#literally when in my life am i going to need to measure the temperature of water to know if its boiling | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

snackhobi · 4 years ago

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

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

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

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

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

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

Taehyung goes through a lot of different phases.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jesus Christ.

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

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

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

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

And then you have a miniature breakdown at Pickles.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

… Anyway.

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

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

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

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

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

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

(You have the backbone of a chocolate éclair.)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How’s your shoulder feeling?”

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

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

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

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

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

Your luck doesn’t last.

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

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

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

“What do you think sounds best?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He just shakes his head.

“Okay,” you say.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Taehyung?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(You’re going to die.)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sorry.” He sounds genuinely apologetic.

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

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

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

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

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

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

(It’s not cool.)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Better?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(What is he doing?)

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

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

“Taehyung.” Your voice is high and faint.

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

“Taehyung,” you repeat. Your voice shakes.

He hums, low and indulgent. “Yes?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(But.)

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

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

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

“Taehyung.” Almost pleading.

“Yes, love?”

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

(You’re not.)

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

Before you can think, you nod.

“Yes,” you whisper. “Please.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Anything you want,” he murmurs.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Of course you want to.

“Okay,” you whisper. “Let me move.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, Tae,” you beg. “More, please.”

“Whatever you want, sweetheart.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You got edible massage oil from your course?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You really are perfect,” he says.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Here?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, fuck—”

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

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

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

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

“‘M sorry,” he murmurs.

You pause.

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

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

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

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

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

There’s a pause. “Really?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Taehyung?”

“Yes, angel?”

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

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

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

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

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

(“Hey, Pickles.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

taglist: @beyoncesdragon

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

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vilaneiie · 4 years ago

Text

No Going Back | Emily Sonnett

first imagine done, lmao hope u guys enjoy!

warnings: a little steamy but nothing nsfw, swearing.

word count: 2,318

You wouldn’t consider you and the blonde in front of you friends. Because you weren’t. But at this point - the late nights talking, the late night walks, the late night occasional sleepovers had to be called something.

In all honesty you couldn’t stand each other. You’d both find something about each other to be annoyed by but it would never get in the way of what you guys had.

“Hey” Emily said for what felt like the fifth time.

Right - she was your roommate. That’s what you guys are. That’s the label you can put on it: Camp roomies.

The girl's attempts at snapping you out of your thoughts finally worked, “what?” you snap back.

She laughs at your tone knowing you didn’t mean it, “what are you doing tonight?” she asks curiously.

You look at her as if she asked the stupidest question, “it’s camp. sleeping probably?”

Emily lets out a sarcastic chuckle, “boring lets do something” she says making an effort to wiggle her eyebrows

You slip back into thinking about how this was like a routine for you two. You’d both find a way to sneak away and do something together. Just the two of you. It may sound suspicious but you both thought it wasn’t.

Starting to get annoyed at nothing really, you lock your phone, “I’m going to Tobin’s room.”

⭒⭒⭒⭒⭒

“Heads!” You hear but not quick enough, courtesy of the ball that just hit your head.

“What the fuck?!” you let out already having been annoyed and exhausted from the strenuous training session the team had just endured.

“Sorry...” the culprit, Emily says sheepishly in your direction knowing the amount of shit she’ll get from you for this.

Your reputation as the team's asshole, as much as you hate to admit, did proceed you.

“Watch were you’re fucking going Emily” you say, tone laced with venom and not even bothering to look at her.

“More like the ball” a guilty Emily jokes trying to ease up your attitude.

You were about to snark something back but before you could

“Y/N! Take it easy” you look to find Christen Press who had just overheard your conversation. “She’s being annoying, no” you say, sticking your tongue out to show you’re not actually that mad.

“Come kick it with me” Emily offers hoping it equals an apology.

“So you can hit me again?”

“I- will you stop arguing everything I say?”

You give up and get up, snatching the ball from her hand using your other to untie the sweater around her waist for good measure. You try to ignore the fact she froze when your hand touched her as if she panicked but before you could put in more thought you run away with a devious smile on your face.

“So what’s up with you?” the blonde asks now that you’re away from the team.

You guys did this a lot. Never really talking while around the team. You’re both not sure why, part of you thinks it’s because you’re more comfortable with her than anyone else. You’d never admit that out loud though. Neither would she.

“Nothing” you huff our trying to move on.

She takes the hint and you guys continue kicking the ball back and forth for a while, talking about random things like the next friendly, the weather, the fact that Emily’s sister has a boyfriend.

It’s domestic.

“You still wanna do something?” you ask starting to open up to the idea of socialising.

You watch Emily pause, a smile plastering her face, “duh.”

You smile hesitantly trying to hide the bigger one that was trying to break through.

“Okay.”

⭒⭒⭒⭒⭒

“Bar or restaurant?” your roommate sticks her head out from the bathroom.

You raise your eyebrows jokingly, “is this a date?”

She laughs, “I’m not paying for you.”

You’re half way through applying some makeup before a knock fills the room, replacing the “god awful music” as you call it for a brief moment. You can't ignore the dread that feels you knowing that there’s a chance that whoever is behind the door would tag along tonight.

Making your way to the door you prep yourself as you swing the door open, relief when you see it’s only Jill.

“Hey..?” you drag out thinking that you could be in trouble.

“Hi girls, I’m going around reminding everybody that we have an excursion tomorrow, and the bus leaves at 7 am.”

Emily chuckles, “you couldn’t have just emailed us that?”

Jill smiles, “I couldn’t figure it out.”

You join in the laughter and say your goodbyes, closing the door and sighing out a breath you didn’t realise you were holding.

“You good?” Emily asks, noticing your behaviour.

“Yeah.”

“And Emily?”

“Yeah?”

You smirk a little, “bar.. 100% bar.”

⭒⭒⭒⭒⭒

Making your way out of the hotel with ease, you and Emily stand outside waiting for an uber.

“I should have brought a fucking jacket” she says, rubbing her bare arms in attempt to get warm.

You raise an eyebrow, “I literally told you too.”

A few passerby’s overhead what you were saying and giggled at the two of you bicker over the weather.

Emily noticed it but you didn’t. Emily thought about how they probably think that you two were a couple. She pushed it down though.

Finally seeing the uber has arrived you both climb in, and she tells the driver where the two of you are going. You’re pretty sure it’s a dive bar called O’Malley’s but it didn’t bother you both since getting wasted wasn’t the plan.

Boy were you wrong.

4 shots, who knows how many beers and 3 games of pool later it’s pretty safe to say you two were in fact wasted. You had no idea how it happened, you weren’t much of a drinker. Maybe it was the atmosphere of the bar, how boring it was since it was you and Emily plus a few frequent flyers.

You’ve been sneakily touching each other all night. Whether it be hands, hips or legs you both feel empty without the presence of each other. You blame it on the alcohol, while she tells herself it’s nothing.

“I love this song!” Emily slurs in your ear, having no real reason to be that close other than the fact of the bar seats.

You giggle at her excitement, “and?” you ask knowing what’s about to come next.

She hops down from the stool and grabs your arm, “we’re gonna dance, obviously!”

You two spend probably about 10 minutes making fools out of yourselves dancing to classic late 90’s songs while continuing to fill your blood with cheap tasting beer.

The beat of the song that plays gets slower and so do you. Coming closer like magnets you hook your arms around her neck, pretending it’s innocent.

Finding your ear once again Emily whispers, “if you wanted to dance like this you could have just asked” wanting you to know that she’s been wanting to do this for a while.

You almost forget how to breathe before pulling her in closer. Suddenly feeling like you need to touch her. Need to have her closer.

The song picks up as you too continue, to what looks like everyone else grinding on each other. You two call it friendly.

She twirls you around playfully following the beat. Yeah this certifies it. You really can’t breathe. It doesn’t stop you though, pushing yourself back into her.

You know what you’re starting to feel but you can’t stop. It’s like you're stuck together. Her hands make their way down to your waist, the same place you had yours today.

“Y/N” she sort of sighs out.

This is all it takes, the way her voice sounded desperate is what makes you turn back around and smash your lips against hers. She takes a second to react but kisses you back wanting this just as much as you do. It’s fast, it's rushed and it’s hungry. As if you’ve been waiting for this your entire life.

You have.

She has too.

Suddenly remembering that you’re in public you laugh into the kiss before hesitantly pulling away, feeling the temperature rise 100 degrees.

“I’m going to the bathroom!” you yell over the music. Not really sure on what to do next.

Much to Emily’s dismay she internally agrees. Suddenly feels a little too sober now with your presence gone.

Becoming anxious as to what you’re doing she follows you into the dingy bathroom. She shouldn’t have expected a nice one.

“Y/N” she calls out, not wanting to yell just in case there’s someone else there.

Rounding the corner she sees you sitting on the dirty bathroom counter, you both not knowing what to say.

“You okay?” she asks you, it slowly becomes a pattern.

“Are you?” you ask back.

“Asked you first.”

“Come here” you ask her

She pauses for a second, frowning her eyebrows before walking closer to you. More specifically she puts her body in between your legs.

“Hi” you whisper now that she can hear you.

Emily’s not sure what’s about to happen.

“Hi.”

“We’re drunk right?”

“Right.”

“Good” is all you say before leaning in.

⭒⭒⭒⭒⭒

The alarm you forgot you set is what wakes you up, but the sleeping body next to you is what gets you up.

You sit up before remembering last night's events which slows your beating heart.

Looking over to Emily, you’re not sure what’s going through your head. A few thoughts of regrets pass through your head before you tell yourself it’s not really regret. You smirk at yourself remembering what went down stuck in your own bubble before also remembering that you had the alarm the night before for a reason.

The bus leaves at 7:00 am.

It’s 6:50 am.

You’re pretty sure yesterday you thought that since you naturally wake at 6:00 am ish each day the alarm was just a warning.

Shaking Emily you almost get distracted but the adrenaline cuts it off.

“Emily!” you croak out.

The worried sounding “Em!” is what wakes her up.

“Yeah?” she groans sleepily before getting hit by her has to be her jeans.

“The bus leaves in 10 fucking minutes.”

“What? Bus?” she sits up trying to gather her thoughts which her pounding headache is blocking.

You don’t have time to explain before going into the bathroom, hearing a “oh” from the bed knowing that she just figured it out.

“I can't find my pants” you say.

She tries to help you while getting dressed herself but fails, “here just take these” she tells you holding her shorts out with her number on it.

“Emily,” you say, coking your head to get your point across.

“It’s fine” she says rubbing her sleepy eye, “we’re roommates, roommates get their clothes mixed up all the time.”

You were gonna make a Tobin and Christen joke but opt against it once the feeling of anxiety about missing the bus refills you.

“What do we even need to bring” she asks, finally dressed.

“I don’t fucking know” you say panicked.

She grabs you as you walk past.

“Hey” Emily says softly, getting your attention.

“It’s fine, we’re fine. They’ll wait for us. Just grab sneakers, maybe a jacket and I’ll get a backpack.”

Her attempts to calm you down work. So easily. Normally once you feel anxious nothing can ever stop that but she just did.

Focusing on your task you finally feel a little better seeing how it’s now 6:55 am and you’re somewhat ready.

Grabbing sunglasses from the bathroom knowing you’ll need them you look back at Emily who still looks half asleep.

Smiling at yourself, it drops from your face when you see yourself in the mirror.

More specifically our neck.

“Fuck” you mumble under your breath.

Not having time to put makeup over it you grab your concealer, chuck your hoodie on and make your way to the door.

She could tell by the way you’re fixing your hood that it’s so cover something.

“Sorry” she tells you, trying to hide a smile.

“Fuck you” you say half joking half genuine.

“Yeah you did” she hits back quickly.

Before you could even scold her a loud banging at your door makes you both jump.

Since Emily is the closest she answers it, “yeah yeah we’re coming!” she says opening the door to reveal Rose and Mal.

You all greet each other, before the girls in front of you yell at the both of you for being this late.

“They’re going to kill us, let's go.”

Practically jogging through the lobby you both finally make it to the bus, offering an apology to Jill and a few others who're waiting outside for you girls.

Knowing that you’ll be sitting with your bus buddy you make the way down the aisle, searching for Tobin.

The smile on her face tells you 1 of 2 things. Either she knows or she just finds it amusing that you, out of all people were late.

Sitting down in your seat you let out a slow breath trying to calm down your stomach and head.

“Shut up” you tell her, feeling as if she was about to say something

You just get comfortable as you hear your phone ding. Not being bothered to get it from your bag you look at Tobin, silently asking her to get it for you.

“What did you do last night?” she asks teasingly.

She retrieves your phone, furrowing her eyebrows at the number on your shorts that caught her eye when she was coming back up.

She bites her lips to stop a laugh forming before handing you your phone.

When you answer whoever that was texting you, you lean back into the surprisingly comfy bus seat.

Tobin matches you, leaning over with a wide smile.

“I know what you d-i-i-d” she singsongs

#emily sonnett imagine #emily sonnett x reader #emily sonnett #tobin heath #uswnt #uswnt imagine #uswnt x reader #woso imagine #woso #wlw imagine

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gay-otlc · 4 years ago

Text

Oneat Cperson Disorder

Obviously everyone with OCD is super neat. They probably have great handwriting and a perfectly organized room, and they’re qUiRkY because they don’t like asymmetrical things, all that shit. That’s what OCD stands for! Oneat Cperson Disorder!

Wait... OCD isn’t Neat Person Disorder?

Then what is it?

Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. That’s the real acronym. It’s not Neat Person Disorder, it’s not a synonym for organized. It’s a shitty disorder characterized by obsessions and compulsions. A major symptom is intrusive thoughts.

This is what OCD actually is.

(Warning: Unneccessarily long. You have been warned.)

Intrusive thoughts

Almost everyone gets intrusive thoughts. That’s not an OCD specific thing.

The way my therapist explained it was that the brain is like an email inbox, and thoughts are like emails. Some thoughts are marked as important, such as things like I need a drink of water. This is important to survivial and should be prioritized. Some thoughts just go in the general inbox, like That person over there is tall. It might be relevant to whatever’s going on at the moment, but is generally not that important. Some thoughts are spam, like I should hurt someone I care about. It’s not born out of any desire, it’s just random, and it’s completely unimportant.

A non-OCD person would mark the spam emails as spam. An OCD person would mark them as important.

And the type of spam emails that gets marked as important goes with the subtype of OCD. So, someone with harm OCD (me, it’s me, hi) could get the thought Overdose on these painkillers. Someone with contamination OCD could get the thought I touched this surface and now my hand is covered in germs.

Conclusion: Intrusive thoughts would be fine if my fucking spam filter worked. Stupid brain.

Obsessions

After marking the intrusive thought as important, the brain will consider it to be... well... important. It isn’t, but hey, the brain doesn’t know that. It just knows that it was marked as important, so it should definitely think about this email.

And think about the email.

And be literally unable to stop thinking about the email.

And become completely and utterly obsessed with the email until it matters more than a lot of the actually important thoughts.

Thanks a lot, brain.

This is the obsession!

Since the brain only marked an intrusive thought as important because it was distressing, thinking about the intrusive thought will obviously cause more distress. OCD is an anxiety disorder, and the obsessions make you... take a wild guess... anxious!

An obsession will spiral until it creates a worst case scenario, usually taking place in a “what if” form.

So after I get the thought about overdosing, the next thing I think will be Oh fuckity fuck fuck fuck fuck, what if I overdose on these painkillers? I don’t want to, but I’m worried I’ll lose control and impulsively do it. This is hilarious, because I am an extremely not-impulsive person, but the OCD brain thinks in absolutes.

It wants solid, 100% confirmation that I will not commit suicide. And no matter how unlikely it seems that I will, having 100% certainty that I won’t is impossible. And my OCD brain apparently doesn’t understand probability and thinks that P(not overdosing) =/= 100% means P(overdosing) is extremely likely.

This might also be accompanied by fun other distrubing thoughts that explore this worst case scenario in more detail, such as my family finding my dead body, my friends being told I’m dead, people attending my funeral, etc.

A person who thought I touched this contaminated surface might go on to think Oh no, what if I now have this disease and get sick and die? That might be accompanied by going to the hospital, having surgeries and shit, also the funeral, etc.

The “what if” question is very distressing, And because it’s an obsession, you can’t stop thinking about it.

Conclusion: My brain should be able to stop thinking about things. Stupid brain.

Compulsions.

That obsession from before was fuckin’ scary, right? It’s all worst case scenario shit. We don’t want that happening.

So, what do we do?

Prevent it from happening! Seems logical, right?

Except. Except this is absolutely, 100% the wrong thing to do. It perpetuates the idea that intrusive thoughts are Big Scary ™ and creates a vicious cycle until preventing the worst case scenario from happening completely consumes our lives.

Compulsion is any sort of preventative measure.

When I have thoughts like overdose on these painkillers, there are a lot of things I really shouldn’t do except always do. I could list reasons to live (The problem with this is that I don’t want to die, and treating it like I do adds on to the idea that this is a genuine risk. People who are suicidal for real absolutely should think about reasons to live.) I could google “signs of suicidal people” until I’m confident that I don’t fit enough of those signs. I could completely avoid painkillers at all whatsoever until I’m in too much pain to do schoolwork I really need to do and then upon trying to take a painkiller I have a panic attack I mean haha what that definitely wouldn’t ever happen-

If someone has the thought I touched this contaminated surface and is now worried about getting sick and dying, what could they do? They could wash their hands, which is a big one associated with OCD. They could check symptoms of whatever disease they’re worried about until they’re sure they don’t have it. If a fever is something they’re worried about, they could check their temperature and then check it again because they don’t believe the first non-feverish number I mean haha I’ve never done this one either really what is it with these examples? So random, definitely not based in real life...

Ahem.

All of these measures are taken to prevent something that there isn’t a risk of, are make me more scared of something I don’t actually have to be scared of, and make me more reliant on these habits to the point where it interferes with my functioning; for example, if I’m scared of painkillers now, I’ll be in more pain and that will make it harder to do things.

Conclusion: Just because compulsions give me immediate relief from anxiety, doesn’t mean they aren’t bad in the long run, and doing them is also bad. Stupid brain.

Ending Statements And Stuff:

So, can people with OCD be neat? Well, I’m convinced neat people are a myth, but I guess they can be. But can people with OCD also be disorganized? Fuck yeah, I’m here, aren’t I?

OCD stands for Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. It is not Oneat Cperson Disorder, and please do not treat it as such. That can be harmful to disorganized people with OCD like me, who think “I can’t possibly be OCD! My room is a mess!” and then just... not get help for so long.

It’s also just... like... wrong? It’s factually incorrect to say OCD is a synonym for neat and that alone should be a good enough reason for you to not say it.

Don’t say things like “I’m so OCD!” because you don’t like it when something is crooked or any thoughts I have about harming you will be completely intentional.

Also, I think we can conclude that Shai’s brain is fucking stupid.

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bakatenshii · 3 years ago

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LMFAO ME TOO, I usually only cook ch/jp/kr dishes (my comforts are mapo tofu and korean seaweed soup) because that fits my palate v well. My mum, however, loves pasta, so she likes it when I make it for her :) best part about pasta is you only need 1 pot and 1 beeg pan to make everything, less dishes.

