#i have watched this scene multiple times now and it makes me cry every single time

[teyamsatan]

Cruel Summer | Chapter II: Before It Sinks In

Pairings: Neteyam x (f)Human!Reader

Word Count: 5.5k words

Warnings/notes: angst, allusions to/mentions of smut, friends-with-benefits, mutual pining, 18+ minors DNI

Synopsis: After the Sully kids get attacked by the newly found Recombinant Soldiers, Jake makes the tough decision to leave the Omatikaya. Neteyam is forced to say goodbye to you, to your relationship and to the life he always dreamed about.

A/N: So I decided to split what was originally supposed to be one chapter into two, and this way I get to make good use of the amazing song that @karma-is-a-cat-purringinmylap was amazing enough to turn me on to, that just happened to work like a glove (the first non TS song in my works!!!)! I think I will try sticking to shorter chapters, as I feel 10k chapter might be a a bit overwhelming overall. Now, did this chapter make me cry several times? Yes. Will it make you cry? I'm hoping you will tell me soon ;)

enjoy besties ily xoxo

: ̗̀➛ listen to Before It Sinks In here : ̗̀➛ masterlist (x) : ̗̀➛ series masterlist (x)

Suspended in the air, I hear myself breathing

Hanging by a thread, my heart is barely beating

•☽────✧˖°˖☆˖°˖✧────☾•

Neteyam watched as you ran towards the lake that he wanted so badly to show you, he was practically buzzing by the time he got to Hell’s Gate. He found this little spot accidentally a few days ago while on a hunt, and it’s been on his mind ever since, exuberant at the thought of you in it, at the thought of your face splitting in a wide smile and your eyes widening taking it all in. He thought of the little squeal you would make as you saw the waterfall and way you’d jump off his back immediately and make your way without thinking of your clothes, or the mask, or anything else. The scene unfolding in front of him was exactly the way he pictured it, a testament to how long you’ve been in each other’s lives, how well he knew every facet of your being, like you were just an extension of his own self, like you were a complicated poem he’s dedicated his whole life deciphering and could now recite by heart, could now dissect it and appreciate it endlessly, to its full potential. 

You didn’t look back as you just hurriedly made your way to the edge of the water, taking off pieces of clothing as you did, until you were in a lace thong and bra, that Neteyam has seen multiple times before. He could see it every day, every minute of the day, it could be tattooed on his eyeballs and it would still not stop the way his mouth instantly filled with saliva and his head felt dizzy from all the blood travelling downwards. You were the most beautiful woman he’s ever laid his eyes on. Actually, beautiful did nothing to describe you. Beautiful had nothing on you. Neteyam wished he was more articulate at times like this, he wishes he would have read all the hundreds of books residing in the big library in Hell’s Gate where you loved to spend your time, in order to find the proper word to describe you. In order to validate his postulation that there was, in fact, not a single word in all of the English language, or Na’vi, for that matter, to encapsulate what you meant to him, how he viewed you. 

A splashing noise is all he heard as you jumped quietly in the water, and he followed suit, a little concerned when you wouldn’t resurface, until it dawned on him you could breathe underwater with the mask on. When you did resurface, you were standing right underneath the waterfall, the biggest smile in the world plastered on your face, and Neteyam couldn’t help his own that blossomed like how the flowers in the morning bloom did, like how his love for you did. 

Neteyam couldn’t remember his life before this. Before tangled bodies and insurmountable pleasures. He couldn’t remember who he had been, what used to occupy his mind and thoughts, what feelings, middling and insignificant, used to plague him before your being took over everything, over every second of every day, over every dream and nightmare, over the past, present and future. Neteyam knew he fucked up. Knew that he lied to you that day, when he told you he wouldn’t fall in love with you. Because he did, he fell like from a distance so far removed he could no longer see the ground. And yet, Neteyam knew the ground was there, and that gravity was pushing him towards it, and that whilst the fall was freeing and exhilarating now, while now it felt like flying, once it ended, it would crush all his bones, and his spirit, and his soul. 

“This might be the best thing you’ve ever shown me!” You were screaming loudly, trying to be heard above the booming noise of the waterfall crashing down in deafening roars, and he laughed at how enthusiastic you seemed, how wild and free. You’ve always been like that, Neteyam mused. You kept to yourself in the labs, and in the village, around the scientists and other people, around his mother and the clan - but when you were around people you loved, people you were comfortable with, you were uninhibited and unconfined to expectations, and fears and limitations, at liberty to be yourself, to shine brighter than any star in the sky. 

“What are you doing over there, Teyam? You know I don’t like to be kept waiting!” 

He shook his head, but said nothing as he removed his cummerbund and knife belt and dove in the warm water, swimming until he reached you. As soon as he did, your arms and legs encircled him like they always tended to, automatically and without thought. 

You looked in his eyes, and the glimmer in it made Neteyam’s mind freeze and go blank, made his heart thump in his chest and sweat pool on his skin, that was promptly washed away by the undulating water. 

“I want to kiss you.” Neteyam couldn’t help the words coming out of his mouth, a confession and a plea all in one, a futile one in the face of untouchable facts, such as the fact being without your mask will kill you.

You smiled and placed a soft hand on his face, tracing his lips gently, and he shuddered under the touch. “I want to kiss you, too.” 

“Thank you, Teyam. This is beautiful.”

“I’m glad you like it, ma Vol. As soon as I saw it, I knew I had to bring you here. It was the only thing on my mind, the thought of you and m-“ Neteyam realised his mouth was running faster than his mind could keep up, a rare occurrence in his life, but fairly common in your presence. 

Your eyes were wide and full of surprise, and fear started creeping on your face, unannounced and unwelcome, although not completely unexpected. He shouldn’t have said that. Every time things got a little too… intimate between the two of you, any time either of you pushed the boundaries that you both established, boundaries that you needed to abide by above all, it took a while to fall back into step, to get things back to normal, to mutually forget and pretend it never happened. He didn’t want that to happen again. Things were going great for you two, and he didn’t want to lose any time with you, any time he could be loving you instead, any time he could be making you writhe underneath him, any time at all. 

“I - I just meant… you know… I -“ 

Your slender fingers found his lips again and at the small pressure you put on them, he stopped talking. Your eyes softened and your surprised expression melted into one of muted happiness, of unspoken affection, of forbidden feelings. 

“I know.” 

You spent hours swimming and giggling, splashing water at each other, enjoying how, when both submerged, the difference between you didn’t seem that extreme, the discrepancy in your bodies and your heights nothing that couldn’t be promptly overcome. You talked until your lungs were running out of breath and your voices hoarse, just catching up and discussing everything that’s been going on since you hadn’t seen each other. 

Right behind a waterfall stood a layered rock formation, which happened to allow for perfect positioning so that, when sat on it, your and Neteyam’s faces were at the same level. You smirked as you slipped your finger in the band of his loincloth and tugged at it until he took the hint and got closer to you. He didn’t have time to protest you taking off your mask recklessly and smashing your lips against his, a kiss so passionate and deep, it pushed any rational thought out of his mind and replaced it with desire and a tingling ache, one that he knew too well, one that seemed ever-present around you. 

“Vol..” he tried to speak against your lips, but you just shook your head and deepened the kiss, pushing your tongue past his lips until it met his, entangling in a suave dance until you were panting and heaving against him. He tsked annoyed at your foolhardiness, and watched patiently while you fastened to mask on yourself again and took deep, settling breaths. 

“You take my breath away… get it?” You laughed and then laughed some more at how unamused he was. “Come on, it’s funny.”

“You putting your life in danger foolishly is not funny to me.” 

You smirked and shrugged indifferently. “Well, not everyone gets my sophisticated sense of humour.” 

“God, I hate this mask.” 

Neteyam knew how much you hated it. He hated it, too. He’d give anything to be able to kiss you freely, to caress your face, to feel your lips and your soft skin, to see your eyes reflecting the colours of the nature surrounding you instead of a piece of glass doing it instead. Fortunately, Neteyam always knew how to cheer you up. 

“Vol…” he started, voice so low and soft it was almost purring. His long fingers traced your beautiful body, and each freckle adorning it, until he reached your panties, that he skilfully pulled down your thighs, until you were hanging on to them by an ankle. “Just because you can’t kiss my lips, doesn’t mean I can’t kiss yours.” 

Neteyam watched as your upper body leaned backwards until your back hit the rock wall, pushing your head back and closing your eyes in anticipation. Your hand found its way to his hair, that you grasped tightly and pushed him down, and he laughed at your already needy and disheveled demeanour. “You know, Teyam? You’re definitely the bestest friend a girl could ever ask for.” 

•☽────✧˖°˖☆˖°˖✧────☾•

I haven't fallen yet, but I feel it comin'

Tell me would it be too much to ask, if you break it to me gently

“What?” Neteyam could hardly believe his ears, could hardly believe that the words coming out of his dad’s mouth were his current reality, and not a nightmare his mind concocted to make him ill, to keep him awake until his eyes started burning in his skull. 

“We are leaving. Tomorrow.”

Neteyam watched in pain as Tuk cried silently and immediately felt the pang of fraternal instincts kick in, urging him to pick her up and hold her close in his arms, let her cry it out in the crook of his neck. 

“But why, daddy? I don’t want to leave.” 

His dad’s stiff posture melted at his daughter’s words, that he could never resist. His eyes softened and he sighed, taking his mother’s hand in his. 

“Because we are in danger, baby girl. We now know the humans brought Avatars with them, that they brought the best soldiers back to life to hunt and kill me. And they will stop at nothing to do it, including hurting you.”

The only thought spiralling violently in Neteyam’s mind, as usual, was you. His heart was pounding aggressively in his chest, the increased heart rate making his ears hurt and his head dizzy. What did this mean? How would leave? Just the family? What about you and Spider? You were family to him, and to the rest of the Sullys. Maybe not to his mother, but even she would never want anything bad to happen to you. If you did come, would you make it in another clan? Would they ever accept two humans as one of their own? The Omatikaya barely did, and you have been part of their lives for 19 years. What if you didn’t come? He couldn’t leave you. He couldn’t lose you. What was he supposed to do? 

No. No, he couldn’t leave. He wouldn’t leave. He wouldn’t leave you, he promised you, he promised himself. No matter what would ever happen in this life or the next, Neteyam knew you were the only constant he cared about, the only person he wanted to take with him and keep for the rest of time. He would tell his father no. For the first time in his life, Neteyam would tell his father no. 

“Kids, I can’t risk putting you in danger. I can’t risk putting the Omatikaya in danger once more, leading them to war. I have too much to lose.” His eyes flickered to his mother, that was sobbing silently by his side, but tried to keep it together for her family and be brave, have a strong heart. 

“We have too much to lose. If we go, we can keep them safe. The clan…” His father looked intently at his kids, eyes focused on Kiri and Neteyam. “…The humans.” 

The humans… 

Leaving would protect the humans. Leaving would protect you. 

I'm waking the next day, without you beside me

And who I hold on to today, tomorrow will just be a memory

•☽────✧˖°˖☆˖°˖✧────☾•

You and Neteyam’s friendship had a lot of boundaries, for good measure. It was necessary when you were doing things normally reserved for couples, or mates, when you were doing things to each other that no one else would approve of, or understand. One of the rules of the game was that you wouldn’t sleep together. You used to, when you were younger, but that was when your relationship was platonic, back when things were… normal. Now, you thought sleeping together and cuddling would be too intimate, too inappropriate, and it would lead to feelings, feelings you were trying to avoid, feelings which might get in the way of the harmless fun you were having, feelings which might make everything… complicated. It was all just fun. Just fun. 

That being said, as it turns out, you were both really bad at following your own self-imposed rules, and so it didn’t take too long for you to break them all. 

Deep, satisfied pants were all that could be heard in the big recreation centre that Neteyam knew by heart by now. It was dark, his freckles the only light that reflected in your eyes, the only light you needed. 

“Well, we’re definitely getting better at that.” you said with a small chuckle. That might have been the understatement of the century, but you didn’t want to scare him by telling him that if it was up to you, you’d have him tied in this room with a chain only loose enough so that he could do this 24/7, but just tight enough so he’d never leave. 

You were laying with your head on his chest, as you always seemed to after a long and exhausting session. You loved the feel of his smooth, muscular body, that, despite your size difference, was somehow the most comfortable pillow you’ve ever slept on. 

“I’m exhausted. I feel like you and Lo’ak forget sometimes that me and Spider aren’t Na’vi, and yet you work us like we are.”

“Stop complaining, Vol. I need you to be strong and agile, ok? I need to know you’re safe and that you can take care of yourself despite this tiny frail body you possess.”

You raised an eyebrow and scoffed annoyedly, mumbling mostly to yourself. 

“Didn’t see you complain about my ‘tiny, frail body’ 20 minutes ago when you were fu-“ 

“Stop, Vol. You know what I mean. The humans are going to be back at some point, we both know that. And you spend too much time in this place, with your experiments and your books and your shows. I know you don’t like being in the village, and I know that my mother and the villagers give you a hard time sometimes, but at least when we go tracking, or hunting, or practicing, I want you there. I need to know you’re safe, ok?” 

He stopped talking, and he sighed deeply, tightening his grip on your body. When he spoke again, his voice was barely above a whisper, laced with intense emotion. 

“I don’t know what I’d do if anything happened to you.” 

You nuzzled your face in his chest and mirrored his grip on you, smiling softly at his concern and his words, that ran shivers down your spine and fluttered butterfly wings in your stomach. 

“The worst thing that could ever happen to me is losing you, Teyam. Everything else, I will handle like the big girl I am.” 

He kissed the top of your head, and you stood like that for a while, enjoying the comfortable silence. The thought of this moment ending hurt you deeply, so much so, you couldn’t fathom it. So you decided not to. 

“Don’t go. You’re comfortable and I’m cold, and my room seems uninviting by comparison.” 

He chuckled imperceptibly. “You love your room, ma Vol. You’ve written songs about how much you love your bed.” 

“I love you, more.” 

He sighed once more, but pulled you closer and settled down for the night. “I love you most.” 

•☽────✧˖°˖☆˖°˖✧────☾•

I would look back at all of this and wonder why I stayed in here

Just to watch you disappear

When Neteyam reached your room in the lab complex, his heart was in his throat and his knees were wobbly, and he was almost reminiscent of his Uniltaron and how the worm made him feel, like he wasn’t there anymore, not fully. Like he could see his body from outside itself, like his was mind watching everything unfold from a safe distance. His movements felt robotic and untethered, no thought outside of how was he supposed to do this? How was he supposed to leave you? How was he supposed to tell you that it’s over, that maybe you won’t lose him to another woman but you still will lose him nonetheless. Neteyam was trying to think which one was better. In a sea of two impossible choices, two unhappy endings, two roads reaching the same endpoint, which one was the lesser evil? And was there ever a third path? Was it ever possible, for you and him… a happy ending? 

He used to think so, used to hope so. Used to love the daydreams and nights picturing it, so clear and vivid in his mind, it was like it was all unfolding in front of his eyes. You, tall and blue, laughing like you always did, taking your Iknimaya. The two of you, riding from dusk til dawn, discovering secret coves and falling asleep on green moss, where he would be able to kiss you freely, where he would be able to link to your thoughts and feelings and know that this was it, his most formidable desire come alive. His family, your family, carefree and happy, full of kids' laughter and formidable first steps, full of joy and love, full of him and you. That's all he's ever wanted. A family with the woman he loved. Not the woman he was promised to, not whichever new one they'd have to find for him in the Metkayina, the woman he loved. The only one.

