#BEARD OIL TUTORIALS

[magma-iron]

Easter Sale!!

First, we're having a sale for Easter Weekend, starting at Midnight ET April 7th through Midnight PT April 9th.  All products are marked down 10% for the sale duration. Sale excludes bundles, kits and sampler sets.

Beard stuff for guys - look & smell good from HEAD to TOE-checkout my guys here Beards & Beard Roller - Click Car Dudes Here

[thegatesofsilverandbone]

Emma stood by her broken-down car, the hood open and the engine silent. She was supposed to be on the road, heading to see her sister, but now she was stuck, staring at a mess of wires and metal she didn’t understand. Taking her car to a mechanic was out of the question—money was tight—so she pulled up a step-by-step video tutorial on her phone. She propped it up against the hood, hoping it could guide her through what felt like an impossible task.

The narrator’s voice was deep and confident, laced with a Southern drawl. “First thing ya gotta do is figure out what’s wrong. Could be somethin’ simple, or it could be somethin’ more serious. Don’t be afraid to get your hands dirty.” Emma hesitated, then reached into the engine, determined to try. As her fingers touched the greasy metal, she felt a strange tingling sensation in her hands, as if the car was sparking to life beneath her touch.

She pulled her hands back, startled to see her fingers had thickened, the skin roughening and knuckles broadening as calluses formed. Emma’s thin arms grew muscular, dark hair spreading up to her elbows. She flexed instinctively, feeling power where there had been none before. She shook her head, trying to push the weirdness aside. It didn’t matter; she was focused on fixing this car.

As the video continued, Emma followed the next instruction: removing a damaged hose that was leaking fluid. She yanked at it, her back straining. Each tug made her muscles swell, her shoulders broadening beneath her shirt. Emma felt her posture shift, her back straightening as if the years of slouching were being pulled away, replaced by the stance of someone who’d spent years doing hard physical work. Her tank top stretched tight across her expanding chest, revealing a mat of hair that hadn’t been there before.

Emma glanced down at her new, rugged physique, feeling the solid weight of her changed body. But it wasn’t just the physical transformation that was catching up to her; her mind was shifting too. The anxiety she’d felt was being replaced by a sense of capability. She wasn’t just Emma anymore, fumbling through repairs—she was beginning to think like someone who knew this engine inside and out.

As the tutorial moved on, instructing her to replace the old parts with new ones, Emma felt her waist thicken, her hips narrowing to match the rest of her sturdy frame. She worked methodically, her hands moving with newfound skill. Her face prickled, a roughness spreading across her cheeks as stubble began to form. She rubbed her chin, feeling the unfamiliar scratch of a thickening beard. Emma’s reflection in the car’s side mirror caught her off guard—her once soft features were hardening, her jawline squaring off as a full beard grew in. She looked like a man in his mid-30s, rugged and self-assured. But more than that, she felt like him.

Every movement felt right, like it was something she’d done a thousand times before. Memories were rewriting themselves in her mind—afternoons spent in garages, fixing engines, the smell of motor oil becoming comfortingly familiar. She could almost feel the sun on her back from long days working outside, the weight of the tools in her hands. It was as if Emma had always been Ethan, the skilled mechanic whose hands could coax life back into any engine.

She climbed into the driver’s seat, feeling the vinyl against her now-muscular legs. As she turned the key, the engine roared to life, and Ethan’s face split into a satisfied grin. He leaned back, feeling the solidity of his chest rise and fall with each breath. He caught sight of his reflection in the mirror—hairy, broad, and unmistakably masculine. The face looking back at him was no longer Emma’s; it was Ethan’s, the burly mechanic who everyone in town trusted to fix their cars.

As Ethan stepped out of the car, he wiped the sweat from his brow, feeling the texture of his thick beard under his fingertips. The garage felt like home now. The rainbow flag sticker on the door caught his eye—a small but powerful symbol that resonated deeply with who he was now. Ethan wasn’t just a mechanic; he was confident, skilled, and proudly himself. The final threads of Emma’s old life had woven seamlessly into his new one, each step of the repair transforming both his body and his identity.

Ethan chuckled as he grabbed his tools, his mind now filled with the instinctive knowledge of someone who’d been doing this for years. Fixing the car wasn’t just about getting back on the road; it was about discovering who he truly was, buried under the layers of grease and grime. Sometimes, the person you’re meant to be reveals themselves in the most unexpected ways—like under the hood of a broken-down car.

[genderqueerdykes]

im a 15 tr old transmasc demiboy n i REALLY want to grow a beard (or any facial hair tbh) to feel less dysphoric & blend in w/ other guys at school but i cant go on T bc of my parents. Any suggestions? I've heard coconut oil but idk if that helps lmao, thanks :}}

<3 i hope you're able to get on testosterone once you are an independent adult! i'm glad that you're thinking about alternatives for the time being though!

i don't think i've heard that coconut oil can stimulate hair growth- i would recommend going easy on coconut oil, as for certain skin and hair types, coconut oil actually draws the moisture out of them, not locks it in. it depends on your skin and hair texture, though, for some people it works miracles. for some, however, it actually dries you out. i don't think it affects hair growth

what you can try to do is try to look into masculinizing makeup techniques. look into drag king and ftm makeup styles, and even masculine cosplay makeup to an extent. tutorials on how to create a five o clock shadow and mustaches and things like that were huge on here a few years ago, i'll have to see if i can find some. makeup can seem uncomfortable to a lot of transmascs so if you refuse, i totally understand, but for a lot of us a light amount of makeup in the right places can help you feel a lot better. you can simulate a five o clock shadow and even light facial hair if you practice and work on your technique!

if anyone has any tips for this anon, let us know! we'll be happy to help if there's anything else we can turn up for you! take care, i really hope you're able to start T when you're independent. you sound very sweet, i hope you have a wonderful day, and i hope your transition is fun and enjoyable for you once you have some more control

[rohister]

Tips to Maintain a Healthy and Stylish Beard

A well-maintained beard has become an essential element of grooming for many men, symbolizing style, masculinity, and personality. Whether you're sporting a full beard, goatee, or a carefully groomed stubble, keeping your facial hair in top condition requires a dedicated routine. While growing a beard is easy for some, maintaining it to look sharp and healthy demands attention, effort, and the right products. If you're aiming for a polished, healthy beard, these tips will guide you through the essential steps to keep your beard looking great.

1. Commit to Regular Washing

Your beard is constantly exposed to dust, food particles, and environmental pollutants, making regular washing a crucial step in its maintenance. A clean beard not only looks better but also prevents irritation, acne, and bad odor. Washing your beard 2-3 times a week with a beard-specific shampoo or a mild cleanser helps remove dirt without stripping natural oils. When washing, gently massage your skin beneath the beard to exfoliate and remove dead skin cells, promoting healthier hair growth.

2. Condition Your Beard

Just like the hair on your head, your beard benefits greatly from conditioning. Using a high-quality beard conditioner or beard oil keeps your facial hair soft, reduces itchiness, and makes your beard easier to manage. Look for products containing natural oils like argan oil, jojoba oil, or coconut oil that penetrate deeply to moisturize both the hair and skin. Conditioning also helps to combat beard dandruff and prevent dryness, which can lead to split ends and breakage.

3. Trim Your Beard Regularly

Even if you're growing out your beard, regular trims are essential to maintain a neat appearance. Trimming prevents split ends, defines your beard shape, and keeps it from looking unkempt. Use quality beard scissors or a trimmer to touch up uneven growth, focusing on areas like the neckline, cheeks, and mustache. It’s advisable to visit a barber for professional trimming or follow a tutorial if you prefer to do it yourself.

4. Invest in a Beard Comb or Brush

A beard comb or brush is a must-have tool for every man looking to maintain a well-groomed beard. Combing or brushing your beard daily helps detangle knots, distribute natural oils evenly, and train your beard to grow in the desired direction. A wooden comb or a boar bristle brush works best as they are gentle on the hair and help eliminate frizz while keeping your beard neat. Brushing also stimulates the hair follicles, encouraging thicker, healthier growth.

5. Use a Beard Growth Serum

If you're struggling with patchy or slow-growing facial hair, incorporating a beard growth serum into your routine can make a significant difference. A specialized serum, like the Best Beard Growth Serum, contains ingredients that nourish your beard and stimulate growth, giving you fuller, thicker results over time. Look for serums with natural growth-promoting ingredients like biotin, castor oil, and vitamins that support hair health and rejuvenate the follicles. Regular use of a beard serum not only boosts growth but also adds moisture and shine to your beard.

6. Keep Your Beard Hydrated

Hydration is key to keeping your beard soft and manageable. A well-hydrated beard looks healthy, feels smooth, and is less prone to breakage. In addition to using beard oil or balm, ensure that you're drinking enough water daily to hydrate from within. Using products like the Best Serum For Beard Growth can also enhance moisture retention, improving the overall texture and strength of your beard.

7. Eat a Balanced Diet

A healthy diet plays a vital role in beard growth and maintenance. Just as your body needs nutrients to thrive, your beard requires essential vitamins and minerals to grow strong and full. Foods rich in protein, healthy fats, and vitamins like A, C, and E are crucial for hair health. Include lean meats, eggs, fish, nuts, seeds, leafy greens, and fruits in your diet to ensure your beard gets the nutrients it needs. Omega-3 fatty acids from sources like fish oil can also promote hair thickness and shine.

8. Stay Stress-Free

Believe it or not, stress can have a direct impact on the health of your beard. High-stress levels lead to hair loss, patchiness, and slow growth due to the increase in cortisol, a hormone that can restrict hair follicles. To keep your beard growing optimally, practice stress-relief techniques like meditation, yoga, regular exercise, and getting sufficient sleep. Reducing stress promotes overall well-being, which in turn enhances beard health.

