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snackhobi · 4 years

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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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rina-writes · 2 years

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Two Brothers - Send DM Ending

A/N: For the authentic experience - start with Two Brothers and choose your ending!

Warnings: Fem!reader, wealthy!reader, slightly older!reader, suggestive but nothing graphic, angsty to fluffy fic

You opened the Instagram app and sent the DM before you could stop yourself. You nearly jumped out of your skin when you saw that it went through. Your brain racked itslef trying to figure out when Clay had unblocked you. It must have been after that first night you worked at the merch table. That was the last time you and Clay had fun before this whole thing blew up. You smiled to yourself softly, leaning your forehead against the window and closing your eyes to indulge in the memory.

At this point, you could only hear the bass boosting and screams from the concert area. You and Clay were in your third round of I-Spy. This was usually the point where it got boring for you. But, you loved hearing Clay’s voice.

As he opened up to you there was a sweet depth to it that reminded you of honey. He spoke low, as though he was whispering, but you quickly realized that was his usual tone. He wasn’t as animated as his brother, not talking with his hands as much, but always maintained eye contact. Every time his light blue eyes lingered on yours for a second too long, you felt goose bumps sting your skin.

The curse of I-Spy is that you start to figure out a person’s style really quickly. You figure out how they describe things and what they like to look for. It’s the reason the game gets old very quickly for players over the age of seven.

By the second round, you realized quickly that Clay liked to pick items with unique attributes. Typically, only one item in the room was purple or upside down or shaky. You would drag out his turn, just to hear his bemused chuckles at your clearly wrong guesses.

“It’s not even purple!”

“Y/n! Are you forgetting the original hint?”

“Goodness, woman, it’s right in front of you.”

Your laughs filled your whole mouth and tears stung your eyes as you watched this grown, large man getting worked up over a silly game. You loved that you got to see it. You were dreading the moment those doors opened because you wanted to spend more time with him. You didn’t want to admit it, but you having a little more fun with Clay than you were with Jack. Jack was so go-go-go, but Clay was relaxed and took it easy. Except, of course, when someone could not figure out that something big and yellow was the giant McDonald’s arches shining through the window.

Your fingers reached up to swipe a tear from your cheek as your eyes fluttered open. You knew that you had felt a connection with Clay at that moment. But, you were sleeping with his brother and enjoying it. You knew that neither of them would appreciate you hopping from one to the next. So, instead you silently pretended that you weren’t attached to Jack. Except, your game of pretend also played Clay in the process.

Now, you weren’t attached to Jack, but dating Clay was completely out of the question. But, there was a sliver of hope now that you know Clay received your message. When you crafted your note and sent it, you did so with the intention of closure. You were expecting to send it into Instagram’s void of blocked messages to be able to speak your feelings without any repercussions.

Obviously, that’s not what happened. So, instead of going home playing a sad montage in your head like you were the protagonist of a romantic-comedy movie that was secretly about loving yourself the whole time, you were now feverishly awaiting a response from Clay.

Sitting in the dark car, a melancholic piano began to play, slowly ushering in a soothing alto saxophone. You leaned back to avoid the orange hue of the street lights from shining on your face. You feared that Henry or your brother would glance you way and see the tears that wouldn’t stop flowing. At this point, you were at the stage where you could cry without whimpering.

You knew from the moment you kissed Clay that there was something special. You also knew that by dating his brother for this long, you may have lost any chance of being with him. Your shoulders slumped as you switched between your lock screen and Instagram. As if somehow you would be able to spot the message before your notifications could. The dizzying effect of the bright screen distracted your mind from the pain and you finally stopped crying. You rested your head against the glass of the window and hummed along to one of the songs playing. Another alto saxophone solo and this one was undeniably mournful.

At some point, you had fallen asleep and didn’t wake up until you got home. You moved like a zombie out of the car, half hoping that all of this was a nightmare. The LA breeze tickling your tear-stained cheeks was a cruel reminder that this was, in fact, reality. The rest of your family was asleep so you were able to part ways with your older brother and head straight for your room.

Your room was your sanctuary on most days, but especially now. The size was similar to a hotel room with space for a queen-sized bed, a desk, a fitness mat with some workout equipment and a full bathroom with a tub, toilet and sink. On your bathroom sink counter top you had room for a small mini-fridge with your skin care products and tools. You also had speakers that played music only within your space. You decided to wait until tomorrow to play your break up playlist given that it was 2am.

You took your time to unpack your suitcase and toss your laundry into the hamper. You swallowed as you traced the lingerie you had reserved for your last night with Jack. Now, you were hoping it was his younger brother who would get to see it.

This triggered your memory about the message that you had sent to Clay. You checked Instagram one more time to see that claybornharlow had saw your message.

You almost dropped your phone. You rocked back and forth on your feet, biting the sides of your fingers, nervously. You stood there for almost twenty minutes, frozen in anticipation. With a heavy heart, you put your phone down and did the rest of your nightly routine. Despite checking your phone five more times before bed, there was still nothing from Clay.

You checked the next day. And the next day. And the next day. Still nothing.

You almost blocked him out of spite. You wanted to get the upper hand, but you knew that you already showed your cards. For the first time in these last few months you told a Harlow brother the complete truth. You wanted Clay and you chose him. The more days you waited for his response, the more your heart clamored for him. You dreamed of cradling him in your arms, laying on your sides nose to nose, brushing them against each other until he begrudgingly laughed from the tickling sensation. You imagined running your fingers on the ends of his buzzed ends, ruffling them while he laid his head in your lap and fell asleep during a movie. You craved more from him and any sense of closure was welcomed at this point.

It wasn’t until about a week later did you get a message from him. It was so simple, but yet so telling.

claybornharlow: 502-xxx-xxxx 7pm PST

You were in the middle of class when you received the text. You saw it as you emerged from the lecture hall, stopping dead in your tracks when the username registered in your brain. Your laptop bag slid off of your shoulder and it wasn’t until someone gasped next to you did you notice it. You awkwardly bent down to pick it up, your eyes still focused on your phone. It was almost like you were afraid it would disappear or he would take it back.

That had to be Clay’s phone number. And that must be the time he wanted you to call it. You stored the number quickly and created a phone reminder for yourself, but you knew you wouldn’t need it. This was going to be on your mind for the next four hours whether you liked it or not.

As you stared at your phone, now back in your bedroom at 6:55pm, you briefly considered that this was a setup. Maybe he and Jack were waiting for you to call and they would use your voice on a song. Probably some track entitled “These Hoes Ain’t Sh-T” or “Nothing Like Bros Over Dem Hoes”. You chuckled to yourself at the thought, but then shuddered realizing that it would be about you. It made you sick thinking about the fact that you would deserve it too.

You decided that you would go for it. If it meant hearing Clay’s voice one more time, it was worth it. Maybe he would give you a chance to elaborate and tell your side of the story. Maybe you could apologize and you could start fresh. Maybe he will call you trash and this was him notifying you of a restraining order. There was only one way to find out. At 7pm on the dot, you called the number. It hit two rings before you heard his deep voice fill your ears.

“Hey…” His voice sounded casual, but you could tell he was moving. You wondered if they were in the studio and he was leaving the room to talk to you privately. You made the assumption that he didn’t tell his brother about the call and you were pretty sure that you were right.

“Hi!” You said, a little too loudly. “I…uhm…are you okay?”

“Yeah.” Clay’s voice sounded shaky. He was nervous. “I figured we should talk about your…what you said…you know?”

“Yeah…” You said, biting your lip so hard you were afraid it would bleed. “I’m glad you saw it. I thought you would have blocked me again.”

“I wanted to…” He confessed. “But I think I was hoping I would hear from you. I wasn’t expecting that though.”

“That message may have been a little strong…” You said, second guessing yourself. You did say that you were in love with him. That was beyond a little strong.

“A little?!” Clay raised his voice slightly and let out a laugh that turned into a groan. “You drive me crazy, you know that, Y/n? Absolutely, batsh-t crazy.”

You could tell he was outside now. You closed your eyes and tried to imagine him. He was most likely doing that thing where he walked with one hand holding his phone to his ear and the other pressed to his forehead. When he said your name, you were sure he ran his hand from the front to the back of his head in one quick motion over and over again. He did that when he felt anxious.

“In a good way or a bad way?” You asked him, your voice coming out shy.

“Sometimes, I don’t know.” Clay responded, “You’re putting me in a tough spot. You realize that, right?”

You did. You were asking Clay to date his brother’s ex. You couldn’t even imagine the level of humiliation this was for both of them. Jack losing his ex to his little brother and Clay getting his older brother’s sloppy seconds. And worse for you was the fact that you were going to be reduced to this “thing” that the Harlow brothers shared. Everyone who knew that you and Jack hooked up were going to look at you like a clout chasing whore.

Yet, you still asked it of Clay because you knew being withhim was what you wanted. If he wanted this too, then you would endure it all.

“It’s going to take time. You’ll need to talk to Jack, of course. Maybe I could too… But, I think it will work out, Clay.” You assured him. “If you want me--”

“I always wanted you.” He cut you off, his voice almost like a growl. “Ever since you sashayed on to that balcony in that brown little dress, I haven’t wanted anything else. I used to be sick to my stomach hearing your sounds from my brother’s hotel room. Constantly thinking, that should be me.”

“Clay--” You closed your eyes and tried to keep your voice steady. “I was confused. Jack is so nice. He really is. But, I don’t think I like him that way. Not the way I like you. I should have figured that out before Jack and I messed around but…”

“If this is going to work, you’re going to have to NOT talk about messing around with my brother.” Clay said, what sounded like through gritted teeth. “Just the thought of you being with him makes me so angry.”

“I’m yours, Clay, I promise. I’ll show you that. Let me prove it to you.” You cradled your phone to your ear, imagining it was him. “I want to see you again. Soon.”

“Things need to cool off. I need time to think. Jack needs some space. I’m happy you feel this way about me, but I’m still unsure on where I stand.” Clay sighed. “I need time, Y/n.”

“And I will wait for you. I promise…” You smiled softly. “I’m stuck on you, Clay, and I don’t think I’ll get unstuck either.”

You would never forget when Clay said that to you. The rollercoaster it was when he talked about the way he loved and how he was scared to love you. It made you hopeful because it meant there was a possibility to create a space for you. You were stuck on him for sure, you just needed to show him that he could trust you enough to do the same.

You could hear the smile in his voice when he responded. “You really do drive me batsh-t crazy…”

Clay really did take his time. It wasn’t until a month later did you receive a text message from him.

Clay: I miss you...

As always, Clay had impeccable timing. You were sitting in the waiting room for the law firm you were hoping to intern at this summer. All your previous interviews were secretly just warm-ups for this. As you waited for your name to be called, you kept anxiously checking the time on your phone. When Clay’s message popped up on your screen you had to cover your mouth to keep from screaming. A weight was lifted off your shoulders and you practically skipped into the interview room. If you could get Clay to give you another chance, then this firm is going to realize how much of a damn good lawyer you were going to be.

You: I miss you too, Clay. Just got out of an interview. I think I nailed it.

Clay: Wanna talk about it?

Clay: Call me...I’m about to go on a walk...

The soon became a tradition for you two. In between your classes and when he had free time in his schedule, you would text each other to go on walks. Some times you would video chat as you walked, but mostly you talked on the phone. You loved it. It felt like he was walking next to you. You learned so much about each other: your dreams, your goals, your fears, everything. You also learned how well you fit together. You like a lot of the same things and bounced off each other well. You yearned to see him in person and see how your chemistry translated into other aspects of your lives. Except, Clay was a traditional guy. He wanted to call you his girlfriend before getting involved and that meant telling Jack about you two.