I'm- I'M ACTUALLY NOT A BAKER since I can't taste the food as I go along, but I'm quite the perfectionist, so when it comes to baking, it always ends up fine :) A recipe I've tried TWICE, and have been successful BOTH TIMES, is this Apple Tart (yt link). If you need somebody with more in-depth explanations, Claire Saffitz has a wonderful recipe book (friend has confirmed since I don't have it LOL) and an excellent YouTube channel!

Honestly, the best thing you can do is figure out if your oven has any major hotspots and if the temperature is accurate inside if you want to consider using it more often :) I also recommend you investing in a scale! Doesn't have to be fancy, but a lot of recipes give you gram/oz. measurements which are much more accurate than US cups etc.

...i'll bake just 4 u, my lil waifu 💟💗💜💖

Epicurious on Youtube is a superb resource - they have many videos that explain ingredients, ways to do things, explorations of cooking; it's a fun channel, and I'd highly recommend browsing through them, if it hasn't popped up for you before.

I owe my life oh my god thank you so much this is amazing, I’ve acc been seeing a lot of apple pie vids and I’ve been super tempted actually so this is literally perfect! THANK YOU SO MUCH OH MY GODDD this is so so good

and I am with you 10000%, the thing that puts me off about baking is the fact that you can’t taste as you mix and go and adjust the flavours? it’s kinda like u gotta just risk it all and hope for the best aiajaoaj but I bought a cookie jar to keep on my counter for the aes bcos I wanna be That Housewife™️ so I should probs start actually learning to bake HAHAHAHA

also also, my parents are the same? they love pasta sm and they think its super fancy so they always ask me to make it for them, meanwhile normally my palette’s mostly east asian foods hehe (but i acc started making pasta for the one pot recipes for less washing up omg)

#urusai! baka #misc.#THIS IS SO SO USEFUL AND INSIGHTFUL THANK YOU SO MUCH #esp about the oven tips #fun fact i acc owned a scale for just casual use if maybe sooome recipes called for specific measurements #but then i was gone one dat and my bf accidentally melted itnin the oven bcos i keep it in there #bcos i... use my oven as a storage cupboard since i never acc use it #he knew this so he took my tupperwares and stuff out but the scale i got was a super small flat black one i kept at the v bottom and i guess #he didnt even realize i bought one to begin w??#anways i think he bought me a new scale UALAJAO so i do indeed have that but #and im excited to actually put it to use HAHAHAHA #super side note if ur mum eats meat(pork specifically)#ive been making this sausage pasta that im a really big fan of i will be sliding the recipe into ur dms xoxoxo #BUT THIS IS ALL SO SO HELPFUL THANK U SO MUCH IM SO EXCUTED AHHHH #((pps. ill learn 2 bake just 4 u <333))

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starr-fall-knight-rise · 5 years ago

Text

Humans are Space Orcs “High Altitude Low Opening”

Whipped something up for you guys this morning, decided I needed to incorporate a few more of the alien races that I have mentioned in the past. Sort of based on events that happened after Color Vision, but you don’t need to have read it.

“We can’t stop them, they are hemmed in by the mountains, guarded on all sides and they shoot down any aircraft that dares to come close with supporting troops. Before our informant was killed he managed to send us a message that the Gnar’lak have reverse engineered Finnari rocket technology and from there plan to leave the planet destroying it completely on the way out.” There was silence in the council chamber as the statement set in. All around, the grand halls echoed with the shuffling of many feet.

“Why…. what is the point of that?”

The council turned to find the human delegation looking more than a little confused.

The Finnari representative sighed deeply, “Their hatred of us has been a core trait of their species for centuries. Once upon a time they fed upon our peoples life force for nourishment. We were kept as livestock to fuel their hunger until eventually escaping their control, but by that time evolution had taken it’s course. They must drain us to live, and are completely unsuited to empathy towards us, which would make consuming us that much more difficult. In essence they were designed to hate us, and now that the technology exists to sustain them, they have no real reason to stay.” He hummed thoughtfully, “Then there is, of course, their grudge against the humans.”

The human council seemed surprised, “Grudge, what grudge.”

The Finnari whistled amused “May I remind you, Commander, that once upon a time you and your crew single handedly defeated one of their greatest armies saving us from enslavement and possible extinction.”

The commander’s mouth opened in a surprised, “Oh, right. I forgot about that. I didn’t realize it had been such a heavy blow. It was one battle after all, and we only pushed them back.”

“You Killed nearly all of their mature mating females.”

“Oh….. whoops.”

He waved a hand, “No matter, the point is their population took a heavy hit and it will take decades for them to rebuild, if they recover at all. Either way they plan on destroying the planet out of spite for us and for you who sided with us.”

“Does that seem a bit of an over reaction to everyone else, or is that just me?” The commander glanced around the room for support.

“If they had a true name, Commander, I am sure the phrase “over reaction” would be in the title…. Now the true issue is how to even bother lying siege on them. The mountains make it impenetrable, all large ground vehicles, and low flying jets will be shot down. Not to mention that the terrain is not suited for large amounts of troops or military vehicles.”

The human Commander stood and walked forward to examine the map, “This can be delt with…. But it depends on how many of them you'd be willing to kill.” The room went very silent, and the human looked up “Guided missiles, nuclear weapons, artillery, or biological warfare. There are plenty of ways to deal with the issue, the biggest problem is that most of them will be lethal…. Likely for the entire remaining population.”

No one spoke for the longest time, until the chairwoman leaned forward in her seat, “As dire as this situation may be commander, we would rather avoid such extreme measures. Not to mention that their anti-air defences are sophisticated enough to intercept a missile and if that was nuclear you'd be affecting the entire planet.”

The man tapped his chin then paused, “How sophisticated is their system?”

“Quite radar pared with physics analysis mark objects based on speed, shape, movement and density. Anything larger than ten units, or ten pounds, traveling over 200 miles per hour, with an aerodynamic shape, and moving on a predictable vector course will be targeted.”

The commander leaned over the table eyes locked up on the map with that predatory way that humans had when thinking, almost as if he was preparing himself for a hunt, “What if an object were to hit only one of those requirements.”

“What do you mean.”

“Say you had an unpredictable object traveling at 120 miles per hour or slower, but with a weight of up to 250 pounds?”

“How would these objects be entering the airspace?”

“From directly above.”

“Like it was falling…..?”

The human smiled, “Exactly like that.”

The council glanced at each other, “I don’t think that would even register on Anti Air for meteorites, but commander, what sort of technology would you be using.”

“No technology really.” The man stood, “We would be doing this the old fashioned way, and if we do it right, no one has to get hurt.”

“And what exactly is the old fashioned way.”

“HALO.”

***

“You aren’t serious!” Krill screeched from the small antichamber off the GA council room. The Rundi chairwoman and one representative of each council stood around the table with shocked looks on their faces.

“For fuck’s sake. Can you just be safe or FIVE MINUTES, every time I turn my back you ahve some stupid idea….”

“This isn’t the first time that I have done it.” The man replied calmly, “It was part of my training during flight school. One involved a simulated ejection from 15,000 feet and one was a HALO certification from 35,000 feet.”

“This is stupidity.”

“Madness.”

The room chorused with agreement, even the Drev counselor seemed put off by the idea .

“It makes sense. The high altitude is outside the Anti Air range, with minimal metal and an unpredictable landing vector, we would be unseen by their radar. If we open low it reduces the amount of time those on the ground would be able to see us all the better if we are thermally cloaked like they are. In that case we would be invisible by standards of radar and by those on the ground. We could send in troops, get in, and take over the entire encampment in a matter of hours with no bloodshed.”

“This is madness.” The Drev counselor spoke in, “When we asked for your tactical expertise commander, we hardly expected you to volunteer to throw yourself from the sky.”

There was a muttering of agreement around the room.

“I know you humans are durable, but not even you can survive in that kind of environment.”

The human sighed and rolled his eyes, “We have been doing this for literally thousands of years. Some people do it for fun.” he growled silencing the room, “My point is humans have the perfect solution, and no one would have to get hurt,”

At the head of the room, the Rundi chairwoman shook her head, “We can’t allow this. It is far too dangerous.”

“Did all of you miss the part where we will have parachutes?”

The room stared at him confused.

Turns out that not one of their languages had a comparable word for the piece of technology, and the translation was less than adequate.

With a sigh the human ordered a five minute break while one of his crew members ran to get an example. WHen they came back, Commander Vir threw the backpack on the table, “Welcome to show and tell everyone, gather round, gather round. You see this.” He said tugging at the backpack’s straps, “This is what is keeping me from slamming into the ground at 120 miles per hour.”

They stared at him blankly.

“Here’s how it works.” He grabbed the backpack and looped his arms through the straps threading his legs through the harness and tightening the cords, “This harness will keep me attached to the bag while I am falling.” He hooked his thumb under a little blue clip, “This is the cord, once I pull this, the bag opens, and the chute comes out.” he had his assistant open one of the bags and began pulling the large nylon tarp across the ground. The representatives stepped back.

“The nylon is shaped in such a way that when deployed it increases air resistance and drag slowing previous 120 to 17 miles per hour.” The group murmured in surprise and he held up a hand to Krill who had opened his mouth in protest, “And before you have a conniption, the harness distributes the forces caused by the sudden deceleration. If the cord doesn't deploy the parachute when pulled, there are TWO backup cords after that. F neither of those work, you grab these tabs on the side which pull the entire back of the bag off releasing the chute inside.”

“What are the health risks.” Krill stubbornly continued.

“The bends, hypoxia, but both of those things can be dealt with. Nitrogen is released from the blood prior to jump, and pur oxygen is provided while the altitude is too high. Temperatures are mitigated with warm clothing. Honestly the biggest danger is an awkward landing and twisting your ankle. Seventeen miles an hour is pretty slow, some humans can run that fast, and coming in at a shallow angle helps for sure.”

The aliens looked on unsure and nervous staring at the human with increased awe. Many of them had almost become used to the human’s strange behaviors, but this? This was an entirely new level of insane, falling from the sky at hundreds of miles an hour on a cloudy day….. It was truly insane.

Unspeakably so.

“And where would you find people willing to do this?” The chairwoman asked tenatively.

The human smiled, and that wolfish grin was enough to cause the entire assembly chamber to squirm, “Oh, I know just the people.”

***

“Hell yeah!.”

“WHOOP WHOOP!”

“Let’s go kick ETs ass!”

The plane rattled slightly coming upon a low pressure pocket. Their voices were somewhat muffled inside their oxygen masks and goggles rocking in their seats and against their harnesses. Krill and sunny stood inside the jet looking at each other in great trepidation.

Krill was so mad he had gone from ranting to enraged silence.

He refused even to speak to the Commander as he monitored their vitals.

Every time he passed by, the little doctor would slap the man in the helmet as hard as he could, which amounted to nothing more than amusement for the human. Sunny’s feet clattered across the deck, and she wobbled a bit as she knelt in front of him behind his mask. Two eyes stared back at her today him having ditched the eyepatch for a prosthetic for obvious reasons. Behind the clear plastic surface, she watched his eyes crinkle a bit the way humans had when they were smiling, really smiling.

“I know I usually encourage your insanity, but this…. This is too much.” She muttered

“Stop being such a mother hen.” He chided softly, “I'll be fine.” he winked with the fake eye, “I’m indestructible.

“That attitude is what worries me.” She patted his shoulder watching the amusement in his bright green eye.

A human made a gagging noise off to the side, “Get a room already you two.” Ramirez chimed in.

“Seriously if this gets any more touching I might just cry.” Maverick responded

“True love!” Someone yelled.

“Wuv twue Wuv is what bwings us togeva today.”

The commander sat up in his seat, “Shut your trash mouths you hooligans.”

“NEAR, FAR, WHEREVER YOU ARE, I BELIEVE THAT THE HEART WILL GO ON!” Their voices were a discordant wash of half yelling half singing all in different keys arms around each other, swaying back and forth.

The commander punched Ramirez in the arm but it didn’t stop him from singing, though eventually their voices petered away.

“Someone forgot to bring our soundtrack?”

“What soundtrack?”

“Come on, shouldn't someone be playing Fortunate Son?”

Commander Vir shook his head, “Fortunate son is for helicopters, just like Danger Zone is for jets.” he turned to Sunny and Krill, “The two of you better get inside.” Sunny patted him on the shoulder before reluctantly retreating behind the door. The lights in the back went dark, and the pilot came over the line, “Depressurizing.”

She felt and heard the plane rattled as the ramp hissed open peering through the little window in the door. Red light illuminated the darkness behind them casting the humans into silhouettes as they were ordered into a standing position grabbing handles on the ceiling to keep themselves up. Sunny watched heart hammering as Adam raised a hand holding high waiting for a signal.

The lights in the back of the jet blinked green and the arm cut downwards.

The marines broke into a jog towards the end of the ramp.

She couldn't look away. At her side Krill cursed repeatedly and creatively.

The first of the marines leaped suspended for a moment framed against the cloudy sky, but a blink later and they were gone. Adam followed after the last marine stepping up to the edge of the ramp turning around to wave at sunny before pitching backwards into darkness.

***

Wind roared tugging at their clothes pressing against their faces their arms held out to the side. Breath came in short ragged gasps inside the plastic oxygen masks that cover their faces. All around them the sky was dark, nothing but the glowing hands of their altitude gages. Darkness enfolded them and the wind continued to scream as their bodies fell helplessly from the sky.

Time roared by with with the passage of the wind, and the gage inched twaords 3,000 than passed it. They had agreed at 1,5000. The clouds broke around them, and the ground below grew closer and closer and closer. The well of the mountains rose up in their vision.

One thousand five hundred, they reached out, and chute’s exploded upwards with the flapping of wings. They waited with bated breath for Anti Air fire, but when none came, they remained silent slowly curving themselves towards the ground. A ground that was quickly approaching.

In orbit, the GA ship circled slowly watching with awe and horror the feeds sent to them by cameras on the Human’s uniforms.

***

The Gnar’lak general had been working late on his plans. The FInnari had driven them back with the help of the so called GA and were now threatening his species with extinction. Why they would side with such a disgusting primitive race continued to boggle his mind, a mind which was admittedly one track and aggressively unimaginative.

The Gnar’lak had survived for thousands of years in an almost opposite way to the humans. Where they were cognitively adaptable, the Gnark’lak had survived being straight forward and unchangeable. Where this evolution had helped them to survive in the past, when diplomacy became involved they found their species to be falling behind, a relic of a more barbaric time.

Of course this was not something they were particularly capable of seeing since their minds were not built for possibilities and philosophical debate. The Gnar’lak knew two things, survival, and that the only way to get it was the Finnari….. Well I guess he knew three things and the third was that the Finnari were nothing more than a resource to be used and farmed. It was that simple, it seemed reprehensible that a logical species would take up arms against him with a source of food.

It would be similar to aliens coming down from the sky on earth and siding with cows against humans, or at least that’s how they saw it despite the Fennari being sentient and greatly more intelligent than cows.

All of this thinking was making him angry, and with a foot he shoved open the door to walk out into the early morning sunrise.

What he found, was his entire army immobilized on the ground before his dwelling. Six humans dressed in dark gear, and holding familiar weapons stood before his door. One human had his lieutenant pinned to the ground with a boot weapon pointed at his head. Another human was busying themselves tying up another platoon of his soldiers.

One stood patiently outside his door as if waiting for him.

He stared in disbelief.

“Good morning general.” The human said baring its hideous teeth at him, “By the power invested in me, Commander Vir of the UNSC Harbinger and the GA, you are hereby detained for the callous plotting of genocide and world destruction.”

He glanced away wondering if he could run, but a soft click and the human’s smooth voice stopped him, “I wouldn’t do that if i were you general.”

He turned his head staring at the ugly creature, “Something…. Seems familiar.”

The human simply grinned, “maybe, i've been here once before….. To assist a rebellion.”

The general knew exactly who the human was.

And even he knew there was no chance of escape.

#humans are insane #humans are space orcs #humans are space australians #humans are spaceoddities #HUMANS ARE WERID #earth is a deathworld #Earth is space Ausralia

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teffyjeffy · 4 years ago

Text

Fabric Tears (Part 1)

SKIP TO PART 2

SKIP TO PART 3

NEXT CHAPTER (Coming Soon to the Mystery Shack!)

ONCE UPON A TIME...

TABLE OF CONTENTS

It was a quiet night in Gravity Falls.

...okay, no it wasn't.

Owls were hooting, bats were shrieking, cults were chanting, the usual stuff.

Most of the townsfolk on the other hand were sound asleep, oblivious to the eerie noises surrounding them outside their living spaces. They took no notice of the gnomes scrounging for food. Of the black cats hissing a warning. Of the wind howling at the moon.

Because of this obliviousness, nobody noticed the pitter patter of a lone critter stumbling down the road, malnourished and shivering from the snow that stuck to it like soot. The critter scuffled down the streets blindly, letting out small ragged huffs of air. Eventually the critter had no strength left. It crawled its way to the nearest shelter it could find. Luck was on its side apparently, as there was a giant spot up ahead. It had lights that could keep the creature warm, and an overhead structure to keep it sheltered. But food... it needed food...

The animal's blurry senses could not pick up any source of food, so it moped along, hoping to at least find a good place to rest.

Then... it saw something in the distance... a large structure, lights shining all around it, inside and out. The obscured figure rushed over to find a way inside. But it's depleted strength made it impossible to find a way in. Feeling sleep overcome themself quickly, the creature huddled over to the softest thing it could feel, and huddled up against it for warmth. Oh... there was food too... it managed to get a few nibbles in before drifting to sleep

It would resume its hunt for other food tomorrow night...

GravityTale

Everybody at the Mystery Shack was dead.

Figuratively, of course.

The Mystery Shack was finally ready to open to the public. But as the last slab of wood was hammered into the ceiling of the gift shop, and the last exhibit burnt in the Tim incident was finally replaced, the whole crew came to a realization.

After all of that work, the last thing anybody wanted to do was spend the day dealing with the mad rush that always comes with the reopening of a popular store.

"All in favor of not opening the shack today, say aye," announced Wendy from her usual spot in the gift shop.

"Aye," replied human and monster alike, except for Sans, who was out cold.

And so that was that. Today was immediately established as a take-it-easy day.

It appeared that Mabel missed the memo.

"What do you mean 'No?'" she griped at Dipper, who was refusing to get out of bed to play with her.

"I mean the phrase that is usually uttered in order to express disagreement, disapproval, and a whole lot of other words that start with 'dis-' that I am way too tired to recite right now," mumbled Dipper in his bed. "And violently shaking my bed is not going to help you change my mind. So cut it out."

Mabel paced around the room, her hands up in exasperation. "It's a sunny winter wonderland outside, and you're telling me I'm the only one eager to get out there and enjoy it?!"

"That's precisely what I'm telling you," Dipper groaned in his pillow. "With all the stress of fixing the shack, and nothing around to fuel me but coffee and Pitt Cola that I'm tired of drinking, I feel like I'm at Death's door. Like, Death has a welcome mat out for me and everything. Maybe he's even making tea."

"Not with your current attitude he wouldn't," grumbled Mabel. "He'd just give you more coffee and Pitt Cola."

