#if not then remember this dark phase of your life will end soon and happiness gonna visits you again and light phase of your life is just | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

snackhobi · 4 years

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

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

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

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

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

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

Taehyung goes through a lot of different phases.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jesus Christ.

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

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

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

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

And then you have a miniature breakdown at Pickles.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

… Anyway.

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

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

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

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

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

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

(You have the backbone of a chocolate éclair.)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How’s your shoulder feeling?”

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

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

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

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

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

Your luck doesn’t last.

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

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

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

“What do you think sounds best?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He just shakes his head.

“Okay,” you say.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Taehyung?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(You’re going to die.)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sorry.” He sounds genuinely apologetic.

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

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

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

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

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

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

(It’s not cool.)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Better?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(What is he doing?)

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

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

“Taehyung.” Your voice is high and faint.

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

“Taehyung,” you repeat. Your voice shakes.

He hums, low and indulgent. “Yes?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(But.)

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

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

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

“Taehyung.” Almost pleading.

“Yes, love?”

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

(You’re not.)

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

Before you can think, you nod.

“Yes,” you whisper. “Please.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Anything you want,” he murmurs.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Of course you want to.

“Okay,” you whisper. “Let me move.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, Tae,” you beg. “More, please.”

“Whatever you want, sweetheart.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You got edible massage oil from your course?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You really are perfect,” he says.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Here?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, fuck—”

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

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

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

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

“‘M sorry,” he murmurs.

You pause.

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

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

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

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

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

There’s a pause. “Really?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Taehyung?”

“Yes, angel?”

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

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

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

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

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

(“Hey, Pickles.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

taglist: @beyoncesdragon

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

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oh-katsuki · 3 years

Text

Jealousy (Connie x Reader)

phases of love collab | masterlist

Pairing: Connie x Reader

Summary: You take Sasha’s place.

Content Warnings: Implied aot ending spoilers, smut, angst, character death (reader), some fluff, romantic sex, slight cockwarming, drugs / alcohol

Word Count: 3.6k

A/N: This hurt me to write so I hope it hurts to read. Thank you so much to @dande-lion and @eremiie who beta-read this and gave me so many suggestions because I didn’t like the way I worded it. I would not have been able to be happy with this without you, ILYSM

For @mikaberries collab! Thanks for letting me participate!

Connie’d never loved like this before. He can’t recall a single time in his life that he’s felt so truly connected to someone, so deeply ingrained in someone else’s being that he doesn’t know who he’d be without them.

Connie had you wrapped in his body, dick buried in you so deep and legs intertwined so gently. His delicate fingers sunk into your skin as one wrapped around your waist, the other around your head. There was nothing rough about tonight, nothing exemplary or particularly outstanding except for the fact that he was hopelessly in love with you.

Connie was infatuated with you. He couldn’t get close enough, couldn’t feel enough of your skin against his as he fucked himself up into you with steady flicks of his hips. You felt so good around him, hips grinding to meet his with gentle moans. He wishes he could have this moment forever, wrap it up and keep it in his pocket so he can feel it whenever he needs to. The way your gummy walls hugged him or how you breathed in low and deep sighs with each of his thrusts.

“So beautiful…” He exhaled against your skin, pulling back to take the hand from your head and run his thumb along the plump skin of your cheek.

You gave him a lazy smile, eyebrows furrowed together in focus and pleasure as he leaned in to kiss you. It was delicate at first, pumping into you slowly, keeping up his sluggish pace. Connie was taking you in, appreciating the feel of your lips on his and the way you tasted like sweat and sex and something akin to cinnamon.

Connie wasn’t working towards a goal, arm wrapped lazily around your body, sticky with sweat while he admired your feel.That was the best way to put it— he was simply letting you both admire each other’s feeling, whispering sweet nothings, he just wanted to love you. So he fucked into you languidly, mind clouded over and head spinning.

He could remember clearly every moment like this he’d had with you and he was about to lock away this one with the first time he saw you, your first kiss, your first time. He doesn’t know why this moment in particular strikes him so deeply, but the way you look and your cunt fluttering around him has his heart swelling with love and pride.

You’re his.

There was nothing to be discontent with, no doubt seeded in his heart about another man, no jealousy bubbling in his gut. You were only his and he knew it, he could feel it in the desperate little sighs of his name as you came closer to your high, heat building in your stomach as the candle beside the bed dimmed as it burned through its wick.

The two of you had been like this for hours, Connie unwilling to let you go until he’d felt you come undone around him so much that he’s all you think about— you’re all he thinks about. He was already all you thought about though, already taking up the most space in your mind even when you weren’t creaming around him. Still, you couldn’t complain, so wrapped in his smell and feel that you let him keep rutting his hips into you, arms looped around his body and fingers digging into the muscles of his back.

But it’s true, Connie’s love for you was incredible and you felt it with every stroke of his big hand against you, in the way your skin buzzed as if it were whispering its own sweet words between his. Words of praise whispered over the pillow, lips brushing past each other’s ear to mumble quiet “I love you’s” that rattle through each other's bodies like coins down a well.

When you finally came undone in a steady rise, like water bubbling delicately over the edge of a too-full container, you whimpered, teeth sinking into the muscle of his shoulder. Your legs trembled as he held you tightly, slowing his movements and letting you bury your face into him, looking for anything to ground you as your body rolled.

Connie loved your voice, the whine of his name that spilled from your lips and the way your cunt clenched around him, pillowy and soft. He loved you and with that profound knowledge, soon met his own high with a stutter of his hips, cumming deep into you as he buried himself to the hilt.

You stayed like that for a while, wrapped in each other, Connie unmoving within you as you panted against each other before your breathing fell into an even rhythm. How was he supposed to let you go? How could he be expected to pull out and let you pad to the toilet. It would only be a few minutes but he found himself dreading the moment you stirred in his arms. He’d let you meld yourself to him like this if it were possible.

“You know that I’ve got to get up.” You chuckled into his chest, turning your head to glance to the nightstand. “And I’d like to get up before that candle burns through and I have to stumble through the dark.”

It was growing dim, nearing the end of its life span as it casted a low light across the bedroom. Connie’s desk was faintly illuminated in the corner but you were focused on the way the light danced over his features, displaying the apples of his cheeks that rounded with his smile.

“I know,” he sighed, pulling you closer, “just don’t wanna let you go right now.”

“You big baby, it’s only a few minutes.” You say, peeling yourself from him and pulling him out of you gently.

He was soft already, but the act itself was intimate and you could feel the way he started to spill out of you as you moved to the other side of the room, wrapping a robe around yourself before leaving the bedroom.

Connie watched you as you left, admiring your hips and your figure as you receded into the darkness. How had he gotten so lucky? He somehow managed to snag the girl the entire regiment was crazy for, and– as you both moved through the ranks– managed to fall so irrevocably in love with you that he’s forgotten who he was without you.

Still, he wouldn’t trade it for the world, wouldn’t trade you for the world.

He was deep in thought by the time you returned to bed, discarding the robe and snuggling up beside his naked figure.

Of all the things that had changed recently, you hadn’t. You remained the woman he loved more than anything, still smiling. He remembers the way you’d joke with your friends and squad, evenings spent laughing at a pub with all of the captains after your promotion.

Every major event of his life had been spent with you and you both had made it out clean, more appreciative of the love you shared. Connie cherished every part of you, every fleeting moment with you.

And he was certain that he’d do it for the rest of his life.

---

They’d suspected that Eren had gone awol. That he’d gone off on his own. Connie should have stopped him, they could have talked some sense into him before he fled to Marley, attacking a congregation of world leaders and forcing the Scout Regiments hand.

You both had separated so quickly, each moving away from each other in your own individual squadrons without so much as a stay safe. You both always did. Connie couldn’t have imagined that you’d be one of the six who didn’t make it home.

He couldn’t have guessed that the child would sneak aboard the ship and point the rifle toward Sasha’s chest. But Connie could have predicted the way you jumped in front of her, moving before you had time to think to shield his best friend from the shot.

Connie would never forget the look in your eyes as your blood seeped and pooled onto the cold floor of the airship, his warm hands pressed to your cooling chest, covered in a thick layer of your blood. You looked content, the same look you’d flash at him before any expedition. You were at peace and you smiled up at him. A far too pleased smile for someone who was slipping from Connie’s hands faster than he could process— faster than he wanted you to. How could you be smiling? He was losing you.

It was like you to take a shot for a friend. You always put your comrades before yourself like that.

You and Sasha were both brave that way, the only difference being that today, Sasha would return home to her lover and you would not. Your body would stay in the morgue for the night before they placed you six feet below the ground in a graveyard not far from where you lived.

How is it that you could be so close so far away at the same time? He’d never get to feel your body against his again, never hear your laugh that rings like chimes on a spring day, and looking at your grave after the funeral procession, he could only think about how quickly your blood had cooled on the floor of the airship. Connie stared at the fresh dirt under the headstone, trying to bring anything but your lifeless eyes to mind. He tried to think of your smile, of the crinkle in your eye whenever he’d say something stupid, but instead he was reminded of the uncharacteristically stiff way your body laid in the airship and the wan tone of your skin as your precious years drained from your face.

---

As time passed jealousy bled into Connie’s life. Slowly at first, in the waning hours of the morning when he’d be awake and full of drink. He found himself thinking about you constantly, your picture flashing through his mind with startling clarity.

He’d wake up in the middle of the night, grabbing at the sheets beside him– searching for you, wondering in his half asleep state where you’d gone, only to be reminded that this time you weren’t coming back to bed. You’d no longer take your trips to the bathroom and you were much farther away than a few minutes. Instead, he was reminded that he’d have to spend a lifetime without you.

A lifetime without your presence. How unfathomable. So he buried himself in drink, in alcohol, in fighting a war he no longer had a reason to fight. It was bearable that way, his days without you. He was occupied. Working until his hands shook and his feet ached, then drinking to quell the pain. It was all he knew in those following days, working for a peace you’d never know, drinking to forget your time together, sleeping in hopes that he’d see you in another world. But the next world wasn’t for him. Life mercilessly kept him alive, despite his carelessness in the fight.

When the war finally ended and things came to a quiet halt, everything became harder. Eldia rebuilt its streets, patching up the wounds that battle had left on it, and with the power of the titans gone, Eldians were negotiating their terms of peace and fighting the good fight to total freedom. Connie found it difficult now to focus on anything but your absence.

He’d move down the cobbled streets of Marley and be reminded of you at every turn, reminded of something you’d never get to see. He thought of your plans for the future and the way you’d agreed to marry him once peace finally came, but peace came and went without you.

The summer months in Marley were the most beautiful. They brought couples and children and laughter. You’d have loved them. In between peace negotiations, Connie would let himself wander through the streets. Why he even bothered to go outside? He had no clue, but he still did it everyday without fail, wandering until he ended up in the same place he always did. He’d find a seat in the park and watch the couples, listening to the way the ocean sounded as it beat against the shore.

It was supposed to make him feel better, supposed to remind him that things were okay now. But all he felt was unimaginable rage. A rage that grew brighter with each gust of wind and each rustle of leaves. Each happy chuckle of passing couples and each aimless laughter of stumbling children. Connie was jealous, perpetually and undeniably.

He was jealous of the time the two of you never got. Jealous of the people who would spend their lifetimes with their lovers and get to cradle their children. Jealous of his own time, the years he had left ticking by slowly and twisting the knife in his gut with each turn of the month on a calendar. He was jealous of Marco who was no doubt with you now, jealous of Erwin and Miche and anyone they’d ever lost because they were with you.

Why did everyone else get so much time? What made them so different from you? Connie couldn’t understand a world where someone else deserved to survive to see the end when you didn’t, where people other than the two of you got enough time to live out their lives.

Connie didn’t have that luxury and you surely didn’t either.

The weight piled on, the greed, disgust, and envy weighed on his shoulders like boulders. A person can only take so much, can only struggle for so long under such a profound feeling.

It was the day the negotiations were finished, the day the war came to a true end and Eldians were no longer discriminated against legally, that he broke.

He fell to his knees in his temporary apartment after getting home and seeing the bare walls, the ones that lacked pictures because he’d never gotten to take any of you. You would have loved today, would have pulled him into the living room to dance or even invited all of your remaining friends to your shared apartment to celebrate. Connie could practically hear you telling him to appreciate the day, your voice chiming like bells in the recesses of his mind. It was haunting.

“Fuck!” He shouted, slamming his fist onto the counter and collapsing to the floor as sobs wracked through his body.

His friends had followed him to his apartment, worried for him. They had been for a while and today was the breaking point, watching him sway down the steps of the courthouse without so much as a word. They could hear him crying through the walls, hear the guttural cries that seemed to push through him so angrily.

Connie’s stomach was twisting in painful knots, it was years of being tired, years of missing you crumbling all at once in a crescendo of anger and unimaginable grief. He was sick, his heart wrenched in his chest, hammering against his ribcage, something your heart could no longer do.

It was sickening, how his bones wracked and how his shoulder shook with every shuddering sob. His own walls were finally let down and his veiled emotions crashed over him appallingly fast. How did he carry around this weight, this grief, for so long?

Connie couldn’t pick his head up from his hands when his friends came in, ushering themselves past the entrance to crouch on the floor with him, Jean’s arm bracing his frame and helping to keep him upright. They let him cry like that for a long while, letting the sounds echo through an apartment that should have had you in it.

