#how is any theme ever supposed to get close to that level of greatness again????
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fragile - matthew tkachuk
matthew tkachuk x gn! reader
summary: after back to back losses, all matty needs is some words of reassurance from his favourite person
word count : 0.8k
warnings: maybe some angst but mostly fluff, sappy, hinted at nsfw themes for 2 seconds, not edited
you were almost asleep when you heard the door, as matthew finally got back to the hotel. you hadn’t been at the game, staying back with a headache this time, but you had watched it on tv; it wasn’t good. you listened as he kicked off his shoes with a sigh, and heard the soft thud of his clothes and bag landing on the floor. the bed dipped next to you and his arms wrapped around you, pulling your back against his chest, nuzzling his chin into the crook of your neck.
“hey, baby,” you murmured softly.
“hey,” he sighed, his eyes closed.
“i’m sorry,” you sighed; you hated how helpless you always felt watching the team when they were down.
“you watched it,” was all he said. you rolled over in matty’s arms, placing soft kisses up his throat. “is there anything i can do to cheer you up?” you hummed, gently creating a love bite under his jaw. sometimes the best way to improve his mood after a tough game was quite simply to let him take his… frustrations out on you, and you were never going to complain about the more dominant side of him it brought out; but tonight was different.
“i just want to hold you,” he replied, and you were a little surprised, but your heart fluttered just the same. you snuggled into his chest as his arms tightened around you.
“is something else bothering you?” you asked.
“besides the back to back 4-0 losses, you mean?” he laughed bitterly.
“matt-“
“what if it’s me?” he asked, and to say you were at a loss for words was an understatement. matthew tkachuk was someone with a great deal of confidence, often mistaken for arrogance by some; either way, self doubt wasn’t the usual thing for him. you pulled back slightly so you could look at him, his blue eyes sad and missing their usual playful gleam.
“matthew that’s ridiculous. where is this coming from?”
“have you seen my stats? i’m supposed to be this star player, and i can’t even score a goal.” you reached up to gently hold his face, the light stubble on his chin tickling the palm of your hand.
“so you’re off to a slower start than expected- it happens. and besides, you guys are a team; one person doesn’t win or lose, you guys do it together,” you said, admittedly not used to having to comfort him like this. “you guys have been doing great; two games isn’t the end of the season.”
“what if i’m holding the team back?”
“you’re not-“
“what if i am?” he insisted, his eyes that had until now avoided your gaze finally locked with yours. his eyes searched yours with a pleading hopefulness for any kind of sign that he was wrong; that it wasn’t all his fault.
“matty you broke your sternum six months ago; you’re being extremely hard on yourself. you are not some kind of dead weight, and i don’t ever want to hear you say anything like that again,” you pleaded. “it’s amazing that you’re back to playing as well as you are so fast after what happened. i know you’re used to being one of the best - because you really are - but i think you just have to settle for being ‘pretty good’ until you’re back to the place you were at in the playoffs.”
“what if i never get back to that level again?”
“you will. if anything you’ll be better because you want it more.” you promised, and he was silent for a second, as if thinking over everything you’d said.
“what did i do to deserve you?” he asked, shaking his head slightly as the first hint of a smile appeared on his lips.
“i ask myself that about you every day,” you smiled, pressing your lips to his. you hummed softly as his hands slid up your back to deepen the kiss, and you tangled your fingers gently in his soft curls, his hair still slightly damp from the post game shower.
“i love you,” he mumbled against your lips, and you smiled into the kiss.
“i love you too.”
you laid your head back down on matthew’s chest, and felt him press a kiss to the top of your head as you tangled your legs with his under the blankets. the familiar scent of his expensive cologne lingered on his skin as you kissed his collarbone in response, and whispered a quiet ‘goodnight’, already feeling yourself drifting off to sleep.
“goodnight angel,” matthew mumbled, feeling slightly better as he replayed everything you had said in his mind. he knew deep down that you were right; that he was expecting the world of himself, when at the end of the day, he was just a person. but to you, he was home, even in a city miles away from it.
disclaimer: all screenshots, events, and/or interactions depicted in this are a work of fiction. i have no association with any parties mentioned
#matthew tkachuk fic#matthew tkachuk#florida panthers#nhl fic#nhl#hockey fic#hockey#matthew tkachuk x reader#real person fiction
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top five doomed mariners go
in order not of significance, but of encounter:
(1) William Bush - the original Doomed Mariner, my copy of Lord Hornblower is still held together with duct tape from chucking the book across the room when I realized Forester was not going to pull a "if there's no body he's not dead" - rather, "if there's no body, it's because he was too close to the ignition point." A character whose defining trait is his devotion is actually something that can be so personal.
(2) James Norrington - the man, the myth, the legend. clearly takes up too much brain space for a [checking notes for comedic effect] antagonist secondary character from a twenty-year-old theme park ride movie. Hard to say at which point it became clear he'd never survive, but there's definitely a point at which he clearly thinks he's survived too long for anyone's good, least of all his own.
(3) Mr. Starbuck
“On this level, Ahab’s hammock swings within; his head this way. A touch, and Starbuck may survive to hug his wife and child again.—Oh Mary! Mary!—boy! boy! boy!—But if I wake thee not to death, old man, who can tell to what unsounded deeps Starbuck’s body this day week may sink, with all the crew! Great God, where art Thou? Shall I? shall I?—The wind has gone down and shifted, sir; the fore and main topsails are reefed and set; she heads her course.”
“Stern all! Oh Moby Dick, I clutch thy heart at last!”
Such were the sounds that now came hurtling from out the old man’s tormented sleep, as if Starbuck’s voice had caused the long dumb dream to speak.
The yet levelled musket shook like a drunkard’s arm against the panel; Starbuck seemed wrestling with an angel; but turning from the door, he placed the death-tube in its rack, and left the place.
(123: The Musket)
(4) Eyk Larsen - doomed by Netflix more than his own foibles, though that's not for lack of trying on his foibles' part. Even the men on his crew that like him are waiting for him to snap under the strain of his bereavement, alcoholism, and the demands of the new shipping company's changes (and the sudden appearance/disappearance of a ghost ship. and inexplicable deaths. and seeing things. and and and). Doesn't make it three whole scenes before staring moodily into the deeps of the Atlantic, musing on the impossibility of knowing what lives on the floor thousands of feet below. Kind of deserved that mutiny. Didn't exactly die in 1899, but. Well. Like his relationship with Maura, it was complicated.
(5) Bill Malloy - He never learned how to swim, he put together The Big Secret about the manslaughter trial quicker than any other uninvolved character, he's been in love with and trailing a respectful step behind Liz Collins Stoddard for 20+ years to no avail (but, hey, Carolyn says he's as good as her father, which?), and he's not the most helpful ghost but he is having a little too much fun getting revenge for his murder - did we ever hear him laugh when he was alive? I suppose we have to subtract some points for him never spending any time on a boat within the scope of the narrative, but then, he IS trying to go back to his job on the boats - and no one else on this list sings "What Do You Do With A Drunken Sailor?". I'm pretty sure the narrative is through with him now, alas. He'll always be famous to me.
#i feel like a heel picking five.#honorary mention to daniel gregg. who's not so much doomed as. hmm. doomed implies a downward trajectory. he's already dead.#then again. things can get worse. even for ghosts.#also. Quint. god. he can't knock anyone off this list atm but this is a Sign to go watch the Indianapolis monologue RIGHT NOW. do it.#ask meme#polkaknox talks#thank you for the ask kind friend!
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Closing thoughts on Delicious Party Precure
(spoilers)
This ended up being a thoroughly meh season without that many strong points, but at least it didn't have disastrous flaws either.
I've seen some takes that the season was repetitive with the food theme, and while I agree to some extent, as far as I can see every Precure episode in every season is pretty repetitive so that's nothing new, and I can appreciate that the season had a distinct and memorable theme in the first place. And I think the food spirits are cute.
Meanwhile the other plot elements felt somewhat disjointed, like all the mascots have a similar design but only one of them gets a progressively older human form? And also a super special time travel power? And then they just didn't bother to write a mascot for Amane so she just stares awkwardly at nothing when everyone else says their teary goodbyes to their partners in the ending. Also the Lucky Cat statues were vital in the finale but I don't think they were set up enough for that level of importance (or maybe they were, it's not a secret that I don't pay full attention to Precure episodes so maybe this one is just on me).
There were no standout Cures for me this season, Kokone was my fave but I don't think I'll be thinking of her much after the season is over, Ran was teetering on the edge of being annoying, and Amane felt like a watered down version of Eas/Setsuna. Overall having the dark Cure being brainwashed into villainy is kind of a lame plot element if you ask me, there's no drama in turning her to the good side if she was never actually with the bad guys in the first place. And Yui was a super bland heroine to me, she's not the worst pink Cure ever but I struggle to think of anything interesting about her either. Or her relationship with her late grandma was sweet, but I think that's less about her and more about how a close relationship to a dead granny would make any character more lovable.
The villain captains didn't have a lot going for them either, though I did like the running joke how one of them thought their motto was lame. And his tragic backstory was that he felt excluded because he was unable to enjoy food together, and the solution is that the heroes push him into eating anyway and he conveniently likes it this time? That doesn't sound great. As for the main villain, at first I thought that his story of bitterness about feeling slighted by his furry mentor felt random and unrelated to the rest of the themes of the show, but then again sharing food was a major theme and his master plan was not to share any because he was left without as a kid, so alright that checks out.
Rosemary for best character but unfortunately he didn't get to do enough, though to be fair his portrayal was in line with other Precure major supporting characters so it's not really a flaw in this season specifically. Black Pepper was good too, the male characters had to carry the show for me this time around. Though it did feel a little weird how the Cures ended up being somewhat bystanders in the main story, when the most important character drama involving your main villain was between the men.
Also while I did like Black Pepper, that was only when not in relation to Yui because I really did not like their romance. This also isn't really a dig at DeliParty because "serious boy is not-so-secretly in love with the oblivious cheerful shoujo heroine" is a trope I do not enjoy in general. But even if I don't care for the ship, this kind of open endings where we're supposed to find it charming that the heroine remains oblivious really don't appeal to me either. Make them a couple or have her turn him down, or at least end with her understanding his feelings but saying she needs more time to figure out her own, I don't think this non-resolution is cute at all.
Overall this is going to rank pretty low on my Precure list, but at least things are looking up because I'm super excited for Hero Time next season!
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bad buddy rewatch: ep 1 - the substitute smile
so i’ve decided for this momentous anniversary and for this rewatch period, bc i can’t emotionally put myself through watching the show again without it taking over my entire existence, to return back to my roots and get back on my analysis/meta/glorified ranting shit, bc i still have way too many feelings about this show to keep them all inside, even after a year. so i’m gonna fondly call these posts ‘jemmo’s best bits’, where for every episode i’m just gonna pick a scene or detail or piece of dialogue or underlying theme and just ramble about it.
for episode 1, i call this literally 15 second part of the opening montage the substitute smile. it’s an introduction to one of the literally thousands of threads and details that span this series in such a masterful way, that being pran’s love of these emoji faces, particularly smiley faces and that signature reversible face. we later see these in every nook and cranny of his dorm room, his fairy lights, his bedside lamp, his sticky notes, his doorhanger, and even see them in his childhood bedroom, which shows us that this isn’t a recent fad. and why is that? well, its a bit of a consensus that pran likes to fill his spaces with these faces as a kind of substitute for pat, this ever smiling face that for so long couldn’t be there. he saw these big grinning faces radiating light and they reminded him of this loveable kid he was supposed to hate so he surrounded himself with them.
that underlying theme could have its own whole post dedicated to it, but what is great about this scene in particular is that it not only establishes the theme, not only shows where its rooted from, but also masterfully conveys how pat and pran in these earlier years had this almost miscommunication that reinforced the narrative being fed to them by their parents. now you might think, miscommunication? in my bad buddy?? no way, pat is a walking green flag, he’d never allow it. but i really think that there was a period in their lives, early high school, even after saving pa and returning the watch and the lapse in the narrative that was, where they still didn’t quite manage to see each other for what they were. where they still viewed every action of the other through the lens of rival, even when said actions were never done in hostility. it shows perfectly how the feud and their parents have conditioned them both to always read the other negatively, and its done in such a quick, throw away scene that’s so easy to see on a surface level but can be dissected to death upon rewatches with all this new context and understanding and thats why its genius!!!
so lets get into it. the scene opens up like this.
pat is blasting his tunes (on his headphones) and banging his drumsticks on any available surface, basically causing a ruckus. pran is sat at his desk doing something, homework i’d guess. before we move on, lets just appreciate this first introduction to the geography of their childhood rooms, how they were always this close for their entire childhood, growing up inches apart with an invisible wall between them. so much goes on in a childhood bedroom, you lie in bed sick with a cold, you explore your hobbies there, you strum a guitar or whack drumsticks around or do some doodles, you stay up late finishing homework, you get sent there when you misbehave, you decorate it to ft your evolving tastes and likes. the fact that pat and pran always had this insight into this private space, were close enough to see a lamp on until late or see the pictures on each others walls or hear glimpses of conversations or the sound of sniffling or the quiet hum of music, i just think thats so good. bc its like here they are, two feuding families, and let you let these two kids have this insight into the other’s life by literally situating their place of privacy and sanctuary next to each other. its that thing of how could i continue to hate him, continue to not empathise with him when i see every little mundane thing he does, when i am forced every second of the day to see him at his most normal and human. so much of this you could mistake for gimmick, think it has no substance, this framing is just to show ‘oh they live next door’, but then think about how different the show wouldve played out if their rooms were at opposite ends of their houses, if they weren’t there in each others faces whenever they looked out the window, if they couldnt climb across balconies and invisible walls and bridge that insurmountably tiny gap.
anyway, tangent over (apologies), in the next shot we get confirmation of what pran is actually up to.
which is probably still homework (come on, he’s pran), but he’s sidetracked, distracted by something, more specifically a ping pong ball, and even more specifically drawing a smiley face on it. when you see this action on your first viewing of the show, you think nothing of it. the montage is fast paced and you don’t know that these smiley faces are gonna be associated with pran’s character so you dont pay attention to it above just thinking this is something pran just does, no reason. its only upon a rewatch when you know how pran is connected to these smiley faces that you even give it some thought, and then you get this look and your mind starts ticking
he looks across at pat with this look on his face. what do you read this as on a first watch? idk, bored? quizzical? maybe a bit annoyed? more likely you dont read into it at all. but upon rewatch, when you realise he’s looking at pat while drawing a smiley face and what that could mean, this look becomes more thoughtful, pondering. maybe its pran just thinking about pat, maybe its the start of his crush, maybe he’s had the crush for a while and he’s thinking about how, even though pat is a couple of meters away, he cant have him for so many reasons, and so he replaces him with a smiley face on a ping pong ball. no matter what it is exactly, its the fact that this connects pat with these smiley faces, which makes seeing his room later so much more meaningful, and its the fact that this once mundane action now hints at so much more that was always bubbling under the surface, its just that we, much like pat, weren't yet privy to the thoughts inside pran’s head.
pat looks over at pran and pran gives him this look in response. on first watch, this is nothing more than a look of anger and annoyance, which make sense, because they hate each other. even if pat wasn’t getting on pran’s nerves by being noisy, even just the presence of your enemy is enough to earn this kind of look. its all so damn unassuming, so easily read the way you’ve been told to read it. but when you rewatch, again, the look could be something completely different. it might still be annoyance, but now it more like ‘”god why am i in love with this loud, annoying dude? he’s just banging some drumsticks, why do i think that is so cute?” yknow?? but jokes aside, it just speaks to how well the show sold us that falsity in the early episodes, put us in the shoes of one of these families, always reading every look or action as hostile bc you aren’t being asked to see anything else there. you see a look like this, that could just be pran thinking, could be pran getting annoyed at himself for his feelings, could be getting mad at their situation, and just read it as anger directed at pat, bc thats what the story tells you to do, and so you dont question it, not until you take the initiative to look beyond.
what happens next perfectly encapsulates how their miscommunication works. bc pat sees pran give him that look, and being the good guy he is, probably thinks “oh im being noisy and annoying pran. let me shut my window so he doesn’t have to hear me” and he does it and thinks nothing of it, doesnt think about how his actions could be misinterpreted by pran just as he misinterpreted pran’s expression. again, you only see the kindness of this action upon rewatch, after the character pat is expected to be is fully subverted and shown to be good and caring, so far from this big macho man’s man he’s expected to be, both by the people in the story and by us. on first watch, this is shutting pran out, ignoring him, blocking out a presence that is constantly shoved in his face. its only when we learn more that we realise this wasn’t shutting pran out for his sake, but for pran’s sake. its the exact opposite of hostility, he’s just trying to do something nice. but as is always the case with pat, these acts of kindness are always read negatively, always framed with bad intent, or even when they’re not, the constant message is that no matter what pat tries to do, things never end well when touched by his hands. he has fundamental badness. but when you realise that this output only ever came from his fundamental goodness, your heart breaks a little, for a kid thats only ever tried to things right, but the world always tells him he’s wrong.
and finally we see pran misread pat’s actions, misunderstand him. he sees hostility, not kindness, and in retaliation closes his curtains. but again, the nature of this retaliation differs upon rewatch. first time around, this is just a tit for tat exchange, you shut your window i shut mine, we can both be equally annoyed with each other for no reason other than we hate each other. but the second time around? well now we know not only has pran been taught to misinterpret pat by his parents, but he’s also made himself do that too in a romantic sense. he’s never let him see anything pat does as either kind or romantic, never let himself see a side to him that is good not bc he doesn’t know its there, but bc he cant let himself, bc once he sees goodness and kindness and god forbid sincerity, that might get his hopes up. that might be enough to let him believe that something could happen, that pat’s actions and words could mean more. but no, instead he sees pat look at him and close his window, ignore him, shut him out. and that hurts him. he was just thinking about pat fondly only to be reminded of the reality, that pat doesnt care, that pat is exactly who hes been told he is, and in frustration he closes his curtains too bc he cant face seeing that closed window every time he looks up, cant face being reminded of the valley between them, that divides them, cant face the reality that pat is not the person he hopes him to be, that he gleams from actions that could betray some better intent, he’s in fact just that same old rival he’s always been.
the layers upon layers of this scene really never cease to astound me. you’ve got hints to future themes without knowing their importance, you’ve got pat and pran misreading each others actions, you’ve got us the audience misreading their actions, all bc the story is set up to be one way, but the entire time there’s the real narrative underneath, hidden by an imposed feud and our own misjudgement and the fact we don’t initially seek out anything else. we’ve been told what were supposed to see and what we actually see matches with that story enough that we dont question. and it would’ve been so easily for pat and pran to do the same, not question what they were told, have the facts match the fiction enough to make them become one and the same. but they dont. and thats exactly what sets them on this path, their willingness to see past it all, to look for whats actually there. bc when you do, when you rewatch and see past the surface, its so fucking rewarding. i remember my first rewatch and latching onto this scene for dear life for this exact reason, bc its an encapsulation of what makes bad buddy great, both narratively and thematically and structurally. its 15 seconds that doesn’t ask to be paid attention to, doesn’t sell itself as anything more than set up, its done and gone and you get your surface level message from it. it does its job perfectly. but it also hides in plain sight a story that you are on the edge of diving into before you even know what you’re getting yourself in for, and in that sense, it also does its job perfectly. its masterful. its genius. its bad buddy.