"Then let me sleep! The more you keep me awake, the more cranky I'll get from it!" argued Dipper.

But Mabel was quick to shoot back. "If I let you fall asleep now, you're just gonna wake up in the middle of the night while I'm asleep! That's no fun, Dipper! Stop being such a Mr. No-Fun!"

Dipper simply grumbled back at her. "Just drop it Mabel. I'm tired. I'm only getting out of this bed if a future-me teleports in here and demands that I do so."

A second went by. Two seconds. Three seconds. No time machines materialized in the kids' bedroom.

"I rest my case," said Dipper, before pulling the covers over his head. Any further attempts to get him out of bed were futile.

Mabel frowned. "The next time we have a snowball fight, your team is going to get an automatic penalty."

But Dipper was already fast asleep.

Mabel huffed, opening the door to exit the bedroom.

WHAM!

Only to collide right into Frisk.

The collision sent both kids to the ground, landing on their bottoms somewhat painfully.

"Owwwwww," Mabel muttered, before looking up and seeing who it was. "Oh! Hey Frisk!"

"Hi Mabel," greeted Frisk, rubbing their forehead as they stood back up with Mabel's help. "Sorry about that. I should have knocked..."

"Don't worry about it~! I've collided with Dipper's forehead so many times in my life, I barely feel a thing now!" she said while beaming with pride.

"That's... good I suppose," said Frisk with a gentle chuckle of embarrassment.

"So watcha up to?" asked Mabel, causing Frisk to stumble a second, still not used to how quickly Mabel could change subjects.

"I'm um... pretending to look for my dress-up cowboy lasso," said Frisk, looking back with a hint of annoyance towards the stars that lead down to the first floor. "Dad insists it must be somewhere in this shack, but I am almost certain that it was gone before my family and I entered the Mystery Shack for the first time."

"Huh," said Mabel, putting a hand to her chin and looking upwards at nothing. "Perhaps some gnomes snatched it while you weren't looking?"

"That seems very possible, albeit unlikely," said Frisk, ending the topic by tilting their head to see Dipper's slumbering figure and asking, "He still isn't up?"

"Nope," growled Mabel. "He's insistent that he won't change his mind later, either. Ugh, and I had a bunch of winter activities planned for today!"

"Well that's a shame," said Frisk. "But then again, when it came to maintaining order in the shack for the past couple of days, Dipper did do the most work out of all of us."

"Like what?" asked Mabel.

"Well..."

"Papyrus, what are you doing?! Spaghetti is not meant to be baked at that temperature! Grunkle Stan, where do we keep the fire extinguisher again?!"

"No Mettaton, I cannot listen to your historical life of glamour right now, I need to put out another fire in the museum! Now hand over the hose, and stop pouring it all over yourself! And while we're on the subject, how come you don't rust or short circuit by doing that?!"

"Undyne! It's a washing machine! It's not going to hurt you or anyone else, so just put the spear away! Wwwwwwhoawhoawhoa WHOA HEY DON'T AIM IT AT ME!!!"

"Napstablook, I appreciate it, but I don't think that you are capable of helping me move this piece of furniture. No no no don't cry! I wasn't trying to bring you down, I mean you're LITERALLY incapable of- oh! H-hey Mettaton! Hoo boy... you look like you're ready to kill me..."

"Yeeeeaaaaaahhhh I guess you're right," concluded Mabel.

"I really am sorry that my family can be a handful sometimes," said Frisk somewhat embarrassed.

"Nawwwwww it's alright! It's a lot of fun!" said Mabel, patting Frisk on the back.

"I am pleased you feel that way, but I have a feeling that Dipper would disagree with you," said Frisk in a joking manner.

"Well that's because he would rather suffer from his lack of energy instead of taking some time to drink some Mabel Juice. If he did, he would never complain about being too tired ever again!" countered Mabel, speaking as if she was a superhero addressing a nation.

Frisk laughed. "You know, you keep bringing that drink up. But for a drink that you're always talking about, I don't believe I have had a chance to try it."

Stars twinkled in Mabel's eyes. "Well then let's put a stop to that! TO THE KITCHEN!"

Before Frisk could agree or disagree, Mabel was pulling them down the stairs and into the kitchen.

Mabel pulled out a seat for Frisk, who calmly sat down. After that, Mabel darted for the fridge and cupboards, snatching an unidentifiable liquid, some ice cubes, and a whole lot of sugar. She didn't bother to shut any of the cupboards as she went over to grab a couple of measuring pitchers and measure out more sugar than actual liquid. After that, Mabel poured the sugar and juice into a giant mixing bowl and rushed off to hunt down the other ingredients. All the while, Mabel was eagerly explaining the process to Frisk.

It was during this excited chatter that Frisk observed Mabel open another cupboard and take out a box of... crayons?

"Ummmmmm," said Frisk.

"No interrupting!" hollered Mabel in an off-key sing songy voice, dumping the (yep, those were definitely) crayons into the mixture. "Never disrupt Master Juice Mixer Mabel when she is guiding her newest pupil through the process!"

"I um..." Frisk paused for a second before pushing through "I l-like my drinks without crayons. I er... I don't like the way they taste."

Mabel paused. After an awkward amount of time passed, she looked down at the now-empty box of crayons that was floating at the top of her brew. Her gaze eventually trailed down further, to spot the aforementioned crayons that had sunk to the bottom of the bowl. Frisk still did not know what made Mabel tick, but their guess was that Mabel would simply tell them that the recipe calls for food coloring. As such, Frisk was ready to give her some alternative solutions. Such as using normal food coloring.

So it was a little surprising for Frisk to see Mabel's smile become a concerned frown.

"...was I responsible for this?" asked Mabel.

"...I believe you were," replied Frisk awkwardly.

"That's.... pfft, yeah, those crayons are not supposed to be in there. Heh wow, how did I manage get so sidetracked...?" concluded Mabel, dumping the bowl and starting over, her face a little more pink than before.

Well that was... weird. Now the mood of the whole room felt... extremely awkward. It was the same uncomfortable atmosphere that Frisk experienced when they forgot to get hot dogs for Dipper and Monster Kid, during the Bike Romp Race...

Frisk concluded that desperate measures were necessary in order to bring the mood back into a state of normalcy.

It was time to unleash... the puns.

"It's fine Mabel. I'm sure the fruit juice will come out just fine, as long as you concentrate on doing your best~"

Mabel had to halt the process of making the drink just so she could keep a straight face. This sudden pun-attack could not go unpunished, of course. So she retaliated. Hard.

"Ha!" said Mabel, standing up in a pompous stance, her left hand on her hip and her right hand open and hovering a few centimetres in front of her mouth in mock laughter. "A stranger waltzes in and has the gall to coach me on how I concoct my signature drink? You clearly are not one of my staff! You mean to overthrow me! I Vitamin-C right through your pathetic scheme~!"

Frisk snorted. "Why no, what ever gave you that idea~? I beg of you to take a step back and recon-Cider my intentions!"

"How dare you!" reprimanded Mabel, giggles no longer able to be withheld. "I will hear no more from you! Cease this attack, or face Juicetice!"

"Okay! I sugarrender! I sugarrender!" hollered Frisk, holding their hands up in a mock-yielding before flopping down on the table in a fit of laughter, while Mabel was sprawled on the floor cackling.

"That's another swift and powerful victory for me!" said Mabel when she finally regained composure. "Just wait till I tell Undyne!"

"She'll be quite impressed, I'm sure," said Frisk, playfully. "Careful though, she might challenge you to a fight if you boast too much."

After a few minutes, the questionable drink was ready for serving. Mabel grabbed a few translucent mugs and poured out the Mabel Juice, allowing her own glass to have just a little more of the drink than Frisk's. Frisk thanked Mabel as she gave them their drink, despite how uneasy Frisk felt about the whole situation.

"You ready to give your body a giant wake up call?" said Mabel excitedly.

"No time like the present..." said Frisk nervously.

Frisk took a decent sip of the concoction while Mabel downed hers in just a couple of gulps.

"SO!!!" barked Mabel, slamming her fists on the table and almost spilling the startled Frisk's drink. "What do ya think? It's good, right?"

The lack of crayons definitely helped, thought Frisk.

"Very energizing," spoke Frisk.

Frisk felt that their answer was peasant enough, so they grew a little concerned when Mabel's response was with a slightly slacked jaw accompanied by absolute silence.

"M-Mabel? You oka-?"

"eeeeeeeeeeEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!" screamed Mabel, leaping out of her seat and running around the kitchen. "FRISK LIKES MY DRINK!!! FRISK LIKES MY DRIIIIIIIINK!!!"

Frisk couldn't help but laugh at the spectacle before them. "I guess so!"

At that point, Stan decided to step in.

"Alright ya trouble makers, I'm gonna have to confiscate these for the time being," said Stanley, carefully yanking the drinks out of the kids' hands and returning them to the mixing bowl, which he put in the fridge. "You're gonna have to wait till tomorrow to finish the rest."

"Awwwwww why?" pouted Mabel.

"Because as we all have established, today is a take-it-easy day," explained Stan, before calling outside. "Right Soos?"

"That's right, Mr. Pines!" answered Soos with a thumbs up. "All dudes within the Mystery Shack are being subjected to a 24 hour stress free environment with no exceptions. I cannot stress this enough. Oh wait, heh, guess that defeats the purpose. Wow, this is harder than I thought..."

"You see?" said Stan, returning his focus to the kids. "You gotta understand, we've all had a giant string of eventful days. New faces, bedding arrangements, the Mystery Shack getting destroyed again, me training for a bike competition and winning it- you folks seeing the pattern here yet?" A single nod from both children was all the man needed. "We've all been running on adrenaline for a good long while now, and we're starting to feel the aftermath of it. So just this once, you're going to have to lower the energy, Mabel. Or at least the volume of it."

"C'monnnnnnnnnnn" guffawed Mabel, one hand giving a wrist flick while the other hand rested on Frisk's shoulder. "It's not like there's other folks here that are as anti-Mabel-Energy as Dipper is today."

It wasn't like she was lying. She saw energetic faces all around the place. Papyrus was as attentive as always, sitting in one of the four living room chairs (since Soos had finally gotten around to adding more seats to the shack from the storage room to accommodate for the monsters) and he seemed to be... knitting. Asgore didn't appear to be exhausted either; the only sigh he gave was one of contentment as he sat on the back porch couch and took in the scent of pine covered in snow. Napstablook was never capable of falling asleep, and as he fazed into the living room, he seemed to have a face that suggested that he felt lucky that ghosts never feel tired. Mettaton had just replenished his battery, so he could be heard loudly singing from the basement. Sans was snoring in the attic, but it's not like Mabel had to worry about waking him up. Stanford was studying in his lab, and it was located deep enough underground that no chaos on the surface floor could distract him, not unless the chaos was catastrophic. So honestly, where was the harm?

Stan shook his head with a slight frown. "I dunno about that, sweet cheeks," he said with a grumble, pointing to the gift shop.

Frisk followed Stan's gaze and scanned the gift shop as well. They then turned back to look at Mabel, their face emanating concern. "He's right, Mabel."

Now Mabel was curious. She peered over to the gift shop to see what kind of fuss was happening over there.

What she found were Toriel and Wendy, who appeared to be having a normal conversation. But Mabel was a dowsing rod when it came to cheerfulness. And boy oh boy were Toriel and Wendy devoid of it.

Toriel seemed especially distant. She still greeted anybody who passed by with a cordial "Hello," and she always gave nods and similar minuscule movements in response to whatever Wendy was talking about. But the Goat Mom's usual cheer and open personality was disturbingly lacking today.

Wendy, while not looking as troubled as Toriel seemed to be, appeared miserably drained. Her complexion was paler than usual, her hair wasn't as brushed, and the bags under her eyes looked heavier than... heavy stuff.

"Whoa," managed Mabel, looking back to Stan and Frisk.

"So yeah," said Stan, "Let's try to keep the noise down, eh kiddos? For their sake if not my own?" He added, ruffling Mabel's hair.

"Of course, Mr. Stanley," said Frisk with a nod of understanding, before adding a little more quietly, "Are Mabel and I still allowed to play?"

"Huh," said Stan with a huff. "Looks like someone's trying to find a loophole in my instructions."

Frisk blanched slightly. "Well sir I-"

"I like your style, kid. We'll make a shady businessperson out of you yet!" declared Stanley, hefting Frisk up to give them a noogie. Frisk, having grown accustomed to Undyne's noogies, found Stan's to actually be ticklish.

"Sure, go on and play! Knock yourselves out!" said Stan, setting a softly laughing Frisk back down in their seat. "This is considered a 'me day' after all!"

"Can it really be called a 'me day' when all of us are expected to relax today?" asked Mabel slyly. "Sounds more like an 'everyone day' to me!"

"Mabel, sweetie, I already have my snot nosed smart-alec of a brother criticizing me on my grammar. I don't need my bubbly grand niece chastising me on my word choices. Besides, calling it an 'everyone day' makes you sound like Karl Marx. And we all know what that lead to."

"I dunnooooo," said Mabel, looking off to the side and giving a comical shrug, which gave Frisk a small chuckle. "'Mabel Marx' has a nice ring to it~!"

"Yeah well so does 'Stanley Stalin,' but you don't see me changing my name to that, do ya?" countered Stanley.

"Good point," said Mabel with a nod, before walking up to Frisk, gripping their arm, and pulling them out of their seat. "Welp, I'mma go play with Frisk now! C'mon Frisk! Let's see what Undyne and Alphys are doing! I wanna tell them about my drink!"

"O-okay!" said Frisk, slightly startled but not putting up a fight as they were guided away from the kitchen. "S-see you later, Mr. Stanley!"

"Play nice now!" said Stanley. "Oh, and hey! It'd be best if you left my brother alone for the time being, alright?! He’s trying to coax some info out of that weirdo Tim, and I have a feeling it isn’t going so well! The runt chucked a globe at me just for startling him!"

"Got it!" Mabel hollered, while Frisk simply gave the man an 'OK' sign. Then they both darted off.

Under his breath, Stanley muttered, "That man really needs to cool his jets sometimes..."

"Is This Action Of Globe Throwing A Habit Of Yours?" asked the metal head of Tim. "If It Is, I Must Urge You To Drop This Habit As It Is Unhealthy To Maintaining Strong Relationships To Friends and Family."

"Argh!" groaned Stanford, pounding his hands on the desk in front of him and darting his head to glare at the talking scrap metal. "No, it is not a habit, and if you would stop freaking out every time I say 'proph-' ... I mean, every time I say that word, I may not feel so inclined to throw things! So why can't you just cooperate?!"

"Sir, This Is No Mere Bug That I Can Just Erase. It Is Elusive As Much As It Is Exclusive. But If It Makes You Feel Better, I Am Able To Bring Up Other Methods Of Destruction Without Being Overpowered By The Error That You Identify As 'Insanity.'"

"That's not going to help me much, Tim. But I suppose it gives you credibility. Alright fine, go ahead," said Stanford, tapping his foot impatiently.

"As You Wish," said Tim. "Storms. Solar Explosion. Volcanoes. Tidal Waves. War. Meteors-"

"Okay that's enough," said Stanford, holding up a finger to halt Tim's explanation. "You made your point."

"Perhaps We Should Save This Conversation For Another Time. Maybe Then, I Will Have Figured How To Delete This Malicious Program. Perhaps With A Proper Wipe Of My Memory Banks, I May-"

"No no no hold on. Your memory of this pro-... omen is important. I just need to find away to coax it out of you without triggering the bug."

Stanford took a long deep breath. "Now then. Let's start from the top again. A couple weeks back, my grand nephew presented me with this black journal that he found. At the end of the first page, it appears to speak of what seems like a proph- let me rephrase that-"

"Stop Thinking About Not Saying 'Prophecy.'"

"Tim, I'm not a helpless buffoon. I can keep myself from saying- wait, how come you have no problem saying 'prophecy?!' Oh shoot-"

"THE ANOMALY WILL DOOM ALL." shrieked Tim, eyes glowing red while sirens blared throughout the lab. "IF THE DOOR STAYS LOCKED, ALL IS LOST! LOST!! LOOOOOOOOSSSSST!!!"

"Sigh... Nice going, Stanford..." cussed the scientist to himself, reaching for his ray gun once again to shut the screaming contraption up.

Mabel was just finishing up explaining her drink, with Frisk alongside her, to Undyne and Alphys in the museum when the shack quivered for a second.

"Whoa, did you feel that Alphys?" said Undyne, standing up straight "Something caused the floor to violently rumble. Another attack? Would people get mad if I said I wanted that to happen?"

"Th-they probably wouldn't get mad at you Undyne," responded Alphys, having also felt the rumble. "B-but I reeeeaally hope we aren't getting attacked again. Stanley would s-surely make us leave if the shack were to be destroyed a second time. Especially after we had j-just finished fixing it."

"No worries, ladies!" chirped Mabel, "It's probably Grunkle Ford. Grunkle Stan said that he's been toying with Tim's head and that the results were leaving him um..."

"Frustrated?" tried Frisk.

"Yeah, frustrated!" said a smiling Mabel. "Grunkle Ford tends to get a little explosive-happy when he's frustrated. But only while working in his lab."

"Why is he trying to get information from the head of a murderous AI? Doesn't that sound a little counterproductive?" questioned Undyne with slight exasperation.

"Y-yes, it is quite improbable that Tim will be willing or able to t-tell us anything," said Alphys, her hands marginally fidgeting. "B-but unfortunately, Tim is the only lead we have to find out if this a-anomaly is simply a glitch in the AI's system or is actually a real-life threat."

"Hm. You have a fair point there babe," said Undyne, satisfied with Alphys's answer. "Well, if that anomaly exists, it better stop existing reeeeaaal soon, or it's gonna have to say hello to my fists! And then it'll immediately have to say goodbye to my fists! BECAUSE I WILL KILL IT! WITH MY FISTS! NNNNNNNGAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!"

"U-undyne, please lower your voice," said Alphys in nervous hushed tones. "Some of our friends are trying to n-nap."

"Pfft. Lower my voice? You know I can't just do that," said Undyne, folding her arms almost in a grumpy pout.

Mabel looked to Frisk. "I connect with this woman on a spiritual level."

Alphys fidgeted with her hands. "W-w-well then how about we go outside for a walk? O-or a run if you prefer? That way you can shout all you want without bothering anybody in the shack?" suggested Alphys, her own cheeks beginning to turn pink.

Frisk caught this and smirked at Undyne. "Undyne, I believe you are being asked out on a date~"

"M-maybe," timidly admitted Alphys, looking down to the ground, smiling despite her embarrassment.

Undyne blushed as well, her normally huge toothy grin shrinking down to a tiny nervous smile, almost cat-like. "No fair Alphys, you know I can't say no when it comes to going on a date with you..."

Alphys shyly chuckled. "It's my ultimate t-trap card."

"Oooh, maybe we'll encounter the anomaly while we're outside!" said Undyne to Alphys, the former's fists clenching in excitement. "And then you can watch me bash its skull in!"

"I fear for the survival of the anomaly's skull," said Frisk, making Mabel giggle.

"W-well if we stumble across it, I'll leave it to you, Undyne" said Alphys, a smile on her face.

"Shall we?" said Undyne, extending her hand with a grin.