They all missed you, but they had already done their mourning. In doing so, they’d left Connie behind to fend for himself. Left him alone like you had.

“She’s watching from somewhere, Connie.” Jean’s voice piped up, low and reassuring.

“Y’know-” Connie choked out, sniffling. “Everyone talks so much about this a-afterlife.”

Another sob wracks through him.

“About his place where the dead go once they’ve finished their time here.” He was shouting now, voice rising.

“I just wish that maybe there was some fucking proof that she’s still there.” His fists balled up against the floor. This time Connie doesn’t try to stop the cries to talk, he pauses to let himself sob before speaking again. “Because right now I can’t find a single reason to believe she’s out there and I don’t know what I’d do if I never got to see her again.”

“How the fuck am I supposed to move on? How do I carry this weight? How can I keep taking steps forward when she’s not at the end?” Connie’s eyes snap up to Jean, his hand coming to grab his wrist.

His eyes were pleading, crying for an answer, something, somebody to tell him that there was something to look forward to. That you would be at the end of this stupid game called life. His voice came up from the deepest recesses of his body. Eyebrows pulled up in anguish, eyes glassy with tears that refused to let up as he peered into his best friend’s eyes. Connie knew he couldn’t answer, knew that there was no one secret to getting through this, that he’d have to power through on his own. But he was so angry, so exhausted from fighting.

“Why did it have to be her!” He gasps, eyes going wide as realization courses through his shaking body. “Why didn’t she get more time, why didn’t she get to fucking see today?! Why was it me? _____ would have known what to say today, would have had the perfect words. I’ve never had them, never had anything to say.”

Connie inhaled deeply, blinking until limpid tears decorated the fabric of his uniform. “I need her here. I need her.”

That was the last thing he said that night, letting himself cry on the floor in the company of his friends who tried in vain to calm him. He raged against fate, body heaving in tremendous sobs that left his chest feeling emptier than before, inhaling in great pulls because with each cry he could feel the water flooding his lungs. Invading, violating, and wretched with every wail. Everything served as a reminder for his jealousy, ugly and painful in its existence.

Connie knows you’d have hated this.

Could you see him right now? Were you watching in the months to come as he hit his lowest low before slowly starting to pick himself back up, finally formally forgiving Gabi even though he hadn’t blamed her for a long while.

It took a long time for him to gain that semblance of normalcy and once he returned to Eldia from overseas, he went straight to your grave, finally able to face your name scrawled on the headstone once again. Connie hadn’t expected it, but with time the jealousy faded into a dull ache. He spent hours in the graveyard that day, staying with you until the sun had long set over the horizon and the air nipped at his skin. Connie would take any time he could have with you, even if it was like this. And as he sat there talking about the newfound peace, he hoped you could hear him.

He was filled with regrets about you. He wishes he had made you laugh more or studied the way you threw your head back in a smile because after so many years the memory had faded to little more than a silhouette. Connie wished he had taken pictures of you, kissed you on the day he met you, married you. But he couldn’t.

Connie wondered if you were watching him all the time. Did you watch his healing, the way he picked himself back up after being shattered and broken for so long. Maybe he’d glued part of you to him when he patched himself up, maybe he still gets to carry some of you with him in the corner of his heart he knows is reserved for you.

Did you see the day he met her? The woman he’d marry one day. She’d caught his eye because she reminded him so much of you, especially in her smile. Connie couldn’t help but think you’d had something to do with it, some cosmic influence that led her to him.

He thought of you on his wedding day as his bride moved down the aisle, radiant in her beauty. Connie loved her the way he loved you, deeply and honestly. He thought of you the day his first child was born and on every day after that because he saw you in every part of his little girl. He saw you in the way she laughed and the way she ate, the way she stood up after scraping her knee to keep running.

Connie told his wife about you, about the love he lost, and his daughter thought of you as family, despite never meeting you. Your name fell from his family’s lips so often that it was like you’d never left this world in the first place.

He healed, Finally, time began moving again and that sickening envy slipped from his veins like melting ice. He was no longer jealous.

He still goes to your grave, every Sunday. He brings his family and sits his daughter on his lap to tell stories about you, about every aspect of you. Partly because he wants her to know, but also so that he can remember. It’s like a prayer, uttering your name as they sit in the grass that had long grown over the dirt with such reverence, such adoration.

The wind moves through the trees, shaking leaves from their late summer bloom and Connie swears he can hear you laughing, deep and rich and so like you.

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astrobyoph · 3 years

Text

Pick a perfume; Current situation + What do you need to hear

Hello everybody, hope y’all are having a great day/night wherever you are. Anyways I’m here with a Pick a pile post, kinda nervous because it’s my first time doing something like this, but hope y’all enjoy this! Everything is done intuitively btw so let me know if it resonated :)

What will be in the readings; Your current situation, What do you need to hear, Possible placements

We have 4 piles today, with a perfume theme because I’m a sucker for that. Unfortunately, I’m broke so I can’t afford these but let’s just admire how pretty they are LOL. Take a deep breath, and pick the one that you’re most drawn to! Lets get started;

Pile 1: Good girl by Carolina Herrera

Your current situation; Gosh are you guys okay? HAHAHA but for real though. I’m sensing a lot of dark, tired vibes here. Some of you might be undergoing a certain change right now perhaps? Maybe emotionally, or even physically for some of you. You’re tired of the things around you, and it’s been draining you. I heard “backstabbing” maybe some of you got backstabbed as well, really sorry if you did, you don’t deserve it :( But yes, generally very tired and exhausted energy here.

What do you need to hear; There’s change coming for you. Definitely. I sensed a butterfly, so maybe at the end of this phase you’d be like a butterfly and look completely different. Whatever it is, it’s not your fault, you are enough. You got this, and you have the strength to get through this too. Oh and if anything feels too good to be true, don’t take it. Trust your gut always. Your guides are with you, pile 1. Hang in there baby

Possible placements; Water placements/dominant, Scorpio, Sag placements. 2/7H emphasis, Pluto/Venus dominant perhaps. Maybe you can go near a water body to recharge, meditation might help too. Or maybe swimming can be theraputic too. Take care pile 1, sending you lots of love <3

Pile 2: Black Opium by Yves Saint Laurent

Your current situation; I feel like some of you just entered a relationship perhaps? Or you might be in the talking stage, or maybe one is coming into your life soon. I sense a lot of happiness, content in this pile. You’ve gone through a lot in the past and I feel like you’re in the prime right now. So happy for you guys arhasdjh. I sensed a flower, perhaps you like flowers or it might have a significance to you, I think this also showss growth in you, pile 2. Do some of you like pink as well? It feels as though some of you picked up a new hobby/recreation as well. Cute vibes overall you guys

What do you need to hear; So with your new beginning here, or better life whatsoever, you should keep going at it! This is bringing you happiness and change. I feel like abundance and rewards are coming your way too? However I think you need to learn how to manage your time, segregate your days well. Prioritise the things that you still need to do too. Protect yourselves as well, in the sense of don’t let anyone take advantage of you and let slip kind of thing.

Possible placements; Cancer, Virgo, Mars/Saturn dominant, Aquarius placements, Air/earth dominant. Remember to treat yourself, go out, take a deep breath of fresh air. You got this pile 2, sending you lots of love <3

Pile 3: Chanel No.5 by Coco Chanel

Current situation; There’s a really consistent vibe here guys, and I think it has to do with desire. Some of you are really desiring something, desperate for something? I heard widow, maybe some of you are widows (for the older people), or maybe you come from a single parent family. Sending you love. Anyways, you guys probably need a hug pile 3. There’s a vibe of healing, protection here too. You guys might be healers, empaths maybe? You have a tendency to take care of the people around you and not yourself as well.

What do you need to hear; Definitely protect yourself that’s for sure. I felt it in the previous paragraph, and now again. Be careful of energy vamps, people who feed off your energy. Some of you might be intuitive readers/creators here? Hello if you are haha. Be careful of people taking advantage of you, I heard short, close friend so maybe that might be them. But yes, cut off what’s bad for you. Cut off the things that are toxic to you as well, do yourself that favour. It’s self protection for you. (18+) Sorry this just popped in my mind but if anyone here’s going to have sex, protection if you do! Just be careful :)

Possible placements; Pisces, Aries, Leo, Sag, Water dominant, Earth dominant, Sun/Mercury/Venus dominant. Definitely take care of yourself, you deserve better. Your energy is precious as well, I feel like some people here like bread too lol. Take care of yourselves pile 3, sending you love <3

Pile 4: Hypnotic poison by Dior

Current situation; Right off the bat there’s very strong bad bitch energy HAHAH. Y’all are the ones who have been through everything, maybe some of you were attracted to pile 2. There’s a similar energy of accomplishment with both piles, but this has more of the firey and bad bitch energy. I think you guys have learnt to know your worth, and to be content with yourselves. You might be nearing an end in something, maybe education? Some of you might be finishing a certain level in education soon. I think there’s a lot of rewards coming your way too. There’s really the emphasis of growth in this pile.

What do you need to know; So immediately I felt the feeling of being overconfident. Now I’m not saying being confident is bad, but overconfidence might be a little bad. You guys might be hiding something too, something you’re scared to show other’s in the fear that your reputation might be tarnished? This might not be for all, but I felt “Sexual orientation”, that might be something you’re hiding? But yes, I think as much as it is good that you’ve grown to be comfortable and confident, remember to be considerate to people around you too. Be careful of their emotions and feelings, and don’t be too absorbed in yourself, or this might drive people away and I don’t want that for you guys

Possible placements; Fire/Earth dominant, Leo, Aries, Aquarius, heavy Plutonian energy, Saturn as well. I’d say be cautious of what you say and do, remember to process before letting things leave your mouth sometimes. But no harm, you guys still mean good for everybody I know. Continue to be badass pile 4, sending you love <3

-----------------------------------

Thank you for reading to the end guys, I really hope you enjoyed the Pick a pile! If you can reblog and share what you think, I’d love to hear your opinions as this is my first time doing something like this haha. Anyways take care and stay safe everyone, sending you all lots of love.

See you next time! ❤️😮‍💨

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chenziee · 3 years

Text

Romance Dawn for the East Blue

Inspired by @feriowind‘s blessed tweet about Yamato winding up on Dawn Island :)

Enjoy 4k words of the 4 brothers driving everyone crazy :D

[Read on AO3 or below the cut]

----------

Slowly blinking awake, Yamato struggled to remember why he was lying on the beach of some strange island, the smell of sea salt and trash mixing in the air into something almost worse than the confines of his prison of Onigashima. Almost. It was still freedom after all, and Yamato would gladly take this disgusting smell over his father threatening to place bombs on his wrists.

Looking around groggily, his eyes finally fell on the sad, wooden remains of a small boat, a boat that Yamato had been using to sail this unfamiliar sea during the past weeks. And he finally remembered the terrible events that had led him to this island.

Yes, it was a dark, stormy night, the likes of which Yamato had never seen even in the unpredictable New World, and definitely not since his escape in the peaceful and calm East Blue. He had fought to keep his boat from capsizing, fighting against the strong winds and ocean currents all by himself for hours… but then suddenly, a Neptunian so large it could only have come from the Calm Belt appeared. Yamato had managed to fight it off but unfortunately, his boat suffered too much damage from the power of his Thunder Bagua. He was then forced to swim to the nearest shore with the last bits of strength he had left—

"I saw the Lord of the Coast attack the fishing boat this person was sleeping in. It was really funny, when they woke up, they screamed so loud I think even the people in Fuusha heard. And then they fell in the water while trying to stand up. But the idiot apparently can't swim so I had to go fish them out."

Yamato froze in place at the boyish voice who was retelling his heroic battle so rudely. Wasn't he allowed to at least pretend?

Another boy, this one sounding even younger, started snickering then. "I like this person, Sabo! They’re so funny!"

"Luffy, you're the last one who should be laughing here," a third voice sighed. "Anchor boy." Yamato could almost hear the cheeky smirk on his face as he teased this 'Luffy'.

“Don’t call me that!” the youngest one cried, sounding like he was about to fight the other boy.

“Ace, don’t provoke him,” the first boy chided. “You’ll wake the idiot with your fighting.”

That was it.

“Will you stop calling me an idiot?!” Yamato shouted as he sprung up to a sitting position, an embarrassed blush on his face.

They all paused at the sudden movement, blinking up at him in shock. Yamato glowered at them one by one, taking note of how tiny these kids were—the blond and the freckled one looked no older than 12, while the other could be maybe 8. The blond was the only one dripping in water, just as much as Yamato himself was, and Yamato could only assume this was Sabo, the one who had pulled him out of the water. That would make Freckles ‘Ace’, and the youngest one ‘Luffy’.

Yamato had to wonder, though, how Sabo was able to save him all by himself. Yamato was 16 years old, a lot older than however old these boys were, and he was Kaido’s son—meaning he was already much taller than some adults. Although, he supposed he had seen stranger things and people a lot stronger than a human their size should have been. An image of Oden during his execution came to mind immediately but Yamato quickly chased the memory away.

“Oh look, the idiot’s awake,” Ace said lazily, looking thoroughly unimpressed by Yamato’s glare and simply returning it with one of his own.

Luffy, on the other hand, grinned brightly, hopping over to Yamato to stare up at him with stars in his eyes. “Are those horns? Real ones?”

Blinking, Yamato’s hand automatically reached up to touch one of his horns. “Yeah?” he replied slowly, unsure of what he was supposed to say. Was it that weird to people not from the Grand Line to see someone with features like this?