You weren’t going to push Clay. You didn’t have the right to after what you had done. So, you enjoyed as much of Clay as you could because it was already more than you could ask.

After months of texting and talking on the phone, Clay finally mustered the courage to ask his brother if it was okay to date you. Jack did not take it well at first. Jack closed himself off from Clay which resulted in a chilling silent treatment on both sides. You mostly heard about the awkwardness from Clay’s side who, for a leg on the tour, actually returned to Louisville because he couldn’t take the tension anymore.

Clay was nonchalant about it. He bad-mouthed his brother, calling him childish and cowardly. He claimed that he didn’t care what Jack thought. Clay ranted about girls Jack had “stolen” from him, and how “okay” he had been about it. Over and over, Clay kept assuring you that he was okay.

You knew Clay was hurting. You don’t talk to someone every day and not hear the difference in their voice or memorize every expression on their face. Clay was destroyed. This was the longest the two brothers had fought and even their mother was starting to get worried. You asked Clay if you talking to Jack would help and he was skeptical. He warned you against it, but after a couple days of asking, he let you make the call.

You were surprised that Jack actually answered. If you were in his position, you would have blocked him. You hoped it was a sign that he didn’t want to get rid of you completely.

“Hi Jack….” You said, softly. You remembered when saying those words made you feel warm and fuzzy. Now, you just felt nervous.

“What do I owe this pleasure, Y/n?” Jack asked. “Here to confess to more people you messed with during our relationship.”

You wanted to make a snarky comment about how you weren’t actually in a relationship with Jack. But you bit your tongue. You knew he was speaking from a place of hurt that you caused. If you didn’t let him get a jab or two in, all that anger would continue to fester and get directed at poor Clay. Instead you said, “I’m here to talk about Clay. Specifically, you and Clay.”

“What?” Jack scoffed, you could imagine him leaning him back in the chair from the way his voice dipped slightly. “Did he run to Mommy to solve his problems? Is that what you like?”

You grimaced. You didn’t think Jack would bring up the small age difference between you and Clay, but you decided to push through it.

“He actually wanted me to butt out, but I just couldn’t sit on the sidelines.” You sighed. “Jack, you hate me. That’s okay. I deserve to be hated by you. I deceived you from the very first day we met and that was wrong. I should have told you then what happened, but I was so thrilled by the attention you were giving me that I didn’t. And that was crummy. I’m sorry.”

Jack was silent for so long you checked your phone to see if he hung up. He let out a long breath and sighed. “I don’t hate you, Y/n. We had good times together. And, sure, I was envisioning a future for us, but I was also still nervous to DTR so…” Jack paused, “...that’s besides the point. The point is that I feel like the body of our break up is still warm yet you and Clay are already running into the sunset. It’s disrespectful.”

“I understand that.” You nodded, although he couldn’t see it. “And I assume your bed has been cold these past few weeks? Hmm?”

Jack sucked his teeth before letting out a short laugh. “Okay, I see your point.” He sighed, “But it’s different. One, I wasn’t keeping it warm with one of your sisters. And two, I keep feeling like Clay was just waiting in the shadows. I talked with him about you. Our dates, our similarities, our plans. Was he just sitting there thinking about how he was the one who was going to be with you this whole time? Was he…mocking me?”

You frowned, “Jack. You told me you know your brother better than anyone. Better than yourself. You know he wouldn’t do that. You know deep down what was going through Clay’s head.”

You sighed. In fact, you didn’t know yourself what was going through Clay’s head and you were secretly hoping Jack would tell you.

“Yeah,” Jack’s chair squeaked loudly which told you he was rocking back and forth. “I’m pretty positive he was miserable. He was probably beating himself up, wishing that he could erase everything that happened between you two. I think I’m angry because I didn’t notice. I couldn’t tell how much pain it caused him and honestly if I knew--”

Jack stopped short. Your eyes widened. Was Jack about to say what you thought he was going to say? That if he had known how Clay felt about you he would have backed off? Jack didn’t finish his sentence so, you took the opportunity to turn the conversation.

“I’m still getting to know Clay, but there’s this wall there.” You confessed sadly. “I know it’s because he won’t fully open up until he has your blessing. As much as I know Clay wants to get close to me, I know that if given the choice, he would choose you. Just like you chose him.”

“I have to go…” Jack said after a long pause.

You could feel your lip trembling at the abrupt transition. You felt embarrassed. He cut you off like you were talking about the weather. But, you were actually baring your soul to him. “Oh, uhm, okay…”

“And Y/n?” Jack’s voice was in that quick rush that one would use when they almost forgot something. “He’s a lot more sensitive than you think. Be careful with him. That’s my little bro.”

You smiled, feeling the happy tears welding in your eyes. “I will.” The call ended and you knew that the feud between the brothers had ended as well.

Six months later

You smiled when you saw Clay standing in the hotel lobby. He was wearing a black collared shirt and dark jeans. A black blazer hung off one of his shoulders making him look like a chic bad boy. He had a fresh hair cut which most likely included his facial hair since it was also well-groomed. He was staring at some of the pictures on the walls. His eyes were fixated on a photograph of a woman that you knew he would adore the moment you saw it yourself. You were glad you chose to stay in the 21C Museum Hotel for your first visit to Louisville. You were mostly pleased that the occasion was your first official date with Clay.

It took a bit of coordinating with your final year of law classes and, now that Clay was back on tour with Jack, his tour schedule, but you two were finally able to find a weekend to meet up.

You cleared your throat as you approached and grinned brightly at his star struck expression. You had started to crack Clay’s icy exterior and now you could read his expressions better as well. The way his sky blue eyes sparkled at you confirmed that you took his breath away.

“Hi Clay…” You smiled at him, biting down softly on your red glossed lips.

“Wow…” He let out a low sigh. “...you look amazing. Your dress….”

“It’s the same as your favorite one,” You turned a bit in the silk slip dress making the ends twirl while the rest clung tighter to your frame. You heard Clay’s breath hitch. “It’s just in red. You like red, right?”

“Even if I didn’t, I would now.” Clay exhaled loudly. “Wow…”

You opened your arms for a hug and he enveloped you in his wide, warm embrace. He bent down, pressing his lips to the shell of your ear. His whisper was so low, it sounded like a growl. “It’s taking everything in me not to march you into that elevator and take it to your floor.”

“You should at least take me to dinner before tossing me on my bed.” You whispered back, ignoring the chills running up your spine at the thought.

Clay chuckled, “That’s assuming I would even make it that far.”

Your blood froze as a shiver ran through you. Clay pulled back to give you a bright smile. His teeth were just as straight and white as his brother’s, but he had more of a boyish charm. He outstretched his large hand and you grabbed it, allowing yourself to be pulled along. Clay walked you out of the hotel, his fingers laced between yours effortlessly. The chilly air tickled your exposed skin. Louisville was a lot colder than LA this time of year so, you were glad that you had brought a light, black jacket that you draped over your shoulders. You were so enamored with the walk with Clay that you were surprised when you stopped in front of a restaurant.

You looked up to see the name “Vincenzo’s” printed on the front. You grinned a bit at him. On one of your phone calls, you told him that you loved Italian food. He assured you that the first time you came to Louisville, he would treat you to a meal at Vincenzo’s. That was months ago and you couldn’t believe he kept his promise.

“After you,” Clay said, opening the door for you.

“Why, thank you.” You said teasingly, walking in, the warmth of Clay’s body appearing quickly behind you. It took you back to that night on the balcony. He was so warm and strong. Suddenly, you were thinking about his words back at the hotel and you were hoping that would be a reality. But, not yet. You were going to take things slowly this time around. You weren’t going to mess this up again.

“Table for two?” The head waiter said, looking at Clay with recognition.

“That’s correct.” Clay confirmed.

“Right this way, Mr. Harlow. Your reservation is ready.” The waiter said, leading the way to the table.

Clay enclosed his hand around your and pulled you with him. You would never get used to the sensation of holding Clay’s hand. It was a complete dream. You were seated, and Clay chose the sit next to you instead of sitting across. Once you were comfortable, Clay’s hand covered yours once more, resting both of your wrists on the table.

“Someone’s touchy today…” You remarked, teasingly.

“I’m not letting you go this time.” Clay grinned. “You’re all mine.”

He leaned in and pecked you on the cheek. You smiled at him, etching his own in your mind. You were sure it would be another thing that you wanted to experience over and over again when this night was over.

A server walked over pushing a car with a large bucket filled with ice and a giant bottle of champagne. There were two glasses positioned top down as well. You quirked a brow at Clay, but he looked just as confused.

“Compliments of Mr. Jack Harlow….” The server explained as they opened the bottle effortlessly. “...to which he wishes you both, that he affectionately refers to as the lovely couple, a great evening.”

You saw several emotions wash over Clay’s face: surprise, relief, and unbridled joy. You felt the same welding in your heart. You were so excited for this new chapter with Clay and looking forward to see where it all went next.

Would you like to rewind time and...

... delete the note >>>

.... send that message to Jack >>>

#jack harlow #jack harlow blurb #jack harlow imagine #jack harlow x reader #r-writes-fic

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retvenkos · 3 years

Text

“this place feels like home”

A/N: someone mentioned it, so here i am

WHAT THE HOGWARTS COMMON ROOMS LOOK LIKE, IN MY CLEARLY SUPERIOR OPINION...

gryffindor common room

i’m no interior decorator, and i’m betting godric gryffindor wasn’t either, so it looks like a glorified man cave

lots of designated areas for just hanging out, a huge, central fireplace, lots of open places perfect for pulling your wand on someone to duel, but very cluttered in other areas where you are meant to be close for house bonding!

secondly, there are a total of like, 4 desks you can use to work on, and they’re pushed to the walls, the chairs constantly stolen for something or another.

the main focus of the gryffindor common room is the couches and chairs

there’s a recliner that some muggle-born student brought in, and when they first kicked it out the purebloods went absolutely feral

they don’t know how it works, but they love it

there are so many radios... gryffindor has the best sound system for any kind of party. the other houses have to use charms to get the sound evenly distributed, but gryffindors just use their like, 10 different radios

there are a lot of spare pillows and blankets, but they don’t exactly have a place to go - they’re usually just thrown on the back of the couches or cast to the floor.

sometimes the 1st years will play “the ground is lava” and it’s vvv sweet

the ceiling has constellations mapped onto it, and they’re actually accurate. using your wand, you can “shift” the sky and it’s a really effective way to get your astronomy homework done

harry didn’t notice it because he’s as observant as a doorknob

the most chaotic thing about the gryffindor common room is the fact that there are real swords and battle axes on the wall, all of which belonged to godric gryffindor himself

students will 100% try to use them as jokes, but they can never manage to actually grab them? their hands just go right through them like they aren’t real

but if you approach them with nothing but wonder and reverence, when you reach out, you can most definitely feel them, and they are real

i really just want someone to have picked up a battle axe during the battle at hogwarts, now

there are a couple of portraits that give life advice, but most of them are #tired and leave their portraits to go visit others because the common room can get so crazy

the amount of animals this common room has,,,, i sure do hope you’re not allergic

there are lizards, rats, toads, cats, tarantulas...

if you’re afraid of any of them, tell your classmates when you’re still a first or second year and the whole of gryffindor tower will rally behind you to make the other person put their animal in their dormitory

there always seems to be leftover food from a party, so you’re well fed.