"S-sure," said Alphys, taking Undyne's hand bashfully.

Without warning, Undyne flung Alphys onto her shoulders, and they charged out of the exhibit room and out the front door.

"Are they always like this?" asked Mabel to Frisk. "Please tell me the answer is yes."

"The answer is yes," confirmed Frisk, their classic stoic expression never leaving them.

"I have no idea if you are being sincere or just parroting what I said," said Mabel bluntly.

"And thus, I have created the one mystery that shall never ever be solved by either of the Pines Twins," said Frisk, a tiny smirk showing on their face.

"If Dipper was here, he would smack you for that remark," teased Mabel.

"He can try~" said Frisk, the smirk becoming a smile.

Papyrus had just finished putting his knitting needles and scarf away in the small lamp cabinet next to him in order to take a quick break, when he noticed a very peculiar occurrence happening right in front of him.

Toriel had unplugged the television from the wall and was getting ready to pick it up from the floor.

"UM, QUEEN TORIEL?" said Papyrus, cocking his head. "MIGHT I ASK WHAT YOU ARE DOING?"

"What I am doing is none of your concern. And please stop calling me 'Queen' Toriel," said Toriel, in a very harsh, un-Toriel-like tone.

"THE WEIGHT OF THAT TELEVISION SEEMS TO BE AGGRAVATING YOU, MISS TORIEL," incorrectly deduced Papyrus. "NOT TO FEAR, FOR I AM TRAINED IN THE ARTS OF LIFTING TV'S! GENTLY SETTING THEM DOWN, ON THE OTHER HAND, TENDS TO BE MESSY. BECAUSE MY ARMS FALL OFF."

Toriel's took in a very strained inhale of breath, before she released her tension with a deep sigh. "I do not need any help lifting this television, thank you Papyrus. But if you would be so kind as to not look into this matter any further, I would greatly appreciate it."

"OF COURSE, MADAM!" bellowed Papyrus with a hearty salute. The salute then slowly descended as Papyrus's face expressed confusion. "UM... WHAT MATTER ARE WE EVEN TALKING ABOUT?"

"Nothing Papyrus, nothing," said Toriel with a half hearted chuckle as she resumed carrying the heavy television out of the living room.

Mabel and Frisk tiptoed through the gift shop, not wanting to bother a cranky Wendy who was venting to Napstabook. The ghost was, to his credit, listening very attentively.

"Then Undyne says that I should look them all in the eye and yell 'If any of you have a problem with that, I'll suplex you into a mountain!' Which, I mean, I appreciate her willing to help, but nothing she ever suggests to me is a good idea when put into practice. It's frustrating, you know?"

"I'm sorry to hear that................" mumbled Napstablook sincerely. "I would offer you my own advice, but I'm sure you'll only find it worse than Undyne's...................."

"Napstablook, you absolute sugarcube, all I need is your listening ear right now."

"I technically don't have ears......................"

As soon as Mabel had both of her feet on the living room carpet, she bounded right up to the still-confused Papyrus.

"Hey there Pappy Man!" said Mabel, using her inside voice but vigorously waving hello to make up for it.

"HM?" said Papyrus, Mabel's greeting shaking him out of his stupor. "OH! GREETINGS, MABEL! HAVE YOU ALSO COME TO TAKE A PIECE OF FURNITURE? IF SO, I WILL GLADLY HELP YOU CARRY IT!"

It took a second for the baffled Mabel to realize the TV was missing. "Huh. I was wondering why this room seemed a little roomier than usual..."

"We do not require any furniture, thank you Papyrus," said Frisk, having caught up to Mabel. "May we ask who it was that took the television?"

"I WOULD LOVE TO!" exclaimed Papyrus. "HOWEVER, I WAS ASKED TO NOT LOOK ANY FURTHER INTO THE MATTER!"

"Oh..." said Frisk, hiding their disappointment. "And... who asked you to not do that? Is it somebody we know?"

"OH YES, IT IS SOMEONE YOU KNOW VERY WELL!" said Papyrus with a single solid nod.

"So, not a burglar then?" said Mabel, almost bummed out that there wouldn't be an opportunity to chase a robber down the streets of Gravity Falls. On her list of things to do when she was the only energetic person in the room, chasing a robber was number four. Numbers three, two, and one were classified.

"CORRECT, HUMAN MABEL! MISS TORIEL IS MANY THINGS, BUT A BURGLAR IS NOT ONE OF THOSE THINGS," said Papyrus proudly, before realizing his mistake two seconds later. "NYOO HOO HOO!!! I PROMISED HER I WOULD NOT LOOK FURTHER INTO THE MATTER, BUT I CANNOT HELP IT! WHAT IS SHE PLANNING TO USE THE TELEVISION FOR?!"

"Mother took the TV?" said Frisk, perplexed by the answer inadvertently given to them by Papyrus. "But why would-"

Frisk's eyebrows rose up in sudden understanding, and they went uncomfortably silent for a few seconds, much to the curiosity of Mabel, and Papyrus to a lesser extent.

"Thank you Papyrus. I appreciate your honesty," said Frisk, ending the subject before anybody could say anything. Just as quickly, Frisk started up a new conversation, having now noticed the knitting needles poking out of the lamp cabinet. "Papyrus, are you knitting something?"

Papyrus beamed, all too eager to talk about what he was currently working on. He opened the lamp cabinet to bring the needles and scarf out and showcase them to the two kids. "INDEED I AM, HUMAN! MISS TORIEL HAD BROUGHT THE IDEA UP TO ME AFTER TASTING MY LATEST (AND DARE I SAY GREATEST) SPAGHETTI DISH! I'M SUPPOSING SHE BELIEVED THAT I HAD ACHIEVED THE MAXIMUM LEVEL OF CULINARY PERFECTION, BECAUSE SHE WAS VERY INSISTENT THAT I PERHAPS MOVE ON TO A NEW HOBBY!"

The kids were pretty certain that Toriel's reasons for doing this were different than from what Papyrus believed them to be.

"SO I DECIDED THAT IF I HAD MASTERED SPAGHETTI AS AN EDIBLE DISH, PERHAPS I COULD MASTER THE ART OF SPAGHETTI THROUGH A DIFFERENT CREATIVE OUTLET!"

Frisk and Mabel realized that the primary colors of the scarf that Papyrus was knitting were faded orange and vibrant red.

"You're making a scarf that looks like spaghetti?!" asked Mabel, her eyes brimming with total awe.

"YOU GOT IT!" said Papyrus excitedly. "I, THE GREAT PAPYRUS, WILL REVOLUTIONIZE THE FASHION INDUSTRY WITH MY AMAZING SPAGHETTI SCARF!!!"

"Ooh! OOH!" said a bouncing Mabel, a super awesome amazing idea spawning in her head. "Can you knit Teddy bears?! Do you charge for them? What do you require? I'll give you the money from my Brother's secret stash! I'll give you every single one of my friendship wristbands! I'll give you the schematics for the Human Sized Hamster Ball." pleaded Mabel, getting right up to Papyrus's ear-socket to intensely whisper the last part.

"OF COURSE I CAN KNIT TEDDY BEARS, LITTLE MABEL! UNFORTUNATELY I HAVE YET TO MAKE ONE THAT IS RECOGNIZED AS A TEDDY BEAR BY EVERYBODY ELSE. THEY USUALLY MISTAKE THEM FOR OTHER OBJECTS. LIKE A PILE OF LEAVES, FOR EXAMPLE. OR A SMASHED CAKE. OR TRAMPLED FLOWERS. SANS ONCE MISTOOK ONE OF MY KNITTED TEDDY BEARS FOR THIS VERY PECULIAR RESIDUE THAT SPAWNS WHEN A HUMAN 'DRINKS' TOO MUCH... BUT HE ASSURED ME THAT HIS EYES WERE STILL BLURRY FROM JUST WAKING UP AND THAT HE WAS CERTAIN THAT IT WOULD LOOK A LOT BETTER IF HE WAS FULLY AWAKE. WHICH IS WEIRD BECAUSE HE MOST CERTAINLY HAS NO EYES... WHICH LEADS ME TO BELIEVE THAT HE WAS LYING TO ME... WHY WOULD HE FEEL THE NEED TO LIE ABOUT HIS OPINION OF ONE'S ART? ISN'T ART SUPPOSED TO BE OPEN TO THE VIEWER'S INTERPRETATION? THAT'S WHAT UNDYNE TOLD ME ONCE, AFTER SHE HAD ALMOST SET ONE OF FRISK'S DRAWINGS ON FIRE BECAUSE THEY MADE HER FACE LOOK SILLY..."

"Did Undyne really try to do that?" asked Mabel to Frisk, in surprise.

"She did try," confirmed Frisk, with a stoic-faced nod. "She failed though. She left my drawing alone. She used to tell me it was because she wanted to come up with a better punishment for the drawing. But quite recently, she admitted that she caught a glimpse of how upset I was and decided not to go through with torching the drawing I made."

"Can I see the drawing?" asked Mabel sweetly.

"No," answered Frisk, maintaining their emotionless expression flawlessly. "Undyne's face is too weird. You may develop the urge to light my drawing on fire."

"Nawwwwwwww, no I wouldn't!" said Mabel, jokingly rolling her eyes as she smiled brightly. "I'd put it in my scrapbook!"

"I cannot risk it," said Frisk, clearly joking.

"You cannot hide from Mabel Piiiiiines! No secret is safe from herrrrrrrr! She knows all, and whatever she doesn't know about, she leaaarrrnnns aboooooouuuuut!" said Mabel, moaning and wiggling her outstretched hands like a cliche ghost from any old Saturday morning cartoon.

"That sounds like a massive invasion of privacy," pointed out Frisk.

"No secret is saaaaaaaaafffeeeeee~!" wailed Mabel, completely ignoring Frisk.

"ACTUALLY, WHILE WE ARE STILL ON THE TOPIC OF TEDDY BEARS," chirped up Papyrus, "I BELIEVE THAT THE LAST TIME I SAW KING ASGORE, HE WAS HOLDING WHAT LOOKED LIKE A TEDDY BEAR IN HIS HANDS. HE DIDN'T LOOK TOO EXCITED ABOUT IT THOUGH... PERHAPS HE HAS FORGOTTEN WHAT A TEDDY BEAR LOOKS LIKE?"

"Well then perhaps we shall visit him next?" Frisk asked Mabel.

"Well duh! Of course we are!" said the very excited Mabel, taking Frisk's arm. "Have fun with the knitting, Papyrus!"

"WILL DO!" hollered Papyrus, waving enthusiastically as Mabel and Frisk made their way to the back porch to meet up with Asgore.

Asgore wouldn't say that the object in his hands disturbed him, but he would not say that it didn't unsettle him either.

The Teddy bear that he currently hand in his hands had seen better days. Its dark plum fur was damp from snow and crusty from dirt. There was also a substantial amount of stuffing that was missing from it, but no matter how hard Asgore investigated, he could not find a single tear in the stuffed animal's stitching.

"Strange..." muttered Asgore, for perhaps the fifth time since discovering the stuffed toy curled up next to the tattered couch.

Did it belong to Mabel? Asgore wanted to say yes, but then again, Mabel was a girl who treated stuffed animals like her own children, surely she would not let a Teddy bear become so void of stuffing. And she had a knack for keeping track of her items. If this bear belonged to her, it never would have ended up abandoned outside in the first place...

Maybe the lack of stuffing meant it belonged to Undyne? No, of course not, don't be silly Asgore. Undyne was ferocious, yes, but she is not one to use her own stuffed animal for training practice. And if she did, the Teddy bear would be in tatters...

Maybe Frisk? No, once again. Of the many toys that they had brought up to the surface after their journey in the underground, a Teddy bear was never in Frisk's box. And besides, Frisk is as kind to stuffed animals as Mabel is.

Asgore continued to list off possible owners of the strange toy, and all of them resulted in a no. He was so preoccupied with figuring out this mystery that he never saw Mabel sneaking up on him to scare him. Or so she thought.

Instead, Asgore startled her by jerking his head in her direction, a joyful smile on his face.

"Why howdy Mabel! Trying to give this old soul a scare, are you? I apologize, it will take more than that to catch me by surprise."

"Awwwwww man! Why do you have to be so cool, Goat Dad?!" complimented a pouting Mabel.

Asgore responded with a boisterous laugh, reaching out to scratch Mabel's head with a big warm fluffy paw. "I don't know if I see myself as 'cool'. Just 'prepared.'"

"What are you doing out here, Dad?" asked Frisk, joining Mabel. "I find you sitting on this couch more often than I find you inside. Aren't you cold?"

"Not at all, child!" laughed Asgore. "Winter on the surface is a wonderland compared to the underground. As for what I am currently doing out here..."

Then Asgore held up the malnourished looking Teddy bear for the children to see.

"I found this small toy nestled up next to the couch. I have no idea where it came from or who it may belong to. Would either of you have an idea?"

Frisk took the stuffed animal to inspect it more thoroughly. As they did so, a frown slowly developed on their face.

"There's something about this bear that I don't like..." commented Frisk.

Mabel peaked behind Frisk's shoulders, since Frisk appeared to be too focused on the item to hand it over to her. As she inspected it, her expression turned quizzical.

"It's probably because this poor Teddy is absolutely filthy!" remarked Mabel. "He needs a bath, pronto!"

"Well yes, but that's not what I meant-" Frisk attempted to interject, but the blink of an eye, the Teddy bear was gone from their hands and into Mabel's hands.

"Just look at the poor guy!” said Mabel. “He looks miserable!"

"Are you sure that it's the dirt that's making the Teddy bear look miserable, and not the facial thread itself?" replied Frisk after a few seconds of silence.

They weren't far off. Looking at the toy's face, the stitches and threads definitely gave the Teddy bear a forlorn expression.

"Okay so maybe the designer of this bear hated their job and wanted to let the whole world know," said Mabel, rolling her eyes. "But a clean bear is a happy bear, even if their stitched face does not reflect it!"

"Let her wash the bear Frisk," kindly advised Asgore. "It's best that we have it nice and clean in case its owner shows up to the shack looking for it."

Frisk pouted for a second before conceding with a nod of their head. "Yes Dad."

"Very good," beamed Asgore. He ended the issue by patting Frisk on the head, which managed to coax a smile out of the young ambassador.

"Great! Meet you at the laundry room!" squealed Mabel, darting back inside the house with bear in hand, not feeling the need to drag Frisk with her this time.

This gave Frisk a chance to get up on the couch and sit next to their father. They looked up at him, their stoic expression showing a hint of concern.

"Um... Dad? Mother hasn’t been looking too well..."

"I know, Frisk," said Asgore, his voice low and somber. "As much as it hurts though, we need to leave her be. It's what she wants."

"But is she like this every year? Isn’t that unhealthy for her?" asked Frisk with growing concern.

Asgore gave a long sigh, sinking into the couch despite his sitting position remaining rigid. "That is probably the case, my child. But you know how bad I am at making the right call when it comes to those who are in distress.”

Frisk looked down, not knowing how to reply to that. Instead, they slumped off of the couch, walking over to the back door leading back inside the shack. They turned to Asgore, looking ready to say one last thing, but debating whether or not it will have any effect. Finally, they spoke.

"Then I will."

And they opened the door and walked back inside.

The king let out a downtrodden sigh, unaware of the miniature hole in the side of the couch that appeared to have been bitten into recently.

"And those are the steps involved!" finished Mabel.

"My my! Such a complex system~! Even though I'm sure I could come up with a much better one~ Alas, you beat me to the punch~ I envy you, little Mabel~! " Mabel had decided to chat with Mettaton, who was in his EX model, while waiting for the loud drying machine to finish drying off the Teddy bear. The discussion had started with Mabel's plans for fixing the Teddy bear, and eventually evolved into discussing an interesting monster from the Underground, named Woshua.

"So wait," said Mabel, "The reason you guys didn't have washing machines in the underground was because you had somebody who was basically their own washing machine? That's wild!"

"Indeed!" confirmed the charming robot. "He was not a fan of it though. At first, the poor fellow was very cross with being one of the very few sources of cleanliness in the underground. And even though they loved to clean, and eventually grew used to their new role in the underground, it was only a matter of time before they began to grow tired of it. Burnout is never to be taken lightly, darling. Remember that~"

"Oh believe me, I'm aware," said Mabel with a wearied huff of laughter. "I've been trying to teach my brother that lesson for the last five years. Actually, for the last forever."

"Oh yes~ The boy gags at the mere thought of taking a break," chuckled Mettaton, before deciding to change the subject. "So, you said that Asgore found this beaten up stuffed toy next to the couch outside? And nobody has seen it prior to today? Sounds like the perfect premise for a B-list horror flick~"

"You mean a flick where the animation is stop-motion and the monsters are made of clay?"

"Well I wouldn't stoop to such shallow effects if I was directing that kind of movie. But yes~"

"Would I be the leading costume designer?!"

"You would splatter bright and loud colors on every single costume, for every single lead and ensemble member, and completely ruin the common color palette of horror movies," said Mettaton. "Of course you would be my leading costume designer~" he added with a smile of delight.

Just then, the dryer emitted a small *ding!* and the machine grew silent.

"Allow me~" said Mettaton, extending his arms to fetch the toy from the dryer without ever having to shift from where he was standing, eyes closed and a glamorous smirk donning his face, like he just finished juggling ten knives flawlessly.

Mabel giggled, rolling her eyes in a teasing manner, and took the bear from the proud robot's hand. "If I could be as glamorous as you are, I don't think my body would be able to handle it. My spirit would break free from this physical vessel and ascend to Glamour Heaven."

"Of course it would! Which is why I, a ghost in the vessel of a robot, am the only one capable of reaching such heights! Although... doing so would mean losing contact with my friends and family, so... I'm going to hold off on that for a while."

"Awwww that's really sweet of you to think of them!" said Mabel, squeezing her bear and swinging it from side to side while keeping it close to her chest.

"Thank you Mabel," said Mettaton, giving the young girl the most genuine smile she had ever seen from him.

Mabel beamed back, and lifted the bear to give it a proper look now that it had been cleaned.

Except for the sullen expression that remained on the toy's face, the bear looked much better. Its fur was radiant and smooth, and its cute beady eyes almost shined. The bear was still somewhat raggedy due to its lack of stuffing, but Mabel decided that she would address that on a later date. Knitting was one thing, but sewing a bear back up was a different beast. A beast she could easily vanquish, but the only weapon in her current arsenal that could slay the beast with was the Mystery Shack's old sewing machine. And that thing was loud. And given the typical luck of the twins, it was probably haunted too.

"I hope this new companion of yours does not spark envy from your pet pig," joked Mettaton, bringing Mabel back to reality.

"Naaah, Waddles is very understanding! Besides, he's lately been very occupied by playing around with Frisk's dog."

"Frisk doesn't own a dog though..."

Suddenly the door for the washing machine burst open, revealing a pig and a Samoyed dog, both sopping wet and smiling. They leaped out of the device, shook themselves clean, yipped and oinked with supposed satisfaction, and trotted out of the laundry room.

"Oh!" exclaimed Mettaton in understanding. "That dog!"