#i so needed to write a love letter to this scene bc its so pinacle to my bad buddy viewing experince#the way that first rewatch shook me with just how much the early episodes change and evolve with context#its a whole other show#and you understand that before you were not only getting half the story but you were getting the wrong story#you fell into the trap the parents wanted you to#it makes you part of the narrative by making you misunderstand just like they do#like i cant convey how insanely creative and impressive and genius that is#thats storytelling at its fucking finest#and all bc pran drew a smiley face#bad buddy#badbuddyrewatch#made by jemmo
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Finally had a chance to play Superstars. I honestly expected it to be fairly short, but I still hadn't finished the game in a 4 hour stream. Made it past Golden Kingdom, not sure how far I am from the end. I've only been able to find 2 Emeralds :( I just seem to keep running past all the big warp rings and can't get back to them.
Anyhoo, I think it's great. I thought it was gonna be super-easy at first, but then the Press Factory boss turned out to be pretty challenging, as did some sections of Golden Kingdom (or was it Golden City? Golden Realm? um... well, I'll find out when I play it again XD)
Gameplay is good, controls are responsive, and there's even options in many cases to be able to aim your direction. Level design is original, varied, and inventive, without feeling out of place, and the levels feel fully fleshed out instead of empty. I think my one complaint on the bosses is that you can only get in 1 hit at a time. Eh, I think I might have gotten in 2 hits once, but that might have been a glitch. Like, the boss is just sitting there, and I'm jumping on him and I should be hitting him, but it doesn't seem to have an effect. Perhaps I'm doing something wrong? Or maybe it's a bug?
I can't say the music grabbed me, which is disappointing, to say the least. Like, I'm sitting here trying to recall a theme from the game, any theme, and not remembering a thing. Perhaps it will grow on me, but it just felt... idk, kinda bland for Sonic. Then again, I was chatting through almost the whole stream, so maybe I just wasn't paying attention. I remember liking the boss theme, tho, and Golden City (ok, I really do need to go back and find out what that one was called) gave me some Sky Sanctuary vibes.
I love the artwork, it's adorable. It reminds me almost a little bit of claymation, with the kinda heavy, soft sculpture look. I think my only complaint about the visual style is- I'm sorry to say- Sonic.
This takes place after 3&K, right? But 3&K Sonic was just slightly taller, thinner, and darker, and his quills were a little longer.
To be fair, Sonic still looks more like Classic in Sonic the Fighters and 3D Blast, both of which come between 3&K and Adventure. And I think Mania is also supposed to come before Superstars, isn't it? And the Mania sprites are just higher-res versions of the the original. So it's not that Classic doesn't work, necessarily. I guess I just expected him to more closely resemble Adventure Sonic, because Adventure Sonic was made to look more like his 3&K sprite. Like he's a little older.
Stupid thing to nit-pick on, and I never even noticed while watching all those trailers for months, but it hit me when I started up the game for myself, and it just kept bugging me thru the whole game. (And yes, I do realize I could be opening up a can of worms, with the way this fandom is. I'm still entitled to my own opinion.)
But to be honest, my complaints here are really very minor and have no impact on the game itself. This is an excellent addition to the franchise, and one of the best Classic Sonic games (including the original Genesis games) that I think we've ever gotten.
#sonic the hedgehog#sonic superstars#not my screencaps#not my gif#my opinion#and i looked it up: it's called Golden Capital#but the running gag in this post is too good for me to correct it
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People who have been following me for awhile know that:
a) When I get attached to a character then I easily get emotional over anything related to them
b) OSTs are so fucking important to me, like if a media's OST isn't great than there's a high chance I won't really get into it. But when it's good? Hoo boy then there's a good chance I'll hyperfixiate on whatever media it is.
Now when you combine both of these facts you get c) If a a theme is good and related to the character(s) I've grown attached to then it always gives me feels.
And two of these OSTs are the Evangelion OST (and tracks relating to Kaworu, Asuka and Shinji) or the Persona 3 OST (especially tracks related to the protag, Aigis, or big dates/events in the game)
But recently these have been topped byyyy.... exactly! The Madoka Magica OST, but in particular by Sayaka's themes Decretum and Symposium Magarum, which I guess isn't exactly a secret....
The point though, both of these have consistantly given me a very specific kind of feeling (or feelings I'm not sure which it is) everytime, yes every single time, that I listened to them for the past two months. Which is really impressive, the only other tracks that achived something similiar are Voyager (from Thrice Upon a Time) and Memories of You (from P3).
And because of that these two themes genuinely might be some of, if not the, best tracks I've ever heard in any OST (yet! Because who knows what OSTs I'll run into in the future?)
#the felix talk#dont mind me i just genuinely love both of these themes so so much#i wish i could properly explain what sort of feels they give me#but i cant really describe it#just that it perfectly fits for the fight with elsa maria#or sayakas final moment (especially for that one)#or her at her deepest despair#its just sooooo good#im losing my sanity over this#these themes are the reason why most of my proper pmmm art is what it is#its the mood feelings and vibes i get from decretum and symposium magarum that are responsible for that#its just OUGH#SO FUCKING GOOD#its unfair#how is any theme ever supposed to get close to that level of greatness again????#@ the guy who wrote these two: how does it feel knowing you made the perfect theme#that guy deserves an award tbh
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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?
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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
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Hobbies
Phic phight! @idiot-cheesehead-archenemy
A series of vignettes about Danny having various hobbies.
(Master the Orb)
Danny exhaled slowly as the ice built up between his hands. Each new layer glittered in the ghostlight cast by the overhead ambient ectoplasm, embedding complex patterns in the overall piece as new layers built up over it.
“Very good, Great One,” rumbled Frostbite behind his shoulder. “Your control has improved immensely.”
Danny inhaled equally slowly, examining his work so far but not adding to it quite yet. “I don’t know. It looks a little lopsided.”
“Mmm, it looks fine to me. Especially for such an early attempt.”
Danny sighed, exhaling the ice he had built up with his breath. “So, it is lopsided.”
“Consider it practice,” said Frostbite, encouragingly. “It takes time to master art of any kind.”
“Humans do ice sculpture, too,” mumbled Danny. “They get really good, too. I’ve seen pictures. And videos. They don’t even have ice powers.” He rubbed his thumb over the surface, smoothing over a slightly rougher patch.
“That may be true,” said Frostbite, “but, again, you just started, Great One. You have only had your powers for a little while. Give yourself some support.”
Danny shrugged. “I guess it isn’t something my life depends on, so I can relax about it.” He built up another layer of ice. “This is oddly therapeutic, and I don’t say therapeutic lightly. You know Jazz.”
“I do indeed,” said Frostbite, somewhat ruefully, head half-bowed.
Jazz could be a force of nature, even more so than ice powers.
He held the ice orb up to the light. It caught on the patterns he had placed there. Fractals were the easiest. He was hoping that if he got better, he’d be able to make real sculptures with patterns in them, instead of just orbs.
But, first, he had to master the orb. Just like how when drawing you had to do circles first. Circle. Orb.
Ooorb. Yep.
The controlled application of ice. The evenness of the internal patterns. The solidity, density, and durability.
His orb was… not very orblike, despite what Frostbite said. Frostbite probably thought he was making so flat on purpose.
Yeah. He was terrible at this.
He was having fun, though.
.
.
(Furnace)
“You’re taking up glass blowing?” asked Tucker, surprised.
“Yeah? Is there a problem?” asked Danny, reaching over to stop his friend from accidentally drawing a line of orange sharpie across his poster on the themes in Macbeth.
“No!” said Tucker, quickly. “But, like, why? It just seems… unlike you.”
“Exactly,” said Danny, nodding sharply. “It has absolutely nothing to do with my powers and nothing to do with my family. Plus, I had a coupon.”
“For glass blowing?”
“It was a groupon,” said Danny. “For making Christmas tree ornaments. I’m going to do it with Jazz.”
“But, Danny,” said Sam, looking over from where she was working on her own poster about Twelfth Night, “glass blowing, uh, involves a lot of heat.”
“Sure?”
��Danny, you have an ice core.”
“Ah,” said Danny. “Well. I’ve got to use that groupon. If it doesn’t work out, it’s only the once, right?”
.
“Oh my gosh,” said Danny, wringing sweat out of his t-shirt. “That was awesome!” He giggled to himself and peaked into the annealer again. “So awesome!”
“Uh huh,” said Jazz. Her attempts had been… rather less successful than Danny’s, partially because she was trying so hard to make them perfect. But she had managed a few little baubles, nonetheless. “I think these’ll all be good for the tree. Assuming we get one.”
“And it isn’t set on fire.”
“Oh, yeah, that was a bad year.”
He squeaked open the annealer again, only closing it when the instructor lightly scolded him. “They’re so terrible and lopsided,” said Danny.
“Hey,” said Jazz. “Mine are fine.”
“I know! I was talking about mine.”
“Ah, okay then. I agree.”
“You aren’t supposed to agree.”
“What, you want me to lie? And after you said it first?”
“No,” said Danny. “But you could be nicer about it.”
“I’m your sister, what do you expect?”
.
.
(Lung Capacity)
Danny let the last note trail off to complete silence. He stared apprehensively at the assembled student body. Curse Mr. Lancer’s extra credit talent show assignment. Any minute now, they’d start laughing at him.
What was he thinking? He’d just watched a few YouTube tutorials on breath control, and he thought he could come up here and sing in front of people? He was a moron, and—
Sam and Tucker started cheering wildly, followed rapidly by everyone else in the gym.
Okay. What?
Sam and Tucker, following impulses known only to overexcited teenagers, swarmed up the stage and attacking Danny.
“Why didn’t you tell us you could sing like that?” demanded Sam.
“When did you learn?” asked Tucker, doing his level best to noogie Danny. “Why did you learn?”
“I wanted to improve my, you know, wail,” muttered Danny, “and all the breath control YouTube videos either had to do with diving or singing, so…” He did a little head wiggle to illustrate his point and also dislodge Tucker.
“I just can’t believe you kept this a secret from us,” said Sam.
Danny snorted and took a sort of half bow before attempting to leave the stage. “My dudes, I am basically made of secrets.”
“Encore!” screamed someone who clearly hated him.
“Oh, no,” said Danny, bracing himself against Sam and Tucker who were pushing him back into the middle of the stage. “No encore. I don’t do encores.”
But now people were chanting. Chanting.
“Come on, Danny,” said Tucker. “Just once!”
“Yeah, these are your fifteen minutes of fame!”
“I had those already! Multiple times!”
“That was Poindexter.”
“And now it can be you.”
Danny reluctantly took the microphone back off the stand.
.
.
(Letterhead)
The ink was thick, almost creamy, and paint-like. It was the ectoplasm mix, which also gave it a rich, rosy glow.
Danny was practicing ghost calligraphy. Well, one particular subset of ghost calligraphy, one which put special emphasis on the color of the letters as well as how they fit together.
It was a totally useless hobby. But it was… not exactly calming. No. He’d gotten way too angry about poorly formed arcs and crooked lines a couple of times. So. Yeah. Not calming. But… meditative. Meditative. And there was something satisfying about seeing the finished product.
Plus, if he framed his better finished work, they made for good presents for weirdo ghosts.
“You misspelled this,” drawled Ghost Writer.
“No, I didn’t.”
“Keuwii only has one kei.”
“This is only one kei.”
“What’s this, then?”
“It’s a flourish.”
“A flourish.”
Danny rolled his eyes. “Everyone’s a critic. If you don’t want it—”
“I didn’t say that.”
Danny raised an eyebrow.
Ghost Writer made a show of rolling his eyes. “Very well. Do you have one for my half-brother Randy. Perhaps one that says something along the lines of ‘idiot?’”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
.
.
(Babies on Fire)
“Danny,” said Jazz. “What are you doing up at three in the morning with a lighter? And… yarn? Is that yarn?”
“Dad wanted me to learn how to sew,” said Danny, “but I don’t like needles, not the sharp ones, anyway.”
“You get stitches every other week,” pointed out Jazz.
“Exactly,” said Danny, gesturing with the lighter. “So, I decided to look into, you know, knitting. And I was on knitting websites, and having, you know, a pretty good time with that, but then I found out about the babies.”
“The babies.”
“The babies,” said Danny, seriously. “And the blankets that are on fire. It depends on the yarn, you see. If the yarn is the wrong kind of yarn, if it catches on fire, the blanket can melt onto the baby. It’s terrible. Just terrible.”
“I kind of think that if the blanket is on fire you have bigger problems,” said Jazz. She took a step closer to her obviously insane younger brother. “Are you… testing the yarn?”
“I have to, Jazz. It’s for the babies.”
“Alright,” said Jazz. “You are going to limit it to just the yarn in our house, right?”
“But we don’t have any babies.”
“Okay, that didn’t answer my question, but, like…” She pinched the bridge of her nose. “Since we don’t have any babies here, why are you testing the yarn?”
“Because we might have babies here in the future,” said Danny. “Or I might knit something and give it to someone as a gift and then they give it to their baby. Oh my gosh, I’d feel so guilty.”
“I’d be more worried about the toxic waste in our basement,” said Jazz, which was exactly the wrong thing to say to a sleep-deprived half-ghost on the edge of an Obsession-fueled breakdown. Danny vanished in a blur, trailing yarn behind him. Jazz, who had only gotten up for a glass of water, cursed under her breath.
.
.
(Before the Ball)
“I’m so, so sorry, Dora,” said Danny, holding back something adjacent to laughter.
Dora laughed, more openly. “It is fine, Sir Phantom. Even now, you are better than my brother.”
“Am I really? Your brother? Who was raised to do this?”
“Well,” said Dora, letting go and stepping back out of the range of Danny’s feet. Which were, evidently, both left feet. “No, I’m afraid, but it is amusing to say, isn’t it?” She pressed her fingers to her lips, suppressing more laughter.
“Yeah, it is,” admitted Danny.
“In any case, you are far more graceful concerning your mistakes than he ever was. More gallant. A better representative of chivalry altogether.” She patted the shoulders of his shirt.
“Thanks,” said Danny. “Do you think that I’ll be, uh, ready in time for the party?”
“It’s more than a party,” said Dora. “You’re being officially knighted. You’ll be a peer of the realm.”
“Aha,” said Danny. “Yeah. I don’t… what? Really? That’s a thing?”
“You thought I was joking?”
“No,” said Danny, drawing out the word. He had, in fact, thought she was joking and only accepted her offer to teach him how to dance because he thought it sounded like fun and like it might take his mind off his problems. “Of course not. So. Dancing. Important. For first impressions?”
“Everyone already knows you, Phantom,” said the knight assigned as Dora’s bodyguard. “But dancing is surprisingly useful for swordplay. Which you need all the help you can get at.”
“You said I was getting better.”
“That doesn’t mean you’re good.”
“Ouch.”
.
.
(Time)
“I don’t have time for a hobby,” complained Danny through the Fenton Phones. “Maybe if the ghosts let up a bit—” He zapped one of said ghosts.
“Danny, are you fighting ghosts right now?”
“Yeah. That’s my point.”
“Oh my god, get off the phone.”
“No way! This is the only time I can call you, what with all of your classes.”
“Danny…” said Jazz, clearly exasperated. He took advantage of the lull in the conversation to blast a few more ghosts.
“I’m fine Jazz.”
“You are not fine. You are, like, ten thousand miles away from fine. When was the last time you even slept through the night?”
“Eh,” said Danny. “Recently?”
“You need to take more time for yourself.”
Danny sighed and captured the last ghost. “Maybe catching ghosts is my hobby.”
“Catching ghosts is your self-imposed penance for doing something that isn’t even your fault. Not a hobby.”
“Okay, okay. I’ll talk to you on Wednesday, same time.”
“Danny, don’t—”
He hung up.
“Ugh,” said Danny. “I guess I need to find a hobby. Have to find time to find a hobby.”
“Perhaps I could be of help.”
“Ah!” Danny jolted forward, dropping his phone.
Clockwork gestured with one hand, and the phone dropped back into Danny’s hands from above.
“Ohhh my ghost, why are you here?”
“You were just talking about finding time. And now I’m here.”
“Good timing, I guess?”
