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laurelled-by-lavender · 1 year

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pairing: yamaguchi tadashi x fem!reader content warnings: PINING!! so so much pining, childhood best friends to lovers, fluff, slight angst, insecure reader, reader has hair (colour, texture, etc is not mentioned) word count: approx. 10k author's note: reader likes girls too, but no labels are applied/specified

you know that you’re supposed to be studying. of course, you know. but how can anyone possibly expect you to do so, when he looks like that. so incredibly pretty, while doing something as simple as sitting and breathing. but there’s that familiar light coming through the large library windows. that golden glow which rests on his face, illuminating his skin. he looks like an angel. you could spend hours like this, admiring him. his every freckle, line, curve and dimple. every twitch of his lips and eyebrows. every flutter of his eyelashes. simply ethereal.

you watch the way he chews at his pencil, though, not wanting to feel like a creep, staring at him much longer, you resort to the things splayed about on your table. your school books are littered everywhere, each of them opened to a different page, lines upon lines of bright pinks and yellows and blues highlighting the ink which rests on the pages. sitting not too far from said books, are the matching plastic tumbler cups he got you (pls i didnt know that thats what they were called until just now, i had to look it up) each with your respective favourite drinks.

tadashi knows you left in a hurry to meet him today. now, he never mentions it or anything, but he knows you have a tendency to be late for things. he also knows how you love to have something to nibble on or to drink when studying. so, he prepares your favourite, just how you like it, right before he leaves, so that when he meets with you, you’ll be thanking him with that beautiful smile he loves to see. it makes him feel all giddy and warm inside, knowing that he’s the one to make you happy like that. he wants to continue to make you happy, for as long as he can.

though, he’ll never tell you that.

he lifts his gaze to look at you. you look so damn adorable, he thinks. you’re wearing an over-sized pastel yellow sweater, with sleeves so long they go past your hands, along with a pair of mom jean shorts, cuffed at each thigh. you donned a pair of white shoes. well, maybe not so white anymore. the pair were quite old and have morphed into a colour of something along the lines of cream. he eyes the flowers on them, remembering the day you had both spent painting the little daisies all over them when you said you wanted to do something different. you couldn’t bother doing anything special with your hair, and you had skipped the makeup entirely, you were only studying after all. despite the little effort you put into your appearance today, he still thinks you look stunning.

he watches you reach over and grab your cup, sipping through the straw slowly, eyes still trailing on your notes. he can’t help but watch as your lips place themselves around the straw. he also can’t help the way he wishes he could kiss them. he watches you for a couple more seconds, but snaps himself out of it, wanting to be respectful of your friendship while he knows..

you like someone else.

after about half an hour, you let out a small, but exaggerated half-whine half-groan.

“i hate this” you say with a small pout. “it’s so boring, and my brain’s no longer allowing information inside of it. ‘m done.” you push your chair back and slump your upper body over the table, arms stretched out over your papers and onto his side of the surface. he sees your face duck down in between your arms, then hears a slight thud, indicating that your forehead had hit the table lightly, as an attempt to tell him that you were over it, and there was no way he could possibly get you to do anymore work today.

with a smile and a tilt of his head, he raises himself up off his chair, walks around the table, and stands behind you. he pushes your chair back into it’s proper place, forcing you to sit upright. the last thing you expected him to do was lean down right next to your ear, and whisper,

“do you need help, yn?”

you swear your heart felt as though it had entered an olympic hurdles competition, ‘cause that bitch was running a mile a minute and jumping all around, somewhere deep in your chest.

“uh, uhm- no?” you uttered out.

“is that so?” he replied. “cuz your notes are looking real blank if you ask me.”

you were quick to retaliate, pushing aside your love-struck thoughts and shooting back with,

“well, it’s a damn good thing i never asked you, isn’t it?” you turn your face slightly to your left, your faces now so close, you’d be kissing him if you moved so much as an inch. you sucked in a small gasp. you couldn’t help it. he was so close to you, you could smell his intoxicating cologne wafting through the air. it made your eyelids flutter to a close. you took in a slow breath. as you inhaled, he flooded your senses. his smell, his breath, his heartbeat. it felt as though you could feel it all. thrumming, coursing through your every nerve.

it reminds you of that time. that one time, long, long ago when you gave a piece of yourself to him when you were both only little, enraptured by the idea of having your first kiss.

he’s the one who pulls away first, again, reminding himself that this isn’t real. that he’s imagining the chemistry. the pull that’s drawing you both closer together. she likes someone else. he reminds himself, time and time again.

someone who isn’t you. a voice calls from afar in his head.

he shakes himself, mentally, disallowing those kinds of thoughts to permeate his brain. this isn’t about him, and it’s not because he’s not good enough.

he remembers the things he spoke about with his therapist. the self-love and validating exercises, reminding him, telling him, that he’s good enough. it’s not about him, it’s about some other person, and that’s not something he can control, and that doesn’t mean he’s any less important, or any less loved. especially by you.

at least he knows that he’ll always hold a place in your heart. he was, after all, your very first kiss.

his insides beam as he recalls the memory. it was clumsy. of course it was. you were only about 8 years old, as was he. you were shaking, out of excitement and nervousness. it was an elementary sort of thing. you had sort of planned it. it was kind of a mutual understanding that he’d be your first kiss, and that you would be his. he can only imagine what it would feel like now. now that he’s known you and liked you and dreamt of kissing you again for so damn long.

and yet, you liked someone else.

he’s accepted long ago, that he may never have that happily ever after that he’s longed for. the kind that he decided he wanted, with you, when you first watched ‘princess and the frog’ together as kids in your fluffy pillow fort. he remembers the way your wide eyes sparkled during the end scene, where tiana and naveen dance on the balcony in the twilight, the gleam of the moon reflecting off the water down below. he decided then and there, that he wanted that with you.

only you.

tadashi’s accepted long ago that he may never have that happily ever after that he’s dreamed of since he was a child.

at least, not with you.

you lay in bed that night, wide awake, thoughts racing. you wanted him to want you. you wanted him to want you back, so bad. it was laughable, really, how you felt like a 12 year old running around, hiding your silly little crush from your friends.

you weren’t oblivious. at least, you weren’t that oblivious. you know better than to assume that what went down in the library was a normal friendship occurrence.

he pulled away first, you remind yourself.

you try not to fixate on that, hoping that if you don’t, you’ll forget it, and it’ll be as though he did actually like you. like his breath so close to your ear was intentionally done to make you fall. to pull you closer. as if every moment after it was real. for all you know, you had imagined the whole damn thing.

your heart squeezed in your chest. is it always going to be this way? you had no idea whether or not he felt anything for you. or if he was attracted to anyone romantically at all. he seemed to avoid those kinds of questions.

what you did know, though, was that he acted differently around you than he did other girls. it’s hard to pinpoint, but it’s there. maybe it’s his demeanor. maybe it’s the way he laughs. he always did seem to laugh harder when other girls were around. they would come around and tell jokes that you can only wish you had come up with so that you could have been the one to make him laugh like that. you instead of them. you dreaded the way they touched his arm afterwards, they way they would smile at him, chin tilted down, but eyes gazing up, into his, twinkling with something more. hoping for something more.

it made you sick to your stomach.

if anything, you couldn’t blame them. he was always so nice. so kind, and pretty and smart. you couldn’t rule out his physique either, or his style. he had this way about him, that made all the girls, even the guys (and literally everyone else) fall to their knees. he unknowingly demanded attention, attracting everything and everyone to him, even the light which illuminates the very room in which he resides.

in many ways you wished that you were the only one to notice how bright he shone. how magnificent he was.

how selfish of you.

but, another part of you remembers how he was treated as a child, and you’re happy that people are noticing him and loving him like he deserves. you could only wish that they had seen it before he had hit puberty and grew ten times taller and ten times hotter. you weren’t blind to the fact that the girls who used to make fun of him back when you were young are now the ones flocking to him, hoping to be the one to make a smile form on his beautiful lips.

weeks and months flew by, as did courses and end of year exams, and soon enough, it was summer. you always enjoyed the summer, because that’s when you spent most of your time with tadashi. your difference in academic programs didn’t affect you two now that you’ve plenty of time off to do whatever you wanted. amusement parks, shopping sprees, beach trips and sleepovers were only a few of the things you’d collectively planned to do these upcoming months.

you’d never admit it out loud, but you were glad that you were less likely to see people that you knew.

during these humid and hot months, he always spends his time with you. day and night. it reassured you, that in these times, it was just you and him. you cherished it, knowing that the minute summer is done, the possibility of tadashi falling for someone is much more likely. you prepare yourself for it, mentally, though when the day does come, you’re not entirely sure you could bear it.

long ago, have you given up on any silly dreams where you’d be the one to end up with yams.

you saw, time and time again, what kinds of girls he became enraptured by when they went to cling to his arm. girls who you believed were prettier than you. girls with perfect skin and hair and bodies which you thought were a thousand times more desirable than yours. still, you’d be glad to have him by your side. after all, he is your closest friend.

things hadn’t really changed. your dynamic stayed the same. as flawless and as smooth as ever. snarky, teasing comments and effortless conversations and exchanges.

you dreaded the day he would find someone who could do it better than you.

either way, you could enjoy the now.

you were both at yamaguchi’s house, chilling in his backyard. you loved his house. it was familiar and comforting, and you adored every single aspect of it. it smelled like him, and the house was decorated with hanging plants and warm wooden tones. you basically grew up here with him. it was your second home.

you were always welcome here. tadashi’s parents always loved you, and treated you like one of their own. they showered you with love and lots and lots of food whenever you came over. always asking for you to stay for dinner and then overnight. they insisted on your company. in truth, you knew that tadashi’s parents wanted you to end up together. of course you did. hell, your parents did too. neither of them ever really tried to hide it.

your families were close. in fact, your parents were like best friends with each other, and it was all because of you two, way back when, during your elementary school years.

as the story goes, one of your parents would come over to tadashi’s to come pick you up from your after school play-date, and then they would end up spending 2 hours talking and talking to yamaguchi’s parents, forgetting about you two entirely as you laughed and danced and played in the basement. over the years, your families kind of joined together. they enjoyed each other's company, and only found greater pleasure when they realized how well you two got along (and how adorable you were together) as we know now, they became best friends, which in turn only allowed your friendship with tadashi to grow even stronger. they made no secret of their hopes of you two becoming a pair. always hinting and nudging. purposefully having you two sit next to each other at the dinner table when you stayed to have supper with them, always insisting you share a room on vacations when your families took trips together, and you parents always speaking of how you’d never find a connection like you have with him, with anyone else.

well, at least they got one part right.

if there was one thing you knew, it was that you’ll never be able to have this with anyone else. you don’t think anyone could live up to him.

you were sat on a cushioned hammock chair, legs crossed, reading a book. yamaguchi wasn’t very far from you, lying on the ground by the pool, stomach down, on a striped blue and green towel. his long legs pass the towel, and lay against the hot concrete deck. he’s resting his chin on his arms as they’re crossed, and he looks up at you, (at least, he tries to) squinting as the bright sun obstructs his vision slightly. he can make out your figure and position and can decipher in two seconds that you’re reading. he knows you love that chair. it’s your favourite spot to read. over the years, he’s observed you. he’s observed you enough to know your favourite reading positions and favourite spots, and that comfy hammock provided you the utmost comfort. he prides himself of that chair, knowing how happy it makes you.

(it’s like a subtle flex for himself LMFAO.. like every time he sees you on it he’s like, yea that’s right, that chair’s in MY backyard, no one else’s. yn’s butt enjoys THIS spot the best, n it’s all cuz o’ me!)

“whatcha readin’?” he asks in a sing-song sort of voice

“a book.” you say flatly, not wanting to lose your place.

“what’s the title of the book?” he continues,

...

no reply.

“what kind of book is it?”

more silence. you wait for another question, but it doesn’t come. after a few short seconds, just when you think he’s done inquiring...

“is it smut?”

at this you break out laughing, “’dashi, please ’m just tryna read! leave me alone!” you try to sound annoyed, but you can’t hide the smile as you speak, or the giggle after every other word.

he smiles at the reaction he got from you.

using his hands to push himself up off the ground, he moves from his spot. he notes the way you eyed his back and arm muscles as he got up, but thinks nothing of it. he then wipes his hands on his shorts and takes a couple steps towards you.

you pretend as though you don’t see him, as if you’re still reading your book. in reality, you’re just worried that he caught you blatantly staring.

he stands in front of you for a good 10 seconds. you finally look up at him, though, only to complain that he’s blocking then sun, when he snatches the book from your hands, turns and walks off quickly, reading out-loud from the pages you had open. you immediately remove yourself from your comfy chair and chase him as he speed-walks around the pool. he finally relents after 2 whole minutes, and he’s finally about to give you back the book... but instead, he simply holds it in front of you and pulls it back every time you try to reach for it.

he had his fun like this for a while.

suddenly, in the midst of his teasing, he notices something. he notices the colourful tabs which stick out slightly from the ends of the pages. blue, pink, yellow, green... a devilish smirk appears on his face as he turns to face you. you both stop in your tracks.

“what are the red tabs for?” he asks slyly.

your face feels hot and your stomach tightens. how did he know?! at a loss for words and, for once, a comeback, you decided to resume your chase at full force, grabbing the closest thing you can find to hit him with as you went.

you settled on an orange pool noodle.

this will do, you thought as you snatched it from it’s upright position against the pool fence.

from the kitchen window, his mother watches you chase her son with a smile on her face and a glass of iced tea. you two could not be more adorable. she thinks...

or oblivious.

after weeks and weeks of hot, humid weather, it seemed as though mother nature had had enough.

the clouds had become her eyes, as she loomed and watched over your town. she cried and she cried, allowing rainwater to fall. it filled ponds and lakes, and turned streets into rivers.

simply put, it was pouring.

you stood at the window, watching as the harsh drops of rain hit the puddles out on the street, forming tiny waves that drifted away and faded until another took it’s place. the grey gloom from the weather outside felt like it was infiltrating your home, passing through the windows, reaching in. into your living room and into your chest, clutching your heart. you don’t know why it made you feel this way, but you didn’t like it.

you shut the curtains in a swift motion, leaving the room significantly darker than it was a couple seconds ago, as most of the lights had been turned off. you turned to face tadashi, who was sitting cross-legged on the carpeted floor, playing solitaire. you didn’t have the heart to tell him he was playing it wrong.

