#like it makes me have the opposite end of a meltdown/breakdown | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

mmvalentine · 2 years

Text

Spaghetti (extended edition) pt 4 | Feysand

Single dad AU. Domestic fluff and smut. Read part 1 part 2 part 3.

This is the last one, if you got this far thank you so much!!

They get married in Rhys’s backyard.

It makes sense to them; neither of them have ever dreamed of an ostentatious wedding, and there are two small children to look after so it feels like a waste of both money and- if they’re honest- nice things.

So while they are engaged it’s more about Feyre moving in than the wedding itself, and the day creeps up on them. In fairness, most things creep up on them these days; there never seems to be enough time in the day. If it’s not Feyre’s work in chaos it’s Rhys’s, if it’s not Cassian having a meltdown it’s Az, and so they lurch from one day to the next.

But at the end of the day it’s a good exhausted, a happy exhausted that's heavy in their bones. While on the one hand it is a bit of an adjustment to have another person in the house after all these years with just the three of them, Rhys finds that any compromise he makes- there so many pillows on the bed now, more products cramming around his bathroom sink, more hair in his shower drain- are more than made up for by the delight, and the relief, of sharing this life.

Feyre takes over the boys' night time routine and Rhys can actually clean the house. Rhys does the laundry and Feyre folds clothes. There’s art hanging on the walls, and they go out now. To parks and museums and movies, because if one twin goes rogue there’s someone to chase and someone else to hold onto the other one. When things do go wrong Rhys is actually able to laugh, rather than just panic, because suddenly he knows that they’re going to be alright, now that it’s not just down to him. So the twins thrive and Rhys is confronted with the fact that while he held off on relationships for their benefit, in actual fact they’re doing great with a second parent, and maybe part of what he was protecting was himself. Because the twins’ parents died and he was left behind and he hadn’t want to feel like that ever again.

But he'd forgotten the other things he'd shut out too- Rhys actually gets to talk to someone about his day, they swap ideas and solutions and gripes. And when he crawls into bed at the end of the day and tugs Feyre's warm body against his, when he moves inside her and the stress melts away, when he wakes up with the scent of her hair on his pillow so he knows she's there before he opens his eyes, he wonders how the hell he's been surviving all this time without her. He just hopes that for everything she's given them, their little family has added something to her life, too.

And so the months whirl by and these days Rhys has laugh lines around his eyes but they don’t make him feel old, and Feyre has one or two breakdowns in the middle of the night about whether she’s going to be a good step mother but even these don’t scare him. They just sit opposite each other, cross-legged on the bed and share their fears until they don’t seem so scary anymore.

On the day of their wedding, Feyre’s friends arrive in a small knot, and Mor and Emerie from parenting group come, and the friend Feyre calls Rhys’s work-husband. Feyre’s sisters turn up, and this throws her. She didn’t know if they would come, but she tells them how glad she is to see them and then cries in the bedroom once they’ve wandered off to drink mimosas. Rhys is just leaving the bathroom when she pulls him in and shuts the door.

“Feyre?!” Rhys shoves a hand over his eyes. “I’m not supposed to see you in your dress!"

“Oh don’t be silly,” she says, and drags his fingers down. “I just need to you talk me down because my family turned up and I’m freaking out.”

“Wow they really came huh, I thought- oh.” He's turned reluctantly, wanting Feyre to have at least some tradition since she’s not getting the usual dating- marriage- kids order. Then he sees her, white dress and anxious eyes and bottom lip between her teeth. And she's gorgeous.

“Feyre you look…” he shakes his head, his throat unexpectedly constricting. “You look…”

“What, is it my makeup? I know I've smudged it, I'll fix it before I come out again..."

“No," Rhys laughs. "Sweetheart, no. I just... I didn't think the whole white dress thing would get to me, I didn't think I cared about it. But you just... you're so beautiful."

“Oh..." Feyre blinks. She had been distracted by her sisters and sort of forgot what she was wearing. "Thank you.” She bites her lip again, suddenly bashful that Rhys is in here. But there's still her family out there.

“Rhys, I haven’t seen them in years.”

Rhys forces his eyes away from the where her dress clings to her hips, pools at her feet.

“You did want them here, didn’t you?” he asks.

“I think so. I wanted to have that, have my sisters come to my wedding like a normal family, you know?”

“I know. Are you changing your mind now that they're here? I can ask them to leave, if you want."

Feyre shakes her head. "No, I don't want that. I just… I hardly know what to say to them. And I hope they’re alright, they wouldn’t know anyone here…”

Rhys sighs as he steps closer, and slides his hands around her face.

"My darling girl. Always thinking about others." Feyre opens her mouth to protest, but Rhys doesn't let her. “Shh,” he soothes. “Today’s not about them. Today’s about you. Now take a deep breath for me.” Feyre does, and although it’s shaky on the way in, her eyes focus on his as she breathes out. “Good girl.”

“About us,” she whispers. “Today’s about us.”

“That’s right. I know your family hasn’t always been there for you, but you’ve got another family now and I promise that we won't let you down. Not if I can help it.” Feyre lets out a brittle laugh.

“Save some vows for the altar,” she tells him, and Rhys presses his lips to her forehead.

“Are you okay?”

Feyre nods, and Rhys searches her eyes. “I’m fine," she promises. Her voice comes our muffled when he hugs her tight into his chest. "You can go now.” Still, it's a moment longer before he lets her go.

“See you out there,” he says, and winks before closing the door behind him.

Standing at the altar, which is actually just a spot between two trees and a local minister, Rhys breathes in the crisp Fall air and wonders how he got here. He's got two tiny best men and the best girl on her way to him.

When Feyre appears, she’s taken her hair down and it falls in soft curls around her face and neck. He saw the dress in the bedroom but here in the weak October sun, she’s divine. She walks to him with laughter in the corners of his mouth and she’s an angel.

“Dearly beloved,” begins the minister, when Feyre is standing opposite him and the boys are bouncing up and down by his side. He doesn’t hear the rest.

“Hi,” he mouths at Feyre.

“Hey,” she breathes back. Her fingers brush over his.

“I love you.” He shapes the words silently. She just smiles and keeps looking at him, and then he’s repeating after the minister and the twins, bless them for not screwing this up, they each produce a wedding band.

When it’s Feyre’s turn, she goes off script.

“I, Feyre Archeron,” she begins. But before the minister can feed her the line with Rhys’s name, she lets go of his hands and kneels before his sons. “Take you, Cassian and Azriel, to be my very own children.” Rhys loses it.

He swipes at the tears with the heels of his palms as Feyre promises the twins that she will love them for the rest of her life and never leave them, until death do them part, and then some. He hadn’t known she was going to do this and it’s more than he could have asked for.

The twins, on their parts, get emotional but hold it together. Rhys isn't sure at first how much they understand, but when they tear up and cling to Feyre's neck he knows. They hear her loud and clear.

Feyre stands up, and completes her vows to Rhys. She takes the remaining ring and slides it onto his finger. He only hears “You may-" before he’s got his arms around her waist and he's crushing his lips to hers.

That night they have spaghetti, of course, Rhys and Feyre and the boys and all the friends that came. They had woken up early and spent all morning simmering an enormous pot of bolognese, and now they sit on chairs around the backyard and eat off their laps, and the wine is red and the cake is chocolate and music is perfect. Rhys and Feyre slow-dance in the living room and barely notice when it gets late and the guests file out. Mor and Emerie have kindly volunteered to take the boys for the night, and although Rhys has put new sheets on the bed and gone the whole rose-petals-and-candles affair, they do not make it up the stairs.

There’s the soft snick of the door closing as the last guest leaves, and although the house is now littered with dirty dishes and empty glasses and scraps of paper and ribbon, they make no move to clean up. Not when the song is so good and Rhys can feel Feyre down the line of his body, from her face in the crook of his neck to the curve of her spine under his fingers.

“The house is empty, wife,” he says softly.

“Then kiss me, husband,” she says, and he does.

The first kiss is as slow as the dance, and the slide is warm with wine.

Rhys crooks a finger under her chin, and keeps his eyes open when she opens for his tongue. She tastes like wedding cake, and it’s a quick descent from there to hungry hands and scraping teeth. Rhys pulls her tighter against him, and when his calves hit the couch he lets himself fall into it. Pulls Feyre into his lap so she’s straddling him, pushes her skirt up her thighs so her beautiful dress is bunched up around her hips.

“Let’s go to bed,” he murmurs against her lips. But instead of standing, he drags her hips down over his lap, and when she arches into the friction, he kisses the tops of her breasts.

“Bed,” she agrees after a moment, but he’s slid down the couch a little as he grinds into her so that the hard line of him is right where she wants it, and without thinking her fingers are pulling at his belt. She’s got the button of his suit pants undone and the zipper all the way down, but Rhys suddenly pushes her up onto her knees at the same time as he slides further down the couch. So he’s eye-level with the white lace of her underwear, and then his mouth is covering the heat of her.

Feyre gasps in surprise and her hands fall against the upright part of the couch. Rhys tugs the delicate fabric down with one hand and then holds her skirts up to her stomach. His other hand curls around the back of her thigh and secures her to his face. He licks a broad stroke through her centre and Feyre moans. Rhys drags his tongue up and down, moving his head with the motion and taking his time.

"I've been thinking about this all day," he tells her. Groans it against her clit. "Just waiting for everyone to leave."

He ducks lower so that his tongue is pushing inside her, while the tip of his nose brushes against her clit. Moves in and out while curling his tongue like she’s ice cream, until she's trying to fuck herself on his tongue and then he moves to circle over her clit.

“Bed?” she struggles out, but even as she says it her hands tighten on the back of the couch, and she's leaning into Rhys’s mouth, as he flicks faster with the end of his tongue and coaxes a deep moan from her throat. His hands squeeze over her backside at the sound.

“Soon,” he mumbles, and then he’s pulling her down with him, laying her back on the couch and leaning up over her, and while she’s waiting for him to kiss her, he pushes his fingers into her instead. She moans again, but it’s not what she wanted. She reaches down between them, even as she moves on his hand now that he’s there. He just watches her, curls his fingers while she tugs his cock free. He can wait a bit longer, is enjoying making her writhe, would have waited for her to come first just like this, but Feyre’s not having it.

“I want…” she mutters.

“Want what, honey?” Rhys breathes.

“Want you,” she tells him.

“You have me.”

Feyre frowns, even as her back arches. “No I don’t,” she argues, and then she shoves his hand away and guides his cock over her wetness instead.

Rhys hisses as he slides against the silk of her, his head against her cilt for just a minute or two before he’s notched at her entrance and moving his mouth in the soft part of her throat.

“Still want you,” Feyre mumbles, and now her knees are coming up around his waist to pull him in. Grabby, desperate. Rhys groans and flexes his hips, she’s tight enough that he wants to give her a moment to adjust but how can he argue when she’s pushing up onto him? "Want you now," she insists.

“Okay you win,” he slurs, and then it’s a slight withdrawal before he sinks all the way into her.

It’s a sudden squeeze at his shoulders that lets Rhys know he was right, it was too soon, but neither of them are complaining. Feyre moves up to meet him every time, and Rhys has one hand braced on the back of the couch to get her at a deeper angle.

He wonders, briefly, if it’s a bit obscene to be fucking on the couch in a wedding dress. If she deserved to be treated with a bit more reverence on her wedding night.

Then his wife makes an especially dirty sound when he hits the spot he knows she likes, and he decides he loves her all the more for choosing this. This messy life and the spaghetti reception and the sex in the living room.

Rhys drops down and leans on his elbows, on either side of Feyre’s head. He slows his movements to a deep, rolling pace and strokes her hair away from her as he moves inside her.

“Are you happy?” he asks her.

“Yes,” she answers, and she sounds so sure, beams so widely that he believes her. “Are you? Are you happy, too?”

And Rhys tries to think of a way to answer that, a way to convey just how far beyond his expectations of life he had found himself, and instead of words all he finds is a wave of emotion, that he loves this woman so much it hurts. So all he says is, “yes,” but his body is looking for ways to be closer to her. “Yes I’m happy.”

And maybe she reads the change in his face, because the play fades from her eyes and their hips speed up and gods suddenly every slide snaps electricity between them. They start pushing clothes all the way off, desperate to be naked against one another, and if they tear clothing neither of them are worried because it’s not like they have need for a wedding dress again. Rhys closes his mouth over Feyre’s nipple as she fumbles with the buttons of his shirt, and he moves from her only to get his hands out of the sleeves, his feet out of his pants, and then he’s there again, he’s everywhere and Feyre’s starting to unravel in his arms. She tangles her hands in the back of his hair and soon she’s just holding on to him, barely in control of her movements, while he’s got a thumb on her clit and his teeth on her throat and then he’s whispering in her ear.

“I’m so close,” he says. “Feyre I need you to come.”

The rough of his voice when he’s breaking is enough for Feyre to find the edge.

“Come on baby,” he coaxes. “Come for me, oh please come for me.”

And his fingers have tightened in her hair, his hips have begun to stutter against hers and Feyre knows he’s only holding on because he’s waiting for her. She wonders if he knows that him losing it is the only thing she really needs to come all the way undone.

Rhys moans low and long in her ear, the rumble of it vibrating between his lips and her skin and that’s what does it. She falls over the edge and delights in the way Rhys falls too, hot on her heels and totally hers.

Rhys is pressing kisses across her collar bones while she catches her breath, and Feyre takes a snapshot in her mind of their wedding clothes in puddles on the floor.

It’s minutes later that they leave them there, when Rhys scoops her naked into his arms and carries her up the stairs to the perfectly made bed in their room. She closes her eyes and leans against his chest, but Rhys laughs as he kisses her temple.

“Don’t go to sleep just yet, my love,” he says. “You have to see the bed.”

Indeed when Rhys pushes the door open with his foot, Feyre gasps. The candles are burning low by now but it just makes the glow warmer, and the scent of roses is still heavy in the air.

Rhys lays her down on the new, white sheets.

“How about a massage?” he says, already rolling her onto her stomach. Feyre smiles up at him, loose and sleepy already.

“Sounds nice,” she says, and lets her eyes close while Rhys warms oil in his hands. “I am a little tight in my shoulders- or there, sure,” she grins, when her husband’s hands start on her backside. “Yeah that feels nice too, I- oh…” She’s cut off when his oil-slick fingers slide between her legs, against her clit and back up. She looks at Rhys, but he’s massaging her ass again and looking innocent.

“What?” he asks, and she gives him a look and settles down again. In time for his hands to go wandering again, and this time he slides two digits straight into her.

“Oh,” Feyre gasps again, arching up off the bed.

But then he’s gone, now massaging firmly up over her lower back, the picture of professionalism. Her head drops down again, but now her heartrate’s up.

The next time his fingers push into her, Feyre says “Rhys I swear-“ but instead of withdrawing, he keeps his fingers moving in and out. Surges up to cut her words off with his mouth, and Feyre forgets what she was going to say as the pleasure coils heavy and tight. It’s quicker, since she’s already come once, and this time when Rhys comes up over her, all hot naked skin and not letting the kiss break, it’s an easy slide for him to be seated deep inside her once more.

They move slowly, languidly, liquidly with one another, his knees bracketing hers and his chest solid and warm at her back. By the time he rolls her over, knee hooked over his elbow to get deeper, it’s just the roll of his tongue against hers that breaks her. He watches the full rise and fall of her climax before he comes this time, moving smoothly the whole time so her orgasm is dragged out and it’s only when she’s boneless that he comes, too.

They barely make it under the covers before they’re aleep.

***

Five years later, the house is a little worse for wear and Rhys has grey in his temples and a tan line where his wedding band sits. Now, when he sticks his head out the window and hollers "Boys! It's getting dark, get in the house!" there are three of them. Cass, Az, and little three-year-old Nyx.

Of course, Rhys is the worrier in the family. The twins grow taller and stronger but that only means faster and more chaotic. Rhys thinks they are a little rough sometimes, but Feyre always tells them that she trusts them implicitly and that makes them take their big brother responsibilities very seriously.