But now, as he was standing in this room, that he may never see again, listening to the shower that he knew you were currently in, the dream feels further away than it ever has, further each minute, until it was slowly fading from view, so dim and dwindling, until it was gone from his life, gone from his mind, forever. Until only hurt existed, only the gaping hole left behind by your absence, by all the shattered dreams and the shards of broken hearts, his own and the one he knew he'd break tonight.

The anxiety that burned every part of his body also made his tail jerk violently in every direction, and he was pulled out of his nightmare by the sound of trinkets getting thrown on the ground. 

“Shit.” 

Neteyam thought he’d have more time. Hoped that he could gather himself and his thoughts, hoped he would formulate a plan in the few minutes you would still be in the shower. He knew you would have heard it, so he knew he didn’t have that luxury anymore. He still didn’t know how he could ever make the words come out. How he could ever go through with this. 

As he kneeled on the floor to collect the broken vase that was now a fitting image of his soul, he heard the door to the bathroom open, but his eyes remained fixated on the task at hand, unable to look in your eyes, whose memory, whose incandescent beauty would haunt Neteyam for life. He tried to speak past the overbearing lump in his throat.

"Sorry. I wish I could control my tail better, but it's always an accident waiting to happen in these tight rooms."

The silence that befell the room was stifling and suffocating, and Neteyam felt the gaping hole enlarge, felt it taking over his entire chest, seeping into every ounce of his body, spreading like wildfire.

When you did speak, Neteyam almost wished you didn't. Because your voice did nothing to improve his condition, but worked as a perfect catalyst for further breakage, further pain. It was sad, and muted. It was disappointed. It was everything he never wanted your voice to be like when directed at him.

"Why are you here, Neteyam?"

"What do you mean why I am here? I can't be here?"

Neteyam spoke without thinking. He felt adrenaline taking over him, his body knowing he wouldn't be able to do this without the emboldenment given to him in this moment.

"You can, you just never are anymore."

“Vol… come on. You know it’s different now than it was in the village, in Hell’s gate. We’re going to get caught.”

“Yeah, well, we wouldn’t want to get caught. God forbid anybody knows you fuck me in your free time.” 

“Vol…”

Neteyam didn't understand why he was fighting you about something so trivial. It didn't matter. None of this mattered. None of this mattered, and yet, Neteyam felt compelled to speak his truth. No matter what form it came in.

“I know you’re upset about today. I’m sorry.”

“Why would I be upset about today? You did what you had to do. I mean, she’s going to be your mate soon, right? It’s her hands that should be healing you anyway, not mine. Those are going to scar, by the way.”

Neteyam hated to admit it, because he fancied himself a good person, a person who is respectful and caring and conscientious, but he couldn't have cared less about her if he tried. In fact, his engagement being broken might be the only silver lining in the sea of black dread. He only cared about you. In fact, the distance, and the tension, and the silence and the pain, it was too much. He needed to feel you. If this was his last day with you, he'd be damned if he spent it not feeling your body, and your warmth, not looking in your eyes.

You were so easy to manoeuvre on the bed, it would have been laughable under any other circumstances. Not tonight. When he got on top of you, and felt your bare thighs touching his, and your hand wrapped around his arm, and your eyes boring into his, he felt so much love it was overwhelming him, so sure, for the first time in his life, of that you were the only one he'd ever love, that he was irrevocably in love with you for the rest of time. So regretful of the time he could have spent loving you, and telling you, of the time he spent hiding, only to never get the chance of confessing, never get the chance to follow through on his promises.

“Stop. I know you are upset. I wish it could have been you. You know me, Vol. You know I wish it could have been you.” 

Your subtle head shaking made felt sharp bursts of pain shoot through him, like his queue was connected to an electrical socket.

“You should go, Neteyam. This isn’t right. You’re engaged to someone else. I watched her today, watched how worried she was about you, how desperate to help you, to take you away so it’s just the two of you. You’re going to mate with this girl any day now. There’s no room for me in your life anymore. Not like this, anyway.”

He sighed and got off from on top of you, no matter how loudly his mind was screaming otherwise. He wouldn't do anything you weren't comfortable with.

“The engagement is broken.” 

He wanted to stop. He could just stop and not say anything else. He could just end it there, and watch as your eyes widened in shock, then settled on a happy, relieved disposition that he saw so vividly in his mind's eye, it was almost as if was happening. He could just not go. He could stay, and love you, and make love to you, and keep you. It would be so easy. Nothing's ever been as easy as falling in love with you.

Leaving would protect the humans. Leaving would protect you. 

“Because I’m leaving. I’m leaving the Omatikaya, and so is my family.” 

Far beyond my reach is the future you promised

Now what I never even had, I have every reason to miss

"What did you just say?"

You heard him wrong. You must have heard him wrong. You wiped his tears off your face and sat up, feet dangling off the bed.

"Vol..."

"What did you say, Neteyam?"

You felt anger pick at you like you liked picking at your nails when anxiety took the better of you, and it hurt, and it burned, but anger was better than sadness, so you let it burn until you were ashes on the ground.

"My dad said we have to leave for the Metkayina clan. They're looking for him, trying to kill him. If we go, the clan will be safe. You will be safe."

"Are you kidding me right now? Please tell me it's one of those jokes like the ones Spider and Lo'ak love making that I don't get, but they find hilarious, for some reason. Please, Neteyam. Please."

You were begging, you realised. Outside of the intimacy of your bedroom and the cover of darkness, you never begged. You have never begged anyone for anything in your life. And there you were. Pathetic and weak. Begging a guy, the guy, to spare whatever was left of your heart with just a few words. All it took was a few words.

Neteyam wiped tears off his face and stood arrested in your room, arms limp by his side, like he couldn't move. Like you couldn't move.

"I'm not kidding, Vol. Trust me, I want nothing more than to be kidding. I want nothing more than for this to be a stupid, childish joke. But it's not. We are leaving tomorrow."

You were too stunned to speak, so you opted for the only other reaction your body seemed to be able to produce: laughter. You laughed. Loudly and obsessively, louder than you should have, louder than you ever have. It was so ridiculous, so ludicrous, it felt like the only appropriate reaction.

"This can't be real. This can't be happening."

Neteyam knelt by your side on the bed, and took your shoulders in his hands, urging you to look in his forlorn eyes, red and puffy, just like yours were.

“Vol, don’t you understand?! This is going to protect you. This way you get to be safe. I need to know that you are fucking safe, and if that means I go, then I go.” 

There it was again, the anger picking at your brain until it buried everything else, until it was the only thing.

“Oh, that is such bullshit! Stop acting like you would choose to stay regardless of your family’s choice, even if it kept me safe. You have never been able to choose for yourself, never done anything outside of what Jake ever said, what Neytiri said, what Mo’at said, no matter how bad a choice, no matter how much you didn’t want it. I’m supposed to believe that it would be different now why?"

“It would, Vol, because it’s you!” he shook you gently as he said that, eyes so intense, so serious - so truthful.

"So stay. Just fucking stay. Please."

“Even if I stay, I still have to mate with her, don’t you understand?”

You knew that he was right. There was no win for you. For either of you. This life was cruel, and it gave with one hand and took with both, always leaving you with less than what you started. You weren’t one to question the meaning of life or the fairness of the universe, but now, taking in the man you loved more than anything in the world, the man who you knew loved you, you wondered what was the point of it all? Why were you here? Was there really that much cruelty reserved just for you? Were you how humanity was paying for its horrible missteps on Pandora? Were you an experiment, a toy put on here just as a Voodoo doll for Eywa, and every time she pricked another needle in you, it would reflect back on Earth and on of the people banished back to it? It felt like that sometimes, and it definitively felt like that tonight.

"I can't believe this. I can't believe you."

It suddenly felt much like you exchanged moods in between you, his despondent, wretched one passed on to you and replaced with your anger, strong and unwieldy.

“God fucking damn it, Vol! Do you think I want any of this, do you think this is my choice, that this would ever be my choice?! I'm trying to protect you! I'm trying to make sure you are safe, that the clan is safe! What the hell do you want from me?!” 

He was angry and desperate, tears obvious in his eyes, as was the flush in his cheeks. Your eyes were leaking endless streams that you couldn’t push back, that you couldn’t remove from your cheeks in time before they were replenished, like they were begging to be seen and acknowledged, like the pain wouldn’t be denied - it wanted to be felt, and it didn’t care who it had to go through to do it. 

You felt emptiness envelop you like a shroud at the situation that settled in and had time to stew in your mind with each passing moment. It was over. All over. The dreaded ending, the wreck it would leave behind, it was greeting you like a warm friend, announcing its arrival. 

I'll just shut my eyes, forget that you were mine

How do you go from making one your home

And then just letting it all go

Your voice was numb and flat, quiet undulations with no emotion to give them any fluidity or any life. Your words were just a means to an end. 

“Nothing, Neteyam. I don’t want anything from you anymore.” 

You turned your back to him, unable to look at his skin on which traces of you still lingered, at his eyes in which you always saw the window to his soul, and your soul, the meaning of life and your future happiness encapsulated, his lips that traveled your body like a curious wanderer, finding Valhala in between your thighs, his hands which held your face and touched your hair, which pushed you closer to him or on him. A glance at any of these things and you would crumble, and you would shatter in a million pieces that no one knew well enough to put back together apart from him. You were a puzzle only he knew how to solve, and in his absence, you were all alone, and broken, left to mend your own cracks, knowing full well you’ll never be able to be put yourself back together quite the same way you were before. 

“Vol… please.”

“Leave, Neteyam. Just go. Just fucking go.”

Stay. Please. I love you. I’m so in love with you. Don’t leave me alone. I don’t want to be alone. I don’t want to lose you. Please. Please. Please. 

The sound of the door sliding closed behind Neteyam was the last thing you heard before he was out of your life, leaving everything you had behind.

So I breathe and let you go

How do I breathe and let you go?

Taglist: @liluvtojineteyam @pinkpantheris @netemoon @fanboyluvr @bananafruityawne @liluvtojineteyam @zaddyneteyamlovergirl @netemoon

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[simptasia]

Tell me all about LOST all I know is from Dane Cook

that is. such a funny sentence

aw shucks, its tempting, but i don't wanna give ya spoilers. and there are truly things in lost that must be experienced by your own flesh

...yes im aware of what my blog is like

so i guess i'll give a vague spoiler free overview

so. a group of plane crash survivors find themselves on a mysterious island and have to deal with the strange happenings + their weight of their individual traumas

the show is serialized and one ep more or less flows into another, so literally no ep can be skipped (no matter what anybody says) or else you'll miss something

its a large ensemble cast, ranging from the 13 to 20s range, all in all i think theres like 35 main characters

the show follows a flashback structure, each episode dedicated itself to a main plot on the island intercut with flashbacks to one character. we call these centric episodes. eg. this is a jack centric episode. sometimes an ep will have multiple characters have flashbacks in one ep. while this show didn't originate the concept of a large cast or flashback storytelling, it did popularize it in the early 2000s. so a lot of post 2004 shows wanted to be lost so bad and it shows

at first lost was a survival show but they gloss over this very quickly and its more about the weird shit going on. as time goes on, plots and mysteries stack up. this is to create intrigue, as the shows main focus is an endless parade of character studies. with the added bonus of some cool and twisty shit going on too

but because lost had so much plot, over time it got accused of being confusing and convoluted and Not Answering Questions and well. your mileage may vary. but i think its confusing if you watch it too slowly. like, it aired over a 6 year period, no wonder people got confused. its better to watch nowadays, way easier to handle

the genre of lost is: drama mystery action paranormal sci fi romance with a dash of comedy. lost is full of the saddest fucks you'll ever meet but the show contains enough levity and great colouring to make it not a huge misery fest

pretty decent racial diversity. next to no LGBT rep. more women than the average tv show. then and now

the score FUCKS

not a single bad actor in this entire show, the performances on display are fucking outstanding. and every emotion is like up to 11, which is great for my autistic brain

for those of you who find sex scenes to be tedious, i have a bit of trivia for ya: all sex in LOST happens off screen. not a single sex scene to be found. pre sex, yes, post sex, yes. making out, yes. but sex itself? footage not found. i'm neutral on the concept, i just thought that was something to point out

i highly recommend lost to, like, anybody. ever. its a masterpiece of television. even the low points are better than most shows. sometimes i take lost for granted and then i watch any other drama series and im like "oh right, lost is incredibly good"

its my third favourite show. and thats only cuz star trek and doctor who exist, and nobody is beating those fuckers

anyways do you like to see beautiful people cry and scream but it isn't cringe?* well, i've got a show for you! *okay there is some cringe. as a treat. the leading man of this show has the social grace of a cold pancake (affectionate)

thank you for your time

#i have considered doing a Guide To LOST type thing #where i give an amusing gist of each character

[imagitory]

Just for the record, guys? I've seen the new Haunted Mansion movie multiple times now, and it's really good. Like -- really good. It's like the filmmakers took into account all of the problems I had with the Eddie Murphy film after my mum and I first saw it in theaters back in 2003 while working on their project.

In the Eddie Murphy film, I felt like just about everyone -- excluding the actors playing Edward Gracey and the butler -- were miscast. The child actors weren't that great, the two servant ghosts weren't that memorable (aside from Wallace Shawn reminding me of Vizzini the entire time), Jennifer Tilly as Madame Leota was as terrible of a casting choice as Kristen Chenowith playing Maleficent (sorry, Descendants fans, but -- what??), and Eddie Murphy himself...yeesh. Worst of all though, the woman playing Eddie Murphy's wife was a wooden plank of an actor, which made it so hard to engage with her when she's arguably one of the most important characters in the narrative.

In this film, just about every single person is perfectly cast. Every last one. Danny DeVito, Rosario Dawson...even Owen Wilson surprised me! Chase Dillon as Travis...that kid is going places, I'm saying it now! LaKeith Stanfield in particular was absolutely stellar: I even cried at one point, watching his performance, when I almost never cry at movies. Even Jared Leto -- who I admittedly don't know if I would've hired, given his history -- wasn't a bad choice, just as an actor. He certainly gave off "unlikable creep" vibes as the Hatbox Ghost -- so hey, I guess we have type casting, at least! I admittedly wouldn't have picked Jamie Lee Curtis to play Madame Leota, but she was still an infinitely better choice than Jennifer Tilly.

In the Eddie Murphy film, it leaned a lot on slapstick and pop culture humor, as opposed to any of the macabre dark comedy that the Haunted Mansion ride is known for. Eddie Murphy's style of humor really just didn't fit in with the tone of the original ride and the objectively beautiful Gothic sets the filmmakers had designed.