and if you’re from another house, this is the easiest house to steal food from.

oh, and the carpet (because YEAH, someone put in carpet with some kind of magic) does not match the furnishings at all.

minimalists cry at the sight of this common room

slytherin common room

first of all!!!! this common room has a glass ceiling because someone else came up with this idea and it is legendary

they mentioned the merfolk help with classes! they know sign language! i am very here for it.

then,,, there is an entire section of the common room that is dedicated to games - checkers, chess, poker, solitaire, even some muggle board games

it’s how they foster community. friendly competition is everything to slytherins and slytherins can actually do friendly competition, unlike ravenclaws

at lot of purebloods are still trying to win risk. it confuses them so much.

there’s probably a cat or two in this common room

they actually get along fairly well with the owls, but every so often snape has to come in and stop then from attacking each other and it would be hilarious if he weren’t so intimidating

there’s a lot more space in this common room, or maybe it’s just set up as to give the illusion of more space. either way, the slytherins are more spread out.

they don’t like breathing on each other

the gothic aesthetic does exist, but it’s not all gloomy because some intelligent slytherin’s know that’s bad for mental health.

they probably have a fourth of the room (maybe in a corner) that’s a little more lighted and cozy, with the most supportive portraits in that area

the slytherin common room has bean bags

this was a later addition, ofc, seeing as there is no way in hell salazar slytherin would ever allow that to happen

but everyone loves them a whole lot. 1st years always beeline for them

and slytherin was a good interior decorator, so we have the perfect ratio of portraits to wall space and the amount of lamps is actually palatable.

and there might be a dramatic hamlet skull on a table or two, but they’re not real - just decor. sometimes slytherin’s use them for pranks.

there’s actually a fair bit of communal property, too? like, there’s a lot of blankets, a bookshelf, and a table that always has food on it because the dungeons are hella far away from the kitchens and many slytherins like a good midnight snack

the slytherins actually talk more to ghosts than the other houses - ghosts like to hang out in the dungeons, and the amount of ghost jokes that the slytherins know is incredible

a group of hufflepuffs swear they once heard professor binns laugh at a ghost joke one of the slytherin’s retold

the snake iconography of this room is so high - it would honestly be a little unnerving if everyone wasn’t just used to it.

there’s probably a game going around where someone will conjure up an extra snake decoration and every week the first and second years are trying to find out which one it is

sometimes a very tired 5th year will give you a hint

there’s not a space that’s specifically designated for studying, but you can often find space in a few different places.

the desks are always being used for games, like i mentioned above, but someone had introduced the idea of lap desks and slytherins love that so much.

ravenclaw common room

this is the most minimalist of the common rooms in decor and style, but there’s so much happening at all times that it never looks bare

and a fair few ravenclaws are BIG about organization, so this is one of the more compartmentalized common rooms

it’s also formatted this way because the studious ravenclaw has threatened the musically inclined ravenclaw, saying that they will not hesitate to sabotage the other’s saxophone if they ever hear careless whisper while trying to study for n.e.w.t.s again.

also, i just want to say that ravenclaw house is probably one of the most diverse houses because creativity is so broad, and that combined with their individualistic streak means that community is a little less strong in this house, but there’s a place for everyone

i have no doubt that someone has enchanted the common room to expand on the inside, so it has much more room than say gryffindor common room or hufflepuff common room.

they’re also big about making boundaries - there’s probably actual walls and doors between different areas.

like, one for studying, one for art (like drawing and painting), one for music, etc.

also, you would think this is a quiet common room but you would be wrong.

the quiet ones are slytherin and hufflepuff. gryffindor and ravenclaw are both p chaotic.

except for the quiet room, which is as silent as they come. if you need quiet inspiration, you go there. it’s also the study room, though, so when you’re struck with inspiration, you have to keep quiet.

now, ravenclaws like to keep what is theirs, but they do have some communal property, mostly in the form of books and materials like typewriters and art supplies (although some people are very territorial about their brushes. it’s a toss up.)

there’s a floor to ceiling window that can actually be opened up - kind of like doors. the ravenclaws have it instead of the gryffindors because they have self control and won’t jump out the window without a sure plan of survival.

there’s also statues and busts! rowena ravenclaw was decent at interior design, and she loved sculpture - maybe she had a sculptor lover at one point? who knows? there’s just a lot of busts in ravenclaw tower

no doubt they’re enchanted to give advice or tbh just to gossip. i imagine there’s a lot of gossip in ravenclaw tower

the walls are painted in some places. it’s a rule that you don’t paint over other people’s art, but the paint is also enchanted so that if you look closely, you can see the name of who has painted what, and ravenclaws are too proud to do idiotic things like drawing crude doodles on the walls.

the only person to ever paint on the ceiling is luna lovegood, and she was commissioned to do so after her time at hogwarts.

there’s also a chalkboard wall for when you’re studying and need to write things down to think. beware, though, because your work can and will be erased.

you can also write on the large window i talked about! muggle students have brought dry erase markers and they are much needed.

oh, and ravenclaws have a lot of owl access - they owls like to stop at ravenclaw tower for treats and whatnot, and ravenclaws definitely use this to their advantage. they have priority for mail service and it’s a win tbh.

hufflepuff common room

now helga hufflepuff was no interior decorator either, but she was a homemaker, so we all know that this common room is the most home-like of the bunch

first of all, there are potted plants everywhere. hufflepuffs are known to be good at herbology, and that tradition means there are a whole lot of life in this common room

there’s also a curious amount of sunlight, too, despite being in the basement. i’m not exactly sure how it’s done, but the common room has actual sunlight - it’s important for the plants.

i also imagine there’s one wall that is a long mirror. you can use it for whatever you like, introspection, self affirmations, or reflecting light or whatever, but helga thought it was important to always be aware of yourself.

muggle students have brought sticky notes and now the mirror if full of them - little reminders, little motivations, fun quotes, jokes, etc.

there’s also a lot of couches and desks. the desks are usually very cluttered, but you can always find space for your stuff, somehow. and the couches are the softest at hogwarts, gryffindors have been trying to steal them for years.

also, the marauders were incredibly presumptuous, thinking they had found all of the secret passageways in the castle - there are at least 3 secret passages that only hufflepuffs know about and it’s one of the best kept secrets at hogwarts. they all connect to the common room.

and as initiation, on their first night as hufflepuffs, first years traverse secret passageways in the dark trying to figure out where they lead, all of them having to work together to figure out the lumos spell for some light.

and one of those passageways leads to the kitchens. it’s how they get the best food for parties. hufflepuffs often put in requests for what they want at breakfast or dinner.

this is also the warmest common room. i’m not exactly sure how it’s done, but the common room is never cold - maybe a little chilly, but not cold enough that you need a sweater.

the flooring is carpet, but parts of it are hard wood - it’s clear it used to be carpet, but was stained beyond repair from a broken pot or two.

there is toad supremacy in the hufflepuff common room. there’s probably one or two toads that don’t have real owners but are treated as the house pets.

there’s also a few paintings - all of them are smaller because there’s so much going on in this common room already, the walls have to be mellow to account for everything else, but there’s a couple and all of them like to tell jokes and give really good advice.

two of the newer (and favorite) additions include cedric diggory and tonks. they both get along quite well, although tonks is more mischievous and cedric is more down to earth.

cedric will often tell you how to charm a professor, if you ask, and he might give answers to homework questions to favorite students.

similar to gryffindor common room, there’s a lot of cozy areas that encourage students to chat with each other and spend time together.

but similar to slytherin, there is a lot of games about - they involve less strategy and more fun (like hide and go seek or charades) - but games is a bonding strategy that hufflepuffs utilize.

AND FLUFF ENSUES.

-- taglist: @musicallisto, @theletterhart, @locke-writes, @randomfandomimagine, @brokenandheadoverheels, @timeofmadness, @writerdream22, @lotsoffandomrecs, @neelia-thedaughtherof-athena, @coffee--writes, @lenalxvegood, @cooloaflandhero, @swanimagines, @noesapphic, @amortensie // message me if you want to be added!

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mythgirlimagines · 3 years

Photo

Here is a brand new talentswap for this week! Let’s give a sweet welcome to Myth, the Former Ultimate Mathematician!

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BACKSTORY AND TALENT

Myth was raised by a family of academics and alumni of Hope’s Peak, and thus, Myth has a massive appreciation for all things academia. Ever since Myth was little, she has shown stunning aptitude in math, and eventually, it became her favorite subject in school. Myth was also captain of her school’s Math Bowl team, after usurping the previous captain in a battle of wits. Before Myth was invited to join the Hope’s Peak roster, Myth attended a very prestigious school district, and garnered local fame for her mathematical prowess. Her mathematical aptitude is so large, that she can solve complex mathematical equations, such as calculus, mentally and in under half a minute. These skills make her a valuable asset in both competitions and mathematical journals. As an adult, she runs a mathematics tutoring business, for younger struggling students.

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RELATIONSHIPS

Wyre Anon, Former Ultimate Baton Twirler

Two halves of a whole nerd, these two have been best friends ever since they first met in the same prestigious academy. As opposed to the math club, Wyre was part of the marching band as the head baton twirler, and garnered infamy for her prowess at leading the band. Despite Wyre’s wild and crude nature contrasting heavily against both her former academy and Myth’s personality, Wyre is like Myth’s personal cheerleader and hype girl, always there to pick Myth up on her low days and defend her against people who want to pick on Myth’s weight. In return, Myth offers Wyre tutoring to help her get through the private school.

Outfit: A blue and red majorette outfit with a matching hat, glasses are clean and unbroken.

Anon Scar, Ultimate Gardener

Fancying herself as the “Supreme High Overlord of The Valley of Death”, said ”Valley of Death” is actually simply a very large flower garden that Scar tends to all by herself. With a vast botanical knowledge and a caring and maternal nature towards both plants and people, underneath her constant supernatural boasting. Myth never really had much experience with botany, but she uses her conversations with Scar as learning experiences. While Scar finds Myth polite and kindhearted enough, Scar’s maternal instincts just flair up, every time she witnesses Myth get stressed and then shoving unhealthy snacks into her face.

Outfit: Hair in a side plait and decorated with small flowers, a hooded black cloak and matching makeup, over a copper and green dress, nothing on her feet.

Fusion Anon, Ultimate Billiards Player

Originally from a less-than-fortunate family, Fusion has taken it to the pool tables to earn his family money. Fusion’s accurate eyesight and strategic mindset lets him dominate every pool tournament that he enters. Myth and Fusion both bond over their intellectual interests and their love for snacks. In fact, Myth and Fusion usually meet up to exchange snacks with each other. Fusion is currently trying to teach Myth how to play billiards, viewing Myth’s intelligence as a great advantage on the pool table. Similar to Scar, Fusion carries himself with a parental air and regularly looks after the other Ultimates like they are his children.

Outfit: A blue and yellow striped vest over a red tie with a star on it and a white dress shirt, glasses, pants and shoes from original design, always carries and stims with his lucky pool cue.

Fusion Anon II, Ultimate Knitter

As much as Fusion II tries to pull off the rebellious teenager act, it’s a bit hard to do that, considering she knits in her spare time and donates her knitted crafts to charity. While at first, Myth viewed Fusion II as simply a thug from the wrong side of the rails and Fusion II viewed Myth as a reminder of her nerdy self from middle school, her opinion of the knitter quickly changed once she learned about her charitable and kindhearted side, particularly to children and elders. Now the two’s relationship are on the more positive side, with a private intellectual meme chat being the ultimate deciding factor in their friendship.