By the time Nyx starts kindergarten, the twins are old enough that they walk him to and from school. They teach him to skateboard, and grow tomatoes, make pancakes. They also recruit him into the pranks they play on Rhys, and show him how to break into Rhys's office where they can sometimes find coins for cornerstore candy. Rhys calls them his "little devils," with equal parts exasperation and affection.

"They're not devils, they're angels," Feyre says.

"They're devils," Rhys argues. "And you're biased because they love you the most."

Feyre shakes her head. "That's not true."

"It is," Rhys insists. "I'm amazed we haven't had any broken bones yet, honestly it's a miracle."

"They'll be fine, my love."

"You say that," Rhys says. "But do you know what I just over heard? That they're going to teach Nyx to fly today. That cannot mean anything good."

Feyre gets up from where she is sitting and crosses over to Rhys. He's perched on the edge of his armchair with his hands flapping about as he frets, and Feyre pushes him back as she folds herself into his lap.

"It's going to be okay." She smoothes his hair back and kisses his nose. Rhys's hands slide automatically around her waist, and it's true that he feels calmer when she's in his arms. "I told you," Feyre says. "They're angels. Don't you know our boys all have wings?"

***

The end!

MASTERLIST

TAGLIST: @ghostlyrose2 @highladysith @stardelia @feysand-loml @tillyrubes10 @ratabrasileira @live-the-fangirl-life @maybekindasortaace @annejulianneh111 @thebonecarver @rowaelinismyotp @loosingdreams @pitrsattabhaadmeinjao @achernarlight @swankii-art-teacher @sjmships @courtofjurdan @teddytdr @positivewitch @thalia-2-rose @darling-archeron @rapunzel1523 @fairchildjace @hopefulacademia @story-scribbler @allthecolorsneverseen @fandomstalker27 @realbookloverproblems @dealfea @s-tormwitch @cretaceous-therapod @whenyadoesntcutit @scatterbrainedgirl @whoever-you-choose-to-love @endlessdaydream @themoonthestarsthesuriel @rarephloxes

#feysand #feysand fic #acotar #rhys x feyre #this is the fluffiest most domestic thing i've ever written #and mostly likely will ever write #and i kind of wish it had done better #but if you got to the end thank you!

68 notes · View notes

snackhobi · 4 years

Text

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

#magicshopnet #btswritingcafe #taehyung smut #taehyung oneshot #taehyung x reader #bts #bts smut #v smut #v oneshot #v x reader #taehyung #taehyung fluff #bts oneshot #kim taehyung #taehyung imagine #taehyung scenario #bts fic #bts fanfic #joy.masterlist

4K notes · View notes

neptune-midheaven · 3 years

Text

💓 Astro Notes PT 4 ! 💓

+i’m back!! i’ll be posting more ever since school ended for me recently, expect a lot more posts going in-depth about each placement!! thank u all so much for being patient, love to you all <33. enjoy these highly generalized observations haha+

*Having your chart ruler in the social houses, 1st, 7th, 10TH, 11TH, sometimes 3rd is a sign of popularity, someone who works well with people, people naturally liking them, seeing them as friendly people, the planet of the chart ruler just affects the exact energy, how it’s expressed what they’re popularrr FOR. Even if it’s pluto the person will still be a magnetic and intense influence in this area.

*Moon-uranus aspects can become addicted to their phones or the internet as the person emotionally depends on technology, it’s more exemplified with the harsher, tighter aspects.

*It’s possible for aquarius and gemini venuses to identify as asexual, they’re more likely to prefer more mentally stimulating romances rather than sexual encounters, detached natures in their relationships can be the root for this. This is a highly generalized opinion however, it could manifest far differently for ANYONE.

*Pluto in 1st conjunct the ascendant creates intenseee people, they draw a lot of people to them, everyone has their attention.

*People who have part of fortune in their 8th house live a long life, they have luck with escaping death.

*Multiple capricorn placements and the risings especially are veeeinyy, skinny and bony.

*Jupiter in 10th have a reputation for being jolly, fun and extroverted, travels a lot, their careers have to do with the foreign and studies, they’re especially known for being very educated and big humanitarians.

*Moon in 10th, moon-midheaven is known for crying a lot in public, they’re seen having meltdowns, breakdowns or emotional outbursts now and then.

*Moon-neptune were very close to their mothers at a young age, they always cried when she wasn’t near them.

*Sun-neptune were close to their fathers as children, both of these neptune aspects are dependent on how positive or negative the aspect is, positive denotes positive relations, negative being a sign of abandonment or disconnect from one of the parents or both if the individual has both aspects.

*Moon in leo/5th hate when they can’t express themselves and their emotions.

*Pisces mercury/12th house mercury are more likely to develop speech impediments, stutters. There’s just something unique about how they communicate as well.

*Libra in 6th are lazyy planners, they meet a lot of love interests and get crushes at work.

*You’ll experience strong, irresistible attraction toward the sign ruling your 8th house cusp, almost telepathic. 7th house cusp is the energy of the partners whom you attract, date, fall in love with.

*Neptune/pisces in 11th have friends who try to introduce them to drugs, friends can be toxic, draining depending on the condition of neptune, sorry to taurus and some gemini risings.

*Venus in 10th/11th in a chart automatically makes the person an extrovert, a good social worker.

*How tf do i come up with these.

*Having your 9th house ruler in 5th makes traveling seem like a hobby, a fun activity to you to entertain yourself or something you enjoy. These people want to travel everyday. They’re also lovers of learning, they look for smart, educated partners.

*Having your 2nd house ruler in 9th house means a job that involves traveling, making money over seas.

*Cappy suns are huge huge HUGE social creatures. Or the complete opposite.

*Uranus in 11th can make new friends crazy fast due to uranus’ quick! energy, just like lightning. Online, they can gain followers the same way, but their numbers always fluctuate or become spontaneously unstable ex: follow:like ratio could be out of wack.

*Mars in 12th love playing violent video games, like gta for example.

*Uranus in 4th could have an unstable family life if negatively aspected, a stimulating and revolutionizing one if they’re positive.

*Libra moons feel emotionally satisfied once a tense situation is smoothed over or balanced out, imbalance or chaos puts them on edge.

*Pisces suns can never figure out who they truly are as a person because of so much exposure to so many different things, morphing and adapting changes them sm bc they’re so mutable.

*Aries moons can be seen as people pleasers similar to libra moons, however it’s only in a way that they truly care just like libra, they care passionately about the people they love. This doesn’t necessarily make them people pleasers of course!! It’s only an aries-libra parallel.

*Saturn in 9th have delays in getting their degrees, it’ll become easier for them to graduate college after their saturn return.

*Mercury in 4th//cancer have excellent memories, they often make fantastic historians, someone who can keep track of the past. Real estate, home business/ careers would best suit them. They also have lovely voices 😻.

*Mutable mercuries’ speaking style is highly influenced by others, they can adapt to the specific speaking styles of others, adapt to unique communication styles from other people.

*Aries rising produces the most red heads out of all of the rising signs, next being leo.

*12th house stellium people feel so... watery

*Youll feel more empathetic and connected to those who share your moon sign or 12th house placements, any placement at all as you of course can be nice, understanding and a bit empathetic, however these two are far more potent and unifying.

*Aquarius placements mean you don’t take whatever planet is in this sign or house this sign rules seriously, it creates a sense of detachment from that area or part of your life.

*Contrary to belief, fires moons are more empathetic than water moons.

*Mercury in 12th people, i love y’all so much ughhh, you’re so sweet and gooeyy, ur ideas and mind are so important and gorgeous. Very artistic and soft minds, fragile thoughts that need to be encouraged by others closest to them. They’re usually very smart and especially talented and creative.

*Water moons have THE prettiest eyes, all of them are just gems swirling with colorful, vibrant soul.

*Moon conjunct ascendant can have their moods being visibly shown on their faces or expressions.

*Scorpio moons are intense but very attractive, it’s hard to keep your eyes off of them and their compelling auras.

*Libra risings can experience getting ignored in group settings. Virgo in 12th could promote this as they’re always hard working behind the scenes it’s almost neglected.

*Aquarius risings have this cute, quirky vibe about them which makes you want to be friends with them.

*Your moon in someone else’s 11th house is indicative of the house person feeling as though they can open up to you, that you two understand one another completely. It’s a very open minded and comforting synastry emotionally.

#libra #cancer #leo #virgo #scorpio #capricorn #aquarius #pisces #taurus #gemini #aries #sagittarius #astro notes #astrologyobservations #astrology

2K notes · View notes

makeste · 3 years

Text

this is just a post listing all of the scenes in BnHA which underline Bakugou’s narrative importance and the way that it’s intrinsically connected to Deku and his storyline, because I really want to emphasize that the MORE THAN 300 CHAPTERS OF BUILD-UP just slightly outweigh the literal seven chapters in which he hasn’t played a major role just lately. recency bias is a thing guys, and we should all try to remember that.

not Kacchan establishing his goal and ultimate endgame less than one page after his introduction.

not Kacchan being saved by Deku less than an hour after burning his notebook and telling him to jump off a roof, establishing the contradictory nature of their relationship right from the get-go, and changing Deku’s destiny forever as All Might witnesses this moment and realizes that Deku is more heroic than he ever could have imagined. “you looked like you needed saving.” that’s a line that’s already had at least one callback, and with Deku now struggling in the current manga the time could be ripe for an even more powerful one.

not “win and save” being established as the two cornerstones of the hero philosophy all the way back in chapter 5, with Deku and Kacchan each embodying one of these dual aspects, and being narratively primed to walk opposite paths in their respective hero journeys, only to meet at the middle when they reach the end.

not Deku and Kacchan having an iconic battle less than ten chapters into the series, during which their rivalry is further established and the complicated history of their childhood friendship is expanded on.

not Kacchan’s first childhood flashback revealing that the pivotal, character-defining event of his childhood was baby Deku reaching out his hand and asking if he was okay.

not Deku instinctively reaching out to Kacchan yet again all of two chapters later, making a fateful decision which will have massive ramifications down the line and which will eventually alter the course of Kacchan’s character development.

not Kacchan’s teachers thoughtfully praising his “overwhelming tenacity” and All Might noting his potential for greatness early on the series.

not Deku choosing a hero name originally given to him by Kacchan, but repurposing and reclaiming it, and possibly paving the way for another parallel that’s just waiting to be capitalized on. Kacchan feel free to tell us more about your own hero name’s meaning whenever you get a chance.

not Deku becoming stronger by learning from Kacchan (win to save).

not Deku and Kacchan deliberately being paired together for their final exam and Kacchan having a fucking meltdown until Deku literally knocks some sense into him, at which point he immediately gets his head back on straight because the two of them are capable of getting through to each other in a way that nobody else can.

not All Might being all “THIS FIGHT SURE IS SOME GREAT FORESHADOWING FOR THE TWO OF THEM TEAMING UP TOGETHER IN THE FUTURE AS FORETOLD BY DESTINY.”

not Kacchan becoming stronger by taking a page out of Deku’s book (save to win).

not Deku being the last person Kacchan sees before the LoV take him away, and the two of them locking eyes until the last possible second before Kacchan disappears and Deku literally falls to his knees screaming in the most dramatic breakdown of the entire series.

not the two of them being singled out in a crowd of hundreds and framed side by side desperately cheering on All Might in his darkest hour in the battle which will change the entire course of the series.

not Aizawa literally saying that class 1-A revolves around Bakugou and Deku.

not Deku and Kacchan having the most iconic battle of the entire series and being all “goddammit I can’t figure out why my entire life revolves around you and it’s driving me crazy” and being fully honest with each other for the first time in their lives, and then having All Might come over and tell them “you two need each other, and you need to learn from each other, because each of you intuitively understands part of what it means to be a great hero, and by working together you will both one day be able to rise to the top.”

not Kacchan, and only Kacchan, being inducted into Club OFA a full two hundred chapters before anybody else.

not Kacchan and Deku obsessing over showing off for each other in the Joint Training arc while All Might looks on like a proud dad.

not Kacchan’s phenomenal progress in the JT arc being traced directly back to the lessons he learned from All Might and Deku.

not Deku being triggered into activating a wholeass new fucking quirk because someone said something mean about Kacchan.

not Horikoshi answering the question of “so what’s next for Kacchan’s character development?” with “he’s going to begin the slow burn process of realizing that he needs to make amends to Deku.”

not Kacchan being focused on Deku during Tomura’s attack on Jakku, and realizing what he’s about to do, and immediately moving in step beside him without the slightest hesitation because he’s determined to stay with him and protect him.

not All Might literally saying “THEY WILL GET A CHANCE TO TALK YOU GUYS SO JUST BE PATIENT.”

not Kacchan unconsciously emulating Deku when he’s focused on saving, and mimicking everything from his exact style of strategizing down to his speech patterns, in the exact same way that Deku starts unconsciously imitating Kacchan’s own mannerisms and speech when he’s focused on winning.

not Kacchan’s milestone “Rising” chapter being explicitly centered around this transcendent moment when he reacts without thinking in order to save Deku’s life.

not Deku activating a wholeass new fucking quirk AGAIN because someone insulted Kacchan AGAIN.

not Kacchan being all “Deku’s not the only one whose quirk goes through Awakenings when he sees that his childhood rivalfriend is in danger.”

not Kacchan having an entire character arc devoted solely to the importance of him choosing a hero name, which he has yet to reveal to Deku.

last but not least, not a whole entire montage of Horikoshi interview quotes with him talking about the thematic importance of “win to save, save to win” (it’s literally what heroism means to him), and talking about Bakugou’s future, and how he’s determined to write an even better ending than the one in Heroes Rising, and how the story will have a conclusion where all of the characters come together in the end.

so yeah. just in case it isn’t clear from all of this,

Bakugou and Deku’s destinies are intertwined in a way that runs deeper than any other connection in the series

the two of them have spurred on each other’s growth throughout the entirety of the manga

their character development has revolved around each other literally from the start

their journeys mirror and complement each other in a way that enriches the narrative

they each represent one half of All Might’s legacy

and their bond is at the center of the series’s emotional resonance

and Horikoshi is not just going to all of a sudden forget all of that and ignore it entirely in the series’s final act. I literally can’t understand why anyone would think that. it’s all right there you guys. 300 chapters’ worth of history and development. this is how it is, and this is how it has always been. like it or not, these two idiots are both in this together, and their respective endgames are inextricably tied to one another. win and save, you guys.

#bnha meta #bakugou katsuki #midoriya izuku #bakudeku #bakugou meta #deku meta #bnha #boku no hero academia #bnha spoilers #mha spoilers #bnha manga spoilers #makeste reads bnha #fifty-one images in this post lol #tumblr you have such a good thing going on right now seriously #why would you want to change that #is it because people like me keep making gigantic posts with fifty images apiece #don't answer that

459 notes · View notes

ghostietea · 3 years

Text

Furuba autistic headcanons

With it being April, or autism acceptance month, I wanted to finally drop my list of characters from Fruits Basket that I read as autistic! This is based a lot on my own experience, as well as that of other autistics I know or have seen talk online. I hope some people can get something out of it, feel free to tell me what you think 😊, though please refrain from getting upset that I would dare suggest your fave is autistic.

Hanajima

Before becoming able to better control her powers, she would be constantly overwhelmed by the things she heard to the point that she couldn't even really go out in public. This reads a lot like sensory overload.

Constantly picked on in school because other kids thought she was weird. Eventually reclaimed this weirdness and turned it into a whole persona.

Seems to talk usually in a relatively flat tone.

Had trouble socializing with no friends outside her family until middleschool.

Has a very funny, dry sense of humor that I find very similar to a bunch of autistics I know, including myself.

Hatsuharu

Listen. You have seen the funky little man, you have seen the way he talks, the way he acts around others. He is, and I mean this in the best way, a weirdo. I do not know how you could look at him and see a neurotypical.