“too gloomy for you?” he asked without looking away from the playing cards.

you hummed in response and sat on the couch across from him, watching him play for a while.

“wanna watch something?” you ask.

“what d’you feel like watching?” he questioned back, already knowing what to suggest to make you happy.

“i dunno, something comforting, maybe nostalgic, to take away from the gloomy weather?” you respond.

“how about fantastic mr. fox?”

“that’s perfect.”

while he made the peach tea, you set up the movie and the blankets. you soon found yourself cuddled up against him, warm mugs in hand as your shoulders and head bopped around slightly to the beat of the opening song.

it was a great choice. it was bright, and yellow and the exact opposite of whatever the world looked like outside right now.

you know that he was only doing this for you. tadashi knows how much it upsets you when it rains in such a way, so he did everything he could to make you feel all right, but for him, this weather was all too pleasant.

you never understood why yamaguchi tadashi loved rainy weather. sure, he could enjoy the sun and whatnot when it was out, but there was something about it that drew him to it. whenever it rained, he always seemed the most himself. it may have been your eyes tricking you, but every time you recall watching him as it poured, you could see a faint upturn to the sides of his mouth. as though it brought him a sense of calm. you simply didn’t get it. how could something so dreary and grey and gloomy bring such comfort to a person? most of all, how could it elicit these feelings in a person who reminded you so much of the sun? he was so bright.

when you looked at him, thought of him, never once had you ever seen rain. nor the cold or cloudy skies. you thought only of light. how could it make him so at ease? all it did for you was upset you. you hated to see the world in such a way. for, you preferred it when everything shone yellow and gold. it made you feel warm and safe.

it was funny, in a way. you two were so alike. or at least it always seemed so. maybe underneath, if you were to peel back the blankets of memories, you’d find that you’re not so similar after all. but maybe that’s a good thing,

why, haven’t you ever heard that opposites attract?

the doorbell rings and pulls him out of his thoughts. you both already know who’s at the door. you place your mug on the coffee table and make your way to the front door. you open it as if you lived there and welcome your guest in with a bright smile. he gets up shortly after you, and upon arriving at the entrance door, he sees yachi.

hitoka yachi was one of his closest friends in high school. he actually thought she was really cute when he first met her, and when you started dating someone else, he figured he might do the same to try and get over his life-long crush on you.

it didn’t work.

he found out pretty quickly that he wasn’t attracted to her romantically, and she found out just as fast that she wasn’t to him either. they agreed to be good friends, and soon enough they started confiding in one another.

he admitted his secret longing for you to her.

she admitted that she liked girls.

yachi gives you a big hug before bringing to your attention the food and board games she brought. you thank and bring the stuff she brought to the kitchen, and in the meantime, tadashi welcomes her as well. when she sees that you’re out of earshot, she immediatley asks,

“so? anything?”

he turns to her with a sigh and a look that basically says, what are you even expecting? of course not.

she tilts her head and sighs.

she can’t wait until one of you grows the balls to ask the other out.

you shout out from the kitchen saying you’ll prepare something to eat for all of you before joining them for the rest of the movie. hitoka sees this as a perfect opportunity to talk about it. they walk over to the couch and get comfortable, sitting cross-legged across from each other. (optimal gossip/drama sharing position, if i do say so myself)

“honey, what you are so afraid of? you’re so perfect for each other. she may never make the first move, yknow. remember how she was with terushima? she couldn’t confess to him, let alone speak to him. the only reason that ever happened was because he went for it! yn’s had too many heartbreaks over silly, stupid people who didn’t show her enough love. she’ll always be unsure and need reassurance and you’re amazing at that! unless you make it clear to her that you want her, she’ll never try. she doesn’t want to get hurt again. neither of us want that for her, and you and i both know that if she were yours, you’d never let that happen.”

“but what if i do?”

“what are you talking about?” she asks in disbelief.

“what if i’m not enough for her? what if i end up hurting her because i can’t give her what she wants? i couldn’t bear it if we ruined what we have now.” it’s all for naught if she’s in love with you, anyways, he thinks.

he doesn’t add that part though.

tadashi has been... speculating.

he knows you like someone, and due to some unfortunate experiences from the past, you tend to prefer dating people you’re already friends with. he figures that the most likely option would be yachi. it makes sense, he supposes. aside from him, you spend most of your free time with her. she’s pretty, she’s incredibly smart and funny, and you find great comfort in her. you both got along really well when he first introduced you two to each-other. in fact, he thought it was almost scary, how quickly you were able to befriend her. though, you were like that with everybody. after all, you were like that with him, too. tadashi figures that after how long you’ve known one another, if you were bound to catch feelings for him at some point, it would have happened by now. yachi still has that chance, he thinks. you’ve known her quite a while, but not long enough, perhaps, for you to eliminate her as a possibility for a romantic partner. he’s acutely aware of the way you smile at her. how you’re always cuddling when she’s over, how you absentmindedly play with the ends of her hair as you lay your head on her shoulder. it’s not too far fetched of a theory.

what a waste, he thinks. now neither of you can be happy.

you and yachi deserve each other. maybe he deserves you too. but just because he’s deserving of something doesn’t mean he’ll get it.

hitoka sighs, and tadashi’s pulled out of his thoughts. she grabs his face by the cheeks and places a kiss on his forehead.

“you’re overthinking again, yams.” she whispers into his skin.

he stays quiet for a moment before responding,

“i know.”

you hear footsteps shuffle into the kitchen and turn your head to find hitoka leaning against the door frame.

“hey babes, whatcha makin?” she asks with a grin.

“just a quick lil platter. lil bit a fruits n veggies ‘nd some of the chips ‘nd stuff you brought.”

you’re licking the juice dripping down your hand from the strawberries you’ve just cut when she states,

“you look upset.”

there’s a pause. you turn, continuing the preparation of the food.

“it’s raining.” is all you respond. she notices the twitch in your brow. “no. no, no. there’s something else... it’s yams, isn’t it?” she retaliates. “why can’t you just ask him if he likes me? won’t that make things easier?” you whisper aggressively, wanting to let out your thoughts without letting tadashi hear you. “we’ve been over this yn. it wouldn’t be natural. if it ends up being the reason things go wrong i couldn’t live with myself. i would never want to do that to you or yamaguchi, and i don’t want to lose either of you. if something happens between you two it has to happen organically. asking through me isn’t organic.” you sigh, “i know, i know. ‘m sorry. that was very middle school of me.” she smiles gently, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. she moves to give you a hug, resting her forehead on your shoulder. she speaks softly, and it’s muffled, but you can still her her clearly enough as she says, “it’s okay, yn. i know it’s difficult but, if you think you’re up for it, just... try. okay? make a move. a small one. trust me.” a couple moments pass in silence. you take a breath before finally responding. “okay... thank you, ‘toka.”

the three of you reconvene in the living room and spend a few hours playing video games and watching movies until you’re bored out of your minds. lazing the day away was one of your favourite things to do with your best friends, especially on a day like this. after a very long while, hitoka decides that it’s time for her to leave. you give her the biggest, tightest hug and a kiss on the cheek. the action doesn’t go unnoticed by tadashi. he bids her farewell with a hug, and as he goes to pull away she whispers to him,

“make a move, before it’s too late.”

hitoka leaves with one final goodbye and a dramatic wave once she steps out into the wet weather. as she turns to back to head home, she wonders if tadashi will actually do what she told him to, or if you’ll both give up on something neither of you knew could even be. she hopes it’s not too late.

you’re back where you started, you on the couch, yams on the floor. the only difference now being that it’s way too late in the night. you sit in comfortable silence, the only noise being the gentle pitter patter of raindrops on the windowsill. after a couple moments, he stands to make himself comfortable near you. he lies his head on your crossed legs and gazes up at you. your fingers unconsciously make their way to his face, tracing all of his features, each delicate curve. he takes one of your hands. he plays with your fingers, traces your palm, interlocks your pinkies and rubs the inside of your wrist, as though he were trying to examine every square millimeter of your hand while never once taking his eyes off of yours. as though he were captivated, all consumed by you.

“i love you, tadashi.”

“i love you too, yn.”

“no, my angel. i love you. i’m in love with you.”

her frowns, before gently removing his hands from yours so that he can sit properly, face to face with you. you sit cross-legged across from each-other, just as he was with hitoka earlier that day. “what about yachi?” he asks. “what about her?” you respond. what did she have to do with this? had she already told him? “you- i mean.. don’t you like her?” you laugh at that, albeit nervously, “of course- of course i like her, she’s my best friend, dashi.”

he lets out a small sharp breath, as though he were frustrated. not at you, but more at himself for not being able to articulate and convey his thoughts properly. “no, yn, i mean... like.. love her, like her. as a partner. a girlfriend.”

“no, my love that’s.. that’s you.”

“me?” he repeats. you nod.

“how could it be me?”

“it’s always been you.”

he’s quiet for a while. he stares at you, eyebrows furrowed. you’re not exactly expecting a love confession back. you don’t even know how he feels about you beyond being his best friend. but at the same time, you didn't expect this. tadashi used to apologize a lot. he never really spoke his mind. he would bottle it up, more and more and more until he exploded. he always felt terrible afterwards.

“no.”

in that second, you feel as though your heart stopped beating. but even then, his blatant rejection is not an explanation. he continues for you. “no. you’re not in love with me. you may think you are, but you’re not. you’ll get over it soon enough and- and.. i’ll- i don’t wanna hurt you. no.... no.”

“dashi-” you start, but he’s interrupting you, “this can’t happen.”

your vision is blurry, clouded by tears. lips quivering, you manage a quiet,

“why?”

there are tears flowing down his cheeks now, too. he brings his hands up slowly, ever so gently, to cup your face. his hands are warm on your skin. he rests his forehead on yours. he breathes shakily. “i’m so sorry, angel. you’re the love of my life,” it was said softly but passionately, his voice cracking a little at the end, “but you have to go now.” you sob and shake your head. “don’t do this.” you say. he nods in protest, “i have to.” your tears fall quickly down your face. you can’t remember the last time you cried like this. you didn’t expect to lose him. not today. not like this. his palms are wet from your salty tears. “go.” he whispers you scrunch your eyes shut, praying the tears away. praying all of this away, hoping it’s just a bad dream. a nightmare, the worst, most realistic one you’ve ever had. but when you open your eyes, he’s still there. his lips are quivering, much like yours, and his cheeks are as pink and his eyes are. you hate to say that he’s still as beautiful as ever. he’s not looking at you anymore. he can’t stand to look at you, let alone in the eye. the warmth and comfort of his hands have left the sides of your face, and you feel empty. you stand slowly, making your way out of his house. the place you used to call your second home. it all comes crashing down on you, much like the rain outside. you’re colder than ever. with nothing else to lose, you walk. you walk to the only other person you can fully trust. you go to yachi’s.

you hesitate several times on your way there, but you figure if anyone knows how to help, it’s yachi. when you get to her apartment, it’s almost 1:30 in the morning. she opens the door a crack before realizing it’s you. it takes her a second more to notice the tears streaking your face and the way you sniffle before she’s ushering you inside with a hand on your back, and another in your hand. you’re slightly hunched, with your free hand over your heart.

“it hurts.” you sob.

“oh, baby. what happened?” she asks, but you she’s not expecting an answer yet. not until you’re comfortable and dry.

she brings you to her room and sits you down on her bed. she undresses you gently but quickly, and puts you in the clothes she keeps at her place for you in case you need to sleep over. they’re comfy and oversized. you feel yourself starting to warm up. all throughout, your eyes are stuck to the floor, unmoving. she then moves you under the covers and holds you close. your eyes burn from how much you’ve cried, and now that they’ve dried, they feel heavy. you fall asleep before you can even process it.

you wake up to the smell of pancakes. you almost cry again when you remember what happened last night. your body screams at you as you get up and shuffle into the kitchen. hitoka turns from the stove when she hears your footsteps. she smiles a small smile and gives you a hug and a kiss on the cheek. “i’m making you your favourite. it looks like you need it.” you hum in response as she tells you to sit on the couch and put something on the tv. moments later, she’s placing two plates on the coffee table and taking her spot next to you. you’re filing through the shows without really paying attention to the names. you’re in a daze. hitoka’s soft voice brings you back to her.

“do you wanna talk about it?”

the truth is, yachi already knows everything. well, at least from tadashi’s point of view. after you fell asleep last night, yachi took it upon herself to call him. pacing back and forth in her little kitchen, she tried to calm yamaguchi’s breathing over the phone as he panics over the end of your friendship and his decision. his breaths are heavy and he hiccups every once in a while, sometimes even choking when trying to take in too much air, too fast. “shh, shhh, honey. it’s okay. go slow.” when his breathing regulates and he’s left exhaling shakily, he tells her how you confessed your feelings for him, only for him to reject all of it by pushing you away while telling you that it wouldn’t work and that he’d hurt you. when he explains to her how you tried to reason with him, she sighs, “i though we talked about this, yams. she would do anything for you. she loved you still. she tried for you even as you were actively trying to push her away.”