“That’s so cool! Join my pirate crew!” His grin only widened with his request—or demand.

Yamato tilted his head to the side. “You have a pirate crew?” he asked, genuinely curious.

“Well, not yet,” Luffy said, a small pout appearing on his lips. “But eventually, I will be the Pirate King so of course I will have one!” he announced looking so proud and sure of himself and Yamato felt his lips twitch upward.

“Sure, King, I’ll tag along with you,” he laughed, seeing no harm in indulging the adorable kid. And who knew? Maybe he really would end up sailing with him. After all, in 12 years, the Nine Red Scabbards would come back to Wano and Yamato needed to be back there by then. He needed to help open the country.

And who was to say he couldn’t bring the Pirate King with him?

Sabo clicked his tongue then, walking up to Luffy and ruffling his hair. “Stop that, you don’t even know this person’s name.”

“Oh right,” Yamato said, hitting t he palm of his hand with his fist in sudden realization. “Sorry. I’m Kozuki Oden. You can also call me Yamato. Son of Kaido. Thanks for helping me.”

----------

“Ace! Luffy! What’s the meaning of this?!”

Yamato groaned; always a wonderful way to wake up. “Are you drunk again, you bull-gorilla? Go away it’s too early for this,” he shouted back, not even bothering to open his eyes.

There was a moment of silence until someone stomped over to stand right above Yamato’s head. “What did you just call me, you brat?”

Finally, Yamato blinked up at the person with long ginger hair, a cigarette between their lips, and looking decidedly female. He closed his eyes again, mumbling, “Oh you’re not my father. Whatever then.” As soon as he was done, he pulled his blanket over his head to try and get some more peace and quiet.

It might not have been his father but it still was too early for this.

“Dadan, shut up,” some one whined from somewhere around halfway down Yamato’s body.

“Yeah, what’s the problem?” another person joined in, their voice coming from Yamato’s other side.

Oh right. Ace, Sabo, and Luffy had brought him back to their place last night; this had to be the nasty old hag they mentioned. Definitely seemed like one.

“First Garp drops you two on me, then you bring in more and more kids with you? What do you expect me to do, this isn’t a daycare!” It sounded like the woman was on the verge of a mental breakdown.

Finally, Sabo spoke up, sounding about as sleepy as Yamato felt, “Dadan, this is our brother, Yamao. Yamao, Dadan.” With that, he flopped back down, his head coming to rest against Yamato’s thigh.

“I’m not a pillow, you three!” Yamato snapped upon the realization of how the boys were laying with their limbs thrown all over the place, Yamato’s own body included. “And it’s Ya-ma-to,” he added with a sigh, already giving giving up on convincing them to not use Luffy’s nickname.

“Where the hell did you manage to pick up another brother,” Dadan complained and Yamato was starting to feel a little sorry for her. He had to admit that dealing with these three was like fighting a hurricane and it hasn’t even been 24 hours since he met them. At least now he was there, a responsible teenager to keep them in check. She should really be grateful he happened to… choose this island to land on.

“Alright, kid. I don’t care who you are you where you came from—” the woman paused, folding her arms over her chest as she stared down and Yamato— “but I will not feed you. One bowl of rice per day is all I can guarantee you.”

Yamato laughed, “That’s not necessary. Oden could do it, I would be a disgrace if I couldn’t take care of myself and my brothers, too.”

Dadan stared at him for a moment, blinking once, twice, before she threw he hands up in frustration. As she walked away, Yamato could hear her mumbling to herself about stupid brats who couldn’t be phased by anything and how she was going to ‘let Garp have it’ the next time he ‘bothered to show his sorry ass’ there.

Yamato simply shrugged and went back to sleep.

----------

Life on Dawn Island turned out to be surprisingly easy and, even more surprisingly, fun. It didn’t take Yamato long to get to know the forest, the mountain, and the Grey Terminal beyond it, running around the place with his little brothers like he was born there with them.

“Yamao, where are you going, that’s the opposite direction!” Sabo called after him in exasperation, pointing the right way.

A few days after his arrival, he went to retrieve his kanabo from the waters just off the shore. Ace had looked at him, asking why he was so desperate if it was the same weapon the father he so hated used and Yamato couldn’t admit he had a point but… he simply didn’t feel right without it. It was his weapon as well now, and the bull-gorilla wouldn’t take that away from him.

It took him three hours of diving but the happiness and rightness of his kanabo next to him was well worth the effort.

“What are you two anchors doing?” Ace shouted from where he was in the water and towards the two at the beach, looking incredibly annoyed.

Yamato and Luffy exchanged a glance before turning back to Ace and replying in unison, “Building a pirate ship from sand.”

Just then, Sabo’s head popped out of the water next to Ace. “I need a break,” he gasped, struggling to catch his breath after being underwater for so long.

“This club of yours better be made from gold, Yamao, or so help me,” Ace grumbled before leaving Sabo to rest and diving in instead.

Once he had his kanabo in hand, it became incredibly easy to hunt even the most ferocious beasts around, allowing Yamato enough room to stay back and direct the young brothers, giving them pointers and helping them with their hunting techniques. Usually, he simply watched, letting the boys do most of the hunt, even if it meant the prey got away sometimes. After all, making mistakes and losing was a good way to get stronger. So he let them do their own thing while making sure they were okay, and only jumping in when necessary.

“Okay, here’s the plan. We go around the river, then we split up. Me and Luffy will go up while you and Ace follow the riverbed. It’s risky, but on my signal, you will catch its attention and keep it distracted. Then me and Luffy jump down at its head. Hopefully that will at least knock it out so you and Ace can then come help us finish it. And Yamao—” Sabo paused, giving Yamato a hard, subtly threatening look— “if you run ahead screaming and scare it off again, we’re having you for dinner.”

Yamato could only gulp and nod obediently.

He even managed to impress the local Madonna, the cute pub owner Makino. The first time she had come to visit after Yamato had arrived, she immediately dropped all the food, alcohol, and children’s clothes that she had brought, and ran straight to him. She gave him all of her attention the rest of her stay. And even though Yamato wasn’t interested, he had to admit that being fawned over, and especially the jealous stares all the bandits were giving him, felt great.

“Oh my,” Makino muttered when she noticed Yamato. “Luffy did say Yamao was a little taller than him but…” she trailed off, her expression turning troubled.

“You don’t have any clothes big enough for him, do you?” Dogra asked, munching on one of the cones Makino had brought.

The young woman shook her head, sighing, “I think I’ll have to make them all from scratch. Yamao, can you come here? I need to take some measurements.”

"Yamao, you're blushing more than Ace did!" Luffy pointed out immediately, clutching his stomach as he doubled over in laughter.

Yamato made sure his hand was coated in haki when he hit the boy over the head.

Over all, he had to say he much prefered the life of a cool big brother over being a pirate crew’s' ‘young master’. It was a lot more fun, a lot easier to breathe. He never felt more free than he did while laughing and running around the mountain, plotting pranks on their brothers with Ace, or getting grounded— getting thanked by Sabo for running off and beating up the pathetic excuses for pirates who had hurt Luffy and threatened the boys' treasure stash.

Even Dadan's frustrated screaming felt more loving than anything the bull-gorilla of a biological parent had ever shown him. And no, it definitely wasn’t much more embarrassing.

----------

"I don't want to be a marine!" Luffy screamed one morning just as the others were getting ready to head out to work their brand new tree house base.

Both Sabo and Ace froze, turning to stare at each other for a moment with wide eyes.

"Run?" Ace asked in a whisper.

"Run," Sabo nodded seriously before they both turned to look at Yamato.

The teen simply sat there, turning his confused gaze between Ace, Sabo, and the direction from which Luffy's voice came a few seconds earlier. "What's going on?"

Ace and Sabo exchanged a glance once more, seemingly coming to a mutual understanding before Ace answered, "Go see for yourself. Luffy could probably use the help."

Immediately, Yamato was on his feet, heading outside to save his adorable baby brother from whatever monster he was facing. He was slightly suspicious of the high five Ace and Sabo had exchanged, not as sneakily as they probably thought, but as long as Luffy was in trouble, it didn't matter much to him.

As soon as he made it outside the little house, his eyes fell on the two figures fighting just a little bit away from the house. Obviously, one of them was Luffy, who was visibly fuming; growling and snapping his teeth like he was getting ready to literally bite the legs off of his target.

The target in question was a tall, although obviously much shorter than Yamato, and muscular old man clad in a bright red and white aloha shirt, his arms crossed over his chest as he stared Luffy down. He looked thoroughly unimpressed by Luffy’s pistol punches—which admittedly still left much to be desired despite Yamato’s efforts to help him out; it was only a question of time before he managed to find the right bang feeling. The man he was fighting looked vaguely familiar but Yamato couldn’t place that face no matter how much he wrecked his brain.

But it didn’t matter.

“Luffy, are you okay?!” Yamato called in alarm, rushing forward while preparing to swing his kanabo at the stranger.

The both of them turned to look at him then, identical angry expressions on their faces and suddenly, Yamato realized who the man reminded him of. It was more than obvious where Luffy got his personality and expressions. Maybe he should… not attack this person on sight?

Making the decision for him, Luffy huffed upon seeing him approach, raising his hand and making Yamato stop. “Stay back, I’m fine! I can kick gramps’ ass myself!”

“Who’s ass are you gonna kick?” the man snapped, his light punch making Luffy clutch at his head. “You can’t win against the fist of love, Luffy!”

Yamato blinked. That was obviously haki but… fist of love?

Ignoring Luffy’s complaints, the man gave Yamato an obvious once over. “And who are you? Wait—” he paused, looking like he just remembered something— “you’re Yamao, aren’t you?”

“My name is Ya-ma-to, and I’m Luffy’s big brother,” Yamato replied, not entirely sure why he even bothered to correct anyone on his name at this point. No one ever listened.

“Part of the family already, hm? You have an impressive swing; you’ll make a fine marine.” The grandfather nodded, grinning at Yamato in approval.

Yamato did a double take. “I’m not going to be a marine!” he responded immediately, the horror he felt at the though clear in his voice.

“Exactly! We’re gonna be pirates!” Luffy joined in, fully recovered and launching a new rubbery pistol punch, which went completely ignored.

Gramps puffed up, raising his fist threateningly in front of himself. “Nonsense! All four of you will be the strongest marines the navy’s ever had if I have any say in it!”

“No way!” Luffy and Yamato cried in unison, the both of them jumping at the man in a joint attack.

A second later the both of them were rolling on the ground together, clutching at their heads and trying to recover from yet another fist of love. Seriously, Yamato only just met this guy, why was he getting a fist of love? Or better yet, why did it sound like he was already considered a grandson? He didn’t even know his new grandfather’s name.

He guessed it was simply one more proof of his relation to Luffy. It was exactly the same to when Luffy had decided by himself that Yamato was the big brother now, not even half an hour after meeting him, and just like back then, Yamato was powerless in defying that decision.

Not like he wanted to. He would be lying if he said being considered family so easily, so warmly, so unconditionally didn’t make him happy. But still…

“I’m already a pirate,” he growled. Not to mention marines did nothing but fight Oden and the Pirate King’s crew. Like hell was he becoming one of them.

Gramps took a deep breath, looking like he was about to explode, but Yamato interrupted him. “The navy wouldn’t want someone with my blood anyway. They’d execute me on the spot,” he said flatly, looking the man straight in the eyes, trying to convey how disgusted by the institution, the world government, the current world he was. Like hell was he participating in that. He’d much rather wait patiently for the one who was going to change it all and support them.

Neither of them said anything for a moment, neither of them faltering as they stared each other down silently. Until finally, gramps grinned, a smile so similar to Luffy’s that Yamato startled.

“If blood’s the problem, all the more reason you should join,” he announced, the smile never leaving his face even as his eyes turned almost sad.

Yamato tilted his head to the side as he watched the man slowly look at Luffy before his eyes slid in the direction of the bandits’ house. When Yamato turned to look, he could see Ace turning around and walking away, Sabo quickly following with a worried expression on his face.

Well.

At least Yamato wasn’t the only one who obviously hated his biological family around here.

Deciding to leave Ace in Sabo’s hands, Yamato turned back to the problem at hand but before he could snap at the man, Luffy did so for him, “No. He’s joining my crew!”

“Over my dead body!” gramps roared in response, looking like he was going to go off on a rant.

Yamato, however, wasn’t about to sit around and listen to that. “No, over my dead body. Do you even hear how fucked up it is that you need to join the navy to be safe from getting hunted? Neither of us going there,” he growled, baring his teeth for good measure.

The old man paused, blinking at Yamato once, then twice, before he burst out in laughter, one so loud, so honest, and so contagious that, despite having no idea what was so funny, it made even Yamato want to laugh. All his anger was forgotten as his lips stretched in a grin, shaking his head at the sudden realization of how weird this entire situation was. He barely knew what was even happening but… it wasn’t like Yamato ever really paused to think about things. If it felt right, he’d go with it. If it didn’t, fuck it.

And this, incredibly, felt right.

It was only a long while later that gramps finally caught his breath enough to speak, “I like you, kid. Are you sure you’re Kaido’s son?”