Once again, like Hana, Haru is funny in a way that feels very autistic.

Very flat, dry, tone delivery. Sometimes just Says Things that make everyone else go huh??? Suuuuper blunt. Doesn't emote facially a lot of the time.

When this man sees a social norm he doesn't get he WILL NOT follow it. Pierces his ears just because his hair got flak, defends Momiji wearing whatever he wants because sometimes y'know the social rules are just dumb and don't make sense. Especially dress codes.

Sometimes says things not befitting the current tone of the situation.

Represses (masks) a lot of his emotions, leading to outbursts that seem uncharacteristic.

His main childhood trauma revolves around adults branding him as "dumb" and ridiculing him. Haru, however, is super smart and wise!! Just in an offbeat way that not everyone may get.

Machi

Reads as very "flat" emotionally to the point that others would call her boring. Also has a flat vocal delivery.

Relies on specific habits or ways of doing things or else she gets super upset (her hatred of imperfection.

Has trauma surrounding adults completely misconstruing her intentions and thinking she's doing something malicious when she's not.

Generally behaves in a way that's hard for others to understand, one of her formative moments with Yuki was him saying he wanted to "see how the world looks" through her eyes.

Once again, trouble socializing.

Tries super hard to please her parents but in the end they still see her as somehow inherently "defective."

Listen. A lot of this one and the last two are mostly vibes, hard to verbally define. You just have to look at them and trust me.

Tohru

Displays behavior very reminiscent of masking throughout the story, a huge part of her arc is about how she hides a lot of herself and has a very controlled persona. I think it would fit very well if she had other autistic behaviors that she suppresed also it helps explain why she is relatively socially adept, it's learned behavior to make people like her more.

Yes she is very good at saying what others need to hear, but especially early on she is pretty blatantly imitating her mother's words. She only gets better at getting through on a more personal level later on (see her with Rin and Akito v. early series Tohru). She does this by relating her own experiences, a very autistic way of showing empathy that often gets us written off as self centered. The way she relays things her mom said could also be seen as this, and she even worries at a few points that she's being insensitive for going on about things like that.

While emotionally repressed she is hyper empathetic and feels other's emotions so strongly she cries.

Her speech patterns are all imitated from her father and she often copies verbal things from others (see Ritchan-san). Noted in canon that people think her way of speaking is slightly off/not befitting of someone her age. Additionally, her father was polite more sarcastically, while she plays it straight and sometimes takes things very literally or fails to get the message, indicating trouble with reading tone. Has numerous strange verbal tics, including saying parts of her internal monologue out loud without context.

Very expressive with her hands including waving them around and flapping them up and down.

Does have a bit of trouble with accidental insensitivity in social interactions, like how she constantly fixates on her mom and realizes that might bug the Sohma.

Has trouble paying attention in school since it doesn't have much to do with her interests

Her only friend until she was a middle schooler was her mom

Has a pretty unique outlook on things compared to others, people seem to think she's pretty eccentric. There's always a "this girl is nice but in an odd way, she's our weirdo and we love her" vibe.

Sometimes has an "inappropriate" emotional response to situations

Has a lot of trouble with change, similar to Akito. Which oh, look at the time, next hc coming up.

But first, a disclaimer. It is cathartic for me to read Akito this way, but with that reading comes the baggage that she would, mayhaps, be showing a more negative side of things... It doesn't bother me since it's a joint hc with other characters and she does develop at the end but yeah, general villain hc baggage. This is in no way me trying to excuse her being The Worst being autistic doesn't absolve you of being able to do wrong . Also, a lot of these points can and do have other explanations related to her upbringing, but things can be for more than 1 reason. With that said, she really strongly comes off as autistic to me, in a way that's sorta hard to explain. I wrote a lot more for her than the other, both because I felt I needed more to convince people and that this headcanon was more sensitive and I needed to be careful in my explanation. Also hey! She's my special interest within a special interest.

Akito

Shown to have a dislike of summer weather due to heat and brightness, could be due to sensory issues in tandem with sickness things. Also covers her ears when people raise their voice sometimes which is partially her trying to shut down opposition but also 🤔 can read a different way. She'd also avoids louder Juuni like Ritsu and Ayame because she can't handle them.

Wears pretty much the same outfit every single day. Said outfit is also pretty loose fitting.

Always seen sitting in a pretty unconventional way. Evidence:

Of course this is also the isolated in a cult thing and there is a level of her purposefully doing things to intimidate but: doesn't follow a lot of social rules (overly touchy with strangers, legit doesn't get that what she's doing is wrong, ect.). Repeatedly confused when people indicate she should act otherwise without explanation. Has a breakdown when this comes to a head and approximately says that "they" shouldn't expect her to know "common sense" if "they" never explained it to her, that the way that she was was her "common sense."

Often talks in a way uncharacteristic of her age when shown as a child in a more faux mature/pretentious way. Might just be the translation and idk how to explain it but her speech as an adult also seems off from what one would normally use in conversation. Additionally, when she tries to fake being friendly in her intro chapter, it comes of as extremely stiff and unconvincing.

Generally displays behavior that could be thought of as childish as an adult, but a lot of this behavior could also read as autistic (covering ears, emotional deregulation and meltdowns, ignorance of basic social norms, ect.). It's also important to note that she knows that this behavior makes her seem younger and more helpless to the older zodiac and uses it as a manipulation tactic. Has issues regarding people treating her like a child or only hanging out with her because of pity. While she does weaponize it, we can tell that this grates on her, as seen with her finally blowing up on Kureno, which is partially triggered by the maids saying some sorta infantalizing stuff about her. Irl, a lot of autistic adults and teens struggle with being infantalized for our behavior generally or treated as little babies that can do no wrong. Even in fandom, you see people doing stuff like jumping to call autistic adult characters, such as Entrapta from Shera, "minor coded." It is also common for us to have at least one bad experience with someone hanging around us out of pity. This is something that really gave me a similar feeling in Akito's arc. She's not a baby and she can understand and do better if she is given the chance to learn and break from all the freaky cult indoctrination she's been subjected to instead of just being constantly enabled. In the end, a lot of her growth is represented by her showing that she is capable of changing and being independent.

Shows particular difficulty with socialization, often sits by herself spacing out at social events. A lot of her fear is rooted in the fact that she doesn't know how normal relationships work, becoming overly reliant on the curse because she doesn't know how to make friends.

Clings desperately onto the notion of being "special" and in some way superior to others to be worthy and to make up for perceived inherent "flaws." It's the nd gifted kid burnout vibes for me.

Easily bothered by things that don't bother others. Feels emotions very strongly to the point of getting physically ill and has bad emotional regulation.

Relatively good at reading others in an analytical sense (though has more trouble when it comes to seeing how they feel about her since she's wildly delusional) but brings up her observations in a very cold, detached way and hurts people even on the rare occasion she didn't mean to. Has extreme trouble connecting to others and understanding their point of view. This makes her come off as pretty unempathetic even though that might not fully be the case. Also thinks that people like Momiji are trying to look down on her when they try to empathize with her. A lot of why Tohru can get through to her is that she manages to convince Akito that she's not condescending by relating shared traits and experiences. As I said earlier, autistics often empathize by sharing their own experiences with someone, and I know I often have an easier time confiding in other autistics because of a fear of being seen as lesser by those that don't understand me. I think the connection between these charachters and the way that Tohru manages to reach Akito like that while others couldn't makes a lot of sense through an autistic lense!

Additionally, when Akito herself gets around to trying to help others instead of just projecting trauma, she tries to reach out to the old maid by relating back to her own experiences. This however, doesn't work.

Has "cold" emotional reactions sometimes even to things that do make her upset. For example, how sort of calm and detached she acted after her father's death can make her seem uncaring. However, we know that this event did mess her up a lot and she is still (poorly) dealing with a lot of grief from the death of her father years later.

Copies mannerisms from others, the most blatant example is with Ren, who she directly parrots lines from as a child to Yuki.

Partly just her posturing, but gestures a lot with her hands when she talks. Also seen several times clutching her hands in her hair.

Deals extremely poorly with the idea of things changing to the point that it is a driving force of the story.

Does not understand when people tease her.

Ect. Ect. Ect. Listen, I could go on for ages but just trust me, the mean gremlin lady is autistic.

#fruits basket #akito sohma #tohru honda #saki hanajima #machi kuragi #hatsuharu sohma #actually autistic #meta

196 notes · View notes

dragons-are-a-girls-bestfriend · 3 years

Text

Here’s the thing about Buddie (why no other ship with these two can ever float)...they are constantly, and from pretty much the very beginning, fulfilling the one thing the other is desperately looking for. Hear me out:

Eddie’s story so far is about finding a partner. Shannon was ready and right there, but he wasn’t and by the time he is, and she’s back in his life she’s recognized that’s not what she wants. His own parents might have been able to shift his course if they’d been supportive but they were the opposite of that. Trying to convince him that he’s doing everything wrong and they’re the ones who deserve to look after his kid.

Ana is -- a cardboard cutout of a character -- but what little the show has given us has kept her removed from being any kind of support. There’s some dating (that revolves around math homework? Apparently? I guess this is a kind of support???) but we don’t actually see her interacting with Chris, we’re just told that she used to be a favourite teacher of his. Eddie gets shot and she sits in his hospital room. That’s it. She has one line, something like, ‘Any news yet doctor?’ and then is mute again, smiling beatifically at Buck when Eddie wakes up (and stepping aside, so as not to stand in between which, nice directorial choices there, nice metaphor), and then cheering at a welcome home party for Eddie. So...not much of a real partner there.

Then there’s Buck. Their initial friction ends with: ‘You can have my back any day’ and, ‘Or, you can have mine’. It’s humorous, but also that’s the thing that makes them more than teammates. Either one of them takes a risk, the other’s got them covered, this is common in the found family that is the 118 true, but the juxtaposition of Eddie and Buck, vs Chim and Hen reveals they’ve got a bit more invested in the other. ‘You wanna do a rope rescue?!” fine then, I’m gonna be the one holding your line. You wanna save your ex’s fiance from this unstable train car? I’m pissed at you, and you’re an idiot, but stop arguing with the Cap and just do it and I’m gonna be right here by the window when you get through’. ‘Oh, you’re having a mental breakdown working out some deep-seated issues trying to pull this metaphorical (but also very literal) weight off a victim while everything burns around you? I will be the first person on the line to help you lift’. ‘Hey, you’ve fallen down a well? I’m going to dig through the earth with my hands while the team tries to figure out if there’s a better way to save you’. ‘Oh, you got gunned down by a sniper in the middle of the street? Imma pull you under this firetruck to safety, hike you over my shoulder and then ride with you to the hospital, no big. Just stay with me’.

Buck sees Eddie struggling to look after Christopher and introduces him to Carla, who helps Eddie sort everything out, including Christopher’s school. Pretty sure if we compare all the scenes where Eddie’s talking about how he’s struggling (not many, I know) there’s more of him talking to Buck than there are of him talking to Bobby. He tells his therapist he doesn’t want his kid to be like him: constantly repressing and not talking about his feelings. In the same ep a few minutes later, there’s Buck going, “time to talk about FEELINGS”. Eddie needs a partner to go on a treasure hunt? Forget his cardboard girlfriend, his first choice is Buck. The same Buck who Christopher runs to when he wants a safe space that isn’t home. Who talks to Christopher after Eddie’s shot, and then is repeatedly shown taking care of Christopher throughout the ep. When Eddie wakes up, you know his first thought is Christopher and Ana’s right there. His girlfriend, Ana. Does he ask her how his kid is doing? Apparently not, he waits until Buck takes over to ask, and then have a video call. This was a choice. If they wanted to strengthen Eddie/Ana, this moment could easily have been given to her, it wasn’t.

Let’s talk about Eddie during the lawsuit arch. His grocery store meltdown and the grudge he holds when Buck returns to the 118: it’s the first time Buck wasn’t acting like his partner. The lawsuit, initiated by Buck, exposed Eddie and Christopher and the 118 (who Eddie needs as an extended family almost as much as Buck) to ‘a lot of eyes’ (judgement) and stress. ‘Your actions affect other people, that’s what it means to be part of a team’. It also prevented Eddie from reaching out to Buck because they can’t be in contact: ‘Do you know how much Christopher misses you? ... what if I needed to be bailed out of jail?’ What’s interesting is how quick Eddie is to trust Buck again. Given how long it took him to forgive Shannon, his actual wife who he admits he abandoned first, you’d think he’d have more of a problem with Buck. That there would be some residual friction even after they manage to patch things superficially. But no, 7 eps later they are so much back to trusting each other that Eddie puts Buck in his will. Why? Because Buck hears everything that Eddie says and meets it: ‘you’re right’ and ‘I’m sorry’ and whatever he needs to do he’s willing to earn that trust back. We never had that discussion between Eddie and Shannon, there was too much between them that they wouldn’t/couldn’t hear the other.

From the other side of it, Buck needs a family. He needs to feel that he has people who will stick with him come what may. For as much as he invests and tries to make this the 118, we know that there’s some work there still, mainly because of Bobby and Chimney. Bobby, who we see is periodically incapable of seeing Buck for Buck, and gets overprotective and overbearing. By putting him on light duties he’s taking the family away from Buck, which is why Buck’s response is so extreme. Chim because of the complication his relationship with Maddie offers, obscuring his ‘allegiances’ (as we see with the Buck Begins arch’), but this makes it hard for Buck to feel like he’s fully got them in his corner, there’s a ‘but’ inherent in their relationship. And he’ll always love Maddie, but he’s still working on relying on her because she abandoned him once, and finding out she kept such a big secret from him is a further complication. (not sh****** on these characters, btw, I love them, but it complicates the relationship from Buck’s perspective).

His girlfriends are no different. Abby, given what she’s been going through in her own life, is not ready to be there for yet another person, which is why I think she doubles down on peacing-out so hard on Buck -- she feels guilty but also it’s everything she does not want at this moment. She’s trying to find herself, she doesn’t want to be there for someone else. Ali isn’t comfortable with the dangers of his work, and Taylor is basically early Buck -- focused on herself and her job and her own needs. All that is great, but it’s not what Buck needs right now. Aside, but this is sort of what I see in what’s likely to be the inevitable Taylor/Buck relationship: Buck is going to be her Abby. I really hope we see him get to a place where he can end things for himself, because that would be a step forward for his character.

In contrast, there’s Eddie. Because he’s Eddie there’s no loud gestures, just constant and repeated demonstrations of support. I always thought it was interesting how they wrote that early ep where Eddie’s abuela is hurt. (not tinfoil hatting, I just thought it revealed something neat about his headspace). Because Eddie’s worried and Buck’s right behind him coming into the hospital. Eddie is introducing Buck to his family as his family: this is tia ... Peppa. Just a little thing that illuminates where Eddie’s head is at, and I wonder if the writers would have written him so wrapped-up in his family if it had been a different character with him?

There’s that little moment pre-tsunami where Bobby’s talking to the 118 about how they have to be there for Buck, and the camera shows Eddie frown to himself and then a few scenes later he’s demonstrating that he (1) clearly has a key to Buck’s place, (2) is planning to deal with Buck’s depression with a wrecking ball, aka, over-exposure to the literal ray of light that is Christopher Diaz. This always felt to me like Eddie going, ‘hey, I know what helped me deal with my depression and ptsd etc when I got back from Afghanistan, I bet it will help you too’.

The tsunami arch is Buck desperately trying to find Christopher, yes, but lets not forget it’s also Buck desperately trying to hide the fact that he lost Christopher from Eddie. It’s literally the worst thing he could do, and how can he tell Eddie because obviously the only result is his losing Eddie forever, too. But he does it. The writers give us this moment where Buck stands up and starts to explain. I love this, because of course it shifts things between them. After you’ve admitted the worst possible thing to someone, anything else becomes small, and more manageable. We see this in the way that Buck talks to Eddie after. The kitchen convo, he takes a breath and dives in: ‘if you can’t be honest with your therapist at least me honest with me’. He’s a lot more comfortable making himself vulnerable to Eddie, because he’s done this once already and what was Eddie’s reaction?