“Only the best,” said Clockwork, evenly. “But we were speaking of hobbies. Might I suggest ice sculpture? Your friends in the Far Frozen would be more than happy to teach you...”
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Plat!Yan!Chrollo x Autistic!Reader x Plat!Yan!PT - Soulmate AU Part 5
The final part is finally here! It did manage to delete itself a couple of times, but I was finally able to recover it! I really hope you can enjoy this end to the series!
As always, this idea was inspired by the lovely @kiame-sama! I have no traditional education in writing, so any and all advice is appreciated!
Requests will be opening shortly after this goes up, I'm just writing up some final rules!
Hope you enjoy reading!
-----
Night had fallen over the city by the time you were left alone.
You could feel your heart pounding through your body, scared beyond reason by the insane situation you found yourself in.
It seemed to have become a theme in the past few days, carefully setting forth a plan only to be thrown into some absolute catastrophe.
Over the course of the day, you had been dragged around to many random people, security workers and police officers all asking you questions and getting irate when you couldn't tell them everything. Some of them had tried to be kinder to you, speaking in lower tones and going slower, but they were all showed that they were upset when you refused certain details.
You couldn't tell them now, but all you wanted was to keep them safe, hoping that your soulmate would take mercy on them if you were found now. Marnie had been kind enough to keep you company through the entire day, though she wasn't the nicest either, and she had been the last one you saw when she dropped you off at this meagre hotel.
It was a large, cement high rise building on a dimly-lit street, with cheap furniture that probably didn't even get washed between visitors. When you first considered trying to sleep, you found that the blankets were made of scratchy, harsh material that made your whole body cringe away in disgust. That wasn't even to note that they were too light and thin to provide you with any comforting weight.
Anyone would think that you had no more tears to spare today, but as you finally sat on the worn-down chair, you began to choke up with stress. You had heard many counselors and friends say that anxiety could be much like droplets in a bucket, slowly building up in the mind until it could burst into tears, but you had never thought that you would feel stress as immense as this.
There was no need to move right now, you could just cry and choke on your breath, and there was almost something comforting about the all of the emotion of the moment.
That peace that you were trying to enjoy as you sobbed was quickly broken by a new voice in the room.
"(Y/N). I'm sorry."
With a sharp gasp, you looked up to find the intruder, only to see Jo leaned against the far wall of your room. They were looking at you, apologetically staring with sadness in their expression.
"I didn't - I didn't predict that there would be an issue with the airship. Now they've found you." They continue to speak with almost ominous tone, voicing their concern with a tired sigh.
They've found you? Your soulmate? Already? Who were these people, and why were they so obsessed with finding you?
As if you hadn't been overwhelmed enough, Jo had truly decided to drop a bombshell on you at this moment. In utter confusion, you looked towards your friend for any explanation.
Jo sighed again, looking away with despair, "They're minutes away as we speak. We can't run or fight." They paused again, contemplating as they look at you with a soft expression, "I - I don't know what to do."
-----
"Alright! This is where (Y/N)'s being held!" Shalnark's cheery voice rang out through the dark street, cutting through the tense atmosphere surrounding the other Troupe members.
"Would you like one of us to accompany you inside?" Pakunoda asked Chrollo, who stood closest to the building's doors.
The Troupe leader sighed as he turned towards his friend, his expression dropping at her question. He could understand the obsession that the rest of his subordinates had for his soulmate, but he knew that he had to be the first one to see his (Y/N) in person.
They had all seen your little friend sneak in through the window of your room, and Chrollo knew that he wanted the joy of getting rid of them himself. Pakunoda watched his expression carefully, and quickly stepped back, as if to give up on her own question, knowing better than to irritate her boss further.
The remaining members on the scene all took a step back, allowing Chrollo the freedom to enter the building, with a silent promise that no one would be leaving or entering while they stood guard.
-----
To both Chrollo and Jo, there was a deafening silence in this moment. Chrollo stood in the doorway of the small hotel room, not even glancing at his rival, as his eyes were immediately fixated on his soulmate, now finally sat before him.
To you, still sat between these two, there was not quite a silence, as you could hear the soft hum of old electrics hidden in the walls of this dingy place, almost comforting in the face of such intimidating auras.
"(Y/N)!" Chrollo's voice cut through the room, overflowing with joy as he stared at you. He had known that he would be happy in this moment when he could finally lay his own eyes on you, but he could have never predicted the way his heart would twist and flip with bliss in your mere presence.
That bliss was quickly cut off by Jo stepping in front of you, though their breath was shaky with fear at the prospect of fighting in your presence. The second that they had stepped out, Chrollo's expression darkened, as he immediately allowed his aura to flash out, quickly met by Jo's in an equal amount.
Not wanting to hesitate for a moment, Chrollo drew his knife and summoned his book, ready to kill at a moment's notice.
"I let you run once, I think you should be grateful for that, you little pest." His voice had a threatening tone, and though he wouldn't admit it, he almost hoped that Jo would run scared, so that he wouldn't have to kill them.
Against his hopes, your valiant guardian stood firm, though they were shaking just slightly. It was no secret that Chrollo would win this fight, Jo was heavily out of practice and stressed from days without sleep, and Chrollo would stop at nothing to reach his treasured soulmate.
"Wait." Your voice was hushed in the tense atmosphere.
-----
The Troupe had begun to worry when there was no sign of their boss for nearly 15 minutes, especially given that there hadn't been any sign of violence from within your room.
"Do you think that the boss got ambushed?" Shizuku wondered aloud, not expressing any real anxiety just yet.
"I do not think boss would get ambush that easy." Feitan was more suspicious of the silence, knowing that Chrollo had been very cautious when entering the hotel.
They continued to wait outside of the building, patiently watching every possible exit. Only a few members of the Troupe were here to see the new soulmate, with the rest searching the city for a decent place to keep you temporarily.
"Oh, look!"
Their heads quickly swiveled to the doorway, watching with a level of shock as Chrollo stepped out of the hotel, holding a new figure very close to his side. This new person was hunched, as if on the verge of pulling away from his touch, and was anxiously tugging at something in their hands.
Most of the members present recognized the sweet face of the sought after soulmate, and those who hadn't seen them before promptly caught on. However, that didn't clear up any confusion among the members.
"What happened to their friend? Did you kill them?" Shizuku was once again the first to break the silence, making you flinch at the bold and brash question.
Chrollo was swift in shutting down further questions, pulling you towards the getaway car, before suddenly telling everyone else to leave.
"Everything has been sorted, I'll tell you the details later. Where are we staying?" Chrollo was incredibly brief, a sharp tone to his voice that most Troupe members only heard after they almost botched a mission.
"There's a hotel in the city center that works for the mafia, we've booked you a couple of rooms!" Shalnark tried to walk over towards the car, wanting answers to this whole situation like the others. However, the quick spike in his boss' aura put him off immediately from that idea.
"Good. Send me the details, and I'll contact one of you tomorrow sometime." Once again, the Troupe leader sounded just slightly angered, a great change from his usual demeanor.
Chrollo quickly stepped into the car, breaking his anger for just a moment to glance at you with a soft smile.
"Don't worry about a thing, dear. Thank you so much for working with me here." He quickly began driving, shooting towards the new hotel and away from your friend's solemn gaze in the window.
"We've got our whole lives ahead of us now. Don't think about them too much."
-----
"Wait." Your voice was hushed in the tense atmosphere.
No amount of breathing exercises could have kept you calm in that moment, but you knew that there was no other option in this situation.
"I'll - I'll go with you. Chrollo." You surrendered yourself with fear, wanting to be careful with how you worded every part of this.
As both of their gazes fell on you, every nerve in your body felt as if it froze up, not wanting to speak another word, but knowing you had to.
"If I can prevent one of you from dying, I'd rather end this situation without a fight."
These two were supposed to be the closest people to your heart in the whole world. Jo, your oldest friend who had always protected you from what you couldn't understand in this world, and Chrollo, your destined soulmate, the one that the universe itself claimed would be the greatest friend that you could ever have.
You had understood since you were young that you wouldn't often be able to truly affect the world around you, always to slow to catch on or say something, but in this moment you could save someone you love, so you had to do something.
"(Y/N), no! Don't be stupid for me!" Jo was quick to interject, evidently trying to drag you back to your senses.
"I think it's their choice to make." Chrollo's deeper voice rang out through the room, reverberating through what felt like your whole body, a soft smirk appearing on his features.
"Look. I..." You trailed off, almost not ready to be so bold in what you were going to say next, "I want to keep both of you safe, and, well, from where I stand, the best way to do that is to end this... peacefully."
"Well then, come here." With his small smirk growing into a wide grin, Chrollo opened his arms just slightly, welcoming you in.
You felt almost to weak to stand, and as you did many times when you felt weak in the past, you looked to Jo.
"I won't stop you, I mean, I can't." They spoke after a brief pause, "But this is the wrong decision."
Although your heart was pained by their words, you knew that you had to take this next step on your own, for their own safety.
So, with shaky strides as Jo stepped to the side, you moved towards Chrollo, right into his waiting arms. As soon as you were close enough, he pulled you in tight to his chest, not letting you see the evil grin he sent Jo's way.
"Let's go, dear, everyone's waiting."
With all that had happened, you felt a lot less need to hold back your tears.
-----
Thanks for reading!
#hxh#hunter x hunter#yandere#yandere hxh#chrollo#yandere chrollo#phantom troupe#yandere phantom troupe#shizuku#pakunoda#shalnark#feitan#autistic reader#x reader#original character#hxh x reader#gender neutral reader
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Title: first meetings [ii. the small pink-haired boy]
Genre: just angst, drama, romance, historical fiction
Pairing: Sorcerer!Sukuna x gn!sorcerer!reader (heian era; pre-curse sukuna)
Synopsis: in which you befriend the slave boy you’re supposed to spy on.
Warnings: not canon stuff, future dark themes,, smoll manga spoilers, slavery, whipping, mentions of rape, language and violence
Notes: im kinda back i guess skksks also these are pretty much random au’s of my own take of sukuna’s back story uwu, theyre arranged in no particular order and you can read them in any order. This started out as a random one shot and i couldnt get it out of my head lol ksksksks, def not canon btw but it is canon that sukuna used to be an all powerful sorcerer before he turned to the dark side or smthng.
lil dictionary:
non-person- usually what they called slaves during the heian era.
masterlist [for other parts] ;; taglist
“That’s beautiful.”
Contrasting to your rather clean and prestigious appearance, the young boy was dressed in rags and had dirt painted on his face. You could tell by his uncommon red eyes that he didn’t want you here nor did he even want to be associated with you.
“...the boy is rather prideful.” your otosan recounted a few nights before, you’d usually have conversations like this since you were quite close with him and he did like to confide you with these things,“but he has spirit, he’d be good for a ward.”
“What are you doing here?” He spat, being a part of and the sole heir of your family meant you were also treated with dignity and respect, it seemed like this boy wasn’t afraid of anything or anyone, this made you grin wildly much to his disdain, “Oi, stop grinning like that. You’re creeping me the fuck out.”
“I’m Y/N.”
“And I don’t care.”
“Has anyone told you that you’ve got quite the temper?”
“Well, has anyone told you that you’re being an annoying bitch?” he bit back, five minutes into your first meeting, this strange boy seemed to want to get furthest away from you. He seemed to be rather ignorant to his overflowing cursed energy, your father was right, this boy was definitely no joke.
“That’s sad.” You pouted, “All I wanted to say was how beautiful that Kimono is.”
“I was at a store, looking for some clothes that best suited you when I saw a young boy of your age…” your otosan narrated, “Who had a rather high cursed energy, he seemed unaware with it. He works as an errand boy, I believe, he carries heavy clothes and silk… His looks are hard to miss Y/N, so I’m sure you won’t miss him...try to talk to him…”
The boy looks up to you, completely annoyed, “Well, you said it. Now fuck off, yeah?”
You chose to ignore him and just bend down to his level, you had no training for today so you might as well join the boy for a moment since you had time to kill, “You know, if you keep keeping that attitude up, you might scare the customers away.” you mumbled, loud enough for him to hear.
“Yeah?” he clicked his tongue, “Looks to me that you aren’t even here to buy anything.”
“He seemed rather…” Your otosan described, “perplexed...so you might as well go in my stead…”
“Ah.” your grin doesn’t seem to fade despite his rather rough way of speaking, “You just seemed around my age so I got interested.”
“No shit, now buzz off. I got no time for kids like you.”
He talks as if he was older than you, it’s no surprise. Boys like him tend to think they know quite a lot.
“Do you wish to tell me your name now?”
He was silent for a moment.
That’s when realization dawned upon you, why he seemed perplexed around your otosan, why he thinks you were an annoying buzz, and why he couldn’t reply when you asked for his name. You feel yourself inwardly cringe at your mistake, it seems like the boy your father took interest in is a slave with no name, “Twenty.” he mumbles, shrugging nonchalantly.
“What?”
“They call me twenty.” he recounts, his voice is still rough around the edges, remaining uncensored by his identity.
“Right…” you tilt your head, “Twenty…”
“You’ve got silks to bring to the next town, boy!” a loud voice calls out, cutting you short, making the pink-haired boy put the pretty kimono down and back for display. Without even sparing you a glance or a word, he retreats to the back and you’re left squatting there alone. You watch him from behind, specifically at the bandages that peeked through his wrists.
The boy had piqued your interest to the point that you made it your weekly agenda to visit him and a-some-nights agenda to watch over him. He still ignores you and seems to be annoyed by you every time but he doesn’t seem to be doing anything about it so you just sit there.
You were also still in awe by how much raw energy he possessed, you’d ask your otosan if he knew any sorcerers with lost children because it surely seemed as if this boy wasn’t ordinary.
“Just keep an eye on him,” was all your father said as you watch the boy close up shop late at night from on top of a roof, “He might make a great sorcerer and shift the tides.”
Your otosan was not one for gambling on people but it seemed like he made a large bet on this boy.
As usual, you’re watching over him close up. It’s late and the owner of the place walks out, a pipe on his lips. Right then and there, he slaps the pink-haired teenager right at the face, “You should’ve joined the customer awhile ago in the dressing room, boy.” he growls, “It would’ve been quick…”
You feel the negative energy emit stronger than ever and your grip on your knife is tight, “Don’t get involved, Y/N.” your otosan’s warning echoes in your head, yes your otosan may have been interested in him but he was never one to dwell in human affairs, saying they were annoying and a mess to clean up.
“...It seems like the lesson a few nights ago wasn’t enough.” you snap back to reality and watch his boss stretch out a whip with its pointy ends and you feel your blood run cold.
‘Don’t get involved-’
You ignore your otosan’s words in your head and throw a stone right at a nearby sign, resulting in a booming clang, making the cat nearby yelp outloud. The pink-haired boy jumps on the spot and so does the older man at the sound.
“Ah fucking-” the older man curses, tucking the whip back in, “No food for you for three days. Know your fucking worth, non-person.”
Your grip on your nodachi lessens as you let out a sigh of relief, whatever legal terms your father must be talking about needs to be done quickly.
On the next day, you’re on your way to visit him again. Carrying the bento box that you know he’ll refuse again because of his ‘pride’ yet you stop dead on your tracks when you find his owner and an older man talking, Sukuna seems to be standing behind them, looking quite uncomfortable.
It didn’t take two and two to guess what was going on, the amount of cursed energy leaking on him was strong so you could only guess this was the man who wanted to get his way on him yesterday. Your nose crinkles in absolute disgust, “Don’t get involved-”
Once again, you ignore your otosan’s words.
“Hey!” You call out, you see his red eyes widen, “What are you doing?”
The older man frowns at your sudden appearance, “None of your business brat. Now go home-”
“I said,” You repeated, your voice dangerously low, “What are you doing to him?”
“He’s a non-person, kid.” his ‘owner’ growls, you notice his hands dangerously close to his whip, “A fucking slave in simpler terms, now get the fuck out before I beat him and you.”
“You don’t scare me.” Your eyes are narrowed, truthfully, no one ever scares you. You were the heir of your clan. It was to be expected and drilled since your curse energy manifested when you were five that fear would come last, “Now unhand the boy.”
“This bitch-”
“Now, now.” The other man smiles, cutting the pink-haired boy’s ‘owner’ off, “Maybe I can take that young child with me too. After all, they seem to be good friends. Two is better than one…”
You watch the other older man snake an arm on the young boy’s shoulder and you could feel the fear leaking out, it was harder to mask and hide now.
“Is it alright to put a little scar on’em? So that they’d know-” He gets ready to take out the whip while your fists are clenched, this would be easy. You could get away with this later, at least you’d take the boy away from this place and help him control his energy after.
Yet before you’re able to land a blow, the pink-haired boy yells at you to move as his ‘owner’ takes out a whip to whip you.
For someone who didn’t seem to like your presence, he was rather quick to defend you, having his face get hit in the process by the sharp whip. Your eyes widen in surprise, “Ah, shit… Y/N, run!” he yells but you’re staring at his very bloody face.
It would obviously leave marks like the wrists and who knows which parts since he was always covered by that very loose raggedy kimono.
You clench your fists tightly and look up from his blood features, the ‘owner’ stops on his tracks when he meets your very cold gaze, “Do you know who you just messed with?” you asked, “You really think I won’t tell my otosan that you planned to make me your prostitute?”
“Y-Y/N, jesus christ just fucking run-” he tried to stutter out, any evidence of the prideful and strong boy who tried to shoo you away was now gone.
Yet like the stubborn child you are, you ignore him and instead take out your family seal and drop it in front of them, ignoring the pink-haired boy’s plea’s and watching the two men in front of you turn white as a ghost as they see the nameplate, “My name is Ryomen Y/N.” You stated, voice loud and clear, “And you better hope that I’ll let you out here dead or me and my otosan will hunt you down for the rest of your life.”
taglist [if your name is crossed out, i cant tag you!]