As if hit by the bull-gorilla’s Thunder Bagua, Yamato stopped laughing, only staring with an open mouth as dread ran through him. “How?” he could only say after a dreadfully long moment of heavy silence. Or maybe it was only a second. But it was too much, and made Yamato feel too on edge. Ready to fight. He didn’t want to even hear the bull-gorilla’s name; definitely didn’t want to hear it in relation to himself.

Gramps looked at him as if asking if he was kidding then, but with his only answer being a glare, he started laughing anew. “Kid, if you don’t want people to know, or the asshole finding you, maybe stop introducing yourself with ‘son of Kaido’ to anyone you meet. You have poor Makino quite worried.”

Oh.

Whoops?

“Yamao, you’re stupid,” Luffy laughed.

The teen huffed, shoving hard at Luffy’s shoulder. “You’re stupid,” he hissed back, making Luffy stick his tongue out at him.

Yamato saw it only fair he do the same in return.

Just then, a dark shadow loomed over the both of them and they slowly looked up, only to see gramps looking down at them with an evil grin on his face, slowly cracking his knuckles. “Whatever you say, I will train you stupid brats into proper marines, yet.”

Yamato finally understood why Ace and Sabo’s immediate reaction was to run, then send Yamato as what he could now only assume being a sacrifice. There was no way even Yamato was going to be a fair match for this man. “Oh fuck,” Yamato cursed, scrambling to his feet to follow Luffy, who who was already hafway down the clearing away after taking the first popped knuckle as his signal to bolt.

“Watch your fucking language in front of your baby brothers!” gramps shouted after him just before something that might have been a pine cone flew past him at an impossible speed.

Yamato and Luffy exchanged a glance, identical grins spreading in their lips before they both took a deep breath. “ACE! SABO! HELP!!”

If they were to die today, they’d make sure to take the other two down with them.

----------

Hours later, Yamato lay awake in his bed on the floor of the mountain bandits’ cabin long after his brothers started snoring softly. He was exhausted from the day spent laughing and running away from gramps—or Garp, as he had finally learned earlier that evening once Dadan finally stopped hiding from the man—but as opposed to the others, he didn’t want to sleep.

Not when gramps and Dadan were busy talking on the other side of this thin wall. What had started as the two of them sharing their frustrations and complaints about their kids quickly turned into fondness as they instead told each other stories about the brothers and their antics. Yamoto wasn’t surprised the bandit knew exactly where their secret base was, just as he wasn’t surprised by Garp only pulling out the most embarrassing stories he probably could.

It was a good thing the other three had managed to pass out the second their heads hit their pillows or they’d be trying to fight the old man all over again over it.

Yamato, on the other hand, refused to miss out on a second of this. The adults might not have allowed him to drink with them, claiming Yamato was too young for that—to which he not-so-politely disagreed, but then Garp’s fist disagreed with him—but they couldn’t stop him from listening. Those were his brothers they were talking about and he wanted to hear all about the past ten years of their lives that he had missed.

And if he maybe got a little bit happy every time they brought Yamato up, well… no one had to know that.

“Yamao, I swear if you don’t stop laughing at their shitty stories, I will strangle you with your own hair.”

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kodzukyan · 3 years

Text

talking to the moon

notes: yoshiwara au featuring samurai!baji x courtesan!(fem)reader! some fluff? angst. tw death! song recommendation accompaniments: yoshiwara lament - teto kasane & talking to the moon - kream!

wc: 2.3k

summary: yoshiwara is not meant for love, but you think it's far too late for you when you meet baji keisuke.

For as long as you can remember, your world has been seen through the bars of the harimise. A display, a product, for hours you would merely sit there and hope someone buys you.

The endlessly same scenery: the temple up north, the colorful vibrancy of kimonos, the bridge that leads southwards. Yoshiwara is always the same hustle and bustle of the lively streets. A day of ethereal beauty and strategic deceit; a night of lust and hushed promises, a so-called love that dispels with the first rays of dawn.

Once upon a time, you wanted to be someone who blooms for one person only, to love unreservedly. A childish dream to be free, to love fiercely. But fate steals your freedom and leaves you in the embrace of men who look at you as just another woman who warms their beds. Each bleak night as you look wistfully beyond the faceless man above you, the moon and stars sparkle, despite your torment, almost as if it’s mocking you for being unable to shine as they do.

With each passing day as you stare at your dull reflection in the polished mirror, bitterness seeps into your hardened heart. As your lips become redder and redder with used paint, the light in your eyes becomes dimmer and dimmer with dull indifference.

As if Yoshiwara bears your profound grief, it’s raining tonight. On such a day, you encounter him under the deep veil of darkness. His navy kimono contrasts vividly against your crimson lips, and the rosy pink that dusts his blushing cheeks gently warms your heart. He’s adorable, you think, as he grumbles and his friend nudges him towards the birdcage. Your eyes meet his, and his friend laughs and jostles him again towards you.

“Sir, won’t you please purchase me?” you smile sweetly, softly.

“I -” he starts.

“He would love to!” a new voice injects. His enthusiastic friend with blonde highlights smiles wolfishly.

“Welcome, please come in.”

You escort him to a room upstairs as the rain pours outside. When he cautiously enters your room, it is nothing like you are used to. He stands there awkwardly and runs a hand through his long locks.

“Would you like to sit? Perhaps a drink first?” you politely ask as you pat to the spot next to you.

It catches you by surprise when you can see the grays in his eyes as he looks at you instead of past you. He sits gruffly beside you and starts promptly, “We don’t have to do anything.”

You tilt your head, not really sure how to naturally proceed from here. But you've merely learned to comply, to satisfy, so you nod affirmatively and agree politely.

“In that case, what would you like to do?” you ask softly.

In a night meant for lovers between the sheets, he tells you stories of his adventures under the moonlight. You learn his name is Baji Keisuke, and he’s a samurai serving his childhood friend and the young lord of the Sano family. The one who ushered him here is one of his dearest friends named Kazutora, and they’ve been together since they were little. He loves feeling the adrenaline in his blood when he fights and often feeds stray cats because he thinks they’re cute. He unintentionally made his mom cry once when he was younger, so he swears he will never make her cry again.

He has dazzling eyes that tell no lies and an enigmatical smile that illuminates your heart, especially when he flashes his sharp canines that strikingly resemble fangs in his boisterous mirth. Outside, the continuous rain slows to a drizzle before it promptly stops. In your heart, he ignites a small spark of attainable hope.

A free spirit that contrasts very deeply against your very being. Unlike a trapped bird, he flies through the unclouded skies and undoubtedly makes life his own. His hearty laugh and vibrant eyes gently remind you what it's like to have hope beyond these four walls, to dream of a life of consuming love. You smile softly as he makes wild gestures with his hands, and you feel every insistent beat of your heart fluttering, thundering as he smiles affectionately at you.

Over and over again, he returns and buys your time instead of your used body. Time and time again, he talks naturally to you like you are someone in this world and listens to you like you are still good enough to be heard. Like the sun that melts away the darkness in your heart, your days spark a little brighter when he’s nearby. Instead of staring bitterly at your reflection as you paint your lips, the girlish dream you abandoned returns back to you.

Love whispers in your ears and knocks on your heart.

"Will you return?" you ask softly into the luminous night when he visits again. Once, twice, countless times to where you think you know him enough to remember what it’s like to love again.

As soon as the night ends, he has to leave. He will soar into the skies beyond the scope of your vision, beyond realms of the world you can only dream of because he's meant for something grander.

Still, you yearn.

"Where else would I go?" he answers as his eyes meet yours.

He clasps his rough hand around yours, eyes earnest and heart genuine, as he brushes against your knuckles tenderly. A hand full of calluses and blood, a hand used to wield swords and destructive weapons, but he cradles your hand so gently, tenderly, fondly.

"I will always come back to you."

You breathe out a quivering breath. You’ve heard these careless words countless times before from many other men, but his affectionate eyes are constantly full of genuine promises and unmistakable sincerity. You know Yoshiwara is the land of foolish dreams and lies, that Yoshiwara is unmeant for lovers.

Yoshiwara is not meant for the undeniable truth that you are irrevocably in love with him.

Still, you hope. You want to believe him, so you trust. You trust him with your vulnerability; you trust him with your heart. Under the veil of the night with the moon as your sole witness, you cut off a strand of your hair.

"For safe-keeping," you tell him as you tie your hair around his pinky, "Until you safely return."

He blinks once, twice before he smiles radiantly, fangs glinting in the light. He tugs a strand of his hair out before he clumsily wraps it around your pinky.

“There is something important I have to take care of,” he starts hesitantly. His eyes are looking into the darkness of the night, and for a moment, you can see weariness cloud his eyes. You reach to cradle his cheek, and at your touch, he looks at you. He holds your hand and presses a soft kiss on your fingertips. Newly found resolve beams through the clouds of doubt in his eyes. “But after that… Will you come with me?”

You stare incredulity at him, wide eyes carefully looking into his promising ones. He squeezes your hand as he stares anxiously back at you. The world is silent, and all you see is his gray eyes that have been your silver lining since the very first day.

He can’t afford to buy you, you know, and the fear of the consequences of running away burrows into your heart. But he looks at you, clear and open, and Heaven is in his eyes. You squeeze his hand back and bring it towards your lips to place a tender kiss on his palm. You think you’re far too ruined to be this optimistic about it, to dream of happiness like this, but you grin and nod anyway.

“I would go anywhere if it’s with you,” you smile, eyes and words honest.

He instantly breaks into an infectious grin, and he hugs you in eager excitement. “Thank you. I’ll be back by the next full moon. Wait for me,” he whispers fiercely into your hair.

You nod again as you melt into his comforting embrace. The flutters of your heart bloom into warmth in your chest, and it feeds into your heating cheeks as you hold on to him. The moon that invariably seems to look down on you, the stars that always seem to twinkle in critical disappointment softens as the lights of dawn overtake the sky.

A new day, a new hope.

He holds his pinky up, your hair tied on and your heart in the palm of his hands, as he looks at you. When you meet his eyes, the first rays of light glows behind him. He looks beautiful, angelic, and he seems so ephemeral. You hook your pinky, with his hair tied around it, with his in hopes that these fleeting moments will last just a moment longer, that this will be more than just a dream when you wake up.

A lie, a promise, you’re not quite sure which it is.

(You hope it’s a promise. You want it to be a promise.)

So, you wait. Day after day, night after night, and all the moments in between. You miss him like the stars miss the sun in the morning sky, but he fuels a fire in your heart that keeps you warm on the nights he isn’t here. It hasn’t rained for a long time now, you think, as you glance at your pinky and sunshine fill your soul. During nights, you keep your promise close to your heart as you stare at the phases of the moon. Waxing and waning, but your heart holds steady as you dream of boisterous laughter and lively eyes.

On the day of the full moon, you wait anxiously as people pass by. You’re on high alert as your eyes eagerly scan the crowd for any signs of him - his navy blue kimono, his long hair, his hearty laughter. As the blue sky turns to brilliant orange before it fades into the darkness of the night, the crushing weight in your heart grows heavier and heavier before the numbing realization that he won’t come hits you.

When the full moon peaks in the unclouded sky, only silence surrounds you. You sit lifelessly in front of your mirror at the end of the night with the full moon as your sole company. You’re not sure how long you’ve been sitting here as you mindlessly keep brushing your hair.

The overbearing heaviness finally breaks your heart and breaches the dam that restrains your tears. You muffle your cries in your kimono because you should have known better, should have known that dreams are unmeant for someone like you. You glance wistfully at your pinky before you clutch it close to your shattered heart, and all the energy in your body just comes out as silent sobs. As you bury your face in your knees and hug yourself, each fond memory comes back and replays in your head.

A mistake. This is a terrible mistake because you know Yoshiwara is built of lies like these. But when you think of his sincere eyes, your heart breaks again. Baji Keisuke is many things, but he is rarely a liar. You want to believe in him, want to believe in the dream of a life with him beyond these walls.

Maybe it’s not this full moon, you tell yourself, but he will return one day. The next full moon, the one after that, and all these other ones after, you’ll keep waiting. You believe in him, believe in love, so you will hold on steadfastly, stubbornly, desperately because you don’t think your heart can handle it otherwise.

In just another day of waiting in the similar scenery, you catch glimpses of a spark from the temple northwards. A new sight, but among the lively streets of just another busy day, it’s not a sight you focus on. The sparks are nice, though, you think as you suppress a giggle, because it reminds you of the fire in his eyes.

When it reaches dusk, the scorching winds blow from the northeast. The direction you watch him go from the confines of your birdcage, and when you still see the sparks, a foreboding feeling, a bad omen sinks into your heart as the sun falls.

The initial flare grows bigger and bigger until it bursts into a firestorm and begins swallowing the town. You run frantically alongside the chaotic crowd as the screams fill the air and fear fills your blood. You run, run, run until your legs are burning - from the fire? From fatigue? You’re not sure.

Your heart breaks with every step you take because death comes knocking. You keep holding on stubbornly because you still believe in your promise. But soon, your legs only carry you so far amongst the fleeting crowd and falling buildings and smoke fills your lungs and chokes you.

As fire devours you, you glance at the waxing moon. It ruthlessly tears through your skin and burns, burns, burns, but the pain of breaking your promise rips through your heart.

All you can think about are the moonlit nights under the same skies within the four walls you call home and the man you know as love. You think of his starry gray eyes and the promise you couldn’t keep, and you clutch your hand over your heart. Close, so, so close, but not quite another full moon yet. With sorry repeated on your cracked lips and lament in your anguished heart, your uncontrollable tears fall hopelessly.