‘There’s no one I trust with my kid more.’ ‘A natural disaster happened, Buck.’ And in that same conversation, Eddie unknowingly gives Buck the words to express what he’s needed all this time, that he’s never gotten. ‘I love him enough to never stop trying’, so in S4 Buck’s able to say to his parents, ‘You gave up on us’, and when they ask what else they were supposed to do? ‘Love us anyway’.

We see multiple people trying to support Buck when he’s on light duty, trying to explain that he’s more than this job. But Buck wants to help people, he needs to feel useful in a more direct way than being a teacher, or a 911 operator etc help people. And he’s not suited to being a medic or a doctor, he’s got to throw his whole body at a problem, and despite their best intentions, trying to explain that he’s more than the job (very true) without saying other jobs that might satisfy that need can’t allay Buck’s fears. We never hear Eddie considering that Buck won’t come back, his position is always that Buck needs to trust his captain, and as a result we never see how he’d speak to Buck about not being a firefighter, he never doubts that Buck will be back. But we do get to see his reaction after Buck’s rescue in Buck Begins, which is solid and supportive, “I know”, rather than being angry at the risk that was taken.

Eddie’s made Buck a part of his family, as demonstrated by the video game nights they share with Christopher, how Buck is at home in Eddie’s house (’Uh, this is Eddie’s house so I’m not exactly a guest’), how he invites Buck to help chaperone his kid’s first sleepover, how apparently a playdate with Hen and her kid and Eddie and Christopher also includes Buck. How he confidently tells Buck, ‘We’re family’ when Buck’s over-identifying with Red and worrying about being left behind -- and he can be exactly that confident, apparently, because by this point he’s gone and made Buck Christopher’s legal guardian.

There’s not enough space in this series (short of creating another spinoff series and then doing a crossover) to write a female character who is so well developed and complex, and so inextricably woven into either character that she can believably compete with what Buck and Eddie are to each other. No other relationship will be able to compete, because the writing has been winding them around each other from the start.

#buddie #buck x eddie #buddie meta #don't mind me #just quietly screaming in the corner over here #about these two idiots

116 notes · View notes

dani-is-a-pixie · 3 years

Text

Shit they don’t tell you about Autism/Aspergers

Well, I’ve been learning more and more about different signs of being neurodiverse and I thought I’d put my own experiences here just in case it might be able to help someone else understand their diagnosis or themselves better. If you feel you have Autism, please speak to your GP or doctor to be able to talk to a professional because like all things, self diagnosing isn’t a good idea, ya feel me. - Let’s talk clothing b. Yes, so basically Autistics like to dress more comfortable, probably hate things like tags (I used to cut them off) and might only wear certain fabrics. Some people might wear certain colours only as well. Although, the general thing is that Autistics “aren’t expressive” you’ll find a lot of Autistics are and that might be reflected through their alternative clothing choices. Another thing is you might have very sensitive skin, washing powder can cause rashes and itchiness, you might not even be able to use soap. - Hair. Hair is so gross. So basically you might feel that having your hair in your face is so annoying. Ever since I was little I always remember just tying my hair up and leaving it like that. Wanting short hair to avoid it touching your face because of sensory issues. Although, you might like to have it coloured and expressive you might struggle to have your hair down because it just feels so gross. In relation to hair when washing it you might hate the sensation of shampoo and water and all that. - Although, being very monotone is a sign of Autism being very expressive is also a sign. The thing is I feel a lot of Autistic people without the correct support have probably got a diagnosis of depression or anxiety and I feel like that combined with feeling Autistic might make it hard for you to put any energy into things, whereas you know you are a expressive person. Also you probably have hella empathy. I know that is like the opposite of what you hear but seriously, myself and some other people I know with Autism are very empathetic people and feel emotions to an extreme. Although, it might not seem like we feel anything from facial expressions and responses we might be feeling so much it’s just too overwhelming to express it. - Let’s talk acting like a child. Not saying this to dig because I’m the same way, but most people who have Autism might regress into a childlike state which is known as age regressing. It’s usually a coping mechanism to deal with stress but I suppose it could also be triggered by sensory issues? Like I find when I’m really happy I’m very childlike. Oh and you might act younger then you are or be really immature, not always taking things seriously or understanding things. Which is okay and why having a specialist to help support you with the stuff you struggle with is key. - Stim. Stim. Stim. We hear about happy stim, sad stim but honestly you might just stim for every emotion. Also people with Autism might seem like they have tics but they can have vocal stims as well as motor. - Gender is complex right? Yeah I feel you. Feel like you flucuate between genders, have no gender, feel in the middle or might even be trans - although, this is a sensitive topic Autistics actually are more likely to have different relationships with gender due to how we view and feel about the world. So whatever gender you are b, you are valid! - Identity is confusing. The thing is you might feel like you have alters or different versions of yourself as well, which is why Autism is not diagnosed and you might be diagnosed with BPD or like DID. The thing is identity for us is always so confusing and we have such a different relationship about things about ourselves and how we view things. Sometimes it feels like someone were not and sometimes we feel like a different person, but that is okay and valid. - Control as a stress management. Now this is where things like eating disorders can be developed, maybe self destructive behaviours like self harming or perhaps being very toxic to keep everything the way you can because you feel like your life is going out of control. I really do feel you - and that’s why seeing a specialist can help you cope with shitty times like this. But that is a sign. - You have a safe space. Probably your house, your room and you barely leave it. You feel so fucking overwhelmed outside. Too many people, too many noises, too many things going on, which is why Autism can seem like an anxiety disorder but you just feel things very sensitive and can have sensory overload. - If you’re an adult now, probably as a child you were told you were just intelligent and there’s nothing wrong with you. Yep. Same here. Parents tried to get me diagnosed as a young age but they wouldn’t even test me. - For me, I cannot stop listening to music. I express myself through music. I’ll send people songs and tell them to pay attention to the lyrics or the video because it’s how I feel and it’s how I express myself. Some people might do that with art or writing or something they use to express that isn’t vocally with words, people might sing or make songs. There tends to be a creative or different way you express your emotions. - Special interests. They might change throughout your life. I thought you had to have something you were interested in since a kid but they can change and it’s known as hyperfixations! It can be literally anything, and they are valid. You probably hate talking to people if they don’t share one of your hyperfixations because you feel misunderstood or weird or lonely. Doesn’t have to be anything out of the ordinary. - Might blurt out how you feel to people, like having no filter. You like to have deep meaningful relationships and want friends you can talk about your deep routed emotions and dreams with rather then wow there is something on the news. That shit doesn’t interest you at all. - This might be an embarassing one but you might have a lot of issues with going to the toilet (ie. bleeding or runny stools and etc), especially when you’re stressed you might have really bad stomach issues or abdomen issues. That aren’t always explained but are probably stress induced when everything is too much for you, people tend to be more sensitive to those types of things if they’re Autistic due to sensory and sensitivites. - Meltdowns can be shown in crying breakdowns, anger breakdowns, can also be shown as completely shut down and you might experience catatonia, where you struggle to talk or move because you feel so sad, you might get so worked up and might even feel as low as feeling suicidal and might self harm as well when in these meltdowns. - You hate injustice and you probably are an advocate for the mentally ill or disabled. Seeing injustice might actually trigger a meltdown because you want to change things - due to your extreme empathy but you struggle to accept you can’t save the world. - Might have fake friends but as you grow older might cut those people off for using your energy and might end up with having barely any to no friends. Might feel extremely lonely and not understand why people can’t just be nice to you. - Relationships you probably take very seriously, like full on planning marriages when it might just seem like nothing to someone. This can make you prone to abusive relationships and you might not always notice if that person is good for you, no matter what they do you probably try to continue to fix the relationship. Took some notes from p-3a-s-life-resources <3 and personal experience.

#autism #asperger #aspergers #neurodivergent #neurodiverse #shit they dont tell you #signs #mental health #awareness #information #oh heck this is long

69 notes · View notes

beholdme · 3 years

Text

All the Many Shades of Gerry - Chapter 9

Chapters: 9/19

Fandom: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Gerard Keay/Jonathan “Jon” Sims | The Archivist, Martin Blackwood/Gerard Keay, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan “Jon” Sims | The Archivist, Gerard Keay/Jonathan “Jon” Sims | The Archivist

Characters: Martin Blackwood, Jonathan “Jon” Sims | The Archivist, Gerard Keay, Tim Stoker (The Magnus Archives), Sasha James, Gertrude Robinson, Elias Bouchard

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe, Library AU, Librarian Jon, Artist Gerry, Trans Male Character, Trans Martin Blackwood, Canon Asexual Character, Asexual Jonathan “Jon” Sims | The Archivist, Ace Subtype - Sex Positive, Polyamory, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Romantic Fluff, Falling In Love, Boys in Skirts, Kissing, Demisexual Gerard Keay, Minor Character Death, Past Character Death, Canon-Typical Child Neglect, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Flirting, Minor Jonathan “Jon” Sims | The Archivist/Tim Stoker, Adventures in Hair Dying, Happy Ending, Banter, Gerry has a lot of sass, Gerard Keay is Morticia Adams, Jon is a very grumpy Librarian, Martin adores them anyway.

Summary: In which Gerry is a kaleidoscope and Jon and Martin can’t help falling in love with him.

He happens to love them back.

Find it on Ao3

[1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8]

On a Tuesday in the middle of November, not long after Gerry's 28th birthday, the three of them eat dinner at Gerry's flat, as they often do these days. Jon cooks for them and after, Martin and Gerry wash the dishes and debate the book they both just finished reading.

Jon has been twitchy all evening, so they leave him to read his own book in peace.

He wanders in at one point, leaning against the counter. "Gerry, do you know what day it is?"

Gerry looks over at him in such a way as to indicate that he really doesn't.

"Our six-month anniversary?" He tries.

"No," Martin pipes up, "That's not for weeks yet."

Jon and Gerry both look at him askance. "What? Your boyfriend starts dating another man, you remember the date. I can't believe you two don't know." Martin says as if that about covers it.

"Nevermind that." Jon snaps, and even with his previous moodiness, the others are taken aback at his blunt words and even harsher tone.

"Something wrong, Jon?" Gerry asks quietly, leaning against the opposite counter to Jon and crossing his arms. His tone suggests what he actually wanted to say was 'Do we have a problem here, bitch?' but he manages to reign the actual words in.

"I want to know why you left without saying goodbye." Jon's words are filled with a multitude of frustrations, none of which are actually conveyed in his limited words.

"Yesterday?" Gerry asks, incredulous. "You were asleep!"

"No! Not yesterday." Jon snaps back. "When we were younger. It's been ten years today since you disappeared off the face of the planet."

"Oh," Gerry responds quietly, his defensive posture dropping. He leans his hands back on the table behind him, bringing his shoulders up around his ears. It’s a rare display of confident, edgy Gerry trying to shrink himself.

"I thought we were, you know. Together. Then one day you were just gone! As if you had never existed. Your mother wouldn't tell me anything at all, just sat there smirking at me, said that you were gone and she didn't know when you were coming back, or if you were ever coming back. Which you never did, actually." Jon has been pacing, his voice rising with each new word until the final words are shouted accusatorily into the space between them.

Gerry knew Jon had wanted to talk about this since the day he walked in the library and back into his life. He had waited, been patient, and Gerry had put it off in the hopes that he would never have to choke the words out. Now, that patience was obviously over, and he knew he owed Jon this explanation.

"We were together Jon. I loved you."

"So why? What did I do so wrong, that I got to wake up one day and find you gone ?" Jon's voice has become desperate, and they can all hear the tears that he is trying to hold back.

"Don't say that. You didn't do anything wrong. We weren't perfect, but we were always so good together. I... I had to get out of there. And I couldn't leave any clues behind, so I couldn't tell you anything, because it wouldn't have been safe for either of us." Gerry reaches towards Jon to soothe him, but he flinches away and Gerry doesn't pursue him.

"I don't understand." The tears have come, and Gerry desperately tries to hold back his own when he sees them.

Martin had up until that point been standing resolutely in the corner, trying not to interfere in their pre-Martin argument. At the advent of tears, Martin moves to stand at Jon's back, gripping his shoulder for comfort. Gerry looks bereft and Martin holds out a hand to get him to come closer as well. They huddle all together, both Jon and Gerry taking comfort in Martin's steadiness.

Gerry leans into Jon, sliding his hand around his neck and pressing their foreheads together. "I'm so sorry, love. I've never forgiven myself for just disappearing on you. I thought about you every day."

"I love you," Jon whispers as Martin rocks them both gently. "But I need to know."

"I love you too." Gerry shuts his eyes and wishes more than ever to erase his shitty legacy of pain and blood.

Martin drags them to bed and offers to leave them alone to their talk.

"Please stay," Gerry says, grasping his hand. "You both need to know, and I don't want to have to talk through this twice."

So they all pile into Gerry's bed together, sitting in a vague circle like teenagers at a slumber party.

As Gerry starts to talk, Martin drags him over toward him and begins braiding his dark blue hair. It's both an offer of physical comfort and affection (easily Gerry's main love language) and a simple way of letting him off the hook for eye contact.

With Jon staring at him quite intently, Martin doesn't think he needs any further pressure.

"Jon, you-" He starts and then halts abruptly. Jon reaches over and grasps his hand, attempting to further ground him. "You remember my mother. I know you saw how, how just off she was. Manipulative and controlling. By turns demanding and completely uninterested in me. One day I would be free to run wild for weeks at a time, the next she would have a meltdown if I wasn't exactly where she wanted me, every second of the day and night." Gerry blows a breath out, shuddering at the memory of a particularly bad incident with a vase that had left him needing several stitches over his left eye.

"Well, she wasn't always like that. I remember her being a pretty good mom when I was young, if distant. She was always far more interested in being a wife than a mother, and she loved the way my father adored her.

“When I was 7, my father was blinded in an accident at work. I remember the day the phone call came. She spoke very calmly to the hospital, before hanging up the phone and shattering every picture frame in the house." Martin is finished with Gerry's hair and simply leans into him, offering silent comfort. "He coped okay with his new disability actually, and I liked helping him learn the world again with no sight. My mother never recovered from her initial breakdown though. She was angry and petulant that she needed to help and support him for the first time in their entire relationship and became more and more unhinged over the course of a year.

"One day I came home from school to find a puddle of blood soaked into the floor of the living room. She said there had been an accident and my father wasn't coming back. She hit me for the first time when I cried. She told me that I was a man now, and tears were for useless girls and disgusting… Well, you get the picture."

Gerry pauses and glances between them. A few tears have started to run down his face, but he doesn't seem to even notice them.

"We moved a few days later, and that was all I ever knew about my father's death until I was eighteen, almost ten years later. I'll spare you the horrid details, but as I'm sure you've already guessed, she murdered him. She explained very, very graphically what she had done with the body, and that she would never be caught, no one would ever think to blame her, even if anyone could ever prove that he was dead at all."

The words hang heavy in the air between the three of them. Gerry feels the comfort of their touches, but can hardly stand the affection anymore. He gets up off the bed and goes to look out the bedroom window, arms crossed and posture hard.

"Then she looked me right in the eye. And she told me that was exactly what would happen to Jon if she ever caught me with him again."

Dead, cold silence fills the room.

Gerry turns back around to find them both watching him. "So, I packed whatever I could fit into my duffle bag, and I got the hell out of dodge. I ran. I ran because I couldn't close my eyes at night with seeing your face white and cold and covered in blood and," he breaks off and takes a shuddering breath, covering his eyes and sinking to his knees. "And I couldn't stand that she would hurt you because of me. That all your light and potential would be ripped away from you in blood and pain and nothing I felt for you could make even the risk of that worthwhile."