9. Be Patient

Growing a beard requires time and patience. Many men become frustrated during the awkward growth stages, which can lead to premature trimming or shaving. Embrace the journey and understand that every beard grows at its own pace. Patchiness and uneven growth are common, especially in the early stages, but with time and proper care, your beard will fill out and develop a more uniform appearance.

10. Use Beard Oil and Balm

Beard oil and balm are two essential products that no beardsman should go without. Beard oil moisturizes the skin and hair, preventing dryness and itching, while adding a healthy shine to your beard. On the other hand, beard balm provides a bit more hold and is perfect for shaping your beard and taming flyaways. Both products work in tandem to soften your beard, making it more manageable and giving it a well-groomed finish. Apply beard oil after washing and use balm throughout the day as needed for hold and texture.

11. Tackle Beardruff (Beard Dandruff)

Just like the scalp, your beard can suffer from dandruff, often referred to as "beardruff." This condition results from dry skin beneath your beard, causing flaking and irritation. To combat beardruff, keep your beard and the skin underneath moisturized with beard oil or a serum. Regular exfoliation with a beard brush also helps to remove dead skin cells that contribute to flaking.

12. Exercise Regularly

Exercise doesn’t just benefit your body—it’s also great for your beard. Regular physical activity boosts circulation, sending more oxygen and nutrients to the hair follicles, which can improve growth. Additionally, exercise reduces stress, one of the factors that can negatively affect beard health. A daily workout routine, combined with proper rest, helps create the ideal conditions for optimal beard growth.

13. Avoid Over-Styling and Heat Damage

Over-styling or applying excessive heat to your beard can cause damage and hinder healthy growth. Using blow dryers, heated brushes, or harsh chemicals can weaken the hair and cause it to become dry and brittle. If you do use heat, ensure that you apply a heat protectant and limit the temperature to a low setting. Opt for natural products and styling techniques that don’t put unnecessary strain on your beard.

14. Maintain a Healthy Sleep Schedule

Sleep is vital for every aspect of health, including beard growth. During sleep, the body regenerates and repairs itself, which includes the hair follicles. A consistent sleep schedule helps ensure your body has ample time to promote healthy beard growth. Aim for 7-9 hours of quality sleep each night to give your beard the best chance of thriving.

15. Don’t Neglect the Mustache

While focusing on your beard, it’s easy to forget about the mustache. Keeping your mustache trimmed and styled is essential to maintaining a cohesive look. Trim the area above your lip regularly to prevent your mustache from becoming unruly. You can also use a mustache wax to style and shape it as desired.

Conclusion

Maintaining a beard is about more than just letting it grow. With proper care, regular grooming, and the right products like the Best Beard Growth Serum and Best Serum For Beard Growth, you can ensure that your beard remains healthy, strong, and stylish. Following these tips will not only improve the appearance of your beard but also foster its long-term growth and health. Embrace the process and enjoy the benefits of having a well-maintained, handsome beard!

[priyanshisingh]

Men Beard Care Market Landscape: Trends, Drivers, and Forecast (2023-2032)

The Men Beard Care market is projected to grow from USD 19804.6 million in 2024 to an estimated USD 33422.16 million by 2032, with a compound annual growth rate (CAGR) of 6.76% from 2024 to 2032.

The men’s beard care market is experiencing rapid growth, driven by the increasing popularity of grooming products and a growing emphasis on personal care and appearance among men. Beards have become a symbol of style and individuality, especially among younger demographics, leading to a surge in demand for specialized beard care products such as oils, balms, waxes, shampoos, conditioners, and trimming tools. Men are now more conscious about the health and appearance of their facial hair, which has resulted in a wider acceptance of beard care routines as part of daily grooming. Additionally, the trend toward maintaining a well-groomed beard in both professional and social settings is contributing to the expansion of the market. Beard oils and balms, which hydrate the skin underneath the beard and soften facial hair, are among the most popular products, with many men adopting them to enhance the texture and appearance of their beards.

The market is also being shaped by the rise of premium and natural products, as consumers increasingly seek beard care products that are free from harmful chemicals and made with natural ingredients. Organic and vegan beard care lines, featuring ingredients such as argan oil, jojoba oil, shea butter, and essential oils, are gaining traction, especially among eco-conscious consumers. This trend is fueling innovation in the market, with manufacturers introducing new formulations and product variants to cater to diverse consumer preferences. Moreover, the influence of social media, celebrity endorsements, and grooming tutorials on platforms like Instagram, YouTube, and TikTok has further fueled the market’s growth, as men look for tips on maintaining and styling their beards.

Geographically, North America and Europe dominate the men’s beard care market due to the high grooming standards and disposable income levels in these regions. The U.S. and the UK, in particular, are key markets, driven by strong consumer awareness and the presence of numerous grooming product brands. However, the Asia-Pacific region is emerging as a high-growth market, with increasing urbanization, rising disposable incomes, and growing interest in Western grooming trends. In countries like India, China, and Japan, where traditionally clean-shaven looks were more common, there is now a shift towards embracing facial hair, creating new opportunities for beard care brands.

Here are the major factors driving the growth of the men's beard care market:

Rising Grooming Awareness Among Men: Increasing awareness among men about personal grooming and self-care is a key driver of the beard care market. Men are becoming more conscious of their appearance and the importance of maintaining a well-groomed look, particularly in professional and social settings. This shift has led to the inclusion of beard care routines as part of daily grooming, driving demand for a variety of beard care products.

Popularity of Beards as a Style Statement: Beards have evolved into a significant style trend, particularly among younger men, and are often seen as a symbol of masculinity, individuality, and self-expression. This has resulted in a rise in the number of men growing beards and, consequently, seeking products to maintain them, including beard oils, balms, conditioners, and trimming tools. The trend is also supported by celebrities and influencers who promote beard styles on social media, amplifying the demand for beard care products.

Preference for Natural and Organic Products: There is a growing consumer preference for natural, organic, and chemical-free grooming products in the beard care market. Men are increasingly looking for beard oils, balms, and shampoos that use natural ingredients such as argan oil, jojoba oil, shea butter, and essential oils, which offer nourishment without the risk of harmful chemicals. This shift toward eco-conscious and vegan products has pushed brands to innovate, leading to a wider variety of organic and sustainable beard care options.

Growth of E-commerce and Direct-to-Consumer Sales: The rise of e-commerce platforms has made beard care products more accessible to a global audience, fueling the growth of the market. Direct-to-consumer (D2C) brands have particularly benefited from online retail, offering specialized and niche beard care products that cater to different beard types and grooming needs. E-commerce also allows smaller and emerging brands to compete with larger players by offering unique products through online marketplaces and their own websites.

Technological Advancements in Grooming Tools: The development of advanced grooming tools such as electric trimmers, precision razors, and beard shapers has contributed to the growth of the beard care market. Men are increasingly investing in these tools to maintain well-groomed beards at home, reducing the need for frequent visits to barbershops. As a result, the demand for beard maintenance products and accessories continues to rise, supported by advancements in grooming technology.

Social Media Influence and Celebrity Endorsements: The growing influence of social media platforms such as Instagram, YouTube, and TikTok has played a major role in the expansion of the beard care market. Beard grooming tutorials, product reviews, and style inspiration from influencers and celebrities have made men more aware of the various beard care options available. This has increased product visibility and consumer engagement, driving demand for beard grooming products globally.

Expansion into Emerging Markets: The men's beard care market is expanding rapidly in emerging regions such as Asia-Pacific and Latin America. Urbanization, rising disposable incomes, and increasing adoption of Western grooming trends are contributing to market growth in countries like India, China, and Brazil. As more men in these regions embrace facial hair and personal grooming routines, the demand for beard care products is expected to grow significantly.

Increased Focus on Health and Hygiene: Post-pandemic, there has been a heightened focus on health, hygiene, and self-care, with consumers prioritizing grooming products that promote cleanliness and skin health. Beard care products, such as specialized shampoos and conditioners, help keep facial hair clean and healthy, addressing concerns about irritation, itching, or skin conditions that can arise from improper beard maintenance. This health-conscious trend is pushing more men to adopt beard care routines.

These factors collectively contribute to the growing demand for beard care products and are expected to drive the market's expansion in the coming years. The market is set to benefit from continued innovation, consumer awareness, and the increasing prominence of grooming as a key aspect of men's self-care.

Key Player Analysis:

Badass Beard Care (US)

Beardbrand (US)

Billy Jealousy

Honest Amish

Koninklijke Philips N.V.

Liberty Premium Grooming Co.(US)

Murdock London (UK)

Panasonic

Robin Hood Beard Company Ltd.

Scotch Porter

Smoky Mountain Beard Co.(US)

Texas Beard Company (US)

The Bearded Bastard, LLC. (US)

The Famous Beard Oil Company, LLC(US)

The Man Company (India)

Viking Beard Stuff

Wahl Ltd.

Zeus Beard Products (US)

More About Report- https://www.credenceresearch.com/report/men-beard-care-market

Here are key regional insights into the men's beard care market:

1. North America:

North America, particularly the United States and Canada, dominates the men’s beard care market, driven by high grooming standards and strong consumer awareness. The region has witnessed a growing trend toward personal grooming and self-expression, with beards becoming a popular style statement among men. The presence of numerous established grooming brands, along with the increasing availability of premium and organic beard care products, is further fueling market growth. Additionally, social media and celebrity endorsements have played a significant role in driving demand, as more men in North America adopt beard care routines as part of their daily grooming regimen. The popularity of e-commerce platforms, where men can easily access a wide range of specialized products, also supports market growth in this region.

2. Europe:

Europe is another significant market for men’s beard care, particularly in countries like the UK, Germany, and France. The rise of the "metrosexual" movement, where men place greater emphasis on their appearance and grooming, has contributed to the market’s growth in the region. Beards are widely accepted as part of both professional and casual looks in Europe, with grooming routines focused on maintaining well-kept, stylish facial hair. The demand for natural and organic beard care products is particularly strong in Europe, as consumers increasingly prefer eco-friendly and chemical-free options. Additionally, the presence of specialized barbershops offering premium beard grooming services has contributed to the increasing adoption of high-end beard care products.