“i told him that i was in love with him...” you start.

she doesn’t respond. she waits, knowing that you’re not done. “he-,” you sigh, “he told me that... that i wasn’t truly in love with him, and that he’d hurt me.” tears flood your eyes as she hugs you closer. there’s a pause before you finish in a pained whisper. “he told me i was the love of his life.” she pulls back at that, hands on your shoulders. “he, what?” you sob with a hand over your mouth.

tadashi didn’t tell her about this. she knew it of course, that he was in love with you. she’s known for ages. but he failed to inform her about his confession to you. finally, you both knew, and yet, things weren’t right. you should be together right now. holding each other and happy. “i’m so sorry, baby.” it’s whispered into your hair. she doesn't know what else to offer as consolation. she knows things will turn out all right, but as is known, yachi believes in the art of the organic. he'll figure it out soon enough, she decides. for now, the best she could do is comfort you. she wishes that things had gone differently. her heart breaks as you sob into her arms.

it’s been a week. you feel a little better, but the hurt in your heart still lingers. the sting is more painful than you’d like it to be. you wish it could lessen quicker. yachi stands in front of the mirror in her bedroom, holding up different tops against her chest.

you watch her from the bed, the netflix show playing on your laptop long forgotten as you help her make decisions for her outfit tonight. she eyes you from the mirror, “you sure you don’t wanna come?” you shake your head. “i don't know if i can handle a party right now. my poor aching heart needs a rest.” you exclaim sarcastically, resting the back of your hand against your forehead as you drop your head back, feigning distress. she chuckles before searching through her earrings to find the right pair. “maybe,” she says. “but maybe it’ll be good for you. i know you’re not one for rebounds or anything, but at the very least you can drink your sorrows away.” she finishes and turns back to you holding a different jewel against each ear, silently urging you to decide for her. “the silver ones.” you decide. she hums with a nod. you think about it. it doesn’t sound that great, but you’ve been cooped up in your room for days. maybe it’ll be nice to let loose a bit. she’s right, you think, booze might help. “okay, i’ll come.” she jumps excitedly with a clap of her hands, dragging you up and off the bed to her closet to help you pick something out for tonight.

the club is loud and cramped. hitoka holds your hand as she leads the way to the bar, seemingly knowing the layout of the place perfectly. you couldn’t blame her, you suppose. hinata throws a lot of parties. it wasn’t unlike him to rent out a place for the night. it’s not like it would be empty, either. shoyo also knows a lot of people. when finally at the bar, you spot hinata, along with terushima and another guy you haven’t met before. shoyo greets you with a big smile and a hug. “yn! i didn’t know you were coming!” he exclaims, though it’s a little slurred. you nod at the other two, not missing the wink terushima throws at you. you and terushima didn’t necessarily end on a bad note. it’s been a long time anyways, but that was certainly unexpected of him. you can’t even remember the last time you spoke to him. yachi gets herself a drink, as well as one for you. she asks if it’s okay if she leaves you for a minute to make the tour around the club and say hi to people. after your confirmation, she leaves, though not after a final check in. yuji takes no time in swooping in after waving off his friend. “heard about your little break-up.” he says. you groan. “we weren’t even dating.” you clarify with a grumble. he hums and moves closer. “i can help.” he adds suggestively. “o- oh uhm, i don’t think-” “no, no. nothing like that,” he says. “but i’lll gladly be your drinking buddy if you’d let me? maybe even a dance partner?” you smile. you missed him. sure he was kinda sleazy, but he doesn’t mean any harm. he could be a really good friend sometimes. “thanks, yuji.” he grins toothily before jutting his chin in the direction of your cup. “bottoms up, girl.” you let out a laugh that sounds more like a scoff before downing the contents inside.

yamaguchi really wasn’t planning on coming tonight. a party is probably the last thing he needs right now. he didn’t want to face yachi, or you. you were never really a party person. he thinks to himself. hopefully, you’re not there. he gets dressed quickly and makes his way out, hoping to find a way to forget about you tonight. except, when he makes his way into the house, he spots you immediately. on the dance floor. with terushima yuji. he tries to ignore it. but you look so happy. your hips are moving, hands in the air, so carefree. you look beautiful, as always. yuji spots him. tadashi watches as he makes his way even closer to you, grabbing your waist while keeping his eyes locked on yamaguchi. he’s challenging him. he’s daring him. daring him to make a move and do something about it. he doesn’t. instead, he turns and makes his way to the bar. i need a drink, he thinks. or five.

you spend hours dancing, taking turns with yachi, shoyo, and even bokuto. bokuto was lively and incredibly funny. you dare say you enjoyed dancing with him the most. although, terushima was a close second. soon enough, yuji asks to steal you back from bokuto. he grabs your hand and brings you closer before turning you around so that your back is to his chest. he puts his hands on your hips and dances in sync with your movements. yamaguchi watches from the indoor balcony that looks down upon the dancefloor. he watches as terushima grinds his hips sensually and rakes his fingers against your sides. tadashi downs his drink, before asking the closest girl next to him to dance.

she agrees eagerly, thrilled that the mysteriously quiet freckled guy she’d been eyeing the entire night has noticed her. it doesn’t take long for you to spot him. he’s holding a girl’s hand, leading her onto the dancefloor.

you didn’t even know he was here.

and now you wish you did, because she’s gorgeous. tall and fit. her platinum blonde hair shines purple from the lights above. they fit well together, you think as you admire him for the first time tonight. his hair is tied up in a half-up half down ponytail. the hairstyle exposes the hidden highlights he has done. the colour matches her hair perfectly. he has a couple loose strands, but they don’t manage to hide his piercings. he wears a black cropped graphic tee. from the waist down, he wears all black. the shirt’s length (or lack thereof) shows off the fishnets he wears underneath his baggy ripped jeans. (yk like those punk yamaguchi drawings) he looks fucking incredible. it’s quite different to what he usually wears, but maybe that’s what makes it all the more alluring. you break out of your trance when you realize that he’s still here, dancing with someone else. you couldn’t fault him. you were dancing with someone else, too.

yuji feels you freeze up against him. he leans over your shoulder to look at your face and sees the tears building up. you saw them.

suddenly very gentle, he tucks away the hair from your face before whispering in your ear, “i’ll take you somewhere else.” you nod, sparing tadashi one last look before following terushima out of the bar.

you find yourself in the backseat of teru’s car, though, not how one may think. you sit in silence, the only sound being the occasional sniffle from you. “if you wqant.. and only if you want.. i can help you. for real this time.” you look at him, with tears in your eyes, and pretty lips. “gonna help me forget about him?” you ask, voice quivering as you struggle to hold back a new wave of tears. “i promise, my angel.” you almost flinch at the petname. it sounding so unfamiliar, so wrong, on his lips. you don’t say anything. instead, you nod, shuffling closer to him. you fist the collar of his shirt. he puts his index finger under your chin, tilting your face upwards, ever so slightly. you look so pretty, he thinks. he leans in, and your finger tighten further into the fabric of his shirt. you’re hesitating. yuji knows this, so he continues slowly. you’re barely leaning in. you can’t remember the last time you kissed someone like this. you felt so vulnerable. your lips were close now. the reality of it all hits you now. if you moved so much as a couple inches you’d be kissing him. you get deja vu. it takes you back to that time in the library. he was so so close to you. it felt so intimate, and you wanted nothing more than to kiss him. slowly and deeply all at once. he was tadashi. that’s who you wanted. not this. not terushima, nor anyone else.

that’s when he feels it. it’s less of a push but more of a pause. it did nothing, of course. it barely did anything. in fact, it would have been imperceptible had the situation been any different. you barely even acknowledged it yourself. he pulls back and lets out a breath, looking at you with worry in his brow. yours hands unleash their grip on his shirt and flatten against his chest. you looked to him in moderate confusion. “it’s okay,” he whispers. “you don’t have to force yourself to want this.”

you knew it yourself. you didn’t want this. you wanted tadashi. you wanted him with you, in your arms. his lips on yours, your fingers interlocked with his. his warmth, and no one else's. it’s your turn to let out a breath, though, more out of despair than anything. you rest your head on his chest, in between where your hands lay. “i’m so sorry.” gentle hands find their way to your head and back, one stroking lightly along your spine, sending shivers down your back, and the other massaging your scalp. you stay like this for a while. the two of you sit in the realization of what happened, and what could’ve happened. it’s not awkward. you lift your head and take another breath. “thank you.” it’s said with a small smile, and he can see that there’s sadness lingering behind it.

“he has to be the biggest idiot in the universe to give up someone like you.” he says, with a palm to your cheek. you smile with a scoff, “you gave me up, too, yuji.” you quip, though it’s playful. “i did. but you and i both know that we weren’t meant to be together. nor will we ever be. you’re supposed to be with tadashi.” he reasons, with a poke to your forehead. “i know,” you whisper. “i just wish he knew it too.”

soon enough, you’re walking back into the party with yuji on your arm. hitoka spots you almost immediately, as does tadashi. yachi rushes over to you, exclaiming how worried she was when she couldn’t find you. it doesn’t take long before you’re saying your goodbyes to the boys and walking back out the door you had just entered only a couple minutes ago. yamaguchi watches you leave. he almost had half the heart to go and chase you out the door, but is reminded of the girl on his arm when she plays with the bracelet on his wrist. the one you made him.

his mood drops significantly fast.

he rips his arm away from her, not caring about being seen as rude. he narrows his eyes at something near the bar, or rather someone, and makes his way over there.

yuji is leant over the counter with a drink in his hand. tadashi takes his spot on the right of him, back against the bar, arms crossed. “something uh, happening between you n yn?” he asks, voice devoid of geniality. terushima only grins, slinking his eyes to the door you left in, then back to him. they make direct eye contact. there’s a dry smile on yuji’s face. it’s not friendly. “yeah,” terushima responds cooly, not missing the way yamaguchi’s shoulders and arms tighten in their hold from the corner of his eye. he takes a sip of his drink. “is she not available?” yuji asks smugly, challenging him. “available?!” tadashi repeats incredulously, and maybe a little too quickly, too, because when he takes in the raised eyebrow and smirk on terushima’s face, he realizes that he’s never wanted to slap someone so badly in his life. yuji smiles as he watches the boy walk away wordlessly.

you couldn’t sleep. the bed was warm, the room was dark, and you were tired. and yet, you couldn’t sleep. your thoughts were so loud. “you sigh so noisily.” you hear from next to you. “oh. sorry, ‘toka.” she hums. the bed shakes and you hear shuffling noises. it all stops once she’s laying on her right side, facing you. you can barely see her, but you know she’s watching you with furrowed brows. “what happened with yuji while you two were gone?” she asks. you sense the worried quiver in her voice. you’re not one to have rebounds or meaningless hook-ups. especially not with your ex. she knows that. she wouldn’t really blame you though, with all that’s happening with tadashi. but, despite rationalizing the fact that you could have very well hooked-up with terushima, a very large part of her hopes that you hadn’t. it would crush yamaguchi if he found out, regardless of his rejection of you. she knows you’d come to regret it too.

you take a deep breath. “tadashi was there. with a girl. yuji… well… he offered to go somewhere a little quieter,,” hitoka inhales sharply at that, but doesn’t say anything. she lets you continue, giving you the benefit of the doubt. “and.. well we went to his car and.. he then offered to- uhm.. help.” there’s dread and tension in the air. anticipation. and not the good kind. there’s a pause before you continue. “we were going ot kiss. but.. i couldn’t do it.” you laugh dryly. “he noticed my apprehension before i did. it was like my body knew,” yachi lets out her breath, relieved. “it felt so wrong, to want to kiss someone that wasn’t tadashi. and i’ve only kissed him once! when we were kids!” it’s her turn to laugh now, but more out of shock and respite. “im glad. if anything, let’s just hope it makes that stupid boy realize what he’s given up.” you hum in confusion at that. “did you not see the way he was looking at you when you re-entered the bar stuck to teru’s arm?! he looked murderous. sometimes i forget that that boy can feel anger. it looks terrifying on him.”

silence falls upon the two of you. you find yourself drifting off to sleep before you hear three very loud knocks. from yachi’s apartment. the two of you sit up at the noise, hearts beating fast. you both patter to the door, not before grabbing a bat on the way to the entrance door. hitoka prepares herself before opening the door, you not too far away. she open the door a crack, the light from outside her apartment illuminating her face. you see the way the fluorescent bulbs in the hall accentuate the expressions of her face. a frown, quickly morphed to confusion, the panic melting away in an instant.

“where is she? please. i know she’s here.” you’d recognize his voice anywhere. it follows you wherever you go, in your mind and in your dreams, every single night. you make your way to the door. hitoka automatically moves aside, and you take her place in the doorway. there’s silence as you watch each other, as though it were the very first time and the millionth all at once.

“i’ll be back in a bit.” yachi announces, before grabbing her phone and her jacket, making her way out the door. the two of you watch her leave, the quiet in between you even more deafening that before. “come in.” you say. it’s extremely quiet, but he hears it anyway. making his way inside, he diffidently takes a seat on the couch, as though it were his first time here. he’s still in the clothes he wore at the party. you close the door and go to sit near him. you’re about to say something, though you’re not even sure what. you’re extremely thankful as he cuts you off-

“why were you with him?”

“he’s my friend?” you offer confusedly.

“but he’s your ex.” he knows it’s a silly argument. the dumbest, actually. he’s best friends with yachi, and they dated back in high school, too. in all honesty, he’s just upset. mind a jumbled mess of jealousy and hurt and anger and despair. you don’t offer anything to counter that, other than a knowing tilt of your head. you both know he was just talking to talk. after all, his friendship with yachi hasn’t changed one bit. not even after their break-up. you knew just as well as he did that it was a dumb assertion.

“you left with him.” he continues.

“and then i came back.” you counteract.

“yes, you did,” he scoffs lightly, “with him. on his arm.”

“and what’s it to you, huh? why do you care?” you ask, frustrated.

“you know exactly why i care,” he says with a clenched jaw. “i told you we couldn’t be together, but i never denied loving you.”

you laugh bitterly, with tears building up in your eyes, “fuck, you’re making this so difficult, ‘dashi.”

you bring your hand up to your forehead, massaging it. there’s a pause. it feels like it lasts forever. you know it’s coming.