Outfit: Same outfit from the original, but with a red scarf around her neck and blue gloves and brown boots with white fluff on the inside.

Just Anon, Ultimate DJ

DJanon is well-known in underground nightclubs for his energetic music mixes and his expertise in hyping up his audience. Many rumors claim that he is nocturnal, and it’s not hard to see why, for he seems to lose all of his energy during the day and become grouchy and lazy. Myth never really was experienced when it comes to music, and Janon’s music just seems to hurt her ears. Janon doesn’t seem to like anyone who reminds him of school, so the hatred between Myth and Janon is mutual. However, Janon has a secret soft spot for the preteen fanbase of his that he desperately wants to keep hidden.

Outfit: A pink Daft Punk style helmet with bunny ears on top, a pink jumpsuit with blue circuit patterns, light blue boots.

Sparkle Anon, Former Ultimate Jazz Musician

As both an expert on both the saxophone and the piano and a person with a very flashy stage presence, it is no wonder that Sparkle is the leading lady of her all-female jazz troupe, ”THE SPECTACULAR SONGSTRESSES”. As opposed to Janon’s music, Myth finds Sparkle’s music to be much more pleasant to listen to. Myth may not understand much of Sparkle’s over-dramatic demeanor and vocabulary, but she stays silent and tries her best to keep up with the energetic attitude of the jazz musician. Sparkle appreciates the high class and intelligent musical tastes of Myth, and usually lets Myth preview her new jazz songs.

Outfit: A black fedora, a black overcoat slung around her shoulders, a white dress shirt with golden music note buttons, a red tie, black pants, black slip-on shoes.

Egg Anon, Former Ultimate Soccer Player, and Wet Sock Anon, Former Ultimate Actor

Both of these twins have achieved stardom and became role models for NB youth everywhere. They also have a penchant for creeping people out with the cursed images they put into people‘s heads, but the similarities stop there. While Egg is an inspiration for non-binary people thanks to their athletic prowess securing wins for their varsity team, Wet Sock inspires and astonishes non-binary people, thanks to their famous face and stellar performance skills on both theater sets and movie sets. As much as Myth tries to be polite when interacting with the Freak Twins, their verbal intrusive thoughts just disgust her.

Egg’s Outfit: A green headband, a green and dark blue track jacket, a white tanktop, shorts that match their jacket, white socks, blue and green cleats.

Wet Sock’s Outfit: A black and white tuxedo with a light green scarf.

Curious Anon, Jr. Ultimate Film Director

Despite their age and relative newness to the job, Curious has garnered fame for their high-budget and gripping emotional tales on the big screen. But the one film that truly sealed their fame as a director was ”The Ice Cage”, a film detailing a person slowly moving out of the glass shell that they have been put into by society. Because of their similar polite and passive temperaments, Myth and Curious get along very well. While Myth may not have much experience with the arts, she uses her conversations with Curious as learning opportunities to gain more knowledge on the creative process.

Outfit: Same outfit from the original, but with a black jacket and beret.

Anon Nerd, Former Ultimate Kickboxer

Dominating the underground kickboxing tournaments that are frequently held in his less-than-stellar hometown, Nerd‘s sheer physical power is nothing to laugh at and many people yearn to learn Nerd’s ways. Unfortunately, Nerd isn’t exactly the best when it comes to being kind to others, and responds to foreign emotions with his fists and feet. Nerd can’t help but want to whip the chubby mathematician into shape, upon seeing her get stressed and stress eat as a result. But Nerd’s aggressive training just scares the kindly mathematician away, much to the kickboxing champion’s chagrin and anger.

Outfit: Black shorts held up by a white drawstring, bandaged-up arms and feet, a black bathrobe over all that.

Eldritch Anon, Ultimate Party Planner

As a strong believer in Murphy’s Law, Eldritch shoots and double-shoots to make sure that every party that he plans goes off without a hitch, and nothing bad will ever happen. This mindset may make him a great planner, but he isn’t so crash-hot, when he actually attends the parties he planned. Fortunately, Myth is polite and easily-pleased, which is a pass in Eldritch’s party-planning and people-pleasing book. Unfortunately, Eldritch found out that Myth gets easily stressed, so he has to remove any stress—arousing things from any party that she happens to be attending. At least Eldritch now has some common ground with Myth.

Outfit: A green and yellow party hat on his head, hair stained with streamers and sprinkles, a pink camo jacket with his pockets stuffed with party favors over a light pink shirt with blue and yellow balloons on the front, shorts and slippers from original design.

Dream Anon, Ultimate BMX Biker

Commonly known by the stunt community as the “Pink Pinball”, Dream became famous on the internet for her filmed BMX stunts, and her bright pink ensemble she wears while performing said stunts. She regularly frequents skate parks and bike-racing tracks to practice her skills, and even established a BMX club at her school. Dream and Myth are complete opposites in just about everything, so Dream regularly gives proper workout sessions (unlike Nerd) and encourages Myth to loosen up and live on the edge, and Myth regularly looks after Dream to make sure her stunts aren‘t too dangerous.

Outfit: A bright pink and grey jump suit with a matching motorcycle helmet.

Iris Anon, Jr. Ultimate Glassblower

As the latest child in a long and prestigious line of glassblowers, it was expected by her parents that Iris would carry the family business. Despite her parent’s doubts due of her supreme clumsiness, Iris is amazing at both creating and delivering drinking glasses and adorable glass trinkets, which happen to be her two major specialities. Despite her optimistic temperament, Iris has anxiety that she tries desperately to hide underneath her happy and slightly ditzy facade. Myth can especially relate to keeping up a facade to mask anxiety, and Iris regularly imparts wisdom onto Myth to help the constantly-stressed mathematician.

Outfit: Hair pulled back into a braided ponytail, a pair of brown goggles over her eyes, a grey jumpsuit, black gloves and boots.

Purple Anon, Ultimate Sailor

Well-known amongst her peers for piloting the P.S Prose, Purple sailed across the vast and open ocean, and dodged dangerous storms, waves and wildlife along the way. Unfortunately, spending all your time surrounded by nothing but water doesn’t exactly do wonders for your social skills, for Purple is shockingly timid and regularly hides behind her good friend Fusion. Despite Purple’s archaic maritime terms confusing everybody but Myth and Fusion, Purple is still very sweet and kind. Myth offering Purple some of her anti-stress candy was the start of a simply beautiful friendship.

Outfit: A white captain‘s hat, hair tied into small pigtails, a purple overcoat over a blue and white striped shirt and a black ascot, black pants, tall white socks, black shoes.

This series centers around the secretly-stressed mathematician learning about new anti-stress techniques from her colorful peers, in order to combat her constant stress-snacking.

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APPEARANCE

Myth wears her brown hair down with hairpins on each side that resemble a plus and minus sign. Myth wears the same uniform from her old private school that she (much to her embarrassment) still is able to fit into. It consists of a black jacket that has math-themed pins over a white dress shirt and a red and blue tie, a white and light blue checkered skirt that resembles a line graph. On her legs and feet are black leggings and red Mary Janes. Because of her chronic snacking, Math!Myth has a plumper figure compared to Romantic!Myth.

——-————————————————

PERSONALITY

Because of her upbringing, Math!Myth has a taste for anything scholastic or pertaining to academics, and always appreciates a good intellectual conversation. Math!Myth carries herself with a polite and courteous demeanor, treating all men like kings and all women like queens. Unfortunately, underneath that calm and well-put-together facade, is a very stressed young lady. Because Math!Myth doesn’t like stress, she tries her best to stave off the stress. However, stress-eating is her go-to-method for dealing with stress, and the other Anons are trying their best to teach Myth a proper way of dealing with constant stress and anxiety. On the plus side, Myth is a constant source of snacks for the other Anons. If anyone needs a snack, they just head over to Myth and ask for one, for she will have it stashed somewhere on her person. ————————————————-——

I’ve done Buff!Myth before, but I haven’t done Chubby!Myth yet, so here you go. Let me know what you think of this Myth and the other Anons in this AU!

-Fusion Anon

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queensdivas · 4 years

Text

Wildest Notes Chap 2

Ya know what I love about this movie? The fact that it goes day by day instead of trying to cram it in one singular day. So this makes writing this fic so much easier and way more fun to write!

Was this my best chapter? Probably not. Is it cute? YES!

Will I start chapter 3? Not yet cause I have to catch up on Thistle and For Gods Sake. So y’all be patient with Gardner. Trust me I would love nothing more than to write out this entire fic in one day. But freakin Eugene and Samuel need their moments as well.

So if ya liked to be tagged please let me know. And I’ll see you guys in the next chapter of whatever gets updated next!

Next Chapter

Previous Chapter

Masterlist

What’s the best thing about Jazz? Besides it becoming very sexualized due to the fact that the Saxophone and Clarinet for some reason turn people on. I think the best thing about jazz is that it can cover so many different genres. Want some latin jazz funk? Here’s some jazz funky latin. I think this is my brain trying to calm down as my first performance with making money.

Standing in front of the club as I was debating on whether to make a run for it or just too bite the bullet. Ahhhhh crap. I always get these jitters before a performance like this and even at just private concerts in school I was a train wreck.

“Hey. You Cora?” Someone yelled as I held my binder tighter.

“Umm yes. And you?” He flicked his cigarette and approached me with his instrument.

“Theo Rivers. You’ve come to join our merry troop?” He opened the door and motioned for me to go in first.

“Yes I have.” He closed the door behind me as it was a small dark hallway. We reached onto the club floor as there were a bunch of people on the wide stage warming up, and talking amongst themselves.

The room was much bigger than I imagined as it sparkled with a large chandelier that dangled down from above. You could see the doors to and from the kitchen as they were painted black. The bar was long and filled with so many different types of alcohol I wasn’t sure what was from where. The hardwood floors were this lovely dark red that made the black tables look to grande.

“Just play it cool little thang.” Ew. Thang? Really? I stopped in the middle of the dance floor as Lucas approached the stage in front of everyone.

“Alright everyone calm down I know that we’re all excited for the new pianist whenever she gets here. Trust me you guys are going to love her!” That would be Mr. Lucas Puzo. I found him in a local music shop as I was trying to find some sort of cheap good piano. (Which is harder than it sounds.)

“Would that be her Lucas?” Someone pointed out as I was standing in the middle of the dance floor.

“Ah yes. Ladies and Gents this is our new pianist Cora Lister!” He popped down from the stage and walked over to me. I gave them a small wave as he placed his hands on my shoulder to usher me over to the stage.

“Hello.” I said softly as everyone was smiling and waving.

“Now we open in twenty minutes so get yourself warmed up missy! Alright make sure you guys give her the lineup so she’s not improvising too much. Ima go to the jon so give me five minutes.” He walked away as I stood in front of everyone as they stared back.

Not saying a word I dashed over to the piano to get comfortable on my bench. The drummer got up from his set to stand on the end of the piano as he slid over a piece of paper. I grabbed it to look at the two sets we were doing tonight. A good mixture of swing, ballads, latin, and funk? Hm. Love it.

“Felix by the way.” He smiled as I nodded. So we’re starting off with Give me a simple life? A Little cliche but it’s a good warm up song.

“You don’t talk much do you?” He asked as I placed the sheet on my stand.

“Sorry just trying to get ready.” I told him as he shook his head.

“Leave her be Felix. He’s more wild than a dog in heat when it comes to new members of our troop. Kobi the bassest.” He stood on my left as I waved at him.