"Yeah, that's the fluff-ruff that I was talking about!" said Mabel, not appearing to be phased by the fact that both the puppy and Waddles managed to get inside an active washing machine and survive. She did know however that there was no collar around the puppy's neck.

"Yeah, he's a curious fellow," admitted Mettaton. "I don't think anybody I know has ownership of that particular puppy. Actually, he has this look in his eyes, like he believes he owns us."

"What, you think we are dealing with a possible puppy dog uprising?!" said Mabel, seeming more excited by the idea than intimidated by it.

"That would be headline-worthy indeed~ Don't let your guard down, my little maple leaf~" joked Mettaton, using the nickname that he had established for Mabel.

"Oh stop," replied Mabel, playfully elbowing Mettaton's leg, since that was as high as her elbow could reach.

"I should probably get going," continued Mabel. "Don't wish to keep you from your singing! Sounds great by the way! The next time I host a karaoke night, remind me to invite you!"

"No need to invite me! I am more than happy to crash your party~" proudly proclaimed Mettaton, which Mabel guessed was his way of expressing gratitude for being invited. "Now run along, darling~!"

When Frisk found Mabel again, it was in the parlor room. She was in a rocking chair, rocking back and forth excitedly, her arms extended forward and wiggling the bear in her hands.

"And I’m gonna call you Mr. SnuggleLots, and you'll be the honorary guest at my next tea party, and I'll introduce you to Waddles, ooh, OOH! And also I'm gonna find a way to get more stuffing for you so you can be all plushy again!! GO ME!!!"

"Hello again, Mabel," greeted Frisk.

"Frisk!" exclaimed an excited Mabel, her face lighting up when she saw them. She sprung out of the rocking chair, shoving the Teddy bear into Frisk's field of vision so it was the only thing that they could see. "Look at this sparkling clean little cub! Isn't he the cuuuuuuutest thing ever!?"

"I admit that he looks a little better now that he is clean," admitted Frisk, "but I'm still unnerved by how abandoned he looks."

"One step at a time, Frisko," soothed Mabel, patting Frisk on their shoulder. "I am going to put Mr. SnuggleLots through Mabel's Rehabiliteddy Program™!"

"Mabel's Rehabiliteddy Program™?" repeated Frisk, subconsciously surprised by their own curiosity. "What is that?"

"A list of steps I've made for abandoned Teddy bears that I find. I would have told you about this earlier if you joined me in the laundry room, but it's okay; I'm telling you now!"

"So what are the daily steps?"

"Day one is washing the bear. Day two is feeding the bear. Day three is a tea party for the bear. For Mr. SnuggleLots, I may need to add a fourth day for emergency surgery to take care of his unsatisfactory level of stuffing."

"Or to locate the owner of the bear," responded Frisk.

Hearing that, a thought crossed Mabel's mind.

"Yeah, but, here's the thing," said Mabel, beginning to lightly pace in a circle, "What if this bear has no owner?"

"What gave you that idea, Mabel?" asked Frisk, tilting their head and raising an eyebrow inquisitively.

"Mettaton and I encountered the white dog again. You know, the one that I saw in the cave full of ice crystals? Ooo that reminds me I still want to make a charm necklace with the crystal that you gave me BUT ANYWAY-! That dog? He had no owner!"

"So you believe we are dealing with a stray Teddy bear?" deduced Frisk, having followed Mabel's line of thinking after deciding that explaining the difference between stuffed animals and pets to her would be futile.

"I'm not saying we are," corrected Mabel, lightly poking Frisk in the center of their chest. "But I'm saying we could be."

"I see," said Frisk.

"So, if need be, day five will be dedicated to finding a home for this little tyke if we can't locate his original owner!" concluded Mabel, squishing the bear one more time before setting it down on the rocking chair. It said in a sitting position for a few seconds before the insufficient amount of stuffing caused it to slump over. "Day four will definitely be for stuffing him up again though."

"That sounds like a plan," concurred Frisk. "I have one more question though."

"Ask away!" said Mabel, folding her arms and taking a proud stance.

"Is there any downside to doing more than one step on the same day?" proposed Frisk.

"Not really..." said Mabel, beginning to gently pace in a circle as she contemplated Frisk's question. "It depends on how the bear is feeling. I can just tell from the fur and the face if they wish to speed up the process or not. But for Mr. SnuggleLots..." she glances to the slouched form of the thin bear, "I believe taking our time is crucial. As much as I don't wish to spread it out, it is better in the long run. Malnourished creatures can easily get sick if you try to take care of them all at once."

"You learned that from Dipper, didn't you?" said Frisk with a knowing smirk.

Mabel blushed slightly. "Yeah..." she admitted, "...but I'm the one who puts his knowledge to good use!" she added, regaining her honor.

"Well that's good," said Frisk, the smirk becoming a smile. Then they walked over to the bear and picked it up. "We should probably get this guy to our bedroom."

The rest of the day went by relatively quickly. Frisk and Mabel enjoyed dinner with the rest of the crew, though Dipper was absent, and Sans as well, strangely. All the while, Mr. SnuggleLots was sitting pretty and piper atop the nightstand that separated Dipper's bed from Mabel's. When Frisk and Mabel returned to the bedroom, Dipper was still fast asleep.

"Wanna draw a mustache on him???" asked Mabel with a devilish grin.

"It's best we don't test him," said Frisk, before adding with a sly smirk "Another time perhaps~"

Mabel giggled once more before stifling a yawn. "Goodnight Frisk."

"Goodnight Mabel," replied Frisk, sleeping into their sleeping bag.

Then the lights went off.

Just as Mabel suspected, the middle of the night had Dipper suddenly turning in his bed. But it wasn't because of how royally messed up his atomic clock was.

It was in fact because his face was being blasted with hot air that smelled like dog breath.

“mmmmf… mmmno… no I don’t need anymore candy… mm? chocolate taffy? Mmmmmy favorrriiiite…"

Then there was an audible "huff" and Dipper was wide awake.

"Wha...?"

And there, atop of Dipper's chest, face hovering over his...

Was a plum furred, hungry bear. One that was very much alive. And Drooling.

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!"

PART 2

SKIP TO PART 3

NEXT CHAPTER (Coming Soon to the Mystery Shack!)

ONCE UPON A TIME...

TABLE OF CONTENTS

#gravitytale #gravity falls #undertale #underfalls #surprise!#I forgot I used to post these to tumblr in parts #and I definitely thought this was enough for a part one #hope you enjoyed!

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cee693 · 5 years ago

Text

Give us bread, Give us salt, Give us wine.

Cee693

@allaboutmybucks: Barry and Iris spending time together before impending Crisis. I think I'll make this request a two-parter with the next one being a tiny bit less angsty.

In the end, the true state of their feelings wouldn’t be found in in the grand gestures. It wasn't in the breakfasts that had started overflowing with his favorite foods since he’d returned from Earth-3. It wasn't in the luxurious trips around the world. Trips that had them both ignoring the fact that most of the places they went to were from a list they’d compiled two years ago as an Anniversary Bucket List.

It wasn't in the proclamations and declarations of undying love.

It was in the little things.

It was in the touches, the hand holding that was a bit too tight. A goodbye kiss that was a second too long. It was in Barry’s breath catching when some budget forms arrived on his desk at work. He was supposed to fill in his request for the next fiscal year. Which began December 10th, 2019.

It was in Iris hitting ‘unsubscribe’ after receiving her routine alert from her pharmacy to go in for her next three-month supply of birth control pills.

It was in Barry getting into the habit of putting on their record player and getting Iris to dance around the kitchen with him while he cooked them dinner.

It wasn’t something he normally did. They’d danced around their kitchen more times than they could count, but it was usually after dinner or in a spontaneous burst in the day.

Mostly, because Barry was mindful of keeping his wife away from any open flames or boiling pots.

Iris’s track record in the kitchen was… not great. That’s why Barry tried to always have dinner ready to go after work so there was no chance of her getting involved.

But, that week, Iris had come home from work and greeted Barry over the blare of the upbeat record spinning and he hurried to kiss her before twirling her in his arms and sliding her into his work space.

The first time it happened they'd laughed so hard and danced for so long, Iris had to tag in and help him finish cooking so that they could eat before midnight.

The following night, Iris came home to the same sight: Barry happy and singing to music. This time with a bottle of wine chilled and ready for her. Iris kissed him soundly because that glass was exactly what she needed after the day she had.

Unfortunately, their bottle opener was mysteriously vanished so Barry asked her season and baste the roast he had in the oven while he ran out and got a new one.

By the time he returned (suspiciously long for a speedster), dinner was finished and ready to be served.

The next few days were the same and the two of them settled into a nice little routine of cooking and dancing.

Iris didn’t know what brought on Barry’s sudden good mood, but she didn’t question it. She loved seeing Barry like this: all care-free and happy.

Since his trip to Earth-3, Barry took care to carve out time, just the two of them, but she really appreciated that this last week there was no sense of dread in their time together only joy.

And the fact that he was like this with an apron on, sleeves rolled up his forearms as he snuck her bites of food was also incredibly sexy.

She couldn’t resist one night pressing up against him and kissing him sensually. She meant for it to be a quick kiss, but Barry had her up on the counter in seconds.

“Wait,” she pulled back after several minutes of being carried away. “The food's gonna burn.”

Barry shook his head and kissed her again. “Chicken's still marinating. Trick is to add baking soda and let it sit. It tenderizes the meat." Of course he said that last part with extreme innuendo as he kissed the side of her neck.

She liked it when he talked food. As much as she called him a nerd, anytime he flexed his intelligence, it was a huge turn-on for her.

She said as much another night when he swayed them in time to Nat King Cole right in front of the oven. Iris mentioned that the warmth coming from it was divine and Barry whispered that the 375° was just about the perfect temperature for anything.

To Barry’s credit, it took her almost two weeks to realize what he was doing.

And at first it stopped her in her tracks and knocked the air from her lungs.

She’d gotten home from work early and had just texted Barry to let him know when the lightbulb just randomly went off.

She went over the last two weeks of dinnertime in her head and when her suspicion was confirmed she locked herself in her office and cried until the sun went down.

By the time Barry came home, she pulled herself together and dried her eyes, but she resolved to not step foot out her office until tonight’s meal was on the table ready to be eaten.

Iris heard the front door open and close, then the shower run for a few seconds before she heard him back in the kitchen rumbling around.

When Billie Holiday began wafting through the loft, Iris correctly anticipated Barry coming to her.

He knocked on her door and she sluggishly got up to let him in.

"Hey," Barry greeted happily as he entered her office. He leaned down and kissed her sweetly. "How was your day."

"It was fine," Iris responded delicately. "How was yours?"

“Eh. Long. I missed you. I picked up some chicken and shrimp for alfredo? That sound okay?”

“Sure. That's great thank you.”

"Want to come out?” He asked.

"No."

"We could pop open that bottle of red we got from the Uco Valley. Best in the world."

"No. Sorry, I'm busy,” Iris responded, half-heartedly holding up the first magazine she touched.

Barry deflated a little. “Iris. I haven't seen you all day.”

She sighed and felt a bit bad. "I guess I can work at the dining table."

Iris grabbed her laptop and a notebook and followed Barry out to the living room. She settled at the dining table and let him get to work in the kitchen.

Of course tonight, though, Barry seemed to be having a bit of trouble in the kitchen.

"Damn it," he muttered a third time. Pots clanked and there was a definite sound of something spilling on the floor.

Still, Iris resisted the urge to take pity on him and ask him what was wrong. She knew in reality it was nothing at all.

Barry was a terrible liar, but he always gave valiant performances.

"Hey, I'm sorry,” he called out to her minutes later. “I know you're busy but could you help me grab the cream in the fridge? My hands are full."

If she wasn’t so angry, Iris would have been a little disappointed that that was the best he could come up with. She thinks for that lie to be believable she's supposed to pretend that he's not the fastest man alive.

She sighed and stood up. "How much cream?"

Barry nodded to the ipad on the counter. "Recipe's over there."

Iris scowled a bit and peeked at the tablet before she went to the fridge and checked. "We're all out."

"Oh really?" Barry exclaimed, voice higher than normal. “Darn.”

Iris stifled an eye-roll at the bad acting.

"Well, we could make a substitute for cream. Could you grab some milk and some butter? Just measure out a fourth of butter and three-

Iris huffed in frustration and slammed the fridge door.

"-I know what you're doing, so just stop it," she demanded.

Barry blinked and halted his chopping. "What?"

"I know what you've been doing, Barry," she repeated. "Putting out music and wine and finding any way to pull me into the kitchen. Pretending that you can't literally do all of this by yourself in seconds. Whispering off little culinary facts in passing."

"You've been teaching me how to cook," she accused.

"What? No, I haven't!" Barry exclaimed. He tried to sound confused and offended, but he was turning really red.

"Yes, you have!" she fumed.

Tears pricked her eyes. "Why though? Do you want to make sure I don't burn the loft down when you're not around to cook anymore?"

Her voice broke and she looked down, trying hard not to break again. "Is this your way of trying to prepare me for a life of dinners alone?"

Barry put down his knife and turned off the stove. He sighed and rubbed his eyes.

"I just … I'm sorry. I just wanted to give you some pointers that I knew you would remember," he admitted guiltily.

Iris's chin quivered. "You manipulated me."

"I'm sorry," he said again sincerely.

"I knew you wouldn't want to learn if I told you why."

"Yeah, well you're right about that," Iris sniffed, upset. She went to the dining table to pack up her stuff.

"Iris, wait. Please. I just don't know what to do anymore," he told her desperately. "I'm just at a dead end."

Iris whipped around and glared at him for his very poor choice of words.

Barry sighed, frustrated with himself. He tried again "I'm sorry. I am. I know that this wasn't really fair to you. I just want… I need to know that you'll be okay after Crisis. And part of that is making sure you eat."

Iris turned back around to the table.

"That's not something you can control though is it?" she asked weakly, unwilling to face the look in his eyes. Unable to face the words he was saying.

She didn't want this.

She didn't want to talk about this or think about it and she was angry this was in fact what the last few nights have been about.

Happy memories now tainted by their morbid ulterior motive. Everything in their lives touched by this death sentence.

"I don't know what else I'm supposed to do," Barry whispered tearfully. "I… I can't think of you here alone not eating, or only getting by on takeout or tv dinners for one."

Nausea flooded her stomach at the thought. But, he wasn't wrong.

That was her future.

That's what life would be without her husband. Without a child.

Just her. Here alone. No one to break bread with. No one to come home to after a long day. No one with a glass of wine or a tray of brownies waiting for her.

Just solitude.

A sob ripped through her and Barry was at her side in an instant, pulling her close and profusely apologizing.

“I'm sorry, please don't cry,” he begged. “I made a mistake.”

Iris wrestled free from him. "As much as you feel that it's not a choice to die, when you do things like this it seems like it is. It seems calculated and thought-out and it feels like a choice you're making every day.”

“I didn’t want to do this. And it’s not fair that you planned this,” she said, upset. “It's out of your hands. You've accepted what the Monitor said and you’re leaving, but please, don’t try to tie up the loose ends Crisis is leaving behind into a nice little bow.”

“Iris, that’s not-”

She swallowed nausea and just left her stuff where they were. “-I’m going to bed. You should take your time cleaning up before you come upstairs.”

Barry took the hint to give her space and he let her go.

Iris took a long hot shower before she climbed into bed completely exhausted.

It was quiet now.

Ms. Holiday’s voice had ceased.

Iris heard the vague sound of a good bit of glass crashing somewhere downstairs and she was almost grateful for the sound of Barry’s anger.

After weeks of subdued acceptance, it was refreshing to hear signs of emotion in her husband.

And then it was quiet again.

She figured it was over an hour before Barry finally trudged up the stairs and into their bedroom. He creeped by her to the bathroom and she heard him brush his teeth and change for bed.

When he slid in beside her, Iris was still clearly wide awake.

She didn't turn around and Barry didn't expect her to.

He didn’t try to talk to her and Iris didn’t expect him to.

But, his arm slid around her waist at the exact moment she reached behind her to pull him close.

Because, regardless of if they had a choice or not, these were their last days together. And they would spend every one of them side by side.

Iris rocked back and forth in her chair at the Citizen berating herself again and again.

She felt like the biggest hypocrite. She was filled with so much anger and there was no one to be blamed for it. None of this was fair.

Her husband was selfless and good. Everything he did, he did with her in mind.

Barry had done nothing wrong two nights ago.

He certainly hadn't done anything she hadn't done in the past.

She had tried that a few times. Tried to get her affairs in order. Tried to leave instructions for Barry that she knew he would need after Savitar killed her.

After Kadabra's offer went unaccepted and Barry's trip to the future came up short, Iris had bought a label maker and went to town around the apartment, putting up little reminders and facts for her fiancé. Like the Wi-Fi password he could never remember and the best times to go to the farmer's market for the sweetest peaches.

And, though she kept it tucked under her side of the mattress, she'd even began keeping a notebook marking down which of her things should be donated to which charities.

She thought she'd done a good thing.

Thought she was making the future easier for him. Until she came home from work and found all her labels torn off and ripped up and the label maker and her secret notebook dumped in the trash.

When she confronted Barry about why he'd done that, she saw that he was very, very upset, but was trying hard to reel it in.

His voice was shaking when he told her that all of that wasn't necessary. If he needed the Wi-Fi password he would just ask her. And that they'd agreed to never let him go to the farmer's market alone again after the Peony Debacle.

He didn't even acknowledge the notebook. Just demanded that she never do anything like this again. And then he left the house and only returned several hours later.

Iris never wanted to look back on those dark, dark months leading up to her supposed murder. She never wanted to revisit the fucked up headspaces she and Barry were forced into for five months. Least of all with a twisted sense of longing. But, that's where she was now.

What happened three years ago and what was happening now are two sides of the same coin, but the way they were being handled couldn't be more different.

Back then there was fire.

There was anger.

There were slammed doors and passionate declarations of resistance.

There was unwavering belief in defiance and blood oaths of protection.

No matter what loop they were thrown, Barry never lost faith that she would somehow survive. Not one single moment. Not once in five long, grueling months.

And when Iris wavered, when she wasn't so sure herself, Barry shouldered her pain and he found faith enough for the both of them.

But, that was then.

Back when there were flames. Back when there was fight.

Now? Now it's just quiet.

Just unceasingly quiet.

It had only taken Barry two days to lose all hope. To accept complete defeat. To accept death.

Two. Days.

And she was pushed to do the same.

Well, the truth was that she didn't. She didn't accept his death. She never would.

But she couldn't fight fate. So where did that leave her?

In silence.

That's all there was now.

Barry's silence was submission, but hers was seething. It was storming. With no hope for an outlet. Because the hero had already accepted demise.

The silence was deafening. It was demoralizing. And now it was made even thicker by their argument.

Iris scoffed and sat up. If she couldn’t fight the world than she would put her energy into something she could control. There were victories still to be found in the everyday. And if that’s all she could have, she’d fight like hell to claim them.

Barry sighed miserably as he cleaned up and locked down his lab for the night.

As far as he knew, there were no pressing Flash duties at Star Labs so he could just go home. But, he didn't know if he should just yet. There was a chance Iris was still at work and he didn't want to hang around the quiet apartment without her there.

And if she was home already, he was hesitant to do the awkward dance they'd been doing the last few days.