“did you kiss him?”

you stare directly into his eyes, gaze never once wavering, “you should know by now, that my heart belongs to no one but you-”

“but did you kiss him?!” it’s rushed and frantic. his heart feels like it’s being clenched in his chest. his ribs closing in and squeezing, leaving no room to breathe or focus. he feels lightheaded, awaiting your answer. it’s painful and agonizing, not knowing what truly happened when you were gone and hurting, possibly in the arms of another.

“i wanted to,” you whisper. his heart stings. “i was so sick of crying over you. i wanted to forget about you. to forget that you told me that i was the love of your life, only to find you in the arms of another mere days after the fact, and i was finally given the chance to do so,” his head drops to his hands, elbows resting on his knees. his hair falls in between his fingers. he pulls, feeling the bite at every root. his heart feels like it’s being pierced with a million scorching needles. in agony.

“... but i couldn’t.” his head shoots back up. he watches you with glassy eyes and damp cheeks. “i wanted it to be you. i couldn’t fathom being with someone that wasn’t you.” you shuffle closer to him while holding back sobs, “why couldn’t you just let me love you?” he breathes shakily, “i didn’t want to hurt you.”

“but you did, ‘dashi. you hurt me so bad.”

he hates hearing it. it sounds so fucking harsh, his worst fear come true. he feels like he’s gonna throw up. “i’m sorry, angel. it was dumb and so stupid and i’ll never do it again because i can’t lose you. i thought i could do it. i thought i could be without you and bear it while you forgot about me to find someone else but i can’t do it. i want to be selfish. i want to be with you.” you’re close enough to rest your forehead on his. “i couldn’t forget about you even if i tried…” he brings his hands to your cheeks. his grip soft but firm, as though you were to slip from his grasp if he wasn’t careful. as though you would break. tadashi’s not letting that happen again.

“you’re my everything, angel.” he whispers against your lips.

“and you’re mine.”

thunder strikes outside as the sound of raindrops begin to patter against the windowsill, just like that day. the day that almost broke the two of you, never to be the same again.

he kisses you sweetly, a small smile on his lips.

maybe it’s because it was an excuse to care for you and be close to you. maybe it’s because he genuinely did find comfort in the rain. or maybe it brought back memories of the good ol’ days.

or maybe, it’s a reminder of what he has. what he can lose. what he almost did lose. and how fucking lucky he is to have you. his tiana. his evangeline.

he watches you from the living room entrance. his head it tipped back a little, a closed-lip grin on his face as the back of his head rests against the doorframe. you’re sitting on the couch, cuddled up in a blanket as you watch your favourite movie. the one you watched together as kids. princess and the frog.

he pushes himself off the doorframe and makes his way to you, handing you a mug of your favourite herbal tea. you look up at him with a grateful beam, and he can only duck down to place a loving kiss against your forehead.

yamaguchi takes his place on the couch next to you to watch the rest of the movie, but he doesn’t watch the movie. he just can’t take his eyes off of you.

you get prettier everyday, he thinks, as you mouth the words of the movie, knowing it all by heart.

he sighs contentedly.

tadashi smiles as he realizes he finally has the happily ever after he’s dreamed of since he was a child. the one he knew he wanted when he first watched the ending scene of princess and the frog, where tiana and naveen dance on the balcony in the moonlight.

he has his happily ever after.

and he has it with you.

only you.

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afunfunkytime · 1 year

Text

screeches it's Appearance Headcanons Time

because I am Feral

in the words of my beloved pie, "you can pry alabama having cystic acne from my cold dead hands"

arkansas is absolutely covered in freckles, they're all over his face, shoulders, arms, back, legs, everywhere. it's so cute.

texas with a star shaped beauty mark on his cheek<3

gives your louis a crooked nose that florida likes pressing lil kissies to because boys with crooked noses are just so <3<3<3

HOOKED NOSE NEVADA. GIVE HIM TO ME.

slit eyebrow nevada because yes he deserves it

giggling. tennessee with a beauty mark just above the corner of his lip. look at him. he deserves it. kentucky likes to give it many many many kisses. alongside the rest of tenns face.

makes your midwest chubby. except ohio and south dakota. they can be scrawny.

minnesota has THE most luxurious long beard ever. he makes vikings so proud. he braids his beard sometimes and looks incredible.

colorado with heterochromia when. one blue eye and one brown eye. one of his huskies has matching eyes<3

utah with a celestial nose where the tip points up at the sky and ilithiya finds it adorable your honour

utah with hazel eyes your honour

louis with super long super thick dark hair your honour. it's so fluffy. so thick. thicker than him, and he's hella thiccc. yeah bitch thiccc with three c's.

y'all can't tell me louis doesn't have luxurious eyelashes. look at him. he's so pretty.

bites you. makes your georgia a redhead. bites you again. gives him freckles all over his body. bites you again. makes him chunky, big thighs, love handles, potbelly, look at him he's so pretty. bites you even more. gives him stretch marks too because underrated adorable feature. bites you one last time. gives him broad shoulders. that was a trick, bites you for the real last time. hes got such pretty and long eyelashes, soups jealous of his eyelash game. i could talk about georgia all day. i probably will. I love him. also he's caked the fuck up.

hands you georgia with smile lines.

he looks so warm 🥹

snatches montana with constellation shaped freckles up and noms on him

lemme just say what we all know.

louis has massive titties.

anyway.

gently hands you two toned lips sippi. idk i saw a girl with this and she was gorgeous so. yes.

finally,

new jersey who is covered in symbolic flower tattoos. they represent the people in his life that he loves. like his nonna. he loves his nonna and the flower sleeve tattoo of all the flowers in her garden. nonna<3

scream for more juice my beloveds if you enjoy

#ben brainard #welcome to the statehouse #welcome to the table #wttsh #wttt #the table #pretty boys<3 #barely held myself back from making this post all about chunky boys #yall want a chunky boy post?#scream.

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spacenintendogs · 6 months

Note

😈 Trick or Treat!! 🌔🦇✨

TREAT!!!!! :)

have a big ol' chunk from my snotstrid fic (a later chapter)

It's quiet in Astrid's room. Her parents are out for the day and the rest of their friends are either working or have another engagement. No need for her and Snotlout to put on a show like they usually do.

They can simply exist.

These days are her favorite. She won't admit it, and neither will Snotlout. She knows they're his favorite, too.

They're sitting on her bed. Snotlout is quietly scrolling on his phone while Astrid reads a book Fishlegs let her borrow. It's alright. It's a mystery novel, one that's as predictable as the rest of the ones Astrid has read but the characters are good enough. They at least have personalities. She pauses in her reading at the feeling of Snotlout laying his head down on her lap. Astrid folds the corner of the page she's on and shuts the book. The slap of the book closing startles Snotlout.

"Sorry," Astrid says blandly. Snotlout hums as an acknowledgment of her apology and goes back to scrolling. He's got his phone tilted enough so she can see. It's nothing special. He'll stop to watch a video he finds funny and snort at it. Sends it to one of the twins. Keeps scrolling. Shares a post. Keeps scrolling. Replies to an argument that doesn't matter and never involves him. Keeps scrolling. Blocks the person he'd responded to because they responded back. Keeps scrolling.

Astrid smiles as she watches him make a post, scrolling through his camera roll to find the best photos of Hookfang he has saved. He's switched to the sanctuary's account. When Hiccup initially gave everyone access to the account, Astrid had been so sure it would be a mistake. Nothing has happened except maybe a small battle in who could get the coolest or cutest photo of their dragons. The current one Snotlout has chosen is pretty cute. Hookfang is rolled up in a tangled ball with a small part of his tongue sticking out. Astrid gently runs her fingers through Snotlout's hair as he makes a ridiculous caption and uploads the post. Snotlout sighs and locks his phone, setting it down next to him on the bed.

Astrid continues to run her fingers through his hair as he dozes off. She likes how long his hair has gotten. It's much thicker now, and when he doesn't have it sticking up from the ridiculous gel he uses, it rests nicely on his shoulders. He's recently washed it, probably because he knew he'd be coming over today. It feels soft and looks very fluffy. He also has those matching dark, thick eyebrows. Snotlout claims he doesn't do his eyebrows, but with how shaped they are, and the tweezers she's found in his bathroom after seeing the area around his eyebrows being bright red, he definitely does. Not that she's complaining. He does a nice job.

Her eyes move to the rest of his face. Snotlout's eyes are closed, making it easy to see his long, dark lashes. She swears, men always seem to have the prettier eyelashes. His cheeks are red from sunburn, and the rest of his face is tanned from previous sunburns. Freckles and blemishes are abundant across his face. He loves the sun. He likes being warm.

The dark scraggles of facial hair above his lips and on his chin aren't impressive. He claims he's growing facial hair for her, but somehow his hair grows everywhere else on his body. She doesn't want him to shave his face, though. He looks far too clean when he does.

Astrid's eyes wander down to his strong chest and arms. Summer means tank tops for him. Shirtless whenever he can. His tan lines are nearly non-existent on his upper body. The tank top he's wearing now is loose enough that it hangs low and the sides are open to show his side boob. Astrid snorts to herself at referring to his side boob as side boob.

"What?" Snotlout asks, not amused in the slightest. He hasn't bothered to open his eyes, which is fine. He doesn't need to know she's ogling him. It'd make his ego far too big if that is possible.

"Nothing. Go back to sleep."

"I'm not sleeping," Snotlout mumbles as he shifts himself a little bit and resettles.

"Sure, Lout. Now go back to sleep."

#httyd #ask game #trick or treat #dragonpeanut #snotstrid #snotlout jorgenson #astrid hofferson #httyd modern au #emma tag #JCNSIDJSISJ i hope this is okay JXNDKS #rose answers #wip #rose writes #httyd fanfiction #dragons off the coast au

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daddygrimes · 9 months

Note

Hello I saw your response to my question about match-ups! Tysm and i'm excited to see who your going to match me with! I hope this isn't too long!

Zodiac sign: Leo sun, Aries moon, Leo rising

Personality Type: ENTP

Pronouns: She/her

Sexuality: Straight

I'm 5'4 and I have a very tiny body frame so i'm extremely petite and pretty small. I'm not very curvy and I literally have the body of a cereal box...lol but its fine because I have nice hips and thighs. I have thick brown hair that goes down to my back and it gets tangled pretty easily but its kinda fluffy. I have brown eyes and tiny freckles all over my face and body. I also have a very strong grunge style, like Flannels, band t-shirts, combat boots, leather jackets etc. But i'd also always enjoy a nice oversized sweatshirt or hoodie with a pair of skinny, ripped jeans and some converses or something along those lines.

For my personality.....this is where things get interesting. At first people find me very intimidating due to my resting bitch face and cold exterior but I promise i'm not like that ALL the time. When you get to know me, i'm goofy and about everything that comes out of my mouth is sarcasm or some dry humored joke. I'm also that one friend in a group where they literally will do the stupidest shit ever like for an example one time it was super dark outside and my other friend was there, while I was trying to climb a tree and I failed and fell out of the tree, and landed on my back. I got straight up after that somehow it didn't hurt.....like at all? But yeah i'm super reckless and sometimes people have to save me from myself if you get what I mean. I also have a very strong "I don't give a fuck" attitude and I will not hesitate to stick up for myself or my friends....like i'm the type of person where if someone glares at me, i'll glare right back.

I have bad anxiety and I can be very self destructive. This is where my feisty, stubborn, hardheaded side comes in. If I want something then i'll fight for it even if it hurts me and i'll get into a bad cycle of putting myself down and trying to do better even if I did great the first time but I always push myself too far and other people have to stop me because I usually can't see it when its happening. I also cover my emotions up and I have a lot of trouble talking about whats bothering me or what problems i'm having emotionally so I put up a wall and I act tough, or happy and sometimes i'll be the exact opposite but I try to hide it.

Weird things about me: I've grown up in the south all my life so sometimes when I talk a few words they'll come out sounding WAYYY more country and southern then I wanted, I don't have an accent but sometimes my words just come out that way. I also love the smell of cigarette smoke....let me explain. When I was a kid my parents smoked a lot and I was used to smelling it and now it reminds me of home and is sort of comforting.

Things I like: I love swimming (I was on a swim team for about 9 years), I love horror movies, I like rain and the sounds of thunderstorms because its calming to me, I also love the smell of rain, I like cloudy days, cooking, listening to 80's and 90's rock but mainly 90's because 90's is the best, My favorite bands are Bush, Audioslave, Red Hot Chili Peppers, Lincoln Park, Pearl jam but i'm pretty open to anything.

Things I dislike: Spiders.......I will scream if I see a spider I looked up pictures of spiders today and I almost died.

A/n: I know, I know... It's been a long ass time. But I'm gonna catch up with it all now 😭 Forgive me

I ship you with Negan Smith!

Negan would be interested in getting to know you, for sure. He'd keep his guard up at first and wait for you to slip up in some way so he could play a messed up game of cat and mouse with you. When he realizes that you have a sharp wit, and aren't afraid of standing up for yourself, he'd be pretty infatuated.

He digs a reckless girl, but he wants to be the most reckless thing in her life.

Before you became a thing, you had been friends. Because of the same personality type, you got along like a house on fire. Negan has always treated you like an equal and someone worthy of his time. You could sit in his makeshift office for hours discussing things you’ve never thought you’d discuss with anyone. That made you feel closer to him than any friend you ever had. It was your favorite place to hang out when there was nothing to do around the Sanctuary.

Negan loves everything about you, from your tiny freckles and eyes he couldn’t stop staring at to your grungy style and wild hair that seemed to swallow his fingers whenever he tried to pass them through and unravel some of the tangles.

Negan would dig your look but he would want you to be a little more confident and not have such a low opinion of yourself.

Keep the flannels and hoodies coming. He finds a chill girl hella sexy.

The fact that you were shorter than he was made him feel like you were fragile. It made you look less intimidating and softer than any other woman in the sanctuary, which Negan wasn’t used to. Maybe you weren't a princess that needed protecting, but he wanted to be your knight in shining armor. The fact that you were clumsy and seemed to goof around even when there was no time and place for that made him want to ensure you were always safe even more. He wouldn’t be able to live through losing you just because he wasn’t careful enough and let you run around by yourself in the middle of the apocalypse.