Yes, admittedly, the new Haunted Mansion movie uses pop culture references too (often in the form of rather forced product placements), but I won't lie, they still got a chuckle out of me, particularly since they weren't the only source of humor in the film. There were snappy retorts, cynical asides, subverted expectations, and -- of course -- dark humor, on tone with the ride. One rather funny bit ends up involving Ben and Father Kent trying and failing to convince elderly Bruce not to come to the Mansion after the old man says he's having heart surgery the following week, and later on, Bruce gets the particularly macabre one-liner "I'm too old to die!" right as he's being thrown in front of a speeding truck. We have Bruce cracking a joke to offer comfort during a really heartbreaking scene, rather than just to divert attention away from Ben's grief. We even have the rhyming headstones at one point!

The Eddie Murphy film focused way too much on Eddie Murphy's character being a "bad" father for working so much, rather than the way more interesting ghost story about Master Gracey and Elizabeth. We also get almost no references to the Haunted Mansion-canon characters aside from "Master Gracey" and Madame Leota.

In this new film, the backstories and personalities of the human characters tie INTO the story line with the ghosts, rather than distracting from it. Ben's dealing (very badly) with the grief of losing his wife Alyssa, which makes him particularly vulnerable to the Hatbox Ghost's machinations. Gabbie and Travis are similarly coming to grips with the loss of their husband/father. Travis is also having to contend with being the new kid in town and not having any friends while living in this haunted house that makes both things even harder. "Father Kent" gets hired to do an exorcism for Gabbie and Travis, only to get trapped by the ghosts himself, when he's not even a real priest, but he ends up using his own skill for persuasion and his strong emotional intelligence to bring in the other people they need to stop the Hatbox Ghost. Bruce has been obsessed with the lore surrounding the Mansion and similarly haunted houses for years, which makes him a valuable resource for exposition about the Mansion and later about the Hatbox Ghost's backstory. Harriet, as the resident medium, not only serves as the main combatant force against the Hatbox Ghost at the end since she has the power to banish him, but she gives great exposition about how our world fits in with the spirit world and this universe's "rules" about how they relate to each other. I kind of miss any real use of the Ghost Host, and I admittedly don't love this film's interpretation of Constance Hatchaway, since in the ride she's much more greedy and conniving, rather than just a flat-out maniac (plus, I'm sorry, but the story has both a ghost who chops people's heads off and another ghost who lost their head via decapitation and didn't connect their backstories together??) -- but we still have WAY more love for both the Disneyland and Walt Disney World's incarnations of the ride in this film than in its predecessor. There are even references to the creepy wallpaper and the bat-gargoyle stanchions in the queues!

And then there was my biggest gripe with the Eddie Murphy film -- that at the end, the curse is broken and all the little ghosts are "set free," leaving the "Haunted Mansion" largely abandoned. You know -- when the whole POINT of the Haunted Mansion is that it's filled with 999 happy haunts who want to be there? It'd be like ending a Pirates of the Caribbean film with Captain Jack Sparrow joining the Navy! Yeah, screw that -- this new film has their ghosts stay and make themselves comfy alongside their new living residents. Talk about an awesome fantasy for kids -- I would've loved living in a house like this Mansion, full of fun happy haunts who host rocking parties every Halloween!

But yeah -- I wouldn't say this film is perfect, of course...but if you're a fan of the Haunted Mansion ride, and want a film that captures its sense of creepy, Gothic beauty and dark humor without being needlessly gory or graphic, there's a damn good chance you'll love this. I know this movie should've been released in October and it's not really the "spooky time of year" right now, but please consider giving it some support in theaters, where the actors and writers who deserve your love will get a larger piece of the profit pie for their hard work than when films go to streaming.

#haunted mansion #haunted mansion (2023) #disney #reviews #the haunted mansion #opinion #analysis #seriously though this is why the film was released now -- we all know disney's trying to plug it up the wazoo on disney+ for halloween #and yeah again -- writers and actors get paid much less for streamed films than from box office totals :I

[forest-of-cheem]

my initial reaction to the power of the doctor was… well. bloody loving every single minute of it.

now that i’ve had some time to think it all over…

(under the cut because spoilers!!)

thirteen

this really did feel like such an excellent send-off for her.

she might well have made my favourite regeneration scene of new!who. the way she was so desperate for more time… but in the end, went into the sunrise with peace and happiness, and no regrets except wanting to know what comes next… and the visuals, on the clifftop with light shooting off in all directions…

the AI hologram!! i love that it was responsive rather than just reeling off the standard “if you’re seeing this, then i’m dead” message.

i love how expressive whittaker is. just. her face is doing so much, all the time, and it’s brilliant.

yaz

she’s come so far…

watching her pilot the tardis with her notes!! and even being able to catch ace as she was plummeting from the top of a building!!

i love her literally shoving the master to the ground and taking the tardis with her.

not to mention the way she fooled his ass, and forced him out of the doctor.

she carried the doctor!! yaz really stepped up and said i will be the goddamn hero today!!

i get the sadness over no thasmin kiss, but i guess. to me it makes sense, in a way. it’d be more painful for them to have some intimacy now when 13 is right on the brink of regenerating. and i’m a sucker for a tragic romance.

especially when new!who has only really seen two doctor/companion couples get romantic kisses in its entire run - 11/river, and 10/astrid. (yes, rose kisses tentoo, but he’s part donna, so i would argue it doesn’t entirely count.)

idk. what i’m trying to say is: romantic associations with the doctor rarely end well, for multiple reasons. that we got explicit confirmation of 13 and yaz’s mutual feelings at all is enough for me.

the master

dhawan is the best new!who incarnation of the master and i will die on that hill

inserting himself into all of those paintings was so uncalled for and so unnecessary, and i loved it

ra ra rasputin… artistic poetry. a masterpiece of the screen.

the master wearing 13’s outfit?? i am half-feral. i need more of it.

not trying to be rude, but i genuinely don’t get the people complaining that his plan/motives were too confusing/unclear. like… it was pretty clear to me…

“don’t make me go back to being me” i WILL cry.

playing the recorder when yaz abandons him…

and the way he squealed when the elevator doors closed on the way down to the bunker?? this episode really said here’s all the things you never knew you wanted sacha dhawan to do.

he was delightfully unhinged throughout this entire episode. if rtd doesn’t bring him back, it’ll be a damn crime.

fourteen

look, i love 10. he’s my favourite doctor. but i am… conflicted about his return.

for one thing, i simply refuse to refer to him as 14 when that’s supposed to be ncuti gatwa!!

also, 13 leaves full of optimism and excitement, and then the first trailer for next year sounds all gloomy and severe?? i’m not feeling it.

also, i already feel like those specials simply will not compare to POTD. this was THE anniversary special for me, and it wasn’t even really intended as such. this ep had old doctors and companions alike, and so far the 60th is three episodes of… 10 and donna. and that’s it.

some of my bitterness here may well be the fact that i’m already sick and tired of seeing people all ~hooray the boring mediocre woman is gone it’s time for my favourite MAN doctor, yay, doctor who is saved!!~ like. shut the fuck up already.

everything else

no surprise that dan left, but tbh i feel like that could have been reworked into him leaving at the end of the preceding ep. it feels weird having him only at the very beginning and then near the end.

gonna be honest, before this ep i thought kate stewart was a perfectly decent character, but simply didn’t care much about her. but she was excellent in this episode, and now i definitely want to see more of her!!

the group for past companions is such a fantastic idea and i’m amazed it’s not been done before. everything about that bit was perfect. and it was so cool seeing classic companions! even if i didn’t have any real idea who they were!

this episode is gonna be what makes me watch classic who. i tried several years ago but… i got bored halfway through the second episode. keep meaning to go back, but i never have. now i definitely intend to.

on that note, i thought this was a great introduction to ace and tegan. their bits with the AI hologram were very sweet and have left me really wanting to see their classic stories.

i really thought vinder was gonna be the timeless child daddy, and instead. he was just there. he helped yaz, fair enough, but what was he even there for in the first place?? are he, bel and karvanista investigating alien shenanigans too now??

me, pretending to be shocked when graham arrives, despite having known for months about that set photo circulating of him and dan together…

all in all, this was a top-notch episode for me. my only quibbles are with dan’s early exit, and vinder’s presence feeling a bit random… and tennant’s return that may or may not go down well next year. idk. i have faith in rtd to deliver a fantastic era, but i have my doubts as to whether this is the way to kickstart it.

all else aside, jodie whittaker and mandip gill have made one of my favourite tardis teams, and sacha dhawan has cemented his place as my favourite master. and despite most of my actual predictions for this ep being wrong, i was right about this: it was chaotic, it was heartbreaking, and it was wonderful.

#doctor who #dw spoilers #the power of the doctor #this... turned into a very long post... #but i have so much praise to give!! #definitely among my favourite chibnall era episodes and even more definitely among my top new!who episodes overall #the only real problem is that now i want more of 13 hanging out with old companions and chatting with old doctors! #rtd give us the spin-off of 13 becoming one of the other vestiges of consciousness and spending her days with the other doctors #i don't even care what they do just make it happen

[kittiesfordays]

live commentary, as i experience moonlight chicken for the first time ep4

not letting capitalism win by watching my gay little shows, when i should be sleeping because tomorrow is a work day :)

You can't just start the episode with heart and li ming being cute like that, think about my health

They're in love, your honour, this is sick and twisted

Okay but how did li ming know to put his thumb against hearts pointer finger and pointer finger against thumb, because i would have gone pointer to pointer and thumb to thumb.

This is so sweet i'm going to cry wtf

Fully was just taken out of the scene bu the feet. One more thing to add to not being able to look at tv food is hating when feet are shown, this is so bad for me personally

alan🥰. Listen, i'm down so bad for first that alan could be a serial killer and i would find a way to justify his actions.

Wen don't be mean to alan.

i hate when people do this thing. Jim raised his voice at li ming first, and when li ming, justifiably upset, raised his voice in return, suddenly jim's the adult and is not letting li ming raise his voice. It's almost like you don't see him as a person, but just a silly little child. I think that's jim's biggest problem, is realizing that li ming is growing up and becoming independent, and jim just cannot accept it for whatever reason. That being said, i'm starting to really dislike jim, he's kind of a hypocrite.

Just to mention this - my current negative emotions towards jim have nothing to do with the actor who portrays him. i have seen people send nasty stuff to earth online because of what jim does in the drama. Just because earth plays jim, doesn't give anyone the right to send earth hate. Love love love earth, he's amazing. Jim however - not so much. But i'm only in ep4 so there's plenty of time for growth.

Thank you thank you thank you li ming for standing uo for yourself against jim

Heart being an absolute gremlin while li ming is in his feelings makes my heart sing❤️‍🩹

Happy 74th birthday uncle jim

Wen put it beautifully - when it's li ming making decisions for himself, in jim's eyes he's too young and not smart enough, so the decisions should be made for him. But when li ming needs to follow jim's expectations, he's old enough all of a sudden. Thank you wen!

earth has this way of sighing, that's sonically very unpleasant. He did it in atots too. It's very sharp.

Jim let wen kiss you!!!!!!!

Omg dvds. i never had a dvd player but i did have dvds that i put in the computer. One in particular - edward scissorhands. Literally watched it every day multiple times a day for months.

That cat is very stiff and obviously doesn't feel very bonita in that environment but bonus points to jim for having a cat.

Now they're eating cat food.

Alan🥰

Alan's kinda 😬

Gaipa has never done anything wrong in his life, he's an angel

Gaipa, i have a proposition for you. Alan's single, you're single, you're both wanting people who are emotionally unavailable. How about you two make it work between yourselves.

Christmas??? I guess it was september in the beginning. I cannot take christmas seriously when there's no snow. Imagine celebrating christmas in a 24degree heat. Talking about Celsius obviously.

Why didn't heart and li ming go out when the parents weren't home..

Not fourth's mic pack fully showing during the water spitting scene

ford??

Alannnnnnnnnnn, why did you ruin the moment

Everyone's sad now

Thoughts after watching - gaipa will never do anything wrong, he's the loml

Alan is on thin fucking ice

#moonlight chicken #spoilers #heartliming #jimwen

[chickenandwafflesandtv]

Orange Show+Movie

Hi! Welcome back to my blog! This time, we're in for a doozy.

Hold up. I'm not watching a sport anime? What alternate reality have we entered?

ORANGE SEASON 1

Just kidding. If there's one thing I love to watch as much as sports animes, it's animes that are guaranteed to make you cry. And boy did this one deliver.

BACKGROUND

The morning her second year of high school begins, Naho Takamiya receives a letter addressed to herself from 10 years in the future. The letter states that the events that will occur over the next few months will leave her with insurmountable regrets. It also includes a list of monumental moments that Future-Naho wishes to change. Finally, the letter states the most important thing that Present-Naho should be is be kind and take care of new student Kakeru Naruse, because 10 years into the future, Kakeru is dead. The letter ends with Future-Naho saying that her biggest regret is the fact that she and her friends could have saved him. The show follows Naho as she tries her best to change Kakeru's fate, all while slowly falling in love with him.

REVIEW

I cry semi-often when I watch anime, but it's usually at random times. I can say will full honestly that this is the most I have ever cried over a TV show in my life. I cried in literally Every. Single. Episode. The art style for this show was perfect, even if they made Naho's eyes weirdly large at some points. The plot and storyline were phenomenal. I'm a huge advocate when it comes to mental health/illness and media that surrounds that topic always ends up hitting me really hard. This show was no exception. I really enjoyed how about halfway through the show, it was revealed that the rest of Naho and Kakeru's friend group also received letters from their future selves, telling them what actions to take to save his life. Knowing how the characters' future ends up and seeing if they can change it meant that I couldn't bring myself to look away from the screen for one second. Seeing each choice they characters had to make and the different consequences each action had led to a gripping story that had me audibly gasping and yelling a TV that can't hear me. My roommates had to come into my room multiple times to check up on me because I was having full-on breakdowns over this show. This truly was a masterpiece.

BONUS: MOVIE

Imagine my joy when I finally finish drying my eyes and find that there's a movie sequel from the point of view of Hiroto Suwa, one of Naho and Kakeru's friends who ended up marrying Naho in the original future (a fact that everyone but Naho and Kakeru knew through the events of the original series). The movie is essentially just a retelling of the show from Suwa's perspective, but it does include a few new scenes from both the original future and the future that exists after they saved Kakeru. This one wasn't as sad, but it still packed an emotional punch; dealing with lost love, selflessness, and putting others' happiness before your own. I will admit that I also cried to this one.

SIGN OFF

When I started this blog, I thought it would be enjoying the shows that interest me. This show had gone above and beyond, it may have just changed my life. I had tried to watch this show sometime last year but after about 2 minutes, I just couldn't stay interested. All I remember is I liked the theme song and downloaded it. Finally watching the show now, I will probably never stop thinking about it. It's the kind of show where every so often, I'll think of a scene from it and be overwhelmed with emotion while I'm putting away groceries or answering a question in class. It's more than I ever could have imagined.

8/30/22 3:02pm

#orange #orange anime #anime #manga #tv #tv series #crunchyroll

[writefightandflightclub]

"Ride or die is so special to me" chapter 3 edition!!!

