#trying to leave self consciousness at the door to be a positive force
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v3nusxsky · 7 months ago
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Picking up the pieces
*Authors note~ just trying to get back into the swing of things now University is over for the summer. And of course sinful souls is long overdue an update. Queue the angsty chapter *
Trigger warnings~ very toxic lesso, lesso left after sex, abandonment issues (R), aftercare mentioned, heartbreak, depression, panic attack, bad memories, sub space (R) , lesso has a lot of self hate and a rough background
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Each sob that forced its way from your exhausted frame broke the blonde principals heart. Leonora leaving would’ve hurt you no matter what, that she knew, but adding in the vulnerability you’d shown before she left meant you were near enough inconsolable. All Larissa could do was administer aftercare and gather you in her arms as your mind and body struggle to catch up. Your cries becoming more frequent as you mumbled phrases like, “why did she go?” “Was I bad mommy?” “I’m sorry” over and over, only worsening your emotional state to the point it was a struggle to force air into your lungs.
Small breaths clawed their way out of your throat as your emotions overflowed into pure panic. Instinctively, you began to panic more, pleading for the other woman to help you, needing more than what you could ever explain in this moment. They say people can die from heartbreak, and this right here would sum that up perfectly. You didn’t want to die, not really, but it seemed that the hold on your lungs just got tighter and tighter until your whole body flopped forward, eyes fluttering to a close, shutting your body down instantly to the soundtrack of Larissa’s terror soaked scream.
Never in her life and all her years at Nevermore had Larissa Weems seen someone in such a state as you were. The extreme emotional stress took a toll on your vulnerable state causing your blood pressure to drop drastically. Instinctively her training kicked in and she moved you gently into the recovery position and made sure to check the time and observe your condition. The longest couple of minutes of the blondes life would forever engrave themselves into her brain and heart.
Incoherent mumbles filled the room allowing the principal to release a breath she wasn’t aware of holding. You’d be okay. She was here for you no matter what. Haphazardly, you threw your hand out in search of the older woman, seeking her warmth and comfort as you roused back to consciousness. “I’m here baby. I’m right here. You’re okay” she reassured as your beautiful dark eyelashes fluttered before revealing your stunning eyes. “You stayed” came your sad little whimper, your eyes darting around the room, “she left didn’t she?”
No response would heal the damage this night caused but Larissa opted to redirect your focus on to her. She was here. Always would be. Leonora walked out yes, but the blonde couldn’t shake that she would be back. Maybe not now, maybe not next week, but she’d come back. You all needed one another in ways neither of you realised. Fate is a tricky beast, one that’s so intricate and beautiful yet holds a price. All you both could do was trust fate would work this situation out for the better. Using the hotel to spend a night away, soaking in eachothers comforting embrace and trying to understand what will happen now.
Everything was blank, until the memory of the door slamming triggering the club owner to break down into an onslaught of angry tears. How could she respond with such anger to you. Clearly red mist clouded her rational thinking and she reacted in such a manner. Yet she had no true memory of what occurred, obscured by blind rage. The rhythmic thumping of the bass vibrating the club seemed to get louder with every silent tear Lesso shred. As it came back in glimpses and flashbacks of how she’d treated the two women who clearly cared for her. Looking at Leonora you wouldn’t think she has ever been through anything rough in life. However, that’s completely far from the truth, underneath that hard shell is the small girl who was abandoned and shunned by the small village she lived in.
A glass of neat whiskey was cradled in her hand as the moment she left the hotel room replayed over and over. Each time something new came to her attention and allowed the self hatred to grow. She was truly evil. How could she? How dare she? She had to make it right if you or Larissa would ever look at her in that way again. Finally being done taking out her personal issues on others and pushing away probably the only good things in her life. She’d never be happy if she couldn’t accept the good in life. That simple realisation resulted in her whiskey being thrown against the door in frustration. How could she be so blind?
Larissa Weems is use to sleeping lightly, it comes with years of being on call for Nevermore students. So it was unsurprising she couldn’t sleep through the constant buzzing coming from your phone, then hers. Only then to be met with what was clearly a drunk Leonora showing remorse and begging for both the women to forgive her. Desperate for another chance. Only half the texts happened to be incoherent. Deciding she didn’t want you wake up yet she shot a text to your group chat stating one simple thing. “Drunk words are sober thoughts my dear”
A reply. She replied. Wait who? Larissa. Immediately Leonora began fumbling to press the call button and after two rings the blonde principal answered. From here she listened as the raven haired woman ranted and rambled out slurred apologise and promises to be better, ending the call with a promise to all talk tomorrow. For now sleep and a glass of water was in order.