He lifts his head to look up at them, where they’ve moved to the side of the bed towards him. “And do you want to know what the worst part is, actually? I can’t get over the idea that even though I haven’t seen Mary Keay in 10 years, the ghost of her demons lives inside of me. That I'm really just… Her. That one day my mind will snap and I'll be a danger to you both and I'll be the one hurting you, just like she hurt him. And then I'll just be the same monster who has always haunted my dreams."

Martin and Jon exchange a heavy look. They can scarcely believe that Gerry had endured so much and yet is still… Gerry. Happy, flirtatious, loving Gerry. Gerry, who fills their lives with colour and spontaneity, always showing up when they least expected him, pushing himself into their gravity and asking for space in their lives.

Despite the rather violent nature of Gerry's confession, it doesn't change anything for either of them. Things are not yet settled between them, but they curl around Gerry on the floor and they cry together over shattered innocence and sacrificed futures, and Jon promises himself that he will never let Mary Keay come between him and Gerry ever again.

#the magnus archives #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #gerry keay #jongerrymartin #fic #also on ao3

20 notes · View notes

clumsyclifford · 3 years

Note

hm hi maybe i will officially ask you if you want to hurt me and write a therapy fic. i vote malum but. you do as— no you know what i'm me this is a malum prompt i'm sending you okay love you bye

hiya taylor i hope you realized when you asked for this that it would be angsty as fuck, so i really can’t apologize for uhh writing something angsty as fuck!! BUT with a hopeful ending because we know how i am

tw for suicide ideation, suicidal thoughts, depression

read it here on ao3

Michael is winded from the moment they walk onstage.

He’s been all smiles all day. Somewhere he’d heard that smiling was supposed to trigger some kind of happy brain chemical, a creepy fake-it-’til-you-make-it strategy. It has not worked. Michael is exhausted from the effort he’s put into looking like he’s okay. The smile has become a grimace, and he doesn’t have the energy to make it look more realistic. Cameras capture upturned lips and that’s enough to convince them he’s happy, which is the important thing.

He doesn’t intend to watch those videos when they’re edited together. He can’t even bear to look in the mirror these days. The travesty of him that stares back out with dead eyes only makes him feel worse. At this point he’d doubted whether or not he could actually feel worse.

Standing in front of almost thirty thousand people, it turns out he can. Or at the very least he can feel equally bad in a different way. He’d been drowning before, but he’s choking now. Dying either way.

If he died onstage, slain where he stood, what would his band do? What would the thousands of fans do? Maybe it would be a mercy. Michael’s a liability right now. He’s frozen in front of thousands of people at the fucking O2 Arena, for fuck’s sake. The band is supposed to be skyrocketing and Michael is a faulty engine, fuel that’s caught fire. If they keep him around they’ll catch fire too, and then they’ll all be free-falling, instead of just him.

They’d hate him if he died onstage, though. Michael would hate himself too. At the O2, of all places, really? How much more of an attention whore can you be? Couldn’t have waited for a smaller venue to have a heart attack? Or maybe a hotel room? Someplace you could be alone?

Shit. Fuck. The loud cheering has wavered, and all three of his bandmates are giving him concerned looks. Michael fights for breath and finally — for better or for worse — manages to take in the oxygen he’d been missing. And then he forces yet another smile, for his bandmates — but he can’t look at them, can’t see the looks on their faces, not right now — and for the stadium. The sound of screaming doubles in intensity. Michael is already so tired, and they’ve only just started the show.

Luke yells something lead-singer-y and Michael’s hand shakes against the strings of his guitar until he starts playing, closing his eyes for a moment so muscle memory can take over.

It’s too loud. One way or another, he’ll drown; his lungs aren’t working the way lungs are supposed to, and if they’re not filling with air they might as well fill with water.

Holy shit, he thinks, because he knows enough to know that these are Dangerous Thoughts. But he can’t deal with that right now because they have a show, and after the show he’s fully booked with Pretending He’s Fine from now until forever.

On the opposite side of the stage, Calum catches his eye, and Michael tries to infuse his hollow smile with warmth, sincerity, anything to make that worried expression melt away, but he’s not stupid enough to think it’s worked, even when Calum turns away. Although Calum does turn away, so maybe it means he knows Michael’s lying and just doesn’t care.

You’re in the middle of a show, you fucking idiot, says Michael’s evil subconscious. They’re not going to stop the show in the middle just because you look like you’re seconds from death. You always look like that.

Right. Right. Michael’s done this to himself. Calum’s not crippled with concern, and he shouldn’t be; he’s Michael’s best friend, not his fucking therapist. Not that Michael has a therapist. Nor does he want one. No random stranger would give a fuck about his bullshit problems, and neither would a random stranger with a PhD.

Fuck. The crowd is getting louder. Is it possible for them to get louder? Or is that all in Michael’s head? Or is everything all in Michael’s head? Are the in-ears keeping the fans’ screams out, or Michael’s screams in? Fuck. Shit. Oxygen is being awfully unreliable today. It’s so loud. Michael closes his eyes again. He knows this song. He’s played this stupid fucking song a thousand times. He could play it in his sleep. He could play it in his casket. That might be what he’s doing right now.

Fuck.

Michael is in a constant game with himself, pushing his own limits just to see where he’ll snap. The way he sees it, it’s like exercising a muscle; wherever he breaks, he grows back stronger so he won’t break there again. At this point his threshold is high enough that when he’s feeling particularly masochistic — although when isn’t he — he really has to work for the breakdown.

It’s a blessing and a curse to be able to handle this much. It means that even when everything is wrong, Michael doesn’t collapse. Which means that he can still play an entire concert at the O2 Arena without having a meltdown, but also that by the time he actually does break, his insides are charred from all the damage control that hasn’t quite succeeded in containing it.

At least a hotel room is a better place for it than an arena stage.

He can feel it creeping up on him, and he knows it’ll be soon. It won’t take much. There’s already enough wrong as it is. The hotel room is too cold. It’d been nice for a little bit, immediately after the show when he’d been sweaty from the performance, but now it’s making him shiver.

He has sweatshirts, hoodies, blankets. But that would be cheating. Michael stays where he is, sitting at the chair by the window in the tank top he’d played in, staring outside at the sprawling mass of London with all its flickering lights. Sitting by the window is also definitely not helping the temperature situation, but Michael isn’t shying from the crash; he’s trying to induce it.

Just then, Calum comes out of the bathroom, still towel-drying his hair, and Michael knows what’s next.

Sure enough: “Hey,” the same way one might talk to a baby animal, like if Calum talks too loud he’ll startle it. “You okay?”

Guess, Michael thinks, swallowing. Take a guess. What do you think? “Fine,” he says, because that’s his line. Calum won’t believe it, as well he shouldn’t, since Michael is lying.

“You don’t seem fine,” says Calum. His voice moves around behind Michael as he gets dressed in joggers and a hoodie. “I saw you when we went on to play tonight. You looked like you’d seen a ghost.” There’s a pause. “Like you were a ghost.”

Michael swallows again, and it’s more difficult this time. His eyes sting; his fingers twist anxiously around the hem of his shirt. “That’s a bit dramatic.”

“Well, you didn’t see yourself,” Calum says.

“Was probably the lights.”

“Don’t be like that, Michael. It’s not like I think you’re okay. I know you’re pretending for the rest of the world, but you don’t have to pretend for me.”

Fuck.

This conversation is not going to be your breaking point, Michael thinks fiercely to himself. Calm down. He inhales raggedly, although it does nothing for his composure. He’s breathing around thorns only by telling himself that they’re roses, and all the while they shred the walls of his lungs, making it more difficult to cling to oxygen when he takes it in.

I’m not pretending, he wants to tell Calum, but he can’t. “Well, you don’t have to worry about me,” he returns. Fuck. His voice sounds shaky and the lights of London are swimming in his vision.

“I don’t worry because I have to,” Calum says. His voice is closer, but before Michael can figure out what he’s doing, he’s taken the seat across from Michael at the window, dropping a flannel into Michael’s lap. “I worry because I love you. You’re shivering.”

Is he? Michael hadn’t noticed. He looks down but he can’t see anything, but if he blinks then the tears will fall and Calum will notice and Michael will have to admit that maybe this is his breaking point and he doesn’t want it to be but he is cold and when he blinks even his eyes feel cold and he quickly looks back at the window and moves his hands on top of the flannel and Calum says, “At least put it on, it’s cold enough in here without wearing a tank top,” and Michael’s throat closes up because however much he can control himself around cameras and crew members and friends and fans, something about Calum makes him completely unravel.

Maybe it’s not that this is his breaking point. Maybe it’s just that this is a safe place to break.

(Maybe it’s a little bit of both.)

So he picks up the flannel and pulls it around his shoulders without putting his arms through the sleeves, and he sniffles and says, “Thanks,” voice all fucked up and wobbly.

“Yeah,” Calum says softly. “What’s on your mind?”

“I’m tired,” Michael whines, and that’s the last he manages before he’s crying like a little kid, tears streaming — it’s been so long since Michael’s cried and he’d forgotten that tears were this relentless, fresh new ones falling now matter how many times Michael tries to squeeze them away — and Calum moves like he’d just been waiting and pulls Michael into a hug, where Michael hides his face and tries to hold his breath because he’s going to die eventually and it will probably happen soon and Michael would at least like to die in Calum’s arms, while he has the chance. But the sobs wracking his body force him to inhale so that plan falls through almost immediately. Because Michael can’t even die right. Fuck.

“Oh, babe,” Calum murmurs. His arms are tight around Michael. “I’m sorry, love, honestly, I’m so sorry.”

Michael can’t stop crying or else he’d say why are you sorry? even though he knows this is more of a sympathetic platitude than anything. Calum does sound sorry but surely he knows it’s not his fault — that this is Michael, all Michael, Michael’s fucked up brain and fucked up self and total inability to get his shit together like everyone else. The more successful the band gets, the worse he feels, and he knows that’s not what’s supposed to happen and he feels even shittier that he’s not being fucking grateful for everything the band is giving him and all the opportunities he has thanks to this, and instead is so stuck in his own fucking head that he’s tallying the passing days like an apocalypse survivor, counting each one he lives through. Or possibly counting down until his death.

The wrenching sobs slow to nothing. Calum doesn’t try to get Michael to talk, and that itself gets Michael to talk. The silence is worse, and Calum is here, and Calum is safe, and Calum loves Michael.

“I am not okay,” he mumbles into Calum’s shoulder, which should be a given at this stage, but Calum only squeezes him a little tighter and doesn’t interrupt. “I know that’s a shock.” Calum hums. “I can’t explain why. I don’t know. I just know that this…isn’t how okay people feel.”

“Yeah,” Calum says quietly.

“I don’t know what to do,” Michael says helplessly. “I don’t — I don’t know. But I keep — like — the things I think, you don’t even…you don’t want to know. If you’re worried now, you definitely don’t want to know.”

“I am worried,” Calum says. “But you can tell me if it’ll make you feel better.”

“I don’t want to. It’s not your job to be my therapist.”

“I’m not trying to be your therapist, I’m trying to be your friend.”

“It won’t make me feel better. I’m not going to tell you,” Michael says, though that just means Calum will draw his own conclusions, which might be worse. Not that anything is worse than Michael’s actual thoughts. He adjusts his grip on Calum, tightening his hold. The flannel is falling from around his shoulders, but he doesn’t want to move to pull it up.

“That’s okay.”

“I hate this,” Michael whimpers. It hits him like a hurricane how true that is. “I don’t like this. I don’t want to not be okay. It’s not worth the effort.”

“I know,” Calum says, rubbing circles on Michael’s back.

None of them are okay, truthfully. That’s why Michael can cry on Calum’s shoulder; he knows Calum would cry on his. It’s possible he’s a little worse than the rest of them, but he’s not alone. There’s a twisted comfort in knowing that he doesn’t really have to explain himself to Calum.

“I’m sorry,” he says mournfully.

“Don’t be sorry, you’ve got no reason to be sorry.”

Michael nods, though he’s still sorry. But they won’t get anywhere if Michael’s always apologising. It’ll only serve to annoy Calum, and right now Calum is all Michael has. If the world got any bigger it would crush him, so he keeps it close; it’s only him and Calum and the chill emanating off the window and the flannel dragging against Michael’s back.

Later, when the world expands again, when Michael can bear it, when he’s expelled all the water out of his lungs and stuck plasters over the cracks in his facade to hold himself together, Calum will sit with him on the bed with his laptop open before them and type up a search for virtual therapy despite Michael’s half-hearted protests. Later, Michael will sort himself out a little, Calum by his side to pull him over gaps when Michael’s too much of a coward to step across. Later, much later, a Michael of the future will write about the Michael of the present like he’s a distant memory, using past-tense verbs to make the most tragic sentences into a success story. That Michael is okay, or at least more okay.

“I know it doesn’t seem like it, but I really think you’re going to be okay,” Calum whispers into his ear now, pressing a lingering kiss to the curve of his jaw.

Which doesn’t make anything better in the long run, but certainly doesn’t hurt to hear right now.

“Thank you,” this Michael sighs, as Calum tugs the flannel back up over Michael’s shoulders.

“Of course,” Calum says lightly. “I love you.”

“Love you too.”

Present Michael can’t see past this moment, but as he takes his first deep breath in days, inhaling the familiar scent of Calum and warm from Calum’s embrace, he thinks that if the future were to hold more moments like this one, it might just be worth living through.

#michael clifford #calum hood #malum #malum fic #5sos #5sos fic #fic #my fic #suicide mention #sorry taylor #but like i really am not sorry #you literally asked me for this #you SAID 'hurt me' idk wtf you were expecting #i hope it was something like this #there is just something about hotel rooms man #anyway. my lungs gave out as i faced the crowd blah blah blah #michaelownsmyheart #ask #answered

20 notes · View notes

harrysgloves · 4 years

Text

Let Your Hair Down (chapter xxiv)

Get caught up with the Let Your Hair Down Masterlist!

word count: 1,813

story summary: Harry gets more than he bargains for when he falls not only for you but your little girl as well.

chapter summary: Thea goes to her dads.

warnings: Language

a/n: This one got me a bit emotional.. I’m sorry in advance. xx

>>><<<

You never dreaded a Friday before. The whole time you were at work you were anxiously looking at the clock on your desk. Your foot tapping a million miles an hour as the minutes ticked by faster than you thought was possible. Hands running through your hair again and again, strands falling out every time you pulled your hands away.

"Whoa, you okay? Look like you're about to kick a hole through our floor." Mack laughed as he passed your desk, leaning against the wall opposite you.

"Yeah, just you know, these invoices are driving me crazy." You lied, looking up at him trying to put on a smile to hide the bullshit coming out of your mouth. You hadn't even looked at the numbers on the bills in over an hour.

"I'm sure that's what it is." He looked like he didn't believe a word you had said but didn't push you. "Well since the bills are about to kill you why don't you get out of here? Your boy toy is causing a crowd in the lobby anyways."

"Oh God," You groaned, hands covering your face, trying to hide your embarrassment. "I'm so sorry. I told him to stay outside of the building."

"Don't be sorry. It's fine. You might just want to get out there before Ellie tries to undress him or something." He snickered at the unamused look on your face. You really did try your best to not be jealous but the girls who worked the front desk had no control over themselves anytime he visited you at work.

And they had no problem asking you very personal questions when he wasn't around.

"Everything okay with, uh you know... the other guy?" He asked you when you stood up from your desk. Your eyes snapping to his. He looked as uncomfortable asking you about it as you felt answering it.

"Yeah. I told you I got it." You sighed, shoving your stuff in your purse, throwing it over your shoulder.

"Right. Well, have a good weekend." He gave you a small smile as you walked out of the office, turning to go back to his own desk.

It was sweet that he asked but you hated people knowing so much about your life. You liked being private, in your own safe bubble. Not only did you have an ungodly amount of people following your every move online now but you now had half your office waiting for you to drop juicy gossip about your life that was getting more messed up by the second.

"Hey." You said to Harry when you finally walked up to him. His arms wrapping around you the second you were close enough.