@shinhiromi ;; @hcn421 ;; @airybnb ;; @coldbookworm ;; @kristineyoshaii ;; @frankenstein852
@iguessimastannnow
#jujutsu kaisen imagines#jujutsu kaisen fanfiction#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jujutsu kaisen#jjk imagines#jujutsu kaisen fanfic#sukuna x reader#jjk x reader#sukuna imagines
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I just read both the australia and museum post and the chaos levels are top tier, but like imagine the chaos that ensues if lord diavolo discovers about amusment parks and immediately just buys tickets to disneyland. Lucifer is basically the dad trying not to loose his children(lord diavolo included). Lord diavolo wanting to ride a loopy rollercoaster and just having the time of his life! (Also I highkey see diavolo ordering lucifer to make a disneyland in devildom tbh) Also mouse ear headbands!
This..... this took forever
Hey there anon! Sorry it took literally a year to answer this! If you’re still into Obey Me, I hope this was a pleasant surprise.
Also for the first time ever a scenario post is being put under the cut for length purposes. This scenario is 2.6k words Jesus
Please note that the last time I went to Disney was in 2015, so anything that’s newer than that is taken from the extensive reading of Disney advice blogs I read in preparation for this post. Anything older than that is likely from experience.
Also, I tried my best to keep this spoiler free for the attractions that can be affected by it.
--
So the Devildom DOES have the concept of amusement parks. I slept on this ask for so long that we’ve learned about Devil’s Coast. It seems to be more akin to a smaller-scale theme park, though. Small-ish. I’m used to NYC idk what constitutes as small.
Something like Disney World is on such a larger scale!! When Diavolo heard about that, he knew they had to go.
They are going to Disney World in Orlando because it’s the only one I’ve been to.
Lucifer is REALLY getting tired of these field trips, but there would be no weird animals, and there would be no sobering lessons on global extinction events at a family-friendly amusement park. He. He can handle this.
Solomon has actually been banned from all Walt Disney theme parks. We’re talking blacklist-level banned. He’s barred from ever entering any Disney park ever again. However, this was back in 1976, so this must be, like, his son or something, right? There’s no way this is the same guy. Thought the security guard who let him in.
What did Solomon do to get banned? When asked, he only gave a curious hum. “Yeah, I wonder.”
The place is split into four parks, so they’ll spend one day in each.
Barbatos continued to flex his power as the only one in the group with a brain cell, being sure to get them all fast passes. He even set time back just for the passes while they were booking the rides they wanted to cut the lines for, so if they don’t get used he’s going to be very snippy.
Also for convenience sake this is taking place in an AU where everything is the same but COVID doesn’t exist to shut down some rides and attractions.
Day 1: Hollywood Studios
MC and Simeon basically have to coerce Lucifer into letting everyone run free instead of making them all line up with a walking rope all day. He relents on the condition that everyone checks in periodically so he can at least know they haven’t killed anyone.
Nobody will check in except for maybe Beelzebub and those at Purgatory Hall.
Levi immediately gathered his fellow Star Wars fans (which basically meant calling over Mammon Belphie and Asmo and then pulling in two unsuspecting people suddenly given the title of “Star Wars fan”), and made a beeline for Galaxy’s Edge. There’s a LOT to do there and damn it if he wasn’t going to hit all of it.
First up for their group is the interactive Millennium Falcon Smuggler’s Run. They fail the mission. Levi’s pretty pissed, but everyone agrees that it was fun nonetheless. They really felt like they were doing a mission in the Falcon! Plus, the gameplay element was totally up the alley of most of this group. Simeon does feel a little nauseous from Luke’s jerky steering, though.
Did you know that Diavolo loves Toy Story? He does. He’s very much enjoying the Slinky roller coaster with Barbatos.
Barbatos would rather be spending time at the shows and performances, but oh no god forbid we don’t get an autograph from Doc McStuffins. Lucifer please come find him and save him.
Lucifer somehow wandered into the Frozen Sing-Along Celebration. He wants out. Barbatos please come find him and save him.
In general, Lucifer isn’t a fan of these sorts of places, so honestly he’s just hiding from the others and waiting for today to be over. Barbatos told him that there are parks that don’t revolve around rides and characters, and he’s holding out for those.
Luckily for them Diavolo wants to do LITERALLY everything, and that does include the shows, so Barbatos and Lucifer can have at least some fun today
Levi, Asmo, and Beel are about to start their relay for getting character autographs when Satan shows up out of nowhere and starts dragging everyone over to the Tower of Terror. Solomon bars all attempts to flee on a certain Avatar of Greed’s side.
The line to the Tower is so long, and honestly? Satan feels like the ride didn’t live up to the literal hour they waited to get on. Like yeah it was fun, but way too short.
He voices those thoughts, and Levi, who Satan knows is afraid of heights, is pretty fucking livid and drags him to Rock n Rollercoaster as revenge. Satan hates roller coasters.
As for the others, Asmo and Luke have a lot of fun on the thrill rides. Mammon and Simeon do not. Beel is a little spooked by them but still manages to have fun, while Belphie and Solomon think they’re alright.
Eventually, Simeon gets too sick to move, and they assign him to Luke. They say it’s because he’s too short to ride some of the rides (even though he’s literally not, screw you guys.)
Barbatos messes with time a lil bit so they can enjoy the Fantasmic Show and Fireworks to wrap the day up.
Levi is very jealous of Diavolo’s Doc McStuffins autograph. Somehow Asmo has Buzz Lightyear’s number.
Day 2: Animal Kingdom
Satan is vibrating
He literally instantly sprints to the Kilimanjaro Safari. And good for him; that’s something best done while the sun isn’t high up. The whole gang actually agrees to check that one out, and while Satan isn’t thrilled to be within 50 feet of Lucifer, he’s glad Simeon is there because he remembers how his presence lured animals out in Australia.
Simeon also finds himself pulled along the trails by Satan and parents watch in horror as a gorilla gives him a friendly pat on the back.
If you didn’t know, Animal Kingdom is divided into the two continents of Asia and Africa, as well as the secret eighth continent Avatar (2009). Diavolo heard great things about the Flight of Passage ride, but he totally forgot to tell Barbatos about it, so they’re stuck on a three hour wait line now.
Levi takes Luke on the Everest roller coaster because Simeon saw it in the distance and looked like he was about to cry. Levi wouldn’t shut up about how the yeti effect needs to be fixed and Solomon had to explain that the effect literally couldn’t support itself.
Simeon, having escaped a roller coaster for the first and only time on this trip, grabs lunch with Lucifer and Solomon and they enjoy the Lion King performance together. Solomon’s the only one of them who’s seen the movie, but the others still found it fun. Solomon keeps making up random plot points that don’t exist, though. Remember when Simba was captured by pirates?
Mammon found the Bugs Life show very scary. Normally Asmo would laugh at him, but he’s afraid of any bug he’s never seen before and at least Mammon was afraid of the things that were supposed to get you. They agree that bugs are still not their friends.
Satan has many things to say about the Dinosaur ride and most of them aren’t good. Belphie thought it was pretty ok, though. Lucifer can’t believe there was a sobering lesson on a global extinction event at this family-friendly amusement park.
Diavolo is still in line. Barbatos abandons him. He accompanies Luke to the kiddie fossil thing and actually finds it more tolerable. Oh yeah that’s the other secret ninth continent, Dinoland.
Beel and Belphie spend most of the day together at the various petting zoos. Belphie comes back knowing more than he ever wanted to about conservation. He thought Rafiki’s Planet Watch was going to be about watching other planets, not this one!
Asmo gets very interested in the costumes of the performers, as well as the parrots in the bird show. He could probably make some really colorful designs with those as inspiration.
Nearby, Mammon runs into Kevin and squawks in surprise. The zoo staff spend the next two hours trying to find the bird that escaped.
Diavolo says the ride was worth it, don’t worry.
Honestly this park has a lot of stuff that wouldn’t translate well to a funny scenario post so this part might be a little short compared to the others. I can only talk about a zoo for so long.
Anyone remember the Honey I Shrunk the Kids 4D show? Apparently it closed in 2016 to make room for more Star Wars stuff.
Anyway, at the center of it all there’s the Tree of Life, which is really pretty all day. Lucifer is thrilled to have a decently obvious meet-up place, too. They get to catch the brief awakening show at night.
They’re very bummed to learn the Rivers of Light show isn’t happening anymore, so Levi pulls it up on his phone so they can watch it in spirit.
Then Satan learns about the Wilderness Explorers badges and the others spend the rest of the time preventing too much collateral damage over the fact that nobody told him.
Day 3: Epcot
Finally, Lucifer thinks. Boo, Luke thinks.
Beel didn’t expect this park to be that interesting to him (he’s much more into the wonder and immersion of Hollywood Studios and Magic Kingdom), but then he learned about the restaurants. China, Norway, France, Mexico, Germany, Morocco, Italy, Japan, Canada--Canada? Huh. Canada. There’s so many different restaurants from so many cuisines to try, and yeah he knows that it’s definitely not the same as going to the place and it’s overpriced (sorry Lucifer), but it’s all right there. He makes certain to take MC on a deluxe Epcot restaurant tour.
Oh yeah MC. That’s the first time we’ve heard from them in a while. They’re doing whatever you want them to I guess.
Levi buys so much from the Japanese gift shops that he has to go back to the hotel for a bit to drop his bags off.
Satan and Diavolo aren’t much better, but their stashes are more varied.
Also, Diavolo found Mouse Gear, and bought everyone a pair of ears. Lucifer says that everyone has to keep them on because it’s what Lord Diavolo wants, but he is by far the most upset about them. Mammon snaps a picture and Lucifer throws his DDD into the lake.
Asmo and Belphie decide they’re gonna take it easy this day, and they nab Solomon and Barbatos for some exhibition hopping.
Luke finds Mission Space and please father no Simeon thought he was safe he thought he was safe here no please
Aside from that, though, Luke honestly finds this part of the park boring. He’d have been more interested in these attractions elsewhere, but as a kid he’s in Disney for roller coasters and Mickey Mouse.
Simeon is very grateful that Luke doesn’t have much that he wants to do, because it means that he can enjoy the Gran Fiesta and Living with the Land boat rides and have a single moment where he doesn’t feel like he’s about to be sick. He’s not even afraid of the rides; he just gets motion sick easily.
Asmo makes sure to see the Chinese acrobat show, and Mammon catches that with the show-hopping gang since there isn’t much he wants to do here either.
Epcot has alcohol and Solomon hasn’t been able to drink in ages so he really wants to spend some time doing that with MC. No demons allowed, thank you very much. He doesn’t hold his liquor as well as he’d like you to believe, but he just gets really talkative when drunk so it’s ok.
Epcot is a nice day to take a breather and Lucifer and Barbatos definitely needed a breather before tomorrow.
Day 4: Magic Kingdom
This is the day Diavolo has been waiting for. The crème de la crop, the best park for kids and kids in a future king of the Devildom’s body.
Also I feel like now is a good time to mention that this probably isn’t a reasonable order of events because I don’t remember the map layout of these places idk Disney city planning
This time. This time, Levi, Asmo and Beel are gonna get those autographs, dammit. Levi doesn’t even know who half of these characters are but hell if he’s not getting their autograph.
Mammon actually really loves the mascots too, but he’s embarrassed about it so he’ll only try to get one if he can use the guise of MC wanting one. MC, please help him out
Belphie isn’t big on rides, but he does have a soft spot for the more retro ones like Dumbo and Seven Dwarves. And like I said before, Beel loves Magic Kingdom for its wonder. So Belphie is perfectly happy being led (read: piggybacked) around by Beel today, because their favorite attractions match up pretty well here.
Actually, Beel’s favorite Disney movie is Lilo and Stitch, but. RIP Stitch’s Great Escape ride 2004-2018
Diavolo and Lucifer take a moment to enjoy the Carousel of Progress, and they reflect on how much the Human World is always changing and how much about it they still don’t know. It really does make them think, like. Grandma found the VR games at Christmas! The Devildom doesn’t have grandmas!
Mammon is terrified of the Haunted Mansion ride, and Satan has literally never felt so much schadenfreude in his life.
Mammon’s afraid of most rides to be fair, but he likes water rides, so Levi eventually takes pity on him and they go on Splash Mountain together more than once.
The Peter Pan ride broke down
Luke wanted to go on Space Mountain and Simeon was the only one around, so. RIP Simeon ????-2021
Diavolo was That Guy. If you know, you know.
Beel accidentally spun the teacups way too fast. Not even Solomon got out of that one unscathed.
Following that, Solomon manages to drag Barbatos onto the Jungle Cruise while Lucifer is busy. What is Lucifer busy with? Riding the Buzz Lightyear shooting ride over and over until he hits every single target and gets a perfect score at a Disney ride, something that is normal to want and possible to achieve. Anyway, Barbatos finds it really charming and Solomon finds it a nice break that he didn’t know he needed.
While looking for a food place that sells water for a reasonable price, a kid runs up to Asmo asking for a picture and autograph. He’s kind of confused, but goes along with it to make the kid happy.
Turns out, Asmo’s so naturally charming that they mistook him for a prince. Other groups see that family and follow suit. Mammon eventually catches wind of it and shows up to charge a fee. The parents are pretty sure Disney doesn’t charge fees like that, but their kids really want a pic with Asmo so they hand over the two bucks. (“Oh it’s so low” come on Mammon’s not a dick to children.)
And that’s the story of how Mammon and Asmo ended up in Disney Jail. You’re very much not allowed to pretend to be a cast member and then charge money for it. Lucifer has to bail them out as their “guardian,” and as punishment they aren’t allowed to opt out of It’s a Small World.
Small World isn’t that bad imho, and those like Diavolo, Satan, Simeon, and Levi would like it a lot. But Lucifer has been playing parent all day, Belphie does not like the noise, and Solomon has literally been on this ride at least fifty times. Very mixed feelings on this one, but it feels fitting to end with that and a fireworks show.
All in all though this wasn’t the worst trip Lucifer’s been on (cue everyone applauding for some reason).
Barbatos by far had the least fun of them all because for four days he was stuck in a park where the mascot is a fucking rodent and he wasn’t allowed to annihilate Mickey Mouse where he stood
“Disneyland Devildom when” “Lord Diavolo, no”
Masterlist
#obey me#obey me headcanons#obey me lucifer#obey me mammon#obey me leviathan#obey me satan#obey me asmodeus#obey me beelzebub#obey me belphegor#obey me diavolo#obey me barbatos#obey me luke#obey me simeon#obey me solomon#my favorite park is def epcot and my favorite ride is def splash mountain#also my sister helped me out by reminding me about animal kingdom but most of her photos were of random birds
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For malleus birthday heres an au; his darling is a fairy bride given as a birthday gift cos she was the princess of another fairy nation which wants to get on his good side. She wants to have a nice marriage with malleus but its hard not to feel afraid when the husband she just met is much bigger than her and knows that fairy wings are sensitive
As a Princess, it was your responsibility to go through great lengths to assure the safety of your people. So, even if you cower at the thought of marrying someone like the Great Malleus Draconia, you knew you had to stand your ground. Showing weakness and hesitation would lead to an immediate failure after all.
This marriage carries a lot of risk, should you fail to appeal to the eyes of this royalty could cost you everything, your whole kingdom, and yet your parents decided to grasp this opportunity by the thorns anyways.
It only showed you how much they trust your judgement, as they were willing to bet so much for their one daughter. The Draconian lineage was no joke after all, if everything goes well and your two nations joined forces, it’s not a far-off dream to say that it’ll become a terrifying allegiance, invincible to a fault.
If you could become the queen of this country with Malleus as the king, you’ll be able to sustain everything that your nation would’ve wanted. Thus, this was a fate that you deemed worth fighting for, why your family raised you to be perfect in every way and of course, you were already convinced that you’ll have to exceed far for those expectations.
This was your destiny, your purpose as the sole Princess of your country.
“Are you scared?”
Your very first introduction with him, an elegant tea party with only the two of you at the table, along with two of his retainers and your own from behind. Malleus Draconia started it off with a question that hit too close to home for you, but your smile never faltered. It must not, no matter what.
On his lips lies a relaxed smirk, his hands resting on his cheeks as his eyes never left your form. “...Scared of me, I wonder?” He asked, raising an eyebrow and yet, his eyes glows in a green spark of interest.
Closing your eyes, you placed your cup back on a plate with delicate manners and shook your head. “No.” You said, with a loud and clear voice as you smiled back at him. “I should not be.”
Malleus’ smirk widens as he hums, hinting that you must have chosen the correct answer. “It will be a bad habit for a wife to be scared of her husband, will it not?” You added as you brought the tea cup back to your lips, savoring the taste of the exquisite tea.
With a chuckle, Malleus leaned back on his chair. “I see...I suppose you have a point.” He said, closing his eyes but a satisfied expression had been painted on his handsome face. He looked back at you, a devious glint sparked within his eyes. “Hm, I like you. Clearly, you’re much more level-headed than the others I’ve met.”
Without a warning, he stood up from his seat and your eyes could only follow him as he went right beside you. “I care so little about my own date of birth, but this might just be the first time that I’ve gotten quite the eccentric present.” He said, right at your ear. His voice was so deep that it sent shivers down your spine, but you stubbornly kept up a straight face. “I’m interested to know more about you, (Y/N). I’ll make sure to treasure our time together.”
With his voice so close to your ears, you realized far too late when his fingers ran and traced over your back up to the outline of your wings, quickly capturing you off-guard. You widened you eyes, flinching ever-so slightly, and regrettably letting out a slight gasp as you turned around to face him. Malleus merely smiled at you, his eyes were dark and makes your stomach churn in uncomfortably. It almost felt like a child discovering a new function in his favorite toy, you could gulp at it. It was at this moment that you realized your position and quickly ceased your panic, smiling back at him almost immediately.