You never seemed to care about what people thought of you, even though Negan did. He loved how you didn't seem to be bothered by anyone. And when somebody got under your skin, you did not hesitate to shut it down, earning yourself a round of applause from your man if he was around to see it. He let you handle stuff like that and only interrupted when things started getting out of hand.

Negan would appreciate seeing that feisty, stubborn side come out when you need to defend yourself or someone you care about.

But he wouldn't like seeing you destroy yourself. He'd try to nudge you into being more vulnerable and open about your emotions. And he would do a damn good job of it.

He’d be your rock, someone you could go to with your worst problems. He knew exactly how it felt to think you were constantly fucking up, always not good enough. He was there for you. You knew he would support you through anything.

Negan would like the southern twang in your voice. He finds it endearing as hell.

He would be amused by the fact that you find smelling cigarette smoke comforting, but he'd want to make sure you don't pick up the habit as well. He'd want to make sure you don't fall into that old family pattern of smoking. He'd do anything to keep you from smoking. He doesn't want you to shorten your life even more.

Negan would dig the fact that you like swimming. He'd enjoy taking you for a swim.

He'd love that you like horror movies and rainy days. Rain reminds him of the storm inside himself.

That 80s 90s rock though, that would impress Negan tremendously.

Negan would mock you a little for your fear of spiders, but in a lighthearted way.

After he was done laughing, he would remind you that he's the big scary one, and you don't have to be afraid of spiders when he's around.

#the walking dead #twd #the walking dead amc #twd ships #twd ship #the walking dead ships #ships #ship

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hallowed-nebulae · 1 year

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his bracket/poll won't be until next week, but here's more k'pheli/sae'pheli'ehva propaganda, for the wol tourney run by @woltourney ! these sketches are messy bc the lack of spoons hit ahaha

the appearances are as follows, left-to-right top-to-bottom: A Realm Reborn, Syrcus Tower alliance raid (Crystal Tower questline), midway through Stormblood, Labyrinth of the Ancients alliance raid (Crystal Tower questline), post-Crystal Tower questline. and a doodle of k'pheli and g'raha (from just before ST raid)

some notes under the cut, bc these got rambly oops:

k'pheli has two names! technically "k'pheli tia" is the second one, and sae'pheli'ehva is the first one; it's due to the worldbuilding of the au he's in, which i might elaborate on at some point later. but both names are equally valid and he'll answer to either of them

technically he's a self-insert but i added lore for how that works, so in-universe he's the incarnation of a god responsible for creating the plane of existence. because of this he does radiate divinity sometimes, though other times he's just some guy. in-universe he's also worshipped bc people (g'raha) Notice the divinity and go (in the tone of the history of the world and everything) "we should make a religion out of this" and then they did.

adding onto that, because the god he's an incarnate of had black hair, the more he's worshipped the darker sae'pheli'ehva's hair gets, and it'll eventually turn black. the blue streaks are crystal (as is the lighter blue eye), and the blue streaks are to do with him being the crystal god (because the whole religion that worships him popped up around mor dhona and the crystal tower -- i'll elaborate on this later)

after g'raha gets sealed away, the tips of his ears and tail turn black permanantly while the rest returns to the original pink color, and k'pheli cuts his hair short. it grows out from HW to post-SB, where it ends up going down to about his waist.

he's got chronic aether sickness and due to divine nature creates a ton of aether-filled crystals to try and lessen the amount of aether in his body. all of the crystal jewelry that he wears is made by his own hands and he'll give out any crystals he makes for free. as a gift.

k'pheli is afab genderfluid but uses he/him for convenience; the little marks at the corner of his eyes are actually tattoos to match what a male miqo'te's face marks would look like, but he's too lazy to cover up his other natural ones.

the crystal streaks in his hair increase over time, though by post-SB they've stopped growing. they're just sorta there.

his canine teeth are made of crystal, as are his claws. he loses about 60% of his tail around the waking sands incident (yknow, when pretty much everyone is killed) and regrows the missing 60% as crystal (though this is somewhat a painful process)

technically this image is inaccurate, since he isn't learning archery until the crystal tower questline (g'raha is the one to teach him the basics) and only tears through archer/bard quests after the world of darkness when g'raha gets sealed away. it made for a good visual contrast with the dragoon armor though so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

since he's a gelmorran miqo'te (more on this on another day), he's naturally taller than other miqo'te. gelmorran miqo'te are generally the same height as elezen, but poor k'pheli is short. luckily for him, short for a gelmorran miqo'te is tall for any other miqo'te, and as such he's several inches taller than his beloved g'raha. perfect height difference to rest his chin on g'raha's head and hug the allagan history nerd from behind.

i couldn't think of what to put in the bottom right corner initially so i just put that little g'raha/k'pheli doodle there. the ship of the two of them has a name and it's crystalline connection, bc i like my themes. and yes g'raha has freckles, it's what he deserves. k'pheli will trace the freckles in an invisible constellation with his fingers, as one does

the one crystal eye has a white pupil because i thought it looked cool and also something something divine eye. i dunno the vibes are neat

i have not actually played SB or post-SB or ShB (i've been watching a letsplay) due to being a free trial player, so any of sae'pheli'ehva's outfits from post-HW or onwards have yet to be properly ironed down. oops. if you see inconsistency in outfits due to this, don't worry about it! it's gucci!

#final fantasy xiv #oc: k'pheli tia #g'raha tia #scribbles #wol tourney propaganda #i put ''insatiable'' from ShB on loop while drawing and coloring this lmao #anyways i was trying to think of what hairstyle for SB k'pheli before i got bonked over the head with ''use kilmaa as inspiration''#so shoutout to kilmer from uhh niru kaijitsu's music videos and also miy_yuu's cover for helping me find those songs to begin with aha #im scheduling this post bc its almost 2am as i type this lol

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rosemist50 · 1 year

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Some redesigns!!! Whoopie!!! These have been long overdue lol, I just haven't had time to do them until now :') The originals are on the left, and the new ones are on the right.

With Goldenflower, the first thing I wanted to be different was her shape, I wanted her to be more large and sturdy, more like her brother Lionheart. Her eyes are now green, to also match her brother (and Tawnypelt). I kept the ear spots and if you squint the markings by her eyes are supposed to be flower-esque.

Then Rootspring, I think I showed the design on my stories a few months back, it's pretty much the same as that one. I put the little eyebrow scar he gets from I think Ashfur, and also added black to the hair fringe. Got rid of the eye motif of the original but I think it's fine.

If I was redesigning Rootspring then I had to do Tree as well, I tried to keep him looking similar, just more fur and also eyebrows. Rootspring has his black markings from Violetshine, tho I do realize Tree could also have them from Moonlight... hm..

Thrushpelt needed a whole makeover I'm so sorry my boy 😭 I gave him more of a Windclan body shape bc his grandfather (Eaglestorm) is Windclan. The marking on his face is like a heart bc characterization and all and all I like this one a lot better which is all that matters 👍👍

And finally Sunbeam, I wanted to keep the same fur shape (short on cheeks and chest, mildly fluffy tail) and keep her tall. I've seen tortie Sunbeam designs with yellow and I thought they were super cute (which is kinda why the original has the yellowish stripes) but then I thought what if I made it with black to match her mother Berryheart and that's what I did. Kept the white tail the same, and changed up the rest of the markings a bit too. The little freckle is the lighter brown color, I know it's a little harder to tell when not directly against the darker.

All in all I really like how they all turned out. Like I said, I have been wanting to redesign these ones for a while now, I have only now finally found the time to do so. I seem to swing wildly back and forth between super saturated cats and more toned down ones haha

#warriors #warrior cats #wc designs #canon #shadowclan #thunderclan #skyclan #redesigns #goldenflower #thrushpelt #rootspring #tree #tree wc #sunbeam #sunbeam wc

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loveandfictionforall · 1 year

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Hey so this is the actual match-up request....I accidentally hit the copy and paste button on the other....sorry about that again but anyways may I please have a Walking dead and Twilight match-up? Tysm in advance and sorry again.....

Zodiac sign: Leo sun, Aries moon, Leo rising Personality Type: ENTP Pronouns: She/her Sexuality: Straight (For now might be bi but i'm going with straight)

Things I like: I love swimming (I was on a swim team for about 9 years), I love horror movies, I like rain and the sounds of thunderstorms because its calming to me, I also love the smell of rain, I like cloudy days, cooking, listening to 80's and 90's rock but mainly 90's because 90's is the best, My favorite bands are Bush, Audioslave, Red Hot Chili Peppers, Linkoln Park, Pearl jam but i'm pretty open to anything.

Things I dislike: Spiders.......I will scream if I see a spider.

Hi there!

I am glad, we found each other again, after all this time :D I read it and instantly thought of two people - so here they come:

I ship you with Daryl Dixson!

I just wanna say: Face palm. Always. He watches you and sees what you do and just face palms.

He ist legit done with you.

He does not understand how you have not died yet. But he still gives his best to ensure that you - in fact - don't die.

No, honestly, he loves you. You have character. A hard shell, just like him but behind that, you have so much personality and he feels honored to be at your side.

But that doesn't mean he doesn't want do push you off a building when you - again - fight with Rick about stupid things or when you attack Negan again. And again.

I also ship you with Emmett Cullen!

Do I even have to say something about it?

You two would be the chaos couple. The CC.

Emmett finds you absolutley funny and incredibly stunning. And it often leads from a silly prank against each other or against other family members to some 18+ stuff.

I don't even know that to add anymore, because you two are a perfect match. Absolutly funny, strange and living their best life even through all the ups and downs.

#the walking dead match up #the walking dead x reader #twd x reader #twd daryl dixson #twd daryl x reader #twilight match up #twilight x reader #twilight emmett cullen #emmett cullen x reader

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ourquicksilvered · 9 months

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Hi there! tysm for doing this with me! I am already working on your match-up so I hope you enjoy when its done!

Zodiac sign: Leo sun, Aries moon, Leo rising

Personality Type: ENTP

Pronouns: She/her

Sexuality: Straight

Fandom: Marvel (Male match please!)

Things I dislike: Spiders.......I will scream if I see a spider I looked up pictures of spiders today and I almost died.

First off, you sound hella cool. Secondly I saw Bush play last year and I fell in love with Gavin Rossdale… again.

I match you with… Steve Rogers! I know this sounds like a weird match, but it is no secret that Steve loves himself a strong ass woman! And that is you. I think that he would be the voice of reason that you would need when you do something reckless, but you will be the one to remind him to have fun and be reckless every once in a while. I think he would enjoy learning about bands and music from the 80s through 90s with you. he’s also always there for you to talk to you when you’re going through it and make sure that you don’t do anything self-destructive. I think while you would be a good match for Steve, you would probably be besties with Bucky. You two balance each other out. He finds your southern accent charming (I mean us southern girls are the best in the world) and do you get away with so much because of it.

I could also see you with Wolverine. Like Steve he also loves a strong woman. While Logan doesn’t smoke cigarettes he does smoke cigars, which also have a very nice smell. When you’re going through it, he lets you open up on your own time and listens to you but also make sure that you don’t do anything stupid. He thinks it’s super cute when you act all tough. also you would be a cute couple because you would be all matching.

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the-daily-multi-fandom-post · 2 years

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Hi may I please have a match-up for the walking dead and the hunger games? It was honestly hard to choose because there were so many good fandoms lol but tysm doing this! I'm excited to see who you'll match me with!

Zodiac sign: Leo sun, Aries moon, Leo rising

Personality Type: ENTP

Pronouns: She/her

Sexuality: Straight

Things I like: I love swimming (I was on a swim team for about 9 years), I love horror movies, I like rain and the sounds of thunderstorms and waves because its calming to me, I also love the smell of rain and salt water, I like cloudy days, cooking, listening to 80's and 90's rock but mainly 90's because 90's is the best, My favorite bands are Bush, Audioslave, Red Hot Chili Peppers, Linkoln Park, Pearl jam but i'm pretty open to anything.

Things I dislike: Spiders.......I will scream if I see a spider.

Thanks for requesting! I’m a Leo too! And I like your taste of music! I’m from the south too so I know what it’s like to not have an accent and then it comes out all the time!

*sorry for taking such a long time to post this. Sorry it’s shitty. *

For the walking dead I think you would do good with

Rick

You too would be so cute together!!

Rick would be really attracted to you because of your unique sense of style and personality.

He would like that you are so unique and perfectly stand out from the group.

He loves that you have long hair and would 100% play with you hair if you allow him to

When you have anxiety He already knows and helps you through it

Knowing what it’s like to go through anxiety himself he’ll always try to help the best he can

He loves your independence but is always close by if you ever need anything

He loves the sarcasm and your “I don’t give a fuck” attitude as long as it’s not being careless when it’s important to be on guard and ready for anything dangerous

He loves that you let him comfort you

He’ll hum songs that reminds him of you whenever you are stressed out or anxious

If you’re going through something he’ll give you space until he sees you doing something that self destructive

He knows what it’s like to not be able to show true emotions

Even when you try to hide your emotions he can read you like a book.

He’s always there if you need to talk

He will kill the spiders and any creepy crawlies.

At first he doesn’t know what you’re freaking out about, then he noticed the small granddaddy long leg and laughed. He laughed because a bad ass bitch can kill fucking zombies, but is scared of a spider. (No offense)

When y’all are laying down together he loves to try to count all your freckles. You laughed at him the first time he does it.

If you’re insecure about you’re freckles he’ll tell you he loves them and he’ll kiss each freckle as he says I love you and sweet nothings over and over again.

You climb trees when you get mad and want to have some time to yourself. He knows this so he’ll go to the tree you always go to and talk to you until you come down.

Eventually, when you come down the two of you will walk back to Alexandria and have a cute little date and just spend time together.

It’s a beautiful relationship #goals

For the hunger games

I think you would do good with

He 100% loves how short you are compared to him.