It was a blend of having stilted conversation and clinging to each other.

It was exhausting. And it wouldn't sustain them much longer, but he couldn't find their way out.

Crisis was inevitable. It was coming.

And the two of them would never agree on what needed to be done.

No matter how much she bit her tongue, Barry knew how Iris truly felt about him accepting his destiny. That's why he knew he had to lie to try and prepare her for a small part of life without him there.

And she had every right to feel the way she did.

He was in her shoes not long ago. He'd never forget the feeling of that sucking hole in your chest when you're facing the death of your soulmate.

Barry rubbed his eyes roughly. He’d go home. There was no sense in avoiding Iris. No matter what storm they were facing, it would be together.

He locked the door to his lab just as his phone vibrated. He pulled it out and saw a message from Iris.

Meet me at Jitters when you’re off..

He was out CCPD and outside of the coffeehouse in seconds.

It was late. Jitters was already closed for the night and there was no one inside. Which made him apprehensive.

Why had Iris called him here? Was something wrong? Was she alright?

He phased through the doors and looked around.

It was pitch black, save for a dim light coming from the back. “Iris? Are you in here?”

Hurried steps came from the kitchen and he sighed in relief when he saw his wife come around to the front counter.

“Oh! Hey, I wasn’t expecting you so quickly. I thought you were still at work.”

“I packed up early,” he explained coming closer. “What’s up? Everything alright?”

She looked calm and in one piece. She was drying her hands on a small towel and when he got close enough he saw that she was wearing an apron.

“What are you doing?”

“Everything’s fine,” Iris assured. “I just thought these industrial grade stoves and fire system would be a safer bet than our kitchen.”

“Safer for what?” he wondered uneasily.

“I made us dinner,” she told him simply.

“You cooked? Dinner?” Barry repeated, dumbfounded. He didn’t know what he thought this meeting was about but it definitely wasn’t that.

Now that his attention was there, though, he did smell savory richness coming from the kitchens.

Iris nodded. “Yeah.”

Barry could see that she was still somewhat- not defensive, but on guard. Cautious.

He didn’t want to question if that meant she understood where he was coming from last week just in case that wasn’t the case.

“Wow. That’s- that’s really great! I’m sure it’s great. Thank you,” he smiled softly.

Iris gestured for him to grab a seat at the counter. “I didn’t think you’d be out of work so early, so there’s still a few minutes left until the food’s ready.”

“That’s no problem at all.”

Iris studied his face before she sighed and looked down.

She reached over and grabbed the bottle of wine she’d chilled and poured them each a tall glass.

It was the bottle of red they’d gotten from Argentina. It tasted like heaven. And, though it wouldn’t have a huge effect on Barry, it helped ease the tension in both of their shoulders.

“This is perfect,” Iris moaned as the hints of berry and clove slid down her throat.

“Good choice,” Barry agreed, impressed.

“Oh!” Iris suddenly remembered. “I almost forgot.”

She hurried to the back and returned with a large platter. “Some hors d'oeuvres. I made broiled oysters.”

Barry's brows shot up. “Did you really?”

Iris shrugged. "I think I was being spiteful making something so dramatic," she admitted. "The main course isn't nearly as fancy though."

She came around the counter with the large platter and set it down between them.

Barry lifted the lid and saw that she had in fact made oysters. And they smelled and looked amazing.

"This looks incredible," he complimented with wonder.

"Try one," Iris told him.

Barry only hesitated briefly (as great as it looked, he had been on the receiving end of the adventurous side of Iris's cooking many times before) before he slid a shell off the plate and downed it.

"Holy shit, that's amazing," he exclaimed in disbelief. He looked at her excitedly. "Iris, this is amazing!"

Iris's was still a bit standoffish, but as he thanked her and tried two more oysters, her shoulders loosened and the smile on her face widened.

"Thanks," she said genuinely as she shrugged. "It was no big deal, I just followed a recipe."

By the time the oven timer went off, Iris had settled into the seat beside him and the two of them took turns polishing off the seafood.

She spent a few minutes in the kitchen this time and when she came back she was holding a very large pot. "Okay. Full disclosure, this took a few tries but I eventually got the hang of it."

She carefully put down the sizzling pan and uncovered it dramatically.

Barry was hit with the mouthwatering sight of chicken and shrimp Alfredo.

Barry grinned widely. “That’s my girl.”

“And I used butter and milk cause, funnily enough, somehow a coffeehouse was completely out of cream,” she teased.

Barry chuckled heartily and Iris joined in and soon they were laughing hard at such a simple joke, letting the tension of the week melt away.

Eventually, they gathered themselves and Barry helped Iris dish out the pasta.

She waited with bated breath as he took his first bite and smiled with relief when he told her with complete and utter seriousness that it was the best bite of food he’s ever had in his entire life.

And Barry was sure all was forgiven when she took his fork and fed him the rest of his plate, sneaking bites herself and catching up with him on her day.

By the time they took their last bites, Barry felt warm and stuffed. “That was the best meal I’ve ever had,” he said contently. “Thank you.”

“Glad you liked it,” she smiled. “I guess I can tuck that recipe away for future use.”

The mood sobered up some at the reminder of the future. Iris sighed painfully and sipped the last of her wine.

Barry gently cupped her cheek and turned her back to him. “I’m really sorry about before. You know I was just trying to help. Right?”

“I know,” Iris promised. “It’s just that this is all really hard. It’s more than it just being food, Barry.”

Tears pricked her eyes. “I know I can't cook very well. I know that. And when it was just me I really didn’t care too much to learn. But, I’ve always liked trying. For you.”

He knew that was true. Iris always cooked for them at Joe’s more out of a sense of duty to pull her weight and ease the stress on her working, single father.

She never cooked for Eddie. Never once felt the desire to. She dated him for over a year. She'd lived with him for five months. But, she only ever tried to cook for him once. He'd gotten run down with the flu and after a few days she thought maybe she ought to make him chicken noodle soup. She got as far as almost slicing her thumb clean off chopping up some carrots before she threw everything out and grabbed a takeout menu.

But, after she and Barry started dating and then especially after they got married, Iris loved cooking all sorts of meals for him. They never ended well, but Barry was an expert at making Iris think otherwise.

Barry Allen was the only man who could ever make Iris West want to spend hours huddled over a hot stove or a skillet and read over complex recipes until her eyes crossed.

“After all we’ve been through. After this life we’ve only just started together, it’s just supposed to go back to it just being me at the table?” Iris cried. “I’m just supposed to do normal, mundane things like this as if half of me isn’t gone? You’ll be gone, Barry. Who cares if the I’m living off pork rinds and gum. What the hell difference does it make?”

Barry wiped her tears before wiping his own. “You have to care, Iris. Because if you don’t it will be that much easier to lose the purpose in everything. Food will seem pointless, but then so will washing your face and pretty soon getting out of bed will be too much of a hassle. And who needs to go into work when you’re the boss? I know, I know exactly what my life would’ve been like if you weren’t there after I lost my parents. I saw what my life was like in the future after Savitar. That can’t be your life.”

He shook his head and put his hand right over her heart. “Everything I have. Everything I love is right here. The choice to keep this beating is mine. But, I won’t be here to protect it anymore. To take care of it. That’s only your choice. It’s a choice you have to make. And choosing to keep going in spite of all the pain that’s coming will be the hardest decision you’ll make. It will hurt like hell, but you have to do it. And if something as tiny as making yourself a plate of food after a harsh day is what keeps you going so you don’t collapse or shut down, then you have to do that too. You will have to take care of yourself even when it’s the last thing you’ll want to do. Especially then. I just wanted to try to find a way to help you do that.”

Iris closed her eyes, tears fell harder.

She was wrong. She was wrong before. Barry’s acceptance was full of fight.

Her husband was still full of fire.

Iris nodded. “I will. I’ll try to take care of myself. And I’ll try to stay on top of my meals. I promise.”

Iris felt the desperation ease from his grip. Felt the tension melt away in his exhale.

“Three times a day?” he asked when they separated. He hoped for a positive answer, but had no expectations.

After all this time neither of them had any illusions about the cost of grief. She knew the reality of what she could offer him.

“Once per day is going to be pretty lucky I think,” Iris told him, smiling sadly.

Barry swallowed despair at that. It was the truth. Still he tried to bargain up. “Two times.”

Iris sighed.

“One full meal and a snack,” he amended.

“One full meal and a snack,” she compromised.

He kissed her then, sealing the accord in love.

“I love you,” he said softly when they pulled away.

“I love you,” Iris responded.

She rested her head on his shoulder and Barry wrapped his arms around her tight pulling her as close to him as their bodies would allow.

The feel of her heart beating against his side lulled him. It was always the thing that would keep him breathing.

Several minutes later, something caught his eye on one of the counters. “Did you make those?”

He pointed to a pile of cookies sitting high on an ornate glass plate. They didn’t look like anything Jitters sold.

“Oh wow, yeah. I forgot about dessert,” Iris chuckled.

Barry sped over and grabbed them, sliding back into his seat before Iris could notice. “Let’s try some then.”

“Ooh, baby I would not eat those cookies if I were you,” Iris warned seriously. “I don't think they turned out right.”

Barry waved off her doubts. "All of this was perfect. I'm sure they're fine."

He smelled the cookie then took a big bite to show her he wasn’t worried. But, as soon as the dessert touched his tongue, he regretted it.

His eyes reflexively bulged and he stopped chewing for a second before his sense kicked in and he made his usual sounds of content. "Mmm see?! Delicious!"

The cookies were burnt to a crisp on the underside, but somehow chewy in the middle. And he was certain Iris had mixed up her salt and sugar again, but he powered through and finished the whole thing.

He subtly tried to gasp for breath to clear the taste of ash from the back of his throat. He knew reaching for a drink would give him away so he smiled down at her instead and smacked his lips.

“Wow, gr-great stuff,” he prayed his eye didn’t twitched from the bitterness.

Fortunately it didn’t.

Unfortunately, Iris looked so pleased with his enjoyment that she offered him three more cookies, picking out the biggest ones she could find.

Barry ate them each with a smile, washing down the rancid taste with the joy on his wife’s face.

“Maybe I can do the cooking for the rest of the week,” Iris suggested as they walked home a few hours later.

Before dessert, from the delicious meal she’d prepared he would’ve readily agreed. This was what he had wanted in the first place.

But, the thought of those god-awful cookies made his stomach roll. Depending on what she decided to cook, he might very well not even make it to Crisis.

Still, he thought as he squeezed her hand and took in her eager smile, if that was how he went- at home eating his warm meal across from this woman who he loved more than life itself- it would be the greatest honor.

He grinned and nodded his head in agreement at the offer.

“That would be wonderful,” he said sincerely.

#Westallen #The Flash #Barry Allen #Iris West-Allen #Crisis on Infinite Earths

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chimbbles · 5 years ago

Text

anybody ever thinks about doctor!hendery? because that’s the first thing that popped into my mind the second I saw him

T/W: mentions of blood, and I'm sorry I keep bringing up tetanus I don't mean to mock it or anything

it wasn’t a big deal, but the constant ringing in your head was getting harder to differentiate between a migraine and your incessant worries building up

days ago you were fixing up a shelf from ikea, your roommate having suggested you guys get a proper apparatus to house your various clutters

both of you went at it for the whole night, after coming home from a long day’s worth of work and neither of you denied the tiny spark of regret for getting something you can’t really handle at 1am in the morning

at last, the cheap metal frame is up, a job well done rewarded by crashing into the couch and dozing off right there

morning came and the shelf was thoroughly forgotten, even with its huge size propped right in front you

the effect of the iconic, “I’m late for work”

throwing yourself off the couch you ignored your hard work and skidded past absentmindedly, until it reminded you with a nasty gash in the shower

if your pinky toe was stinging in the water, it felt way worse when soap ran down your body

you had to stop and check, clenching your teeth at the act of rinsing off the soap to get a good look, and voila

a fresh cut just below your cuticle, long and crimson till it reaches the joint

you definitely don’t have time for this

so you slap on some antibacterial cream, stick on a band-aid and call it class one first aid with 5 minutes till work starts

the day was: bad

not only you had to run, your shoes covered your wounded toe and you honestly doubt it does more to protect rather than harm it

your boss was obviously not impressed, and you’re stuck with a self appointed adult detention with a foul, cold sandwich titled gruesome lunch; at the set venue of your cubicle

having been reminded by the constant ache on your toe, you made it a point to text your roommate, informing them you two had built a death machine

they, however, took the joke a little too literally, and from the moment after lunch, they kept texting you to get it checked out

“what if it’s tetanus?”

“you could die from an infection!”

“are you sure the cream isn’t expired?”

“did you apply it properly”

“get it checked out you might be at risk”

and that’s why you’re here man no pun intended

where once again, things weren’t this serious, and were blew out of proportion

your self appointed detention unfortunately lasted for days, long as your boss was happy, and your punishment was a huge project with a short deadline

you pulled overtime for a straight 3 days now, and the projects almost there, just one day left

the all-nighter you suffered through proved efficient when you finished the project at near 5am in the morning, rumours of company ghosts no longer scare you when you roam amongst them as a comrad

your zombified limbs pack up by themselves, brain too damaged from the cups of coffee chugged down your throat at the ungodly hours

your roommate’s nagging makes its appearance again, buzzing through your brain like a broken record

“you could have tetanus, it’s metal!”

you remember there’s a hospital on the route back home, so why not? staying up longer it doesn’t quite matter at this point

the reception desk threw a fit when they heard you connect the words ‘tetanus’ and ‘a few days ago’

that’s how you end up in line at the ER, instead of the intended clinic visit

it’s eerily chilly, with the bland white walls staring back at you

without you knowing it; the whirring of the busy machines and clinking of metal appliances lulls your tired figure to sleep, head leaning back and mouth open in a silent snore

“oh my goodness they blacked out”

“we need help here!”

within seconds your body was hauled onto a stretcher and pulled away in a whim, straight into a private room with an unsuspecting doctor

“came in saying they might have tetanus and the wound’s a few days old. ER’s full from a car crash and they just blacked out in the hall,”

“temperature’s rising, I think the fever started to set in, if you could take a look first dr.wong-”

“sure, sure”

‘dr.wong’ rounds the edge of his table to plant himself beside you, and you think the only regret you don’t have for the night is seeing his handsome face

he reads the thermometer before plucking the pen lodged at the opening of his white coat,

“okay, I need you to focus on this pen, follow it with your eyes, alright?”

of course he doesn’t wait for your agreement before waving the pen in front of you, and your slow brain can’t receive stimuli that well while it’s raving on caffeine

“I’m getting slow response, fetch the vaccine now,”

one of the nurses hurriedly leaves the room, leaving one to stay and help the doctor,

he picks up the stethoscope from his desk and plugs the two ends into his ears, “alright, I need you to breathe for me,”

“and check the wound, please”

the nurse nods and springs into action, and your brain-- finally-- comes back to life

your grab the hand that’s holding the metal plate with both of yours, surprising him and making him go wide-eyed

but what do you say???

it could be tetanus but you don’t feel unwell at all, and you really, really don’t want a pissed off nurse to glare at you for the false alarm

also, you don’t want anyone to look at your ugly toes

“are you okay? does it hurt?”

the nurse stops taking off your shoe at the mention of pain, and waits for further instructions from the doctor

you bite down the embarrassment for your lame excuse, and gesture roughly to your throat, “....water”

they both share a concerned look, before the nurse moves and heads towards the door with a “I’ll be right back doctor”

now that you’re left with him alone, you feel less anxious about the whole situation, and sit up properly to talk to him

“I don’t have tetanus,”

you can see him processing your words before he lets out a hearty chuckle, “having tetanus isn’t illegal or contagious, we won’t throw you in quarantine,”

“no, no, I told them I don’t think it’s tetanus, it’s merely a cut from metal-- yes, but it’s not infected or anything, I just came here for a confirmation,”

he pauses to mull over your words, before taking off your shoe and tugging at your socks,

“I’m fine, really, I think this was a mistake-”

your socks successfully comes off, and he’s tentatively ripping your band-aid off, trying not to provoke the wound any further

when the wrapping comes off, he’s not too impressed by his present, which you think he fully expects a nasty, nasty wound, with yellow mucus oozing out from the opening and rotten flesh scent-- instead of a clean, clear, thread sized cut

“and I didn’t black out, I’m just very tired and the coffee’s not helping,”

he looks up from your foot and seems so confused, so you do him a favour to explain at the best your brain allows you to

by the time the nurse is back, you two had ran through a quick summary of your activities for the past few days, and her cup of water is the perfect solution to a real, dry throat

“patient does not have tetanus, a false alarm, but they’re still gonna require a shot, just in case,”

he gestures to your foot and she looks fairly annoyed, but says nothing at the presence of a doctor

she excuses herself to help out outside, and dr.wong sits back at his desk to wait for the vaccine, while you lay your head down to rest

“I think she hates me,”

he laughs, “nah, we just haven’t had a tetanus case in a while, I think she got too worked up,”

the other nurse comes back with your vaccine, and helps clean up your arm for the injection, “you’re not scared of needles, are you?”

you can taste the amusement in the air, tension lifted and light in the air thanks to his teasing, “patient does not have an infection, but is taking a shot for proper measures, and the high body temp is caused from lack of sleep for days, and a slightly inflamed liver, does not require further care, but a follow up is needed in a month’s time,”

the nurse scribbles your prescription while he stabs your arm with the long needle, and you try your best not to panic

after the nurse leaves the room, you two are left alone once again, and the ambiguous question hangs in the air, “am I allowed to leave now?”

he peers up from his book, “yes, but it’s 5:37am now, and my shift ends at 6; if you could stay a bit longer,” he trails off,

he senses your confusion and hurriedly explains himself, “I’m trying to avoid having breakfast with someone, and I’m no longer needed for emergency cases, it would be nice to have some peace and quiet,”

“you could take a nap-- I’ll wake you at 6,”

“can you put in a good word for me with the nurses?”

“deal.”

“can we eat breakfast too?” words kind of jumbled up from your fatigue

he takes a bit longer to respond, and by the time he does, you don’t hear it-- having already fallen asleep on the white stretcher,

“sure, that’ll be nice.”

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fic-for-fic-sake · 6 years ago

Text

Heat, Loki x reader

A/N: reader is an Omega...that’s all I’m really gonna say. A lot of smut, NSFW, just a lot happening really.

It started out of nowhere. Woke you up from a deep sleep. You sighed and rolled over in bed to check the clock, 5:30. Seriously? You were drenched in sweat and couldn’t for the life of you figure out why. You checked the thermostat on the wall in your bedroom, it read a normal temperature. Sighing in frustration you turned it down anyway, you kicked off your sweatpants and turned on your bedside fan.

If you were going to sweat you were going to try and make yourself cold. You had read somewhere that it was easier to fall asleep in a cold room rather than a warm one. That must be true. You carefully placed yourself under a thin sheet and tried to fall back asleep. Nothing worked. You tossed and turned as you became acutely aware of another discomfort. An arousal building between your thighs.