(The news of the tragic death of a singular samurai, holding his bleeding hand to his heart, in the Battle of Valhalla never reaches you.

After all, fire travels faster than words.)

The deafening sound of crackling fire plays your requiem and ends the unfulfilled dream of love.

end notes: harimise is a viewing cage where courtesans were placed in, like products on display at shops. they sit there the whole day until someone buys them.

the act of cutting off your hair and tying it around someone's pinky is a lover's pact. basically, it's a vow of love between a courtesan and their customers, where they offer their hair, nails, and blood to seal the deal. it could be used to extort more money from the customer, but it could also just be a promise of love.

also fun fact: historically, yoshiwara did end up burning in a huge fire that originated in a temple! :")

#baji x reader #baji keisuke x reader #baji angst #tokrev x reader #tokrev x you #baji x you #baji keisuke x you #tokyo revengers x reader #tokyo revengers x you #tokyo revengers angst #i was working on another baji wip but then this took over LOL #one day we will have happy baji stories but today is not the day 😔#but literally baji in his navy blue kimono/yukata and high ponytail plagues my mind #so here we are <3 #sometimes i write things #i hope this shows up in the tags lol #also i read somewhere that palm kisses mean i trust you #i hope hes not too ooc?? i feel like baji is awko taco when it comes to love tbh HAHAH

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the-cult-of-russo · 3 years

Note

Hi!! So i just read your billy headcanon about him and reader arguing and it was so good! I loved how thorough you were and i liked how the stages are so accurate to his personality! What do you think him and reader would argue about?

Once again, my brain is total chaos. It's my chaos and I understand it but trying to get it down for others to make sense of makes my head hurt lmao

First of all, I'm gonna do two sections. One for things that Billy would start a fight over, and one that you'd pick a fight over. Basically, things you do to upset him enough to cause a fight and then things he'd do that upset you enough to cause a fight.

If you haven't seen my other headcanon about how Billy acts during a fight, find it here. I reference his Stages of Rage in this so it'll make sense if you've read it.

Also remember this is my Billy.

Billy:

Billy can be impulsive and he has a temper. That being said, he's learnt really well over the years how to push it down. He's got good at stuffing his anger in a box and dealing with it another time somehow. Sometimes people wouldn't even know just how pissed he is. Yet with you, sometimes you do things that drive him to the brink of insanity and he finds it hard to deal with it.

The thing with Billy is, any negative emotion turns to anger. He doesn't know how to cope with it otherwise. And the things you'd do to cause him to fight with you don't actually make him genuinely angry. They've made him upset, hurt, or scared. All feelings he loathes to feel and they morph into anger instead.

The first thing that would cause him to fight with you is jealousy. Its not that he doesn't trust you because he does. He trusts you explicitly. But for all of his outward bravado and confidence, he has a lot of deep rooted self worth issues stemming from his childhood. Those disgusting feelings of not being good enough, of not being worthy of love or happiness, of not being wanted. All of those have been buried down inside of him yet you seem to bring them out kicking and screaming.

He's terrified of you leaving him. He finally has something special, worth every bit of pain he's suffered. He's finally found happiness. He feels like he's got to cling onto you desperately, fingers bloodied as he clutches you so hard like you might float away the second he let's up.

So when you and Billy are out with friends and you go up to the bar, he watches you with a dopey smile because he can't help it. But it gets wiped off his face the second some asshole approaches you. He knows it's ridiculous when the green eyed monster rears its head, he knows because although you smile at the man, it's tense. It's a polite but awkward smile as you shake your head and clearly tell him you're not interested.

Yet Billy's chest hurts. Because what if you see something in this man you don’t see in him? What if this guy is the one who steals you away from him? What if this is when you open your eyes and realise how worthless he is and you leave him?

He's aware his brain is being overdramatic yet he can't help the anger building inside of him. The defense mechanism of turning his pain and terror and sadness into something he can deal with.

And he doesn't want to cause a scene around all of your friends. So he goes the rest of the night being quiet and a little distant. You know somethings wrong and have a good idea what. But Billy suddenly feels miles away.

As soon as you get home, he let's it loose, unable not to. It sometimes starts with The Snark, passive aggressive comments about the man at the bar and how you should have gone home with him.

But he gets angrier.

Because you don't get it. You tell him nothing happened and that he's being stupid but you don't fucking get the agonising fear that's crippling him because he's not good enough for you. So The Loudmouth stage begins because if he's wounded, he's gonna wound you right back.

But somewhere along the way you see through the anger. You see the pain in his glossy eyes, hear the tremor in his voice. Suddenly you hear everything he isn't saying. Instead of yelling at him that he's being dramatic or stupid, you switch tactics. You reassure him. You tell him he's the only one for you and you soothe his wounds by trying to get him to see that.

Although he still doesn't believe it, he likely never will, it does bring him back to earth. And of course he says sorry for the remarks he made but you know he was only lashing out because he was hurting.

The other thing that will get him to fight with you is also because of fear. If you put yourself in situations where you could possibly get hurt, even if it's something small like walking home in the dark, he flips his shit. He hates it, doesn't understand why you'd be so reckless. And while sometimes he's being overboard with it, too overprotective, he doesn't see it that way.

Billy's been through a lot, seen a lot of shit, done even more. He knows how dark this world gets. So if you ever put yourself in danger, even a small bit by being reckless, you're damn right he's gonna lash out at you. He goes through every stage of rage (except the last) if you try and defend your actions because he can't fathom the fact you aren't seeing his side with this. Why you won't let him just protect you. If he had his way, he'd put you in a bubble to keep you safe.

Other than that, there isn't much else you do that causes him to really fight with you. He's not petty. He's not the type to pick a fight over mundane stupid shit like you leaving your clothes all over the bedroom. Even if it does annoy him since he's such a neat freak.

Anything that you do that elicits those awful negative emotions are what gets to him.

You:

Billy's flirting is certainly a bone of contention. And while it doesn't happen often and it's never really serious since you two got together, sometimes it slips out of his mouth like it's second nature to him. Because it is. An example of this is at an event. He pays a flirty compliment to a senators daughter thats been eyeing him. He doesn't even know he's done it, doesn't seem phased until he sees your face. But he's at work, important business and schmoozing to do and he doesn't want you to cause a scene.

But waiting until you get home only annoys you more. It was an offhand comment and you know deep down he didn't mean it. But it still hurts you because he's with you. And you knew damn well if you did that to him he'd lose his shit. But you patiently wait until you get home, giving him the cold shoulder the whole way. And he knows what's coming. It's happened before.

But the thing with Billy is that he gets defensive if he feels backed into a corner. So when you whirl on him the second you get home, he pushes right back. He thinks you're blowing it way out of proportion and honestly, if you'd approached him calmly about it, he'd apologise right away and tell you he'd do better. But the fact you’re yelling at him has his back up so he can't seem to find it in himself to see it your way at all.

At first you don't tell him the real reason why it hurt you. You're just pissed. But as the argument unfolds you blurt out why it stung so much and his anger gets sucked right out of him. He watches you, devastation on his face as he realises you don't feel loved enough, that you think he'd go behind your back, that he'd find someone else. That notion is absurd to him, like he'd ever do such a thing when he has everything he ever wanted with you. But knowing he's hasn't shown you enough how much he cares wounds him deeply.

So he comforts you, promises he'll make it up up you and it won't happen again and he makes sure to make time to make you see just how much he loves you and only you.

Another thing that tends to get you upset at him is Anvil. Billy works a lot, too much most times. The amount of times he's coming home when you're already asleep or has to cancel plans with you starts to weigh on you. Building up until you explode about it.

But once again, Billy feels backed into a corner. Anvil is way more than just a company to him. It's a physical manifestation of how far he's come in life. It's proof that he's come all this way and he's done it all on his own. Anvil is like his baby.

And if it ever came down to picking Anvil or you, yes he'd pick you. But deep down he might end up resenting you for it. Because Anvil is an extention of him and his work makes up who he is. You knew this when you met him. It starts to feel like you're trying to change him and that gets right under his skin. Because if you want to change him, then you don't love him as he is. And that shit hurts.

He's already tried his best to placate you over Anvil. He works less, only staying late if its imperative he does and he tries his best to make time for you. He knows it's hard and he's away more than you'd like but he's fucking trying. So it feels like a smack in the face when you do this, like you can't see how much he's ready done to try and make a life where he can have both.

He works hard to keep the company the best it can be, he has to. But he also works hard for you. Because one day he wants to buy a big house and possibly fill it with children with you. He wants to show you the world and give you everything you've ever wanted. So it makes him feel unappreciated.

He feels stuck between a rock and a hard place every damn time this argument comes up because he doesn't know what else to do. He's trying his hardest to juggle Anvil and you and sometimes it feels like you're making it hard for him. He can't change who he is and if you can't handle it then it kills him. Because he knows if you can't deal with it then eventually you'll leave and he thinks he might just die if that happens.

These arguments get explosive because of all the emotions it makes him feel and sometimes you don't speak for days after. Both of you miserable as you miss the other. Deep down you know he's trying his best and you feel bad because you know how much these fights upset him. Eventually you apologise. You knew Anvil was his world before you met, knew how hard he worked. You don't want to change him and if you're honest with yourself, he's done a damn good job of making sure there's a place for you in his life. And maybe you never imagined you'd settle down with a workaholic, to miss them all the time, but it's worth it.

The last thing is how Billy's past seems to have a way of haunting you both. You were well aware of his nature before you met, he'd been pretty upfront about it. But sometimes it's hard when you're at an event with him and one of his past one night stands are there or you both run into one in the street.

This doesn't cause a full blown argument. If anything it's more one sided and Billy soon learns you've been taking tips from his Stages of Rage handbook when you use The Snark on him. You can't help it. The bitter jealousy that creeps in. But he doesn't fight back because for once he's a little ashamed of his past behaviour. He never wanted to settle down, didn't see the point. But that's because he hadn't met you yet. But now he sees your face everytime he's approached by a past lover and it hurts him. It makes him worry that you'll leave him one day.

So he accepts the anger and passive aggressive comments you throw at him because he feels like he deserves them. But his unwillingness to fight back has you sobering up pretty quickly. Because you know realistically it's not his fault and you can't hold his behaviour from before you even met over his head. It comes from insecurity and its not fair to lash out at him. And you hate how sad he seems when you do this to him. So you say sorry and make it up to him.

The last thing I'll touch on is his last Stage of Rage that mentioned in my other post. The Snowstorm. I said how this meant you'd done some really bad. Like maybe even break-up bad. This is where he turns off his emotions because you've hurt him that much. I wanted to give an example of what might cause him to do that.

The biggest one of course would be you cheating on him. It would be a knife right through his heart. He'd want to forgive you for the fact he loves you more than anything but betrayal isn't something he takes lightly. Couple that with him already having self worth issues and feeling not good enough for you and you have a very broken Billy on your hands.

Maybe in time he could move past it after some separation and a lot of thinking. But this would be the worst thing to happen to him.

#billy russo #billy russo x reader #the punisher #billy russo imagine #billy russo headcanons

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spidernerdsblog · 3 years

Text

Match made in Hell : Chapter Three

A/N : Chapter three is here. Survival of the fittest this is how life evolved on earth. And to survive you have to learn to adapt even if you have to make truce with people you hate. Hope you like this chapter. Let me know what you think.

A Happy New year to all of you lovely peeps! 💖💖

Pairing : Mob! Tom Holland x Reader

Summary : you always wanted a simple life but to be born as the daughter of a dangerous mobster turned out to be a curse for you. Everything changes when your father gets your lover killed and forcefully marries you off to another mobster as a part of a deal. You hate your father and your husband the only thing you seek is now revenge. Will you ever be able to fall in love again or this burning hatred inside you will consume you?

Warnings : 18+,mature content, a little PMS drama, language, flashbacks in italics, slight nudity, suggestive themes.

Mini Playlist : Bad Things by Meiko

SERIES MASTERLIST

Complying to the note you take a quick scan of the room ensuring that you’re not being followed by anyone before making your way to the restrooms but instead of going inside you sidetracked to your left and stride your way to the staff exit door across the hall and sneaked outside continuing to walk down the dark alley. You stop when you see a large figure standing in the dark a few feet away from you.

"Y/N" the man speaks with a deep voice.

"Who are you?" You demand. The man walks out of the shadow and your face lit up as you saw his face illuminated by the street light.

"William? Oh my god!" You rush to embrace him. William Marshal, your father's most trusted wing man and your mentor. All the knowledge you have raptured be it hand to hand to combat or gun fight he taught you all.

"How are you my little tigress?"

"Surviving" You say with a small smile. "But what are you doing here?" You were so surprised as well as happy to see him.

"Your father sent me here."

Your brows draw into a frown ''Daddy sent you?...But why?"

"You are alone and boss thinks it's a little dangerous to leave you in the enemy territory on your own"

You scoff. "Huh, since when did he start worrying about my safety?"

"He wants me to help you with your task, so how much progress have you made?" He asks.

"Actually William there has been some changes in the plan” You say. “I’m no more playing daddy’s little killing puppet"

William gives you shocked look. "What, are you planning to backstab your father?"

''Not literally stab him though I wish I could heh. But I'm gonna make him pay for his crimes by turning him in and then let the law decide his punishment."

"You want to go on a legal battle with the king of illegal trades?” He chuckles lightly at your childish idea. “You're bluffing right?"