He would love to hold onto you while y'all slept.

Would kill all the spiders in the world for you.

Because of his sisters he would know how to braid and would love to braid your long hair.

If you were picked in the reaping he would volunteer for you. He couldn't imagine you getting hurt or hurting other people.

Would take you night swimming in the lake right outside the district.

Loves you in all the right ways.

He loves your freckles and would play connect the dots with them in his mind.

he would protect you whenever you needed it

loves your sarcasm

And just over all loves you for who you are.

#the walking dead #the walking dead rick grimes #daryl #daryl dixon #the walking dead x reader #the hunger games #gale hawthorne #the hunger games x reader #Gale Hawthorne x reader #Asks #q&a #Asks are open #I’m finally back #x reader #imagines #twd imagines #twd fanfiction #the hunger games fanfics

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noroi1000 · 2 years

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May I request for a match up with jjk men

I go by wolf I'm a female , straight,4'9, my body type is a hourglass figure. I have brown eyes and brown hair that is super curly and wavy thanks to my native Indian & Spanish hertiage it tends to turn a little red in the summer when I'm in the sun I have freckles. That are sometimes an insecurity. I have adhd and suffer from anxiety and depression. I am also legal deaf. I have been in out of doctors my all life due to me being born prematurely with very little chance of survival. So I have had surgeries so I have scars I have one that is from when I was born it's on my stomach my medical conditions and issues have never been anything I have felt ashamed of. (Which all of these things caused me to be bullied and left out in activites I remember crying thinking it isn't fair it's not fair I just want to play and have a friend). Moving on

Personality type: "The Advocate" INFJ-T

My hobbies include playing with my 3 rescues dogs, cooking,baking, trying new restaurants, reading, writing, sleeping, shopping,and crafting

I like watching shows such as anime, criminal minds, NCIS, law & order special victims unit, any criminal documentary, friends.learning about my heritage.

I dislike bullies Lairs vegetables politics narrcisst,People who abused the young and elderly,School, fake people,drama,

I can be a lot to handle at times especially with my anxiety and depression. And I get frustrated very easily. I'm not the best at communicating and often keep things to myself. I hate asking for help. I refuse to cry in front of others unless I feel comfortable enough around you. I tend to overthink the tiniest things. I push myself to my limit often times passed my limit. I read people pretty well, always willing to give a helping hand even if I myself am having a hard time but will not dare ask for help. I'm a lone wolf. A lot of folks say I'm hard to approach because of my resting bitch face lol it's just my face. I'm honest and that's why many people don't want me around I hate drama. From a young age I have always been able to read between the lines and find a deeper meaning, think outside the box, immediately sensing someone's emotions especially snice I'm an empath. I've been told it's a gift it is in a way but some days it feels like cruse. I enjoy learning about different cultures, myths, legends. Along with enjoying the simpler things in life.

Random facts

My aesthetic (s) : Dark Academia. Country.

Favorite Animal: Wolf

Zodiac sign: Sagittarius

Favorite Food: Depends on what I'm in the mood for

Favorite Quote : To many to list

Favorite Time Of Day: Night

Music I listen to:

Genres: Folk,Country,Rap, Pop, Rock & Roll

I think your Jujutsu kaisen matchup is

Yuta Okkotsu

Yuta is a person who… He wasn't liked very much by people. Actually, he wasn't liked at all. People had rejected him themselves, regardless of his feelings.

He never wanted to be spurned, and he wanted friends. However, he could not have had them for a long time. Even if he wanted to have someone to talk to and also meet, he couldn't. He was harassed. Like everyone at school, he had people who bullied him. There are mean people everywhere who hate the weaker and laugh at them. He hated people like that, and he still hates them. Therefore, he was afraid of the world, and actually did not want to go anywhere. He had a really bad life.

While his world changed a little, he too changed.

He was not afraid to live and also smiled when he made friends.

However, he had some behavior left.

He got nervous quickly, and especially when someone was hurting his relatives, he was still hesitant to people and did not talk to strangers often, and when he tried, then he suddenly stopped, not knowing if he could continue talking. When something bothers him, he hides it even under a smile. He will not pass on bad things to someone else.

He tries to help everyone he can, but he will not ask for help in his problems. He will not burden someone with his own affairs, but in the meantime he burdens himself, and prefers to take care of it himself. But his every friend, or just a person he knows, can ask for help and he will definitely get it. He is just a nice person who cannot refuse to help. He liked it already. He also enjoys seeing a smile and listening to someone thanking him. Then he felt needed, as if he was really important to them.

important And he can also finally say that he has friends. And even someone closer than a friend.

He would never show his weaknesses. He will really cry for various reasons or because he is struggling, but when someone calls him to come, no matter what, he does everything quickly not to look like he is crying and sad and comes out with renewed energy. In everyone, he only cries in situations where he cannot stop it. Then he would hide his tears anyway.

He, too, would like to be comforted. When he comforts someone, he does it in such a way as to cheer him up as quickly as possible. When he cries, he just wants to hide. Whether alone or in the arms of a very trusted person. Just to think about it all.

He tries to express his feelings honestly, but doesn't want to be mean to anyone.

He is always feeling someone else's emotions. He thinks about it, and may even figure out what happened to make someone sad. He analyzes the time that the person spends to find out everything. Then he will try to change the mood to comfort as only that person could want.

Headcanon:

• He is an honest person who also hates false people. He often feels obligated to put you in a good mood. He would never put himself above you, and he will take care of everything.

• You don't have to tell him you want help. He knows when to help you. But when you don't want it at all, you can tell him directly that you don't need his help. Then he can only smile sadly and say that he would like to help you. Not everyone may want this from him, but he would like to give you a break. After all, he can do what you want to do for you. But he doesn't want to talk you into something you don't want.

• He will help you learn more about whatever you want.

• I think your time to spend it together would be something like movie nights. He'll watch every genre, but don't make it watch horror movies. Anything but that.

He could lie in bed with you and gently hug you or roll his fingers over your skin. Watch the movie with a smile and think only about what is happening in your surroundings at the moment.

• He doesn't see any problem with your style, but sometimes he gets scared by too much darkness.

• Since you both like dogs / wolves, and also know Megumi, what's wrong with going out for walks with his dogs? It is quite a nice activity and also quiet. Plus, these creatures are so cute.

• You can define his smile as the sun, but the moon itself is, in every sense.

• It is normal to think about sleeping and all the activities you can do together. He loves you by your side, so why can't he stop what you like to do with him? He himself will be happy to try to cook something. Even if he can burn it by accident. He would like you to be his good teacher.

• What he wants most is your depression. This is definitely not nice. He knows this feeling, and will try his best to add more and more happiness and love to your life.

You gave it to him, so he will give it to you.

The names he calls you: "My life" , "My happiness"

• He doesn't care as long as he's with you. No rules. Just to make you happy.

"(y/n)-chan, how are you? You're fine, right? Please be okay. Always. At any moment. I want you to smile at me. You are My happiness. My life. Be happy always, okay?"

#jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen matchups #anime matchup #jjk headcanons #yuta okkotsu #okkotsu yuta

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rayshippouuchiha · 3 years

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Yamada: so how did you and izuku start dating

Aizawa: I saw him crush a watermelon with his thighs and I accidentally said out loud “oh god I wish that were me right now” and here we are now

~The way this immediately and completely ate my entire brain~

Of three things Aizawa Shouta is absolutely sure:

One, he simply was not built for operating during the daylight hours. Nighttime really is where it's at in his opinion. The general lack of crowds and eye-searing sunlight just can't be beaten. (Dusk and dawn hours also get a pass but they're both on thin ice.)

Two, the beach is a sandy hell-scape whose only redeeming factor is the convenient access it provides to the eldritch horror that is the ocean aka the place he'll doubtlessly end up drowning himself when he finally, and according to Hizashi inevitably, snaps and runs gibbering mad into the abyss.

And three, he's absolutely and irrevocably cursed. He's being singled out and punished from on high by the gods themselves. His name is writ large across the cosmos in mockery. There is a cosmic "kick me" sign taped to his spiritual back and Shouta's going to hunt his former student Sero down and give him detention for life for encouraging his family's patron god to put it there.

By this point it's really the only logical explanation.

Which, as a card-carrying atheist, he's pretty sure is saying something about the depth of his feelings regarding his current circumstances.

Because there's no other explanation for why or how he's managed to find himself in this current situation.

The situation being, of course, Shouta, in full hero gear, standing in the hot sun on a pristine sandy beach, surrounded by screaming fans as he provides extra security and crowd control for the 20th Annual Heroic Sukiwari Charity Drive.

Shouta has seen hell and it is both Ms. Joke's open mic night and this exact moment right here.

Because, again, he's absolutely 100% cursed.

And the avatar of said curse is, obviously, his soon-to-be ex-best friend who somehow roped him into this entire thing.

Because some people say divine retribution when talking about cosmic revenge plots but Shouta tends to just says Yamada Hizashi. The two are, in many ways, interchangeable.

Shouta's going to put purify salts in all of Hizashi's hair products and also his sugar jar and possibly his energy drinks the next chance he gets.

Because if he never sees another shirtless pro-hero or another watermelon again in his life it'll be too soon.

He's pretty sure he has permanent hearing damage from all of the screaming and screeching the crowd's been doing since this thing started.

And if, after all these years of friendship with the personification of a megaphone, watching a bunch of pro's crush watermelons with nothing but their personal strength on a beach to raise money for various charities is what finally destroys his hearing Shouta is going to shave Hizashi bald before he finally embraces sweet death.

Or enacts Nezu's birthday plans and becomes a supervillain.

The jury's honestly still out at this point.

Shouta does his best to shut out the screaming behind him as one of the cameramen slides up beside him, getting a better angle on the stage as Hizashi, who's currently screeching about Miruko's performance, practically dances across the sand in front of where Shouta's standing.

"Wow, wow, wow," Present Mic chants as he dramatically fans himself, "that was one on heart-stopping, hare-raising show. Let's give it up for everyone's favorite bad, bad, bunny, Miruko!"

For her part, Miruko just struts off the small stage with a nonchalant wave to the crowd, her tiny white bikini in place and the pulverized remains of the half dozen watermelons she'd dropped kicked into soup left behind her.

"But don't lose that rhythm yet listeners," Mic announces gleefully. "Because we've got one more hero set to take the stage! So, without further ado, it's the moment I know a lot of you have been waiting for, myself included if we're being honest. The pièce de résistance of our little shindig, the showstopper himself, the one, the only, the #1 Can Do Hero Dekiru."

The crowd is absolutely deafening.

And, for once, Shouta has to grudgingly admit that he can't actually blame them.

Shirtless, sculpted shoulders and tight abs on display thanks to his low sitting and almost criminally short green swim shorts, and with his trademark bashful smile in place, Dekiru trots out from behind the curtained-off area with a crate of watermelons resting on his shoulder like it's no big deal.

Shouta's pretty sure someone to his immediate right faints but considering they're not currently a trample risk he ignores it.

But the casual show of strength with no quirk use in sight is more than a bit impressive.

For all that people, romance specifically, and attraction in general, have all been things to be considered on a firm case-by-case basis for Shouta, even he has to admit that Dekiru is ... captivating.

Rather drastically so for Shouta considering he's never actually met the man before in person.

Though Shouta does feel like he almost knows him on some level considering the fact that it really would take an act of the actual gods to get Yagi to shut up about his erstwhile protege during staff meetings.

Dekiru waves his free hand at the crowd as he sets his crate of watermelons down on the stage.

"Show us what you've got!" Mic demands from a few feet to Shouta's left. "And let's give him some encouragement listeners!"

The crowd starts up a loud and steady chant of "De~ki~ru!" as the hero pulls his first watermelon out and begins his set.

With an effortless flex of muscles, Dekiru digs his fingers into the watermelon and wrenches it completely in two.

Shouta reaches up to tug at the top of his uniform, relishing the small sip of cool air it grants him.

Shoulders and biceps flexing, another watermelon meets its end between Dekiru's palms.

Shouta really needs to add a water bottle to his utility belt because hydration is important. Or so he's been repeatedly told.

"Those hands, those muscles," Mic groans dramatically. "He really is the Can Do Hero!"

Cheeks noticeably flushed, Dekiru sits down on the stage and fits a watermelon between thick, toned thighs.

His hips twist, those thighs flex, and the watermelon cracks, spilling juice and sweet pink flesh all over Dekiru's lap.

"Oh god," Shouta can't help but say, "I wish that was me right now."

On stage Dekiru's eyes go wide as his attention somehow abruptly zero's in on Shouta.

It's at that moment that Shouta becomes aware of the deafening silence that's fallen over the beach.

Head-turning agonizingly slowly to the left, Shouta's confronted with the sight of Mic, microphone in hand, standing shoulder to shoulder with him.

His sunglasses are askew and he's staring at Shouta with a look on his face that's one part horror and one part unholy glee.

As a matter of fact, the entire beach is staring at him in much the same way.

For a moment Shouta just freezes, body going still at having so much attention turned in his direction.

This ... was not the turn he was expecting the day to take by far.

His first instinct is to, honestly, use his scarf to slingshot himself directly into the sun so his soul can be cleansed with cosmic fire.

But then ...

"Ah," Dekiru speaks up from on the stage, one hand ruffling the back of his hair and cheeks darker than before, "maybe we could go on a date first though? If you'd like?"

There's suddenly a part of Shouta that doesn't actually want to delete himself from existence via self-immolation.

And there's an even large part that doesn't want to outright reject Dekiru's seemingly sincere offer.

Because, when it all comes down to it, Dekiru seems to be, by all accounts, what passes for exactly Shouta's type.

Whip-smart if his very public arrest record and tendency to argue online and on the air with people he disagrees with is anything to go by.

Cute, with that dark green hair and sharp undercut, matching wide eyes, and a face sprinkled liberally with freckles.