Sometimes you woke up horny but this was different, you could tell this one couldn’t wait. With a somewhat annoyed huff you opened your bedside drawer and pulled out your vibrator. You put in your headphones and listened to moaning noises you found online. With the fan blowing cooling air over your skin, your nipples stood at attention. Straining against the thin fabric of your night shirt. You carefully pinched and rolled a nipple between your fingers as your other hand guided the vibrator towards your entrance. In the soft gray lighting of your room, under a thin sheen of sweat making its way across your body, you worked yourself to orgasm. You sighed in relief as you felt a wave of pleasure wash over you and soothe your body. Maybe now you could get some rest.

Not much luck. An hour later you were still sweating despite the measures you had took to combat this an hour before. More annoying still, your hunger was back. You were hornier than ever and craved to have someone, anyone, work you to orgasm. You decided to kill two birds with one stone and went to take a shower. You stood under the faucet as droplet after droplet washed over your naked form. You cleansed your body and tried to rid your mind of wandering thoughts. No such luck. You reached up and took the shower head off its hook and used it to work yourself to another orgasm.

You perched one leg on the raised edge of the bathtub and leaned against the tile wall of the shower. The cool tile feeling amazing against your heated skin. You let the water pressure hit your pussy just right as you rubbed your clit, working yourself to your second orasm of the day. You couldn’t remember the last time you masturbated twice in one day, let alone within an hour of each other. After you came down from your high you got dressed and decided that it was time to greet the day.

You left the comfort of your dark room in the Avengers compound and headed into the kitchen. It was about seven in the morning so most of them were still asleep. You weren’t surprised to see Bucky up though, he usually went for a run early in the morning and was back before anyone else woke up.

“You’re up early.” He noted as he placed down the newspaper and took a sip from his coffee mug.

“Yeah, I guess I am.” You breathed in response as you went in search of water in the fridge. Seeing Bucky and thinking of all the hot and heavy things he could do to you in this kitchen was driving you wild. He could bend you over the counter and fuck you and the thought of people walking in on you made it an even hotter fantasy. You thought of how amazing his cool metal arm would feel on your bare skin.

“Doll?” You heard Bucky question from what sounded like underwater.

“Hmm?” You asked, almost trance like.

“I asked if you were okay, you disappeared for a little.” He said, his face etched with concern.

“I’m fine I just...just got distracted, sorry.” You replied as you sat down opposite him with a glass of ice water. In one gulp you downed the glass.

“Thirsty?” Bucky asked with an expression that was both amused and concerned.

“Something like that…” You said as you once again felt the all too familiar heat pool between your legs. You started to get up to get another glass but Bucky beat you to the punch.

“Let me get that for you Y/N, you sure you’re okay?” Bucky asked as he refilled your glass. He gave it back to you and for a brief moment your fingers touched his. The feeling of his fingers touching yours, combined with the condensation forming on the glass was almost too much for you. You let out a small moan. You cleared your throat an in attempt to mask the noise.

“Yeah, thanks for the water.” You remarked as you downed the glass with minimal effort. Needed to be as far away from Bucky as possible you decided to remove yourself from the situation. “I’m gonna go train.” You decided.

“Want me to come with you?” He offered.

“No!” You responded a bit too quickly, “I mean, you just went for a run, enjoy your morning. Sorry.” You rushed the apology as you quickly exited the room. When you were a safe distance away you paused to catch your breath. What was the matter with you? Sure you knew Bucky was attractive but before today sleeping with him and never crossed your mind. Now you couldn’t get it /out/ of your mind. You just kept visualizing him on his morning run, shirtless, the perfect human specimen. Sweat dripping down his glistening abs, running shorts hung low on his hips, enough so you can see his v lines.

You stood back up and continued your way to the training room. You couldn’t just masturbate all day, no matter how badly you wanted to, so you figured training was the next best thing. You could blow off some steam and then maybe take a cold shower. You rounded the corner and were just about to enter the training room when you mentally cursed yourself. Of course the only other person awake at this time was in the training room.

How could you forget that Steve Rogers also rises unnaturally early. He claimed it had something to do with him being in the army but you knew it was probably an excuse for him to be alone with his thoughts. Coming out of a 70 year coma had to be a lot to process, even years after the fact. You couldn’t blame him. Okay you could do this. You would go in and beat the shit out of a punching bag, he was lifting weights, you wouldn’t have to interact with him.

When you walked in he was taking a drink of water in between sets. You both smiled and acknowledged each other before you went in the back corner near the punching bags. You carefully wrapped your hands and began to punch. You were trying your best not to think about the impossibly good looking, sweaty super soldier who was grunting in the middle of doing reps. You put your headphones in and blasted music so you wouldn’t have to hear those beautiful sounds of his. You continued punching until you saw a shadow start to form behind you. Then, you felt a quick tap on your shoulder. Panting, you took your headphones out to stare at none other than Steve himself.

‘What’s up?” You asked slightly out of breath.

“You’re gonna hurt yourself.” He said with a slight smirk on his face.

“What are you talking about? My hands are wrapped, I’m fine.” You said as you held your hands in front of his face, emphasizing your point.

“Not your hands sweetheart, your form. It’s off. May I?” Steve asked as he arched an eyebrow. You took a deep breath before you nodded your head. Suddenly Steve was moving around so he was behind you and you were very much aware of his close proximity to you.

“You gotta angle your hips like this.” He murmured in a low, instructive tone, as he placed his hands on your hips and gently guided them to where he wanted them. “And you shouldn’t hunch forward, it’s a bad habit anyway.” He said, half teasing, as he put his hands on your shoulders and gently straightened them so your back was flush against his. You gasped gently as you felt the entire length of his muscled front against your back. You could feel how warm he was and you felt your body relax to his touch, but only for a moment. Then you remembered yourself. “Next, your arms.” He said as he leaned into you so his hands found yours and grabbed them.

‘What about them?” You asked breathlessly. Your body as tight as a bowstring, ready and aching for a release.

“You need to bring them up to guard your face, doll. It would be a shame if someone smashed it.” He chuckled lowly as he brought your arms up to better defend your face. His hands went to your hips one last time, as if making sure they obeyed him and stayed where he placed them.

“How does that feel?” He leaned forward and murmured into your ear.

“Good.” You heard your voice rasp. You let out a little whimper when you felt his warmth leave you.

“Well.” Steve said expectantly.

“Well what?” You whispered back.

“Let’s see if you improve.” He gestured for you to start punching again.

You gave it a go and when Steve seemed satisfied with the results he went back to weightlifting. But you couldn’t concentrate anymore. Your body still buzzing from where the Captain touched you. You felt the ache grow between your legs and you were positive you wouldn’t be able to last the rest of the day.

You practically ran back to your room and stripped your clothes off as you took your second shower of the day. You leaned against the cold tile and thought about Steve’s hands on your waist. His strong arms gripping you. How amazing his sculpted body felt against your own. Your soft moans reverberated through the bathroom and you let yourself go again. But still your arousal persisted.

After you got out of the shower your phone buzzed with a message from Tony. Thor and Loki would be back from Asgard tonight so we were having a small celebration dinner to welcome them home. Naturally, we all had to look nice for our esteemed guests. Still feeling rather hot in the literal physical sense, you opted for something light and flowy, allowing as much air as possible. A simple sundress would do.

Once you were done getting ready you made your way into the living room where everyone else was mingling, waiting for the Asgardians.

“Wow doll, you look great but isn’t it a bit early for that?” Bucky asked as he made his way over to you.

‘What do you mean?” You replied with a slightly confused expression.

‘Well, I just mean it’s March and you’re wearing a sundress.” He stated.

“Oh yeah, well I’m just hot is all.” You said which was half true.

“Yeah now that you mention it, you do seem a little flushed.” Bucky remarked as he placed the back of his flesh hand to your forehead, feeling the heat under the surface.

You shut your eyes at the sudden contact. “What’s wrong?” You heard another familiar voice inquire. It was Steve.

“I was just telling Y/N that she seemed a little flushed.” Bucky told Steve.

“Guys I’m fine, stop worrying.” You said a little weaker than intended. It didn’t help that they were standing in such close proximity to you and all you wanted to do was rip there clothes off. You were practically panting at the thought.

“Let me at least get you some water, doll.” Steve offered. You nodded your agreement as Bucky offered you his metal arm. You took it and sighed deeply in relief in the exquisite feeling of it against your heated skin. You wondered what his metal fingers would feel like buried in your pussy. The thought was enough to elicit a tiny moan from your mouth that you covered with a cough.

Steve came back with your water and you sat between the two of them as everyone else gathered, the anticipation building in the room. Suddenly, there was a tingle in the room and the sharp crack of electricity as the brilliant lights of the bifrost enveloped the living room, leaving two gods in its wake.

Thor and Loki stood, as godlike as ever, in all their ceremonial armor. They quickly made the rounds, greeting everyone. You broke free from Bucky and Steve, not being able to stand the tension anymore. You were refilling your water when you felt a presence behind you. You turned to see Loki drinking in your appearance. Your mouth went dry and your knees weak at the sight of him. You two had always flirted back and forth but you didn’t think you had it in you to keep up the witty banter today. No, instead you longed for something more. It wasn’t long until you could feel your panties becoming utterly ruined the longer you drank in his appearance.

“What, no ‘hello’ for your prince?” Loki joked as he took your hand in his and brought it up to his lips, kissing it gently. You were left dumbfounded as you stared at him. You felt a groan escape the back of your throat but were powerless to stop it.

“I-I Lo-Loki hi.” You stammered as you took your hand back from the god. Any thoughts you had of making it out of this alive were beyond you now. You needed release and you needed it now. But first you had to make it through this dinner.

Loki wouldn’t take no for an answer and insisted that you sit next to him. Being in such close proximity to him did things to you. Your swollen clit was aching with desire and you kept squirming in your seat, fighting the urge to finger yourself right at the table. Your hand were practically white knuckling the hem of your dress as you bunched the material.

“Love are you alright?” Loki whispered into your ear. You shuddered as you felt his breath fan out over your neck. He placed his hand on top of yours until it let go of the fabric of your dress. The very edge of his hands gently touching the soft skin on your thigh was driving your wild. You couldn’t think, couldn’t respond, just sit there dumbfounded as another wave of sweat washed over your already flushed skin.

“If you’ll excuse me.” You said suddenly as you quickly raised from the table and made your way back to your room. You slammed the door behind you and did the first thing you could think of. You grabbed a rather stiff pillow and placed it beneath your legs as you straddled it. You began to rock yourself back and forth against the pillow and moaned in satisfaction at the friction it was creating against your needy clit.

You were so lost in yourself and the sounds you were making you almost missed the knock on your door.

“Hello , Y/N are you in there? It’s me.” Loki called from the other side of the door. Shit! What did he want? You quickly threw the pillow off of your bed and did the best you could to make yourself look put together as you opened your door for him.

“Loki, what’s up?” You questioned, breathlessly.

“Can I come in?” He inquired.

You paused for a moment before letting him in. You promptly shut the door behind him and stood awkwardly for a moment before returning to your bed and sitting on it.

“Yes?” You questioned as he took a seat next to you.

“Are you okay? You seemed to be acting quite strange and when I asked the others they too said you were acting not yourself today.” You could feel his gaze on you and you tried your hardest not to squirm beneath those eyes.

“Loki, I’m fine. I don’t know what everyone’s fussing about.” You lied as you waved your hand dismissively.

“I’m the god of lies darling, you’re going to have to do better than that.” Loki chided.

“Okay, well, something is a bit, different I guess. I woke up this morning drenched in sweat and no matter what I seem to do, I’m still hot. I can’t cool down. And…” You stopped yourself abruptly. Did you really want to tell Loki of all people that you were horny as hell?

“And, what?” He asked, looking slightly more intrigued than he had just mere moments before. “It’s okay Y/N you can tell me.” He assured.

You took a deep breath, “And my arousal is off the charts. I’ve masturbated three times today and it won’t let up!” You let out with a frustrated groan. It felt good to tell someone.

Loki chuckled for a bit, considering what to say. He shook his head before he turned to face you. You did the same.

“Darling you’re in heat.” He said with a smirk on his face.

“In what?” You asked, clearly confused.

“No, I guess they wouldn’t have them on Midgard, but why you? What are you?” He said more to himself than to you.

“Loki what are you talking about? Have what on Midgard?” You pressed. If he knew what was going on you would love to hear it.

“On Asgard, although they are rare, we have what are called Omegas. Usually women, they are extremely sensitive to their hormones. When they go into what is called a heat, they become exceedingly uncomfortable until they mate.” Loki stated matter of factly.

“What do you mean mate?” You questioned, putting emphasis on the last word.

“Until they copulate and have the seed of their partner inside of them.” Loki explained.

You couldn’t believe this. You were going to be sick. “But why now? How have I never had this happen to me before?” You questioned.

“From what I know, it could have been a dormant part of you only recently awaken. Think about it, what about your life has changed as of late?” He questioned.

“I moved into the Avengers compound about six months ago.” You offered, that was the only thing you could think of.

“That must be it.” Loki began, “That much testosterone forced your Omega side to awaken, you must’ve sensed it.”

You were about to ask another question when you were hit by a strong wave of arousal. You whimpered as you squeezed your thighs together in an effort to relieve some of the pressure. You were suddenly aware of Loki’s eyes on you. How close he was to your small form.

“How do I make it stop?” You asked finally.

“You don’t, you just have to wait it out. It usually lasts only a week.” He offered.

Fuck, a week? You didn’t know if you were going to make it another day. “Is there another way to make it stop? Something more immediate?” You asked him, almost pleading.

“I’ve already said it.” Loki replied.

“I can’t wait a week Loki I’ll lost it!” You blew up at him. You could feel your skin getting hotter still and your arousal building, like a damn ready to burst.

“Shhhh pet it’s alright.” Loki replied as he took your hands in his and pressed them to his lips in an attempt to calm you. “That wasn’t what I meant.” He breathed as his eyes darkened with lust.

Oh. He meant that option. “Would you really do that for me?” You questioned, with a glimmer of hope in your voice.

“Only if you wanted it.” He replied.

“Please.” You gasped as you pulled his form close to you. You pressed your lips against his with a sense of urgency. He responded with the same urgent sense, his tongue immediately diving into your mouth. You moaned into him as he layed you back on the mattress and pressed his clothed body on top of yours. Your legs wrapped around him as you began to grind your hips into him, eagar for any relief he could provide.

Slowly, his hands started to roam your body as they sought the hem of your dress. Once they found it Loki pulled it over your head and threw it somewhere in your room. Then his lips were on your neck as his hand began to kneed your breast.

“Tell me Y/N, how many times did you touch yourself today?” Loki husked as he drove his hips into you, making you gasp in shock. You ground your hips into him and moaned.

“Three.” You gasped as you gripped his shoulders, forcing him to go down your body to where you needed him the most.

“My poor little omega. Let me help you.” Loki grinned as he slowly peeled your panties off of your core. You hissed as cold air hit your hot center. Loki grabbed one of your thighs and began to kiss and nip his way to your center. The sight of him between you was almost enough to push you over the edge.

Suddenly his mouth was on you and you moaned loudly for him. Your hands went straight into his long black locks in an attempt to keep him where you needed him. Your hips bucked up to him but he quickly put a stop to that as he threw an arm over your midsection.

“Mmm you taste so good my pet. So good for your prince.” He said as he continued to lap up your juices. You threw your head back as you shouted praises for Loki for him to continue because you wouldn’t know what to do if he stopped. You felt your hips buck again as he slowly began to pump two fingers into your dripping core. You could feel your orgasm coming hard and fast.

“That’s it, come for me Y/N.” Loki shouted as he continued to pleasure you with his hands and mouth. Suddenly your whole body stilled as you saw stars. You were faintly aware of Loki’s mouth leaving you and him coming up to kiss you.

“I’m not done with you yet.” He growled as he quickly spun you around so your face was pressed into the mattress. You felt him lift your lower half into the air. He aligned his member with you and teased your entrance, spreading your slick heat.

“Loki please don’t tease me, I need you.” You practically begged. You tried to press your ass against him but he was holding your hips still.

“What do you need? Tell me.” He husked as he dipped his body and left a kiss between your shoulder blades.

“I need you to fuck me, please, fuck me Loki.” You whimpered, already feeling the familiar heat come back, making you wetter by the second.

“As you wish my darling.” Loki rasped in response as he slowly let himself enter you. He gave you a moment to adjust before slowly, achingly, easing out of you again.

“Please Loki, faster, fuck me harder.” You begged. You couldn’t take this slow pace, you needed him and you needed him now.

Without so much as a response Loki rapidly picked up the pace. Slamming into you and snapping his hips repeatedly. The only sound you could hear were your moans and his grunts. You felt his hand roughly pull you up by your hair so that your back was pressed against his front. He reached down with his other hand and began to furiously rub your clit as he continued to fuck you.

“Oh fuck, Loki yes, right there.” You practically yelled as you felt another orgasm approach.

“I want you to ride me.” Loki moaned huskily into your ear. That was all the encouragement you needed. You two quickly switched positions so he was laying underneath of you. You straddled him and sank down on his cock. Moaning your approval at the sensation of him filling you. You placed your hands on his chest to steady yourself as you began to ride him. He placed his hands on your waist, pressing hard enough to leave bruises, as he met your thrusts with his own.

“Oh my omega you feel so good, are you gonna come for me my darling?” Loki asked breathlessly.

“Fuck, yeah, I’m coming.” You shouted as you worked yourself closer to your orgasm. At the last second, Loki sat up so he buried himself deep inside you. That would prove to be your undoing. You screamed his name as you came, violently around him. He felt your walls clench around him and he spilled himself inside of you. He held you as aftershocks racked through your body as you came down from your high.

Ever so gently, he placed you on your bed laying down and went to get a washcloth. You watched through droopy eyelids as he cleaned you off.

“Thank you Loki.” You murmured as you nuzzled yourself into your pillow.

“Your welcome my darling.” Loki said as he pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead. “How do you feel?”

“Sleepy...but good.” You replied as you felt the bed dip beside you. You turned and wordlessly snuggled into Loki’s naked chest. He wrapped his arms around you as you fell into a deep sleep, no longer bothered by your incessant arousal.

Tags: @lokixme @drakesfiance @lilith-akemi

#loki x reader #loki fanfic #loki x you #Loki Laufeyson #marvel fanfic #steve rogers x reader #bucky barnes x reader #omega!reader

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worryinglyinnocent · 5 years ago

Text

Fic: Pure (6/14)

Summary: Belle wanted to wait until marriage before she had sex for the first time. It was the one thing that still stuck in her mind after leaving her small town upbringing steeped in religious doctrine and abstinence culture. When her wedding night comes, however, the purity ideals of Storybrooke’s sex education are hard to shake off, and making the transition from virgin to sexually active is more difficult than she anticipated. With the help of a patient husband, Belle begins an intimate journey into understanding her body, her desires, and her identity as a woman.

Rated: E

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[One] [Two] [Three] [Four] [Five] [AO3]

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Pure

Six

“Belle! It’s so good to see you! How was the honeymoon! Tell me everything!”

Ruby clapped her hands together excitedly as Belle entered the coffee shop and went over to their usual table. As always, Ruby and Mulan had her tea ready and waiting for her, and it was just at a perfectly drinkable temperature as she sat down and took her first sip.