Hey uuuuhm.... I had to put down my phone multiple times to steady my breathing in order to get through this chapter. Reminded me a lot of watching Scenes From A Marriage bc just like that show, it is great in a heartbreaking way and my poor soul needs a minute!!!! UNWELL at how incredible a writer you are. The inner monologue descriptions were as stunning as they were painful, but I have to commend you on the dialogue in particular. It really felt like two broken people on the precipice, battling with both themselves and each other, with no clear end or goal in sight. Just "I love you, you break me, I want to hurt you, I cannot bear to cause you pain, can you please stop ruining me" as subtext but in such a way that it feels like it is being screamed. How two people can be so perfect for each other and yet tear each other apart and rip themselves up in the process... you have really captured the irrationality and intensity humans can embody while in love with so much poignancy and truth. This chapter also did a wonderful job of showing that it is rarely as simply as "all X person's fault", which I loved.

One of my favourite parts is that the motifs really stood out in this chapter, like payoff to the setups of the previous installments. The mentions of going in circles, the idea that the person who knows you best holds all the potential for your happiness and also all the ways to complitely annihilate you, the cruelty of love ill-timed, the pain of having a former lover be the open-wound in your soul... what I'm trying to say is that this chapter is like really spicy Indian food. I adore it but it makes me cry.

Really every detail felt well thought-out and crucial and every line is gorgeous so I had a hard time singling a section out, but this might just be my favourite part: "What do you do, when your home is also your battlefield? When you’ve already done enough fighting for a lifetime? When all you want is to feel safe and at peace, and he can’t give you that?" I am rooting for these two idiots so bad...

Special to me Anon! Hello again! 😀👋🧡

You are giving me LIFE. You have no idea! Part of me doesn’t even want to post this ask so I can hoard it in my inbox like the treasure it is!! 🥹

Ah yikes, it reminded you of Scenes From a Marriage? That is such high praise indeed, I thank you! (That show destroyed me, I will probably never watch it again LOL 😅.)

That you enjoyed the dialogue honestly means the world. I’ve spent a lot of time reworking and tinkering with it, and playing with what I could have them say and know and want, but also NOT say and NOT know, and what to keep to subtext.

And UGH I love your interpretation of the conflict here: “battling with both themselves and each other”, and “I love you, you break me…”. That was put so beautifully, I’m soft now! I mean. Babe (GN). Where do I read YOUR writing? 👀

And you noticed the MOTIFS? I am vibrating with happiness over here omg.

Finally: “I’m rooting for these two idiots so bad”?!!!???!??!!?!! AAAAAAAAAAA. This is everything I could hope for, honestly! I didn’t want the desire of wanting them to get together to become too buried or lost under all the angst. We’ve never really seen them *happy* together yet, you know? And so I wasn’t sure if I could generate that feeling of “I want them to figure this all out”. So I’m super pleased you are rooting for them (they sure do need it! 😝)!

You have truly delighted my lil writer heart. Thank you so much. I know this all takes time out of your day - to read, to put down a response - and so please know I’m super grateful! ☺️🧡

Have a lovely weekend!

#special to me anon is special to me #ride or die series #santiago pope garcia x reader

[sircolinmorgan]

You’ve only just got here. Can’t you stay and annoy me for a bit longer?

#luciferedit #lucifer #tomellisedit #lucifergifs #dailylucifernetflix #tvedit #cinemapix #dcedit #dcmultiverse #dailytvgifs #bbelcher #chewieblog #fyeahlucifernetflix #i have watched this scene multiple times now and it makes me cry every single time #that lip bite lucifer does in the second gif to stop himself from crying #ugh such a gorgeous scene #my gifs #lucifer1

[i-am-kind-of-lost]

Okay genuinely asking

What srk 2000s movie is the best?

Like i was just listening to tumhe jo maine dekha and i realised that i don't even know what that movie is from and like everyone has seen them

so from which should I start?

~cupcake

Tumhe Jo Maine Dekha is from Main Hoon Na. How do you not know that? Jail. Jail.

Okay, so SRK from 2000 to 2010 is pretty much flawless era, except some movies which I don't remember. They are probably shit if I don't remember them.

Every single of these. And I mean, every single of them has a mind-blowing good album. Guaranteed two-three songs in each, which you will love for as long as you will live.

Main Hoon Na (2004) is quintessential Bollywood movie. It is the most bollywood movie to ever movie. You know. And somehow it still works, till this day. Soundtrack is first love vibes.

Om Shanti Om (2007), is another one of the same mould. Made by the same director, Farah Khan. Silly as fuck. Soundtrack is god-tier good.

Chak De India (2007) has probably SRK's greatest performance, along with Swades and My Name is Khan (onto them, later). You have probably seen this. I mean of course you have. The emotions this movie makes you feel, and the fact that it actually juggles multiple characters, and just ugh. I love this movie so much.

Kal Ho Na Ho (2003). That's it. Just watch it, if you haven't.

Veer-Zaara (2004). SRK had a very good 2004 btw. He was nominated for Best Actors for 3 different movies. Veer-Zaara is probably one of the best pure Romance movies, made in this country. Rani Mukherjee is so good. Fun fact, the soundtrack of this movie, uses compositions made by Madan Mohan, who had died in 1975. 30 years after his death.

Mohabbatein (2000). This movie is one of the major reasons I want to become a professor in a college in a hill station. Oddly similar to Dead Poets Society. Just like Koi Mil Gaya is very similar to ET.

Swades (2004). The least bollywood movie among the lot. His performance is iconic as hell. I love the pace of this movie so much. And I really love the romance-plot as well, because it doesn't feel overdone, or rushed.

My Name is Khan (2010). You have probably seen this already. It's a little overdramatic in the end. It's Karan Johar, what do you expect. But his performance is so good. So good. Features the greatest proposal scene in the history of cinema. The scene where he meets Jimmy Shergill after the latter's wife is attacked, will never not make me cry. Same goes for the scene, where he reunites with Mandira.

K3G (2001). YEAH.

Dil To Pagal Hai (1997). Everyone remembers the soundtrack of this movie. As they should, because it's fucking amazing. But the movie is so much more than the soundtrack. It's so good. Akshay Kumar is in it, as well.

ALSO.

How I remember these movies, has a lot to do with nostalgia. A LOT. If you have never seen them in your life, and you are watching them for the first time now, you are not going to enjoy yourself as much as I do. Some of them are problematic as fuck. Looking at you Mohabbatein. Move on you fucking weirdo, you are hallucinating your dead girlfriend of 10 years. These movies were a huge part of my childhood, so yeah, I remember them very fondly.

#srk #holy fuck #this went long #sorry #cupcake #shah rukh khan #main hoon na #mohabbatein #chak de india #swades #dil to pagal hai #k3g #om shanti om #my name is khan #veer-zaara #kal ho na ho

[snackhobi]

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

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

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

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

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

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

--

Taehyung goes through a lot of different phases.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jesus Christ.

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

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

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

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

And then you have a miniature breakdown at Pickles.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

… Anyway.

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

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

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

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

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

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

(You have the backbone of a chocolate éclair.)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How’s your shoulder feeling?”

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

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

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

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

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

--

Your luck doesn’t last.

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

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

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

“What do you think sounds best?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He just shakes his head.

“Okay,” you say.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Taehyung?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(You’re going to die.)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sorry.” He sounds genuinely apologetic.

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

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

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

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

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

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

(It’s not cool.)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Better?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(What is he doing?)

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

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

“Taehyung.” Your voice is high and faint.

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

“Taehyung,” you repeat. Your voice shakes.

He hums, low and indulgent. “Yes?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(But.)

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

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

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

“Taehyung.” Almost pleading. 

“Yes, love?”

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

(You’re not.)

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

Before you can think, you nod.

“Yes,” you whisper. “Please.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Anything you want,” he murmurs.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Of course you want to.

“Okay,” you whisper. “Let me move.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, Tae,” you beg. “More, please.”

“Whatever you want, sweetheart.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You got edible massage oil from your course?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You really are perfect,” he says.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Here?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, fuck—”

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

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

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

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

“‘M sorry,” he murmurs. 

You pause.

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

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

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

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

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

There’s a pause. “Really?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Taehyung?”

“Yes, angel?”

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

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

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

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

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

--

(“Hey, Pickles.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

--

taglist: @beyoncesdragon​

#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

[huenjin]

don't wanna be friends.

pairing: hyunjin x reader | bff2l!au, pornstar!au

word count: 3.705 words

tw: pornstar!hyunjin, nsfw content — dick piercing!hyunjin, multiple orgasms, breast play, breath play, fingering, cunnilingus, marking, penetration, unprotected sex, dumbification, slight overstimulation, creampie, mentions of reader masturbating to hyunjin's porn and the porn explained in detail.

music rec: damage is done | devin hoffman.

note: this was an nsfw ask originally but it got way past the limit, so tada, made it into a oneshot. if anyone was wondering why it's in this format/theme. unedited, like every other work of mine.

you gulp down the next shot under hyunjin's watchful supervision. you've lost count of the shots you have taken and hyunjin has lost count of how many times he has told you to stop, that you are drinking too much.

"he told me that i can't fuck right. that i should at least pretend to fake it to satiate him," you scoff, another tear rolling down from the brim of your eyes and hyunjin wraps his arms around you, pulling into him to comfort you. "i can't— jinnie, i just don't come when he fucks me. i— maybe something is wrong with me. maybe i just can't orgasm when someone—"

"hush," hyunjin slowly taps your back to keep your thoughts shut. "there's nothing wrong with you, minion. you're fine." he pushes your big round spectacles up, calling you by the name he's always teased you with.

you slam the shot glass down, eyes groggy and head woozy from all the drinks you've gulped down. you lean forward, eyes wide open, glasses sliding down as you look closely at your best friend.

hwang hyunjin is attractive. you've always known your best friend is attractive. his bright eyes that light up at the sight of his dog, kkami, running to him right after you cuddled kkami forever. or the way his face morphs into one of disgust when you threaten to put eggplants into his plate. or the way he'd cuddle you when the weather gets too cold. hyunjin is attractive, both in looks and behaviour.

beyond this, your best friend, hwang hyunjin, is insatiable in the eyes of many women and men, including yours. a pornstar by profession, he knows the ways around women, having them come undone in his hold in minutes — you refuse to believe it's orchestrated. you know how he is in bed or at least what the biz wants him to exhibit and that alone has you trembling.

and to make matters worse in your end, you've orgasmed only once your whole life and that was during the time when you played with yourself while stumbling upon his porn (you were randomly searching for one and the temptation to watch your best friend just exceeded everything).

you knew his profession for so long — hyunjin told it to you over a glass of wine that you spat onto his white shirt the minute he told you about it. the conversation was never spoken about after that.

until today.

"what are you doing, minion? damn," he chuckles, "you really look like a minion with those glasses."

you still once you close in on hyunjin. hands on his chest, eyes fixated on his, you lick your lips and hyunjin's eyes widen, eyes unknowingly trailing downwards till he has to tear his gaze away, reminding himself that it's you, that it's his best friend.

"do you want to fuck me?" liquid courage, indeed.

"you must be kidding me?"

"why? you do this regularly."

hyunjin shoves you away, pushing you back against the couch. his eyes narrows on your figure and you fold your arms. he huffs, eyes glaring at you before looking away. he stretches his arm to take a glass and pour himself a drink, gulping it down and feeling the much needed burn in his throat.

"why?" you whine. "jinnie, that's your job. fuck me. you don't mind it. i'll just be one of those girls."

"i do mind it," he raises his voice. "you're not just one of those girls. fuck, y/n, you're the only constant in my life. why would i fuck that up?"

you bite your lower lip, eyes watering at the rejection suddenly. your drunkenness is what stirs the emotional side in you and your heart is heavy. you just want to be able to fuck like everyone else, just want to feel the bliss your friends talk about, the euphoria they reach.

"wait, are you going to cry?"

"no," you bite your tongue from letting out the sob. "i won't cry. you're not the first guy to reject me. this is normal. no one wants to—"

"y/n."

"—fuck me. who would want to fuck the girl that can't orgasm, let alone fake one?" you let out a fake laugh, tears finally rolling down your eyes.

"oh goodness," hyunjin sighs. he pulls you into him for a hug, rubbing your back soothingly. "you're my best friend, y/n. i shouldn't—"

"i want you to," you look up at him. hyunjin heaves in a huge breath. it catches in his throat as he looks down at you. god, he loves you. he has loved you for years now but who would want to be in a relationship with a guy who fucks girls for a living? not anyone sane. you deserve better. fuck, you deserved so much better than him.

yet, his heart won't stay still. his mind won't stop racing with thoughts he shouldn't normally have about his best friend. heavens, you have hyunjin wrapped around your finger and you don't even know it.

"y/n, don't—"

hyunjin loses his last bit of control over your proposition the minute you place your lips over his. it's exactly as he has envisioned. soft, delicate and everything that kept him away from breaking. you capture his bottom lip, kissing him softly, hands trailing under his sweater. hyunjin feels the goosebumps rising up, your warmth seeping into his. it takes everything in hyunjin to keep his hands away.

you pull away, catching your lower lip with your teeth before letting go and looking away, "you won't even kiss me back. am i that worse? do i kiss bad? jinnie, i just want to be—"

hyunjin has his hands on your face, turning it for you to look at him before he has his lips crashing down on yours, taking your breath away. you heave, breath hitching and you gasp.

hyunjin is aphrodite. the very reincarnation of sin. he creeps into you just as you expected, crawling into your mind and captivating every single sense of yours. your hands are in his hair, tugging at the roots and moving against his body. his hand sprawls over your neck and his thumb presses into the neck, rubbing slow circles. he kisses the top of your lips, your hands tugging at his sweater and you are moaning into his mouth.

you pull away for a second, fingers digging into his clothes, tugging at it to be thrown away and hyunjin obliges. helping you out of yours too, the two of you face each other stark naked. you take him in for the divinity he is in your head, eyes trailing down to his slightly erect dick and you gasp.

it's true. the videos don't lie. he is bigger than you had seen, girth firmer than you had envisioned and the frenum piercing has you salivating. it shines under the lighting, your eyes unable to drift away from it, lips parted slightly and heavens, hyunjin can't take his eyes away from you either. was this what he was missing out all this while in the name of friendship?

his lips are back on yours, your breasts firm against his chest as his cock rubs against your inner thigh. it's messy, heavy and has you panting for breath, chasing after his tongue, wrapped around yours like they never want to let go.

quicksand. this is quicksand. you're falling in too quick; falling into everything hyunjin has to offer way too quickly. and you love it. your mind is rid of thoughts. just hyunjin, hyunjin, hwang hyunjin. he pushes back, still kissing you heavily, till your back hits the soft covers of the couch and he's hovering over you.

hyunjin's tongue licks your lower lip, causing you to moan and he's groaning at the sensation, pulling apart for air few minutes later. he cups your face, thumb brushing the side and you lean into his palm.

"i— we should—"

"no, please don't stop," you beg. "not now. please. we're in too deep to stop."

"but y/n—"

"please fuck me, jinnie. fuck me like you fucked soojin."

hyunjin's eyes widens and he pulls away from you. looking at you as if he's staring into your soul, he gulps. "how did you—" his cheeks redden. "wait—" you bite your lower lip. hyunjin pulls the rubber band that holds his hair up, causing the silver strands to fall forward. he runs his finger through it, pushing it back as he holds it tightly to focus. "you watched my porn."

you gulp, lips drying up and you nod, running your mouth quickly to justify yourself. "i did. it was supposed to be a one time thing but—" you look away. "—i touched myself to that. i fingered myself to you fucking soojin and it's the only time i came."

if hyunjin has been just losing it all this while, now, he has lost it completely. his eyes darken, a light growl leaving his lips as he holds your legs and pulls you closer into his kneeling self. you groan slightly in his grip.