"I'm not bluffing Will. I just want to deliver justice to all the people who have suffered for him without anymore bloodshed. And I’m not ruthless like him and at the end of the day he's still my daddy so even if I want I will never be able to kill him" You sigh with remorse.

"It's a suicide mission Y/N, you can't win against him, not alone"

"Well Rome wasn't built in one day, Will. Plus I have you."

His face went stoic. "I can't betray your father Y/N."

"Will, how could you forget that this man killed your whole family? He didn't even spare your five year old daughter. Don't you want revenge?" You tried your best to persuade him.

"That man died when he accepted his allegiance."

"Then here's your another chance to avenge your family. Are you going to help me or not?" You ask him firmly.

"You know I have always seen you no less than my daughter" He reaches out a hand cupping the side of your face "so what does my daughter want me to do?"

The corner of lips turn up into a smile. "Nothing much for now I just want you to pose as a double agent, provide me all the information and report back to daddy whatever I exactly say to you" You explained.

William nods in agreement to your plan. "So have the Holland's agreed to this?"

"Holland's?" You frown. "Why on earth would I involve them? They are no less evil."

"You are plotting against your dad the mafia kingpin and you need allies Y/N."

"I don't need any allies…" You pause mid sentence as it finally hits you what Will was actually trying to imply. You narrowed your eyes with a sly smirk "Unless I rat them out against each other and they end up destroying each other in the process without anyone suspecting it was me behind all this. Like this I can hit two birds with one stone"

"Well now you're getting it." William says proudly.

"By the way boss told me to give you this." He holds out a revolver, you stiffen at it’s sight.

"That's my gun" You swallow hard.

"Yes indeed it is."

"I can't take it Will and you know why" You say anxiously.

"I know that the past haunts you Y/N but that phase is over. You have to let go" He takes your hand and places the gun. "Keep it, you'll need it" Your palms were sweaty as you gripped on to the gun and looked at it intently.

"I think you should go back now before your husband gets suspicious and remember.."

You cut him off before he could finish.

"To be nice and call in a truce. Trust me I got this." You winked with a sly grin and rushed back to the hall through the backdoor but you are met with an obstacle. Tom was standing right in front of the restrooms, you quickly retreated behind the wall.

"Shit! Why are men so clingy?!" You groan with slight irritation when your phone lights up

T : Hey you okay? You're in for too long.

T : Y/N???!!

You roll your eyes as you text him back.

Y : No I'm not okay!!!

Concern clouded his features whilst he texted you back.

T : Hey what's wrong?

T : Darling, you alright?

You couldn't think of any valid reason to get past him so you had to swallow your pride and texted back with the most safest and believable excuse for a woman.

Y : I'm PMSing!!! T : ….OK.

You peered to see his reaction and you swear you would have burst out laughing if you weren’t in such a sophisticated place, the look on his face clearly showed how weirded out he was.

Tom on the other hand was clueless about what to reply next, since a young age he has been dealing with the most dangerous people from the underworld but never in his life he had to deal with someone pmsing specifically he never had to deal with you. Though he had a little knowledge about these things thanks to sex ed at high school. You saw him take a deep breath before typing.

T: You need something?

Y: Yeah, will a tampon be too much to ask?

Y: It's kind of urgent.

T: Right on it. Just stay there. It will be fine, love.

T: Do you need a change of dress?

To be honest you were quite taken aback seeing this concerned and understanding side of his.

Y: No, I'm fine. And please don't come barging in the ladies room.

T: Yeah I know that.

As soon as Tom moves away you quickly slip inside the restroom and heaved a sigh of relief. After a few minutes a middle aged woman walks in the restroom.

"You must be Y/N?" She asks with a smile.

"Yeah." You nod.

"Here you go, love." She hands you a tampon. You take it and go inside a stall. You wait for a few minutes before throwing the tampon in the dustbin and emerging out of the stall with a smile.

"Thank you so much." You say smoothening the slight creases on your dress.

"Oh don't be but I must say your husband really loves you. You should have looked at his face how freaked out he was."

"I really doubt the love part.'' You snicker, turning on the faucet in the basin to wash your hands.

"Well darling, here’s an advice from a lady to a lady keep your man happy and satisfied and then not only will he be showering you with all his love as well as—" She coils her thick glimmering diamond necklace around her slim finger "might get these too."

"Well thank you for your advice but not a fan of leashes you see." You quip drying your hands with the paper towels.

"Trust me sweetie one day you will just want to wear these leashes only for your man." She steps closer putting a hand on your shoulder.

"Will see." You give a tight lipped smile.

After sometime you step out and find Tom patiently waiting for you.

"All good?" He asks, you nod in affirmation.

"It was lovely talking to you sweetheart. See you again." The woman chirps, you smiled waving at her.

Bad Things starts playing……. I know what I want And I'll get what I need I'll come over and I'll show you how Don't you wish that you can have me now?

"Shall we have this dance?" Tom held out his hand. You take it with a smile as he leads you to the center of the room. Your hands go to his shoulders while his hands rest on your hips. You slowly begin to sway your bodies to the music going back and forth, your eyes looking around to the other couples dancing.

You say that you want all of my love But let's be honest we don't need all that I like it better with no strings attached

"You're welcome." Tom says, drawing your attention back to him.

"Uhh..." You look at him in confusion.

"I guess the words that you are looking for are thank you."

"To be fair it was kind of your duty to help your wife from an embarrassing situation." You quip.

"Oh now I'm your husband, huh?" He raises his eyebrows amused.

Good girls do bad things sometimes But we get by with it Good girls do bad things sometimes But we get by with it

"Well you have been rubbing the fact on my face since day one so—" You half shrug.

"So what was Mrs. Sinclaire saying?" He asks looking around the room.

"Nothing of my interest just how I should get one of those shining collars around my neck." You roll your eyes dramatically.

"Those are gifts from their husbands who love them dearly, love" He corrects you, a smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

How much more can you take if I give you a taste I've been waiting for you all night long I come around and then I'm gone

"But for me those are glittering leashes" You retort.

"Darling, how much ever you pretend but under this tough shell you're just a hopeless romantic, you crave love and I can give you all of it only if you allow me." Tom laces his hand with yours another hand stays at the small of your back, waltzing to the music.

You'll get yours, I'll get mine Then we run out of time You're the only one that I desire 'Cause I love to play with fire

"Maybe I'm that's why I still dream of a beautiful life away from all this from you" you say looking deep into his brown orbs.

He leans down to your ear and whispers. "I can assure you one thing princess the farther you want to go away from me the more I will pull you back towards me"

A shiver runs down your spine as his smile turns into a wide grin.

Good girls do bad things sometimes But we get by with it Good girls do bad things sometimes But we get by with it

His hand moved from your back to your lower waist and he dipped you low, taking you by surprise. You bent on your back as he pulled you back up with a force, throwing you against his body sending your body right into his broad frame.

Ooh (oh-oh-oh-oh-oh) Ooh (oh-oh-oh-oh-oh) When I'm down I let you know (ooh, oh-oh-oh-oh-oh) When I'm down I let you go (ooh, oh-oh-oh-oh-oh)

You stayed like that for a while, inhaling deeply but the only thing you could smell was him, his expensive cologne intoxicating your senses and then he pushed you back again, spinning you around twice and settling back for the previous slow pace.

Good girls do bad things sometimes But we get by with it Good girls do bad things sometimes But we get by with it (oh-oh-oh-oh-oh)

The night ends and you are now back at home sitting on your bed busy with your night routine rubbing on some body lotion on your hands as Tom walks in.

"What are you doing in my room?" You frown.

"Technically this is my room" He reminds you rummaging through his closet.

"Not anymore." You state haughtily. He plainly ignores you and goes inside the bathroom.

After a while he comes out with a towel wrapped lowly around his waist, his wet curls sticking to his forehead. You couldn’t help but admire his chiseled upper body, muscles rippling and glistening in the soft golden light of the room.

"You’re staring" He sing-songs, smirking cockily.

"No-no, I'm not'' You fumble.

"It's ok, darling I'm all yours to look at" You roll your eyes meanwhile he takes off his towel and throws it in the hamper before getting on the empty side of the bed just in his black calvin klein boxers.

"Whoa, you are gonna just wear that?" You ask in surprise.

"Why you gotta problem?" He smirks while getting inside the covers.

"No seriously, you’re either fully covered or almost naked. Nothing in between." You remark giving him an annoyed look.

"Why does it turn you on babygirl?" He says with a sultry voice.

"Shut up and stop with these weirdass names, will ya" You grimace as he chuckles.

"And what about you? You are going to sleep in that?" He points out looking at your sleep shorts and a loose shirt.

"Well you may think of yourself as a calvin klein's model but I ain't a Victoria’s secret angel. So yes I’m gonna sleep in these"

"But your Instagram says something else" He quips, making you smile mischievously.

"Aww did someone get all riled up at work?” You click your tongue pouting “so sad."

Tom all of a sudden grabs your arm pulling you down to him as you jolt down surprised.

"And for that you deserve a nice spanking" His voice low, a cocky grin plastered on his face.

"If you touch me I'll chop off your hands." You threaten with a cold stare and pull out your arm from his grip. You lay down turning to your side and snatched away the covers from him.

"Oi! blanket hogger!" He protests, pulling the blanket back.

"Get out of here!" You kicked his leg playfully snatching the cover again.

"Y/N I swear to God I’ll push you off the bed!" He says laughing.

"Shut up you whiny baby." You retort laughing as well.

He moves closer to you bringing his hands to tickle you on the side of your hips. You squealed trying to push him away but he tightened his hold around you both laughing like kids when suddenly you realized how close you were the heat from his bare body felt like burning against your skin.

What are you doing? You hate this guy, he is the reason Ethan is dead. You remind yourself gaining back your composure and stopped laughing. You went silent closing your eyes as Tom got the hint and backed off.

You soon fell asleep breathing softly but Tom was still awake staring at the ceiling thinking about all the meetings and deals he has to make tomorrow when you shifted on the bed and turned to Tom’s side in your sleep. You subconsciously hiked a leg above his placing your hand over his chest snuggling close to him.

Tom found it really amusing chuckling softly as he took his time to admire how beautiful and innocent you looked. He went to wrap his arm around you just then he heard you mumbling in your sleep.

"I'm sorry - I'm so sorry Ethan." His expression goes hard. He retracts his hand away placing it under his head and lets out an exasperated sigh before closing his eyes to sleep.

Next morning you squint your eyes open to find yourself practically laying over Tom's chest, you sit up hastily waking him up in the process.

"Good morning, princess." He says with a groggy voice. You look at him timidly.

"By the drool I’m assuming you slept well." You frown rubbing the corner of your mouth with the back of your hand.

"So much for chopping my hands eh?" He snickers. "But what about you taking advantage of me while sleeping." you felt your face heat up in embarrassment.

"Sorry I used to have a side pillow when I slept."

"Oh it's ok, love. I'm honored to be your human side pillow.'' he says cockily before getting off the bed to get ready for the day.

"Dickhead" You mutter under your breath.

****

You went to punch his chest, but William blocked it

"As a devout feminist, I refuse to say that you hit like a girl." William quipped letting go of you, and you spin around in frustration

"Let's try this again, shall we?"

"Tell me again why I have to learn self defense this early in the morning."

William began to roll up his sleeves to better move around "You are my responsibility."

You smiled "...says the feminist." William chuckled.

"Fighting is rhythm. There is a music, there is a meter, there is a pattern. Let that rhythm beat within you." He stood defensively and nods at you.

"Again." you put up your fists and start to fight him, but he easily blocks your blows. You two spin and continued practicing. You struck him again but he blocks it.

"Legato" You strike again with increased force,

"Ostinato" You strike back with all your force.

"Crescendo" You managed to hit him, but he blocked the majority of it and held you by your neck.

"And then, once you've established your cadence--" You spun out of his grip, kicking him, and pressed him against the wall while he's distracted.

" --You change the key." you said smiling proudly.

"Very nice." He said a little out of breath. "But none of this matters if you cannot make the kill."

"But I don't want to kill anyone."

"You will. To survive" He said.

You stepped back to catch your breath from the intense workout.

"Now c’mon we will learn something new today." He brought two wooden staff and throws one at you out of the blue which you barely catch.

"Hey! I wasn't ready!" You protested.

"First lesson-- always be on your guard." He instructed. You took note of the weight of the staff in your hands for a moment.

"It's heavy."

"I was half your age the first time my father gave me the staff. I would have torn every muscle rather than let him see me strain. And, had I--" He attacked you, you barely blocked his blow "-- he would have corrected me."

"No offense, but your dad sounds like a jerkwad" You panted.

"Mothers love their children. Fathers make them strong" He attacked you again, and though you struggle to keep up, you manage to continue blocking him.

"Well in my case my daddy doesn't care 'cause he already kind of bidded me off in a stupid deal--" You started to fight back "-- and my mother is quite ardent to make me strong enough to face anything what is to come my way" You grunt while attacking but William easily dodges your strikes.

"You're anticipating. Do not let me see your move before you make it." He strikes at your staff, knocking you off-balance and causing you to twist your ankle as you fall and whimper in pain

"Get up." He commanded.

"I can't, my ankle hurts." You groaned.

"The ability to end your pain is a warrior's true weapon. Master that, and nothing holds power over you." You glared at him.

"Now, on your feet." You winced.

"I said, On. Your. Feet." He barked.