You wished he at least didn’t see that one trail of nervous sweat trailing down your forehead, but you seriously doubted it. “It would be an honor, Malleus-sama. Thank you very much. I will absolutely look forward for it.”
He chuckled, lifting his head up. “...And so would I.” Malleus ended, dusting off invisible dust on his suit as he gently tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. “Well then, I best be on my way. Until next time, (Y/N).”
“Of course.” You said with a smile that you noticed was getting weaker and weaker. Thankfully, Malleus and his retainers had already passed by your seat to even take note of. “I wish you the happiest birthday, Malleus-sama.”
It was like his ominous laughter echoed through your head, a faint version of it was all you could hear as the King slowly went on his merry way. It took your mind a solid minute for it to stop such an auditory hallucination, and finally, you were met back with silence. You could finally breathe properly.
“My Lady, are you okay?” Your retainer asked as you found yourself slowly gripping on the edge of the table tightly. It seems like giving yourself the freedom to breathe properly without any restrictions had you unconsciously sucking in too much air.It reached the point of hyperventilation, that you had to grasp your chest tight in order to keep yourself in order. You grit your teeth tight.
His presence alone was overwhelming.
But the constant worrisome voice of your servant had you snapping back to reality, it made you remember how you should be strong for people like her. As a Princess, you have no time to whine over your own fears. “...Y-Yes, just felt a slight heart burn, that’s all. I think I might’ve drank too much tea.” You reassured your servant with the same well-trained smile you put on. Your excuse caught her completely, though it escalated with her trying to contact the royal doctor for extra assistance, in which you had to use effort to prevent her from doing so.
Still, out of all the lies that you had said before, that one particular lie had manage to fill you with terror the most.
...He was wrong, you’re not level-headed at all. You were absolutely terrified and you wished you would’ve been more honest about it.
But again, as a Princess, fear would only slow you down and Malleus wouldn’t want a wife as fragile as that. You have to keep your plans for marriage as safe as possible, you can’t afford to lose! You can’t let it get in your way, it was your destiny to marry one of the strongest wizards in Twisted Wonderland after all. You have the qualifications, your whole nations rests around your shoulders.
...Though, unfortunately, it is also the destiny that you had come to fear the most.
Here’s the challenge I gave myself about Birthday Crums (or Yume Crumbs in general) : They have to be like, birthday themed lol and Yume has to make sure that they won’t be as long as a Sinfic (*´꒳`*) You know, like actual bite size pieces?
Either way, I’m bad at both, \(//∇//)\ An ask as interesting as this one could really qualify as Sinfic material, Yume was dying to write more about it, the potential, but I held back _:(´ཀ`」 ∠): FOR MALLEUS.
#twisted wonderland#yandere#yandere twisted wonderland#malleus draconia#yandere malleus draconia#Birthday Crumbs (Malleus)
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𝙎𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝗈𝖿 𝗟𝗼𝘃𝗲 | seven
Parings: CEO!Chris Hemsworth x Stripper!OC // Words: 7.8K // Type: Series // Taglist: Yes/No (Inbox me to be tagged or removed) Warnings: Sexual harassment, racial themes, discussions pertaining to child death, miscarriage, alcohol/drug use, and suicide attempts. Angst.
A/N: I'm so sorry for the inexcusable delay in updates. This chapter is hella long and perhaps should have been split into two, but I promised ya'll some answers in the last chapter, so here they are!
“What is that haircut?”
“Why are you zooming in?”
Kaya said nothing, continuing to pinch her fingers to gain a closer look, her smile widening by the second. “Holy shit, you weren’t kidding. “
Chris rolled his eyes. “All children go through phases.”
“This is beyond a phase, my friend. Don’t even get me started on the outfit.” As she erupted in yet another fit of giggles, he took advantage of the opportunity to snatch the iPad away from her.
“Go to sleep.”
Quieting herself down, she wiped at her eyes. “No. Come on. I’m enjoying this, and like you said, you were a dumb kid. How were you supposed to know these photos would haunt you till’ the end of time?”
“Only if they get out.”
“Don’t tempt me with a good time, sir.”
Chris closed the app and looked over at her. “What about you?”
Kaya’s brow lifted. “What about me?”
“What about your phases?”
She snorted. “Absolutely not.” He continued to stare her down, prompting her to cave, a surprising move even for her. Kaya’s tenacity was typically much stronger than that. “Fine.”
She grabbed her phone and unlocked it, opening Google Photos and scrolling mindlessly. She knew that any horrifically embarrassing snapshots would be from as far back as her library went. The older the photo, the higher the likelihood she would regret ever caving.
It took roughly two minutes for her to locate a set, her eyes shutting and a small moan leaving her partially closed mouth.
He smirked. “Found it?”
“Shut up.”
“I’ll take that as a yes.”
“You’re going to make me regret this, aren’t you?”
“Without a doubt.”
She couldn’t help it. She laughed. “At least you’re honest.” Blowing out a breath, she issued a formal forewarning. “In my defense, I was young and dumb.”
“How is that diff—fine, I will reserve my judgment.”
“Liar.” When he said nothing else, she took another deep breath and gradually pulled her phone away from her breast, twisting her wrist so that he could see the screen. “I give you, thebaddestputa69.”
She watched the corner of his lips lift upward as he fought off a smile in favor of a smirk. “Hotmail or aol?” Her surprise at his knowledge of the fallen email servers must have shown because he commented, “I’m old, not ancient.”
She matched his smirk and leaned over to whisper. “Hotmail. Definitely hotmail.”
“AIM username?”
“Come on, the same as my email. I wasn’t creative enough to have multiple aliases.”
He chuckled, grabbing her phone to examine the photo. “I certainly do not miss the peace sign era.”
“I’m pretty sure I used that same pose in all of my photos back then.”
He gestured to the plastered graphic that read ‘jealousy is a disease, get well soon’. “With the same masterful level of editing, I’m sure.”
“But of course, blingee and picnik were a staple.”
A comfortable silence befell them as he returned her phone, and she quickly swiped up to close the app. Kaya was grateful that he didn’t swipe right or left, something she was expecting him to do, if she was being completely honest with herself.
Kaya yawned and naturally laid her head on his shoulder as she reached over to grab the book she was reading when they somehow got on the topic of rebellious and wild phases of days of past.
“Are we th—”
“Finish that sentence, and I will personally throw you out of this damn plane myself.”
Kaya looked over at him, eyebrows furrowed, and mouth pronounced. “It’s a legitimate question.”
“No, it was a legitimate question. However, it stopped being one when you asked me the fifth time.”
“I’m just trying to keep the conversation going. Damn.”
“No, you’re just trying to pester me.”
“Look, it’s obvious you don’t want to hear me talk anymore, so I’m just going to shut my mouth for the remainder of the flight.” He snorted. “What?”
“We both know that’s not possible.” He finally broke his gaze from his phone as he looked over with that knowing smirk that she despised. “You always have to have the last word.”
“That is not true.”
“Kaya, you’re like a child.”
“Keep it up, and you’ll be the one who’s personally tossed from this jet.”
“See what I mean.”
Groaning, she threw her hands up and shook the book in her right hand. “This is the second book in this series.”
“And?”
“And I started the series when we were still on the taxi.”
He shrugged. “Read slower.”
“Chris!”
He laughed, reaching to place his hand on her thigh as she sighed while banging her head back against the headrest. “Relax.”
“Don’t you think if I could, I would?”
“You were doing great five minutes ago.”
“That was in the past.”
“Next time, we’re taking separate jets.”
She didn’t know why but hearing him refer to future happenings both excited and saddened her, for more reasons than one. She cleared her throat. “This is a work trip, right?” He looked down at her as she placed the book down on the ground and held onto his bicep. “You know, something for your company.”
He studied her for a moment and looked up, closing his eyes as he laid his head back against the headrest. “I have the cover of this month’s GQ Italia.”
“Fancy,” she remarked, still unsatisfied with his answer-non answer. “So, I was right. This is a work thing.”
Chris thought about what she said, what she asked, as well as his response before he replied. “They offered to contract a photographer in LA.”
Brows scrunched, she had to ask, now more confused than she was just a few minutes ago. “So why go to them?”
His silence only irked her, the seconds dragging into minutes, which felt like hours. Frustrated and impatient, she called his name again. “Chris-”
“Jesus,” was all she heard before his lips were on hers, palm of his hand pressed against her cheek. Everything else after that was a sensual blur. His other hand moved to her hip, pulling her onto his lap, never once breaking their kiss. She placed her hands on his shoulders, giving a light squeeze, inching her body closer to his, close enough to feel the heat that always emanated over him.
And then, it was over.
Eyes fluttering and breath staggering, she nearly whined when he ran his thumb over her swollen bottom lip.
“This isn’t work for me.”
----
“This is our room?”
Chris looked up and chuckled, watching Kaya spin around the middle, eyes soaking in their suite. He placed her bag near the closet while crossing his arms and leaning against the wall.
“It is.”
Kaya nodded and grabbed the bottom of her sweatshirt, tugging it over her head. She extended her arm out and turned around, lifting a brow. “And we have maid service, correct?”
He eyed her. “Of course.”
Kaya smirked and let the garment fall to the floor.
Chris chuckled. “You wanna explain that?”
“What?” She played innocent, fingers toying with the waistband of her joggers as she began to shimmy out of them. “Staying in a fancy hotel where I don’t have t0 clean up after myself?” She walked toward him, moving to grab her suitcase so that she could find her next outfit. “Granted, we have the maid service at home, but—” Both Christopher and Kaya paused at her statement, equally surprised by how easily it flowed, but more so with the statement itself.
Defense immediately kicked in and Kaya cleared her throat. “I mean, ya know, your place.” She refused to make eye contact that exceeded ten seconds, grabbing the handle of her suitcase and dragging it in the direction of what looked like the bathroom.
“Dibs.”
Her feet weren’t moving fast enough for her liking. In fact, they were slow enough that Chris was somehow able to cross the room and grab her by her arm. She looked up, managing to remain calm while inwardly panicking.
God, please don’t let him ask anything.
“Don’t take too long.”
She swallowed. “Why?”
Her grip on the handle tightened when he moved his hand to her face, the back of it brushing against her cheek. Had he been paying close enough attention, he would have noticed the way she shivered at his touch.
“You want dinner, don’t you?”
-----
“This isn’t exactly what I meant.”
Kaya looked up from her pizza, pausing mid chew. “What? Pizza in Italy? This is goals.”
He intended to take her to a fine restaurant, one where only the elite could afford to dine. Instead, she requested pizza delivered to their room. Kaya never ceased to surprise him. “And why are you eating pizza with a fork?”
She shrugged, adjusting the thin strap of her shirt. “Because pizza is messy, and my life's already messy enough. I avoid when I can.”
Chris didn’t say anything, simply watching her eat. She caught his gaze and looked away. If she could, she’d go back in time and stop herself from ever saying what she did. It’d ruined everything. He’d been acting different around her since, and she hated that. She also hated that she hated it.
Since when did she give a flying fuck about what people thought of her? Let alone him.
It was out of character for her, and she didn’t like it.
She didn’t like it at all.
Similarly, Chris also found it difficult to focus on anything other than the encounter from earlier, but not for the reasons Kaya thought.
Not even close.
“So, what’s the agenda for this trip?”
He chuckled and brought the champagne to his lips. “And ruin the surprise?”
Her eyes narrowed as she replaced the fork with her fingers so that she could eat the crust piece by piece. “What surprise?”
“What kind of question is that? Who gives away a surprise?”
“Are you capable of ever just answering my questions with a straight answer?”
He pretended to think. “I could.”
“But?”
“Where’s the fun in that?”
“You and fun? Never realized they were synonymous.”
“I’d like to think we have fun.”
“We have sex. Really, really, great sex.”
“You don’t consider that fun?”
“Fun isn’t a strong enough word to describe it.” He lifted a brow, and she scoffed, tossing a red pepper packet in his direction. “Stop it. I am trying to have a mature conversation here.”
“Not quite sure how possible that is when both parties are inebriated.”
“Bullshit. You know damn well neither one of us is drunk. You haven’t seen me drunk. Hell, I haven’t seen me drunk in a while.”
The way her tone changed toward the end of her sentence garnered his interest. “Why not?”
She looked at him, her smile faltering as she nervously cleared her throat. “I—uh—I get really bad migraines, and Excedrin is the only thing that works for me.” Telling him the truth, well, a fraction of the truth, felt strange yet relieving, probably because she’d spent so much of her life hiding and lying that the truth was unfamiliar territory. “Needless to say, meds and alcohol? Never really a good combo.”
“You’re drinking now.”
“I haven’t taken any medicine yet.”
“Maybe you won’t have to.”
She smiled sadly. “I will.” A beat. “It’s all I have.” Kaya snatched another piece of her crust and swallowed fully before explaining. “That’s why my sleep schedule, if you can even call it that, is so fucked up.”
He thought about it. “Excedrin has caffeine.”
“An insane amount.”
“It helps your migraines—”
“And keeps me up in return.” When he grew quiet, she offered. “Trust me. The insomnia is much better than the pain.”
“I’m sorry.”
She grimaced, eyes darting in either direction. “Why?”
He sighed and ran his hands all over his face. “That’s why you get so upset when I wake you up.”
“I wouldn’t say upset.”
“You threatened to slit my throat in my sleep.”
“Okay, maybe I was a little upset,” she confessed, and they shared a laugh before his tone grew serious again.
“I’ll be mindful of that.” Head tilted to the side, a sign she was still confused, he continued. “So that you can sleep.”
She smiled teasingly, abandoning the last bit of her food, and pushing her plate to the side. “Is that consideration I hear?”
“It is.”
The way he was looking at her, the lack of typical sarcasm in his tone, it was both welcoming and conflicting. Crawling across the floor, she moved his plate to the side and climbed into his lap.
Hands on his shoulders, she lowered her voice and whispered into his ear. “Well, I’m up right now.”
He made a sound and brought his hands to her hips. “You are.” Her eyes shut when his lips moved to her shoulder. “You should get some sleep.”
Immediately, she coiled back and glared. “Are you serious right now?” He laughed, which only upset her further as he stood up, her legs locking around his waist. “It’s been at least 8 hours.”
“You keeping a timer or something?”
“Look.” She waited for him to place her on the bed before she grabbed the bottom of his shirt and tugging so that he laid back on the mattress. She quickly climbed on top of him. “If there’s one thing I know about us, we are ideal intimate partners. Our sexual chemistry is astronomical.”
His eyes drank her in. “Is that it?”
“Is what it?”
His voice lowered. “Is that all you think we have?”
At that moment, Kaya realized a couple of things. This was wrong. She was suddenly very much uncomfortable. And this was a mistake. This was why she didn’t tell the truth. It meant putting yourself at risk for being vulnerable.
She was never good with that.
Clearing her throat, she climbed off him and flashed a crafty smile. “I’m gonna go shower.” She couldn’t handle seeing his face, so she turned around, purposely pretending she had to look around the room to search for her luggage.
“You should know I hate sleeping with blankets.” Kaya needed to redirect the conversation to another topic. This was becoming all too much for her.
He sat up and rolled his shoulders. “So, strip the bed? Got it.”
“Absolutely not. I could freeze.”
“You just said—”
Kaya stood by the door that led to the living room area and smiled sadly. “I’m a hot ass mess, Chris.” A beat. “The sooner you accept that, the better.”
-------
We need to talk when you get a chance. Please?
No matter how many times she looked at the phone, a new incoming gray message never appeared. She waited and waited, even scrolling up only for it to bounce back with no change.
She missed Nia. She missed their banter. She missed making tik toks with her. And she especially missed the advice giving, of which she could desperately use right about now.
Something was happening between them. With her and Chris. Of which she didn’t know, nor did she understand. It drove her mad because it was a new experience, one where she didn’t feel as though she always had to walk on eggshells.
Being with Chris….
“God.” She ran her hand over her face. What the hell was she doing? She wasn’t with Chris. Not like that, anyway. This was a business transaction. They were both using each other for selfish purposes.
Maybe it was the sex. Nia always warned her that behind every sexual encounter, there was at least some trace of feelings.
Kaya always thought that was bullshit.
Now….now she wasn’t so sure.
“You alright?”
She looked up from her chair and saw Chris walk in. She chewed the inside of her cheek as he sat down in the chair opposite of her. Kaya took in his wardrobe, so casual and laid back. She’d never seen him in denim before, but he looked good.
She didn’t even know the photographer, but she was a fan. A billionaire in Levi’s? Iconic.
“How does it feel to dress like us common folk?”
“Poor.” He winked as she glared. “We should be done soon.”
“Don’t rush on my part. The snacks here are delicious, and who knows, I could play dress up.” She wiggled her brows and straightened when there was a knock on the door.
“Sorry to interrupt,” the photographer spoke up and offered Kaya a friendly smile. “You’re Kaya, yes? I’m Elena.”
Kaya was surprised by the fact that this woman was both speaking to her and actually knew who she was, so her response was delayed. “Yes. It’s nice to meet you.” She offered her hand and noticed the woman was staring at her. Welp. It was nice while it lasted. “Is there something I can help you with?”
“I’m sorry,” she apologized but continued to stare. “It’s just...has anyone ever told you that you have amazing bone structure?”
Kaya sputtered. “Not unless they wanted something from me.”
Elena smiled. “Well, I suppose this is no different.”
“I don’t understand,” Kaya asked, looking over at Chris. He was surprisingly quiet.
“How about we get some shots of the both of you?”
She immediately protested. “Oh no. I—I’m just here for moral support.”
“You did say you wanted to play dress up,” he reminded. She glared. Of course he would choose to speak up now.
She turned her narrowed eyes on him and harshly whispered. “Not while being photographed.”
He placed his hand over hers. “Relax.”
Kaya remembered that they weren’t alone and therefore, had to keep up the act. Even if it was starting to feel less and less like acting.