Your feelings on the matter were definitely muddled when Larissa approached the subject. Yet with a phone call to lesso of your own you agreed to meet up as long as you had some proof the woman wouldn’t hurt either of you again, a goal to work too allowing you all to sort out your emotions and ideas of where to go from here.
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purple-babygirl · 3 years ago
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hi im not sure if you’re taking requests so you can ignore this if you’d like, but i really liked your mafia bucky fic !! and i was wondering if you could do one where maybe someone breaks into the house and the reader has to force themselves to be big for a little bit just so they can fight them off and then she runs to the little safe room and goes little there and Bucky finds her there and comforts her and it’s just all fluffy? sorry if this is so specific i just loved the last fic sm 😅
Pairing: Mafia!Daddy!Bucky Barnes x f!little!reader
Word count: 1,958
Warnings: reader gets attacked (includes harassment and mentions of violence, cursing, guns), reader gets hurt, mentions of killing, Bucky's softness (yes it's a warning), ddlg dynamics.
A/N: I've been holding onto this one for forever now I'm really sorry for taking so long, dear nonnieđŸ„ș it means the world to me that you liked mafia!daddy!bucky and i hope i delivered with this one and that you like it as much, love. Please enjoy ily xx💜
~
safe
You’re a big girl.
You’re a big girl.
You’re a big girl. You can do this.
It all happened too fast. She woke up to guns shooting, Bucky’s men yelling at each other before all the voices suddenly stopped and the door to their bedroom was violently kicked open.
She didn’t even have time to scream before she was dragged from under the large bed by her ankle.
You’re a big girl.
You’re a big girl.
You’re a big girl. Just like Daddy taught you.
“Let go! You don’t wanna do this!” she shrieked, warning the person trying to snatch her off the floor, her leg kicking as she struggled to flee his vice-like hold.
She’d suddenly forgotten every single self-defense move Bucky has ever taught her and was thrashing in panic.
“Oh, I don’t?” the man laughed, his grip painful on her limb as he tried to get on top of her.
She screamed when he dug his fingernails in the flesh of her shin, forcing her legs apart.
“Such a delicate little thing.” He licked his lips when he drew blood, running his gun up her bare leg, pressing down when it reached her inner thigh, “beg me to let you go.”
The words infuriated her big self. If Bucky had taught her one thing that she could never forget it was how dear and precious she was.
“Do you know who my man is?” Her free foot collided with the intruder’s chin, hitting him just right for his teeth to slam together, making him groan and loosen his grasp.
“I beg no one for nothing.” She spat, clumsily standing up, rushing inside Bucky’s large walk-in closet.
“You’re gonna regret that, you little bitch!” The masked man threatened, banging his fist on the door, “I’m gonna make that man of yours weep blood over your dead slut body!”
Her breath was coming out in puffs as tears blurred her vision. With trembling fingers, she moved Bucky’s hung-up suits to the side, revealing the metal door to the panic room.
You’re a big girl.
You’re a big girl.
You’re a big girl. Just a bit longer.
She could hear the man take a few steps back and she knew he was going to shoot the closet open. Her shaky fingers pushed the buttons and typed the number code, the date of the day Bucky had asked her to be his.
I feel safe knowing I have you, angel, so it’s only fit that we make it the safe room code, he'd told her with a playful shrug.
She slid inside as soon as the door moved, pushing her back against the concrete wall, trying to take her breath. The door clicked shut right before the wooden one to the closet was thrown open.
You’re a big girl.
You’re a big girl.
You’re a big girl. You got this.
She let out a relieved sigh that broke into a sob as she tiredly slid down the wall, still hearing the scary man curse, bang and shoot on the safe room door.
Where was Bucky? She couldn’t hold on any longer. This wasn’t a situation she wanted to be present in. Her body started folding up, taking fetal position as her mind led her to the safer side against her better will. Even her fists closed upon themselves, tears leaving her eyes and traveling down the bridge of her nose. She was losing consciousness of her present surroundings, pictures of Bucky’s eyes spreading in her vision instead of the dull, grey walls of the room.
She was crying too loudly to hear the firing of Bucky’s gun right outside the door or the peeping of the door as it slid open once again.
“Angel!” Bucky’s voice sounded so distant. She felt like she was drowning with how muffled his calls were to her ears.
Seeing her body shake with sobs on the floor like that made Bucky want to walk out and shoot the man’s dead body again and again until he couldn’t be identified.
How dare they send someone here? How dare they violate the sanctity of his home? They were certainly not going to live another day to repeat or repent from their sins.
“Angel, are you hurt?” He kneeled beside her, gently untangling her limbs to check if she was wounded anywhere.
Aside from a couple of nasty scratches by her ankle, she was physically okay and Bucky could breathe a little better as his body sagged on the floor.
He swallowed and lifted her on his lap, signaling his men to leave when they stepped in the room to check if they were needed after ‘cleaning up’.