"you want me to fuck you like i fucked soojin?"

"yes—"

"want me to fuck you like some doll, huh?" he bends forward, kissing your neck, sucking at the skin till they stain purple to his pleasure. hyunjin marks you all the way to your breasts, covering your skin with both dark and light marks as you repeatedly confirm, "yes, yes, yes."

hyunjin pulls away, staring at you almost tauntingly, licking his lips and running his hand through his hair. he drops the words like they are heavy. "tell me then. tell me what i did and i'll do the same to you, just like you wished."

"you fuck—"

"no," he shakes his head. "in detail. from the very first scene. you'll get only what you ask for. nothing more. nothing less. so, go on, doll. tell me."

the power you hold is insane. you do not know how to use it, however. having never been given this much power, you look at your best friend for a while before slowly telling him. the words seem foreign to you but if this is how it is going to be, and if this helps you come, you're doing it.

"y-you kissed her first." your voice is barely audible. like you're telling hyunjin a secret. hyunjin catches your lips yet again, tongue presses against your lower lip before he slips it in, tangling it with yours as he kisses you. you moan, eyes closing as your hand wrap around his axle, hands pressed on his back. your fingers plays with the few strands of his silver dyed hair at the nape. he pulls back, waiting for you to continue.

with a little more confidence and the huge amount of liquid courage in you, you demand, "you marked her up like you just did to me. i hate that you marked her up. i hated it so much but turned me on."

hyunjin sucks a hickey right above your breast, speaking into your skin, "you hated it, doll?"

"yes. wanted it to be me." hyunjin's teeth grazes your skin and you moan, "fuck." your fingers pull his hair lightly and hyunjin grunts, teeth biting into your skin, making a dark mark that has you arch your back and your thigh to rub against his cock.

"what else did you see me do, doll?" his mouth trails further down to your breast and you gasp.

"you sucked on her breasts. played with it harshly." hyunjin abides by it, sucking on your breasts, tongue lapping around your nipples and drawing out circles by it. "yes, yes— fuck, jinnie, oh my—" hyunjin finds it seductive as fuck that you never complete your sentences as you moan. and he wants you like that — barely being able to say words besides his name. that's all he needed to hear.

"you played with soojin's other breast at the same time like—" his hand is already on your right breast. it pinched the nipple, twisting it between his thumb and forefinger. the pain shoots up and it clouds your senses, causing you to grind on his cock. your arousal leaks through you, and you feel yourself grow wetter with every single flick of hyunjin's tongue.

his right hand is still on your breast, his lips trail downward. your breath hitches in your throat and you let out a shortened sigh as he breathes lowly against your skin, kissing it before landing right in front of your core, wet with want for the man before you.

"so fucking wet and what for, doll?"

"your cock, oh my god. jinnie, want your cock in me. please." you beg, writhing in his hold as he grabs your breast, fondling it in his hold.

"that's not what i did in that video. go on, continue." it's stern with command and has you spitting out the next in sequence instantly.

"you—" hyunjin is playing with your nipples as he waits for you to speak. his finger twist and turn your nipples and you're squeezing your thighs together in this intense pleasure. "fuck, can't think, jinnie. i don't know. i—"

"no, no," he hushes. kissing your pubic mound and licking small stripes, he mumbles, "you have to remember the only porno that had you come, right?"

"you—" you feel his warm breath all over your core and a gush of arousal oozes out. "you had your mouth on her pussy. you ate her out till she came, oh my god. you ate her out—"

"well done, doll." and his lips are on your wet ones. he licks at the lips, pushing it apart as he takes in your arousal, lapping in to take it all. it's merciless. and if you thought his porn was intense, you forgot all about how hyunjin himself was a walking pornography. the way his tongue licks your lips, tip teasing your entrance as he rubs your clit, slowly. he draws small circles over it, tapping at the engorged button till your toes curl in, knees lift up to bend for your feet to press down. your eyes are squeezed shut and your fingers pull at his hair every time you feel the knot tightening.

the room is filled with lewd noises and your moans, resonating through the whole area for you to hear it out in the silence. it's pornographic. the voices you make resemble those that you heard. hyunjin licks another stripe up your sodden lips before wrapping the plump pair around your clit and sucking on it, loud noise of suckle resonating and causing you to move your hips slightly.

his teeth grazes over your clit, nibbling slightly till you feel the knot clench in your stomach. it's a vortex forming deep within and from the one time experience you have, you know. it's coming. you're so close. hyunjin rubs your clit furiously, mouth moving back your lip as he eats you out. he pulls apart right when he knows you're soon to come and in a second, two of his fingers are deep within you, rubbing against your inner walls and you're crying out his name just like he wanted.

it's hyunjin, hyunjin, hyunjin. that's all he can hear — his name dripping in saccharine from your mouth, topped with all those insatiable moans that leave your lips and hyunjin quickens his pace. the two fingers thrust in and out of you, finding the spot and rubbing at the walls to elicit a particular reaction — hyunjin is searching. searching for that one spot that will have you ruined for him.

"fuck, oh fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, what—"

the minute he touches a particularly soft area, he has you grinding down on him, chanting his name like a mantra and he knows — hyunjin's found your spot. he rubs it as he curves his fingers, having you arch further into him. he sucks on your clit, fingers thrusting in you relentlessly.

and you come undone so easily that it's a surprise how your ex couldn't do this for you. you see the white under your eyelids as you come undone. hyunjin helps you ride it out. he removes his fingers and licks you clean, taking in every single drop of your orgasm.

"told you that you were perfect," he says, looking at you and smiling. he kisses your mound as he lifts your hips up. "you're the most perfect human being ever. so how in the world could anything be wrong with you?" he wipes away the tears rolling down your eyes, as an effect from the intensity of the orgasm you went through. "so, doll, now tell me what else did i do?"

your mind is blank. you can't think of anything. your mind is filled with just the man before you in all his naked glory and how you just want him. "want you, jinnie. please. i want your dick. please want that."

"that's not the answer to my question," he huffs. "did i not lift her legs up like this?" he lifts your legs and places it over his shoulders. his erect cock is angled right and he rubs the head all over your wetness. you hitch and whine, stuttering how much you want him. "did i fuck my doll dumb? did i fuck out all your brains, baby? oh no. should i fuck you more? can you answer that, doll?"

you nod, lips parting. "want jinnie's dick. want it. want it in me."

"as you wish, doll," and he inserts it into you, pushing your walls apart with his fingers till he thrusts completely into you. his piercing underneath his shaft drags against your walls, the cold metal adding the extra sensation that tingles your nerves. his large hands hold your hips up, your ankles hitting his back bone everytime he thrusts into you. he uses his one hand to hold your wrists together above you as he hits your spot over and over again. the friction of his big cock and the frenum piercing is all too much right after one orgasm. the stimulation is over bearing and you know why the girl in the video has her eyes roll up, tongue out and lips swollen.

hyunjin plunges into you and you gush all over his cock, coating almost all of his length with your arousal. hyunjin is barely in but he is already hitting your spot, hot tip brushing against it vicariously and the frenum piercing cold against it. the friction is enough to have the knot tighten so fast and hard that you know this is going to overpower you. hyunjin lets go of you wrists but you hold them above you obediently. his hand trails to hold your breast, squeezing it and fondling with it; the other holding your legs up securely.

with every thrust, his piercing drags against your walls and his balls slap against your cheeks. tears spill down your face as you scream loudly, "jin-ah, fuck. jinnie, jinnie, jinnie. it's too much, oh my god. i can feel it. oh—"

"you're taking it like a good, good doll for me. you can take more. i know you can." he takes his cock out. he wraps his fingers around it and dragging it across your slit and your core, the frenum piercing rubbing against it and you're ready to snap again.

and without any warning, he enters into you again, this time harshly and with a quicker pace. it is fast and hard and has you gripping onto him for the life of yours, your hands moving to hold his biceps, fingers digging into it. hyunjin fucks you like he wants to take you to heaven and back. like he wants to show you everything you are missing out and that there's nothing wrong with you. it's the men. always the men.

"going to fuck you and show you how you should be fucked. how you should be getting it. going to fuck you dumb, doll and have you be mine."

he doesn't stop. hyunjin is grunting and huffing as he thrusts repeatedly in you, his pubic bone hitting your clit and causing short sorts of heightened sensations.

"jinnie! i'm coming. i'm coming. oh fuck, i'm—"

second one in a span of few hours. if you could think properly, you would be surprised at how you came twice. it's surprising that you've come thrice so far in your whole life and all three times were to be credited to hwang hyunjin, your best friend.

you come around his cock, the white flash spreading under your eyelids and you are weeping. you feel the rushing oxytocin clouding your brain as you clench tightly on his cock. hyunjin doesn't stop however, as he chases after his own high, thrusting even faster if it were possible and overstimulating you. in a few minutes, hyunjin is coming in you. hot white spurts of his cum coating your insides as he thrusts his orgasm out, only to pull it out eventually and have his white come and yours poze out and stain the couch.

your eyes are shut and you are panting heavily, chests rising and hyunjin brushes your hair away from your face, wiping the sweat that has accumulated by your forehead. he places your legs down and mumbles, "you okay, minion?"

"hm," you respond. that's all you can say. you were too fucked out to think or do anything. hyunjin chuckles and slowly getting off the couch, he carefully lifts you up into his arms. you snuggle into his chest, wrapping your arms around him. "where are we going?"

hyunjin barely hears you question with how soft it was. you repeat and it is the second time that he hears it perfectly.

"going to clean you up and rest you in bed. you need to sleep well now." you nod, snuggling further into his chest as he carries you into his bedroom.

hyunjin's wrong, though. when he wondered how in the world anything could be wrong with you, he clearly knew there is something wrong with you.

you are too dense to ever realise how deep his feelings are for you.

#hyunjin smut #stray kids smut #skz smut #kpop smut #hwang hyunjin smut #hwang hyunjin #stray kids #skz #hyunjin x reader #hyunjin fic #hyunjin scenarios #hyunjin imagines #skz imagines #skz scenarios #writings.rue

[memes-saved-me]

Billy Hargrove and implied Queerness

First off this is focusing on his scenes without Steve because we've all seen those and....they're pretty homoerotic to say the least so I will be bringing your attention to the other factors which lead people to believe Billy is gay or interested in men and not so much women. This isn't very indepth but more surface level observations I've made and seen others make.

(TW: Homophobia and slurs discussed)

Season 2

The first scene we get of Billy he is instantly sexualised by those around him. Tina and Vicki taking interest in him based on his looks while Carol watches on rather unamused. This sets a trend for his character and his relationship with his looks and body, but more importantly how he uses it to his own advantage. Of course this was done to play into the 80s bad boy who all the high school girls fall for but what I'll explain later makes it much more interesting.

The next we see of Billy is with Max on their way home. During this scene he insults the looks of the high school girls, referring to them as cows. We then get a very interesting line "Yeah, we're stuck here and who's fault is that?" Which Max replies to with "Yours."

A response that instantly angers Billy to the point he demands she take responsibility for moving to Hawkins. A topic that has clearly been discussed before because Max's reaction implies this has happened before if not multiple times.

In Runaway Max, which isn't confirmed canon and contradicts a lot of stuff but, we are told that the reason they moved was because Billy was completely off the rails to the point he broke her friends arm. Now. Does that make sense in blaming who's fault the move was? If this is the case it is obviously Billy's fault so why does he keep saying it was her who caused this? She clearly liked being in California so why would she do something to make them move. Unless it was unintentional...

This heavily implies that there is an unspoken incident which involves them both. An incident which triggers such anger and recklessness in Billy to the point he almost runs over Mike, Lucas and Dustin because Max wouldn't say it was her fault. Many have then filled in this gap with Max accidentally telling either Neil or Susan about Billy and another boy, which would make sense with the information or lack of information we are given in canon about the reason they moved.

While at Tina's Halloween party we do not see Billy interact with a single girl. He is seen with Tommy and another boy who then approach Steve with him. It would make sense for girls to be drooling over him in this moment, trying to dance with him or following him inside but no. He makes a beeline for Steve and we do not see him for the rest of the party.

Now, I don't know about you but have you ever seen a teenage boy look less interested in his date? Not only is he not interacting with verbally but also physically. He then gets angry when she calls Max his sister and they drive off without a word. It's implied he is taking her home as he they were waiting for Max, meaning he was probably going to hook up with her but if he was wouldn't he act just a little nicer towards her?

I mentioned before that he is the archetype for 80s bad boy and the girls sure are falling, he just isn't catching them. This is the only time we see him interact with a women his age in a romantic way. If you could call this romantic at all.

When in trouble for letting Max run off while watching her, his response is that he doesn't have the time to go looking for her because he has a date, a date we never see or get the name of, this prompts his father to say the line "So that's why you've been staring at yourself in the mirror like some faggot..."

A line that then prompts Billy to snap and argue back after clearly wanting to get out of this situation as fast and smoothly as possible. Where else have we seen anger brought on by a topic? That's right in the car with Max. There is a trend of Billy reacting with anger to conversations or comments he finds personal or as some sort of attack. This is also when Neil becomes fully angry with Billy as seen in his rather shocked reaction at his response to that line.

This also continues the trend of Billy caring about his looks and using them as a shield of sorts, a shield that doesn't work against his father but everyone else he encounters.

Something to keep in mind, Billy is the only character to be called a homophobic slur by a parental figure other than Will. The character he mirrors in multiple ways including having the same full name William, as well as Will being heavily implied as gay or queer. Both of their father's use homophobic language against them, unlike any of the other characters in the show.

The next we see of him after the incident with Neil is also when we see him interacting with another women in a romantic sense. Karen. This is where his use of his looks and body fully come into play. He uses these assets to get information and affection out of Karen to make his father happy and avoid further punishment.

Now this is my own interpretation but Billy is used to using his body for positive attention and doesn't get that any other way. At no point in the series is he treated like a person other than in S3 by Max and Max only. Everyone else views him in an objectified manner or as a bad guy to avoid.

There is a clear resemblance between Karen and Billy's mother which I'll further discuss in the season 3 section but this leads me to believe he is subconsciously or even consciously wanting positive attention from a motherly figure, he just doesn't know any other way to achieve that.

However, it is very clear that flirting with Karen was an act as seen by the quite jarring juxtaposition of these two frames. The mask fully gone once by himself again. Meaning the only time we see him flirt with a women it isn't genuine at all.

Season 3

Now, continuing off the last point, there is countless girls practically drooling over Billy at the pool but he only accepts this attention from Karen. This exemplifies my theory that he doesn't know how to gain positive affection other than through flirting and well sex, but he only wants this attention from an older women who resembles his mother. Except, again he doesn't know any other way of gaining it. He hasn't had a strong positive female influence in his life since he was 10 years old and by the looks of it every motherly figure has treated him as eye candy and not a teenager crying for help.

He has Heather who is very much his age and flirts with him. Yet, he acts as if she isn't even there and goes straight over to Karen to flirt. The way he acts with Karen should be the way he would act with girls his age, flirting and making advances but we do not see a single example of this.