3. Asia-Pacific:

The Asia-Pacific region is emerging as a fast-growing market for men’s beard care, driven by rising disposable incomes, urbanization, and the growing influence of Western grooming trends. In countries like India, China, Japan, and South Korea, where clean-shaven looks were once more common, there is a noticeable shift toward embracing facial hair as part of modern male grooming. Men in these countries are becoming more open to experimenting with different beard styles and are adopting beard care products to maintain them. Additionally, the growing penetration of e-commerce platforms in the region is making beard care products more accessible to a broader range of consumers, particularly in urban areas. As grooming standards continue to rise in Asia-Pacific, the market for beard care products is expected to expand rapidly.

4. Latin America:

Latin America, particularly Brazil and Mexico, is witnessing strong growth in the men’s beard care market. The region’s cultural acceptance of facial hair, combined with rising disposable incomes and increasing interest in personal grooming, is driving demand for beard care products. Brazil, in particular, has a thriving grooming market, with men increasingly focusing on maintaining well-groomed beards. The rise of local brands and barbershops specializing in beard grooming services is also contributing to market growth in Latin America. Social media influencers and celebrities in the region are playing a key role in promoting beard styles and encouraging the use of beard care products, further boosting market demand.

5. Middle East and Africa:

In the Middle East and Africa, the men’s beard care market is expanding as grooming standards evolve and men become more focused on personal appearance. In the Middle East, beards hold cultural and religious significance, and there is a long-standing tradition of maintaining well-groomed facial hair. This has led to increased demand for premium beard care products, including oils, balms, and grooming tools. Additionally, the region’s affluent consumer base is driving demand for high-end grooming products, with a focus on luxury and natural ingredients. In Africa, particularly in countries like South Africa, the beard care market is growing as urbanization and rising incomes encourage men to invest in grooming products. The growing popularity of e-commerce is also making beard care products more accessible across the region.

Segmentation:

By Product Type:

Oils,

Balms,

Conditioners,

Grooming tools

By Product Function:

Hydration and conditioning,

Styling and shaping,

Cleansing

By Price Range:

Economy,

Mid-range,

Premium segments

By End User:

Individual consumers

Professional grooming services.

Browse the full report –  https://www.credenceresearch.com/report/men-beard-care-marketBrowse Our  Blog: https://www.linkedin.com/pulse/men-beard-care-market-outlook-global-trends-forecast-icq5f

Contact Us:

Phone: +91 6232 49 3207

Email: sales@credenceresearch.com

Website: https://www.credenceresearch.com

[jsdominicanbarbershop]

Smart Tips to keep your style looking fresh in between visits to the Barbershop

Frequent trips to the Barbershop are a must for men who take pride in their appearance. However, busy schedules and tight budgets can often make it difficult to maintain regular grooming appointments. But just because you can't make it to the barber every two weeks doesn't mean you have to walk around with a shaggy, unkempt look. This article shares tips for keeping your style fresh between visits to the Dalton barbershop.

1. Invest In The Right Tools:

One of the best things you can do for your grooming routine is to invest in quality hair clippers and trimmers. This way, you can maintain your hairstyle on your own time without stressing out about being unable to see your barber. Clippers and trimmers can be found at practically any store that sells grooming products, and with plenty of online resources, you can learn how to use them safely and precisely.

2. Use The Right Hair Products:

Another key component to keeping your hair looking its best is to use the right products. Look for hair pomades, gels, or creams that work well with your hair type and style. Additionally, using dry shampoo can help stretch the time between washes while keeping your hair clean and fresh. If you need clarification on what products your Dalton barbershop uses, please ask your barber on your next visit.

3. Don't Be Afraid To Experiment:

Trying a new hairstyle is a great way to freshen your look. Plus, experimenting with new styles can be a fun and exciting way to switch up your appearance. Plenty of online resources offer hairstyle inspiration and tutorials, so take advantage of them! And if you're daring, why not give yourself a new haircut at home? Just do your research and use caution when trimming your locks.

4. Pay Attention To Your Facial Hair:

Make sure to keep your facial hair neatly trimmed and groomed. A beard or mustache can often be as important to your look as your hair. If you want to try a new facial hair style, this can be a great way to shake things up without drastically changing your hairstyle.

5. Keep Your Hair Healthy:

One of the best ways to keep your hair looking fresh is to keep it healthy. Make sure to nourish your hair and scalp with a good conditioner and stay hydrated. Avoid using too much heat styling or chemical treatments, which can dry out your hair and make it harder to manage. And finally, don't be afraid to get your hands dirty and massage a small amount of natural oil, like coconut or argan, onto your scalp for added nourishment.

6. Prep your hair before Dominican Haircut:

Wash and condition the hair using a moisturizing shampoo and conditioner. Gently brush out any knots in the hair. Apply a leave-in product to add moisture and softness. Detangle the hair with a wide-tooth comb while wet—blot excess moisture from the hair with a towel—section off the hair with clips or ties. If you find the process overwhelming, visit the professional Dalton Barbershop for a hassle-free Dominican haircut.

Conclusion:

Whether you're dealing with a tight schedule or budget concerns, there are plenty of tips and tricks to keep your style looking fresh between barber visits. By investing in the right tools and using the right products, you can maintain your hairstyle from the comfort of your home. Feel free to experiment with new styles, and always watch your facial hair, too. However, the key to making your hairstyle last is to keep your hair healthy, nourished, and hydrated. Follow these simple tips, and you'll look great and feel confident until the next time you can make it to the Dalton barbershop, Js Dominican Barber Shop!

[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​

[dwellordream]

Speaking of hair sanitation. How come cerseis, sansas, Daenerys, Margery’s and the rest all have amazing hair?

It’s a historical misconception that medieval people didn’t wash or didn’t wash their hair. Soap was a thing. Perfume and hair oil was a thing. Married women would rarely have their hair just bared and flowing loose as is often described in the books for Cersei, for example, but they still wanted their hair to look healthy and attractive, even if hidden under a veil or hairnet or cap of some kind. 

Hairbrushes were not a thing, but combs were very common. We have records of medieval recipes for hair conditioner, and it was also common to wash hair with egg whites, which persisted long after the Middle Ages. You could also use a very thin lye to wash it out. Lice or fleas were a problem for all social classes, not just peasants, but could be killed with various mixtures of vinegar. 

Additionally, hair was a lot less greasy than it is for many people today and was often covered and put up, rather than hanging loose to get dirty or tangled. Women could make various powders to rub into their hair to make it smell nice (nutmeg, cloves, rose petals). Rubbing rose water into your hair was likely quite popular. Men also used many similar techniques on their own hair (and beards), which they wanted to look and smell good as well.

Curls for women were very popular and seen as the beauty standard, so braiding hair before bed (and medieval hair was often braided to begin with) was a way of trying to produce temporary ringlets. 

http://wh1350.at/en/tutorials-en-all/hair-care-and-hair-dos-in-the-14th-century/

http://www.historynaked.com/surviving-life-past-hair-care-medieval-woman/

https://www.medievalists.net/2014/11/medieval-beauty-tips/

[kyuoujeon]

Some Important videos

This is a big list of Youtube tutorials that will teach you all the basic life skills you need to know in order to be a functional adult. There are a lot of important skills that aren’t included in this list, but this should be enough of a basic guide to get you started and prevent you from making a total mess of yourself. Happy adulting! (´｡• ᵕ •｡`)

Dad, How do I? YouTube Channel

https://www.youtube.com/c/DadhowdoI/videos

Household Skills:

How to unclog a toilet without a plunger

How to fix most running toilets

How to fix a blown fuse

How to fix a leaky faucet 

How to clean soap scum from your tub and shower

How to escape from a house fire

How to make a budget and stick to it

How to sharpen a knife

How to clean a self-cleaning oven

How to clean blood stains from fabric

How to clean grease stains from fabric

How to do a load of laundry

How to iron your clothes

How to test your smoke detectors

Cooking Skills:

How to tell if produce is ripe

How to know if food is expired 

How to properly sanitize a kitchen

How to cook an egg

How to make rice

How to make pasta

How to put out a kitchen grease fire safely

How to use a gas stove

How to use a convection oven

How to cook meat safely

How to use a stand mixer

How to use kitchen knives properly

How to make mashed potatoes

How to make grilled cheese sandwiches

Health Skills:

How to stop bleeding

How to treat a burn 

How to do CPR (on an adult)

How to do CPR (on a child)

How to do CPR (on a baby)

How to help someone who is choking

How to save yourself if you are choking alone

How to read a nutrition label

How to treat frostbite

How to recognize when someone is having a stroke

How to maintain a healthy sleep schedule

Mental Health Skills:

How to calm down during a panic attack

How to help someone who is suicidal 

How to meditate 

How to stop self-harming

How to recognize problem drinking

How to choose a therapist

How to deal with disappointment

How to cope with grief

How to raise your self-esteem

Relationship and Social Skills:

How to apologize

How to cope with a breakup 

How to accept criticism 

How to deal with bullying 

How to argue in a healthy way

How to ask someone out

How to break up with someone

How to recognize an abusive relationship

How to rekindle a damaged friendship

How to speak in public

Job Hunting Skills:

How to tie a tie

How to write a resume

How to write a cover letter

How to dress for a job interview (for women/femmes)

How to dress for a job interview (for men/masculines)

How to properly shake hands

How to nail a job interview

Other Skills:

How to change your oil

How to put gas in your car

How to jump-start a car

How to pick a good password

How to back up your files

How to write a cheque

How to shave a beard

How to use a weed eater

How to install a gate

[corrupted-candle]

I wonder how many of us dwarves took a look at the beauty community for beard oils, make-up tutorials and once thought “Elves and their silk touch wrists must have somethin’ else goin’ on!”