You continued to glare at him, but do grab your staff to use it to help you to pull yourself up on your feet. You leaned against the staff for support. William looked mildly impressed.

"Good. Perhaps you've actually learned something today."

It’s been almost two weeks since the gala night William has been in contact with you providing you with valuable information. You were lost in your thoughts when your phone buzzed and you were broken out of your daze. It was William, you received the call.

"Hey Will!"

"Got some news."

"Seems like Victor has grabbed quite a hold in the European drug cartel. He has been making quite some big deals."

"Daddy is making deals with the European drug mafias?" You were surprised at this news. "But how is that possible? As much I know he planned to oust the Hollands off their turf first before taking over their business."

"Working with your dad I have learnt one thing about him, ‘compartmentalization’ nobody gets to know about his real plans. And that is the reason behind his success."

"I think I know someone who might give me more info on that. But the most important question is who is doing all the dirty work for him while he is sitting in NY."

"A new gang has emerged in the city ‘the vipers’ but I’m surprised that the Holland’s didn’t happen to come across them yet." He says before ending the call.

Meanwhile Tom was at the docks of the London port accompanied by his brother Harry for a meeting with an old time ally.

"Gomez, after a long time mate."

"Yeah Holland business has been a little rough these days"

"So my brother tells me that you wanted some negotiations to be done with the current revenue arrangement of the port area"

"Yes Holland about that you see you're charging an outrageously high protection money and for that I am having very little profit from my drug trafficking business"

"Well mate protecting you from the cops and allowing you to smuggle through my port comes with a high price I told you at the beginning only." Tom says.

"Then I might have to rethink our alliance, Holland."

"You mean you want to call off the deal?" Tom raises his eyebrows.

"Yes you guessed it right"

"That's really brave of you given that the narcotics are already suspicious about your activities" Tom mocks with a sinister look in his eyes.

"I'll take my chances and there's this new gang who are ready to provide protection at a much cheaper rate plus they are going to help me expand my trade to the States. And profit has always been my first priority mate." Gomez states.

"Well whatever suits you mate but the port is still under my control if I may remind you so perhaps you should start watching your back" Tom advises, malice in his voice and then he storms out of the place.

****

You have finally decided to have a night out and blow off some steam. You dressed up in a slip dress and put on your matching stilettos. Booking yourself an uber you were just about to go down the stairs when you heard some heated argument coming from the office though it was mostly Tom’s voice you heard and by the tone you deduced he was very angry.

You slowly made your way towards the room to see Tom standing in the middle of the room with Harrison and Harry beside him, his men surrounding him as he yells at them. They were so engrossed into the meeting that nobody bothered to notice you standing so you quietly lean against the doorframe and listened to their conversation.

"I'm paying a bunch of assholes for nothing!" Tom barks.

"Tom, calm down." Harry goes to tone down his brother.

"How can I calm down?! Some bloody newbie gang has been operating right under my nose! on my turf! and I have no news about that." He snaps.

You couldn’t help but the whole conversation made you chuckle a little too loudly drawing everyone’s attention present in the room. Tom was already seeing red with his business going into jeopardy and seeing you laugh like that he went ballistic.

"Does something here appear funny to you?" He glares at you.

"Well funny things do." You retort.

"And may I have the pleasure of knowing what you found so funny?"

"Well seeing you guys all worked up about this whole new emerging gang snatching away your territory. I really feel pity for you."

"Thank you for your pity now you may leave, anyways women are not allowed here. I should not see you snooping around in the future near this room." He orders.

"Your loss I might know something that could have helped you in solving your little problem." You shrug and turn to leave.

"Wait! What do you mean?"

"Well I guess women don’t do business here so I better keep my mouth shut." You taunt agitating him even more.

"Stop fucking with me Y/N! If you know something then tell me." You pucker your face pretending to think.

"Please" he adds softening down a bit, you sigh audibly.

"Ok then let me give you a heads up. The viper gang which is hampering your business deals is owned by none other than Victor Martinez aka my daddy dearest." Tom's eyes went wide as well as Harrison's and Harry's.

"What! You’re kidding right?" You scrunch your nose shaking your head sideways dismissively.

"But-but we had a deal!" He was still in disbelief.

"Honey you made a deal with the devil. What did you expect?" Tom crosses the room in three strides and grabs hold your arm with a death grip anger raging in his eyes.

"Leave my hand, Tom! You’re hurting me!" You struggle twisting your arm. He slightly loosens his grip but still holds on to you.

"What more do you know? What have you father-daughter planned behind this whole wedding facade?!" He spat gritting through his teeth.

"Hey don't go all out on me! I myself didn't know about this until today. He never told me about this secret gang."

He scoffs, raising his eyebrows. "And you want me to believe that?"

"It’s up to you if you want to believe or not but if I would be plotting against you why would I even care to tell you all this?" You pull your hand away "--and this growing hatred inside you I have thousands of times more of that hatred inside me for him" you seethe.

"Then what was the meaning of the whole deal?"

"Well he wanted me to lure you and trick you into writing everything you own including your business to my name and then kill you." Tom is left speechless with your revelation.

"What? Feel the bitter taste of betrayal?" You smirk. "Now you’ll understand what I felt."

"Okay then you guys have fun working out your plan on going against your new enemy while I enjoy my night with some music and drinks." You chirp enthusiastically.

"Now where are you going so late?" Tom sounded tired.

"None of your business"

"Anthony, Michael go with her" He orders two of his men.

"No need, my uber is already waiting outside" saying so you left.

Reaching the club you order some drinks for yourself. You sit on the seat near the counter enjoying the ambience as the bartender hands you a martini. Though it wasn’t like the rave parties you had in NY but you really felt relaxed finally out by yourself after being trapped in that house for two weeks after your wedding which felt like ages.

"You're Y/N right?" You look up to your side to find the red head girl from yesterday.

"And you're the hooker" You quip and she chuckles.

"Yeah I am, it's Sandy by the way." She takes seat beside you. "So where’s your husband?"

"Probably still shouting at his men." You shrug, taking a sip of your drink.

"Not to be prying but what's the deal between you two? It looks like you hate each other's guts"

"Don’t know about him but I definitely do, perhaps after tonight he might start hating me too."

"Then why the hell did you get married?"

"Well honey things don't work like that in the mob. A wedding is just a strategic alliance between two families for their own mutual benefits. We just serve as scapegoats, our fates were sealed together the day we were born" You explain.

"Well that’s some really messed up shit" She sympathizes.

"I know."

"But you can still work it out. You know he isn’t that bad, at least not in bed" She grins cheekily.

"Okay I didn’t need to know that" You chuckle sarcastically.

"You’re really missing a good dick girl, that you can have any time you want and all your life."

"Do I look like a nymphomaniac?’’ You laugh ‘‘-and no doubt he is a dick. He is the reason my innocent boyfriend is dead, I’m stuck here in this stupid marriage and instead of apologizing what does he do? He brings in girls, acting like a slut" You rant.

"You're bothered aren't you?"

"No, why would I be bothered with whom he sleeps?" You stand up from your seat stumbling a little already feeling tipsy.

"-- you know what I'm gonna enjoy today, get drunk and dance my sorrows away." "Everyone in the house tonight’s drinks are on me! Enjoy the free booze!" You screamed. The whole crowd whooped and whistled.

"To my fucked up life!" You shouted, downing a shot.

You made your way to the center of the dance floor and started dancing without any worry about tomorrow. Within seconds you felt two hands around your hips, you turn your head to find a cute boy probably of your age as you continued to dance and grind against him. After a couple of songs you went back to the counter and had some more drinks. You were totally wasted as your vision went blurry and pretty soon everything blacked out.

It feels like a struggle for you to open your eyes as you stir inside the covers. Huh? You squint your eyes open and realize you were actually lying in a bed. You slowly sat up, your head was pounding with last night’s hangover as you groaned holding your head. Your eyes slowly adjusts to your surroundings and you realize that you were indeed back home and in your bedroom. You look down at your body and were shocked to find yourself in just your black strapless bra and underwear.

"You’re up at last." You hurriedly pull the covers up to your chest hearing Tom’s voice.

He walks in a pair of grey sweatpants and a tightly fitted black t-shirt, his biceps bulging out of it. It was really odd to see him in such an informal attire but he looks good, you slapped yourself internally for the last thought.

"What happened last night? How did I get here? And where are my clothes?!" You badgered him with questions.

"Woah slow down, that's a lot of questions at one go and you should be the first one explaining about your reckless behavior last night."

"Why, what did I do?" You frown.

"Oh you really went wild last night. For starters you danced with random blokes and then you drank more and got wasted. And then you took off your dress whilst those drunk bastards did body shots." Your mouth falls agape in shock.

"Wait what? I took off my dress in public?!" You were still in disbelief.

"Yeah and that’s not all” He says with a scoff “You let those twats lick salt and lemon off your body while they did shots. Thanks to Sandy who informed me on time." You rolled your eyes looking away.

"After seeing you being used for body shots things got a little nasty out there and they had to close early."

"What did you do?" You ask anxiously.

"That any man would do seeing his wife being touched by other men." He growls the last bit.

"What do you mean?"

"I made sure they will be in the hospital for a good couple of months." He states rather proudly.

You slap your forehead shaking your head in annoyance. You didn't realize that you had let go off the sheets covering your body giving Tom quite a view which he had missed the other day.

He slowly leans forward, eyeing you up and down lustfully prompting you to back off until your back touched the head board. He crawls towards you further hovering over you reaching his hand out to cup your face.

"You really upset me yesterday Y/N." His voice low as his hand brushes your hair from your shoulder and travels downs to your chest fingertips gently brushing over your rib cage down to the valley of your breasts slightly tugging to the soft material of your bra. You caught hold of his hand to stop him from going down further, he smirks.

"Funny how you allow strangers to touch you, but not me, your husband who has the only right to do it." You kicked his crotch but not too hard.

"Bloody hell!!" He groaned as you tackled him down bringing yourself on top straddling him. You were far gone from feeling self conscious, sitting on top of him in just your undergarments.

"Well the thing is I don't take you as my husband." You sneer narrowing your eyes. "And the last time I checked, you don't trust me."

"Well I never trusted you on the first place and you proved it last night quite nicely for the reason why” He says. “but honey I'm not letting you go so easily."

"After a lot of thought I actually think you could be a perfect leverage for me" He then goes to press his hand to your lower stomach "Moreover if you were with my child I guess grandpa Victor will certainly agree to some negotiations" He ticked his jaw with a devilish grin. You flare your nostrils fuming at his audacity.

"I would rather be barren than let you father my child and give him/her this cursed life." You seeth. Tom seemed a little hurt by your words of how you think he's going to be a terrible father but he masked it with his usual cocky self.

"Truth be told princess I love to be on top and in control but for a change you really look so pretty on top, can't imagine how beautiful you'll look while you ride my dick" He says tracing your jawline with his fingers. You swat his hand away.

"You're such a piece of shit!" You snap getting off him. He gets up chuckling and leaves the room as you quickly get off the bed and run to the bathroom.

Undressing yourself from the leftover clothes you ran a warm shower, the warm water quickly relaxing your muscles. You smelt of sweat, alcohol and cigarettes which made you feel dirty. You squirted some body wash and lathered your body with it before washing it off. Then you washed your hair with shampoo.

You take your time before drying yourself off and walk out of the bathroom busy fixing your towel and bumped into Tom. His large hands held your arms steadying you meanwhile your towel loosens and falls off your body. You both looked at each other in shock.

Tom stands there like a statue gaping at you, eyes lingering from top to bottom of your exposed body; ‘man you have a goddess like body’ he thought as beads of water trickled down your wet hair. You finally come back to your senses then it suddenly hit you that you were standing completely naked.

"What the fuck!! Tom close your eyes!!!" You shriek out quickly bending down to grab the towel and cover yourself. Hearing you scream Harrison came barging in your room.

"What happened mate?" Out of instinct Tom lunges forward and embraces you tightly blocking you from anyone's view.

"Harrison! Get the fuck out of here!"

"Oh I'm sorry bruh. Didn't know you were busy." He cackles turning around. Some of his other men also came rushing in thinking something happened, leading to a total chaotic situation in the room.

"Yes, who else is left to join the party you are cordially invited!" You yell frustrated.

Tom is still guarding you as he yells sharply. "Get out of here you bloody morons!"

When everyone is finally out of the room Tom steps back as you stand at your place clutching on to your towel, both of you looking away from each other. After a few awkward moments of silence Tom finally speaks up.

"That was quite a spectacular view, you have kept things quite perked up I see." He says playfully. And that was enough to get on your nerves.

"You!!!" You glower taking the vase you found near you in your hand to hurl it at him. He steps back a little, raising his hands defensively.

"Careful love! That cost me thousands of dollars, though I don't have any shortage of money but still don't want a lovely art to go to waste just to appease your anger on your piece of shit husband" He snickers breaking into a laugh and runs out of the room leaving you fuming.

"Son of a bitch! Uggh!!" You stomp your feet keeping back the vase at its place. Your phone dinged and you went to check, it was a message from William.

W : Good news

..................................................................