“Then Kobi tries to be all smooth and act like he’s innocent. Y’all are not as smooth as you think. Krista I’m the best trombone there is.” She sat down next to me as I placed my binder on the piano stand.

“And then she acts like the superhero for women when in reality she is also trying to get into your pants. As you can see Cora you’ve attracted the dogs of the band on complete accident. For the record she’s fourth chair as I am first. Chandler by the way.” He sat on the other side as I was completely confused on what was happening. So four people are trying to get in my pants and the only few words I said were hello and sorry just trying to get ready. How the flippin’ heck does that happen?

“I should get a squirt bottle to back off against Cora! Bad bad bad!” Lucas yelled as everyone laughed to sit back in their seats. Thank Goodness. I’m not quite sure what the heck just happened but that felt like my first ever college frat party I attended. Like a penis magnet, then I left two minutes later to go home and binge watch SVU.

“Cora please tune everyone before they go mad.” Lucas ordered as cracked my knuckles real quick. I played B flat and everyone began tuning. Quickly running up and down a few scales as some random man came running out of the kitchen.

“We’re about to open! Go ahead!” He yelled as Lucas shrugged and began clearing his throat. Wait he’s singing? Would’ve loved to get a chance to practice with him so I know exactly how this band rolls!

“For your sake. Just follow me and you’ll be just fine.” Kobi told me as I nodded. I just do what I usually do when playing. TRYING NOT TO PANIC!

“One..two..a one two three four!” Immediately on a roll!

My left ear listening to the bass as my other one was focusing on the tempo Felix was giving off. A little faster than normal versions of the song but I kind of enjoy it. Definitely features a lot of me but as long as I stay calm and keep my focus on the tempo I’ll be just fine.

People began coming into the club, sitting around the small tables and waiters already serving them. I’m assuming this is a regulars club most likely. Because how many people do you know regularly enjoy listening to jazz?

I noticed my piano solo was coming already as I cracked my neck and thought of a good improv pattern for myself that would match nicely with the song. Maybe something a little spicy but not too spicy.

My fingers bounced up and down the piano as my attention went towards Lucas who was nodding at my improv solo. I’d known he was impressed with me when I played at graduation.

Another glimpse into the crowd as everyone was talking amongst themselves or watching us up they're playing. Ya know I was expecting a lot less people but the turnout was pretty great for my first night.

Is it weird that I’m a little shocked that Gardner didn’t show up? I mean I knew he was tightly rounded but thought getting him out of his house would do him some good. But that’s what happens when I try to be nice in my life. Everyone ends up shutting the door in my face but somehow I still stand..ah ya don’t need to hear me.

The song finished as the crowd began softly cheering as Lucas bowed to everyone. He fixed his tie as he clapped his hands. He began kissing up to the crowd as I flipped the page to the next song in the set. Which should be You Belong to Me. Not the Taylor Swift version obviously. I believe it’s the Jo Stafford version. Luckily it’s not a big piano song so I’ll be nice and cozy back here this time.

“PST Cora!” He was trying to be quiet but that obviously wasn’t working.

“What Kobi?” I asked as he leaned over to the piano and tried to say something to me. But I barely could hear out of choice. I think I’m just going to bust through the sets here and then go home.

A waitress approached me as she held up some sort of blue drink up to me as I shook my head. Me? Getting drunk on the piano? Never in my life! She shrugged as Lucas began counting us off again softly.