"Didn't mean t'show up so early. Jus' couldn't sit still at my flat." He sounded so upset you hugged him tighter before turning to leave. His hand held tightly in yours as you both walked slowly out the door of the hotel.

"It's alright. I couldn't focus anyways." You pouted, head against his chest as you two walked down the street. This weekend was going to suck. Even though it gave you alone time to do stuff for her party and maybe catch up on some chores, you really didn't want her to go.

"Wanna stay at mine this weekend?" Harry broke you out of your thoughts. Smiling up to him you nodded.

"Yeah. I mean without Thea home it'll be lonely. Might as well have some company." You sighed, his hand giving you a comforting squeeze on your arm.

"Y'could just move in with me then he'd have t'come pick her up fo' his weekends at my house. That'd be pretty great" Harry smiled down at you. Your lips rolling in your mouth, holding back your laugh.

You had to admit the look on his face would be pretty priceless.

"Nice try." You rolled your eyes, tapping his chest. It was so cute, him trying to get you to move in.

Wasn't going to happen but it was adorable anytime he brought it up.

"Figured. Thought it was worth a shot though. Gonna get ya t'agree to it eventually." You shook your head, knowing he wasn't going to drop this.

Ever since he found out about Ryan showing up at your job he'd drop small hints here and there about you two moving in.

First, it was how he had more space in his house for all of Thea's toys.

Then, it was how you'd be closer to your job if you stayed over more.

Finally, it was how he had a whole part of his closet cleaned out for your stuff so you could put things in there.

You really weren't surprised he had finally come out to say he wanted you to move in, it was really only a matter of time until he worked up the courage.

"Oh yeah? What happens when you have to go back to California? We just live in your apartment without you?" You asked, the thought of him having to go back out of state again sucked. You had no idea how you were going to do it when he had to leave for months on end.

"I wouldn't mind that. At least then I wouldn't be so worried 'bout Ryan just showing up t' bother ya. My place at least has security." He scoffed like your apartment building was the worst place in the world, making you pull back from him.

"Oh my God. My apartment building isn't that bad." You said a bit angry he was being so hateful of the place you absolutely adored. Minus the crank ass downstairs neighbor, him you could live without.

"Maybe not bad but mine's safer." His eyes moving to yours. He was so determined to get you to move in, it was mind blowing.

You were the worst person to live with. You felt bad Thea had to put up with your messy ways and the morning meltdowns when you couldn't find anything to wear.

You were doing him a favor by not moving in with him.

"Harry." You gave him your look. Knowing it'd work to end the conversation.

"Yeh, okay, I know. I'll stop." He sighed, pulling you back in to walk closer to him again."Still gonna get ya to agree to it one day."

"But I don't want to go." Thea cried, throwing herself on the bed as you packed her bag with all the things she'd need for the weekend.

"Baby, you have to." You sighed, telling her for what had to be the millionth time that she had no choice.

"Do you and Harry not want me to stay with you?" She asked, your head snapping around to her sitting on her bed in tears. Your heart on the floor. Wanting to tell Ryan to go fuck himself for putting you in this position.

"Me and Harry love you being home with us." You walked over to the bed wrapping your arms around your crying daughter. Her head burying into your chest as Harry came into the room with her toothbrush in his hand.

His eyebrows raising, questioning what was going on but you shook your head at him. Mouthing that she was just upset quietly to him.

"I don't want him to be my daddy anymore. I want to stay with you." Her cries growing louder and more uncontrollable by the second. Your hand rubbing circles on her back trying to comfort her but it really wasn't working.

Harry looked like he was on the verge of having his own breakdown. His eyes filling with tears as he sat down beside her. Her hands instantly going around his neck as she hugged onto him tightly, begging him to not make her go.

"Sunshine, y'have t'go." He sighed, hand running through her hair as her tears stained his shirt.

"Please be my daddy then I don't have to see him anymore." His puffy green eyes shooting to yours over her head. You knew it was taking everything in him to not pack her up and leave to a different country or some shit.

"Yer gonna have so much fun at yer dad's, baby. It'll be a lot of fun, I promise." He said right as the knock on the door came. Thea grabbing onto him tighter as you got up from the bed.

"Ryan." You said coldly as you threw your door open. The smug asshole looking like he'd just won the lottery as he stood there smiling at you.

"Y/N." He said back to you. Making you want to slap him for just saying your name.

"Harry has her. She's not wanting to go." You said, leaning across the door when he tried to take a step forward. There was no way you were going to let him in your house.

"Should have thought about that before divorcing me then." The venom in his words made you recoil. Thinking of all the times he'd spoken to you in the past like that.

"Thinking of moving closer actually. Then we could do 50/50. I'm sure the courts would have no problem with that since you're out with Harry so much."

Your heart felt like it dropped to the floor. Anxiety rising in your chest. You were so stupid thinking he wanted to actually be apart of her life. He just wanted to use her to get to you.

"Of course, we wouldn't have to go through all that if you came back." The smile across his face was sickening. Your breath catching in your throat as you realized this was only going to be the start of his reign of terror over your life.

"Hey." Harry said, rounding the corner and thankfully ending the conversation with Ryan.

Thea clung tightly to his side with her backpack in hand. Her eyes focused on the floor as you bent down to give her a hug.

"You're gonna have a good time, baby. Call me if you need anything. Okay?" You whispered to her. Hugging her so tightly you thought she would push you away until she nodded her head hugging you just as much back.

"I love you." You said, standing up from her and letting her hug Harry before she walked slowly to Ryan. Her head hanging down, walking so slowly almost as if she thought she wouldn't have to go if she took her time.

"Love you guys." She said waving goodbye as Ryan picked her up. Pulling the door shut as he took the only thing that ever mattered to you away from you.

"She told me she loved me." Harry said quietly from beside you as you both stood staring at the closed door. Your eyes moving to his smiling face. Head leaning against his shoulder.

"Of course she does. It's hard not to."

#Harry Styles #Harry #Harry Styles x Reader #Harry Styles x You #Harry Styles x Y/N #Harry Styles Fanfic #Harry Styles fanfiction #Fanfic #Fanfiction #writing #mine #LYHD

214 notes · View notes

xaysnotebook · 4 years

Text

Chapter 1 - Behind Colored Eyes

“I told you it was pointless to even try to study for that test! It was made to screw over your final grade.”

“I know, but at least we got a passing grade, almost everyone failed besides us.” Alex replied, pacing unevenly. The psychology final was played as the hardest final outside of the math department, and they had been one of the few students to get a passing grade. The only cost of this is that they skipped out on work for a couple days and stayed awake for possibly a little too long.

“Well, I know you’re hungry, how about that new restaurant down by Semia’s house? It’s some Italian place I think.”

“I would love to, but you know I can't afford it, and I am not asking for money again.” Alex was already in debt because of college, they also had a personal debt to their parents for more than a month of rent and food bills.

“If you say so, you could always dip into your savings again. You need a little bit of a pick-me-up. You could always talk to Sandra.” That last comment made Alex stop in their tracks, their gray eyes almost glazing over with anger. “Alright, that was too far I already know. I’ll leave you alone for a bit.”

“Damn, Jason.” Alex thought out loud, earning him a questioning glance from a couple walking nearby. Jason was good to keep around for simple conversation, but he was definitely able to turn rude quickly. Alex started back towards the apartment, feeling slightly more lonely than before, but nothing they weren't used to. They were a generally lonely person for multiple reasons, but any time they got left, it felt a bit worse.

Alex was a scrawny but tall person, standing at about six foot two while actually standing up straight. They had a mess of blue hair that was starting to fade from being in the sun too often. With a smaller nose and piercing gray eyes, they had been compared to a blue raven before, actually being called Raven by some coworkers and friends. They were also born a male, but had chosen to live by the “they” pronouns when they were around seventeen, being easily passable for both genders and drifting around on what they felt like on a minute to minute basis. Now they were almost twenty-one, and already knew it was going to be another bland birthday, most likely spent with Tasha.

As they walked up to their apartment building, they heard the sound of loud music playing and quickly assumed it was Tasha. However there was a distinct feeling that they were being watched. After glancing about, they noticed a peculiar pair of yellow eyes staring through a set of blinds. For obvious reasons they were taken aback and quickly scurried to the front door of the apartment complex. After going inside, they made a wide path around the strange apartment and got to their own. From the door, it was clear that Tasha was blaring some assortment of rap music, and easily loud enough that they would get a noise complaint later for it. Pushing through the front, Alex found the living room in tatters, the dining room full and random cups leftover, and a clearly hung over Tasha sleeping on the kitchen floor. After turning off the music, Alex walked over to the fridge, nudging Tasha with their foot on the way only to hear a slight grunt. How anyone could sleep with that loud music playing, on a cold floor was beyond Alex, but they knew Tasha was used to it by now. She was in her last semester, graduating with two majors and a minor in only four years, something that would take most people at least eight.

Tasha was the type of person that was born hyper-intelligent, and hated every minute of it. As such, she rebelled by being a straight A student, with an insane party life. She was a chubby Native American girl with long black hair that was almost always braided, bright green eyes, and a large birthmark across her left eye. When Alex had first met her, they had seemed like polar opposites, and almost resented each other. Then they were put as roommates in their first year, and before Christmas break had become best friends, almost inseparable.

“Tasha, wake up, You need to eat something before noon.” Alex whispered as they bent over to shake her awake. “I ate before I drank. I think I’ll live, Alex.” Tasha muttered sleepily, trying to cover herself with aluminum foil.

“Yes, but you also have a test at three to finish your mathematics major, and you need to need to finish your project with Janet.” Janet had made extra sure to yell at Alex before they left campus.

“Ugh, fine,” Tasha said groggily as she rolled over to face Alex, her eyes still blurry from exhaustion, “but only if we can go to the coffee shop. I need my fix!”

“Then let’s go and get your drugs, but you’re buying this time!” Alex said, feeling that all too familiar shift in balance within themself, almost like a subtle knock on the back of their head.

“Two large chai lattes please!” Alex chimed to the barista.

“Seven thirty-four please.” She responded in a monotone manner, “Thank you, name?”

“Alex, and could you put a smiley face under it?” Alex responded hopefully.

“Sure, hon.” She said, a slight smile beginning to creep onto her face.

“Thank you!” Alex beamed. They made their way towards the table that Tasha was sitting at, suddenly remembering that it was supposed to be her turn to pay for the drinks. “Weren’t you supposed to pay this time?” they commented after sitting down. Tasha was staring off absentmindedly, vaguely tracing mathematical equations on the table with her finger. “Hey Spacey! Whatcha thinking about?”

Snapping back to reality, she slyly commented “The probability that they’ll mess up on our lattes yet again. I mean how hard is it to make regular chai lattes?”

“Hey relax! I sweet talked the barista, we should be good for today!” Alex’s definition of “sweet talking” was rather loose, but it always seemed to work out for them.

“Well thank you, you massive flirt.” Tasha chuckled as she eyed him lazily, “You know, you’ve been single since the end of freshman year. Aren’t you lonely?”

“I mean yeah, I’m always yet never lonely. You know how my head works better than anyone else. And besides, why would I need another best friend when I have you?” Alex responded, half heartedly flirting. The two had actually been close to dating once, but had decided against it and to remain best friends. At the point they were at in their friendship, it would either fail miserably or go perfectly, and neither of them were willing to risk everything that they had been through.

“Yeah, but we both know that you..”

“Alex!” Cried the barista, “With two smiley faces!”

“I’ll go grab those for us.” Tasha said as she stood. As she walked away, Alex had a familiar sensation of being watched. Scanning the room, they didn’t notice anyone looking at them besides Tasha as she was walking back.

Then they glanced at the barista. Those same piercing yellow eyes, seeming to attack their very soul. Her eyes suddenly went back to a dull brown color and she shook her head clear, seemingly losing a couple inches of height before going to the next customer in line. “Did you see her eyes?” Alex stammered out while they slightly shook in panic.

Tasha sat down and eyed them curiously, “What? That lady’s? No? Why do you look so scared suddenly?” She peered at him strangely, like an owner looking at a scared puppy.

“I swear, she had bright yellow eyes for a few seconds! Then they were suddenly normal again? You really didn’t see them when you walked up to her?” Alex’s mind was racing at this point, could they be finally breaking apart? They had been warned stability would only last so long, but it has only been a couple years, it was too soon.

“Hey, Alex. Look at me.” Tasha said, grabbing their hand gently, “Is it getting bad again? Do we need to go?”

“I don’t know, this isn’t how it was last time, not anything like this.” Alex’s voice was getting shaky, they were slowly slipping into a panic attack and were trying their hardest to avoid it as long as they could.

“I know what we saw, that bitch had yellow eyes. You can’t be getting bad again, I saw that.”

Alex shuddered slightly, “Well thank you Jason.” they said, not being sure whether to calm down since they weren’t crazy yet, or panic because a human just had bright yellow, almost snake like eyes.

“What’d he say?” Tasha questioned.

“He saw the eyes too I guess that means either we’re both going crazy, or she actually had yellow eyes.” Alex breathed out heavily, “It could be sleep loss, but that doesn’t usually affect everyone until after days of not sleeping. I’ve only been awake for maybe thirty hours at this point?”

“Okay, home or therapist?”

“Home. Joz is out of town this week for a seminar.” Alex breathed out shakily, still trying to sip coffee that was clearly too hot.

“Then come on, Joz will wait until she's back. And give me your keys, you’re in no state to drive.”

“I’ve driven while worse, but if you insist.” They would have refused to admit it, but they were truly terrified and most likely couldn’t even walk straight, let alone drive home.

After five minutes that seemed to last for an eternity, the two got back to the apartment complex and started heading towards the front door. Tasha glanced over and noticed Alex was watching a specific window very intently, “Why are you watching Ms. Higgans window? Expecting a ghost to come out?” she asked jokingly, attempting to lighten the mood. The only response that Alex provided was a vague murmur about yellow eyes. Tasha had seen Alex during bad breakdowns before, ranging from a light panic attack over tests to a complete meltdown where they had almost jumped out of a window. However, this was a new reaction, Alex was fully conscious but was unable to process much of anything really, almost like a breakdown, but without tears or hyperventilating or yelling or really any bad behaviour. As they walked inside the front door, Alex suddenly stopped directly outside of Ms. Higgans door. “Alex? What’s going on?” As she turned around, she stepped back in fear. Alex’s generally steel gray eyes had turned a deep violet, glowing and pulsating slowly.

#novel #art #my writing #dissociative identity disorder #did #nonbinary

50 notes · View notes

shannygoatgruff · 4 years

Text

My Brother’s Keeper - A Deeper Look (STORY SPOILER)

A Closer Look - Author’s Breakdown of the Story

(Contains Spoilers)

So, I said I wasn’t going to do this, but I know what it’s like to read a book or watch a movie and end up with more questions than answers. Personally, it irritates the fuck out of me. While I want you, the reader, to draw your own conclusions from My Brother’s Keeper, I want to give you some behind the scenes looks into the story, as a whole, to help you along. If you think I was saying something else, then, by all means, run with it…I ain’t mad at you.

Chapter 1

Hvitserk is sitting with his first victim and he’s just zoning out. He’s having a crisis of conscious about what he’s doing, that’s when he starts thinking about Ivar. To make himself feel better about the situation he’s in, he starts to compare himself to Ivar, saying that Ivar is the sick and sadistic one.

Ivar leaves Hvitserk alone with Astrid – something he does a lot. He likes to get his head together and figure out what he’s going to do. He gives Hvitserk a lot of downtime with their victims. It’s not until Hvitserk makes a “mistake” does Ivar appear. He shows up when Hvitserk can’t handle what he’s done. He’s the one that tells Hvitserk that everything is okay and he’ll take care of him. He makes it better for him and allows him to room to grieve over what he’s done.

Astrid, the first victim, never sees the two of them together. She’s dead before Ivar comes into the room.