This part I find extremely interesting because it perfectly mirrors his interaction with Karen in season 2, except instead of dropping the mask he puts it on. The way he looks to his right as if she is sitting there as he practices what he is going to say to her is a clear example of his act coming into play as he prepares to meet up with her. His expression very similar to when he leaves the Wheeler home but it shifts to practice the way he is planning on talking to Karen. A complete reversal from their scene in season 2.

A rather reaching piece of symbolism could be that this also mirrors the way Neil cuts off Billy's date in season 2 as the Mindflayer is a literal representation of him being controlled by his father.

I also find it very interesting that he chooses to flirt with Karen very publicly and this might be reading a little too into it but it comes off as trying to uphold some sort of image. Another example of this is Max saying she hears Billy with girls in his room, something that sure is something he would do but when you put this with everything in this post it also comes off as him trying to prove something.

Another thing I find interesting is the way he acts around Karen, all smiles and friendly is very similar to that of the way he acts at dinner with Heather's parents. An act put on by the Mindflayer, just as he does when flirting with Karen. A mask used for underlying means and not what it shows on the surface.

Conclusion

This is all just my observation and he is not canonically gay or queer but the way he acts around women compared to Steve is a very interesting aspect to his character. If they truly intended for him to be this bad boy ladies man then they failed at presenting that.

One final thing, which I have posted about before is the fact Billy does not use homophobic language towards anyone. Even Steve does in season 1 so it would make sense for a teenage boy trying to upstage another teenage boy to use slurs and such to belittle and bully him. Except he doesn't.

I could write a full dissertation on Billy's implied queerness but a unorganised Tumblr post will have to do. Thanks for coming to my TED Talk.

#billy hargrove #harringrove #theory #not tagging anything else because I cba with antis #this is not canon #so don't attack me #it is just a theory analysis #thank you

[translations-by-aiimee]

The Husky and His White Cat Shizun - Chapter 28

Original Title:  二哈和他的白猫师尊

Genres: Drama, Romance, Tragedy, Xianxia, Yaoi

This translation is based on multiple MTLs and my own limited knowledge of Chinese characters. If I have made any egregious mistakes, please let me know.

Chapter Index

Chapter 28 - This Venerable One is A Little Confused

Elder Yuheng broke the rules and was punished. He might as well have sprouted wings. There was no need to wait until the next morning; Almost all the disciples of the sect had heard about it that same night.

Two hundred strikes; if he were replaced by any other ordinary person, they would probably be beaten to death. Even a cultivator isn't indestructible.

Xue Meng jumped up after learning about it: "What?! Master went to the Court of Discipline?"

"Young Master, go and talk to the Lord. He's already injured. How could he stand two hundred strikes?"

Xue Meng was going crazy: "My father? I can't. My father is still at the Snow Palace and hasn't returned yet. A carrier pigeon wouldn't even get there for another day. Why didn't you guys stop Shizun?"

Mo Ran and Shi Mei glanced at each other.

Stop Chu Wanning?

Who in this world could stop him?

"That's out of the question. I'm going to find him right now." Xue Meng roared and ran towards the Court of Discipline. Before he entered the courtyard, he saw a group of Elder Jielu's disciples blocking the entrance of the main hall, whispering about something.

"What are you standing there for? Move! Get out of my way!"

"Young Master!"

"Ah, the young master is here."

"Make way, the young master is here."

The disciples quickly separated and gave way to Xue Meng. The gate of the Qingtian Temple was open, and Chu Wanning was kneeling silently, his posture straight, his eyes closed. Elder Jielu, with an iron rod in hand, was reciting the laws of Life-Death Peak. Every time he finished reciting one, the iron rod slammed against Chu Wanning's back.

"The ninety-first law of this sect: do not indiscriminately hurt the innocent, and do not use cultivation against a mortal. Under this rod, do you have any objections?"

"None."

"The ninety-second law of this sect; do not act arbitrarily, do not act selfishly. Under this rod, do you have any objections?"

"None."

Elder Jielu didn't dare hold back and had to execute the punishment as he would with any other disciple. After more than ninety sticks came down, Chu Wanning's white robes were stained with blood.

Xue Meng respected Chu Wanning the most. When he saw this, his eyes went bloodshot, and he shouted: "Shizun!"

Chu Wanning ignored him. His eyes were still closed and he frowned slightly.

Elder Jielu glanced at the door and muttered: "Elder Yuheng, the young master is here."

"I'm not deaf, I heard him." Blood dripped out of the corners of Chu Wanning's mouth, but he didn't raise his eyes. "He's a noisy child, don't worry about it."

Elder Jielu sighed. ". . .Yuheng, why are you doing this?"

"Who is the one that is always punishing my disciples for being disobedient?" Chu Wanning said indifferently. "If I'm not punished today according to the law, how will I be able to face my disciples in the future?"

". . ."

"Carry on."

"Hah. . ." Elder Jielu looked at his pale, slender neck protruding from the edge of the wide collar that hung gently like thin smoke and asked: "Then can I at least make them lighter?"

". . . This is nothing more than deception." Chu Wanning said. "Don't worry. It's only two hundred strikes, I can bear it."

"Elder Yuheng. . ."

"Jielu, if you don't have anything more to say, carry on."

The iron rod finally fell again.

Xue Meng's voice was frantic: "Elder Jielu! Are you not going to fucking stop? Do you know the situation you've put me in? That's my shizun you're beating!!! My shizun!!!"

Elder Jielu had no choice but to bite his tongue and pretend he didn't hear him.

Xue Meng was about to explode: "Can't you hear me, old man? I'm ordering you to stop! You - If you dare hit him again, I'll, I'll, I'll—"

He thought for a while and couldn’t come up with anything to say. After all, he was only a fifteen-year-old boy. Regardless of the fact that he was "the proud boy of heaven," his strength and qualifications are far less than those of the elders. He could only blush and throw out an outrageous claim --

"I'll tell my father!!!"

Elder Jielu: ". . ."

Chu Wanning let out an almost inaudible sigh.

Ninety-seven strikes. Ninety-eight strikes. Ninety-nine strikes. One hundred sticks. . .

His clothes were torn and blood was glaringly seeping out.

Xue Meng couldn't hold back anymore. His eyes were red with anxiety, and he was about to recklessly rush in, but Chu Wanning suddenly opened his eyes. He waved his hand and a barrier instantly lowered, blocking the entrance. Xue Meng bounced back a few steps, almost falling to the ground.

Chu Wanning coughed up blood. He shifted his glare, narrowing his fierce phoenix eyes.

"Disgraceful! Leave!"

"Shizun!"

Chu Wanning sternly said: "Since when can the Young Master of Life-Death Peak order an Elder to bend the law for his own personal gain? Leave now!"

Xue Meng stared at him. His eyes widened and it looked like little beads of water appeared in them.

Next to him, Mo Ran stroked his chin, and the corner of his mouth was still playfully curled upwards: "Oh, that's not good. Little phoenix is going to cry."

Hearing these words, Xue Meng harshly turned his head and fiercely glared at Mo Ran. His watery eyes were red, but he kept any tears from rolling down.

He had no more objections and no more talk back.

He climbed up from the ground with a single movement. He lowered his head, grit his teeth and wiped the dust off his body. Then he knelt down facing the Qingtian Temple: "Shizun, I know my mistake."

Chu Wanning was still being tortured by an iron rod. His straight posture never wavered, but his face was pale, and his forehead was coated with a fine layer of cold sweat.

Xue Meng stubbornly said: "But I'm not leaving. I'll accompany Shizun."

He said while kneeling.

Mo Ran rolled his eyes towards the sky. Xue Meng, courtesy name Xue Ziming, the proud son of heaven, was only ever humble in front of Chu Wanning. In front of others, he was a phoenix, and in front of their shizun, he became a quail. If he wasn't positive that Xue Meng didn't like men, Mo Ran would start to suspect that this guy was probably in love with Chu Wanning, so much so that he would throw himself in front of death itself for him. If Shizun slapped his left cheek, then this little bitchy quail would humbly slap his right cheek.

Real convincing.

Like an obedient little puppy.

Although he despised him in his heart, he couldn't understand why he was feeling somewhat upset. Mo Ran looked at Xue Meng. The more he looked at him, the more uncomfortable he got and he felt that he could not let him show his loyalty alone.

Chu Wanning already didn't like him. If Xue Meng made such a fuss, does that mean Chu Wanning wouldn't be as harsh with him in the future?

So he simply went over and knelt beside Xue Meng.

"I'll also accompany Shizun."

Of course, Shi Mei also knelt down, and the three disciples all knelt and waited outside. When disciples under the other elders heard the circulating rumours, they all hurried to the Court of Discipline to watch the excitement.

"Oh my god, why is it Elder Yuheng. . ."

"I heard he went into a rage and beat a civilian."

"Ah! He's that cruel?"

"Shhh, keep your voice down. If Elder Yuheng hears you, he won't hesitate to whip you!"

Others: "Why is the young master kneeling?"

"Young Master Mo is also kneeling. . ."

Mo Ran was handsome and he had a way with words. He didn't know how many female cultivators he'd earned goodwill with over the years, but right now, there were several people who couldn't help but feel pity for him and whisper: "I feel so sorry for Young Master Mo. What should I do? Should we intervene?"

"We shouldn't concern ourselves with their shizun - disciple issues. Do it if you dare, I'm not that brave. Do you remember the senior sister who was whipped hundreds of times by Elder Yuheng..."

". . ."

The two hundred strikes were completed.

The barrier was finally removed.

Xue Meng quickly got up from the ground. He ran into Qingtian Temple and approached the scene. Seeing Chu Wanning's appearance, he cried out. He turned his head and grabbed Elder Jielu's collar. "You're dead, old man! Couldn't you have hit him a little lighter!!!"

"Xue Ziming." Chu Wanning closed his eyes, his blood-stained lips moving, and his hoarse voice carried a hidden deterrent.

". . ."

Xue Meng's knuckles creaked. He violently pushed Elder Jielu away, letting him go. This was when Mo Ran came in. He was still smiling, thinking that Elder Jielu must have taken into account Chu Wanning's status and wouldn't deal heavy blows. But looking down at Chu Wanning's injury, the smile on his face suddenly fell.

Didn't Chu Wanning tell Elder Jielu that he had a shoulder injury?!

The two hundred strikes had all more or less slashed across the older wound on his shoulder.

New wounds overlapped old wounds.

Chu Wanning, you. . .

Are you insane?!

His pupils shrank sharply, and a strong resentment surged into his heart.

Mo Ran didn't know what he was resenting, or what he was so annoyed about. He only knew that he felt a blazing fire in his gut, torching through all his organs. He was used to torturing Chu Wanning to death himself, crushing his self-esteem and tarnishing his purity. Mo Ran couldn't stand seeing injuries on Chu Wanning that were made by someone else!

He could move on from his past memories because Mo Ran subconsciously felt that this person was his. This person, whether dead or alive, hated or hated, was all.

He originally didn't care about Chu Wanning being punished because he thought that, since Chu Wanning was an elder, the two hundred strikes would hardly be considered a severe punishment.

At the very least, they would avoid the fresh wound on his shoulder.

But Chu Wanning didn't say anything! He didn't even mention it! What was this lunatic so stubborn? Why did he put up with this? What point did he so stupidly and stubbornly need to prove?!?

His mind was in turmoil. Mo Ran raised his hand to help him, but Xue Meng was already one step ahead of him. He took Chu Wanning in his arms and helped him up.

". . ." Mo Ran's hand hung in the air, and after a while, he slowly lowered it again.

He watched Xue Meng help Chu Wanning walk away, not knowing the feeling that was stirring in his heart.

He wanted to catch up with them, but he wasn't willing to move.

What happened in his past life was all in the past.

Nowadays, Chu Wanning was just his shizun.

Any chaotic, hateful, or intimate entanglement hadn't happened between them yet.

He shouldn't have such thoughts. Whether Chu Wanning was beaten by someone, supported by someone, loved someone, or was even killed by someone, it had nothing to do with him.

Shi Mei came to him: "Come on, let's join the young master and go take a look."

"I'm not going. It's enough having Xue Meng there. I wouldn't help much. Any more people would just create chaos." Mo Ran's face remained unchanged, but his heart was a bit confused.

He really didn't understand what he was feeling right now. What was this feeling called?

Was it hatred?

#2ha novel #2ha translation #2ha #the husky and his white cat shizun translation #the husky and his white cat shizun #chinese bl #chinese novel #mo ran #chu wanning #ranwan #english translation #bl novel #yaoi novel #yaoi #danmei novel #danmei

[strsburn]

destiny led me to you | loki

pairing - loki laufeyson x female reader

synopsis - driven by the heartbreak of losing your entire world by the hands of thanos, you set out to find him, leaving destruction in your path in multiple universes; thus creating a horde of branches in the timeline and catching the attention of the TVA.

but you would do it all again if it meant you could see him once more.

notes - this is hopefully going to be a series, depending on the feedback i receive, i plan to follow the episodes only slightly because i dont want it to be an exact copy of the show.

[THIS WILL CONTAIN SPOILERS FOR LOKI SERIES]

idea credit ( @horrorisunknowntoyou ) thank you for the inspo and allowing me to run with it!

warnings - death, violence, angst, and possible smut (in later chapters?)

wc - 2.4k

MASTERLIST • AO3

"Dread it, run from it. Destiny arrives all the same." A wrinkled hand reaches for your chin, running prune colored fingers along your jawline, doting; mockingly.

Your heartbeat pulses loudly in your ears, eyes glazing over with exhaustion and pain as you attempt to glare, the notion in vain as the titan merely chuckled amusedly.

"I can see great power in you, little one. An infinity stone pulses beneath your every vein. Tell me, where is the tesseract?"

You remain silent.

"We don't have the tesseract, it was destroyed along with all of Asgard." Thor interjects weakly from where he lies, his body held tightly in the arms of the black order.

Guilt sweeps across your being as you make eye contact with Loki, sharing a single nod as you both know what you must do.

Thanos grows annoyed with your unwillingness to comply as he walks over with loud steps, his footprints visible as he raises his gauntlet up, the power stone shining threateningly close to Thor.

"The tesseract, or your brother's head. I assume you have a preference." It's not a question. Merely a statement, one that Loki knows he must prove unbothered.

"Oh, I do. Kill away." To anyone else it would seem he couldn't care less about his brother's demise, but you know your love better than he does himself and you catch the glance of fear that washes over cerulean eyes.

You can only watch in trepidation as the stone makes contact with the God's head. Agonized cries escaping as his skin is burned by the mere power of the stone.

Loki does his best to look unaffected, but you catch the hitch in his breath as he batters inner turmoil. the universe, or his brother.

"Alright, that's enough!"

Loki turns his palm up, as a familiar blue cube materializes in his hand. The eerie blue glow casting a shadow upon his face.

Thanos steps away, smug. You force yourself to look away from Thor's accusing gaze.

"You truly are the worst, brother." Thor shakes his head, eyes disappointed but not surprised.

As Thanos moves to take the stone from his hand cerulean blue eyes make contact with your own and you feel a wave of fear wash over you as you recognize the look in Loki's eyes.