Definitely business till I can get used to this sort of environment.

~~~

“YOU BETTER GET BACK! HONKY CAT! LIVING IN THE CITY AIN’T WHERE IT’S AT! IT’S LIKE TRYING FIND GOLD IN A SILVER MINE! IT’S LIKE TRYING TO DRINK WHISKEY FROM A BOTTLE OF WINE!” I danced around my kitchen as I placed the last plate from lunch away. Angus was sitting in the entrance between the kitchen and living room.

“Well I read some books OW! And I read some magazines! C’mere Angus!” I told him as he trotted over and jumped up into my arms.

“About those high-class ladies down in New Orleans.” He was annoyed as I was moving him back and forth. He should be used to it by now at this point.

“AND ALL THE FOLKS BACK HOME..WELL...SAID I WAS A FOOL!” Angus plopped down to sulk himself back into the living room and laid down on the floor with the sun shining through the window on him.

“THEY SAID OH BELIEVE IN THE LORD IS THE GOLDEN RULE!” I danced my way over to the record play to turn it down a little due to the fact my neighbors probably don’t want to hear me screaming Honky Cat lyrics. I mean I can sing but when Elton comes on it’s like a party.

It was just low enough I heard that creak of a front gate open as the tip toed over to the front door and was ready to pounce and scare him. No that’s too mean. Maybe another time when he’s not carrying a package of mine. He quickly knocked on the screen door as I opened my front door and he was off.

“Hiya Gardner.” It was like a car break on how fast he stopped. I looked down to see how huge this box was and saw it was from Eureka. Mom?

“Mind giving me a hand?” I asked him as he turned around and looked down at the ground.

“Sure.” He came up the porch as I tossed the mail into the music room as we bent down to pick up the box.

Well..a slip and a fall. That big bulky box landed straight on my left foot. If you think stubbing that little toe of yours was bad. This was a whole lot worse.

“Son of a biscuit!” I tried laughing it up as Gardner had his hands over his mouth.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” He panicked as I smiled at him. One of those painful smiles that’s trying to cover up that I’m screaming in pain internally.

“It’s fine. Just let’s get this in here!” I said through my teeth as we tried lifting it again and carrying it inside. We walked into the living room for Angus to move quickly out of the way.

“Now please don’t crush my foot again.” I told him as we slowly lowered the box onto the rug. I sat down on the couch to then look at my left foot making sure it wasn’t broken. Luckily we’re all good.

“Is your foot okay?” He chirped as I nodded.

“Yeah it’ll be fine. You often drop boxes on people's feet?” I tried to lighten the conversation but I could tell he was not interested. Might as well see what’s in the box.

“Give me another hand into the kitchen.” I got back up from the couch as he looked at the door.

“I really don’t have time.” I placed my hands on my hips with one eyebrow raised at him. We reached down again and carried it into the kitchen and placed it on the counter. He took a step back and grabbed a small knife to open the box.

“Well if that’s everything Cora.” I placed the knife down and tossed an apple to him. He barely caught it as I reached into the box.

“You look a little famished. An apple always helps.” I pulled out a rolled up bubble wrap to see it was Mrs. Seymours old collection of her Elvis Presley China!

“Oh my gosh!” I laughed as The King was painted on the plate.

“Ya know I love people’s obsession with the weirdest things in the world. Mrs. Seymour loved Elvis Presley China.” I pulled out the second dinner plate that had him in his big red glittery suit.

“Why Elvis?” Gardner asked as I handed him the plate.

“She loves Elvis. Oh my god it’s like her passion before opening a home for all of us and locking it down.” I reached in to pull out the all white suit Elvis but it was cracked in half.

“Well. You broke Elvis Gard. Now you gotta fix him.” I told him as a wave of panic rolled on his face.

“Ya know..I...I..can’t. Uh..I really really..” I think the glue is in the junk drawer. I opened the drawer to see super duper glue. Perfect! He placed down the apple he didn’t even take a bite out of and stand in front of the broken plate.

“Now just be gentle with the King.” I began squeezing the glue along the crack as he kept trying to check his watch. If he doesn’t stop checking his watch I’m gonna throw it in the backyard!

“Alright now just hold it still.” I told him as we pushed the plate back together for the glue to start sticking.

“Now I’m going out to lunch if you could just stand here till I get back.” His eyes widened as I looked at him dead seriously.

“Wait what lunch!?” I lost it as he sunk back into himself.

“I’m..I’m sorry. I..I generally don’t hang out with civilians this much.” Civilians? Do I look like I’m in the army? Do I need to salute him or something?

“Just messin’ with your Gard. You need to lighten up a little bit sir. Us civilians aren’t all horrid people.” I told him as he looked down at the plate as I gently took it from his hands. He put his white hat on his head as he began becoming uptight again.

“I’m sorry if I broke your foot.” He blurted out as I looked down at it. I imagine I'll be getting some sort of bruise. Not really a problem due to the fact I use my right foot for the petals anyhow.

Angus came strolling into the kitchen as he sat down in front of Gard waiting for him to scratch the top of his head. He looked down at him as Angus was beginning to whimper at Gard.

“If you’re going to bail on me without saying goodbye. At Least say goodbye to Angus.” Angus licked his lips as Gard quickly scratched the top of his head.

“Goodbye Cora. This was interesting again.” Turning around like a bat out of hell as Angus and I watched him leave the kitchen through the living room and shutting the front door.

Why do I find him so adorable?

Taglist

@bonafiderocketqueen @filmslutt @leah-halliwell92 @johndeaconshands @amethyst-serenade @soy-guey @jd-johndeacon-or-jackdaniels @queen-turtle-boiii @mercury-wife @deck-heart @themficsilike@themficsilike @deakydeaks @mirkwoodshewolf

#Gardner #gardner langway #gardner x reader #Gardner Langway x reader #Gardner Langway Fic #Dear Sidewalk #Dear Sidewalk x reader #Dear Sidewalk Fan fic #joe mazzello #joe mazzello fic #joe mazzello fanfic #joe mazzello x reader

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kevintor · 4 years

Text

I Watch a Movie I Should Have Seen: Teen Witch

I had not heard of this movie until friends suggested it for my list of movies to watch. They especially pointed out the amazing rap moment and that’s really all I knew that I could not infer from the title.

This movie doesn’t waste time getting to the saxophone-heavy music. This is how it should be. I can’t tell you how many movies I watch that make me wait for the sax solo. And sometimes it doesn’t even come! Looking at you, The Godfather.

We’ve all had that dream where a mystery hunk in a dress shirt with rolled up, short sleeves and Cavariccis slinks towards you in the dark. Why do we have to wake up???

No matter how good you look and feel, never stand on a ledge in heels. Maybe block heels but not the ones she has on.

Louise’s little brother eats sheet cake under her bed and reads her diary, actually ripping pages out. He’s clearly a psychopath that deserves whatever magic comes his way.

Her dad is not creepy. He’s just someone who likes his daughter to wear his favorite color.

Hot guy from the dream (Brad) rocks a 5.0 Mustang and is dating the popular girl (Randa) living right across the street from Louise. Why do the important people in these movies always live so close to each other? I bet Brad went 300 feet before he had to honk that horn (not a euphemism) for Randa.

Louise’s best friend (Polly) is excessively frumpy. She has on so many layers, I don’t know how the bike could support the weight. She’s dressed like she’s arriving at Ellis Island from the old country.

Louise and Polly wear disrespectfully large trench coats most of the time. The kind I would only wear if I was trying to cut weight for a fight. I know Louise will eventually be made over into a hottie but she doesn’t really need to start in a cocoon. In She’s All That, they simply used glasses.

There’s a trio of rappers that serenade the school. I will call them The Leastie Boys.

Louise has skipped grades because she’s so smart. I get it now. If I was a younger kid amongst seniors, I’d want to hide myself under as much wool and tweed as possible.

There’s a particularly horrific scene where the diary page that her brother ripped out is accidentally handed in with her homework and the teacher reads the whole thing to the class. Between the brother, the dad, and this awful teacher, I’m not going to be surprised if there’s a clown in the sewers.

The girls’ gym uniform is.a purple leotard and that’s it. No shorts. No trench coat.

The popular girls spontaneously break into a song called “I Like Boys.” Is this a musical? She’s introducing them all to this song and they are choreographing it on the spot beautifully. I guess if you feel confident enough in that leotard, you can do anything.

It appears that the leotards are stuck to their bodies. They don’t ever take them off. They have clearly showered because they are drying their hair while still in the gym leotards.

Brad works out shirtless on the football field. He throws a football twice at a tire and never misses. They cut from the throw to the same shot of the ball traveling through the tire. “There’s no time to throw two balls through a tire! Use the same clip! We have six more hours of leotard footage to shoot!”

Quick question: If you were doing an audition for a play and your scene was a kissing one with the girl whose diary about being into you was read out loud in front of you, would you have any awkwardness in the audition? Brad doesn’t. Nothing weird about this. Does he have the memory of a goldfish?

Brad, too aroused by teenage hanky panky, almost runs over Louise on her bike. He stops the car and tries to help her by offering a ride home. Is Brad a misunderstood jock hunk? Randa makes him leave but he was really concerned. What a sweet goldfish man.

With a broken bike and no cell phones, Louise is forced to seek the help of the nearby fortune teller. The fortune teller (Madame Serena) doesn’t let her use the phone and basically robs her of the last cash she has on her.

Madame Serena notices something odd during her palm reading and asks her name again. When Louise says “Miller,” Madame Serena realizes she is a witch with powers that will come to fruition on her 16th birthday. We later learn that Madame Serena and Louise go back 100s of years with witch souls (or whatever). If you had a spiritual connection with someone named “Miller,” I think you wouldn’t miss it the first time. Maybe she should look into getting a third ear instead of a third eye.

We learn that Goldfish Brad can Fonzie a Coke out of a machine. The impressive part about this is that Cokes were only 60 cents. I want to go to there.

Louise turns 16 while her brother dry humps the table in excitement for birthday cake. Feel free to watch it. There’s other way to describe it.

Randa asks Louise if she’d like to go on a date with her cousin from out of town. This is definitely going to work out.

The cousin is an insane nerd who is acting as if he only has one night to live. He asks her if she wants to smoke weed at one point. Then once he’s all drugged up, he tries to get some loving in the car on the way home. It’s cringe-y. Thankfully Louise is gaining powers and makes him literally disappear.

Louise turns her brother into a dog. As if I didn’t hate him enough already, now he’s a talking animal. (See Hocus Pocus)

Madame Serena gives Louise a book of spells. She uses a spell to make the popular girls tell each other the truth. It starts off with calm “you’re not a good singer” insults but gets real, super fast. One points out the other’s “alkie mother.”

Louise wants to make Brad love her and it appears that the secret to casting a good spell is cayenne pepper or maybe paprika.

Brad comes over Louise’s house to work on his English paper. Louise apparently removes the hundreds of chairs from her room so they’d have to sit on the bed. How many chairs does a teenage girl typically have in her room? It’s certainly enough for each family member to barge in and immediately notice them all missing.

Louise thinks better of forcing Brad to like her and gets all the chairs out of her closet. She’s a good person deep down.

The awful teacher is back and this time, goes through Louise’s bag and shows her birth control pills to the class. How does this teacher, even in the 80s, have a job?

Louise rightfully gets revenge. She makes a voodoo doll of the teacher and makes him undress in front of the class. The principal catches him right as Louise pulls the dolls underwear down. Somehow he still has a job. Tenure is amazing.

We finally get to the Rap Off I’ve been hearing so much about. Leader of the Leasties and Polly battle it out for one verse each. Honestly, this could have gone on longer. I know there was magic behind it but Polly’s verse was fire.

Brad tells Louise that someone like him has to go out with the most popular girl in school no matter how terrible she is. Social expectations are the worst. Instead of convincing Brad that he doesn’t have to be with Randa, it would be easier to cast a spell to make yourself popular. Maybe even insanely popular.

The chunky knit sweater budget was out of control for this movie

We have a montage showing us the extent of her popularity. She gets applause when she arrives places. People follow her around. The Leastie Boys rap for her. And her wardrobe consists of so much more denim.

Brad takes her to a lookout point that they have to climb up to and she’s unfortunately too popular for sensible footwear. It’s hard to climb up a sunflower hill in heels. But you do what you have to do to wear the crown!

In this abandoned house, they take off some of their six layers of clothing. Then they make out in the dirty house like only the most popular kids in school could.

Everyone starts dressing and wearing their hair like Louise. Polly gets left out of everything. I don’t know if scenes were cut out (What could possibly be considered “not good enough” for this film?) but we never have the scene where the newly popular girl treats her best friend like garbage and has to apologize. I know Polly misses her but I bet she could just ask Louise to hang out. Anyway, Louise tries to talk to Polly and Polly makes her feel bad.

Because she is so popular, Louise has to sneak out the back of her house to avoid her adoring classmates. Brad picks her up on a side street and takes her for a drive. They go out on the river to talk as teenagers do. He asks her to the dance. She turns him down because she thinks he’s been tricked him into liking her. She wants it real.

Louise wants to undo the popularity spell and she talks Madame Serena into coming to the dance with her to help her do it. No one questions bringing a tiny, old woman as your date to the dance. Not even the teachers.

She wishes the popularity away in the middle of the dance floor. People stop looking at her but Goldfish Brad still feels the pull for regular Louise. He walks slowly towards her. They touch fingertips and roll them up so the palms touch. This happens in a lot of romantic movies. I don’t get it. It’s a good way to train yourself to high five. You learn proper hand alignment. What you want the finish to be. But it’s not romantic. Either way, they kiss and all is good.

This is a fine, late 80s teen movie. It’s essentially a knock-off Sabrina the Teenage Witch. The brother, the nerd date, and the awful teacher were unnecessary. Now that I think about it, the nerd date never reappeared. In most movies you’d have him reappear somewhere embarrassing like under a manure truck that’s about to be dumped. In this movie, he vanishes into nothingness. It’s haunting.

Also, they show that water undoes her spells in the beginning and never return to that either. I was expecting the boat to tip over when she had that moment with Brad on the river. That never happened.

And, finally, she never made up with Polly. Where’s the learned-her-lesson reunion with the best friend, awkwardly hugging through all the layers?

Minus all these loose threads, I enjoyed it. I’d even watch it again if it was on.

#teen witch #80s movies #Movie Reviews #i watch a movie i should have seen #comedy #funny #blog #robyn lively #dick sargent #80s #denim #top that

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boundarycrossings · 3 years