“Get me water.” Was all he said and they were running to the nearest fridge.
“I’m sorry, my angel. I’m here now. You’re okay.” Bucky mumbled, lips hovering over her temple.
“Dada.” Her body leaned into his warmth but her cries didn’t stop and Bucky could only hold her closer as he tried not to let guilt rip him apart.
She was like that now because of him. Had he been a normal man with a normal life, she would’ve been safer. She didn’t deserve to be startled awake only to be chased by a criminal in the middle of the night. She didn’t deserve any of the bullshit that hit her because she was with Bucky.
He kept planting kiss after kiss to her head, wishing he could go back and be there to protect her.
“Shh, you’re okay, my angel. You’re safe,” he kept telling her as he supported himself up with her in his arms.
Her cries were dying down and she was getting comfier in Bucky’s protective hold, fingers digging in his shoulders afraid he would leave again.
“Please, calm down, baby. I’m here. No one can hurt you, angel.” Bucky took her out and to the bathroom so he could take a look at her leg.
“Baby, are you hurt anywhere else?” he asked after sitting her down on the cold counter.
Instead of answering, she pressed her forehead to his chest and kept sniveling, hands clutching Bucky’s jacket. She wasn’t ready for him to let her go yet. She may be too far gone but her body knew it needed to be close to Bucky’s.
“Baby, please come back to me,” Bucky begged, tears threatening to spill from his once hard, cold eyes.
“Angel,” his thumb brushed her cheek and she finally looked up to him.
“Dada, I was so scared.” She sobbed, shaking at the memory.
“I’m sorry, my angel.” Bucky pressed his lips to her forehead, “I’m here with you, baby. No need to be scared anymore.”
“That man- he-” she hiccupped.
“You’re okay, angel. Breathe.” Bucky stroked her back warmly as she buried her face in his chest again.
He took the bottle of water from one of his men, waving him out of the bathroom.
“Here, baby, drink some water.”
She wouldn’t move. She just wanted to be close to Daddy. She was scared and Bucky was safety. He was home.
“For me, baby. Just a tiny sip.” Bucky twisted the bottle cap open, gently cupping her cheek to coax her away from his body.
His heart swelled when she leaned her damp cheek on his palm, enjoying the warmth. Her smaller hand cupped his and her eyes closed, her face further pressed into Bucky’s hand as a soft sigh escaped her lips.
Bucky bit his lip, holding back the waterworks. He should’ve been here; should’ve prevented it all from happening. His thumb brushed her chin and she opened her eyes.
“Drink a little, angel.” Bucky offered a kind smile.
She nodded, sitting up straighter, her lashes wet with tears as she looked up to Bucky, her gaze holding no blame.
He brought the bottle to her lips and she gulped down, the chilled water soothing her sore throat.
“Better?” Bucky cocked his head to the side and she nodded, sniffing.
Bucky bowed, holding his forehead against hers. He just wanted to feel her breathe soundly; wanted to make his mind stop telling him he almost lost her forever.
“Dada.”
“Yes, my angel.” Bucky pecked her lips.
“My leg hurts.” Her voice was awfully small as she pointed to the burning scratches ruining her beautiful skin. Bucky wished he could hide her between his ribs in place of his heart.
“Daddy’s got you, angel.”
Bucky cleaned her wound, apologizing with a kiss to her cheek every time she hissed. He had her tell him what happened to distract her and it worked. She wanted him to be proud so much she eagerly told him all about kicking the bad man. Tears gathered in her eyes once again when he applied ointment but she continued with her story, Bucky’s smile keeping her calm.
“Angel, you were so brave! I’m so proud of you, baby.” Bucky kissed her bandaged leg, “how did you do that?!”
“Kept thinkin’ dada thoughts.” She hugged Bucky again.
Bucky was a puddle on the bathroom floor. She was telling him she was brave like that because she was thinking of him through it all. He adored her so much he didn’t know who he was if not her man.
“I promise this is the last time you would ever have to go through anything like that,” Bucky assured, chuckling lovingly when she squeezed him harder and nodded.
She believed Bucky. She knew he could keep her safe. This wasn’t a usual occurrence, Bucky’s always made sure she was protected. She had no doubt anything would change. She trusted her Daddy with all her heart.
Bucky knew that and it scared him to death. He was scared one day he might not be up to the trust she’d put in him. He feared disappointing her; not being there for her in time. He was terrified a day would come where he might let her down.
“Never again. You’re safe, my angel. You’re always safe with me.”
Bucky’s soft lips placed a languishing kiss to her forehead. Her eyes were next, Bucky kissed her eyelids and under her eyes. Then he left wet kisses on both cheeks before pecking her nose. She smiled shyly when he pressed his mouth to the corner of hers.