“I’m used to people watching, not photographing.” He lifted a brow. Laughing, she slapped his chest and took a deep breath. She looked over at Elena. “Will I at least get to see them before you pick which ones to use? If any.”
“Of course.”
Kaya caved. “Fine.” He kissed the top of her head and mouthed a thank you. “You owe me.”
“Sure, I do,” he dismissed, slapping her on her ass as Elena grabbed her to drag her away.
“Time to make magic.”
-----
It was a bad idea, one of many that had occurred, Kaya realized.
When she joked about wanting to play dress—up, she didn’t think that it would actually happen. She didn’t think that she’d become involved in his shoot. Kaya especially didn’t expect to have as much….fun as she did.
And she hated that, too. The fact that she managed to smile and laugh more in one setting than she had in, hell, longer than she could remember. She didn’t like it. She didn’t like it at all.
She really, really didn’t like the way Chris looked at her every time she walked onto set in a new look, and there were a couple of them. The way he focused on her, eyes taking in every bit of her form, all the way down from her shoes up to her hair. Like he didn’t want to look away. Like he couldn’t look away. She despised the way he held her when they were photographed together, often being the reason for her smile or laughter with his comments that he whispered into her ear, sneaking in a kiss against her temple or holding her against him.
It was all so domestic and sweet, and it made no sense.
He was starting to make no sense.
And she especially didn’t understand why she was putting off leaving the bathroom, having sat on the toilet for at least 15 minutes.
As if on cue, two loud knocks on the door pulled her from her thoughts.
“I’m coming, damnit.”
“That’s what you said last time. Come on, Kaya.” She was both surprised and annoyed that it was Chris. She expected it to be members of the glam team that he’d hired to help her prepare for the GQ function he was invited to, and of course, she was forced to accompany him. Turns out he wasn’t just chosen for the cover. He was man of the year. “We’re going to be late.”
“Maybe you should just leave me behind,” she muttered.
“Maybe I can just kick this damn door down,” he countered.
“Then you’ll have to pay for the damages.”
“Then I’ll buy the damn hotel,” he shot back testily. “I’m not going to ask you again, Kaya.”
She scowled and rolled her neck. Kaya knew he was being serious. The bastard could buy his way out of anything.
If only….
Blowing out a deep breath, she swallowed and stood, holding up her dress. It was undoubtedly beautiful, gold, a slit in the middle of her chest and on her left leg exposing more skin than she would have thought appropriate. Her curls were styled in a fancy updo, and her makeup was equally as bold as her dress, finalized with a red lip. She knew that she looked good, and that’s what scared her.
Chris had been looking at her like that all day, and she couldn’t keep handling it.
If she could even consider it handling. Managing was perhaps a better term. Poorly managing was the perfect term.
Kaya ripped open the door and plastered on a fake smile. “Happy?”
And there it was, his eyes widened and softened as he gave her a onceover. “And don’t tell me I look beautiful, cause’ I already know it.”
Kaya figured if she said it for him, she wouldn’t have to deal with the weird and uncomfortable knotting in her stomach that she experienced every time he complimented her.
And it worked, he said nothing, only helping to hold up her dress as they walked to the SUV that would escort them. In the car, she was also pleasantly surprised that he didn’t attempt to make small talk with her during the drive. She was certain, however, that it was because he took at least three different work calls during that time.
She made drafted Tik Toks in the meantime.
When they finally arrived, Kaya nearly ran out of the car right then and there.
“Is that a red carpet?” Her mouth dropped. “What the hell? You said nothing about having to walk a damn carpet that is red.”
He chuckled. Kaya realized his hand was on the exposed portion of her thigh. “Stay close to me, and I’ll take care of you. You’ll be fine.”
Kaya was used to having eyes on her, but that didn’t mean she liked it, especially when it didn’t involve money being thrown her way. “I don’t have to say anything, do I?”
He squeezed her thigh. “You’ll most likely receive compliments.”
“I can handle that,” she spoke more to herself than him. “Just long as no one asks if I prefer cats over dogs or whatever shit they ask.”
He laughed quietly and looked at her. “You ready?”
No. “Yes.”
Chris climbed out the car first so that he could help her out of the vehicle, and as soon as she stepped out, she cursed to herself. There were so many damn people. People taking photographs. People being photographed. People helping both the people the photographed and the photographers. And then there was her. She felt so out of place.
If he wasn’t already holding her hand, she would have grabbed for his.
Kaya used her left hand to hold up her dress, while making sure that she stayed close to Chris who led the way, smiling for the camera while sparing her glances every so often to assess her level of comfort.
Kaya played along, evoking a smile as she posed with him for a few photos. That’s when it started again. Like the photoshoot from a few hours ago, she found herself feeling less forced and more comfortable. Like, it was natural.
Like it was real.
Kaya was eventually allowed to stand to the side as he gave a few interviews, some in English, most in Italian. She’d meant to ask him earlier when the hell he learned to speak so many languages. This was the third she’d learned of. She had a feeling at least one or two journalists asked about her, because he would look in her direction and shoot a wink or something of the sort.
Her smile was a natural reaction.
The process was less daunting than she anticipated, not that she’d ever admit that to him. It was once they moved inside that Kaya realized they’d yet to reach the hard part. That hardest part was “socializing” with the guests, many of which were white, spicy white at best. She spotted some minorities but found that they were just as distant as the rest.
The vim of the event was welcoming, however, which confused Kaya to some extent. She simplified it down to the event was nice, the people were trash, and Chris was both an ass and a gentleman for forcing her to come.
He’d introduced her to a few people, most of which spoke poor English. That, she could acknowledge, was nice. Not the strained English, but his obvious concern for her wellbeing. He was going out of his way to make her feel as comfortable as he could.
It was also irritating because it resurfaced those damn knots.
They were seated at a table, and he was texting someone when she leaned over and tugged on his sleeve. Kaya also took a moment to appreciate how nice he looked. The man was something sinful in a suit. “I think I know him.”
He looked up, immediately locking his phone. “Who?”
She gestured with her chin. “The guy over there talking to the girl with the green dress. But don’t look at them.”
His eyes lifted to the ceiling. Right before he proceeded to look right in that direction.
She laughed despite her irritation. “What did I literally just fucking say?”
“I’ll never understand why people want to do something without actually doing it. I don’t have the time.” She shook her head. He was so impatient. “And how do you know him?”
She lifted a brow. He asked with a newfound sense of urgency. If she didn’t know any better, she would have guessed it came from a place of jealousy.
Kaya studied the stranger across the room again when her eyes widened. “I know. He’s that actor from that porn movie we watched.”
“We don’t watch porn, Kaya. We make it.”
“Stop it.” She leaned closer, hating that her smile contrasted the frustration she felt with how vulgar he was speaking in such a public setting. “And you know the movie where they…..ya know, basically the whole time, and he kept asking in that godawful delivery, are you lost, baby girl?”
Her equally terrible impression caused him to laugh quietly. “I think that is him.”
“I told you.” She spoke a little louder than she would have liked due to her excitement at being correct. “He looks better on screen.”
Chris glanced over at him once more and scoffed. “He’s scrawny.”
“Sir, not everyone is like you and built like a fucking tanker.”
“Not my problem.”
Kaya rolled her eyes and gathered her dress. “I’ll be back. I have to use the restroom.” She stood and leaned over, arms around him from behind as she whispered. “Try not to be too much of a dick while I’m gone, okay?”
He turned to look at her. “And where’s the fun in that?”
Turns out finding the bathroom was a harder task than she’d anticipated. She’d asked one of the servers while maneuvering through the crowd, but it also turned out that Kaya wasn’t the best with directions. She did find it, though.
Eventually.
Kaya was navigating her way back to Chris when she was stopped by a man in a suit along the way.
He was of average height, average build, and average attraction. She was immediately annoyed.
“Hi,” Kaya greeted with a tight smile.
“Hello,” he smiled. Add in average dental health. “You are very beautiful.”
Kaya realized he didn’t have an accent, either. American, most likely. “Uhh, thank you.” When she moved to walk past him, he blocked her. “Sir, I really should—”
“How much?”
Her eyes darted to either side. “I’m sorry?”
“Money is no issue, as I’m sure you can see, and I’d like you for a week.” He stepped closer, bringing his hand to trail it down her arm. “Longer even, perhaps.”
“Sir, I have no idea what you are talking about, and please do not touch me.” It wasn’t so much of a request as much as it was a demand. “Now, I really should—”
“You’re not American.” Kaya continued to be confused as hell when his eyes lit up with excitement. “That explains why you look so exotic.” Confusion easily morphed into rage as she finally caught on to what he was referring to. “I bet you feel di—”
“You’re disgusting,” she hissed, pulling away from him. “I am not a fucking prostitute—”
“Call it what you want, girl,” he dismissed. “I don’t judge. I can pay you well.”
“Go fuck yourself, you sick son of a bitch,” she cursed, turning away when he grabbed her arm. “Let me go.”
“You think that you’re special?” He’d taken on another tone, one that conveyed his anger at being rejected. “The fuckin’ stall I just pissed in is worth more than you, bitch.”
Kaya refused to allow him to see her cry, but she’d be lying if she tried to say that his words didn’t sting, especially his next verbal attack.
“You can slap on that expensive dress and let Hemsworth make you feel special, but I know, you know, and everyone else in this fucking place knows that you’re nothing but a cheap, illegal whore—” Panic arose when he moved his hand to the exposed skin of her thigh, squeezing tightly. His hand started to inch upward when Kaya acted on instinct. He cursed aloud while Kaya gasped as she realized that she’d silenced him with her fist dead square in the middle of his face. “You fucking bitch!”
Shock and fear took over as Kaya gathered the bottom of her dress and ran, as much as the gown and her heels would allow, that is. Certain he was going to chase her for retribution, she consistently looked back, unaware that she needed to be just as aware of what was in front as what was behind.
She shrieked and immediately went to pull herself away from the strong body she’d collided with.
“Kaya.” Refocusing her attention, she looked up and realized it was Chris. “Where the hell—” He stopped amid his statement when he took in her appearance and realized that she was crying. “What happened?”
“Nothing.” Kaya looked down, speaking more to herself than him. Not that it mattered. He was judging based on what he saw instead of what she said. He’d learned by now that her words rarely matched the truth. “Let’s just go—”
“Kaya,” he repeated, softer. Chris brought his hands to her face, forcing her to meet his gaze as he asked again, slowly. “What happened?” A strike of anger flashed in his blue eyes. “Did someone touch you?”
“No,” she answered, quickly. Too quickly.
The anger escalated exponentially. “Who? Tell me.”
Kaya could have slapped herself. She wasn’t helping the situation. She was making it worse. “It doesn’t matter, I hit him, and now he’s probably going to sue you—”
“Where is he?” Chris was looking behind her, eyes flaming. He was livid. “Show me. Now.”
“No.” Speaking was becoming an increasing challenge, especially against the backdrop of overwhelming emotions. Everything she’d been feeling, preventing herself from feeling, and afraid to acknowledge was gradually bubbling to the surface. “Just—just let me go back to the hotel. I’m messing everything up for you.”
He calmed for a second, realizing what was happening. Chris was unfamiliar with this side of her. Unfamiliar with seeing her so vulnerable. “What?”
Kaya suddenly realized that her eyes were burning again. She was fighting back tears. “I’ll give you back the money for the day, it’s—it’s fine, you’re better off without me here—”
Her offer to pay him incensed Chris. This wasn’t about the money. It stopped being about the money a long time ago, even if he hadn’t realized that until today. “I don’t want the fucking money, Kaya.”
She shook her head and closed her eyes. “Don’t—don’t say that.”
“Why? It’s the truth.”
“Please,” she plead. Control over her emotions was a battle she’d all but lost at that point. Her words, she was certain, would be next.
He raised his voice. Chris sensed, saw that she was uncomfortable, but he also realized that this was what she needed. A push. “Why?”
“Because this all about the fucking money, okay?” She matched his volume, accepting that her tears were going to fall no matter how much she willed them not to. She’d lost the war. “It has to be about the money, because if it isn’t then that means you care, and—you can’t, alright?”
He studied her, wondering if she realized this conversation was difficult for him too. He brought his hand to the side of her face. “Why is it so impossible for you to accept that I fucking care about you?”
She looked up, glistening eyes and wavering voice. “Because then I have to admit that I care about you too, and I can’t do that.” She spoke to herself, as if vocalizing it would cement a decision that was already out of her hands. “I won’t do it.”
“Why?” He pressed. Chris brought his other hand to the other side of her face, cupping it and moving closer. He gave zero fucks about where they were and who could have possibly overheard. “Why are you fighting this so hard?”
She pulled herself away from him, back colliding against the wall as she blurted, “because all I do is hurt the people I care about alright?” In that moment, Kaya realized she was so far gone that the point of return was no longer an option. Her mouth trembled as she struggled to form her next sentence, listing off names with her fingers as props. “Mami, Papi, Nia. Hell, my own brother is dead because of me.” A beat. “I’ll only hurt you, and I care about you too much to do that.”
“Kaya—"
A newfound heaviness started to weigh upon her chest, another blockade to her speech. “I’m standing here in a dress I can’t afford, a building I can’t even fucking pronounce, and with a man I don’t deserve.”
His voice lowered. “Did you ever think that maybe, just maybe, I don’t deserve you?” Kaya looked at him, her eyes softening before she squinted, her face scrunching up in obvious pain.
He took note of this. As invested as Chris was in finally getting Kaya to open up about how she really felt, her wellbeing would always be his primary concern.
“Kaya.” He placed his hands on her waist, steadying her. “What’s wrong?”
“I—” She blinked several times, blinding lights obscuring her vision. “I—can’t—" Kaya felt the firmness of his chest, inhaled the scent of his cologne, and heard her name on his lips before everything faded to black.
-----
She awoke on her side, body clutched against a pillow, and a thin sheet covering half her body. Never one to take her time returning to her senses, she forced herself to sit up, eyes still scrunched from the sleep.
Looking down she realized she was dressed in only one of Chris’s dress shirts, her dress discarded.
Memory returned as Kaya replayed the events that transpired prior to her slumber. The photoshoot. The party. The asshole.
Chris.
“I don’t care. Tell them to send it in the mail or something.”
She recognized his voice traveling from the living room area, prompting her to swing her legs over the bed, her toes submerging into the soft carpet. She’d never been in such a fine hotel where the carpeting probably cost more than six months’ worth of rent on her one-bedroom apartment.
“Evans, I don’t give a flying fuck about any of that right now. You can handle it. I don’t care.”
Kaya contemplated remaining where she was, eavesdropping without being detected. She quickly decided against it. She’d done enough.
Her feet carried her out of the room, and she stood in the doorway where she saw he was standing against the massive window that provided a breathtaking overview of the city.
Again, she considered leaving him be, but he either had exceptional peripheral vision or caught her reflection in the window because he spun around. Kaya’s eyebrows furrowed when she realized he was still dressed in his suit, with the expectation of the jacket and dress shirt which were both discarded, leaving the white undershirt.
Uncomfortable with the way he was looking at her, more concern than that, she settled onto the sofa, pulling a decorative pillow to her chest as she crossed her legs.
“I have to go,” he spoke briefly before pulling the phone from his ear and hanging up.
Kaya swallowed. He’d yet to speak, so she took the opportunity to do so. “Still don’t believe me when I said I’m a hot mess?”
“What happened tonight, Kaya?”
“Which part?” She knew that playing coy wasn’t the best route, but she was forever stubborn and would fight until she had nothing left. “Where I ruined your evening, assaulted a millionaire, told you one of my deepest secrets, or fainted in your arms? There’s a lot.”
“All of it.”
She looked away and licked her lips. Kaya felt cornered, absolutely trapped. Emotionally. She’d always assumed being physically stuck would feel far more suffocating and frightening. She was wrong.
Kaya considered her options, though far and few in between. She could deflect. She was a master at that. She could redirect blame onto him. Call him out on even making her go on the trip, for not telling her ahead of time what to expect, maybe throw in a few insults. And lastly, the most frightening of them all, she could be honest.
That was the scariest of them all.
“I lied to you.” The words spilled out before she realized it, but Kaya accepted the fact that she was tired. There was only so much she could carry, and she’d reached her limits. “My—my parents aren’t dead. They still live in the same house in Parlier that I grew up in with Denes. He’s—he was my brother.” It felt strange talking about, verbalizing what she’d quietly struggled with for so many years. And yet, there was a peace that accompanied the release. “He was such a beautiful little boy, but….different. He didn’t talk much, life skills were….hard for him, and he had these fixations on certain things. He didn’t like change.”
“Kaya, you don’t—”
“When I was eleven, and he was eight, my parents found out they were pregnant. They’d been trying for so long….they were so happy.” She roughly wiped at her face to do away with the silent tears that fell. The crying, however, was inevitable. “One day, they had a checkup appointment, and the babysitter fell through, so they asked me to watch Denes.” She nodded slowly, reverting to the same rush of emotions she felt that day. “I was so….mad, because my friend had just gotten Guitar Hero, and I was supposed to walk down to her house so we could play it.” To that day, Kaya felt a strong surge of rage whenever she ran across a throwback picture or read an article referring to that game. It was a trigger.
“My parents promised that I could go when they returned, but I just couldn’t wait.” Her nose turned up with disgust, disgust directed 100% inward. “I just had to go play that stupid fucking game.”
“Denes loved birds. They were one of his fixations. They think—they think he saw one outside our living room window or something and walked outside to see if he could catch it because, of course, I forgot to lock the front door.” She stared off into space before closing her eyes. “I had just walked into my friend’s house when I heard someone scream like I’ve never heard a scream before.” Kaya tugged the pillow closer to her chest and lowered her head. “I ran back so fast because I thought—I thought I could help him. I thought I could save him.” Her voice cracked. “—But there was so much blood, and he was so hurt—he died in the middle of the street, bleeding, terrified, and it was all my fault.”