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Time, Love, and Memory

The first ever inkling of a life goal began when I was 12 or 13 years old, when I read a biography of Seymour Benzer, called Time, Love and Memory. I had always loved science and natural history as many children do, but somehow it was the notion that something as ephemeral as behavior had something as concrete as a genetic basis that captured my imagination more than anything else. I decided then that I, too, would become a behavioral geneticist, just like Seymour Benzer.

Grafitti - Newtown, CT (2020)

I gave up a lot of things I took up as a kid.

In chronological order: piano, saxophone, skateboarding, snowboarding, guitar, knitting, sewing, graffiti, printmaking. I couldn’t seem to make anything stick, except the single concrete goal of becoming a behavioral geneticist. 5 years later, I started as a freshman in biology. It wasn’t Caltech, but I was finally in a Drosophila lab.

But reality so rarely lives up to expectation. Looking at the anesthetized flies under a microscope wasn’t all that it was cracked up to be. Or maybe it was exactly all that it was cracked up to be. As I had cycled through various instruments, I cycled through various lab courses - spending weeks studying the visual systems of locusts, sucking up transparent little worms with pipette tips - until I landed in a fish lab.

For almost 2 years I studied communication behavior of little tropical fish. Popping out the tiny popcorn brains out of anesthetized fish somehow didn’t gross me out as much as the fruit flies did. I even got to be surprisingly adept at freezing and making impossibly thin slices of the brains. Yet, I still found reality lacking. In one particularly depressing incident, the basement flooded over holiday break, wiping out several large tanks of fish. Being the one lucky research assistant who happened to be around the next day, I was tasked with cleaning up the dead fish which had been marinating in the tropical heat overnight. Ankle deep in dead fish soup and cleaning chemicals, I wondered what I was doing this for, and whether I should consider an alternative to being a behavioral geneticist - something that I seriously hadn’t done since starting down this path.

Being a lowly (and worse yet: broke) undergrad research assistant, there were no trips to the jungle to carry me through the daily grind of lab work. Biostatistics didn’t come naturally to me. I was - and still am - an inefficient writer. I would dream of projects far beyond the scope of an undergrad honors thesis, and the smaller projects within my scope didn’t motivate me in the same way. I barely finished my thesis on time. Although I stayed on another several more months to try to expand it into a real publication - because after all, publish or perish - the fish kept perishing at inopportune times. It made me want to perish. The editing process became physically painful. My initial dream of unlocking the biological basis for human behavior had been downgraded to unlocking 1 particular gene’s expression in 1 particular fish, at a particular point in its short life.

It is human nature to apply everything around us to our own lives and particular situations. We see human emotions in non-human animals, even inanimate objects. We apply the language of gravity to human attractions. In contemplating the trajectory of my scientific ambitions, I couldn’t help but think of the biogenetic law, the theory of recapitulation, that “ontogeny recapitulates phylogeny.” An antiquated theory which states that in embryological development, the animal goes through stages that resembles various adult stages of the animal’s evolutionary ancestors. Discredited or not, it rang true with me - it felt like my journey recapitulated the journey of the field as a whole.

Science may have started its journey as a quest to find universal truths about the world in which we live, but through its maturation, development, as well as with changes within the larger societal context in which science happens, it became progressively narrower in scope, at least on the individual scale of pursuit. Aristotle contributed to classical mechanics as much as he did to zoology. Freud dreamt of understanding the entire human subjective experience. Seymour Benzer sought to find the genetic basis for behavior. My professors - as accomplished and as brilliant as they were - had carved out niches which seemed incredibly narrow compared to the historical giants.

Was this an inevitability? That as human knowledge accrues, there is only so much that you can expect to know, and to specialize in? That narrowing the scope of your dreams is just an essential part of growing up? Or was this the product of a larger societal force - the same neoliberal drive towards hyperspecialization, competition, and production pressures plaguing all of society?

I didn’t contemplate this very deeply at the time. If the choice was to publish or perish, I perished. The end.

All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy - Newtown, CT (2020)

A year later, I was on the interview trail for medical school. Most questions about my research usually ended up becoming pleasant conversations about the interviewer’s fish related hobbies (I had no such hobbies outside of the lab). The one notable exception was an interviewer who asked me in a suspicious tone why I had done that research.

“Because all knowledge is valuable, and I found it interesting?”

She replied disapprovingly, “You will never get a grant this way.”

I was furious in the moment, but she was right. I never did get a grant that way. I did get into a medical school, though, where I found myself still drawn to the mysteries of human behavior, briefly contemplated a PhD in neuroscience, and ended up being a regular ol’ psychiatrist, MD sans PhD.

Regardless of my childhood ideals, science and academia could not be the refuge I sought from neoliberal capitalism. Having a modern scientific career is as much about “strategic action” and elevator pitches and branding as any other career in capitalism. There is little room for imagination and wonder if it doesn’t get you a grant, a publication, or at least an additional line on your CV. Not that medicine is a refuge from capitalism, but at least I don’t have to publish if I don’t want to.

With all of the extra time indoors (and with encouragement of a few close friends, who are also admirable readers and writers), I have been reading a great deal this year, and sporadically, inefficiently, writing. These have been the few positives during the pandemic.

As I read again, I find myself equally enthralled by the accounts of field work of anthropologists, biologists, geologists, physicists, just as when I was 12.

I wonder, in a different world, if I, too, could have been a behavioral geneticist.

#writing #urbex #urbanexploration #hospital #abandoned hospital #abandoned CT #abandoned new england #science #capitalism

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im-a-ramblr · 4 years

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Day 12, Clenched Fist

Ares wasn’t quite sure how his life had become such a mess. Actually, he did know. It was Henry’s fault.

This particular problem wasn’t actually Henry’s doing, but it felt more appropriate to blame him for it than Gregor.

He sighed and started to swing his arms, then froze as the man attached to the other end of one stumbled. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay.” Gregor regained his footing and after a moment of tense silence hesitantly started to swing his arm.

Ares kept his eyes straight ahead but swung their interlocked hands. They must have made quite a sight. Ares, a 6’4 tall black man, holding hands with 5’6 Gregor. Despite how odd they must have looked, and a slight fear of swinging too hard and knocking Gregor off balance, it was nice. Henry had never cared much for this habit of his.

“I’m also sorry. About this.” Gregor added, drawing Ares’s attention. The brunette used his free and to waved to their glued together hands. “I swear it wasn’t what I was trying to do.”

Ares smiled. “I know Gregor. Besides, it’s a lot less binding than what I got you into.”

“I’m not too sure about that. But it was kinda fun.”

“I suppose that is a word for it.” Ares thought back to that night. It had been exhausting. He’d been ditched, framed, fake married as an alibi, proven innocent, gone to his ‘wedding reception’, had some bad edibles, gotten sick, and woken up just in time to rush to catch his plane. After a while of enduring his friends teasing about his new friend who had saved him the previous night, he realized that he had no way of contacting him.

It had been sheer luck they had bumped into each other. It had not been luck that Gregor had super glue all over his hand due to a project he’d been working on with his sister and father.

The following greeting had been downright awkward. It wasn’t that Gregor and Ares didn’t like each other. They’d bonded over the several hours of chaos, and certainly wanted to be friends, but what did you say to someone after a night like that. Gregor had fixed that problem by accidentally getting them stuck together. It was a little uncomfortable, having their hands clenched together, but that is why they were hurrying to find an appropriate remover.

(000000000000000000000000000Line Break000000000000000000000000000)

Sometime later, and several short arguments about who paid for the goods, both of their free hands had shopping bags in them. They were both a little hungry but agreed it was best to get unstuck before trying to eat. Where to get unstuck was a harder question to answer. In the end, they went to Gregor’s neighbor’s place. Mrs. Cormaci hadn’t asked any questions about why the two were glued together; though when Gregor hadn’t been looking, she gave him an exasperated, though fond, look.

After soaking their interlocked hands in warm water, rubbing in some oils, and swapping nail polish remover on some spots, they were free. They both washed their hands a few more times, just to be sure it was all gone. Mrs. Cormaci ushered them to the table and won’t let hear any protest as she plated up some food.

It was wonderful, and when they were done, they thanked her plenty of times while walking off. She smiled and told them to behave, then closed the door. Gregor shifted from his weight from foot to foot, though it seemed much less nervous than before. “Uh, is this goodbye?” he asked.

That caught Ares off guard, and he shrugged. “I guess?”

“Can I get your number? Before you leave?” Gregor straightened, suddenly a lot more confidence. Ares blinked and nodded. They swapped numbers and as Gregor stepped around him to get to his door he blurted out, “Would you like to meet some of my friends? The ones I was texting earlier. They were there for everything, and I think they would like to meet you again.”

“Oh!” Gregor’s face lit up, “Sure. Like right now or…”

“Now is good. If you are free?”

“Yeah. Where we going?”

The pair made they’re way out of the building and Ares pointed him in the right direction. They chatted as they walked. Between everything that happened in Vegas and then being glued together; they had spent a decent amount of time together but hadn’t really had time to talk. Ares learned that Gregor had done track in middle and high school, and that he’d learned saxophone from his dad, and that he really only had two friends outside his family his whole life. Ares found himself admitting that he was also a loner growing up and that despite how large his friend group was now, he didn’t feel super close to most of them. He’d originally been drawn to Henry because they were both ‘bad boys’, but that their friendship had disintegrated when Ares had grown out of it.

They were in the middle of comparing hideouts when someone called Ares’s name. Neveeve was walking towards them, and Ares bit back a groan. She came to a stop in front of them and Ares resisted the urge to snap at her. Neveeve might have been a nice person, but she was one of Solovet’s lackeys and at times Henry’s. She definitely preferred Henry to himself in any case.

“Hello, Neveeve.” Ares said, flatly. Gregor pressed a little closer to him, put on guard by Ares’s tone.

“Ares.” Neveeve sniffed. She gave Gregor a once over and raised an eyebrow. “And who is this?”

“I’m Gregor. I don’t believe we’ve met?” Gregor’s tone was steady and polite.

“Neveeve.” Neither offered their hands for any kind of greeting. “How do you know Ares.”

“He’s my partner.” Ares cut in. “Not that that is any of your business.”

Neveeve sniffed. “Partner. How nice. Well, I hope it lasts.” She looked like she wanted to add more to it but didn’t. She merely nodded and walked off. Gregor turned to watch her and frowned.

“What was that about.”

“Neveeve was a friend of Henry’s grandmother,” Ares informed him. “Neither are happy about what happened.” He looked down, realizing that they had been grasping each other’s hands again. He tugged his out, but Gregor held on. He gave Ares’ hand a squeeze then let him pull it out. “And all three thought the idea of me having partners amusing. Henry was a close I ever got to…” he trialed off but Gregor got the idea.

“I’m sorry. You deserved so much better than him.” he made a face. “And that’s not just a boast about how great I am. You deserve someone better than me too.”

Ares let out a soft laugh. “I do not know. I think you deserve someone better than me. There are a lot of things you don’t know.”

“That goes both ways though.” Gregor pointed out. “Besides, you’re not a criminal right? That’s what the whole Vegas thing was about. So, there’s nothing to bad.”

Ares laughed, this one louder than before. “A good point. I suppose the best thing to do is just let whatever this is happen.” He waved between them.

“Sounds like a good plan.” Gregor grinned, and Ares found himself grinning back.

#flufftober2020 #the underland chronicles #Ares the flier #Gregor campbell #dr. neveeve #Relila Writes

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blackkudos · 4 years

Text

Lisa Lopes

Lisa Nicole Lopes (May 27, 1971 – April 25, 2002), better known by her stage name Left Eye, was an American rapper, singer, music producer, and dancer. Lopes was a member of the R&B girl group TLC, alongside Tionne "T-Boz" Watkins and Rozonda "Chilli" Thomas. Besides rapping and singing background vocals on TLC recordings, Lopes was one of the creative forces behind the group. She received more co-writing credits than the other members. She also designed the outfits and staging for the group and contributed to the group's image, album titles, artworks, and music videos. Through her work with TLC, Lopes won four Grammy Awards.

During her brief solo career, Lopes scored two US top 10 singles with "Not Tonight" and "U Know What's Up", as well as one UK number-one single with "Never Be the Same Again", the latter a collaboration with Melanie C of the British girl group Spice Girls. She also produced another girl group, Blaque, who scored a platinum album and two US top 10 hits. Lopes remains the only member of TLC to have released a solo album.

On April 25, 2002, Lopes was killed in a car crash while organizing charity work in Honduras. She swerved off the road to avoid hitting another vehicle, and was thrown from her car. She was working on a documentary at the time of her death, which was released as The Last Days of Left Eye and aired on VH1 in May 2007.

Life and career

1971–1990: Childhood

Lopes was born in 1971 in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, the daughter of Wanda Denise (née Andino), a seamstress, and Ronald Lopes Sr., a US Army staff sergeant, who was of African-American descent. Lisa had a younger brother, Ronald Jr., and a younger sister, Raina Anitra (her nickname goes by Reigndrop). Lopes said her father was "very strict, very domineering" and that he treated the family like they were in "boot camp". He was also a "talented musician" who played the harmonica, clarinet, piano, and saxophone.

Lopes' parents separated when she was still in school, and she was raised by her paternal grandmother during the later years of her childhood. She began playing with a toy keyboard at 5 years old, and later composed her own songs. By age 10, she formed the musical trio The Lopes Kids with her siblings, with whom she sang gospel songs at local events and churches. She attended the Philadelphia High School for Girls.

1990–1998: TLC