“I love you, angel,” Bucky whispered against her lips before kissing her.
~
Bucky carried her back to their bed. The room was organized again, nothing was out of place and she was in Daddy’s arms. She was safe once more.
Bucky held her to his chest all night, his mind too loud to let him fall asleep. She went back to bed almost immediately though. Bucky’s presence was all it really took for her to feel peaceful enough to close her eyes and dream again.
When she moved out of his embrace in her sleep, Bucky carefully left the room and went to his office to review the security cameras footage. He knew watching the attack would make his blood boil again but he had to see what happened and how the unlucky asshole got inside his mansion.
While she already told him she’d defended herself, Bucky was the proudest seeing it unfold on the screen.
“Do you know who my man is?... I beg no one.”
The words brought the largest smile to Bucky’s lips. He was so proud of his angel; so amazed by her courage. He thought he couldn’t love her any more than he already did and he was wrong. His heart has picked the right girl and for that he was grateful. Bucky took one last look at the shining ring in his top drawer before shutting it and walking back to continue cuddling his precious sweetheart.
~~
Tags: @harrysthiccthighss, @tinystudentfirepurse, @lavendercitizen
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This may seem like a weird one but, Yandere Miz and Maryse. Like an ot3 sort of action. I entirely blame Hulu for allowing me to binge the entire series and now all I see is
DADDY MIKE AND MOMMY MARYSE.
Please assure me I’m not entirely insane 😂 thanks â˜ș
No one Likes Secrets
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Summary: Mike and Maryse have to take drastic action to get you to accept being their little girl
An: ok ok ok, I am a WHORE for a couple where both would dominate me so this is right up my aisleïżŒïżŒ.
Taglist: @fiskers7136 @peachmango-kombucha @kcloveswrestling @bellalutionn @xkennyxomegax @tummyyellin @cuzimacomedian @auburnwrites @damnnhausen @thesusbunny @blaquekittycat
Warnings: kidnapping, honorifics(Daddy and Mama), use of sedativesïżŒ, bondage, mental abuse, other Yandere themes. DO NOT READ IF YOU WILL BE TRIGGERED!
You didn’t know how long you had. Sometimes they were gone for hours, and other times it was 15 minutes. While listening for when they would come into the house, you gripped a small steak knife. It had a black handle, and was so sharp you had cut your finger by just grabbing it. Part of you felt bad for what you were planing to do. Mike and Maryse had been sweet to you, but at the end of the day you were here against your will. They forced you into their home and refused to let you leave, claiming they were protecting you.
At the sound of the door you carefully stuck the knife in your underwear, hiding it from view with your frilly pink skirt while avoiding hurting your self.
“Y/n?” You quickly left the kitchen, paddling into the hall that would lead to the door. There you found Maryse and Mike, both with arms full of bags. “There she is!” Maryse dropped her bags to quickly pull you into a big hug. “Did you stay out of trouble?”
“Yes mama.” You mumbled, still embarrassed by the names they had insisted they used.
“Come on baby, why don’t you help me put the bags in the living room while mama ïżŒgets lunch ready?” Mike asked as Maryse released you from her arms.
You scurried over and grabbed a bunch of the bags, following Mike into the room. You set them down while he stared at you.
“Can’t wait for you to see what me and mama got you today.” He said before scoping you into his arms, making you shriek a bit. He just laughed at your reaction and carried you to the kitchen.
Maryse already had a bowl out with some soup for you, and was making something for herself and Mike. She didn’t say anything as Mike sat you down in your chair. “What do we say?”
“Thanks you daddy.” You mumbled, looking down at your lap. You could feel the knife sitting there.
“Of course.” Mike patted your head before walking over to his wife. You picked up the spoon and began eating the soup, but as you did you started to get slightly dizzy. The world around you was spinning, and you felt like you may throw up.
“Aww, is our baby tiered? Maybe we need to lie down.” Maryse and alles over to take the spoon out of your hand while Mike picked you up. You felt Maryse’s hand on your thigh, and the knife you had been hiding was pulled away. You were completely limp against Mike when she held it up for you to see. “Nice try little one.”
🩋🩋🩋
When you started to regain consciousness, you felt like your head was going to explode. Your body felt heavy, and you were covered in sweat. You brought your arm up, hoping to wipe your face, but you were met ïżŒwith soft fabric. You opened your eyes full to see what was on your hand, and quickly you wished you hadn’t. Bondage mitts had been strapped onto you, keeping your hands in tight fists.
“No no no no.” You mumbled, trying to pull them off of you but failing. You attempted to sit up, but found yourself falling to the side and almost off the bed. You pulled the blanket off and felt air leave your lungs. Your legs were tied in a bent position, meaning if you wanted to move, you would have to crawl. You let out a suprised and scared Yelp, and quickly Both Mike and Maryse were in the room to check in you.