Chapter 2

Hvitserk wakes up from days of being unconscious only to find that Ivar has taken care of everything. He wasn’t strong enough to deal with the fact that he’s done it again. He’s gone and killed another person, so he needed to retreat into himself. When that happens, Ivar handles everything – he cleans up the mess. He takes care of Hvitserk and makes sure he has everything he needs. He makes sure the bills are paid, cooks breakfast, calls into work…he is the protector. He’s the sadistic one that finds all the murder and mayhem amusing, while Hvitserk is embarrassed and ashamed of it.

Hvitserk says something important in this chapter. He says he had a normal childhood filled with love and it was happy. That no one touched him that he just had some doctors tell him they didn’t know why he was like he was.

He’s recreated his past so much in his head that it was happy. None of the bad things happens because remembering hurts – and he doesn’t like pain. He doesn’t deal with it well. His colorful recreation of the past is an important foreshadowing for the rest of the story.

Chapter 3

Hvitserk is in awe of Ivar’s strength and the fact that he’s everything that he isn’t. But, Ivar is jealous when Thora is around. Ivar is angry because he wants to go out and party but Hvitserk wants to stay in with Thora – always tearing Hvitserk between the life he thinks he wants and what he is. This is important because it shows how he’s constantly split between who he is and what he thinks he should be.

However, Thora is the key to this chapter. Notice, that she and Hvitserk have been dating for over a year, yet, she’s never met Ivar. She only knows what she’s heard of him when he has a meltdown, or from what Hvitserk describes. As he’s on downstairs, throwing shit and arguing with Hvitserk, she’s too scared to leave the room.

Hvitserk makes it a point to keep them apart because he’s afraid of what Ivar will do to her. And Ivar wants to kill Thora because she’s his last little piece of conscious, that if (Ivar) can just get rid of, Hvitserk will be free.

Chapter 4

This chapter was loaded with clues.

Hvitserk spends a lot of time talking about how charismatic Ivar is and how everyone just loves him. How people are just drawn to him – how he’s the complete opposite of his brother. While Ivar is magnetic, Hvitserk is awkward. It’s no wonder people don’t pay him much attention when the two of them are around.

When they spot Kalf, he only interacts with Ivar. Ivar’s putting the moves on him and Hvitserk are watching like a stalker from across the table. Even when they get up to leave the club, Hvitserk walks behind them and watches the way Kalf walks with Ivar to the car.

Ivar is the one that gets Kalf in the car and bashes his head against the dashboard. All Hvitserk can do is sit in the backseat like a giddy school girl. Yet, Hvitserk is the one that carries Kalf into the warehouse (Ivar can’t because of his disability). If you notice, Ivar never does anything that exerts physical strength against his victims – he’s more mental strength. He’s got a physical impairment. But, to Hvitserk, he’s perfect.

Anyway, again, Ivar and Hvitserk aren’t in the room at the same time when poor Kalf is being abused. Ivar takes his time and goes first, while Hvitserk is zoning out, looking around the place. He doesn’t like blood and yelling and Ivar makes sure there’s a lot of that, so he likes to leave the room. Hvitserk is just about the power he gets from rape. He doesn’t need all the other stuff.

When he starts having sex with Kalf, Ivar is in the room, egging him on – but Ivar doesn’t partake. Ivar NEVER partakes. Ivar doesn’t have sex with anyone (again, it leads to his disability) and because they don’t dabble in each other’s pleasures. Hvitserk doesn’t torture, Ivar doesn’t rape. It’s that simple. But, Ivar loves to push Hvitserk to the brink of becoming an animal. He sees what Hvitserk wants to be and can almost get him there.

Once it’s over, and Hvitserk is spent, before the guilt sets in, Ivar is there to take care of things. Again, he makes sure the body is disposed of, because it may be too much for Hvitserk to handle and then he may admit to himself that he went too far. It’s easier for Hvitserk to block it out that way if he doesn’t know all the details.

Chapter 5

Hvitserk is on edge because killing Kalf didn’t satisfy him. He’s devolving. He’s not getting off on the one victim every so often anymore. He needs it more and more now. It used to be that just rape was enough. Now it’s getting to the point that he doesn’t care so much what happens to them afterward as long as he can fulfill his needs. He needs more. Each one has to be bigger and better than the last.

Even being with Thora isn’t enough for him to settle his nerves. He doesn’t want to believe that Ivar is right and he needs this, but it’s in his blood. He can’t stop it. Still, it doesn’t stop him from feeling guilty when he finds out that Kalf had a life before meeting them; one of them being Thora.

Of course, he’s overwhelmed when he finds out and runs to Ivar. He has to disappear because only Ivar can comfort him. And while he’s away, passed out from the guilt, Ivar takes care of him, the house, and everything else.

Chapter 6

This is the chapter where Ivar takes Hvitserk to the cabin for his birthday. It’s his way of showing him that it’s okay to be who is he. The cabin is also it’s also reminiscent of the shed where some of the abuse used to happen when he was little. By making a place like that, as an adult, Ivar is giving him his power back. The fact that Hvitserk is giddy about making plans to bring someone back to the cabin shows that he’s farther gone than he thinks.

Chapter 7

Ivar and Hvitserk have a conversation on what their idea of a perfect world would be like. Hunting people, doing what they want. Thora having the kids, and just the two of them raising them. It shows that they are inseparable. And no matter how much Hvitserk thinks he wants to be with Thora, he really wants to be with Ivar. He’s left his girlfriend in the bed, sleeping, to join his brother in his bed to talk about how he feels, his dreams…all the things he should be sharing with his girl. Ivar is truly his partner, not Thora. Ivar treats Hvitserk with the care of a lover and Hvitserk is in love with him – not in a romantic way, but in a romanticized way.

Chapter 8

The biggest clue is in this chapter. Again, Ivar has left Hvitserk alone with a victim. Yudu was more than happy to leave with Ivar but found herself in Hvitserk’s clutches. She never saw the two of them together. She thought she was getting the one brother but got a surprise.

When Hvitserk is talking to Yudu, and teasing her because she wants to leave, he tells her that she can’t. That he’s not the bad guy, Ivar is. He says, “He won’t let you. When he comes back here, he’s going to do everything he wants to do. Then he’s going to kill you because he wants to or he’s going to make you beg him to put you out of your misery.” She responds, “What the fuck are you talking about? You’re the fucking pig rapist…you sorry sack of shit!” She was genuinely confused.

It wasn’t until she starts telling Hvitserk that he’s weak and he’s nothing does he lose his temper and his sadistic side comes out. He kills her with the type of force that Ivar would use. It takes someone making him lose his cool for him to snap like that and be fully aware of it. But once he calms down, he blacks out just when Ivar is there to take over and protect him.

Chapter 9

This chapter shows the dynamic between the two brothers. Ivar is the polar opposite of Hvitserk. Nothing bothers him. He’s in control. Hvitserk is around, but Ivar is making sure he’s being babied and protected. Not even the television is going to upset him. Ivar is in control, of everything.

It also shows how quickly both of them can be distracted when they see something (someone) they want. Their new neighbor makes them forget all about Hvitserk’s insecurities because they can only concentrate on who she is and that they want her.

Chapter 10

Another chapter loaded with clues. The entire time Hvitserk is talking to Aud from the screen door, Ivar stays out of sight. Not only is he feeding lines to Hvitserk and helping him not to be so awkward, but Aud has no idea that Ivar is even there. She thinks she’s only dealing with one brother. Hvitserk is trying his hand at getting his confidence – Ivar says that Hvitserk needed a win and he needed a confidence booster that’s why he helped him talk to her. Even when Bishop Heahmund came around, he talked about Ivar, but no one ever saw Ivar. Even when Hvitserk invited them out, he said Ivar would come, but they’ve never met him. They don’t know if he would show.

Chapter 11

Bishop and Aud were able to be subdued by being drugged. Hvitserk said that people usually talk to Ivar, but the two of them were talking to him. When they got up to dance, they had their drinks spiked and that’s how they became victims. They wake up and Aud is chained to the fireplace and Bishop is being led around by a dog collar. Hvitserk wakes up because he doesn’t like how things went down, so he checked out, but Ivar was there to take over. Ivar coaches Hvitserk along with how he wants to see him punished. Then Ivar gets to be as sadistic as he wants and kills Bishop. Then Hvitserk gets to be gentle with Aud’s corpse. Again, showing the difference between the two. But, again, the two of them never hurt the couple at the same time and relied on very different styles of torture.

Chapter 12

Hvitserk has the illusion that he can leave everything behind and marry Thora. But, he admits that he doesn’t know what love feels like. He only knows it in relationship to Ivar. While he should be thinking about Thora and their future, he’s thinking about Ivar and how he fits into it all. Then he slips into how he would like a house in the country where there are no people around, so he can party as much as he wants (the same kind of secluded house he rents at the end), right before he thinks about how fast he can snatch up the hostess.

Chapter 13

The state of the house is a metaphor for the state of Hvitserk’s mind. There are dishes in the sink and the house isn’t tidy. That’s not like Ivar, who is a neat freak. Hvitserk is afraid to talk to Ivar because he’s scared of his reaction and all these different fears and insecurities – that’s what the house looks like. But, true to form, Ivar handles it with ease. He looks disappointed but gently tells him, he doesn't want this. The violence within Ivar in direct opposition to the gentleness he shows Hvitserk – even when he’s unhappy with him.

Chapter 14

This chapter is what it is. Hvitserk is losing his damn mind. He’s suffering because he hasn’t gone out, Ivar’s not talking to him, he feels alone and he thinks he’s doing what’s best for him. But his true nature is in the basement in a case, just waiting for him. Oh, what to do? Take the woman in the cage, or say no? Decisions, decisions…

Chapter 15

Hvitserk doesn’t have the willpower he thinks he has. He’s blaming Ivar for torturing him because his rival is the one in the cage. He breaks down like a little kid, and Ivar sits beside him and wipes his tears like he just scraped his knee. He tells him it’s okay and he understands. He even asks, how he can make it easier for him – take her to your room, or set up the cot in the basement? The tug of war over Hvitserk’s life between him and Ivar is the same war that Hvitserk is constantly having within himself.

Ultimately he gives in and gets mad when she doesn’t fight back. He resents the fact that Ivar is making jokes and seems to be enjoying watching him break all of his promises. It’s not until later that he decides that Ivar is the bad influence and tells him that he’s leaving does he realize that Ivar isn’t going to let him go.

Chapter 16

This chapter is full of clues.

Somewhere along the night, Hvitserk kills Judith. When he wakes up he’s looking for Ivar to make it all better. But, when he comes upstairs he notices the door locked and can hear Thora’s voice. Thora is not alive when she’s with them both, at the same time. When Hvitserk talks to Ivar through the door, notice how she only replies to Hvitserk. She says things like, “You’re scaring me.” “Why are letting this happen.” “Open the door.”

When Ivar finally opens the door he’s covered in blood. Hvitserk rushes to her and covers her body with his own. He uses his shirt to try to wipe the blood from where her face once was. When the police come, he says he’s covered in blood. There’s blood on his cheek from where Ivar smeared it there. His hair is matted to his head with sweat and tears. There’s blood all over him. He looks like Ivar did, covered in her blood…

Chapter 17

This chapter goes into their background. You find out about the sexual abuse suffered by all the kids at the hands of Bjorn, Ragnar, and Rollo. I assume Bjorn was probably abused, too. This is always when you learn that Hvitserk raped Guthrum and killed Ubbe when he was a kid. You learn about his sexual misdirection and how he was pretty much taught that if you want sex, you take it. You also realize that he lied about saying that he had this great childhood full of love. It’s not until he’s given the truth serum does he talk about the painful memories.

Ivar shows up, outside the glass doors, when Hvitserk is at an incredibly vulnerable point. He’s on the floor, being held down feeling all this shit from his past and he’s in pain. All he wants is Lagertha to let him see his brother but she keeps denying him and feeding him drugs. But, when he needs him the most, he catches a glimpse of him. He’s not far away, but he’s just not quite able to get to him. The least he could do is warn them that Ivar doesn’t like it when Hvitserk is unhappy.

Chapter 18

So this wasn’t part of the original story. I had to try to work it into it, and I hope I didn’t make it worse by doing so. But, folks were asking for some Ivar POV so there it goes.

This was Ivar coming into the facility to take care of a broken down Hvitserk. He had to tell him what to do to stop taking their pills, and how to get himself right so he can get out of there. The story recapping how Aslaug died was important because it shows what Ivar resents about Hvitserk, killing their mother, but the fall out of the accident. They both went through the windshield, and both were half dead. Their mom said to always take care of each other. That’s something that Ivar remembers.

He also remembers killing Sigurd. He did it to protect Hvitserk. That was the first time he protected his older brother and that’s when he reminds him that their job is to protect each other.

Ivar is only around Hvitserk when no one else is around. He’s telling Hvitserk stories about things that happened when they were little, things that Hvitserk may be able to corroborate, but he’s high on the meds from the hospital, so anything is possible. Ivar is reminding him that he’s strong, too and he protects him the same way Hvitserk tried to protect him (Ivar) when he was young – even if it’s what killed their mom. It’s what Hvitserk needs to hear because he needs to get himself together to get out of that place.

Chapter 19

This is another chapter that wasn’t part of the original story.

The key here is in Lagertha’s reaction to meeting Ivar. She’s nervous around him and afraid to upset him. She says things like, she feels like she knows him. She asks him questions like was he at the trial – things like that.

She tries in every way possible to gently tell him that Hvitserk is getting strong on his own and doesn’t need him to protect him anymore. That he’s made so much progress. Having Ivar around would set him back. She even had Hvitserk write a letter to Ivar saying that he needed to try to make it on his own, without his help.

Ivar is annoyed by Lagertha because of the hold she has on Hvitserk. But as usual, no one has ever seen the two of them together.

Chapter 20

It all comes out here. Hvitserk feels abandoned by Ivar, but he misses him. I alluded to him stockpiling his pills and using them to drug guards, doctors, and everyone else to do whatever he wanted. Eventually, breaking out of the facility. That’s why he’s back at the cabin now.

He’s found himself another, young, naïve girlfriend who doesn’t know any better, and a house in the country – far away from everything. The only thing he needs now is Ivar. Of course, he’s not taking his meds anymore, so he’s starting to get little itches of his urges back.

Then like magic, Ivar appears. They have it out. Of course, Hvitserk is stronger now and he can say how he feels without the fear of Ivar’s reaction which makes Ivar proud. That’s all he ever wanted was his brother to fully accept who he was. But Hvitserk still doesn’t like how he went about it. He makes Ivar read the file, that diagnoses him will all kinds of disorders, including Dissociative Disorder (Multiple Personality Disorder). He tells Ivar that they tortured him into believing he is crazy. That he made him up because he supposedly died when Aslaug did.

Think back – Hvitserk made up having a happy, loving childhood. He made up having a relationship with Ubbe. He made up the fact that Ivar didn’t die in the car accident. The guilt of having his brother and mother die in a crash that was “his fault” because he told his mother what was happening and she tried to protect him (only Ivar - she never tried to protect any of the other boys) was too much for him. He did the only thing he could - his young mind fractured and protected his brother, forever

No one ever saw the two of them together. All the times Hvitserk passed out, the Ivar personality took over, because he’s the stronger, dominant personality and was the protector. He was always there whenever Hvitserk needed him, no matter the time of day or night. He was Hvitserk’s polar opposite – smooth, charming, handsome, able to lure people in with just his smile. He was everything that Hvitserk was too self-conscious to truly be. He was the side of Hvitserk’s consciousness that was constantly fighting within himself about giving up their life of murder. He was the side that wanted to take more risks, make the kills bigger and better.

HVITSERK is a truly sadistic person and to know that both sides are in him, makes him an apex predator. The fact that he had years of therapy means nothing. Especially, when Ivar says if you let me back in, I will never leave again. Hvitserk just shrugs and leaves the door open for Ivar to come in if he wants.