"I assure you, brother. The sun will shine on us again." He does not move his gaze from your own and you can't help but feel this is an unspoken goodbye.

"Your optimism is misplaced, asgardian."

"Well, for one thing, I'm not asgardian. For another, we have a hulk."

In a blur of color you are shoved from where you lie, a slithe figure covering your own as you breathe in the familiar scent of cinnamon and leather.

"We don't have much time, my love. I just want you to know that I love you dearly, and I am grateful for the time I had with you. May I see you again, in Valhalla." His eyes are teary and you barely process his words, as his hands grab hold of your face and pull you into a kiss.

The kiss is desperate, filled with love and grief and you can only briefly kiss your love back as he steps closer to Thanos, rambling on about undying fidelity.

You catch a glimpse of silver behind his back and you gasp as realization sets in.

You move to reach him just as he leaps for Thanos, the knife poised for his head, frozen in mid air as the stones across his knuckles pulse.

"Undying fidelity, you should choose your words more wisely."

You cry out as Loki struggles in his grip, his skin fading blue. You crawl forward, legs aching as you reach for him, your progress hinged by your inability to walk.

"You will never be a god." The rasped words are followed by a snap as his neck gives out beneath Thanos' hands.

A tortured scream rings out and it takes you a second to realize it's your own. A broken sob leaves you as you crawl forward to reach where Thanos has carelessly thrown the body of your love.

You heave as your shaky fingers caress his face, his lifeless eyes staring ahead as you clutch him to your chest.

You rock back and forth knotting your fingers in his hair as you plead for the nightmare to end.

"No resurrections this time."

A portal opens and closes behind you, yet you make no motion to move.

You simply close your eyes and welcome the sweet release of death as the universe explodes around you.

N E W Y O R K 2 0 1 2

"'Coordinates for search and rescue, on my way now.' I mean honestly, how-" Loki is promptly shut up by the mouth guard that decorates his face, courtesy of his brother.

Displeasure makes an appearance as Loki is led to the elevator followed by the avengers that quickly file in. The only source of entertainment being the temper tantrum the green beast throws as he is denied entry. Loki can hardly contain his glee as he waves mockingly as the doors close.

As he is led to the ground floor his cuffed hands clinking annoyingly with every step he glances wearily around himself, dreading the lecture that is sure to come once he reaches asgard. He has no doubt in his mind that Odin will find perfect reason to throw him to the wolves, lest his mother get involved.

As he contemplates, his attention is caught by the sound of his brother calling for help, the guards holding him, attending to what he perceives to be a heart attack, to none other than the man of metal.

He watches, confused as a small stature kicks the case holding the tesseract away from view as the others tend to Stark.

Looking around bemused he watches to see what will conspire next. Before any other move can be made a shout is heard as the doors to the staircase along with the wall is torn apart, the hulk making his distaste for the tedious activity known.

For once since meeting the beast he feels thankful, as the case holding the tesseract is knocked open, the familiar cube sliding towards his foot.

A beat passes and grabbing a hold of the familiar cube he glances around, vanishing in a thin cloud of blue.

T V A U N K N O W N

Hurried footsteps echo down the corridor as the man moves with barely contained excitement. Tie swinging to and fro, a slightly wrinkled hand pulls at the collar of his neck nervously.

Mobius had seen many variants in his time at the TVA. Yet, none had ever come close to interesting as the file he currently held in one hand. Variant L1130 or Loki, as he was called, was perhaps one of the most complicated cases he had come across.

Born as a legend of mythology it was quite unbelievable to know that not only was he real, but he happened to be in their custody for creating a new branch in the timeline. Mobius could only hope Renslayer would agree to allowing him to be the God's superior.

Entering the courtroom, Mobius sits down and watches with rapt attention as Loki attempts to bargain with Ravonna. His plans are foiled as he tries to call upon his magic in a last effort to escape.

Mobius feels it's time to intervene when Renslayer makes it clear he is to be executed.

"You have no idea what I am capable of!"

"Actually I might have an idea of what he is capable of." He offers as he makes his way up to the stand.

His plea must be written across his face as Ravonna leans over to look at him directly.

"Whatever you're planning, it's a bad idea." She warns.

Nonetheless she reluctantly lets him go and Mobius has to fight off the urge to fist pump the air as he escorts Loki down the hallway.

"Oh, I'm Agent Mobius by the way." He offers a hand that is quickly ignored.

He can practically see the distrust written on Loki's face, his eyes calculating every move he makes.

Mobius is hardly surprised that as soon as he enters the room, his back turned to the God as he adjusts his projector, Loki is surging forward to attack. He doesn't even bat an eyelash as he clicks a button on his remote, resetting the God as if the action never even happened.

"C'mon, let's take a look at some of your greatest hits." Mobius waves a hand, as Loki curiously sits down, eyes trained on the projector.

He finds himself staring back at a hologram of his attack on New York. His blue eyes darting back and forth with glee as chaos erupts around him.

A feeling of something akin to shame runs down his spine as he recalls his reign of terror on the city, an illusion of preying on the weak to hide his own fear, lest he fail and succumb to Thanos and his minions.

Loki clenches his jaw, arms crossing over his form in an attempt to hide himself as he turns to avoid the screen.

"I see no point in this-"

"No, no wait, this is just getting good." Mobius grins as he points to the screen and Loki finds himself once again face to face with another variation of himself.

He briefly recalls the time he had lost a bet to Thor and had to change his form into that of a ginger haired man wearing a clean three piece suit, claiming he had a bomb and required over two hundred thousand in midgardian money just to see if he could pull it off. He did, in fact, pull it off, but his mother was not happy as well as the midgardians who failed to solve the case, naming him D.B. Cooper as they had no clue as to his real identity.

His attention is pulled to the screen as a familiar voice of silk enters the scene and he watches as his mother speaks to his future self, his eyes drawn into her face.

"Then am I not your mother?" He hears her ask. Yes, you are.

"No. You are not." Loki's eyes start to mist as he watches the look of hurt pass over his mother's features before she schools her expression into one of contempt.

"Always so perceptive, about everyone but yourself." She decides.

The screen flickers and he sees himself talking to an intruder, his voice amused as he suggests the monster to take the stairs to the left.

Then, his mother, Frigga, lying on the cold ground, a puddle of red growing rapidly beneath her body as her eyes remained closed.

His breath hitches, anger now licking up his spine. He turns sharply to Mobius who smartly remains silent.

"What is this! Some cruel joke? Where is she?! Where do you have her?"

Mobius steps forward, expression neutral as he speaks.

"She's dead Loki. This is the future, it's destined to happen, again and again because that's how it should be."

Loki falters his eyes narrowing as he spits "You're lying! I'll kill you!"

"What? Like you killed your mother."

There's a split second of silence before an angered shout is heard, a chair splitting the air as it crashes into pieces along the floor.

Before anything else can be said Mobius is summoned by Hunter B-15, his eyes falling to Loki who remains silent and he leaves with a slight tinge of guilt burrowing in his chest at the haunted look in the God's eyes.

"You think yourself so sly don't you." Loki looks up at the unfamiliar voice as the projector suddenly comes to life, a new image flicking gently on screen. His eyes catch upon your form and he watches in awe and wonder as you sit beside his future self.

"I don't think, love. I know." He grins leaning in to steal a kiss from you that leaves you both breathless.

He watches as your eyes are filled with nothing but love and adoration for him as you lean into his side.

"Loki?"

"Yes, darling?"

"Do you believe in soulmates?"

Loki tilts his head in contemplation as he looks to you, before a soft grin pulls at his lips.

"I didn't until I met you. I know that no matter who or what tries to tear us apart, we will always find a way back to each other."

A smile breaks out onto your face and Loki watches in stunned silence as the clip ends with the two of your voices fading into laughter.

"You two are meant to be together."

Loki turns as Mobius slowly comes to a stop behind him, his expression thoughtful.

"I don't enjoy hurting people you know." He responds, motioning towards the screen in reference to his attack on New York and the death of his mother.

Mobius doesn't respond, and he takes that as a sign to continue.

"I do it because I have to. Because I've had to." He looks down as he fiddles with his fingers.

Mobius hums as he replies.

"Why? Why do you think that is?"

"It's part of the illusion. It's the cruel, elaborate trick conjured by the weak to inspire fear."

Realization lights up in Mobius' eyes as he answers back.

"A desperate play for control. You do know yourself."

"A villain." Loki sums up.

"Not the way I see it."

There's a mutual silence between them before Mobius sighs.

"Look I can't offer you salvation but I can offer you something better. A fugitive variant has been killing our minutemen."

"And let me guess, you need the God of Mischief to help you stop him."

"That's right."

"How could I possibly be of use to you?"

"That's the thing. The variant we are hunting, we believe is y/n." Mobius looks towards the projector where your image is still.

"I beg your pardon?"

U N K N O W N

Mutilated bodies line the floor as a hooded figure steps over them, eyes glowing an unnatural hue.

"Is it finished?"

"Yes."

A wicked laugh fills the empty space as a portal opens in the deserted land, a set of footsteps following through.

"I'm coming for you, my love."

#loki series #loki x reader #loki laufeyson x female reader #tom hiddleston #loki spoilers #fanfic #loki fanfic #bizzarebarnes

[svchengss]

two halves | l.mh

PAIRING. mark lee x reader

GENRE. fluff, heavy angst

WARNINGS. major character death, grief

WORD COUNT. 2.4k

SUMMARY. right after his death, mark watches how you cope with the loss

A/N. i saw this one tiktok and it kinda inspired me to write this

// just to let you guys know, reblogs and feedbacks are appreciated !! thank you for reading :D

white walls, white room.

mark scrunched his face, his eyelashes slowly fluttering open, the dark brown iris adjusting the size of the pupils due to the brightness of the walls reflected upon it. a soft groan vibrating from his throat, he assessed his surroundings where nobody or nothing else is present. he looked down to inspect his clothing, hoping that it would give him any clue of this room or space he’s in - an all white outfit. this scene looks exactly like the one in the movies where the characters realize they are dead. except this time, he really is.

THE REALIZATION.

the muffled sounds of cries and sobs rang through his eardrums, triggering a reflex to wake up from the state that he thought was a slumber. he is lying on the hospital bed with the light blue clothing piece, faint light illuminating the space where people are huddled up around him. he waved his right hand in the air to let them - who he later remembered as his family members and friends, know that his eyes are already open. nobody moved even the slightest, the atmosphere being very much dead, scent of medicine intoxicating his mind.

then he saw someone who he holds very dear to his heart - you, enter the hospital room, dropping onto her knees as soon as she saw his state of condition. in an instant, he shot up from his lying position and ran over towards the crying you, shoulders shaking and all. bringing his hands to hold you in his embrace, not even a glance spared by you brought a hundred and one questions to him. why didn’t anybody acknowledge him when he woke up? why can’t you feel his touch?

“mark lee. time of death, 10:23 pm,” the tall doctor with glasses rested on the bridge of his nose announced before leaving the room, holding the clipboard close to his chest. mark gauged the monitor screen next to the bed, the line indicating his heartbeat is no longer showing spikes going up and down - instead becoming a flat line, deafening beep present with it. then he sees himself still laying on the white sheets, eyes still closed and no signs of breathing evident. a surge of panic rushed through his veins.

this can’t be real.

mark rushed into the bathroom, a surprised gasp leaving his lips. his body is semi-transparent, the shape of the toilet bowl can be seen through his left shoulder. his body shakes with terror, slapping himself in the cheeks multiple times just to make sure that this whole fiasco is just a nightmare.

oh my god. no, this is real.

mark stood in the back of the crowd, witnessing the funeral of someone and that someone being him. of course, he’s never expected to get the sight of his own service. his mother is standing beside you, her hands rubbing circles onto your back in an attempt to calm your mourning state. you’re still looking ever so pretty, a black chiffon dress on your body with white pearl necklace on your collarbones and your wavy black hair hanging down your shoulders. not that anybody else would notice, it’s someone’s death after all.

“stay strong, y/n. he will always be in our hearts,” the same rhythm of sentence in tones full of pity being directed towards you. mark’s sister enveloped you into a warm hug despite the chilly atmosphere, whispering comforting words into your ears before getting into the family’s car. you’re not going back home, not yet when you still feel reluctant to let him go.

“why did you leave me?” the only coherent words from your hoarse voice can be heard. mark, who is crouching next to you, is holding his tears back. instead, he sends a sorrowful smile - not that you can see him anyway. is there any way to let you know of his presence?

“goodbye, love. i’ll see you tomorrow. i promise,” you dusted the back of your dress from any dirt or debris, leaving a rose on his tombstone. the thing is, he doesn’t want to part from you. and that’s why his figure is seated beside you in the cab. he grazed his thumb on your knuckles, making you feel tingles rushing through. you pushed the slight thought away, you must be tired to be feeling things.

you slowly opened the door to your apartment, you and mark’s to be exact. the whole house is making those memories make their presence in the back of your head again. the kitchen where you two baked cookies for christmas last year. the bedroom where you snuggled upon his chest, not wanting to start your day just yet. the piano where he sang those cheesy songs for you. the living room where you slow danced at 3 in the morning. his favourite mug resting on the countertop, probably will not be used again. this whole situation is too overwhelming for you. you feel weak.

with each day passing by, you didn’t even miss one without a visit to his resting lot. you would tell him stories of how your day went or something that you read which would made him ponder. the words carved on it are already etched onto your brain.

mark lee. a son, a brother and a loving partner.

the clock hanging on the grey wall has it’s arms stretched out to display the time - two in the morning. you can’t sleep just yet, not having any for the past few days even. dark circles are appearing around your eyes, not yet recovered from the puffiness from all the crying. mark’s heart aches everytime he takes upon your state. he feels very guilty, not that death was his choice after all. it’s simply fate, a cycle of life, a destiny that every single creature on this planet will end up with.

you’ve taken the whole month off work, still feeling ever so helpless. in fact, you can’t even remember the last time you’ve stepped out of the apartment, the night before his passing perhaps? you’ve completely shut yourself out from any interactions - deactivating your social media, not accepting any calls. you just need time to heal.

as if you’re being controlled by some type of mastermind, you shoot up on the balls of your feet, pulling away from the couch. those images of you slow dancing with mark, hands in each other’s holds, your chin rested in the crook of his neck and being ever so engrossed in love are coming back more often now. you trudged to the vinyls arranged neatly on the shelf, picking one before placing it on the turntable - frank sinatra, one of his all time favourites.

holding your hands up at about his usual height, you start twirling around. you can almost see the outline of his smile, his features right in front of you. except, he is. he’s been observing your moves the whole night. mirroring your current position, as if you can really see him, it’s a miracle for him. overjoyed actually, he doesn’t realize the salty tears streaming down his cheekbones and so are yours.

“thank you for coming, dear. it’s a pleasure seeing you in what, weeks?” a laugh escaped the woman’s lips. you reciprocated her hug before stepping into the living room. it’s been a long time since you’ve been here, was it in january? mrs. lee had invited you over for a simple dinner, checking up on how you’ve been. you can see that the family is still struggling over his passing, the way his sister’s eyes are not twinkling as usual makes it hard to cover up the lie.