Chris closed his eyes and shook his head. “Kaya—”
“They never found the driver,” she added quietly, chewing on the inside of her cheek. “The shock of it all……it was too much for my mom, and she miscarried.” Kaya laughed, but there wasn’t a trace of humor. “I spiraled after Denes passed. Everything bad and terrible I could get myself into, I did. I—I skipped class, I partied, I drank, I tried drugs.” She scoffed. “I lost my virginity when I was thirteen to some guy whose name I still don’t know because I was so drunk.” She leaned back into the sofa, staring at the intricate pattern of the rug. “I just—at the time, I thought if I did enough, I could make my parents hate me, because it’s what I deserved. But for everything I tried, they kept giving me chance after chance.”
“So, then I attempted suicide, twice, and I couldn’t even do that right.” She groaned and wiped at her eyes again. The cuffs of the shirt were nearly soaked. “I realized that God or the universe or whomever clearly wanted me to suffer and to live with my guilt, but in the midst of trying to punish myself, I failed to realize that all I’d done was cause my parents more pain.”
“Day of my high school graduation, I woke up at the crack of dawn to pack up my bags, told my parents that I was going out with some friends, but I’d be home by 7—and I haven’t seen or spoken with them since.”
She clapped and lifted her hands. “And there you have it. You’ve now seen me naked; you’ve seen me cry, and now you know that I’m a murderer—”
“You’re not a murderer, Kaya,” he was finally able to complete his sentence, still very much in shock over what she’d disclosed. “And what happened to your brother wasn’t your fault.”
Chris watched her demeanor soften, shifting from her previous facetious tone to a more somber tone. “You’re just saying that to make me feel better.”
“I’m saying it because it’s the truth. You were a child.”
She shrugged sadly. “So was he.”
“That still doesn’t make it your fault.”
She turned away from where he sat across from her. She hadn’t even realized he’d moved from his initial position by the window. Untangling her legs, she moved the pillow to the side and stood in front of him. “Why are you so nice to me? You should be running for the hills.”
Chris brought his hands to her waist and pulled her in between his spread legs. “Why do you keep asking questions you already know the answers to?”
“Even after everything I’ve done?” She whispered, emotion betraying her for the umpteenth time that day. “You—you still—you still feel….like that about me?”
“You’re stubborn, impulsive, argumentative, flippant, and undoubtedly one of the most complicated women I’ve ever met.” He slowly stood up, never once breaking eye contact as he cupped her face, fingers brushing away the dampness of her flushed cheeks. “And yet, seeing you smile is the highlight of my day.”
She chuckled and nervously cleared her throat. “So, was today subpar? Like, medium light? Half-light? It all went downhill after 12pm.”
He shook his head and kissed her forehead. “You are, in fact, a hot mess.”
Her fingers grasped at his sleeves. “I really am sorry about ruining your evening.”
“You didn’t ruin my evening, Kaya.” He brought his hand to her hair, pushing back the tendrils that had fallen from her updo. “Thank you for opening to me. I know that wasn’t easy.”
“It’s a lot easier opening up my legs,” she muttered, watching as he closed his eyes. “I’m sorry—you’re right. It’s—it’s not easy, and I don’t like talking about….feelings.” Her eyes lifted as she chewed on her bottom lip. “But, I do have feelings for you.” She shut her eyes and licked her top lip. “And there’s something else I need to tell you.”
His gaze softened. “Anything.”
It was so simple, the opportunity was available, the setting was perfect. She’d already told him the hardest part, now all she had to do was tell him the rest. The problem though, was that what she’d shared hadn’t changed much. It only helped him to understand her better. It would potentially improve their relationship.
This would destroy it.
She cleared her throat again. “If you tell anyone I’m capable of crying, I will smother you in your sleep.”
He chuckled and kissed her temple. “It’s late. I’m going to shower.” He studied her. “Try not to get into any more trouble, yeah?”
She smiled softly. “I make no promises.”
He gave her side a gentle squeeze before yawning as he walked back into the bedroom. Finally alone, she fell back onto the sofa and hugged the pillow against her body. Kaya felt both disgust and frustration. If there was a perfect moment to tell him, that was it, and now it was gone.
She was running out of time
-------
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So, I don't think I've ever asked you this... what IS the whole point of the Spider-Sense? It really seems like something that only exists for writers to ignore or work around when they want to inject Legit Tension into a story.
I’ve thought about this power so much, but never with an eye to defend its right to exist, so I needed to think about this. The results could be more concise.
Ironically, given the question, I have to say its main purpose is to ramp up tension. But it’s also a highly variable multitool that a skilled creative team can use for...pretty much anything. It does everything the writer wants it to, while for its wielder always falls just short of doing enough.
I went looking through my photos for a really generic, classic-looking example to use as an image to head this topic, but then I ran into the time Peter absolutely did not reimburse this man for his stolen McDonald’s, so have that instead.
A Scare Chord, But You Can Draw It
That one post that says the spider-sense is just super-anxiety isn’t, like, wrong. It’s a very anxious, dramatic storytelling tool originally designed for a very anxious, dramatic protagonist. I find it speaks to the overall tone of the franchise that some characters are functionally psychics, but with a psychic ability that only points out problems.
Spidey sense pinging? There’s danger, be stressed! Broken? Now the lead won’t even KNOW when there’s a problem, scary! Single character is immune to it? That’s an invisible knife in the dark oh my god what the fuck what the fU--
Like its counterpart in garden variety anxiety, the only time the spider-sense reduces tension is in the middle of a crisis. But in the wish fulfillmenty way that you want in an adventure story to justify exaggerated action sequences, the same way enhanced strength or durability does. Also like those, it would theoretically make someone much safer to have it, but it exists in the story to let your character navigate into and weather more dangerous situations.
For its basic role in a story, a danger sense is a snappy way to rile up both the reader and the protagonist that doesn’t offer much information beyond that it’s time to sit smart because shit is about to go down.
Spidey comic canon is all over the board in quality and genre, and it started needing to subvert its formulas before the creators got a handle on what those formulas even were, and basically no one has read anything approaching most of it at this point, so for consistent examples of a really bare bones use of this power in storytelling, I’d point to the property that’s done the best job yet of boiling down the mechanics of Spider-Man to their absolute most basic essentials for adaptation to a compelling monster of the week TV series.
Or as you probably know it, Danny Phantom. DON’T BOO, I’M RIGHT.
DP is Spider-Man with about 2/3 of the serial numbers filed off and no death (ironically), and Danny’s ghost sense is the most proof in the formula example of what the spidey sense is for: It’s a big sign held up for the viewer that says, “Something is wrong! Pay attention!” Effectively a visual scare chord. It’s about That Drama. And it works, which won it a consistent place in the show’s formula. We’re talking several times an episode here.
So why does it work?
It’s a little counterintuitive, but it’s strong storytelling to tell your audience that something bad is going to happen before it does. A vague, punchy spoiler transforms the ignorant calm before a conflict into a tense moment of anticipation. ...And it makes sure people don’t fail to absorb the beginning of said conflict because they weren’t prepared to shift gears when the scene did. Shock is a valuable tool, too, but treating it like a staple is how you burn out your audience instead of keeping them engaged. Not to go after an easy target, but you need to know how to manage your audience’s alarm if you don’t want to end up like Game of Thrones.
The limits of the spider-sense also keep you on your toes when handled by a smart writer. It tells Peter (everyone’s is a little different, so I’m going to cite the og) about threats to his person, but it doesn’t elaborate with any details when it’s not already obvious why, what kind, and from what. And it doesn’t warn him about anything else-- Which is a pretty critical gap when you zoom out and look at his hero career’s successes and failures and conclude that it’s definitely why he’s lived as long as he has acting the way he does, but was useless as he failed to save a string of people he’d have much rather had live on than him.
(Any long-running superhero mythos has these incidents, but with Peter they’re important to the core themes.)
And since this power is by plot for plot (or because it’s roughly agreed it only really blares about threats that check at least two boxes of being major, immediate, or physical), it always kicks in enough to register when the danger is bearing down...when it’s too late to actually do anything about it if “anything” is a more complex action than “dodge”.
Really? Not until the elevator doors started to open?
That Distinctive, Crunchy Spider Flavor
The spider-sense and its little pen squiggles go hand in hand with wallcrawling (and its unique and instantly identifiable associated body language) to make the Spider-Person powerset enduringly iconic and elevate characters with it from being generic mid-level super-bricks. Visually, but also in how it shapes the story.
I said it can share a narrative role with super strength. But when you end a fight and go home, super strength continues to make your character feel powerful, probably safer than they’d be otherwise, maybe dangerous.
The spider-sense just keeps blaring, “Something’s wrong! Something’s wrong! God, why aren’t you doing something about this!?”
Pretty morose thing to live with, for a safety net! Kind of a double edged sword you have there! Could be constantly being hyperattuned to problems would prime you for a negative outlook on life. Kind of seems like a power that would make it impossible for a moral person to take a day off, leading them into a beleaguered and resentful yet dutiful attitude about the whole superhero gig! Might build up to some of the core traits of this mythos, maybe! Might lead to a lot of fifteen minute retirement stories, or something. Might even be a built in ‘great responsibility’ alarm that gets you a main character who as a rule is not going to stop fighting until he physically cannot fight anymore.
Certainly not apropos of anything, just throwing this short lived barely-a-joke tagline up for fun.
One of my personal favorite things about stories with superpowers is keeping in mind how they cause the people who have them to act in unusual ways outside of fights, so when you tell me that these people have an entire extra sense that tells them when the gas in their house is leaking through a barely useful hot/cold warning system that never turns off, I’m like, eyes emojis, popcorn out, notebook open, listening intently, spectacles on, the whole deal.
It also contributes to Peter Parker’s personality in a way I really enjoy: It allows him to act like an irrational maniac. When you know exactly when a situation becomes dangerous and how much, normal levels of caution go out the window and absolutely nothing you do makes sense from an exterior standpoint anymore. That’s the good shit. I would like to see more exploration of how the non-Parker characters experiencing the world in this incredibly altered way bounce in response.
It’s also one of many tools in this franchise hauling the reader into relating more closely with the main character. The backbone of classic Spidey is probably being in on secrets only Peter and the reader know which completely reframe how one views the situation on the page. It’s just a big irony mine for the whole first decade. A convenient way to inform the reader and the lead that something is bad news that’s not perceivable to any other characters is youth-with-a-big-exciting-secret catnip.
Another point for tension, there, in that being aware of danger is not synonymous with being able to act on it. If there’s no visible reason for you to be acting strange, well...you’re just going to have to sit tight and sweat, aren’t you? Some gratuitous head wiggles never hurt when setting up that type of conflict.
Have I mentioned that they look cool? Simultaneously punchy and distinctive, with a respectable amount of leeway for artists to get creative with and still coming up with something easily recognizable? And pretty easy to intuit the meaning of even without the long-winded explanations common in the days when people wrote comics with the intent that someone could come in cold on any random issue and follow along okay, I think, although the mechanic has been deeply ingrained in popular culture for so long that I can’t really say for sure.
It was also useful back in the day when no artists drew the eyes on the Spider-Man mask as emoting and were conveying the lead’s expressions entirely through body language and panel composition. If you wiggle enough squiggles, you don’t need eyebrows.
Take This Handwave and Never Ask Me a Logistical Question Again
This ability patches plot holes faster than people can pick them open AND it can act as an excuse to get any plot rolling you can think of if paired with one meddling protagonist who doesn’t know how to mind their own business. Buy it now for only $19.99 (in four installments; that’s four installments of $19.99).
Why can a teenager win a six on one fight against other superhumans? Well, the spider-sense is the ultimate edge in combat, duh.
Why can Peter websling? Why doesn’t everyone websling? Well, the spider-sense is keeping him from eating flagpole when he violently flings himself across New York in a way neither man nor spider was ever meant to move.
How are we supposed to get him involved with the plot this week???? Well, that crate FELT dangerous, so he’s going to investigate it. Oh, dip, it was full of guns and radioactive snakes! Probably shouldn’t have opened that!
Yeah, okay, but why isn’t it fixing everything, then? Isn’t it supposed to be why Peter has never accidentally unmasked in front of somebody? ('Nother entry for this section, take a shot.) That’s crazy sensitive! How does he still have any problems!? Is everything bad that’s ever happened to characters with this powerset bad writing!? --Listen, I think as people with uncanny senses that can tell us whether we are in danger with accuracy that varies from incredible to approximate (I am talking about the five senses that most people have), we should all know better than to underestimate our ability to tune them out or interpret them wrong and fuck ourselves up anyway. I honestly find this part completely realistic.
*SLAPS ROOF OF SPIDER-SENSE* YOU CAN FIT SO MANY STORIES IN THIS THING
The spider-sense is a clean branch into...whatever. There is the exact right balance of structure and wishy-washiness to build off of. A sample selection of whatevers that have been built:
It’s sci-fi and spy gadgets when Peter builds technology that can interface with it.
It’s quasi-mystical when Kaine and Annie-May get stronger versions of it that give them literal psychic visions, or when you want to get mythological and start talking about all the spider-characters being part of a grand web of fate.
Kaine loses his and it becomes symbolic of a future newly unbound by constraints, entangled thematically with the improved physical health he picked up at the same time -- a loss presented as a gain.
Peter loses his and almost dies 782 times in one afternoon because that didn’t make the people he provoked when he had it stop trying to kill him, and also because he isn’t about to start “””taking the subway’’””’ “‘’“”to work”””’’” like some kind of loser who doesn’t get a heads up when he’s about to hit a pigeon at 50mph.
Peter’s starts tuning into his wife’s anxiety and it’s a tool in a relationship study.
It starts pinging whenever Peter’s near his boss who’s secretly been replaced by a shapeshifter and he IGNORES IT because his boss is enough of an asshole that that doesn’t strike him as weird; now it’s a comedy/irony tool.
Into the Spider-Verse made it this beautiful poetic thing connecting all the spider-heroes in the multiverse and stacked up a story on it about instant connection, loss, and incredibly unlikely strangers becoming a found family. It was also aesthetic as FUCK. Remember the scene where Miles just hears barely intelligible whispering that’s all lines people say later in the film and then his own voice very clearly says “look out” and then the room explodes?? Fuck!!!!
Venom becomes immune to it after hitchhiking to Earth in Peter’s bone juice and it makes him a unique threat while telling a more-homoerotic-than-I-assume-was-originally-intended story about violation and how close relationships can be dangerous when they go sour.
It doesn’t work on people you trust for maximum soap opera energy. Love the innate tragedy of this feature coming up.
IN CONCLUSION I don’t have much patience for writers who don’t take advantage of it, never mind feel they need to write around it.
#spiderman#peter parker#spiderverse#spidey#marvel#danny phantom#one day you'll see what i'm doing with it in the project i'm collabing on w/ my brother and then you'll all be sorry and hopefully impresse#mirrorfalls#asks answered#essays
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The Recs (Less Travelled)
I’m excited to bring you the first installment of my ‘roads less travelled’ recs! I will be doing another round of this, probably once the Ted Lasso fic tag hits about 25 pages, and then I’ll also grab a couple more fandoms to collect in there!
The Rules:
Each fandom/pairing was sorted on Archive of Our Own by completed works. Anything recced here was not in the first ten pages when sorted by kudos at the time of reccing. There may be some more well-known authors on this list, but the specific fics I’ve picked are ones that didn’t crack that top ten or just didn’t get much traction and I think deserve it, so hopefully I have also balanced it out with other under the radar (and still great!) works.
As ever, I have a pinned post of my other recs (none have been duplicated from there), so you can also check those out! Under the cut you’ll find 10 recs in each fandom for:
Raven Cycle
Roswell New Mexico
The Old Guard
Inception
Star Trek (mainly Kirk/McCoy)
The Raven Cycle
savor all the little pieces by littlelionvanz
“Since when do you garden?”
Ronan snorted, “Since I grew up on a fucking farm, genius. Jesus who gave you permission to pursue higher education.”
the old grip of the familiar by littleseal
"There is a single black feather and a printed out picture of Gansey, Blue and Cheng standing in front of some fucking monument Ronan didn’t care enough to remember the name of. Gansey sent it to Ronan’s phone some time ago, but it sat in his messages until Adam picked it up and grinned at it so hard that, one afternoon later, Ronan cursed and kicked and glared his old printer back to life in order to print it out.
Fuck, he thinks, I’m in love with a hoarder."
Adam collects things. Ronan is in love with him.
No Sweeter Innocence Than Our Gentle Sin by gansey_is_our_king
Ronan Lynch has wanted to kiss Adam Parrish for a long time.
(alternately titled: four times that Ronan could have kissed Adam)
Cheers to Another Seven Years! by skyermirth
Adam left Henrietta for Harvard and never returned. Now, seven years has passed, and an unexpected work assignment has brought him back to a place and people he hardly recognizes.
Row, row, row your boat by emmerrr
“What. Why are you smiling at me,” he says suspiciously.
Adam shrugs. “You’re cute.”
“I’m not cute, I’m terrifying.”
“Terrifyingly cute,” Adam says.
and now the world is ours to take / and every single move is ours to make by thatlittleblackcat
"Adam was the scientist, Ronan was the data, and Orphan Girl was the key that explained the strange outliers that Ronan presented, his previously unexplainable actions."
//
Adam sorts out his feelings, Ronan helps him, Gansey is the number one dad friend, Blue is the number one mom friend and Henry tries to make Ronan smile. Otherwise known as the story of how Orphan Girl became Opal.
All These Things You Make Me Feel by SilverOpals394
It was late. Adam could feel the long day catching up to him as he left Boyd’s, all his energy exhausted. When he started his car, the tape deck whirred to life once more. He sighed and raised his hand to turn it off, but before he did a soft melody began to play.