“Baby, what’s wrong?” Mike asked, seeing you try to while away your tears with your mitted hands. You looked up at him as he sat next to you with a sympathetic look.
“Do you not like your mittens baby?” Maryse asked, taking a seat in the other side of you. You shook your head as they both just watched you. “Well, what were we supposed to do, you were going to hurt us.” You felt your stomach drop at her words.
“You really didn’t think we would t notice a knife missing? Your supposed to be smarter then that.” Mikes words made you feel worse, like you hadn’t understood something that simple. “So we had to do this. Maybe once we can trust you again you can earn the privilege to use your legs. Understand?”
“Yes daddy.” You whispered. You found yourself cuddling into Maryse before the two of them together picked you up and set you on the ground.
“Now, you need to figure out how to walk like that. But once you make it to the living room me and mama will show you all the fun stuff we got at the store.” With that the two of them left, leaving you struggling to figure out how to move while always being on all four.
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shig-a-shig-ah · 4 years ago
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LAYING CLAIM
» pairing: dabi x fem!reader
» cw: dubcon, revoked consent, noncon (we’re going on a journey, okay?), rimming, anal fingering, anal sex, crying, gratuitously fanon characterization. 18+, minors DNI.
» a/n: Started this months and months ago, and since I’m finally getting around to wrapping some WIPs, I guess you can have it now. Thanks @thebiggergroove​ for beta-reading!
» wc: 5.3k
» ao3 mirror
Like my work? Support me on Ko-fi or request a commission.
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The thing about Dabi is he's not usually a possessive guy. Fucking is fucking, as far as he's concerned—it doesn't really matter who is doing it with whom as long as everyone is getting off on it. But goddamn if there isn't something about you that makes him want to make you his.
And he's gotten that, more or less. It took some sweet talking and cajoling, and a few late nights where he made you come until you couldn't see straight, but you agreed not to go sleeping with anyone else. Sure, you've made him promise the same, but that's fine. Not that he's going to actually stop, of course, but he goes out on recruiting missions alone and he figures what you don't know won't hurt you.
That's all enough to satisfy him, at least for a little while. But then a few weeks pass and there it is again: that stupid jealousy and all those unbidden thoughts about the people you were with before him. People he knows. You never talk in too much detail about your past hookups, but he's not stupid, is all too aware that he's not the first one in this ragged band of miscreants that you've crawled into bed with. You've fucked Jin, and Shigaraki, and probably even Magne, god rest her soul—Dabi hadn't missed the way the two of you had huddled up giggling in the corner of the old bar one night, disappearing together unusually early, making those bedroom eyes at each other. And in theory that's fine. Nothing wrong with two girls having fun together, after all. Hell, bi chicks are hot and Dabi wouldn't mind taking advantage of that someday.
But first he needs to find a way to get the image of you with your legs spread for half the League out of his goddamn head.
If he's being honest, it's Shigaraki who bothers him the most. Magne is dead. Jin is a decent dude and, Dabi has to imagine, tame as a kitten in the sack. But Shigaraki, well...Dabi can tell just by looking at the guy that he's a freak, and the idea of you riding Shigaraki's dry, crusty dick, of letting him do who-knows-what filthy shit to you? It just gets to him.
And then Toga has to suggest that stupid game and go putting ideas in his head.
You're all sitting around the crumbling office space that passes for a hideout, drinking to celebrate the League's first successful double-amputation (because fuck that germophobic, transphobic prick), and blondie is just begging to play a drinking game. Normally Dabi doesn't go for that shit—why anyone needs an excuse to get wasted is beyond him—but he's in a good mood, and you make that adorable pouty face as you tell him that you played in college, that it's really fun, and somehow he finds himself sitting in a circle on the dusty floor with the rest of you losers playing 'I haven't' or whatever the fuck it's called.
It's all bland shit to start. Toga's never driven a car, Shigaraki's never gone to school. But, after you've made your way around the circle once, everyone seems to be loosening up and Spinner takes one for the team by getting to the interesting shit and admitting he's never slept with a girl. It spurs a moment of awkward silence made all the worse by his red face and obvious self-consciousness about being a virgin, but then Compress stage-whispers "Neither have I," before winking salaciously at the blushing lizard and taking a dramatic pull from his beer bottle. It's enough to lighten the mood.
After that, Dabi's forced to admit it's a decent game. There's not much he hasn't done sexually or criminally, and since those are the two topics everyone focuses on, he finds himself getting hammered faster than usual. It's a good thing too—his buzz makes it easier to ignore the look you and Shigaraki exchange when Jin announces that he's never tried watersports, easier to pretend his gut isn't twisting at the knowing smirk on your leader's face as he raises his beer bottle to drink and you follow suit.