And then you did it yourself and you realized “Oh, this ain’t that bad”

[lethesomething]

There is a rule, number 5632B Subclause 29 of the 'Code of Conduct and Vestimentary Regulations for Tarask Administrative Personnel and Affiliates' to be exact, that forbids public servants and their direct entourage from wearing ‘any garment or accessory, either upon the body or the head, that contains one or multiple specimens of living or reanimated creature, be it animal, insectoid, humanoid or supernatural in nature’. This particular rule is not one the administration is particularly fond of, because its inception shows a certain amount of weakness in the bureaucratic apparatus that, one assumes, said apparatus would rather forget. However, it remains on the books in spite of this, as a safeguard for future repetitions of the occurence that lays at its inception, a way, one understands, to make sure the administration will not be taken by surprise again.

It started, according to the oral history of the event, when on a trip to the nearby capital of Catilina, a young ingénue named Aurora Maximus came into contact with a ‘Weaver’. These Weavers were, at the time, people who adhered to a particular style of clothing and make-up and who, most strikingly, had a habit of weaving their hair into shapes. It has long been fashionable in the capital to wear your hair long and coil it into braids upon the head, and Weavers, it seems, would go the extra step and create shapes such as birds, or bows, or animal ears, particularly in an effort to make themselves stand out within the rather colourful nightlife of Catilina.

Miss Maximus saw the style and, so the story goes, was inspired. The Weaver style had at this point been popular in Catilina for a few decades, particularly among those fairly young in years, and was seen as typical teenage fare by its citizens. When transplanted to the bureaucratic center that is Vestinex, however, the trend became something else altogether. Theories abound as to the reasons of this, but the main one speculates that the style formed a rare creative outlet that was quickly seized by a frankly bored population.

Vestinex, being the sensible city that creates and processes almost all of the paperwork for the entire empire, has a fairly strict ruleset, you see, indicated primarily by the 'Code of Conduct and Vestimentary Regulations for Tarask Administrative Personnel and Affiliates', and a few other tomes. These specify, for example, uniforms for its people, based mostly on status and role within the government, that apply to both the public servants themselves and to their partners, children and other members of the household. The Code furthermore prescribes rules of conduct befitting a government emissary of the Tarask Empire, and both administrative workers and their retinue are expected to hold up the honour of their status as a government official by adhering to these rules. This includes refraining from alcohol, wild dancing, playing loud music or putting on lewd spectacles such as romantic theatre. Considering the entirety of Vestinex is populated with public servants, it stands to reason that such forms of low entertainment are rarely, if ever, organised within the city limits. Vestinex is, after all, a very sensible and highly regulated society, built and maintained at maximum efficiency so as to keep the gears of the empire running smoothly.

However, for al its fervour in regulating activities and clothing, Vestinex had, at this point in time, no regulations for hair. The oversight seems strange, but can perhaps be explained out of a demand for cultural sensitivity. For while most of the culturally Tarask citizens crop their hair short out of a sense of practicality, the dwarven and elven workers attracted by the administration tend to enjoy some more whimsical styles, choosing to braid their hair and beards and perhaps even embellish them with beads or rings. So it was, perhaps, that the Vestinex government elected to keep hair unregulated, opting instead to allow a certain amount of cultural individuality while individually advising those public servants that veered off too far into the realms of the fanciful. 

Either way, it appears Vestinex was not quite ready, regulatory-wise, for what would follow when miss Maximus showed up to a bi-weekly Young Person's Mingling Event, wearing her hair fashioned into the shape of a swan. She was, of course, quietly judged by the many chaperones at the event, who deemed such a fashion silly but otherwise harmless, the drolls of a teenage girl and a whim she would hopefully soon grow out of. Such leniency was, sadly, mistaken, because miss Maximus started a trend. One that was governed not by any kind of regulatory restraint but instead by the very humanoid need to ‘one-up’ others. 

The next Young Person's Mingling Event, for instance, contained quite a lot more of these silly hairstyles. There were wings, more swans, one boy with beautifully long black hair had managed a serviceable crow. The chaperones, this time, did choose to reprimand their wards, but they could not reasonably punish them, for they were not breaking any rules.

It is possibly at this point of realization that things truly lifted off. Other family members got involved. Supplies of hair oils and ribbons, filler material and bendable latticework were imported from the capital. Swans turned into eagles, crows into elaborate depictions of cats. Soon, not only teenagers, but also their parents and house servants spent hours braiding, oiling and shaping their hair into ever more elaborate displays.

Of course, not everyone was pleased with this turn of events. Requests were sent by disturbed citizens, reports were written up, guidelines suggested. Committees gathered, but the wheels of law do not turn fast. In the mean time, fashion continued to be made. A teenage girl named Lithid Taxandria started a small publication in which she drew and wrote down the best examples of the style, giving tips and tutorials on the side. It is through this publication that we know that on one December Networking Event, the Shadow Minister for the Department of Roadworks showed up wowing everyone by wearing, fastened to his head and worked into his hair, a small latticework ball filled with fireflies. It was beautiful. It was inspiring. It was the beginning of the end.

Not to be outdone by a mere Shadow Minister, others started fashioning moving spectacles. Butterflies were employed, glittering beetles found themselves trapped in necklaces. The Field Executive for the Cabinet of Educational Writings Pertaining Woodcutting was spotted wearing a bracelet that held a shoal of small but sadly rather short-lived glittering fish. One unnamed person went so far as to keep two live, white mice in lacework tunnels throughout their elaborate pompadour.

The trend came to a head one fateful July evening, at the Second Yearly Celebration for the Resurrection of the Nuncial Library, when the wife of the Secretary for Provisions to the Eastern Border wore a beautiful, shimmering, oversized earring containing a small winged creature that glowed with a soft orange light. It is unknown whether or not she was aware of the exact nature of the creature within this jewel. And to be fair, it is not known to this day exactly what said truly creature was. Theories abound that it was an elemental, or perhaps a small demonoid figure, summoned inside a cage that, it appears, shattered some time throughout the night.

What we do know, is what happened next. The Nuncial Library burned down (again), with many very important records lost. Twenty five people died, including the Head of the Department for Trade in Bricks and Sheep, and the very popular Undersecretary for Traffic and Town Signage. Eye witness accounts vary, with some speaking of a fireball, a rift in the fabric of reality or just a lightning strike. One witness, who suffered heavy burns, swears they saw a giant hulking figure covered in scales descend upon the networking event, thrashing furniture and flinging dignitaries around.

Either way, the trend became unfashionable overnight. Teenagers, once they were done mourning, cut their hair or went back to simple loose styles. Their parents quietly put away the supplies. Butterflies were released back into the outdoors. Eight months and 24 days later, rule  5632B Subclause 29 was finalized and written into the Code.

(One of the cities in my DnD campaign is a Forbidden Palace meets Bartleby the Scrivener, with like a pinch of Dangerous Liaisons. It’s great.)

[adancedivasmom]

I am crazy about this! First off since you asked, I didn’t mind the nickname for the reader. You explained the history behind it, and it went well with the story. There were so many parts in this that made me smile. Frankie getting his 2 in 1 at a gas station 🙄, “the conspicuous bulge nestled snugly between his thighs” part 🥵, Frankie blushing after the “Big Boy” comment, Frankie getting a tutorial on how to style his hair, and of course:

‘Don’t be gentle, Francisco. C’mon, harder, deeper - don’t hold back.’

He chokes and pins you with a wide-eyed stare in the mirror that glances right off your oblivious self.

I was dying 😂. Then the whole beard oil part…I was dying again but for a different reason🔥🔥. I don’t think I’ve ever been jealous of a reader character before, but what a lucky girl, getting to touch Frankie’s soft curls 🥰, seeing how her hard work helped Frankie feel attractive and confident? I agree with Ashton’s assessment, “what a dish” indeed 😍. Sorry this is so long, but I just loved your story so much. Thank you for writing and sharing this. 💖

Those grays are perfection 🤍🤍🤍

Grays

Frankie Morales x f!reader

{ Main Masterlist }

Rating: M

Summary: Frankie wants you to cover up his grays. You want to knock some sense into his salt-and-pepper head.

Warnings: Insecure Frankie in need of self-love comes with his own warning, Reader is a hairstylist and has a related nickname, no physical descriptions other than that Reader has hair that can be dyed, not-quite-friends to *respectfully looking* dynamics, mentions of hair, gratuitous descriptions of the male body, sexual innuendos, lots of teasing and banter.

Word count: 4.8k

Notes: The origin story is here if you missed it. This is dedicated to my Frankie soul sister LJ @prolix-yuy who encouraged me to write this many months ago ❤️ As always, I’m an anxious mess writing for a new-to-me Pedro boy, so please be gentle with me (cos it's my birthday week) 🥺

I have a part 2 (with smut) in mind. I love where this leaves off, but who am I kidding. I probably won’t be able to help myself 😂

The bell on the door chimes with a sweet tinkle, cutting through the low, insistent purr of the hair clipper buzzing in your grasp. You don’t look up as you spy broad shoulders and a battered Standard Heating Oil cap crossing the threshold out of the corner of your eye.

‘Are you lost, Morales?’ you drawl indifferently, focused on the task at hand. ‘I have an appointment with Pope today, not you.’

‘He booked it under his name. Thought you’d take it as a prank if I called in myself.’

You look up to meet his gaze reflected in the mirror sitting in front of Greg, your current customer. ‘I wonder why he’d think that.’

Frankie shrugs, leaning against the reception counter with his arms crossed. ‘Beats me.’

You snort. ‘Really? You’ve insisted loudly and repeatedly for as long as I’ve known you that you don’t see the point of going to a hairstylist when you can have Pope cut your hair with kitchen scissors in his bathtub.’