“I want to know all the details,” Ruby continued. “I know you don’t normally kiss and tell, but this is a honeymoon. It warrants a proper discussion.”

Mulan grimaced. “Please, Ruby, we’re in a public place.”

“So? It’s never stopped us before. By now everyone in here should be used to the two of us discussing our sex life at every available opportunity. So, spill, Belle. What was the reaction to the lingerie of the century? Favourable, I hope.”

Belle nodded. “Very favourable, thank you.” She took a sip of her tea, wondering how to go about broaching the subject. She’d chosen Ruby and Mulan to be her confidantes for her problem: they were her closest friends in Boston, and as Ruby had already pointed out, they were definitely and unashamedly sexually active. She wasn’t normally around for the conversations that Ruby had mentioned; they had sensed early on that it wasn’t a topic that she was fully comfortable with, but since they’d helped her on the underwear-buying trip, her comfort zone with them was definitely expanding.

She decided just to jump straight in with both feet first.

“When I stopped freaking out about losing my virginity and we did actually have sex, it was pretty good. For a first time. I think. I don’t really have any field of comparison.”

Mulan and Ruby just stared at her for a couple of seconds, digesting the weight of her words.

“Oh Belle… Why didn’t you tell us that you were a virgin?”

Belle shrugged, although she knew, painfully, the reason why. Back in Storybrooke, her virginity had been her only defining trait, the only thing that she was measured on. When she had moved to Boston and started making new friends, she was determined to be seen on her other merits.

“Would it have made our friendship any different if I had?”

“Of course not, you silly goose.” Ruby leaned across the table and gave her a hug. “It’s your business when you do it and who with, but we could have helped stop you freaking out about being one on your wedding night. Why were you freaking out in the first place?”

“Look, you’ve been to Storybrooke. You’ve seen the place I grew up in and you know they’re a bunch of conservative nutjobs for the most part.”

“Yes. I did have fun arguing with the guy who was convinced that homosexuality is unnatural because it makes no sense for anyone to be attracted to someone they can’t reproduce with.” Mulan gave a contented sigh which was at odds with her truly wicked grin. “He was so desperate to get rid of me and so completely out of arguments that in the end, he just ignored me and started talking to a pot plant instead. It was the most hilarious thing I’ve ever seen.”

“Exactly. That’s the kind of place I lived for eighteen years. Now, just imagine being brought up into a culture that tells you that if you have sex with anyone other than your husband, you’ll burn in hell, and that sex is for baby-making, not for personal enjoyment. Well, not if you’re a woman, at least. They don’t seem to care too much if men enjoy it. It might have something to do with the convenient fact that for men, the baby-making bit is also the enjoyable bit.” Belle groaned. “Getting off topic there. Anyway. You’d freak out about your first time too if you had all that behind you. But it’s ok. Aiden talked me down off the ceiling. I was just hoping that you two might be able to help out after the fact, so to speak. I realise that I probably should have had these conversations before I got married, but hindsight’s twenty-twenty and as long as I know I’m not weird, then it’ll all help, right?”

“Of course, whatever you need. I mean, I’ve only ever had sex with women, so I’m not sure how much use I’ll be, but if I can set your mind at ease, then I will.” Mulan patted Belle’s arm. “You’re safe with us.”

“My first time was kind of meh.” Ruby scrunched her face up. “We were both virgins, both sixteen. We were ready, mentally, that wasn’t a problem. We were just absolutely shit at the actual ‘having sex’ part, due to lack of practice. So, it wasn’t exactly mind-blowing. I think that’s a good argument against waiting until marriage, actually. If it’s your wedding night, you want that to be special and really good, and it’s never going to be the magical experience that everyone raves about if you’re both fumbling over which hole his dick’s supposed to go in and you’re nervous about it being the first time anyway.”

“That was part of the reason why I was freaking out,” Belle admitted. “I was scared of it hurting, and I didn’t want to end my wedding day by getting blood everywhere.”

“Yeah. It shouldn’t hurt, I don’t know who started the myth that you just have to accept that the first time always hurts. Probably some dudebro who couldn’t understand the intricacies of foreplay.”

“That’s what Aiden said.”

“I knew you were onto a winner with him!” Ruby beamed. “See! There’s no need to worry with a guy like that taking care of you. I only had girlfriends for a long time after high school, but luckily, the second guy I had sex with was a doctor, an OBGYN to be precise, and he definitely knew his way around. The third was a mechanic, very good with his hands. The fourth was a doctor again, but he was a psychologist. Then I met Mulan and suddenly my love life was a done deal.” She leaned over to kiss her girlfriend. “I’m still in touch with the psychologist, actually, if you need therapy.”

“I don’t think my upbringing was that traumatic.”

Ruby just looked at her. “Belle, you literally just told us that you had a freak-out about having sex for the first time as a direct result of your upbringing. Archie’s a great guy and I really think he could help you. Better than us non-professionals at any rate. Ok, ok, I’ll leave it alone for now,” she said when Mulan batted her arm to make her shut up. “What do you need? Because I am quite happy to take you toy-shopping. In fact, I have been itching to do that ever since I met you, but I always held off because you seemed…”

“Like a prude?”

“Yes. Well. No, because that makes it sounds like a bad thing. But you know what I mean.”

“Yes, I know what you mean.” Belle shook her head. She was only just getting to grips with having sex and enjoying it in the first place; there was no sense in rushing headlong into anything just yet, as liberating as the experience might be. “I think I just need female friends I can talk to about these things who aren’t going to freak out themselves.”

“Oh, we will definitely not freak out. And we’ll try to make sure that we don’t freak you out either. Well, I’ll try to make sure that I don’t freak you out. Mulan’s sensible, she won’t have to try.”

Belle laughed. It was good to be back in Boston and have her friends around her. It had been good to reconnect with some of her old school friends back in Storybrooke who had not moved on, too, but the very fact of them still being there, still being steeped in that culture, meant that she could not talk to them about her plight. They’d end up with exactly the same reaction as she had done so many times herself. Good girls don’t talk about that kind of thing. Good girls don’t think about that kind of thing.

She felt sorry for them in a way; it wasn’t their fault that they were stuck with such a faulty worldview as they were. Not everyone had her courage or means to get away from it. Part of her wanted to go back to Storybrooke and gather all her contemporaries together, shouting from the rooftops that it didn’t have to be this way.

With her declaration and all of the subsequent discussion out of the way, the talk turned onto other topics, namely the non-sexual aspects of the honeymoon. Belle had been able to take in most of the sights, even if she’d flown back to Boston thinking that she’d probably need another holiday to recover from everything that she’d done during the honeymoon.

Just as Belle was getting up to leave, Ruby pulled her back down and scribbled on a napkin, tucking it into her coat pocket. Belle fished it out to see that she’d been given Archie the therapist’s number.

“Just in case,” Ruby whispered.

Belle nodded. She hoped she wouldn’t need it, but it was always good to know that she had access to professional back-up in her mission.

It was still something of a novelty, sleeping in Aiden’s bed with him. In anticipation of their wedding, Belle had moved in with him three months ago, when the lease on her own apartment ended, but she had slept in the spare room. If it hadn’t been for all the kissing and teasing and the wedding planning going on all over the house, people would have been forgiven for thinking that they were roommates rather than an engaged couple. Now, all of her things had made the journey seven steps down the hall into the master room, with the exception of a few pairs of shoes that were a few too many to fit in Aiden’s closets.

Belle sat on the end of the bed, brushing out her hair and occasionally glancing over at herself in the cheval mirror. She was wearing her oldest and softest pyjamas, a pale pink camisole and long pants that had faded to grey with so much laundering. They were her favourite set, and she wasn’t looking forward to the day when they became so worn that she had to throw them out. She’d worn these pyjamas around the house so often that Aiden was used to seeing her in them, and she’d always felt comfortable wearing them around him.

Tonight, however, she was feeling different. Not uncomfortable, not at all. She couldn’t really describe it, but she knew that she wouldn’t have the confidence to keep feeling it if she hadn’t been wearing her favourite pyjamas, the ones she always felt safe in.

Up until now, Aiden had always been the one to initiate their intimate encounters. Belle had been happy to go along with him when he did; she had been very eager to agree with him when he suggested them, but she had never yet made the suggestion herself, always waiting until he brought the matter up. Tonight, she was going to turn the tables. Hopefully. If she didn’t chicken out at the last minute. She listened to the sound of Aiden brushing his teeth in the bathroom, remembering their wedding night involuntarily with a shudder. At least she knew that he wasn’t going to be hiding from her.

She was a married woman. There was no shame in her wanting to have sex with her husband. There wouldn’t have been any shame wanting to have sex even if she wasn’t a married woman. She still needed to keep reminding herself of that one. Trying to break the mental link between sexuality and morality was a lot harder than it seemed to be at first glance. Maybe Ruby was right and speaking to a professional would be a good idea.

She pushed the thought away for now; that was something that could be explored in the morning, when she couldn’t feel the heat rising in the pit of her stomach and calling out to her, telling her to get her man into bed and do something wonderful with him.

Almost on cue, Aiden came out of the bathroom, and Belle watched him cross the room to get into bed. Even in a t-shirt and pyjama pants, he still exuded an air of attractiveness and confidence. Maybe it was the confidence that made him so attractive. It certainly wasn’t vice versa; he had always been rather self-deprecating when it came to his own appearance. He hadn’t been able to believe when Belle had agreed to go out with him for the first time and his usual suave demeanour had pretty much instantly fallen as soon as she’d said yes, because he hadn’t had a plan for what to do in that situation, so convinced had he been of her imminent rejection. It was only now that she was working through her own confidence issues that Belle felt a new sense of kinship with him. Their circumstances were very different, of course, and their problems stemmed from different places, but the crux of it all came down to the same thing, a belief that had been instilled a long time ago that was very hard to break out of.

Belle slipped under the covers beside Aiden and switched off her reading light, plunging them into companionable darkness and cuddling in close. They’d fallen into their sleeping position so easily after that first night, although Belle had no intentions of sleeping just yet. It was easier in the darkness. She didn’t have to worry about looking like a fool who didn’t know what she was doing if Aiden couldn’t see her properly. The dark was kind to her.

She slid one hand down and under the hem of his t-shirt, resting her hand lightly on his stomach and feeling the little twitch he gave in response. She glanced up at him in the gloom, just able to make out his face.

She stayed with her hand on his stomach for a while, wondering where to go from there. Down towards his cock, or would that be too forward? Should she make her intentions known a bit more blatantly?

She kissed him in the dark, working her way slowly from his cheek, a little rough with the day’s stubble, round to his lips. He responded eagerly, opening his mouth to touch his tongue against hers. His hand came up to rest on her hip, fingertips drawing little circles on her skin under her camisole until Belle finally broke away from their kiss. She had gone into this with such determination to go for what she wanted, and now she just felt clumsy and embarrassed, unable to articulate her desires. It wasn’t that she lacked the language, nor particularly that she was having to deal with the snide voices telling her that she shouldn’t want this in the first place, let alone want to express how much she wanted it. It was more that she didn’t have the necessary gumption. She pulled her hand out from under Aiden’s t-shirt and let it fall back onto the mattress between them. Aiden kissed his way round to her ear.

“Was there something you wanted, sweetheart?” he whispered, his voice so soft and breathy that it sent a shiver of delight down Belle’s spine.

She nodded.

“Yes.”

“Tell me what you want, my love.”

“You.”

She felt rather than heard his little chuckle, and then he was pulling her over on top of him, running his hands down her back to cup her ass cheeks, kneading lightly through her pyjama pants. Belle dived in for another kiss.

She wasn’t sure how she felt about being on top. According to her research – well, according to the books she’d read – it was a popular position for women, but Belle couldn’t help feeling exposed, vulnerable. When she’d had Aiden’s warm weight covering her, she’d felt safe, hidden from whatever strange kind of angelic voyeurs might be out there checking up on her purity credentials. Now that she was taking the lead, there was far more chance of her shortcomings in the world of carnal pleasure becoming obvious. She knew that it made no sense in the long run; Aiden knew that the entirety of her practical knowledge came from what he had taught her already, so he wouldn’t be judging her for anything that she didn’t know.

That didn’t stop Belle judging herself, though. It was ridiculous, but she was still blaming herself for her lack of experience, wishing that she knew how to make Aiden feel as good as he made her feel. As much as she wanted to keep kissing him forever, because kissing was familiar territory and it always felt good, she knew that she was going to have to let them come up for air at some point, and she pulled away, sitting up a little and looking down at him. His hands came up to her waistband, thumbs hooking inside and continuing to draw little circle patterns against her skin.

“What do you want to do now?” he asked. His voice was so husky and seductive that Belle could almost feel her brain beginning to melt and dribble out of her ears.

The first words on the tip of her tongue were I don’t know. She had no idea where she was supposed to go from here, how she was supposed to vocalise it all having never really done so before. Aiden always liked her to talk to him, to tell him what felt good and what didn’t, not to be afraid to tell him if he was going too fast for her, and she loved him all the more for it, but now that their roles were reversed and he had put her in the driving seat, so to speak, she had lost all ability to form words.

“I want to touch you,” she said eventually, the sentence sounding stilted even as it came out of her mouth.

Aiden smiled. “I want you to touch me, too.”

“I’m just not sure how.”

“Well, putting your hands on me would be a good start.” Aiden sat up a little and pulled his t-shirt off before getting comfortable against the pillows again and taking Belle’s hands, placing them on his chest. “Tada.”

Belle rolled her eyes. “You know what I mean. I want to touch you how you touch me; I want to make you fall apart in the same way I do when your hands are all over me.”

“Well, I would suggest that you go with your instincts,” Aiden said, the words almost a purr.

It wasn’t the first time that she had explored his body with her hands, after all. It was just the first time that she was doing so with clear intent, as opposed to being caught up in the moment of intimacy. She slowly stroked her fingers over his chest, rubbing gently over his nipples and relishing the little hiss of pleasure that he gave, the buds tightening under her touch.

“Our bodies are not so very different,” he murmured. “What feels good to you will feel good to me.”

Belle kissed him again, pressing a line of soft little butterfly kisses down from his lips over his chin and neck, and down to his chest. She had always enjoyed his kisses to her breasts, although now that she was here doing it to him, she felt more self-conscious than she had ever done in bed before, and she pulled away.

“What’s wrong?” Aiden was immediately concerned, the worried expression in his eyes at odds with his heavy breath and the stirring hardness in his groin beneath her.

“Nothing, I just feel silly.”

“Why?” His hand came up to cup her cheek, stroking her hair out of her face as her eyes remained downcast, unable to face him.

“Because I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“Yes, you do.”

“No, I don’t. I’m just fumbling along like an idiot.”

“It really doesn’t feel like that, I promise you.”

Belle gave a soft huff of laughter. “You have to say that; you’re my husband.” She sighed; she’d had such grand plans when she’d come to bed, and now they were all falling down around her. She didn’t even know why. This wasn’t out of a subconscious desire not to do it; she could feel the heat already rising between her legs and the sight of Aiden’s flushed cheeks and lust-darkened eyes certainly weren’t helping her keep her head. This was more out of frustration, wishing that all the knowledge was there already.

“Practice and repetition is the best way to learn,” Aiden said. He pulled her down for another kiss. “The more you practice, the better you’ll get, and then you will know what you’re doing.”

“I know, I know; but doesn’t it frustrate you? Being with someone who doesn’t know what they’re doing?”

“I maintain that you do know what you’re doing. You’re not naïve, Belle, just inexperienced. And why would it frustrate me? No, I think of this as a wonderful opportunity. May I?”

His hands had come to the hem of her camisole, and Belle nodded, letting him pull it off over her head in one motion.

“Teaching you how I like to be touched is a most… pleasurable… experience…” He punctuated his words with kisses over her bare shoulders. “One that I will gladly undertake for as long as necessary. There’s no exam to pass at the end, my love. We can keep learning for as long as you like.”

“But surely you’d prefer it if you didn’t have to teach me in the first place?” With his lips and tongue touching her anywhere he could reach, Belle was having rather a lot of trouble concentrating on what she was trying to say, and sure enough, her worries seemed really to be of secondary importance compared to what Aiden was doing with his mouth.

“Oh no, my darling Belle. This is just going to make the ending all the sweeter. Now… Where were we?”

He interlaced his fingers with hers, placing them back on his chest and moving them slowly down towards the waistband of his pants.

Belle took this as her cue, slipping her hands under his waistband and pulling the pants down his legs and off, throwing them off the end of the bed. For good measure, she shimmied out of her own as well, before making her way back up the bed to Aiden’s cock. It was flushed dark red, precum already beading at the tip, and as she drew her fingertip up the bulging vein on the underside, it twitched under her touch, Aiden’s hips jerking with the sensation.

“You like that.” It was a statement, not a question. She had learned some things over the course of their intimate relationship, and she was definitely learning to identify the noises that Aiden made when she touched his cock like this. She made very similar noises herself when his hands were busy between her thighs, and after all, he’d said that what felt good to her would likely feel good to him too.

“Oh, Belle…” His voice was low and gravelly, almost as if he was struggling to get the words out. She curled her fingers around his cock and stroked him again, eliciting a long groan. He was slumped back against the pillows, eyes closed, and Belle smiled to herself. Maybe she was better at this whole thing than she thought she was. “Oh, Belle, if you keep that up then I’m not going to last.”

She said nothing, but continued to stroke him up and down, touching one fingertip to the quivering head and smearing the pearly liquid there. There was something in the sight of him, so vulnerable and so undone, that made Belle’s stomach turn somersaults, and as she shifted her position on the bed, she could feel the wetness of her own arousal between her legs. Something told her that she shouldn’t be feeling such want at the sight of this; that it was somehow voyeuristic, but she pushed that voice to the side. She was enjoying herself too much and she had come too far this evening already for her old anxieties to start creeping in again now.

“Fuck, Belle! I want to be inside you, my love. May I?”

“Yes.”

She moved up to straddle his hips, and Aiden brought a hand down between them to help line himself up with her entrance, but she paused, the tip of him just inside her.

Being on top couldn’t be that different, surely.

She sank down onto him, slowly, carefully. It was a different angle; it felt deeper than it had done before, but she was not uncomfortable, and she began to move, rocking her hips a little. Aiden’s hips thrust up to meet her, his hands grabbing her ass for leverage, and she braced herself against his chest. There was something about this time that made everything feel more urgent, more heated, and she couldn’t quite put her finger on it. Whatever it was, she wasn’t complaining. This was the kind of sex she’d read about in her illicit romance novels, or at least, she’d read as much as she could before she started squirming and blushing too much to be able to continue. This was what she would describe as passionate. Not that there had been no passion in their previous encounters, but it had been far gentler. This felt more like something out of a Harlequin.

Aiden’s fingers dug into her ass cheeks as he came, the motion of his hips stilling and his breath coming in ragged pants.

“Belle, I think you’re incredible,” he murmured as she raised herself up on shaking knees and let him slip out of her. “You’re a natural at this.”

Although some of her earlier misgivings were still there – she wasn’t sure that they were ever going to go away completely – Belle allowed herself a moment to preen. Yes, she was definitely learning.

#rumbelle fic #rumbelle #Belle French #Mr Gold #Fic: Pure

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