In late 1990, having heard of an open casting call for a new girl group through her then-boyfriend, Lopes moved to Atlanta to audition. Originally starting as a female trio called 2nd Nature, the group was renamed TLC, derived from the first initials of its members at the time: Tionne Watkins, Lisa Lopes and Crystal Jones. Things did not work out with Jones, and TLC's manager Perri "Pebbles" Reid brought in Damian Dame backup dancer Rozonda Thomas as a third member of the group. To preserve the band's original name, Thomas needed a name starting with C, which is how she became "Chilli," a name chosen by Lopes. Watkins became T-Boz, derived from the first letter of her first name and "Boz" (slang for "boss"). Lopes was renamed "Left Eye" after a compliment from New Edition member Michael Bivins who once told her he was attracted to her because of her left eye, which was more slanted than the right eye. Lopes emphasized her nickname by wearing a pair of glasses with the right lens covered by a condom, in keeping with the group's support of safe sex, wearing a black stripe under her left eye, and eventually getting her left eyebrow pierced.

The group arrived on the music scene in 1992 with the album Ooooooohhh... On the TLC Tip. With four hit singles, it sold six million copies worldwide, leading to the group becoming a household name. Two years later CrazySexyCool was released, selling over 23 million copies worldwide. TLC's third album, FanMail, was released in 1999 and sold over 14 million copies worldwide. Its title was a tribute to TLC's loyal fans and the sleeve contained the names of hundreds of them as a "thank you".

During the recording of FanMail, a public conflict began amongst the members of the group. In the May 1999 issue of Vibemagazine, Lopes said, "I've graduated from this era. I cannot stand 100 percent behind this TLC project and the music that is supposed to represent me." In response to Lopes' comments, Watkins and Thomas stated to Entertainment Weekly that Lopes "doesn't respect the whole group" and "Left Eye is only concerned with Left Eye." In response, Lopes sent a reply through Entertainment Weekly issuing a "challenge" to Watkins and Thomas to release solo albums and let the public decide who was the "greatest" member of TLC:

I challenge Tionne Watkins (T-Boz) and Rozonda Thomas (Chilli) to an album entitled "The Challenge"... a 3-CD set that contains three solo albums. Each [album]... will be due to the record label by October 1, 2000... I also challenge Dallas 'The Manipulator' Austin to produce all of the material and do it at a fraction of his normal rate. As I think about it, I'm sure LaFace would not mind throwing in a $1.5 million prize for the winner.

T-Boz and Chilli declined to take up the challenge, though Lopes always maintained it was a great idea. Things were heated between the ladies for some time, with Thomas speaking out against Lopes, calling her antics "selfish", "evil", and "heartless". TLC then addressed these struggles by saying that they are very much like sisters who have their disagreements every now and then as Lopes explained, "It's deeper than a working relationship. We have feelings for each other, which is why we get so mad at each other. I usually say that you cannot hate someone unless you love them. So, we love each other. That's the problem."

1998–2002: Solo career

In 1998, Lopes hosted the short-lived MTV series, The Cut, in which a list of aspiring pop stars, rappers, and rock bands competed against each other in front of judges. The show's winner, which ended up being a male-female rap duo named Silky, was promised a record deal and funding to produce a music video, which would then enter MTV's heavy rotation. A then-unknown Anastacia finished in third place, but ended up securing a record deal after Lopes and the show's three judges were impressed by her performance.

After the release of FanMail, Lopes began to expand her solo career. She became a featured rapper on several singles, including Spice Girl Melanie C's "Never Be the Same Again", which topped the charts in 35 countries, including the United Kingdom. She was also featured on "U Know What's Up", the first single from Donell Jones' second album, Where I Wanna Be, and she rapped a verse in "Space Cowboy" with NSYNC on their 2000 album, No Strings Attached. On October 4, 2000, Lopes co-hosted the UK's MOBO Awards with Trevor Nelson, where she also performed "U Know What's Up" with Jones. She also collaborated on "Gimme Some" by Toni Braxton for her 2000 album The Heat. She had previously featured on Keith Sweat's song "How Do You Like It?". In 2001, she appeared in a commercial for the fashion brand Gap. In July 2001, Lopes appeared on the singers' edition of Who Wants to Be a Millionaire along with Joey McIntyre, Tyrese, Nick Lachey, and Lee Ann Womack. She dropped the $125,000 question and won $32,000 for her charity. After her death in 2002, the episode she appeared in was shown and was dedicated to her.

Lopes created Left Eye Productions to discover new talent. She mentored the R&B trio Blaque, and helped them secure a record deal with Columbia Records. Their self-titled debut album was executive-produced by Lopes, who also made a cameo appearance in their music video "808" and also rapped in their second music video "I Do". Lopes was also developing and promoting another new band called Egypt. They worked with Lopes on her second album under her new nickname, N.I.N.A., meaning New Identity Not Applicable.

In 1996, Lopes created the UNI Studios for the purpose of recording solo projects. Lopes' family opened the studio to the public. Her brother Ronald is the general manager of the studio. Lopes had a dream of making new artists able to record music at a low cost, in a high-end studio at her house. Her family continues to operate it and fill it with new equipment.

Supernova

Lopes spent much of her free time after the conclusion of TLC's first headlining tour, the FanMail Tour, recording her debut solo album, Supernova. It includes a song titled "A New Star is Born", which is dedicated to her late father. She told MTV News:

That track is dedicated to all those that have loved ones that have passed away. It's saying that there is no such thing as death. We can call it transforming for a lack of better words, but as scientists would say, 'Every atom that was once a star is now in you.' It's in your body. So, in the song I pretty much go along with that idea. ... I don't care what happens or what people think about death, it doesn't matter. We all share the same space.

Other tracks covered other personal issues, including her relationship with NFL football player Andre Rison. In 1994, before the start of Rison's fifth and final season with the Falcons, Lopes accidentally burned down Rison Atlanta mansion. Among the album's 13 tracks was also a posthumous duet with Tupac Shakur that was assembled from the large cache of unreleased recordings done prior to his murder in 1996. Initially scheduled for release on a date to coincide with the 11th anniversary of her grandfather's death, Arista Records decided to delay and then cancel the American release. The album was eventually released in August 2001 in different foreign countries. The Japan import includes a bonus track called "Friends", which would later be sampled for "Give It to Me While It's Hot" on TLC's fourth album 3D.

N.I.N.A.

After numerous talks with Death Row Records CEO Suge Knight, Lopes severed her solo deal with Arista (despite remaining signed to the label as a member of TLC) and signed with Knight's Death Row Records in January 2002, intending to record a second solo album under the pseudonym "N.I.N.A." (New Identity Not Applicable). She was recording with David Bowie for the project, whom she was also trying to get involved with the fourth TLC album. The project was also to include several songs recorded with Ray J along with close friend Missy Elliott. After Lopes' death in April 2002, Death Row Records still had plans to complete and release the album (unfinished at the time of Lopes' death) in October 2002, but the album was cancelled for unknown reasons. In 2011, some tracks from the album were uploaded onto YouTube featuring artists from Tha Row Records. Lopes's unreleased songs were also sampled by TLC for their fourth album 3Dafter she died. Another track, "Too Street 4 T.V" (featuring Danny Boy), was released on the soundtrack to the 2003 film Dysfunktional Family.

2008: Posthumous honorary album

In 2008, Lopes' family decided to work with producers at Surefire Music Group to create a posthumous album in her honor, Eye Legacy. Originally set to be released October 28, 2008, the release date was pushed back to November 11, then to January 27, 2009. The song 'Neva Will Eye Eva' and "Crank It", both feature and were co-produced by Lopes' sister Raina "Reigndrop" Lopes. The first official single from the album, "Let's Just Do It", was released on January 13, 2009 and features Missy Elliott and TLC. The second official single, "Block Party", features Lil Mama. The album largely consists of reworked versions of tracks from the Supernova album. In November 2009, Forever... The EP was released which contained international bonus tracks not used on the Eye Legacy album. The EP was only available to download. An unreleased track featuring Lopes was uploaded to SoundCloud on the eve of the 10-year anniversary of her death by Block Starz Music.

Personal life

Lopes was often vocal about her personal life and difficult past. She readily admitted that she had come from an abusive, alcoholic background and struggled with alcoholism herself. These issues became headline news in 1994, when she was arrested for setting fire to Andre Rison's sneakers in a bathtub, which ultimately spread to the mansion they shared and destroyed it. She claimed that Rison had beaten her after a night out, and she set fire to his shoes to get back at him but that burning down the house was an accident. Lopes later revealed that she did not have a lot of freedom within the relationship and that Rison abused her emotionally and physically; she said that she released her frustrations about the relationship on the night of the fire.

Lopes was sentenced to five years' probation and therapy at a halfway house, and was unable to shake the incident from her reputation. Her relationship with Rison continued to make headlines, with rumors of an imminent wedding, later debunked by People magazine. Lopes revealed on The Last Days of Left Eye documentary that her meeting with a struggling mother in rehab left a big impression on her. She subsequently adopted the woman's 8-year-old daughter. She had adopted a 12-year-old boy ten years prior.

Lopes had several tattoos. Most prominent was a large eagle on her left arm, which she said represented freedom. Later, she added the number "80" around the eagle, which was Rison's NFL number while in Atlanta. She also had a tattoo of a moon with a face on her foot in reference to Rison's nickname, "Bad Moon", Lopes later added the words "Love U 2" in the musical notes on her foot for Tupac Shakur. On her upper right arm was a large tattoo of the name "Parron" for her late step brother who died in a boating accident, arching over a large tattoo of a pierced heart. Her smallest tattoo was on her left earlobe and consisted of an arrow pointing to her left over the symbol of an eye, a reference to her nickname. Lopes struggled with self-harm and even carved the words "hate" and "love" into her arm with a razor.

Roughly two weeks before her own death, Lopes was a passenger in a traffic accident that resulted in the death of a 10-year-old Honduran boy. As reported in Philadelphia Weekly, "It is commonplace for people to walk the roads that wind through Honduras, and it's often difficult to see pedestrians." The boy, Bayron Isaul Fuentes Lopez, was following behind his brothers and sisters when he stepped off the median strip and was struck by a van driven by Stephanie, Lopes' personal assistant. Lopes' party stopped and loaded the boy into the car, and Lopes "cradled the dying boy's bleeding head in her arms" while "someone gave him mouth-to-mouth resuscitation as they rushed him to a nearby hospital." He died the next day. Lopes paid approximately $3,700 for his medical expenses and funeral, and she gave the family around $925 for any extra costs, although it was apparently agreed upon by the authorities and the boy's family that his death was an "unforeseeable tragedy" and no blame was placed on the driver of the van or Lopes. In the documentary The Last Days of Left Eye, Lopes is shown choosing a casket for the child from a local funeral home. Earlier in the documentary, Lopes mentioned that she felt the presence of a "spirit" following her, and was struck by the fact that the child killed in the accident shared a similar last name, even thinking that the spirit may have made a mistake by taking his life instead of hers.

Death

On April 25, 2002, Lopes was driving a rented Mitsubishi Montero SUV in La Ceiba, Honduras, when she swerved slightly to avoid a truck (it is not clear if the truck was slow-moving or stationary) then immediately to the right as she tried to avoid an oncoming car. The vehicle rolled several times after hitting two trees, throwing Lopes and three others out of the windows, and finally coming to rest in a ditch at the side of the road. Lopes, at the age of 30, died instantly of "fracture of the base of the cranium" and "open cerebral trauma", and was the only person fatally injured in the accident. A cameraman in the front passenger seat was videotaping at the time, so the last seconds leading up to the swerve that resulted in the fatal accident were recorded on video. Victims of the accident were taken to Liverpool Royal Hospital. Her sister Reigndrop Lopes was in the vehicle and survived the collision.

Lopes' funeral was held at New Birth Missionary Baptist Church in Lithonia, Georgia, on May 2, 2002. Thousands of people attended. Engraved upon her casket were the lyrics to her portion of "Waterfalls", stating "Dreams are hopeless aspirations, in hopes of coming true, believe in yourself, the rest is up to me and you." Gospel duo Mary Mary sang their song "Shackles (Praise You)" at the funeral. Lopes was buried at Hillandale Memorial Gardens in Lithonia.

In a statement to MTV, producer Jermaine Dupri remembered Lopes: "She was determined to be something in life. She was a true rock star. She didn't care about no press. She was the rock star out of the group. She was the one that would curse on TV. She had the tattoos. You could expect the unexpected. When you see Lisa, you could expect something from her. That's the gift she carried."

Legacy

Lopes was in the process of setting up two educational centers for Honduran children. One was built on an 80-acre plot of land she called Camp YAC. The other center was called Creative Castle.

In 2003, shortly after Lopes' death, her family started the Lisa Lopes Foundation, a charitable group dedicated to providing neglected and abandoned youth with the resources necessary to increase their quality of life. Her spiritual motto was the one used for her foundation: "Energy never dies... it just transforms." Her foundation went into various underdeveloped villages and gave new clothes to poor children and their families. In August 2007, the foundation hosted a charity auction, selling items donated by celebrities. It raised approximately $5,000 for the Hogar de Amor ("Home of Love"), an orphanage in Honduras. In 2012, the foundation began hosting an annual music festival, known as "Left Eye Music Fest", in Decatur, Georgia.In the 2018 Boots Riley film Sorry to Bother You, members of a fictional activist group called "Left Eye" use as their symbol a stripe of eye black under the left eye, in an unmentioned reference to Lopes.

Posthumous documentary

A documentary showing the final 27 days of Lopes' life, titled The Last Days of Left Eye, premiered at the Atlanta Film Festival in April 2007, for an audience that included many of Lopes' contemporaries, including Monica, Ronnie DeVoe, 112, Big Boi, India.Arie, and Cee Lo Green. VH1 and VH1 Soul broadcast the documentary on May 19, 2007. Most of the footage was shot with a handheld camera, often in the form of diary entries filmed by Lopes while on a 30-day spiritual retreat in Honduras with sister Reigndrop, brother Ronald and members of the R&B group Egypt. In these entries, she reflected on her personal life and career. A calmer side of her personality was on display, showing interests in numerology and yoga. In January 2020, Lifetime aired an episode of Hopelessly In Love, a docuseries that captures the relationships of the rich and famous, about Lopes and Rison's tumultuous relationship. It showcased the complexity of their relationship and how she ended up with a felony arson charge for burning down Rison's Atlanta mansion.

#05/27 #04/25

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