‘C’mon, Shiv.’

‘Oh, he knows my name,’ you gasp sarcastically. You turn to Greg, who’s clearly amused by this exchange, and loop him in. ‘He usually just grunts at me.’

At this point, Ashton - your apprentice and all-round salon maverick - makes an appearance. Clearly having caught the tail-end of your conversation with Frankie, he glances between the two of you with an arched eyebrow. ‘Are we back to chasing customers away, boss?’

‘Sit his ass down but he doesn’t get a free drink,’ you instruct. ‘I’ll get to him when I get to him.’

Ashton goes ahead and ignores your orders point blank, per usual. After hanging up Frankie’s jacket and settling him at the station furthest away from you in the far corner of the salon, you see him sneakily give him a coffee. He can never resist the handsome ones.

You take your sweet time with Greg, cleaning up his sideburns, even though you’re basically done with him - just to tick off your waiting customer.

Not that it works, and you know it won’t. He just sits there, his wide frame filling up the chair, still as a rock. The dog-eared, months-old magazines strategically placed on the table for idle reading lie untouched. That’s Francisco Morales for you.

You’ve been orbiting each other since sixth grade, as all kids in your close-knit neighbourhood do. In fact, most of your customers went to your school. 

You don’t even remember how it started - probably at a sleepover - you discovered one day that you’re handy with box hair dye. By freshman year, you were colouring your fellow classmates’ hair in the girls’ toilets after school, earning enough pocket money to keep your cabinet at home fully-stocked with new hair products on rotation.

Your ever-changing hair colour got you into trouble with the headmaster more times than you can count, who nicknamed you Shape Shifter. Your friends abbreviated it to Shifter, then over the years, whittled it down to Shiv, and it stuck.

After being gifted a set of styling scissors for Christmas one year, you started hanging out at the neighbourhood salon, hustling for an apprenticeship. You practised what you observed on your fellow students, giving out haircuts on the bleachers on non-game days for a couple of dollars (the fee waived if something went disastrously wrong).

That’s how you first met Benny - his then cheerleader girlfriend took him in for a haircut when it got too long for her liking. When you eventually opened your own salon years later, he was your first paying customer, having come home after being honourably discharged from the army.

During the early days, when you struggled to fill your appointments and he couldn’t win a fight to save his life, you made a pact. You would do his hair at a heavy discount for his posters and promotions, and in return, he would let you use his photos for the salon’s marketing.

And it worked. Well, not that you had anything to do with him turning his fortunes around on the MMA circuit, but he had everything to do with getting customers through your door. It only got busier when Santi joined the ranks a couple of years later, and even though Will only shows up when his hair gets really unruly, they both sit in front of your camera with no complaint in return for mate’s rates.

Having these guys on your salon’s social media keeps both the gents and the ladies booking up your appointments.

Frankie Morales, though, is a different animal.

When you finally appear over his left shoulder, his coffee is all gone and he meets your eyes in the mirror nonchalantly. He’s leaning his whole weight on his right elbow on the armest, his left arm outstretched and blunt nails tapping on the table, the only hint of impatience he’s giving away.

He’s good at that - he’s the laid-back one out of the boys, the one who hangs back and observes with arms crossed, but quick to crack a grin and throw in a wicked barb when the occasion calls for it. Nothing ever seems to faze him, and probably nothing does - you hear that makes a good pilot, and from what Pope lets on, he’s a damn good one.

It also makes for highly effective bait for the ladies. He’s a popular fixture on the local bar scene - let’s face it, all of the boys are. You’ve seen him in action more than once when Benny or Pope invites you along on a night out, more often than not without Will since he had a baby girl with his high school sweetheart last year. Frankie’s brooding, quiet, beer-sipping act often works better than Benny’s over-the-top flirting or Pope’s Casanova bit.

But that’s neither here nor there.

Hands on your hips, you goad him, ‘Alright Morales, how do I know you’ll pay up, you cheap bastard?’

‘Pope says to put it on his tab.’

‘Music to my ears.’ You tap him on the shoulder. ‘Sit up and off with the cap.’

With a grumble, Frankie lifts the cap up by the beak, ducking his head as he does so. He tosses it onto the table offhandedly and shifts in his seat, but you’re not fooled by his unconvincing air of indifference. From the way he plasters his palms to the top of his denim-clad thighs, as if to stop them from fidgeting, you know he’s feeling vulnerable. 

You can’t say you’ve ever seen Frankie without his headgear - now that you think about it, he’s been wearing it since high school. Heck, he might have gone through several incarnations of that blasted hat in the years in between. You’ve caught glimpses when he lifts it up to fix his hair, but otherwise, all you see is what peeks out from underneath, the longer wisps that coil around his ears and the curls at the back. 

As it turns out, there’s really nothing to hide - sure, the cut is blunt and his hair lacks shine, but both can be easily fixed. You step into his space and comb through his locks, starting at the base of his skull and working your way up the sides. 

The contact startles him - he practically jumps out of his skin, and you don’t miss the way the veins on the back of his hands pop and he digs his nails into his legs.

'Easy, boy,' you soothe with a teasing undertone, earning yourself a glower from the pilot. As much as you enjoy needling him, you do want your customers to be comfortable. So you let slip a deliberate but genuinely appreciative hum as the dark tendrils, subtly tinged with grays, part softly at your prying fingertips. ‘Wow, your curls are really thick.'

He looks up, an unsure frown on his brow. ‘Oh. Is that bad?’

‘No, Morales, it’s definitely a compliment,’ you tell him encouragingly - your bark has always been worse than your bite. ‘What do you use to wash your hair? It’s a bit dry.’

He shrugs. ‘Shampoo.’ At your insistent stare, he snaps, ‘What?’

‘Don’t lie to me, Morales,’ you warn him in a stern voice.

He huffs and gives in. ‘Fine. It’s a 2-in-1 body wash. I get it at the gas station, happy?’

You shoot him a smug grin as he rolls his eyes. ‘Well, you’re using proper shampoo from now on, and conditioner.’ He opens his mouth, a complaint on the tip of his tongue, when you hold a finger up at him. ‘Don’t argue with me, mister. I’ll throw in a couple of bottles on the house to get you started.’

‘Fine,’ he concedes. Unfailingly polite even when grumpy, he adds, ‘Thanks, Shiv.’

Your trusty swivelling stool screeches in protest when you drag it over on its wheels, before you take a seat and address the elephant in the room. ‘So - I’m guessing you’re here because of the wedding.’

You get a grunt in response. Scratching a particularly scrappy patch of his beard that has turned prematurely silver, he says, ‘My ma says I should cover up my old man grays for it.’

You snort, shaking your head. ‘Ha! And you tell your mother I say - hell no, ma’am! I will do no such thing.’

Frankie blinks at your unexpectedly adamant response. ‘What?’

‘I said, hell no,’ you repeat. Turning his head to the side with two fingers on his stubbled cheek, you comb his locks upwards to study the way the grays blend in softly with the umber, matching the ashen flecks in his beard. He doesn't start as badly at your touch this time, but there’s a telltale tick in his jaw, and you can almost hear the tension that thrums just below his skin where a late summer tan still lingers.

‘See how your grays are mainly coming out on the underside?’ you point out. ‘I like the way they just peek through the brown, it gives more depth to your curls. Natural highlights, if you will.’

He looks unconvinced and swipes at a smattering of silver with dismissive fingers. ‘Dunno. Thought the grays make me look old.’

You chuckle. ‘You’re no spring chicken anymore, Morales, and I mean it in a good way. Grays are natural - they will look even better when you start using actual shampoo and conditioner. Trust me, the salt and pepper works on you. I’m not dyeing your grays, and that’s that.’

For the first time today, Frankie turns his head and looks directly into your eyes. ‘My mother’s coming back to town for the wedding, you know. And she remembers where you live.’

You laugh. ‘Go ahead and send her my way, you know I’m not scared of her.’

He scoffs at your big talk. ‘You should be.’

Your relationship with the Morales matriarch is complicated, to say the least. She was always hard on you when you were a kid, thinking you were too wild and undisciplined. Now that you’re grown, you’re still torn between your admiration for her as a single mother who raised a good man, and the woman who never tires of dishing out criticism, warranted or not.

You give him a reassuring pat on the back, solid and warm under your touch. ‘Leave your mother to me, Morales. The grays stay, and I’ll make sure you steal the show at the party.’

‘Your funeral,’ he quips.

‘You just worry about getting yourself to the wedding,’ you retort, cracking your knuckles. ‘Now, are you ready for some pampering?’

Frankie rolls his eyes, but you see the corner of his mouth tick up in a vaguely upward direction - and you take it as a win.

‘Relax, Morales.’

‘I am relaxed,’ he insists through gritted teeth.

‘You’re about as relaxed as a cow on the butcher’s block. Unclench.’

For someone as economical with words as he is, his body certainly says a lot. Every single part of him seems hellbent on making his discomfort known. He breathes a frustrated exhale through his nose, brow deeply furrowed, his glare burning holes into the ceiling.

The leather seat of the backwash barely contains his tall build, his t-shirt stretched to the seams across his chest as he leans back into the basin. He’s bouncing his left leg irritably, the tight denim straining against his lap.

You try - valiantly - not to gape too obviously at the conspicuous bulge nestled snugly between his thighs under his belt buckle. But you can’t avert your eyes from something of that size. It’s against the laws of physics. Or something.

Even from where you’re standing, at the top of the basin peering down the slope of his body, its heft is clearly testing the structural integrity of the zipper of his jeans. Imagine the view from the other side -

Clearing your throat, you bodily press down on Frankie’s shoulders which are coiled up like the hood of an angry python, forcing them to loosen up. He jerks as if he’s a copper wire and you’re electricity. You tease, ‘So sensitive. You act like you’ve never felt a woman’s touch before, Morales.’