That particular moment makes it all the more surprising when, on your next turn, you hide an embarrassed face behind your hand and announce that you've never taken it in the ass.
Dabi can't stop thinking about it the rest of the night. Obsessing over it, and the idea of being your first, your only, even if only in some less than conventional way. The thing is, it's downright tame in comparison to a lot of what you two get up to, so barely even kinky that it's almost impossible to believe you've never tried it. Sure, you've never done it together, but he'd just figured neither of you were all that into it, since it hadn't come up when you were doing lewd shit to each other.
That kind of sex is fine from his perspective, but only fine. He doesn't actively seek it out because in his mind nothing beats the feel of being balls-deep in a warm pussy, but that doesn't mean he hasn't done it. He's hooked up with plenty of girls that were into it and has always been happy to oblige; hell, he's even taken it more than once, on account of the fact that when it comes to the bedroom he's willing to try anything twice.
But doing it with you? Well, that thought sticks. The two of you finally go to bed and Dabi's so turned on by the idea of your virgin ass that he can't help testing the waters, prodding teasingly at that tight hole with one spit-slicked finger until you're squirming away and whining. He doesn't manage to convince you right then, but he makes those puppy dog eyes that are far more effective than they have any right to be, and you agree to give it a go in the future.
"Not here," you specify, the words fuzzy on your drunken tongue. "Someplace nicer, with a real bed." You already have your reservations, and you certainly don't relish the idea of undertaking that particular venture now, on a worn mattress in this falling apart building, with its paper-thin walls and complete lack of hot water. Between your booze-fueled haze and the seeming interminability of the League's poverty, you mostly forget about that casual promise by the following morning.
But Dabi doesn't. He picks up a small bottle of lube the next day and carries it around in his pocket shamelessly, a little reminder that he has something to look forward to besides roasting that prick Endeavor, and he strokes himself off to the idea more than he's proud to admit as he waits for the League to move on to better things. He can be patient, when he needs to be.
That patience takes a toll though, and the minute the League settles into their new digs in Re-Destro's sprawling villa, where there's actually privacy and clean, comfortable beds, Dabi shows up at your door with a cheshire grin and every intention of finally getting something from you that's just for him.
You grimace when you remember that promise, try briefly to talk him out of it even, but he isn't so easily dissuaded. It's made all the harder by the fact that you can't give him a specific reason why you've never tried it, beyond that it seems uncomfortable and you hadn't particularly enjoyed the couple instances when you'd allowed someone to slip a finger or two in there.
"C'mon, baby girl," Dabi coos, his breath hot in your ear as he pins you to the wall, working two unnaturally warm fingers into your cunt. "I'll make sure it's good for you. Be gentle, get you nice and warmed up first, all that sweet shit."
It really is unfair how persuasive he can be when he fixes those pleading turquoise eyes on you. The way the pads of his fingers are curling just right deep inside isn't helping either, and he teases you like that until you give in to his cajoling, though you still insist on waiting a couple nights so that you can do your research and make sure you're entirely prepared. Dabi demonstrates his appreciation by burying his face in your cunt and not surfacing for air until you've come three times and are begging for a break.
When the night finally arrives, Dabi's feeling positively giddy. He slips into your bedroom with a bottle of wine and a couple glasses he's brought, a little something to help you relax because he's a gentleman when he wants to be. It should be good booze too—he lifted it from Re-Destro's private stash, and he's certain baldy doesn't drink anything that costs less than „30,000. Of course, Re-Destro doesn't love sharing either, but the uptight prick is too scared of Shigaraki to complain about anything the League does. They all take advantage of that, because they can and because it's fun to watch him bite his tongue when they piss him off.
You don't make it easy for Dabi to focus on pouring the drinks though, not when you're reclining in that armchair by the window, freshly showered and fidgeting nervously. He was half-erect before he got here from just thinking about what he was going to do to you, and the sight of you acting like you're some blushing virgin spurs him all the way to rock-hard. By the time your glasses are close to empty, he's straining uncomfortably in his pants, and can't fight back his impatience any longer.
"What do you think, doll?" he murmurs, setting his glass to the side and standing up, shrugging his jacket off before leaning down to ghost his lips over your neck. "You ready to move this to the bed?"
The way you chew at your lower lip anxiously before nodding makes his dick throb.
You empty your glass with one final, large swallow, your heart racing as you rise. You know it's stupid—you and Dabi have fucked countless times and a lot of it hasn't exactly been vanilla—but it's been a long time since you've actually tried anything new. His obvious excitement doesn't help either, paradoxically; it leaves you fretting about what will happen if you're somehow bad at this, or if you can't take it and have to stop. You've never really worried about disappointing him before, but now the thought weighs acutely on your mind.
