearded dragon looks up at you, placid as he lounges in his tank.

“Well, you’ll be happy to hear that you won’t have to put up with me ranting at you any more,” you say. “Taehyung did break out the massage oil but it’s all good. I didn’t spontaneously combust or anything, like I thought I would.”

Pickles’ tongue flicks out as he shifts, and you smile.

“Okay, that’s it, I’m done,” you finish. “Thanks, Pickles. You’re a real pal.”

Taehyung nuzzles into your neck. His arms are a tight circle around your waist, chin resting on your shoulder as he looks down at the reptile, too. He’s warm and solid against your back, and you lean into him, happiness tingling through you.

“I wonder how much longer we would have taken if you didn’t get that coupon for a massage therapy course,” you muse, and Taehyung chuckles, warm and lovely.

“We would have gotten there eventually. And we would have had each other until we did, anyway. Right, angel?”

Pickles stays quiet as you both kiss, but you can tell he approves.)

--

taglist: @beyoncesdragon​

[fixyourwritinghabits]

how do i practice getting better at writing setting? Prompted by that anon asking about writing descriptions of location. But with setting you have to get both location and atmosphere well. How do I practice that?

You're going to hate this, because I'm going to give you homework. Pick a few of your favorite books - preferably in the genre and age group you're writing for, but it's always helpful to compare vastly different books as well. Pick a favorite scene in each, and take notes according to character, plot, mood/tone, and action.

Let’s look at how that works with a paragraph from Lee Mandelo’s adult novel Summer Sons. For context, the main character’s best friend died, and he’s inherited his car:

Slickly grim in the gold afternoon light, the black chrome and black detailing and cherry-red rims struck him to the core. The morning Eddie’s trust fund spilled open, the pair of them had driven two hundred miles to pick up the absurd beast. More muscle than the Aventador went Eddie’s argument; Andrew responded and so American it hurts. But the Hellcat fit him, reckless and extravagant, made to measure straight off the line. The brash white of Eddie’s toothy smile and his muscled arm hanging out the window, gunning the brutal roar of the engine at the first stoplight they’d coasted up to together, had lit him on fire.

This paragraph does a lot of work - it tells us all about Andrew’s grief and what kind of person Eddie was, all while framing it around the description of a car. Notice that Mandelo doesn’t worry too much about grammar or run-on sentences - he’s trying to pull you on an emotional journey where thoughts don’t stop crashing into each other. In that aspect, you can also use sentence structure to convey mood and meaning. Short, choppy sentences can be used in moments of panic or anger. Longer sentences woven together with multiple commas can take you on a journey, like a dream - or a nightmare.

Here’s another paragraph from Ash Van Otterloo’s Middle Grade Cattywampus:

Half a heartbeat later, a prism of smoke and shadow erupted from the mirror and tore through the room, knocking Katybird back on her throw pillows with a squeak. The candles toppled, and hot wax spattered Katy’s foot in angry droplets. Deep, guttural groans crescendoed, then filled the room so loudly, the shelf of knickknacks on the wall shook. Terrible silhouettes crouched and leaped, springing from wall to wall like enormous frenzied crickets in a fishing bait box. Under the bed, Podge growled a low warning and Fatso scrambled around in a panic.

Here we have an action scene with magic and chaos, using a lot of action words while making use of items in the environment (the candles, the pillows, the pets). Because it’s Middle Grade, we don’t have to describe this room with every detail - any kid can imagine a bedroom they’re familiar with and picture this scene happening in it. Your audience, therefore, will also determine how much goes into the description.

After doing your homework and figuring out what kind of description appeals to you and why, do not be afraid to go overboard on describing your setting. Spent three paragraphs describing that shack on a hill, it’s fine! In editing, you’ll be able to cut it down to the core of what appeals to you the most.

If you’re the opposite kind of writer and find your descriptions sparse, go back to that homework. Where can you insert emotion, think about how to use things in the environment (a favorite chair, a hated jacket) to do it. When you need to convey mood, consider lighting - is it dim or bright? Cloudy in a way that brings your character comfort or gloom? Does an event that happens in a particular room change how it feels (i.e. being attacked in what previously felt like a safe space).

Also don’t be afraid to physically sit in a place and imagine how your scene would feel there. This might feel silly, but ignore it. You’re a writer, you’re allowed to do absurd things. Now, you may not have a grand fantasy forest, but you might have a park with nice trees. Spend some time noting how the air feels while walking around them, what feeling you get when you hear the leaves crunch underfoot. You might not be able to visit that big cathedral that your fight scene is set during Covid times, but you can google enough pictures and use street view to get a lay of how it looks. Not old enough to go to a bar and don’t want to rely on TV stereotypes? Googled images, videos, and hell, Tiktoks are your friend.

Setting is not easy, but it is conquerable. The more you push yourself, the easier it’ll get.