‘You know that’s not true,’ he growls at you, the prominent vein in his neck starting to pulse in frustration.

‘No, you’re right - I do know,’ you smirk, dragging out your syllables.

Your tone has him frowning at you, upside down. ‘What do you mean by that?’

‘I mean - I know,’ you repeat with a conspiratorial wink.

He narrows his eyes at you. ‘What do you know, Shiv?’

You wriggle his eyebrows at him suggestively, enjoying yourself far too much. ‘I own a salon, Morales. I hear things from the ladies about town.’

One large palm reaches up to shield his face in embarrassment, a pained groan escaping between the gaps of his fingers. ‘For fuck’s sake - kill me now.’

You laugh, wrestling his hand from his face to with an impish grin. ‘Don’t worry, I’ve only heard good things so far - Frankie big boy Morales.’

He blushes so hard that his ears and neck go a livid red, and for a minute, you’re actually worried that he’d pass out from not enough blood reaching his heart. Not keen on the prospect of having to explain to the emergency services that you teased the poor man into an aneurysm, you turn on the water and cut short your little chinwag with a good-natured chuckle. 

His hands are still tightly clamped around the armrest when you carefully run the shower head along his hairline and behind his ears, soaking his curls. His biceps flex from the tight grip and the lean muscles strain against the sleeves of his t-shirt. 

At least he closes his eyes when you start with the shampoo. The velvety lather froths as you patiently wash his hair, which clings to his wet curls like vanilla frosting. The deep crease between his brows eases with each gentle swipe into his locks, and the invisible force pulling his lips downwards slackens. By the time you rinse out the bubbles, you don’t miss the way the tension in his body unwittingly goes with it down the drain.

When your nails slide slickly into his hair with the conditioner, his stubborn body finally, slowly unfurls. His head tips back of its own accord, baring the column of his strong neck as he leans inadvertently into your touch. Colour returns to his knuckles when he releases his death grip on the backwash. 

You smile to yourself, scraping your fingertips along his scalp in a firm massage, watching his chest rise and fall as he teeters on the brink of consciousness.

As your thumbs trace a confident path down the back of his skull, they appear to find a particularly sensitive spot near the base of his neck, and it's as if a switch is flipped. You witness the exact moment he breaks - his back arches off the leather seat, his obstinate lips part with a strangled half-sigh catching in his throat as he yields his full weight into the palm of your hands.

If you're not careful, you could get used to this.

‘Still with me, Morales?’ you tease quietly.

He garbles incoherently, and you grin.

Frankie practically molds into the chair like warm wax when you shepherd him back to the styling station. You’re so chuffed with yourself that you don’t even feel the need to gloat at the way his eyes are glazed over and how his head lolls into the soft pressure when you run a fluffy towel through his hair. The man recoiling at the mere brush of your fingers a distant memory.

You run an assessing eye over him, brushing out his locks to gauge your game plan. ‘I like this length on you, so I’ll just trim the split ends and tidy up your sideburns. You’ll benefit from some layering too - it’s a bit heavy on top right now.’

From the way he blinks owlishly at you, you know he doesn’t catch a single word. He shrugs and says matter-of-factly. ‘You can’t do worse than Pope.’

The salon is quiet this afternoon, as it tends to be on Wednesdays. You let him enjoy the peace for a little bit and tap your foot to Ashton’s playlist as your styling scissors move over his curls in metallic snips.

‘Tip your head forward for me,’ you instruct, sliding around the back of his head on your wheels as you probe, ‘So - how are you feeling about the wedding?’

The fabric of his t-shirt bunches over his shoulders as they quirk noncommittally.

‘It’s just a few days away.’

He makes an indifferent noise. But you’re not so easily dissuaded from conversation, and he knows it.

‘Can’t be easy - watching your ex get married.’

Frankie pins you with a long-suffering stare in the mirror. ‘We broke up a year ago.’

Getting onto your feet, you ruffle your fingers through the crown of his curls. ‘Yeah, but you dated for years. She sure moved on quick.’

He huffs a sardonic laugh. ‘Thanks, Shiv.’

Swapping out the styling scissors for blending shears, you argue, ‘What? It’s a legitimate observation. I’m just making conversation here.’

‘Or we could just sit here quietly.’

Ha. As if you ever listen to him. You press on, ‘Why did she invite you anyway?’

Frankie’s sigh sounds a lot like surrender as he humours you. ‘It’s a damned if she does, damned if she doesn’t kind of situation, I guess. The whole town’s invited.’

‘You sure she isn’t trying to flaunt it in your face or something?’

‘Flaunting implies I still care. I don’t.’

You give him a juvenile nudge nudge, wink wink. ‘Well, on the bright side, you’ll definitely get laid, being the heartbroken ex and all. Chicks love that shit.’

He dispatches a side-long stare in your direction. ‘I’m not heartbroken, and that’s not why I’m going. And you know none of this is any of your business, right?’

‘You’re no fun,’ you pout.

He quips, ‘As a professional hairstylist, you really should be better at making polite conversation.’

You snort. ‘Do you really think it’s a good idea to call me rude when I have scissors in my hands?’

Frankie watches you work in the comfortable lull that’s settled between you, gliding the blades along strands of his curls pulled taut, before running a fine-toothed comb through to brush out the loose tufts. Soft coils land on the floor around his chair as you work your way methodically through his layers.

‘Are you going to the wedding?’ he asks eventually.

You shrug. ‘Maybe, depends on my schedule. I gotta say, I’m kind of curious to see how tacky it will be.’

At his eyebrow sternly cocked, you argue, ‘I know she’s your ex and all, but she’s always been a bit tacky. I mean, that remodel of your house was just tragic.’

Frankie frowns. ‘How do you know all this? You’ve never been to my house.’

You wink. ‘Benny tells me everything when I do his hair.’

He pinches the bridge of his nose. ‘Of course. Benjamin fucking Miller.’

You give him a pat on the shoulder. ‘Don’t worry, I’m on your side, if it helps.’

‘I don’t need you on my side.’

You flash him an insufferable grin. ‘Too bad, Francisco. I am and there’s nothing you can do about it.’

The hairdryer drowns out any further conversation, and Frankie quietly studies you as you cord your fingers through his hair, ruffling it as it dries.

It’s still a bit damp when you switch off the hairdryer and reach up to pull a couple of jars from the shelf above. ‘On the day of the wedding, I want you to wash your hair just before you style it. You have a hairdryer at home, right?’

He throws you a pointed look. ‘I’m not a heathen.’

You grin. ‘Down boy, just checking. Now, you’ll dry your hair until it’s still a bit wet, like so.’ Presenting the styling mousse to him, you say, ‘Then go on and grab some product - you only need a dollop.’

He dips his index finger into the pot, scooping up a generous blob. Your attention is unexpectedly piqued at the sight of his hands. 

Have they always been so big?

Realising he’s staring at you in wait, you shake yourself out of it. ‘Ok, rub the mousse onto your fingertips and run them all over your hair, combing from root to end.’

Frankie does as he’s told, face set to a serious scowl as he impeccably goes over each section of his locks, staring into the mirror to make sure he gets every strand. For the first time, you see the pilot in him up close, and you wonder if he’s this thorough about other things, like -

Laundry, your mind interrupts as it careens on the brink of the metaphorical gutter. Get your shit together, Shiv.

‘Good,’ you smile when he’s done, hoping he doesn't see the strain in it. ‘Now, I want you to rake your fingers through the roots when you dry your hair all the way.’ In demonstration, your nails burrow into the base of his thick hair, then you wriggle your fingers upwards towards the ends. ‘It will give you lots of volume and really show off this cut.’

Passing him the hairdryer, you watch him critically in the mirror. He imitates your movements, a bit clumsily and far too cautiously. Leaning down to his ear so he can hear you over the whir, you instruct him, ‘Don’t be gentle, Francisco. C’mon, harder, deeper - don’t hold back.’

He chokes and pins you with a wide-eyed stare in the mirror that glances right off your oblivious self. Along with your words, nothing about this exchange would register in your head in any other way until much, much later tonight, when you replay the conversation in your head in that limbo between sleep and wakefulness. 

It may or may not have you squealing into your pillow in latent embarrassment - and something else.

But for now, you’re happy with the way his hair has set, and you gesture for him to switch off the hairdryer. Turning his chair towards you and away from the mirror, you scan your eyes over him and make small adjustments - tucking a couple of strands behind his ear here, a couple of final snips there. 

As a final touch, you bury your fingers into his locks, dragging your fingertips through the roots to impart a final tousle so that the curls are loose and soft. You preen at the way he sways into your contact, all shyness gone, his hooded eyes half-closed - before he seems to catch himself and sits up with a self-conscious ahem.

Grabbing a small bottle from the shelf, you say, ‘Last thing - your beard is a bit dry as well. This oil will keep it nice and moisturised, just two or three drops after you wash up in the morning will do.’

Tipping his face up by the crook of your finger and opening up his neck to you, you smooth the ointment along both sides of his jaw, rubbing circles into his neatly trimmed whiskers and all the way up his sideburns. Sliding downwards, your hands seek out the closely shaved stubble tucked beneath his chin. Then, by sheer momentum, your palms continue down his throat in a slow, sticky descent, until the pads of your thumbs slot into the hollow between his collarbones, your fingers resting at the base of his neck where you feel his pulse rabbiting underneath. 

The air thickens and shifts between you. When he swallows, you feel the ripple of the moment against your fingertips. 

His eyes are on you, and suddenly he’s too close, his skin too hot under your hands. To your horror, something akin to shyness rears its head and you almost stumble backwards to put a safe distance between you.

Scrubbing the oily residue from your hands on a towel, you break the moment with a wink and a steadier smile than you actually feel. ‘You look good, Morales. Ready to take a look?’

‘As if you would take no for an answer,’ he mumbles under his breath. Fondness might be too strong of a word - but you don't think you're imagining the faint trace of amusement in his voice.