Leanly built and small enough that Shouta's sure he could move him around easily but obviously muscular enough to be able to put up just the right amount of resistance in the right situation.

And, above all else, if the stories are to be believed, obviously some degree of batshit insane.

More than one story Yagi had told during breaks had Shouta questioning if the man had imported special American demons back to Japan and then stuffed them all into the deceptively charming and approachable-looking hero that is Dekiru.

So there's really only one logical way to proceed forward in this situation.

Shouta grins.

Several people in the crowd around him step back.

He's pretty sure he hears someone start reciting a prayer.

But Dekiru just blushes, eyes locked on Shouta's and teeth tugging at his lower lip.

"Hope you like coffee," Shouta finally says into the breathless silence that's fallen over them, "and cats."

Dekiru lights up, a smile brighter than the sun and twice as deadly blossoming across his face.

Just off of Shouta's side, Hizashi's busy having some kind of hysterical seizure.

Around them the crowd is going absolutely feral.

Yagi's going to birth actual kittens in the middle of the staff room when he finds out about this.

Shouta can't wait.

#RayRambles #BnHA #Suikawari My Heart AU #AiDeku #EraserDeku

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paterson-blue · 2 years

Text

Gold Rush: Chapter 1

Summary: You and Maurizio have grown up together, sharing a special bond you've never experienced with anyone else. But one night the two of you cross a line; you're not sure how either of you will handle the fall-out.

Word Count: 5,586

Warnings: afab!Reader, domme(ish)!Reader (very light soft!domme), virgin!Maurizio, subby!Maurizio, angst & emotions & smut aka my brand, bashful shy quiet stubborn sweet nerdy freckle faced Maurizio, Reader just wants to have fun like give her a break, complicated feelings abound, alcohol consumption, hook-ups, Reader x Original Male Character (briefly), degradation if you squint, oral sex (f receiving), handjob(s), spit as lube but don't get crazy with it – let me know if I need to add anything else!

A/N: There is some Italian in this fic; however, I have provided in-text translations to make things easier to read. Hopefully it doesn't disrupt the flow for anyone!

Thank you @hedgy-hog for beta-ing this fic for me! I haven't written in a while and I was extra nervous about this one; you helped me so much. Sending you love!

**I feel this goes without saying but: the characters in this story are completely fictional, and are based off the equally fictional characters in the film 'The House of Gucci'. They are not meant to be in any way representational of the real people whose names they share.**

You’d heard through the grapevine that Maurizio Gucci had a crush on you.

It was silly, really—something you’d decided was a ridiculous rumor that would eventually fade. You’d known Mauri since you were both kids, having grown up together. Your family and the Guccis had a relationship that went back generations--intertwining through friendship, business, and even marriage. You figured Mauri’s supposed “crush” on you was concocted by some well-meaning Great-Auntie trying to further the family’s connections through match-making. So, you ignore the gossip until the next get-together, when you greet your childhood friend with a hug and get a stammered-out hello and quick escape in return. Maurizio’s face had been bright red, body stiff against yours; he’d tripped over his big feet as he left. It was uncharacteristic--sure, he was usually quiet, but he was never scared of you. His cousins had laughed, elbowed you; your elder sister just rolled her eyes into her champagne flute.

And you realized maybe the rumor isn’t so silly after all.

It’s funny, really--flattering, yes, of course, but Mauri is possibly the last man you’d think to have a crush on you. Sweet, shy, lovely Maurizio. He was fun to tease, fun to fluster, but you also always enjoyed truly talking with him, hearing his thoughts, listening to him discuss his studies. He was ridiculously intelligent, a softer man than the rest of his family. Rodolfo was far too hard on him, practically abandoning Mauri after his mother passed; his governess, a nice woman named Flora, had raised him to be babied, sheltered. And he was: locked away in that gloomy estate but for family get-togethers. He was a skinny kid with glasses, always touted around a pile of books. When the two of you were younger, you would find a place to hide while the other kids rough housed--you’d pour over intricately illustrated atlases, dreaming of where the two of you would travel once you were all grown up.

But then, the two of you had grown up--you finished school and went into the family business. You managed one of your family’s jewelry stores in Milan while you attended business courses part-time. It was a nice life. You were supported by your family’s money, but you were saving all your income; as soon as you got your degree and earned more experience, you’d move up in the company. The eventual goal was to become at least a little bit more independent, though you knew full independence from your family would never truly exist. It just wasn’t how things were done. For now, you have your job and your studies, and plenty of time for the socializing and courting that your mother required of you.

Maurizio, on the other hand, stayed relatively the same as he was when he was a child. He was a quiet, introverted shut-in ruled by his father’s whims. His father paid for his intense law schooling, for his plush apartment in the heart of Milan, for his Vespa, and all other expenses. Mauri wasn’t much for clubs or parties; he much preferred being all by his lonesome in a library somewhere, sipping espresso while he buried his head in a book. He didn’t date. Ever. The only two times you knew him to take someone out, his father had strictly required a chaperone--and poor, timid Maurizio hadn’t the heart to argue. You’d discovered, at one particularly raucous family event where the cousins had convinced a tipsy Maurizio to play along with their drinking games, that he’d only ever kissed one girl, when he was 18. The only thing that had really changed about your Mauri throughout the years was that he’d finally seemed to fill out to fit his height. He was still clumsy and awkward, but he was no longer stick-thin with coltish limbs--instead, he was built and sturdy. Handsome, though he didn’t know it.

You saw him around town from time to time, ran into one another in cafes and bookstores. The interactions were almost always brief, the two of you usually having somewhere to be--you would both wave, maybe exchange a cheerful greeting, his words always soft spoken. Occasionally he would be more daring, which was always a nice surprise. Often it was in the evening, when he was on the way home from studying, full of espresso and happy to be out in the fresh air--he’d pull aside you on his bicycle, a rosy smile on his face, say: “Buonasera, agnellino. Good evening, little lamb.” It always made you laugh, the teasing nickname. When you were children, you were both so quiet and timid that the adults called you “little lambs.” Now, you were nothing of the sort, but Mauri had clung to the pet name to poke fun at you.

Yes, Maurizio Gucci was possibly your longest lasting friendship. You genuinely liked him, and if you were being honest with yourself, he might be your closest friend--a migliore amico. A best friend. It’s not like you could very well trust those you were usually surrounded by with many serious things. The socialites and party goers were here one day, gone the next--they didn’t understand your commitment to your work and studies. And, likewise, those you met through school and work often did not understand your loyalty to your family and the obligations you had to meet. Maurizio, though--he understood. He always understood. He had never betrayed your confidence in the quarter century you’d known one another. Though the two of you had many differences, your similarities brought you back together time and time again. Shy, sweet, lovely Mauri. Your families would be delighted if the two of you got together--you’re sure Rodolfo would breathe a sigh of relief, relinquish his hold on his late-wife’s wedding ring, and fund the nuptials after the first date.

But Maurizio? Really? You weren’t sure you could imagine him as a boyfriend, much less a husband. Of course, it’s not at all his fault that he didn’t have a man to look up to in his life, unless you counted Aldo--and you were not counting him. He just… he was your sweet, smart but clueless, viso lentigginoso–freckle-faced Maurizio. At this stage in your life, you just weren’t looking for what he could provide. Or, more so, he couldn’t provide what you were looking for. Mauri would be perfect for someone who wanted to settle down, who wanted sweet kisses and gentle lovemaking, who wanted to be a lawyer’s wife and a homemaker. Maurizio would be kind and fair, would be loving and compassionate--of that, you had no doubt. But you were twenty-five; you wanted excitement, adventure, la passione. It wasn’t what Mauri exuded.

His crush would blow over. He would find something else to preoccupy his mind, whether it be some other young woman or simply a particularly interesting novel. You would treat him as if nothing was wrong, as if you hadn’t heard the rumors--or at least, didn’t believe them. Things would go back to normal in no time, and the two of you would continue to grow together. There would be parties, birthdays, weddings, children born--somehow, you have no doubt in your mind that Maurizio would be by your side through it all, and you by his. Migliori amici. Gli agnellini. Best friends. The little lambs.

You should have remembered how good Maurizio is at surprising you.

You didn’t plan it. Really, truly, honestly you didn’t--and maybe it sounds like you’re trying to convince yourself, but you didn’t plan it. You really had put Mauri’s silly little crush out of your mind by the time Rodolfo’s birthday came around. Aldo insisted they have a party, and surprisingly, his brother was amenable to the idea. You half expected the get-together to be canceled, but when the day came and plans were still scheduled--well, there was no way you weren’t going. You did enjoy the parties the Gucci family threw despite the inevitable eccentricities and drama that came along. It was guaranteed good food, good gossip, and good wine, no matter the company.

You bring a date--James, a Brit you met at some party. His father owned yachts, or raced yachts, or something to do with yachts. It really didn’t matter. Neither of you were in it for the long haul--he was handsome, funny, rich, and a good fuck. That’s all you wanted, and all he wanted in return. He was elated to go to a Gucci party; you’re sure he’ll brag about it for the rest of his silly little life. It was all the same to you; he left for home in a month. All you wanted was someone on your arm so your mother wouldn’t pester you the entire time about finding a match.

It’s really not your fault that three hours into the night you get bored and drunk and horny. There’s a lull after the excited greetings, the football game, the heavy hors d'oeuvres, the giant cake, the flute after flute after flute of champagne. Later, everyone will catch a second wind--there will be raucous laughter, and music, and dancing, all followed by some sort of argument caused by a snide familial comment. But right now, everyone is sleepy and sated, finishing off stray bites of cake and making idle small talk. James is restless, a hand toying with the hem of your white sundress, inching upwards--you feel like indulging him.

So, you take his hand and make your escape, dragging him from the warm night air into the large mansion, giggling as you trip up the stairs and make your way through the winding halls. You don’t exactly have a destination in mind--you more so just want to find a room far enough away that you surely won’t be disturbed. You find one in the back corner that looks neat and tidy, as if rarely used; a study of some sort. James’ hands find their way under your dress as soon as the door shuts behind the two of you, and soon you find yourself perched upon the mostly empty desk, dress rucked up to your hips. James kisses you greedily, taking from you, and you let him, enjoying the feeling of his body pressed against yours.

His lips trail down your cleavage, and he pauses for just a moment to suck his index and middle fingers into his mouth before dipping his hands back underneath your dress and pushing your panties to the side. The pads of his fingers rub teasing, languid circles over your clit as he nips at the juncture of your jaw and ear. “Why don’t you sit back in that chair and I’ll get you nice and wet for my cock?” He murmurs the words quietly, and you swear you can hear the smirk on his face.

You consider it for just a moment. James wasn’t exactly the best at eating you out, but it did feel nice, even if you didn’t cum. He was attentive–always tried his best. Most importantly, you think you’re wine-drunk and horny enough to really enjoy it, and the thought of his thick cock filling you made heat spread through your body. He wasn’t the best you’ve ever had, but he was pretty damn good. Plus, your mother would be furious if she found out you skipped the party to go fuck your arm-candy-of-the-week upstairs. Una scelta facile–an easy choice, really.

It takes you just moments to get settled in the high-backed chair behind the oak desk, James kneeling in front of you. He grins at you, guiding your legs up and helping you balance one heeled foot on the edge of the desk. The other leg he hooks carefully over his shoulder, turning his head to press kisses to the side of your knee. You hum softly, settling back to watch him. You and James didn’t really have a connection–he was a bit too shallow for anything like that–but at least he actually cared about your pleasure. He takes his time kissing along your thighs, his neatly trimmed beard scratching your soft skin in the best way. Your heeled foot wobbles for better purchase on the wooden surface, but you ignore the tremor in order to keep the fabric of your skirt up and to the side.

You’re so preoccupied that you don’t notice when the door opens, a tall figure stepping into the room. It’s not until James’s face is fully between your legs, sucking a mark onto the fleshy part of your inner thigh, that you toss your head back to let out a moan–and finally see the intruder. You jump a little, startled as you take in the sight of Maurizio, the door closed behind him, his blue eyes trained intensely on the scene before him. James looks up, sees the look on your face, and pulls back, twisting his head around to figure out what’s wrong.

There’s a moment of tense, silent stillness–and then James is standing abruptly, roughly knocking your legs from their position. Your calf slams into the edge of the chair and you yelp, your gaze turning from Mauri so you can glare at James. “Hey, what the hell,” you snap, but you’re ignored.

Instead, James rushes to straighten his clothes and hair, giving Maurizio furtive, panicked glances. “Christ, I’m sorry, I–” words fall from his lips, stammering out apologies towards the Gucci heir and aiming scowls towards you. It finally dawns on you that James is embarrassed. Embarrassed and ashamed to be found out by a Gucci–that you’ve made a fool out of him. You scoff, rolling your eyes as he fiddles with his stupid fake golden cufflinks; you’re not even surprised when he finally bolts, leaving you behind without a second glance as he scurries out the door, head ducked so he won’t meet Maurizio’s eyes.

You don’t move from the chair - just smooth your hands over your dress, the sour feeling of disappointment setting in your stomach. Crossing your arms over your chest, you stare at Mauri, whose cheeks are a precious shade of pink. “You don’t knock?” you ask, tone mocking, annoyed at him for ruining what could have been a fun night.

His eyes narrow, brows furrowing together. “It’s my study.” His voice is clipped–you can tell he’s just as annoyed with you as you are with him. You just huff in response, finally moving to stand. You watch him as you reach up to fluff your hair, making sure it’s not too mussed to pass as presentable. Maurizio’s jaw works under his skin; it’s clear he wants to say something else.

“So?” you gesture at him, exasperated, “Sputalo fuori. Spit it out.”

And oh, does he.

“I’m sick of seeing you with la schifezza like him. Trash.”

“Excuse me?” Your words come out in a laugh, your brows arched up to your hairline. You weren’t expecting him to speak so boldly.

“You’re always with these fucking guys, letting them treat you like shit,” he accuses, before spitting out his next word. “Coglioni. Idiots.”