“you see, this was on his high school graduation day. he was very happy that day, doing all sorts of dances and stuff. finally escaping from hell as he said,” she giggled. she’s been displaying all sorts of memoirs to you, photo albums and photographs scattered on the wooden floor. to be honest, you’ve never seen these before. all smiles mark lee, easy to notice among the crowd. not that he’s changed, he’s still that boy now. mark just sat on the couch - his favourite spot, observing the throwback session going on. if he’s still here, his sister for sure is going to tease the hell out of him.

“he told us so much about you, you know? as if everything reminds him of you, that boy is lovestruck. really,” that sudden confession made your tongue dry, unable to find a perfect response. you were really that special to him.

“drive safe honey, you can come over whenever you want. you know you’re always welcome here, right?” mrs. lee handed you the small box filled with some things you’re going to keep. she kissed both of your cheeks, mr. lee standing behind her giving you a small wave. a small smile crept up onto your face before igniting the engine, turning your wheels out of the housing area.

the netflix show is playing on the television, the faint voices of the characters playing in the background. you’re sitting on the floor, flipping through the photo journal you two decorated throughout your one year of relationship. you can see his little scribbles and doodles, often a little dinosaur symbolising your always grumpy personality.

in one photo, a golden birthday hat is nicely placed on your head with him kissing your right cheek. you remember clearly, a surprise party for you last year. in the following ones, they are mostly candid shots - you blowing out the candles while he looks at you full of love, him eating a portion of your dish while you pout your lips. you would say it was the night of your life, spending it with the guy who stole your heart.

the next page of the journal is a shot of mark taking a photo of you in the park. you suppose it was taken by donghyuck? that one picture of you was stuck as his lock screen wallpaper for a while, you remembered getting so embarrassed over it. mark would give you the same excuse every time you questioned him about it, implying that the sight of you would light up his whole day. cheesy really, but that was what remained as memories of the past, tied neatly in your heart.

the rain trickling against your window eventually made you doze off to wonderland, creating the perfect chance for mark to browse through the journal in your hands. carefully lifting it from yours so that you won’t be stirred from your sleep, he settled down in the space beside your sleeping figure. slowly turning the pages, he smiled fondly at each photo holding a thousand moments that can’t be recreated ever again. some of them would make him giggle. he kneeled down slightly to place a soft kiss on your forehead, making you squirm a little due to the faint touch.

“give him a chance. i’m not saying that you should forget mark but it’s been months, you should live up a little,” yerim’s voice sounding concerned from the other end of the line. perhaps she’s right but you just need more time. but how much longer? you’re afraid you yourself have no specific answer for that enquiry.

you’ve been feeling better by now, welcoming people back into your life and carrying out the same daily routine of yours. going to work, buying groceries, going to the drive-thru and whatnot. of course, the void is still obvious - coming back home to an empty atmosphere instead of him waiting for you on the couch, sometimes dozing off, no more weekend cafe runs. but at least you’re trying your best. you bid your goodbyes before tapping the red button, ending the call. plopping the device onto the mattress, you stared at the white ceiling, deep in your own thoughts.

you should give him a chance. live up a little.

yes, you should.

getting hold of the phone and immediately opening the messages app, you searched for jungwoo’s number. he’s been trying to take you out for dinner for a while now. you still remember his exact words, whenever you’re ready he’s always there, waiting for you. you’re not really sure about that particular question but it wouldn't hurt to give it a try, right?

typing in the words ‘okay, sure’ is already a pressure for you but you still proceeded to press the send button. glancing at the clock showing the time, the notification ping redirected your focus onto the screen.

jungwoo: cool, is tomorrow night okay with you? i’ll drive, of course :)

tomorrow night. okay, tomorrow night.

an elegant red gown is wrapping your curves perfectly, a thin necklace with the seashell charm around your neck while your lips is decorated with the dark red tone, highlighting your poise appearance. hearing the doorbell ring, you tidied up the dresser as your eyes landed onto the picture frame holding a photo of you and mark. a sad feeling crept into your heart but you pushed it away, opening the door to reveal jungwoo in a black and white tuxedo.

you would say that the dinner went well, none of his questions or chatters crossing any borderline. he’s just so polite, even you are amused. feeling comfortable with his presence, the small gap in between is eventually closing down since you’ve learned so much about each other during the other few dates. one night completely changed it for you, him offering you a dance at some event he’s bringing you with.

you observed that his moves are slightly similar to mark’s - not completely of course, mark’s is very unique and very…mark-ish. for the first time ever in the recent turn of events, you flashed a genuine smile. one that is not just for show, one that only comes out when you’re truly elated, one that you only manage to give to certain. mark just observed the scene from a distance, admiring how you’ve managed to find the spark of happiness you once lost.

alas, mark saw his other half become full again with another, her eyes twinkling with the same joy but this time, it’s not him in the reflection.

#neoturtles #pretty-neos #ankathia #nshitty-frathouse #nct imagines #nct scenarios #nct fluff #nct angst #nct 127 imagines #nct dream imagines #nct 127 #nct dream #nct mark #mark lee #mark imagines #mark scenarios #mark fluff #mark angst #kpop fluff #kpop angst #kpop imagines #kpop scenarios #superm imagines #superm scenarios #nct x reader #mark x reader #nct

[iliveiloveiwrite]

Hiii Hii!!! May I request for Draco🥺

Fluff prompt 3: "It's you. It's always been you."

Steams scenes 6: "Touch Me"

And miscellaneous 12: only one bed AU

Thank youuu❣️

Travelling Companions  // Draco Malfoy

a/n: NSFW - minors DNI. FEMALE READER. 2k words (not really a blurb anymore), and the fic that has inspired my latest series so pieces of this will be taken and used there that’s why this may feel very rushed. The series will be slower. 

Fluff 3: “It’s you. It’s always been you.”

Steamy Scenes 6: “Touch me.”

Misc 12: only one bed.

Upon the end of the Second Wizarding War and the disgrace of his family, Draco Malfoy left the country. There was very little keeping him tied to England; a family torn apart by their beliefs, a cold house that was not a home, an inheritance built off the very hatred pedalled by his father.

No, Draco Malfoy did not want to stay in the country.

Similarly, you refused to stay at home too. Having seen the lifeless bodies of your friends, the nightmares had become too much for you to remain at home. Instead, you packed up your things, kissed your parents on the cheeks, promising to send them a postcard from every destination.

It’s in Italy where the two of you cross paths.

The night was unusually warm; sweat rolling down your back as you walked through the thick crowds on the Ponte Vecchio. You had no distinct aim of your night; happy to wander until the early hours of the morning, falling into your bed with very little to think about other than your plans for the following day.

It’s as your dodging multiple bodies that you spy a shock of blonde hair that you swear was familiar.

“Draco?” You call, watching the tall figure pause, “Draco Malfoy?”

The blonde turns at the sound of your voice.

“Of all the people to meet in Florence,” You smile, “What are you doing here?”

“An extended gap year as the muggles would call it,” He answers, looking mildly uncomfortable at being recognised abroad.

“Well,” You nod, “It was nice to see you, enjoy the rest of your travels.”

Draco nods, a small, polite smile on his face. He doesn’t say anything to which you turn away, continuing your journey across the bridge in the hopes of finding something to eat and soon.

“(Y/N)!” Draco calls after a moment.

You turn back to the man, finding him only a few steps behind you. His eyes are bright, cheeks flushed as he asks, “What are your plans for tonight?”

“I was going to get some food and then walk about aimlessly. Why?”

“Can I join you?” He asks; the words leaving his mouth in such a rush that Draco looks shocked at the speed. “What I mean to say is: would you like some company? It would be nice to catch up with a friendly face.”

“Of course,” You laugh, “You’re more than welcome to join me.”

Draco falls into step beside you as you wander the length of the bridge, both eagerly looking for a restaurant to catch up in.

Conversation flows naturally with the blonde, as does the laughter and the wine. You reminisce over the lighter days of your education, as well as sharing countless stories of your travels, finding yourself enjoying Draco’s company far more than you expected.

“Where are you going to next?” Draco asks, grey eyes inquisitive as he sips at his red wine.

“Greece,” You answers, “I’m island hopping for a little while. I’ve heard stories of an island that feels like the end of the world, and I want to check it out. Where are you off to next?”

“Greece, if you can believe it,” He answers, topping up your wine glasses with the dregs of the bottle.

“I’ve a proposition for you, Malfoy,” You announce over your refreshed glass of red wine. “I’ve grown tired of travelling alone, I miss conversation and company. We’re both travelling to Greece next – why don’t you join me?”

Draco ponders your proposition through his next bite of food, weighing up the pros and cons through a mouthful of Tagliatelle Funghi Porcini e Tartufo. “Alright,” He eventually says, wiping his mouth on a cloth napkin, “I’ll join you. I’ve grown lonely on my travels too.”

Your shoulders sag as Draco’s words wash over you. It had become lonely travelling alone, that much was true, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that you were meant to run into Draco tonight. That there was something bigger at play.

-------

The Ionian Islands were beautiful; travelling with Draco at your side made it easier for you to rest at night, no longer plagued by nightmares as often, but it gave you someone to talk to when the night had been bad.

Kefalonia held its own charm; its quiet punctuated only by the clinking of wine glasses on the wine tours shared with Draco.

Your time on the Ionian Islands had you seeing Draco in a different light; the sun had bronzed his skin and you couldn’t help but stare when his shirt came off at the beach. Something was changing between the two of you; the both of you lingering on a night, not wanting to be the one to say good night, not wanting to be the one to draw it all to a close.

You could only hope that things would change soon.

---------

“Are we staying in the port?” Draco asks, eyeing you carefully as you hold your hand out for a taxi. Wearing black slacks and a white t-shirt, Draco was unintentionally drawing the attention of most women and men in the port of Skiathos

“Nope,” You answer as the taxi pulls up beside you both, “We’re staying in Troulos.”

The hotel was a small, family run establishment that you had read about in one of the many travel guides bought before you left England. Draco leaves you to check in, letting you admire the scenery as you wait patiently for him to return.

The owner is the one to lead you both through the hotel, smiling politely at you as he leaves you outside your room, explaining the opening times for the bar and the pool.

“There’s only one bed, Draco,” You state obviously as you enter the room, pointing to the bed in offence.

“I noticed,” He deadpans, fixing you with an unimpressed look. “Look, I’m not sleeping on the tiled floor. So, we either share, or you sleep on the floor.”

“Ever the gentleman,” You drawl, arching a single eyebrow. Draco smirks as he bows; the motion executed perfectly, highlighting his very expensive etiquette lessons as a small boy. “Fine,” You huff, dropping your bag onto the bed, “We share, but I’m warning you now, Malfoy, I hog the blankets.”

“I wouldn’t expect anything less,” The blonde snorts, wandering to the bathroom where you hear the shower begin to flow.

Settling down on the bed, you press a hand to your forehead, already sticky with sweat. Your stomach turned with butterflies as you think of the night to come, sharing a bed with Draco. The feelings for the man had surprised you; you hadn’t expected to feel anything for him, simply happy to have company on the last leg of your travels, but here you were – craving his touch and his attention as if it were your lifeline.

The shower turns off, and you jump up, grabbing your toiletries in an effort to give you something to do to draw your mind from the sight of Draco in a towel.

“I’m going to shower and get ready, and then we’ll go get some food, okay?” You call out, pushing past the blonde as he leaves the bathroom in nothing, but a small, fluffy, white towel wrapped around his waist.

“I’ll be waiting!” Draco calls out, laughter rich in his voice.

As you sink against the bathroom door, it’s then that you realise, you’re fucked.

-------

It became a quick tradition on your travels with Draco that you would alternate who would pick the restaurant that evening. As you chose where to eat the previous night, it was now Draco’s turn.

The restaurant he chooses is quaint, set off just from the main road running through that part of the island. It’s fairly busy, many families laughing and drinking through the evening.

The waitress hands you the menus, her eyes lingering on Draco a little bit too long for you to feel comfortable. You smile politely as you give her your drink orders, immediately feeling awful for the curtness of your tone when you had no claim to the man sat next to you.

Food is ordered and conversation continues to flow, but you find yourself caught up in the way that Draco makes you feel. Every glance, every smile, every unintentional touch – it leaves you close to breathless with butterflies raging in your gut and your heart close to pounding out of your chest. You had never felt like this, and your poor heart could only hope that Draco felt the same.

When the food arrives, it doesn’t take long for you to gush over the meal. “You have to try this!” You cry out as you take your first bite of your meal, gathering another forkful for Draco. “It’s wonderful!”

Holding your fork out, you expect Draco to take the utensil from you, but he doesn’t. Instead, he leans in, his lips wrapping around the fork in a manner that leaves you hungry for something that certainly wasn’t food.

“What do you think?” You ask huskily, throat dry.

Draco chews, pondering over the food. A smirk gathers on his lips as he swallows, “Delectable.”

The both of you fall silent as your meals are finished; the only sound between you being the scraping of cutlery on plates, but you cannot help but wonder whether Draco can hear the pounding of your heart every time he smiles at you, or whether he can sense the change in your feelings as you yearn for him silently.

“You were jealous – of the waitress – weren’t you?” Draco’s voice sounds, breaking your reverie. Blinking, you find him watching you with a curious look on his face.

“Yes,” You confess in a single breath, shifting your gaze from Draco’s, fiddling with the napkin in front of you.

“There was no need.”

“Oh?”

“It’s you,” He breathes, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear, “It’s always been you.”

“Take me back to the room, Draco,” You whisper, leaning into his touch.

Draco wastes no time paying the bill, whisking you from the restaurant and down the road to your hotel.

The door slams against the wall as you both fall into the room; hands pulling at clothing, lips attached save for the breathy laughter filling the room. He tastes of the anise instilled into the Ouzo shared at dinner; his lips fit seamlessly against yours as he backs you through to the bedroom, his hands wandering – memorising every dip and curve of your body.

Draco lays you out on the bed gently as if worried of hurting you in some form or another.  

“What do you want?” Draco asks, grey eyes bright in the muted light of the room.

“You,” You state, sitting up on the bed, pressing your hands to the man’s bare chest, scraping your fingernails down his pale skin.  

Draco shivers at your touch, barely repressing the low groan growing in the back of his throat. “Where do you want me?” He hums, not giving you the time to answer the question as he begins his onslaught of addictive kisses.

“Here?” He purrs, kissing your jaw. “Or here?” He asks, dropping a feather light kiss to your neck, pushing you back onto the bed. “What about here?” Draco teases, pressing blazing kiss after blazing kiss down the centre of your cleavage to the top of your underwear leaving you a wanton mess as you writhe underneath him.

“Darling,” He whispers, “What do you want from me?”

“Touch me,” You all but beg, reaching for the blonde’s hand, fitting it where you need him most.

It’s then that all self-control Draco had snaps; his hand slips into your underwear, fingers slipping through your slick folds. The gasp that leaves your mouth is swallowed by Draco’s lips, his teeth tugging on your bottom lip as he wrings every single ounce of pleasure from your body.

No nightmares are had that night; finding peace in each other as you sleep wrapped up together in the one bed.

#draco malfoy x reader #draco x reader #Draco Malfoy #draco malfoy smut #draco smut #draco malfoy fanfiction #moments with millie #draco malfoy blurb #blurb night #draco malfoy imagine #draco malfoy imagines