With a dramatic ta-da, you spin his chair around with a flourish.

Frankie Morales is obviously not a vain man - he most likely owns five pairs of jeans that he’s worn on rotation for the past fifteen years, his t-shirts are washed ragged, and his trusty leather boots have seen better days. He probably doesn’t use a mirror other than for purely utilitarian purposes, like checking if there’s something stuck in his teeth from his last meal.

But right now, by the way he’s holding his breath as he meets his own eyes in the reflection, you can tell that he’s really looking at himself for the first time in a long while. 

You pretend to busy yourself with tidying up the styling station as you discreetly sneak glances at him, feeling strangely bashful for intruding in this moment. When he remembers to breathe again, he tilts his head left then to the right, and back again, even swivelling his chair from side to side so he can peer round the back.

You’ve parted his waves to the side, the lighter cut allowing his curls to carry their natural shape. The healthy sheen, courtesy of the mousse, tempers his grays to a softer, burnt silver that catches the light fetchingly as he moves. Reaching up, Frankie pushes back a stray curl that falls over his eyes, and his back straightens in a quiet show of confidence.

Running a salon is hard work and often thankless. But on days like this? You know you’re meant to do this.

A dramatic gasp draws both of your attention. Ashton is clutching at his chest, backed up against the neighbouring styling station, gaping at Frankie. ‘Mister - you look good enough to devour. Look at that salt and pepper, I’m living for the grays. Doing the Lord’s work, Shiv!’

You laugh as Frankie flushes, scratching an invisible itch on his forehead. You brush the loose hairs off his shoulders with a towel and give him a nudge. ‘See? I’m not the only one who thinks you look good with the grays. You better stock up on the condoms, Morales, the ladies will be all over you at the party.’

He shakes his head self-deprecatingly as he stands up, rubbing his palms on his jeans, uncomfortable with the scrutiny. ‘I doubt it, but - thanks. I appreciate this, Shiv.’

He shrugs on his well-loved burnt yellow jacket, the one with the sleeves perpetually folded up above his wrists and grabs his cap. You hold out a paper bag with the free shampoo and conditioner you promised him, throwing in a jar of hair mousse for good measure. ‘You’re welcome, and you better not put your hat on again this afternoon after all that hard work.’

His fingers brush yours when he takes the bag from you, then, as if it’s the logical next thing to do, he leans down to press a chaste kiss to your right cheek, his stubble coarse against your skin - and you know without looking it’s the gray patch in his beard that brushes against your jaw as he draws back. You fumble, feeling heat prickle the back of your neck and blooming in your rib cage. 

He flashes you the most self-assured smile you’ve seen on him this afternoon, which has you biting your bottom lip. ‘I won’t. Maybe see you at the wedding, Shiv.’

It takes you five full seconds to regain motor functions. By the time you unstick your tongue from the roof of your mouth, Frankie’s already out of the door with a spring in his step.

In companionable silence, you and Ashton watch the pilot strut - because that’s what he’s doing, he’s strutting with a confidence that becomes him - across the road through the glass front of the salon.

‘What a dish,’ Ashton sighs dreamily, flopping into a chair as if his limbs have given out. ‘I hope he comes back soon.’

You smile. A girl could always hope.

Notes: It's the first time I'm using a nickname for a Reader, but I have a real soft spot for Shiv, and I think she deserves one. I'm not sure where the fandom stands on this, does it disqualify the fic as a reader insert? If anyone has an issue with this, please let me know! For me, Shiv has no physical descriptions so to me she's still a reader insert.

I don't know if anyone expected this kind of dynamics between these two, but it's been so much fun to write with a bit of antagonism in the mix. I hope you enjoyed this, reblogs and comments are so, so appreciated as always. Thank you for reading ❤️

[reimagination]

How to look like a Greek god.

If you look up any advice for curly beards on any platform (google, youtube, pinterest, wikihow, etc.) It is ALWAYS how to straighten it. Usually with a blowdryer. Sometimes with those newfangled heating brushes for beards. And every once in a while keratin treatments.

Seriously. 100% of the time. There is no tutorial or advice I could find on how to care for your naturally curly beard.

So I turned to advice from nstural haired black women and also from a thing called the Curly Girl Method.

First thing I learned: sulfates and silicones are the enemy. Read you ingredients list, and stop using anything that says sulfate or ends in -cone. When going to the store to find things, 90% of products will have these ingredients. And most if the time you find products without them, they're meant for ethnic hair.

My go to products are Savon de Marseille (a French soap with 72% olive oil), Cantu co-wash, and Cantu Leave-In Conditioning Cream. I also use a beard oil that I make myself.

Second thing I learned: Moisture. And moisture means water. The oils are to help keep water in. Don't apply products, including beard oil, to dry hair.

Third: Don't wash so much. Washing your hair too much drys it out. I wash my beard about every week to every 10 days. How do you keep a beard sanitary in the meantime? Wash your goddamn hands. Your hands touch everything. They are riddled with bacteria. You touch your beard. Congratulations, you have spread bacteria to your beard. Secondly, you can use certain essentual oils in your beard oil which have antibiotic properties.

Other tips:

Want completely smooth curls? Try a twist out.

Deep condition at least once a week.

Maybe do an apple cider vinegar rinse sometimes.

Do not comb or brush with anything but your fingers. That being saud, the more you touch your beard the poufier it will get.

Let your beard air dry indoors to reduce frizz.

Always shower in cold water.

Keep in mind even Ancient Greeks had an extensive beard regimen.

If you want me to follow up with the science behind this, let me know. I'd be glad to share; I just didn't want it to get too long or boring.

[elveny]

Happy New Year!!

Start the new year by feeling amazing about yourself and choose at least three to do today:

Open all the windows | go for a walk and leave your mobile at home | you know that stupid movie/book full of ridiculous tropes and happy romance you love? Go and watch/read it | write or re-read that self-insert story | scrub your feet | wear that too-red lipstick | paint your nails | get rid of all the hair you don’t like | trim your beard | register for that kickboxing class you’ve always wanted to take | vacuum the room | do yoga | stand in front of the open window and breathe deeply | make a smoothie or fruit salat or just get an apple or other fresh fruit | eat a salad | masturbate | wear that dress / suit that makes you feel exceptionally pretty | try out a new hair style | tell someone you love them | pet an animal | take out the trash | exercise for at least 10min | wear the most comfortable clothes you can find | eat that desert now | make your bed, use fresh linen | don’t answer the phone today | clean your desk | tell someone “not today” | thank your favourite artist and writer and comment on your favourite story/piece of art | take a bath or long shower | drink yet another glass of water | try that art tutorial | dedicate a story to someone | hang a new picture | smile at yourself in the mirror | burn incense | draw tarot cards for the new year | get rid of that ugly thing you’ve always wanted to throw out | order food AND ice cream | stand up and stretch | put on your favourite music, sit back and listen with closed eyes | write down what you love about yourself and hang that somewhere you can see it | have only candles and/or fairy lights as light source | drink hot cocoa or coffee or tea | wrap yourself in that cozy blanket | rub your favourite scented oil into your skin | make a date with friends for a night out in the near future | tell yourself “I love you” | commission a picture of your OC | prepare a meal yourself  | dance | do something that makes you happy and write it down | choose a tattoo and make a date to get it done next year | lose yourself in that game |

And above all: know that you are loved and beautiful and incredible. You did well. In fact, you did amazing. You made it so far, you will make it further. Happy new year.

[elliyoyo]

Pucker Up, Parker (Peter Parker/Reader)

A double update? In one weekend? Yes, this is really me, I’m okay, I’m just hyped to write about the actual loml after Infinity War. Again, just a reminder, this fic will have NO INFINITY WAR SPOILERS. I repeat THIS IS SPOILER FREE AND SAFE TO READ.

Warnings: Swearing, kind of a makeup tutorial in a fic, lots of description, cliche kind of kissing, blinding highlights, my own head canon for Peter’s skin type, and a make out session

Words: 1879 (I went overboard, I know, I’m not sorry)

“There’s no way I’m letting you touch me with any of that, (Y/N),” Peter says, his eyes suspiciously scanning over the many bottles and compacts of makeup now splayed across his bed. You pick up foundations and take his arm, wanting to start color matching him so you could be done with the look you were doing before Aunt May went to bed, which was lifetimes away, so you weren’t too worried about it. Even so, you told her to come check on the progress in about an hour, even though Peter kept protesting getting his makeup done in the first place.

He tries to pull his arm away, but before he can, you reassure him with, “It’s nothing bad. It’s gonna be like I’m painting on your arm, then when I find the right shade I start painting your face.”

You shoot him a smile and pump a little drop of your foundations out on his arm. The drugstore one you had run out and grabbed earlier today was the one that worked best, probably because you had a keen eye for shade matching and your foundation shades were bound to either not fit his complexion or skin type. So before you came over, you quizzed him and grabbed one you thought would be perfect.

“They look weird. Why are some all gel-ish and some are runny and some—”

“We just know that the different textures and different formulas have different results. I have no clue how they do it, that’s their secret.” You laugh and grab your primers before you put any foundation on him. “Alright, Peter, time to play 20 questions again.”

“What? I thought you already had a foundation for me?”

“I do, but I need to find out what I need for primer. They’re also specialized to skin type and all that. Plus, it’s fun because I get to learn about you.” You pick up the five different ones you had, all drug store, but differently colored and purposed.

“...Alright, then ask me the things,” he sighs, giving in, knowing that if he wanted to look like all the girls on instagram that everyone obsessed about (and get the $5 you promised him for being your personal barbie doll for the night), he had to just answer the questions and let it be over with.

“Do you have a problem with your pores or too much oil on your nose, forehead, or chin?”

“The pores on my nose kinda bug me sometimes. I heard that if you put an ice cube on there, it closes them up a little bit, so I do that every morning when I brush my teeth,” he admits, flushing slightly pink, thinking it was kind of a weird thing to do.