It's with halting steps that you approach the bed and then, when you can't realistically drag your feet any longer, you finally tug the nightgown you're wearing off your shoulders, letting it fall to the floor to reveal what's underneath.
"Damn, baby girl," Dabi breathes, looking you up and down. You'd figured that since it was a special occasion you might as well dress up, donning a strappy bra and panties. They're little more than elaborate, crisscrossing pieces of lace, all white since he'd seemed so fixated on this pseudo-innocent, first-time act. His reaction doesn't disappoint, eyes lighting up as he stares at you hungrily.
You let yourself fall back on the bed, nestling against the many pillows. The look on his face has your stomach fluttering, and the wine has helped you to relax a bit despite your nerves, a pleasant warmth spreading throughout your body. It's joined by a different kind of heat when you feel the mattress dip beneath Dabi's weight as he positions himself over you, one knee resting between your thighs, just barely brushing against your center, a hint of what's to come.
"You look so good I could just eat you up," Dabi whispers hotly against your ear before tracing his lips over your jaw. Even though he wants to take his time, let himself savor this, it's taking every ounce of patience he has to keep the promise he made to get you worked up and ready for him, to not to tear those pretty bits of satin and lace off and have his way with you right then.
You whine eagerly when his mouth slants hungrily over yours, savoring the feel of those mismatched lips, the way the rough skin of the bottom one contrasts so deliciously with the top. Hot hands run over your sides as the kiss deepens, your tongues tangling together, and you moan against him.
When you finally break for air, Dabi moves his lips to your throat, his tongue lapping at your pulse before he sinks his teeth into you. He loves to mark you up, loves making sure everyone can see that you're indisputably his, and it's even hotter now that he knows he's going to fuck you in a way no one else has. You're shivering beneath him as he works, your hand tugging insistently at his hair, and Dabi lets out a low, throaty growl.
"Guess I'm not the only one who's eager, huh?"
Your hips tilt in response, pressing needily into his firm thigh, and Dabi can feel the skin on his cheeks straining against his staples as he grins. He traces one hand up over your ribs, cupping at your supple breasts, teasing your hardening nipple through the flimsy fabric of your bra. Those deft fingers work under the seam of your lingerie as he shifts his weight, increasing the pressure against your center while he pinches and tugs at the peaks of your breasts until you're whimpering, spreading slick along his leg even through your thin panties.
Dabi pulls away abruptly, rolling onto his back and tugging at you to change positions, shaking his head when you move to mount his hips.
"Come here, baby girl," he says, his tongue tracing over his bottom lip. "Like I said, I wanna eat you up."
The promise in those words sends a bolt of heat straight through your core as he guides you to straddle his face, hot breath tickling your inner thighs. One calloused thumb brushes your clit lightly through your underwear, blue eyes sparkling when your breath hitches at that soft touch. When he pulls that useless fabric to the side and runs his tongue over your already-damp slit, you shudder.
Dabi lets out a pleased groan at your reaction and gets to work more earnestly, lapping at your sensitive nub, licking and sucking until you're moaning and only then shifting a little so that he can lap at your insides, that same rough thumb replacing the pressure of his tongue on your clit. It strokes firm circles as he buries that hot, wet muscle inside you, the metal barbell there teasing your inner walls as you grind involuntarily against it. You can't help but whine when he withdraws it, but that disappointment is quickly replaced by you startling as that same wet muscle extends further back to tease at your puckered entrance.
"A-ah, Dabi, wait," you protest, your face heating up self-consciously almost at once.
Dabi pauses, shifting just enough to keep his reply from being muffled as one warm hand runs reassuringly up your thigh. "I don't think I can help myself, doll," he says, his slick-coated lips splitting into a wide grin, "you just taste too good."
That heat in your face worsens as he dives back in, not even waiting for you to respond before he's flexing his tongue to poke at that tight ring of muscle. You still try to squirm away, feeling unprepared for this. You hadn't even considered it among the possible activities were volunteering to participate in, but Dabi is holding you firmly in place with the hand not working at your clit, and when another whine of protest escapes you, it's weaker than the first. The foreign sensation of his tongue against your neglected hole has you hyperaware of the press of his thumb at your apex, and you can feel tension building in your core even as you writhe in embarrassment.
It's as though he knows, too, and you suppose maybe he does; after all, he's the one who's done this before. He thrusts his tongue a little deeper, rolling your clit between two hot fingers with enough pressure to cut off any further protests. A long moan is the only sound you can muster as you spill over the edge, your thighs clenching around his head and your hips jerking shakily as you ride out your climax with his tongue still buried obscenely in your rear.
Dabi's face is covered in your juices by the time he slides from between your thighs, and he wipes it away carelessly with one arm as he repositions you again, pinning you on your back and wasting no time peeling away your now-soaked panties. He grins at the sight of your glistening folds and swollen clit before stripping off most of his own clothes, kicking them unceremoniously to the side and relaxing between your legs, kissing at your still-trembling thighs.