AU in which the mixtape Ronan made for Adam only plays the murder squash song until Adam realizes he's in love with Ronan, too.
Ways to Communicate by Jalules
Blue Sargent reflects on an early memory (and gets busy with her boyfriends.)
(The two things are related, trust me.)
Hold Me Closer, I'm Safe in Your Arms by actuallyronanlynch
“You wanna tell me why I had to hear from Henry Cheng that my boyfriend was at the hospital?” Adam hissed, though his voice wasn’t as acidic as it could’ve been. Ronan took small victories where he could.
“You don’t have a cellphone,” Ronan pointed out flatly. “It’s not like I could’ve gotten a hold of you.”
arts and crafts and the inevitability of death by sunshineinthestorm
Adam comes to the public library in search of a study spot, not a boyfriend.
But it must be his lucky day���because he ends up with a bit of both.
Roswell New Mexico
a conversation between insignificant others by Bellakitse
“Hey…have you noticed that our boyfriends are madly in love with each other?"
“You noticed that too, huh,” she answers dryly, letting out a huff of reluctant amusement.
***
Forrest and Maria share a drink and a conversation and start a friendship.
Own Personal Hell by BeStillMySlashyHeart
Now that Isobel's getting the hang of her telekinesis, Michael decides to test out his telepathic abilities. It backfires. Badly. Now Michael's trapped inside his own mind and only one person can break him out.
Drop the Hammer by brightloveee
Max makes a new friend at the shooting range, who turns out to be even more bad-ass than he expected.
(Takes place mid-S1)
Boys Like You by forgadgetsandgizmos
Curly, dirty blond hair (the mere description ‘curly’ felt like an injustice) twisted in every direction off his head, a sharp contrast with the scruff darkening his strong jawline and scowl-ridden face.
Alex made a mental note to compliment Maria on her excellent taste in men.
—
Or, Alex has coffee with Maria's one-night stand, a man who he definitely does not have a crush on.
let's exchange the experience by lostin_space
Michael decides they need to quarantine.
OR
Michael floods Alex with love and care over and over and over.
This Is Hardcore by Anonymous
Michael makes a proposal. Alex accepts. Michael wonders what the hell he’s gotten himself into.
i don't know what to think (but i think of supernovas) by Milzilla
michael discovers that the console can talk. then, he discovers it can do far more than that.
iridescence on skin by Lire_Casander
In a world where (almost) everyone has a tattoo on their right wrist with one set of coordinates that point to the place where their soulmate is born, Alex thought he wouldn't be any different. He couldn't be more mistaken.
He has two.
The Real Thing by elliebird
Max checks on Michael the morning after Michael saves Max’s ass from Wyatt Long and his dumbass buddies. He sees more than he’s supposed to.
Written for a Tumblr anon who one of their friends walking in on them or anyone of them finding out about Michael and Alex in an interesting way
Sundering by romancandles
“You know it was just an Air Force balloon, right?” says Alex.
Michael smirks. “That’s what they want you to think,” he says, with a wink.
The Old Guard
Peer Reviewed by ishandahalf
[From:] Journal of Medieval Studies ([email protected])
[Subject:] Ad-hoc note from the editor
I have noticed an uncommon level of animosity in your responses to your reviewers (or rather, one reviewer in particular). I am writing to ask if you would please do your best to keep your interactions civil. In fairness, I have also sent a similar request to the reviewer you seem to have this friction with. I trust you will both try and remain more professional in the future.
Again, thank you for submitting your work to this journal.
Sincerely,
James Copley, PhD
Editor-in-Chief
Journal of Medieval Studies
An (accidental) academic epistolary romance as (inadvertently) documented via a (theoretically) rigorously blinded peer review process.[citation needed]
third for a word and the song keeps going Macremae
It was honestly shaping up to be a pretty uneventful year before the Vatican got on Nicky’s bad side.
Or: three times in 2008 that the team genuinely thought about killing Nicky if only to get him to shut up about the changes to the Catholic English Mass and his unrelenting opinions on them, and one time Nile did.
Apex Predators In Island Ecosystems (Freeman et al., in press) by Sixthlight
Palaeobotany PhD student Nile Freeman and her supervisor Joe al-Kaysani are invited to billionaire Stephen Merrick’s new project – a theme park full of cloned dinosaurs. What could possibly go wrong?
This Rough Magic by Marivan
When Joe came to Scotland to study the sea, he did not expect to also encounter a beautiful man claiming that A. he’s a selkie and B. they’re married because Joe picked up his scarf.
It sounds like a fairy tale and that’s a problem. Because Joe’s a scientist. And selkies don’t exist.
Wars for the broken by Yuliares
Five years into his exile, Booker is joined by a companion he never expected to meet. Together, they try to work on healing.
Sometimes they go down to the sewers just so she can scream and scream. “I like to hear it echo,” she explains. “Underwater, you can’t hear anything. Here, at least I can be heard.”
“I don’t feel like a warrior anymore,” she tells him, throwing bread crumbs at pigeons. “I feel broken.”
“You’re still a warrior,” he says roughly. “This is still fighting.”
a good (eighth) impression by deanniker
Over the next few months, Joe runs into Nicky every so often at the farmer’s market. Some weekends Nicky doesn’t make it, because of his work schedule - Joe doesn’t understand it because he doesn’t ask, though he does start to recognize when one of those missing weekends is coming up because Nicky will stock up on things with longer shelf-life. When they do run into each other, they make small talk and move through the stalls together.
Joe doesn’t mention it to Lykon when he stops by, because it is kind of weird, that Lykon’s ex-boyfriend texts Joe things like - If you’re here, the apples look particularly good this week and thank you for that recipe, I did not know what I was going to do with that much couscous
Or,
Joe wouldn't usually consider starting anything with his best friend's ex, but as long as they keep it casual, it shouldn't be weird... right?
get back to where you once belonged by tenderjock
Nile takes a sip of her cappuccino and closes her eyes.
(Booker and Nile get that coffee. Life happens, along the way.)
a house; a home by mehm
“Is this a kidnapping?” Joe asks as Nicky checks both their seat belts. “Like, I don’t mind. It’s just not quite what I expected for my birthday.”
In which Joe gets a birthday surprise, because that’s the stuff you have time for when you and the love of your life become mortal at the same time.
the ties that bind by damaskrose
“There’s a story I heard many times,” Andy begins, “in the Mediterranean. Threads of fate and three sisters. One to spin, one to measure, and one to cut.”
Clutter And Croutons by flawedamythyst
Joe and Nicky have an argument, and then Nicky talks to Nile about what it really means to be in a relationship for 900 years.
Inception
My Big Fat Slightly Annoying Wedding by jibrailis
Arthur and Eames elope for ~tax reasons. Certain people in their lives are not happy at the lack of a wedding.
Remember Sydney by pathera
When Eames shambles into the safe house outside of London, he finds a red light blinking on the phone.
For the inception_kink prompt:
Arthur is on a plane which is about to crash. No way anyone is going to survive. Instead of panicking he calmly calls the team's office and gets the answering machine. He hangs up before the plane crashes.
Give me Arthur's last message to the team.
(TW: Character Death / Angst)
Of Such Deceitfulness and Suavity by delires
In which emotions manifest themselves in unusual ways.
YO, K2tog (it's like a code) by lazulisong
“Oh my God,” moans Arthur. “I’ve paid less for Somnacin. Good Somnacin.” A horrible thought strikes him. “How much is the yarn --”
“I want you to have an unguarded reaction,” Eames tells him, and pulls him up from the floor.
(They run an extraction on a knitter.)
hit the ground running by orphan_account
"I travelled halfway around the world for you. I dealt with the French for you."
Valley by wldnst
It's an old story: a knight, a prince, a kingdom in peril.
If This Is Rain Let It Fall On Me and Drown Me by Brangwen
We used to be so brave, Eames thought. Of the two of them, Arthur had always been the more fearless.
a gentle familiarity by jollypuppet
Two weeks later, Eames is on his doorstep with bad Italian takeout and a grin, and Arthur tells him he can sleep on the couch.
Your Crisis Cannot Be Completed As Dialed by sevenimpossiblethings
Arthur doesn't do snow, Ariadne is determined to be as Midwestern as possible, and blizzards make cell phone service unreliable.
Let’s Say I Do (I Do) by xsilverdreamsx
There were, perhaps some things worse that this, Arthur thinks, as he glares at the letter in his hand with his name printed clearly in bold ink, indicating his presence in two weeks for his esteemed marriage to one William H. Eames, III, at St. Catherine's Church in London, England.
Star Trek (predominantly Kirk/McCoy)
Show the World That Something Good Can Work by knune
Leonard McCoy is a doctor, not a personal assistant, and maybe that's why he can't stand working for Jim Kirk.
It's in the little things by winterover
Bones is bemused by a persistent secret admirer.
"Wedding" Away with It by pendrogon
One morning, Bones wakes up and he's single. By the same afternoon, he's married to Jim Kirk for Arbitrary Fic Reasons(TM).
How Long Will You Stay (For Your Whole Life) by withthepilot
Jim Kirk, deputy director of the Enterprise parks and recreation department, sees all of his hard work fall to pieces when budget specialist Leonard McCoy arrives from the state capital to cut Jim's budget and threaten the livelihoods of his colleagues. But thanks to a major parks project, Leonard finds a place in the department, as well as in Jim's life—and when all is said and done, Jim doesn't want him to leave.
All-Time Favorite by mardia
What to do when your best friend suddenly starts making new friends.
Joy Ride by Cards_Slash
While running for their lives from an alien species Kirk had accidentally enraged, they come across a car. And well, if you were to come across a car while being chased by aliens that wanted you dead, and you possessed some lingering knowledge of how to drive a car similar to said car, you would have decided to drive it toward the nearest cliff too.
Also a gunfight.
Syncytia by epistolic
He’d signed up for Starfleet on an impulse, but Starfleet meant James Tiberius Kirk: the first – and second, and third, and fourth – big mistake of Leonard McCoy’s life.
Renovation by canistakahari
Jim has a whammy put on him by an alien death ray and he suddenly craves domesticity. He's crazy with longing to shop at space!Ikea and get potted bamboo and he starts looking into adopting AND HE HATES HIMSELF AND CANNOT CONTROL THE SHIT. Luckily, McCoy is drunk all the time and plays house.
17:08 by butterflycell
She'd watched the news holos with a sick feeling, searching for information that was completely obvious in its absence. Amidst the reports of the the Enterprise's miraculous recovery and the damages sustained, there had been next to nothing about the crew or her captain. Jim had been mentioned only in passing, his name shied away from as his first officer limited interaction to the bare essentials.
The Honey of Hybla by shrift
"Bones, prepare to be my date."
#recs#fic recs#recs project#star trek recs#inception recs#the raven cycle recs#the old guard recs#roswell new mexico recs
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SO I FINALLY FINISHED 5D’S! And what better way to celebrate than to go through my favorite characters as…briefly as I can
Slight spoilers I suppose?
Let’s work it up from 10 to 1
10- Jack
Was gonna go with lucchiano but who am I kidding Jack’s great. He’s a drama queen with an even more dramatic wardrobe. Never afraid to express himself and just bluntly blurt out what he thought.
His obsession with Cup ramen is on another level but what can I say? Love is love, Jack x cup ramen for life *wipes tears*
But seriously speaking he’s great. His very first line was enough proof of that. He just… apologized for being late then declared “I AM KING” like the…king he is.
My favorite Rival character still remains Manjoume… and… Yeah I still prefer Kaiba over Jack but damn was he a good rival.
Like he has to be the only Rival so far with an actual past with the Main character, no? That was pretty interesting because usually, the protagonist meets the rival somewhere during the first season and we go off from there. But here we had to go through their backstory to know what their relationship was fully like. Nice touch.
9- Aki
Hands down my favorite female protagonist so far. I adore Anzu and feel neutral enough about Asuka but Aki? NAH MAN AKI’S AMAZING. I think 5D’s just does the best job with its female characters. Like it actually gives them big enough roles. I loved how Aki got her own episodes…be it the D-wheel ones or just… fillers.
Her crush on Yusei was justified, at least it seems so to me, and honestly never got obnoxious. Sure she had a moment here and there but it was honestly never a bad thing. Hell faith shipping in general isn’t exactly a bad Idea.
Speaking of shipping, is anyone going to talk about her little frienshipmaybemore moments with Crow? No? Ok…
But anyway, overall, SHE’S AMAZING AND I LOVE HER. There was more to her than some boring pining love interest and it shows with each episode. So when people say she has a great personality, they’re actually talking about her personality. AKI RULES
8- Mikage
Would’ve been way WAY higher on the list if the thing with Jack was thrown out the widow.
That being said I think she’s the more mature of the Jack-crazy trio. Like sure she was just as into him as the other two, but in some scenes she was a lot more tolerable.
But that honestly might just be my bias towards this amazing woman speaking.
She’s devoted to her work, gentle, caring, gorgeous and just all around a wonderful character to see.
I loved most of her scenes in the series, and the fact that there was more to her than just the jack part. She actually had an important part to play in many episodes and honestly proved herself to be a very fun character. I just wish they gave a her little more screentime than what she got.
A lot of lost potential there- I mean come on.
7- Rua /Lua
He reminds me of Judai WAY too much. LIKE WAAAAY too much not to be on this list. The guy’s adorable. And I love how they made him the emotional one. Like they could’ve gone with the “the boy is always rowdy and tOUGH” stereotype, but they didn’t. Sure, ruka (who I don’t like as much) was much more gentle, but it was much easier to see Rua cry than it was to see her do so. It’s just fun is all.
I also adore his deck and that little theme that played whenever he dueled… Plus his relationship with Jack and Yusei…GOLD GOLD.
6- Ushio
I made a whole post about Him, You think he wouldn’t be in my Top 10? Well think again. Great development would see through again.
5- Sherry Leblanc
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA SHERRY.
What you just witnessed in the line above is my internal reaction to literally any scene this beautiful badass woman happens to be in.
She’s just amazing. She has this really… tough energy IDK HOW TO DESCRIBE IT BUT SHE’S A REALLY INTIMIDATING WOMAN. But not in a bad way, oh nonononono in a REALLY REALLY GOOD WAY OKAY.
Her character arcs and episodes somehow felt…really separate from the whole team 5D’s shenanigans even though they were basically connected…
Like she had her own motivation that didn’t particularly rely on bonds, but was still willing to accept and even form a bond with the whole team.
Revenge is kinda hot ngl.
Okay no it’s not. But seeing a vengeful character that WASN’T played off as evil or particularly wrong amidst a bunch of friendship is magic ones was pretty refreshing.
The moment she took her helmet off when dueling yusei I was HOOKED and so was Aki but shhhhhh.
But damn I love what they did with her at the end, Rushed as it may have been. It took her joining with Z-one briefly and dueling Aki and Crow ( a very underrated duo btw) to realize that maybe thinking of the past and only the past was not a very good idea.
Anyway love her. And her duels are always a delight to watch.
4- Placido
Before he showed up, sherry was supposed to be 4th but here we are. Placido Placido Placido. I want to make it clear that…I really couldn’t care less about Aporia as a whole. But Placido and Lucchiano were pretty fun characters.
Now I finally get to talk about my beloved.
This dude was…the biggest mood. EVER.
He would hang up in that third one’s face like it was nothing and constantly ignore his boring ass. Oh. You have a plan? Ok. I don’t care. It’s boring. I’m placido and I’ll do what I want. Kiss my D-wheel ass.
He has a lot of hilariously sassy lines, which include and I quote:
“I don’t know what god wants you to do.”
“But I won’t accept it!”
The guy just does not care and I’m living for it.
Not to mention his bee analogies which- Why have I not seen anyone point out????? BEE ANALOGIES COME ONNNNNNNN
aNYWAY PLACIDO’S GREAT
3- Kiryuu
Edgy dude with pretty hair. Also gay. Also the crash town arc. Need I say more?
I will anyway.
Honestly dark signer Kiryuu was pretty fun to me with all the crazy laughter and stuff…
Then past/ flashbacks Kiryuu was just as interesting but in a completely different way. Sure he didn’t get as many episodes or screentime as the rest, but what I saw of him was more than enough for me to care about the Character. Like unlike the old satellite gang (Rally and the other two whose names I can’t even remember) I actually gave a shit about this guy when bad stuff happened to him.
Not to mention his growth. Like…He went through reverse/ negative development, then uphill by the end of the signers’ ark with all the…dying in your hands gayly stuff, then downhill again by the beginning of the crosstown arc….aaaaand back up and higher than ever by the end of it. Basically the fact that his development wasn’t always constant just added some spice.
Plus his dynamic with his ex-teammates…team….satisfaction (Try saying that with a straight face) was always pretty entertaining, especially his with Yusei.
Speaking of which...
2- Yusei
With all my talk about him…and…my profile picture…and URL, it may come as a surprise that he’s not number 1 here, but honestly it’s so close you could call it a tie.
As for why I love him….Have you- Have you seen my blog????? Do I even..need to say anything????
1- Crow
Now there’s a lot I have to say about Crow honestly hE’S JUST THAT COOL, but I’m saving it to talk about later still. All I’ll say for now is this:
Flashy guy with an amazing sense of style, an earring and an incredible amount of cockiness and charisma. What’s not to like?
#AH MAN THIS WAS A RIDE#BUT IT'S TIME TO START ZEXAL NOW#...First impressions soon I GUESS?#Still putting off the crow thing because I KNOW I'll literally NEED to write about him I just do#Jack atlas#Izayoi Aki#Mikage sagiri#Rua#sherry leblanc#Placido 5D's#Placido#kyosuke kiryu#Yusei fudo#Crow hogan#Ygo#Yugioh 5D's#haven't been That active anywhere for a few days because of personal stuff but HERE I AM
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