Taglist in bio or send an ask/dm I’ll add you

#tom holland #tom holland x reader #tom holland x you #tom holland smut #tom holland imagines #tom holland x y/n #tom holland imagine #mob!tom #mob!tom holland

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semischarmed · 3 years

Text

Clarity

My hot roommate Zach is the perfect man. I think I won the cosmic lottery when we got paired freshman year. “Roommates for life!” he shouted, as he wrapped a tone arm around me in a side-hug. I chuckled, of course. Who knew the cutest guy in our dorm was such a dork. I remember that moment vividly, committed every last detail to memory. In what he likely only barely remembers, I recall to the last detail. I play it back often -even moreso, nowadays: The crisp autumn breeze. The filtered sunlight through amber trees, bathing us both in golden afternoon. The warmth of his touch, and the unintended taunt from his arm pulling me towards him and his jacket ever so slightly wrapping over my back. The slight, dense smell of coffee wafting from him and his minty breath cutting through. Thats how I remember him. Warm. Sincere. Safe. Zach would probably say that was the moment we became best friends. I, on the other-hand, would say that was the exact moment when I fell for him.

We did everything together from then on: Ate together, joined the same clubs, signed up to the same classes- that first year we were inseparable. Best friends to a tee. I’m not even sure what he saw in me- the guy was a hell of a lot more sociable than I was. He could literally find anyone else on campus, yet I had the privilege of being his roommate and friend. I commit that wonderful first year to my life. It is my happiest year to date. I commit that version of Zach to myself as well.

Trouble started early in our second year. He spent all summer back home, hanging out with his high school friends and his brothers. When we finally met back in our new room, he seemed distant. Still, I made the effort, getting closer and closer to him every day. He’d been sending signals too, I think. A stray touch, just a half second too long. A lingering stare in my direction. A gentle smile when I ask him a bout his day. I had to know for myself with certainty.

So, one terrifying October night, I asked him straight up.The fucker laughed. Cruel, hideous, insensitive laughter. I’d never felt more alone in my life than when he laughed at my confession. That broke something in me. I quickly ran to my bed, crying myself to sleep. Without skipping a beat, Zach left the room to grab a bite to eat, seemingly unchanged by my outright confession. I had never been so humiliated in my life, yet only he would ever know. Still I felt him hold that over me in the weeks to follow like a dark cloud. Of course he’d still offer hangouts. He’d ask for help with some dumb assignment or try to get me to open up by faking some issues about himself. He was mocking me. I felt his sneer, ever-present from behind. Thats when I began researching alternative methods to exact what I needed from him.

Why a private university had a book like this is beyond me. It was a spellbook. A dangerous one, at that. All manner of incantation and processes regarding the human soul. I poured myself the next few weeks on its pages religiously. Translation is a massive pain in the ass but it gets done.

“Love cannot be created by spell,” it stated. Leave it to a fucking book to let me down too. I wiped away stray tears until I caught sight of the last batch of spells. I sighed at its contents. Fine. I couldn’t make him love me through magic, but I could have him the next best way. His body. The final section of this book of spells is, of course, the curses and enchantments required to possess another being.

———

The preparations have been made. It’s another late, awkward night in our room, where he just passes by, gives me a nod and a grimace and then heads to bed. This night would be different. I chant the words. The price is steep. Half of my body’s lifespan for the ability to take someone over in their sleep. That’s the one I settled on. Of course, there were more permanent spells outlined, but this seemed to be a happy medium.

The magic is dark in nature, and I feel the cloud over me deepen. I feel myself detach. It’s weightless, but grounded. Makes sense, given the purpose of this spell. I watch my target and lick my astral lips. There he was, happily dreaming without a care in the world. I study every curve, like sculpture. He is muscled, but tone. Zach likes to sleep with his shirt off, so I get to see what powerful chest up close. I watch as powerful lungs, drawn in air before gently dispersing it. Perfection. I watch that beautiful face lie still in a satisfied smile. Angelic. This body is power, incarnate. My power, soon.

I follow closes until I am but inches from his face. I stir around him, slightly. I want him to know it’s me. Bleary eyes open and he gives a weak smile when he sees me. “Dude-” the smile quickly fades to shock. “Wait what the fuck...” in sinful glee I push into my man. He involuntarily absorbs my particles, my spirit. He tries to push me away, to get me off him. Hands are useless to stop me. I phase through them with no resistance. His breath quickens as he begins to panic. This only further brings me into him, as he is forced to breath in the only air around him-me.

Then, he starts choking, trying to force the parts of me in him out. I am unfazed. Instead, in I keep filling into him until all of me is inside. This is the way we were meant to be. He pulses and convulses and chokes while I align myself into him. I revel in Zach. In being Zach. Despite all the shit he pulled this year, he still is perfection. My perfection, now.

I command his lips mine. “Invoke me. Become me. Manipulate this body. Explore us. Stay, in me. I want you here, forever.” They’re not words he usually uses. I rile in a frenzy when these phrases leave his lips at my behest. When his voice becomes my own and I make us moan. When his body complies with my every whim. When Zach’s flesh is mine. It is euphoric. Orgasmic even. I intend to follow through, to reward it. To pleasure it. God it feels good being in him. Being him. He may not love me, but love me he will, even if indirectly. Every waking moment I spend inside this man will be a moment of him loving himself, loving me. Now, And then I feel it. I clutch my head in pain. Zach.

Veins strain in his forehead as he puts every last effort to exorcise me out. Resistance almighty in this body. In tears I feel myself stripped from momentary heaven. He chokes as a dense fog that is me escapes his mouth. He is successful.

When I am kicked out of his body abruptly, I flare in anger. How could he do this? How could he? I look back at my slumbering form. No matter. My resolve is steel. Somehow, somewhere deep inside me, I knew somewhere it had to come to this. I chant the final curse mentioned in the spellbook. The price is the steepest of them all.

I watch as my physical form dissipates. I writhe as I am renewed with newfound energy. Potency. Virility. I’ve put in everything. Everything I ever was into becoming him. Zach would be mine, no matter what.

Before he can readjust, before he can even think about what had just occurred, I flood back inside my man. Inside my body. My one true body, now, given what I had to sacrifice. I make him smile while he takes me in. Smile in preparation of a new, permanent driver. I thrust my astral form inside its new home. It’s warm. Roomy. muscular. We make this body grin, shout, cry, writhing all the way in its sheets in our battle for control. I’m not even sure he knows what he’s doing when he fights me- but he always was a natural in everything he picked up. I feel our shared muscle contract and relax as it is forced to accept its two masters- soon to be one. Soon to be me. Zach’s soul was strong but no one was a match for the full force of an entire human body-turned-spirit. I feel his soul start to lose footing. Jackpot. Immediately fill take its place. My place.

I was far deeper in Zach now than I was before. His essence struggles, trying to escape me but I keep us steady, hold us tight. Our minds begin to connect this time around and we sync. The book said this was a necessary step. I blink away our tears into a satisfied smile. Our face is flush from the fight, flush from my greatest victory. “You’re mine forever,” I think to myself, My words. The verbalization of my invasive thoughts in his head- they’re spoken in his tongue. In his jock-like inflection. I even now think in his voice. Of course, it’s relatively minor in the grand scheme of things. Yet it is undeniable proof. The finality of it all. Proof that my body no longer existed in this world. Proof that for me, forever, Zach would be my default. Just one last step to it all. One last push- I’ve already given this much, there was no going back. I would displace Zach as the true owner of this body. It’s as the final line in the book states: “Encapsulate their soul, devour it, digest it, make it yours. Then, true control at long last.”

Tears stream down our shared cheeks as we both realize the true gravity, the true consequences of my actions. We are synced now, but I haven’t yet completed the process. So, our emotions are a mix. So, it’s bittersweet. He’s mine. We’re one. I’m finally with Zach in a way most intimate. Despite it all, he isn’t fighting back. Why?

I rage inside him, wanting him to be mad, wanting him to hate me, to give me justification my ultimate transgression. He offers none. Instead, I am hit with borrowed clarity. More of his memory floods into me and I begin to cry.

I watch my every worst moment through his lens, relive the demons of my past and yet, from his perspective they never looked quite as dark or traumatic as I had made them out to be. Even my confession itself, my initial catalyst, had merely been a blip in Zach’s mind. If anything, he had been more concerned that his own nervous laughing was the cause of my spiraling. I quickly realize how much wasted time I spent, building up Zach into this god in my head. My god. In the end, he was human after all.

I feel Zach pull instances of himself from my memories in turn. It turns out he had many, many insecurities as well. Many moments where he needed validation or support. Many moments, even in recent memory, where I had never picked up on on his fear and self doubt. An offhand comment here. Some self-deprecation there. Of course, stupid me always there to respond by telling him to quit joking around. I felt the months of torment he felt in my coldness after my confession. He wasn’t making fun of me or being an ass, he wasn’t even patronizing (well, he wasn‘t trying to at least)- he thought he was losing a friend. The guy was just a bit oblivious. God I was so dumb. Of course, he blames himself for my eventual actions. Poor guy. Zach didn’t deserve any of this- he never did. “Thank you” he cries in new clarity.

In mental tears I begin to undo my connection to him. It’s not something he had the capacity to do himself- I made that a reality when I used my physical form as tribute. I know the price which must be paid, for my greatest sin, born from misunderstanding. There wouldn’t be much left for me- the price for the spell was my physical body after all. It didn’t matter. I made that choice for myself when I recited the spell. But Zach... he had no choice at all. He still had a chance at a life. A life well-lived with knowledge and confidence gained from my memory. It was the least I could give him.

I begin to drift away as I balance the cosmic scales. I detach the last of myself from Zach, ready to give him back his body, ready to return him to his life. It’s merely a reverse of the process from before, yet it all feels lighter somehow. I take it as a sign of karmic justice. Of course, I am scared. Who knows what awaits me? Maybe I can find another body to inhabit. Maybe one in a coma. Maybe i’ll be reincarnated. Maybe nothing. Maybe I’ll just vanish on the spot...

Zach doesn’t give me the chance to find out. I feel his astral hand holding on to mine. His face is sympathetic. Kind. Warm. Like it used to be. Like it always was. His body leans up to pull me into a warm embrace. I start crying in spirit. “You, you don’t have to do this-”

“I know” he says. He pulls me tighter. “Roommates for life, remember?” Now he’s crying. “There’s no way to go back- we both know that, but you still got a life to live-we both do.” He smiles as he guides me to himself. I reattach to him. We weave our souls as one. “C’mon man, I told you I grew up sharing a room.” I am a complete mess of emotions at this point. Unworthiness, Love, Relief. I feel his mess too. Neither of us knew where to go from here, but we both knew we’d face it together.

The experience was sobering, to say the least. We cried together that night. We cried at newfound realization. We cried at irreversibility of what I had done. Hell, we even cried at the extra rent that had to now be paid. I had no way of undoing what I did, and Zach wouldn’t let me go. In the end, we decide to just give it a go, a resolve to live as one person. “Zach 2.0,” as he jokingly put it. Dork.

———

“A happy accident,” is what Zach called the events of that night. He always was the optimist. Although, these days, I’m a bit of an optimist now too. I am Zach now too, after all. All things considered, we’ve done quite well together. Zach 2.0 was everything. We were smart, intuitive, confident, compassionate. We’ve made this body the healthiest it’s ever been. Hell, together we even graduated with honors, something neither of us could ever hope to do alone. Both our parents were real proud of that one- he told mine at my funeral that we had been together and we’ve been in close contact ever since. By no means were we the perfect man though. There was no perfect man. We’ve had our share of fights, struggles, times where one of us would take full control of this body we share, shut the other out.

Once in a blue moon, we both dream of what our lives could have ended up as, had I not done what I did or had he let me disappear that night. In retrospect, I really do think my life had a lot of things going for it. Hindsight is always 20/20, as he likes to say. I saw many an opening, so many areas for improvement that my younger self was blinded by in lust and perceived betrayal. There was so much life I could have lived, had I just not opened that stupid book. I don’t dwell on it too much though. We’re both quite happy sharing this body. I’m living in one body with my crush, whats not to like?

The first few months were quite jarring. Our friends and family would see us happy and outgoing at one moment and then flip to quiet and reserved on a flip of the switch. Gratefully, they been patient with us, assuming it was the byproduct of a grieving boyfriend. The more years I grow with him, the more alike we have become. Sharing one body and living one life tends to do that. I’ve probably rubbed off on him a little too. He’s just a bit more analytical now, a bit more perceptive, and I’ve learned to let loose every once in a while. Altogether, we make a great team. We’ve even managed a slew of relationships along the way. Hell, he’s even gone out with some guys-no doubt a byproduct of my soul being a part of him. Of course, in the ultimate cruel twist of fate, they never last- he tells me “none ever match me”. Well of course they can’t. I’ve lived every moment with him, felt his every thought, lifted him when he was up, consoled him when he was down. Ironically, in a roundabout way, the spell did end up causing love, causing for him to fall for me- at the cost of us never being able to be a couple in the physical sense. Guess you really can’t have it all.

In the few years we spent together my love for him has only deepened. I know he feels the same way. We are one person, after all. All things considered, it’s not a bad setup. If love on the physical plane happens, it happens, and if it doesn’t- then we still always have each other. Regardless, I’m sure we’ll find someone out there for the both of us, someday-there’s that optimism again. Of course, we don’t pine for it. Our main focus has always been each other. Growing together. We’ve got a whole life yet to live. And he’ll have me with him every step of the way. And we can’t wait to face it all, together.

-End-

Eh, it’s a bit underdeveloped but I’m not a novelist and I didn’t want to spread this out over parts. Going for something a little different with number 14- hope y’all like it!

#male possession

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