“Alright. Have you done anything else about it? Soaps, treatments, masks— any of that?”

“...” He is silent for a moment, flushing even more, before admitting even more. “I sneak some of Aunt May’s soap every once in awhile to clean the pores and when I have a few extra bucks, I’ll grab a pore tightening mask.”

“I never knew you were so into facial care. Now that I know your secrets, I may one day look as perfect as you,” you joke, but you’re secretly serious. You would do anything to have his perfectly smooth, acne-free skin, even though it’s marred by cuts or bruises sometimes from some of the fights he’ll tell you about now and then. “So you take extremely good care of yourself and are conscious of pores. Any of the oiliness or no?”

“Not unless I’m doing a little workout or in gym class, no.” You nod, putting the mattifying and redness-cancelling primers aside.

“Are you looking for a big glow or a more natural look?”

“I guess natural. I don’t wanna look like a light bulb, you know?”

“Right, right, that’s Mr. Stark’s job.” You snort out a laugh, avoiding Peter’s hand as it goes to slap your shoulder. “Sorry, sorry, didn’t mean to offend your dad.”

“He’s not my Dad! He’s just my boss and mentor and all that… And he doesn’t look like a lightbulb. He’s just… shiny.”

“So are lightbulbs, case closed.” You put the extreme illuminating primer aside with the other two as well. “Lastly, is your skin dry at all? Any flaky bits or spots that feel a big rugged when you run your fingers over it?”

“Not dry, but my slight beard coming in is a bit rugged sometimes…”

“Peter, you say that like you’ve got a beard that’s braid worthy or something, calm down there.” You set the hydrating one in the pile of rejects as well, focusing on the poreless primer that was still remaining in front of him. “Then here we go, we’ll use a poreless one on your forehead, nose, and chin, then just use a base moisturizer over everything so you still have a base for the foundation.”

Peter looked at you curiously as you squeezed out the peach-colored gel and started putting it on his nose first. He makes a face and scrunches his nose for a moment, muttering something about how it smelled and he didn’t think he was going to like this.

You then put a little more on his forehead and chin, grabbing a beauty blender that you had wet beforehand, making sure there was no excess water before you start buffing out the primer. You then grab the bottle of moisturizer and pump a little onto his entire face once you’ve given it time to sink in.

“Alright this foundation is going to feel like a weird extra layer of skin that you can’t pull off, but you seriously can’t touch it or feel it because it can and will rub off on your fingers if you do,” you warm him, pumping some of the foundation onto the back of your hand. You take a brush and start applying it liberally, knowing you were going to need to pack on heavy highlighter and contour to make him look like the Instagram model he wanted to be.

“It feels like you’re smearing pancake mix on my face. Half of me loves it and half of me absolutely hates it.”

“Focus on the half that loves it, ‘cause we’ve got a lot more to do.” With that, you grab your beauty blender and start to blend the foundation into his face, neck, and ears, making sure that he didn’t look cakey, but also had a nice, even base. “And now is where you need to stay very still and non-complain-y.”

You pick up the blush compact from beside you and sigh. Oh, how you wanted to make him look like a certain villain that isn’t even present in the marvel universe, but you were a kind significant other, so you restrained yourself from doing so.

Kind of.

—

Forty-five minutes and about fifteen brushes later, Peter Benjamin Parker has perfect smokey eyes, winged eyeliner sharp enough to cut someone, lashes put on perfectly to compliment the rest of his eye look, eyebrows done up to the gods, a blinding highlight, contour that he really didn’t need because he’s already got those good cheekbones, and the perfect Jenner lip look.

“You look… Woah.” You try to keep your mouth shut, or else a lengthy rant about how he looks super hot will come tumbling out, but it doesn’t work. You can’t help but gape at how amazing he looks, hair tousled, highlight shining from the moonlight shining through the window, his eyes only popping more from how you lined his waterline.

“Am I leaving you speechless?” He strikes a pose, puckering his lips with a small laugh, but fails to notice how your eyes bug out for a second at the beautiful sight.

You must have zoned out for a moment staring at him because the next thing you know, he’s way closer than you remembered and he’s calling your name, trying to get your attention back on him, unaware that it never left.

“(Y/N), you alright? If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’ve fallen in l—”

“I fell in love with you a long time ago, Peter.”

“—ove with this look… Oh…”

“Oh, I didn’t… You can just ignore the fact that I said that if you want to, I’m sorry.”

“No, I, uh… I just didn’t, you know, um, expect it! It’s great that you love me, actually, ‘cause surprise! I love me— you— I love you, too!”

There’s an awkward silence for a moment before you two both lean in a little further for what seems like centuries before your lips connect. Neither of you move for a moment, afraid to do something wrong, but once it passes, you place your hand on his cheek and he puts a hand on your waist so he can steadily move towards you.

Soon enough, he’s over you, his fingers intertwined with yours while still keeping him above you and not crushing you into his mattress. You slide your tongue into his mouth at one point, courageously making the first move, but as soon as you do so, his door is opened by Aunt May, who takes a moment to see what’s going on.

“Hey, how’s the look going? I really hope you made him look weird— it would be going straight on my facebo— Peter what are you doing?!”

He jumps off of you, hitting his head on the top bunk with a small gasp. He looks down at you for a moment, both urging you to help him explain and admiring the small bits of glitter that had rubbed from his high points onto your face. It was also in this moment that he got lost looking at your puffy from kissing, lipstick stained, inviting lips.

“Peter, I asked you a question. What. Do. You. Think. You’re. Doing?”

“He was seeing if the lipstick would transfer easy,” you blurt out, not able to think of anything else. “He doesn’t have any celebrity crush posters, so I had to be his subject.”

“...I… I mean, valid point… but why in the bed so… teenager-y?” At this point, May is just teasing Peter, which you catch onto and join in on.

“Well, we are teenagers. We have glands which release…?” You look up at Peter, somehow managing to make you hiding your smile pass as you wiping the lipstick off your lips. “—Pete, this is review for you! What do glands release?”

“Uh, hormones! They release hormones! Wait, no, May, come on, can you give us a second, then I’ll show you how it turned out? Please?”

“...Alright, but that lipstick better be fixed by the time I get back in here in five.” She eyes you two down for a moment, then closing the door.

“...Wow, what a shit show.” He laughs out, resting his head in the crook of your neck.

“Tell me about it, that was hilarious.” You grab the lip liner again, just planning to make his lips look a little bigger so you didn’t have to redo any foundation or contour.

“Now, even though it got us into this mess in the first place, I’m gonna need you to pucker up, Parker.”

[vvictordgilbert]

Beard Maintenance Tips: Best Methods to Maintain Your Beard

Beard maintenance will have to be a part of your routine. Caring for your beard will probably include trips to your barber and some shopping for items like brushes, beard shampoos, beard oils and moisturizing products.

It's probably a lot of information. And you might ask yourself, "is it worth the effort to have a routine for maintaining your beard?'. Yes. All you have to do is work hard and you'll be amazed at the outcomes.

Although some men are not able to grow full, thick beards, there are still plenty of people who can have stunning facial hair if they knew how to keep it. Learn more here to learn best beard care tips that will help you keep your facial hair in top shape.

Keeps Your Face And Beard Well

Beards can be uncomfortable regardless of what you think. In fact, many men complain that their faces are itchy when they get beards, especially in the first stages of growing. This is why beard maintenance routines can be very helpful.

Itchy hair can result from hair that is growing outside of your face. However, the irritation is usually caused by the exfoliated cells of your skin located next to your skin.

Cleansing your beard regularly and keeping it maintained with the right products can dramatically reduce the amount of itchiness. And cleaning your face helps get rid of dead skin cells and other dirt from the hair follicle, which can make your beard look healthy and promote growth.

Makes Styling Easier

There's not a lot more stressful than trying to get knots out of in your beard. You could pull your hair out literally when you fail to tackle tiny knots.

Unfortunately, oiling a beard in an attempt to loosen it can be unsuccessful, and it's better to be accountable for taking care of your beard instead of trying to fix it.

Maintain your beard hydrated and combed. It will take only just a few minutes to make your beard look more stylish if you do this.

This makes you appear more attractive

A well-maintained beard makes you look attractive. A well-planned beard maintenance program is crucial to ensure that your beard stays healthy and clean. For a more attractive appearance and appearance, trim your beard.

Maintaining a well-groomed and healthy beard is a striking aspect of your style. It's an attractive feature. You just have to spend the time and make sure you are grooming your hair properly.

Regularly wash your beard

A neat beard is an enjoyable one. You have to wash your beard regularly to keep it healthy. The beard's hair can be cleaned of dead skin and dust particles.

Remember that the hair on your face and the one on your head differ, and so is the skin that surrounds it. Make sure you use products specifically made for beard maintenance. Beards should be washed with a shampoo once to twice per every week. If you clean your beard more often, it can dry out the hairs that can cause beard curling and itchiness. The way it should be done:

Scoop warm water in your hands and make your beard looking nice and moist.

Use enough beard shampoo to wash your hands. Massage it into your skin.

After a good lather, rinse your beard in warm water.

Use a towel to dry your beard. Be gentle to avoid causing any damage to your hair.

To increase the amount of moisture in your beard, maintenance can be complemented by conditioners or masks for your beard. You might find you require one particularly in winter.

Beard oil is an excellent alternative

Beard oils are an essential product in your routine of maintaining your beard. It's a product that's which is used to complement the natural oils that are present in your skin. It moisturizes the skin beneath your beard, and your facial hair.

Trim Your Beard

Trimming your beard is essential in order to keep your beard looking good without going to the barbershop regularly on a weekly basis. It should definitely be a part of your beard maintenance routine. Although the first cut will always be the most difficult, you are able to reshape your hair by following a pattern and watching tutorials online.