Then he goes over and sits and asks Lagertha what he should do. He’s already got her tied up and waiting…he’s back at it again. But now, he’s complete with his other half.

Though it seemed the other way around, Hvitserk truly ended up being, his brother’s keeper.

@youbloodymadgenius @idea-garden @kol--mikaelson@mooniemouse @didiintheblog @waiting4inspiration @tempt-ress @where-beauty-goes-to-die @crazyaboutmotleycrue @oddsnendsfanfics @geekandbooknerd @ivarthebloodyking @honestsycrets @xbellaxcarolinax

#My Brother's Keeper #dark ivar #dark hvitserk #modern ivar #modern hvitserk #shannygoat #companion piece #hope I answered your questions

21 notes · View notes

makeste · 3 years

Text

BnHA Chapter 301: All My Todorokis

Previously on BnHA: We learned that when a bunch of superpowered villains are suddenly set loose with nobody around to stop them, things get fucked pretty quickly. Old Man Samurai and a bunch of other useless people decided to make “I pretend I do not see it” their new mantra, and resigned. Endeavor had a moment of despair on account of being crushed by the guilt of having ruined the lives of himself, his family, and basically everyone else in the entire world. For various reasons the heretical notion of “person who has done bad things feels sorry for doing them” sent fandom spiraling into a meltdown, so that was fun. The chapter ended with the entire Todoroki clan descending upon Enji’s hospital room to have a dramatic chat about Touya and All That General Fuckery.

Today on BnHA: Horikoshi is all “here’s the story of how Baby Touya slowly went insane trying to win his father’s love.” It’s a tale full of subverted expectations and heartbreaking inevitability, and also like twenty panels of the cutest fucking kids who ever existed on planet earth, who are so fucking cute that I can’t stop thinking about their cuteness even with all of the horrifying family tragedy unfolding around them. It is absolutely ridiculous how cute they are. Touya is out here pushing his tiny body past its limits because he inherited the same obsession as his dad and neither of them can put it aside even though it’s destroying them, and yet all I can think about is Baby Shouto’s (。･o･｡) face. Anyways what a chapter.

so I have to confess that even though I managed to avoid being caught off-guard by the early leaks, the number of people reblogging my Endeavor posts from earlier this week and using the tag “bnha 301” kind of gave me an inkling that this chapter will include more Tododrama lol. that said, I don’t know anything else about it, so we’re still good spoiler-wise

AHHHHH FLAHSBAKC AHHHH. omg I know I typoed the shit out of that, but I’m just going to leave it lol I think it’s fitting

holy shit holy fuck. so this is Rei and Enji’s first meeting, then??

yepppp, oh shit

so wait, I know this is not even the slightest bit important, but are they meeting at Enji’s home or Rei’s? because I always figured that Enji was the one with the super-Japanese aesthetic, but maybe that was Rei’s side of the family all along

(ETA: from what I found during my very brief google search, omiai meetings are often held at fancy hotels or restaurants, so maybe that’s what this is.)

there’s such a period drama feel to this setting. like it’s so outrageously formal fff how can anyone stand this kind of atmosphere though seriously

OH THANK GOD

I mean they’re still stiff af but at least they’re not rigidly sitting in seiza and staring at each other unblinkingly anymore lol. Enji’s actually got his hands in his pockets now. why is this somehow almost cute

oh damn it’s the flowers

Rei seems so subdued and it’s so hard to get any idea of what she’s actually thinking. I want to see her side of this dammit

but anyway, so at least from Enji’s perspective it seems like even though the marriage was arranged and he picked her because of her quirk, he still loved his wife and wanted to do right by her. the fact that he was watching her and noticed that she liked the flowers, and remembered that detail for all these years -- there’s a reason why Horikoshi’s showing us this. we know what’s going to happen later on; we know how much fear and violence and breaking of trust is coming up ahead, and while it may seem like this scene is serving to soften Enji’s character further -- which to be fair it is -- it also helps drive home the full impact of his abuse. that it’s so terrible not only because of the trauma of the abuse itself, but also because of the way it retroactively destroys all of the good things as well. this could have potentially been such a sweet scene, but it’s inescapably tainted by the knowledge of what’s to come, at least for me. and that’s just brutal

anyways, shit. is the whole chapter going to be like this?? feel free to toss in something I can actually make a joke about sometime, Horikoshi

oop, back to the present

omfg lol

“are you all right” “NO I’M NOT ALL RIGHT WHAT THE FUCK.” “oh, right, because of all the stuff that’s happened with me abusing you and you having a mental breakdown and being hospitalized for ten years and then our son coming back to life and killing thirty people, right, right. I almost forgot.” whoops

omfg you guys I’m loving this new and improved steely-eyed Rei. I’m loving her a lot

and what do you mean “part one” fkjds how long is this going to be. TOO MUCH DRAMA FOR ONE CHAPTER TO HANDLE

oh, hello

yeah I’ll say you did. didn’t seem to bother you much at the time, though

HMMMMMMMMMMMM

Dabi Is A Noumu intensifies even further. anyways though would you fucking look at this boy lounging on this moth-eaten couch doing his best DRAW ME LIKE YOUR FRENCH GIRLS impression wtf

Dabi what if you actually had killed him??? what would you feel?? satisfaction?? regret?? anything at all?? tell me your secrets goddammit

who are you talking to buddy

Fuyumi-chan, Natsu-kun (is it common for brothers to address each other as -kun?? can’t recall seeing that in many other anime, but hey), and “dot dot dot,,,,,, SHOUTO” lol thank you so much for this bountiful heaping of Tododrama Horikoshi we are blessed

AH, WHAT DID I SAY THE OTHER DAY

ULTIMATE MELODRAMATIC THEATER CHILD. “I’M JUST GOING TO LIE ON THIS COUCH SHIRTLESS AND ALONE AND MAKE SPEECHES TO MY FAMILY MEMBERS WHO AREN’T THERE AND SAY THINGS LIKE ‘WATCH ME IN THE PITS OF HELL’ WITH A STRAIGHT FACE BECAUSE NO ONE’S THERE TO JUDGE ME.” WELL JOKE’S ON YOU MISTER CHATTERBOX BECAUSE I AM IN FACT JUDGING THE SHIT OUT OF YOU LOL

(ETA: and on a more serious note, it’s interesting to see that “look at me”/”watch me” theme being used again though, because we see that same sentiment uttered repeatedly by the younger Touya in the flashback. well kid, you definitely got your wish at last. don’t know what else to say.)

OKAY HORIKOSHI HAS DECIDED THAT’S ENOUGH FUN, TIME FOR MORE FLASHBACKS

oh my sweet precious lord

just as cute as we left him. giving us a child this cute when we all know full well what’s going to happen to him is just unspeakably cruel though

HOMG

I’m fucking speechless. you broke me, congratulations. what am I even supposed to do with this

I can’t get over this. moving forward my life will be split into two distinct parts, B.P. (Before the Pout) and A.P. (After the Pout)

and meanwhile there’s ALL THIS BACKGROUND ANGST BUILDING UP, AND I CAN’T EVEN FOCUS ON IT. Touya’s arm and cheek are covered in bandages (I’m guessing this is shortly after that “ouch!” panel we got some chapters back), and Enji is deliberately avoiding training with him because he doesn’t want him to hurt himself further. I can’t fucking get over the irony that all this time everyone thought Touya had died because Enji pushed him too far in his training, and it turns out that it’s the opposite -- the tragedy ultimately happened because he didn’t want to push him. but I’m jumping ahead of myself though I guess

by the way,

remember this?? just wanted to remind you that it exists just in case you forgot

so now someone is talking and basically saying that Touya is the exact opposite of what Enji was hoping for when he decided to start playing with quirk genetics

-- okay hold up

...lol no, never mind. for a second I thought “holy shit he looks kind of familiar WHAT IF IT’S UJIKO OMG” before I remembered that Enji would have recognized him during the hospital capture mission if that was the case. so NEVER MIND, PROCEED

IMAGINE THAT, ENJI DOESN’T QUITE SEEM SATISFIED WITH THIS SUGGESTION OF QUITTING NOW

(ETA: how the fuck did this man go around saving 62 towns in a single day what even is All Might.)

[clicks tongue several times] trouble a’brewin’

MEANWHILE BABY TOUYA HAS UNFORTUNATELY INHERITED HIS DAD’S STUBBORN STREAK

KLDIHWOEIJFL:KSDJ

!!!!!!!!!!!

oh my god. oh my god. what is this chapter. WHAT IS IT

so now Touya is all “YOU JUST DON’T UNDERSTAND MY MANLY DESIRE TO BURN MYSELF ALIVE” well you got her there champ

THEY’RE TOO CUTE. OH MY GOD. HIS FURIOUS LITTLE TEARS. HER CHUBBY LIL FACE. HIS STUBBY LIL FISTS. SOMEONE HELP ME

also are they just home alone lol or what. “hey Touya, you’re what, like six now?? do us a favor and look after your baby sister for a couple hours for us would you? make sure not to set yourself on fire or anything.” WHAT COULD POSSIBLY GO WRONG!!

now it’s nighttime and Enji and Rei are arguing, presumably about his decision not to train Touya anymore

whew. okay. so, a couple of things here

1. first of all I think this conclusively shows that Enji really was trying to do the best he could for Touya. he stopped training him as soon as he realized it was hurting him, but Touya was still determined so he tried to make it work anyway, and even visited doctors to try and figure out if there was anything they could do. then, once they were absolutely sure that it wasn’t going to work, he tried multiple times to explain to Touya why they had to stop. he didn’t just abandon him out of the blue, which is really important to note. “no matter how much I tried telling him...”

so yeah, that debunks another common fandom accusation. so by the time he finally makes this decision, which we all know is going to turn out horribly, it’s basically because he’s already tried everything else he could think of. which, by the way, still doesn’t mean he handled this right. but at the very least he was taking Touya’s feelings into account and he was trying, and he didn’t just abruptly toss his son aside (at least not yet)

2. buuuut, then there’s this panel right below all that

which is the other side of it. if he’d just quit like the doctor person advised him to, that would have been the end of it. Touya would still have been upset, but he would have eventually gotten over it and the family would have moved on and possibly even been happy. but what happens next happens because Enji can’t let go. he still has this maddening urge to surpass All Might, and so he and Rei keep having more children, and then Shouto is born, and Enji finally has a kid he can start projecting all of his hysterical ambitions onto once again, and everything starts spiraling out of control soon after

though p.s. none of that is Shouto’s fault though!! he’s one of the few good things to come out of this whole mess and I’m very happy that he exists. the tragedy is that his dad fucking lost his mind over his quirk and fucked everything up. but that’s on him, not Touya or Shouto

anyways, SLKFJLSHGLKJL

I CAN’T FUCKING TAKE THIS YOU GUYS??? LOOK AT THAT LIL BUTTON OF A NOSE??? I’M LOSING IT HERE???

AND TOUYA JUST SEEMS DEVASTATED OMG

because children aren’t stupid, after all. he understands that his dad is still looking to surpass All Might. and so he feels like a failure, and feels like his dad is trying to replace him because he wasn’t good enough. and even now, isn’t that what the adult Touya is trying to prove?? that he was good enough after all?? “I’ll show you what happens when you give up on me, dad”?? “I’ll show you what I can do”?? fuck my life fuck everything

AND YOU CAN SEE THE TOLL THAT IT’S ALL TAKING ON REI GETTING WORSE AND WORSE AS WELL OH GOD

really nice touch here with the panel outlines becoming all shimmery from the heat of Endeavor’s flames (and/or becoming more unstable as the family gets closer and closer to their breaking point). but man, Horikoshi I can’t handle this, please show us more cute kids or something I can’t

GKELKWFJLDKSHFLKL

WITTLE BABE. BEEB. BUBS. SMOL. lkj; oh ouch a piece of my heart just detached and latched onto him huh look at that

TODOROKI “I’M SO SMALL AND I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT’S GOING ON AND I DIDN’T ASK TO BE HERE” SHOUTO AHHHHH

crazy how they all just seem to know right off the bat lol. kid doesn’t even have object permanence yet, let alone a quirk. but do they care?? IT’S THE HAIR, RIGHT. WE’RE ALL THINKING IT, I’M JUST GONNA COME OUT AND SAY IT. they knew the minute they looked at him lol

AND MEANWHILE TOUYA IS OFF HAVING UNSUPERVISED TRAINING/CRYING SESSIONS IN THE MOUNTAINS OR WHATEVER, AND, UH OH

are those blue flames yet?? they seem pretty close

(ETA: this is one of the few cases where the manga being in black and white is infuriating lol.)

OH MY GOD AND STILL

so it’s not like he was so disinterested that he didn’t notice what was happening, and he was still trying to stop it and get through to him. trying to reassure him that it wasn’t the end of the world and there were other things he could do with his life, but this one particular thing just wasn’t going to happen

fucking hell. it’s agonizing seeing how close they actually were to fixing it. if he’d only said the right words, or if he’d realized at this point how destructive his obsession could be to his kids, and backed off from putting that same pressure on Shouto. we came so close to possibly having a happy ending

AND ALSO THIS HAS NOTHING TO DO WITH ANYTHING BUT PLEASE LOOK AT HOW TOUYA IS LIKE THREE AND A HALF FEET TALL AND HIS DAD IS LIKE NINE AND A HALF FEET. Touya barely comes past his knees flkjlkg. the Todoroki household must have been so filled with like plastic stepstools to reach the bathroom sink and all the little baby toothbrushes, and baby gates to keep the kiddos out of the important grown-up rooms and stuff. and also days-old half-empty cups of water and stale crackers and hot wheels and my little ponies strewn everywhere

“BUT EVERYONE AT SCHOOL SAYS THEY’RE GONNA BE HEROES” a wild Deku parallel appears?? how bout that

I know this is like a pivotal moment in the Todo Tragedy and all, but fucking look at this lil dumpling

“sup bro, it’s me, the manifestation of your fears of inadequacy and lack of fatherly affections. a GAAA. ba-baAA-baa [gurgling baby sounds]”

OHHHHH IT’S THE SOUND OF MY HEART BREAKING OH NO

HE WANTS TO BE LIKE YOU ENJI. good lord somebody please just get this family some therapy

“DAD YOU IGNITED IT IN ME” flkjslkj nope, nope. not ready for this pain here

baby Shouto, would you like to weigh in on this affair? “DA!! ba-ga-daaa, [pacifier chewing noises]” oh my, you don’t say. so insightful for one so young

OH MY GODDDDDD

IT’S SO DRAMATIC BUT ALL I CAN THINK ABOUT ARE THE SHOUNEN WOOSH LINES SURROUNDING FOUR-MONTH-OLD SHOUTO LOL HE WAS LIKE THIS FROM BIRTH OH MY GOD I AM DYING HELP

SHOUTO YOU’RE RUINING THIS ENTIRE CHAPTER!?!?!

“yo, the fuck kind of family was I fucking born into” oh, son. if you only knew. IF YOU ONLY KNEW!!

(ETA: lmao I got so distracted by the ridiculous cuteness that I glossed over the fact that Baby Touya seems to possibly be aiming at him?? it’s hard to tell because he’s also super out of it from heatstroke and may just be losing control in his attempt to show off his upgrade.)

ANYWAY THAT’S THE END EXCEPT WHAT’S THIS LAST LINE OMG

ffffff. and we’re in for ANOTHER chapter of this next week?? MORE drama?? MORE BABIES?? MORE OF EIGHT-YEAR-OLD TOUYA’S SLOW DESCENT INTO MADNESS. MY HEART CAN’T TAKE IT, BUT ALSO YES PLEASE SIGN ME UP

#bnha 301 #dabi #todoroki touya #endeavor #todoroki enji #todoroki rei #todoroki shouto #todoroki fuyumi #todoroki natsuo #bnha #boku no hero academia #bnha spoilers #mha spoilers #bnha manga spoilers #makeste reads bnha

395 notes · View notes