You roll your eyes, waving your hand as if waving away his words. “Oh, sei uno stronzo, Maurizio. You’re an asshole. You are going to sit here and lecture me about relationships? I don’t think–”

“--I would treat you better,” he interrupts, words urgent, tone hard as steel.

You can’t help but bark out a laugh, incredulous and indignant. “Vaffanculo. Go fuck yourself. You come in here to scold me, acting like you know what’s best for my life? You want to control me, is that it? Did my mother put you up to this?” You pause, looking him up and down, beyond irritated. Perhaps you should be gentler, but you have had enough of people trying to decide how you should live.

Maurizio fidgets, gaze flicking to the chair behind you and back again, and there it is. Your lips curl up into a smirk, and you find yourself going in for the kill. “Oh, is that it? You like what you saw him doing? You want your face between my legs, hmm? Don’t pretend like you know how to be with a woman.” You get silence in response, though the blush creeping up his face gives you enough of an answer. You continue on your tirade, anger taking the reins now that you seem to have the upper hand. “Actually, you know what? Why don’t you treat me better?”

You sit back down in the chair heavily, yanking your dress back up to reveal your panties. You spread your legs as wide as you can, rubbing your palm over your covered cunt–obscene, an act done through sheer liquid courage and bravado.

“Why don’t you come over here, get on your fucking knees and prove it,” you snap at him, but as soon as you’ve said it your ire begins to fizzle out. You know deep down that you’re acting out because you feel betrayed by him. He was the one who was supposed to have your back through everything. He wasn’t supposed to judge you, wasn’t supposed to have expectations of you. He was supposed to be your friend, the same way you were his–and now, you have said things you already regret.

Maurizio stands stiff, jaw clenched, blue eyes fiery in a way you rarely see. He spares a look behind him at the door, and when he turns back to you his expression has loosened, softened. Then, suddenly, he’s striding across the room towards you, stopping short when he’s standing in front of your chair. You glare up at him, ready for any venom he spouts your way, ready for the consequences of your actions—but then he’s catching you off guard, sinking to his knees before you. Your eyebrows arch, and you start to sit up, protesting even as something dangerous stirs in your stomach. “Mau— “

“No,” he interrupts, his tone stern despite the nervous tremor in his voice. “You want me to prove it, and I will.”

You stare at him, dumbfounded, completely unprepared for this turn of events. One of his giant hands curls around your ankle, guiding your leg up; all you can do is watch as his thick fingers trace around the bottom of your shoe, pulling the heel off and setting it gently to the side. He moves to do the same thing with the other one, and you notice the way his hands shake. It snaps you out of your reverie, and you straighten up in your seat. “Maurizio.” You say, tone gentle. He ignores you in favor of pressing a gentle kiss to the side of your foot before lowering it back to the floor; the touch of his lips on your skin sends a jolt through your entire body.

You think you’re going to have to take more drastic measures to garner his attention but finally he sighs, looking up at your face though not quite being able to meet your gaze. “Do you not want me to?” he asks quietly, his previous anger gone from his voice.

The question should make you pause. You know what he’s really asking: do you not want me? You should say no, because you don’t, not really–not because it's him, but because you don’t want a relationship with anyone right now. And you aren’t sure he’s the type for hookups. He’s your best friend, maybe the only person in the world who understands you. He should be off limits, and yet– “Yes,” you say firmly, surprising yourself. “Yes, I want you to. But I don’t think you–”

“Don’t.” He shakes his head, his deep blue eyes finally meeting yours. “I am just as much a man as he is.”

You cannot argue. You want his mouth on you, as inexperienced as it is. Perhaps that just adds to the appeal of it all, knowing you were taking a part of him, knowing he was giving a part of himself away. And he’s right, he is a man; he can make his own decisions.

So, you bring one of your legs up, bracing your foot against the edge of the desk in front of you, finding a better position than you had in your heels. Maurizio’s breath hitches in his throat; you have a feeling that, despite his words, he still hadn’t expected you to say yes. His hands are warm when they guide your other foot against the desk as well, trapping himself between your legs. You scoot forward towards the end of the chair, giving him easier access; he licks over his lips, palms slip-sliding over your soft inner thighs until his thumbs can brush lightly over the lace that covers your pussy. The sensation makes you shiver–makes your cunt clench in anticipation. But Mauri suddenly seems frozen in place like a deer in headlights. You reach out to touch his cheek, smoothing the pad of your thumb over his sharp cheekbone. “Don’t be nervous, Maurizio. É solo en bacio. It is only a kiss.”

He huffs out a soft laugh, before finally leaning down to press his face between your thighs–and then promptly pulls back when the frames of his glasses smash into your skin. He comes up with a scarlet blush on his cheeks, glasses crooked on his face and smushed into his nose. He stutters out an apology, and you can tell the brief surge of confidence he’d just had has disappeared. You smile at him, reaching up to slip the frames off of his face before handing them to him. He places them on the desktop behind, and you notice how the tips of his ears are all pink.

“Solo en bacio,” you remind him, and he nods, allowing his hands to brush back up your inner thighs, spreading your legs even more for him to press his face back between them. You can tell he’s still nervous, but he takes your words to heart and presses a gentle kiss right in the center of your lace panties, the tip of his nose brushing above your clit. The shaky breath he lets out heats your skin, and suddenly he’s tightening his grip on your thighs and inhaling, letting out a broken sounding moan. A curse falls from his lips, lost between your legs, and then his big thumbs are–slowly–spreading you open, tugging your underwear to the side as well.

He’s quiet for a moment, just looking at your cunt; it makes you want to squirm, feeling like a bug under a microscope. But you force yourself to stay still, to let him look–you know what he’s seeing. You can feel how fucking wet you are already, though you aren’t sure if it’s from James’ earlier ministrations, from fighting with Maurizio, or from the anticipation of his mouth on you. For all you knew, it was all three.

Finally, he presses a kiss to your bare cunt–and then another, and another. They’re all chaste, but then he licks his lips to get more of your taste, and something must click. Because, suddenly, he seems to have a greater sense of urgency, his kisses sloppier and more eager, tongue sweeping through your folds like he can’t get enough. He’s so different from James--softer, but not in a bad way. He has no beard to scratch at your skin, and his hair is silky smooth where it tickles at your thighs. Maurizio has no finesse, but he’s thorough. He drinks in your cunt like it’s the finest wine, lapping and sucking noisily, rubbing his nose through your slick like he wishes to be drenched in you.

Christ, it makes you fucking dizzy.

He licks over your clit a couple times, clearly by accident, but it still makes you gasp, still makes you clench your thighs around his ears. The next time he does it, your hand flies to his head, burying your fingers in his long hair, aiming to hold him exactly where you need him–but then he’s pulling away, earning himself a noise of frustration from you. Maurizio turns his blue-eyed gaze to your face, his mouth and chin all shiny.

“Has he made you cum like this?” he asks as he looks up at you, eyes blown black with arousal. You think about lying, but decide against it. Instead, you run your fingers through his honey brown hair, the touch gentle, affectionate. You shake your head no; Maurizio’s grip on your thigh tightens so much you think he’ll leave bruises. Somehow, you don’t mind the idea.

“Show me,” he pleads, eyes searching yours. “Show me what to do. Voglio che tu venire. I want you to cum.” His voice is raspy and desperate, and makes a shiver go down your spine.

“Let me see your hand,” you say, trying to ignore the tremor in your voice. He obeys immediately, and you delight in how big his eyes get when you take his thumb into your mouth. You suck, and he whimpers, shifting on his knees; you try not to think about his cock all nice and hard in his charcoal grey trousers. When you determine you’ve gotten the digit sufficiently wet, you guide it down between your legs, pressing it against your clit. “Do you feel that?” The question comes out strained, the mere pressure enough to make you throb.

Maurizio nods, obviously catching on to your minute reactions; he always was a smart boy. He rubs over your clit gently, watching you intently; when you sigh and relax back into the chair, he puts a bit more rhythm into his movements. You watch him with half lidded eyes, biting down on your bottom lip before speaking. “S-sentirsi bene, Mau. Feels good. You can–you can kiss it, too.”

He does, his plush lips caressing your clit gently, giving it soft little kitten licks. It’s teasing in a way you know he doesn’t mean to be, and it makes you squirm, your hips wriggling against his face. Eventually you can’t take it anymore. “Smettila di essere così gentile. Stop being so polite.”

He chuckles against you, the sound quiet and familiar. There’s a pause, and then he wraps his lips around your clit and sucks–still gentle, but with far more pressure and intent than before. You cry out, clutching at his hair and shoulders, bucking your hips against his face, and it’s like he knows exactly what to do. He sucks and laps at your swollen clit, using the fat pad of his thumb to rub at the little nub as his tongue gets tired, kissing your cunt and thighs all the while. And when–to your own great surprise–you actually cum against his mouth, you think you’ve never been so thankful that he’s such a quick study.

“Maurizio,” you cry, neck arched back, thighs trembling where they've sagged against his broad shoulders. “Maurizio,” you sigh, coming down from your high, heart racing in your chest and fingers brushing through his hair. “Maurizio,” you whisper, watching him sit back on his heels, trailing his lips over your bare skin as he returns your legs and dress back to their proper positions. He’s flushed, hair in disarray; he licks over his plush pink lips, eyes dark as they trail up your body to your face. The two of you stare at one another in silence, unsure of what to say, of what to do.

–Until you straighten up, still a little breathless. “Get up.” It’s an order, one he scrambles to obey. Standing before you, his cock is placed right in front of your face, the bulge in his slacks absolutely indecent. He seems to notice, because he takes a step back, and promptly bumps into the edge of the desk. It knocks him off balance, and he sits back on it, eyes guarded as he watches you stand and press closer to him.

“Do you–” you start, settling your hand on one of his massive thighs. He only seems to understand what you’re asking when you slide your palm upwards, skirting past his cock to settle on the buckle of his belt. His gaze flies up to your face, and his hand quickly covers yours, stopping your movements. You freeze, and consider pulling away from him, but he holds you there as if trying to decide what exactly he wants.

“... No one’s ever touched me,” he finally says, and you can tell by his quiet tone that it’s a vulnerable admission.

“I know,” you say, because you do know. You know, and still you offer. It is his decision.

A beat, and then he nods, removing his hand from yours in order to brace himself against the face of the desk. You make quick work of his belt and zip, pulling his cock out with practiced ease. Maurizio hisses at your simple touch, and you know this will be over fast. His cock is the perfect size–not too big or too thick, but enough so that you know it would feel fucking incredible inside you. You flush at the thought, and try to shove the vision out of your mind. This was a one-time thing, you and Mauri. Nothing more.

He’s wet, precum dribbling steadily from the head; you have the sudden urge to taste him–instead, you spit into your hand before wrapping it more firmly around his cock. Maurizio lets out a strangled noise, hips jerking upwards frantically. You decide to take pity on him, not wasting any time as you start to jerk his cock, being sure to play with his foreskin, rubbing your thumb against his tip. You employ every little trick in the book, trying to figure out what he likes best.

It doesn’t really seem to matter; every little thing you do makes him shake, makes him moan. He hitches out your name urgently, and when you look up at him, he has tears in his eyes. You frown, slowing your movements, and Maurizio shakes his head frantically, reaching for you to pull you closer. “No. No, no, non fermarti. Oh Cristo, don’t stop, per favore.” He fumbles for your face with the hand that doesn’t currently have a death grip on the edge of the table, cradling your cheek in his palm as he struggles to calm his breathing.

You speed back up, preening at the way he’s begging for it, begging for you. “Si sente bene, Mauri? Does it feel good?”

He heaves in a breath, but chokes on whatever words he’s going to say; he nods his head quickly instead, not looking away from your face. His expression is twisted–part in pleasure, part in something that looks like trepidation, almost as if he fears his own release. You pull back his foreskin to rub at his frenulum, something that makes him let out a guttural-sounding sob, the look in his eyes frantic.

“Lascialo andare. Let go, Mau,” you tell him, wanting to keep your tone warm and reassuring. “I’ve got you.”

He whines, leaning in to press your foreheads together, his long nose nudging against yours. It’s intimate, tender–almost too much so. With anyone else you would pull away to put some distance between the two of you, but not with him. You both stay like that for what feels like a while, but is likely only a handful of seconds before his hand on your cheek is moving to curl around the back of your neck, holding onto you as if you’re the only thing anchoring him to earth. He says your name under his breath before pulling back to stare at you, eyes frantic. “Mi stai facendo venire,” he pants out, an astonished expression on his face, as if he’s surprised. “You’re going to make me cum.”

He goes silent when he orgasms, as if all the breath has been sucked from his lungs, hips jerking into your hand as he makes a mess all over your skin and his nice trousers. His hands clutch at you, clinging desperately as his body shakes. You settle your free hand on the back of his neck, mirroring him, brushing your thumb over his skin to soothe him. You stop stroking his cock when he starts choking out pained grunts, instead resting your messy palm on the desktop; you refuse to move in any other way, not wanting to jostle him as he drops his face into the crook of your neck.

Somehow, his clinginess doesn’t bother you or make you uncomfortable the way it normally would. You want to be here for him; you want him to have the time he needs to get his breathing under control, to let his head stop spinning. Your fingers move from his neck into his hair, massaging the bottom of his skull gently; Maurizio groans all low and quiet into your skin. You smile a little. “Are you alive?”

He nods, and there’s a pause before he finally sits back up to look at you. His expression is unreadable, but not because it’s closed off; instead, it seems to be full of too many emotions to decipher. Slowly, the two of you part–you each find tissues to use to tidy up at least enough to escape to a bathroom. Soon you’re both halfway presentable, hair smoothed back into place, undergarments straightened, clothing properly adjusted. You finally speak as you hand him his glasses, watching him set them on the bridge of his nose. “We’re okay, right?”

He nods with no hesitation, and it comforts you just a little. “We’re okay, Angellino.”

You choose to believe him.

_____________________________

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snackhobi · 4 years

Text

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.)

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