He teases at your sensitive cunt with his fingers, coating them in your juices as you whimper. "Ready for a little more?" he asks, and you nod despite the fact that your cheeks are still burning from before and your stomach is knotting with nerves.
"Just...go slow, okay?"
"Of course, baby girl," he promises, "I told you I'd take good care of you." With that, he starts to work you open, dipping one finger into your tight hole just until he reaches the first knuckle, working it in and out slowly. His other hand toys at your clit, stroking and rolling that puffy nub again, making you mewl.
Dabi waits until you're relaxed before trying any more, pulling away from you just long enough to dig the lube from the pocket of his discarded pants, coating his fingers with it. He works that lone finger deeper this time, in and out until it's buried to the last knuckle.
The sensation is strange, but not entirely unpleasant; even if you think you'd rather have that finger curling in your cunt, the slight stretch is still adding to the faint throb already growing inside you, the one that worsens when his thumb returns to your apex.
"Fuck, you're so tight," Dabi growls when one well-placed stroke of his thumb has you clenching lightly around his finger. He ruts his hips against the sheets, trying vainly to find some relief for his aching member, but it's not enough—he needs to feel you, needs the vice-like grip clutching his fingers to be wrapped around his cock, and he needs it soon.
You feel him withdraw to add more lube, and then he's fingering you again, adding another digit to stretch you wider. It comes with a stab of discomfort when he forces his way past the second knuckle, and you reflexively try to pull back. "Dabi, that's too much."
He abandons his soothing attentions to your clit, one warm palm pressing you tight against the mattress to keep you in place, stroking soothingly at your hip. His breath tickles over your inner thigh as he chuckles softly. "If you can't take this, how are you ever gonna take me, hmm?" he says teasingly. "You're doing great, baby, just relax."
You will yourself to unclench, trying to picture Dabi's satisfied face once you're taking him, that adoring look he sometimes gives you, the one that you relish. Your efforts are only marginally effective, but Dabi keeps pushing deeper, fucking you slowly but insistently with those fingers, and when you don't complain again, his thumb returns to caressing your sex.
"That's a good girl." Dabi picks up the pace, cursing under his breath. "You're doing so good."
You're wriggling against his hand now, trying to increase the friction at your center, not quite minding the foreign sensation of his fingers and the uncanny fullness they bring so much now that there's heat thrumming in your core. "Y-yeah, like that," you pant encouragingly, and Dabi grins.
"That doing it for you?" he purrs. "Think you can take more?"
You start to shake your head—the stretch now feels like all you can handle—but Dabi's already adding a third slick finger, shoving it in with less restraint than before. You feel more than discomfort this time when three knuckles breach your asshole, and it quickly dampens the arousal that had been steadily building. "Dabi, slow down," you gasp.
"Aw, are you sure you can't handle it?" His blue eyes meet yours, pupils blown wide with arousal as he looks you over with the hungry gaze. "'Cause if I'm being honest, it feels like you're trying to suck me in. Like this greedy little hole wants to get fucked."
The huskiness of his voice sends a shiver down your spine, even as another whine of discomfort escapes you. For just a second his expression darkens slightly, but then he's slowing his movements, twisting his fingers instead of thrusting them in and out.
"Better?" he asks, and you think you catch an edge of impatience in his voice.
It is better though, a little at least, enough that you can focus on the way your cunt flutters every time his thumb strokes over your clit. So you just nod; it's not like this wasn't bound to be a little unpleasant at points, right?
Dabi's smile stretches wider, his thumb working faster. A mewl slips from between your lips and Dabi takes that as encouragement, his fingers resuming their persistent thrusts. It's still uncomfortable, though not quite as bad as when he started, and your teeth sink into your lower lip to bite back your complaints. You let your eyes fall closed instead, trying to focus on his attentions to your hooded nub, on the heat that's pooling in your lower belly. You're inching towards another release, and you let a hand lift to your breast, tweaking at the pebbled flesh of one nipple to help yourself along.
"D-dabi, I'm close," you stammer, your hips bucking against his hand.
"Yeah?" His movements speed up, his voice breathy and excited. "Do it, baby girl. Come for me and then I'm gonna fuck this tight little ass of yours."
You swallow hard, trying not to dwell on those words for now—you can tell you've loosened up more, tolerating the jab of his fingers, but his cock is substantially larger than those, all too intimidating. Thankfully, it's not hard to remain distracted, to focus only on your approaching peak.
Dabi can feel that orgasm rip through you when it hits, your asshole clenching around his fingers as you keen, and it's then that he reaches the limits of his patience. He needs you now, needs the thrill of burying himself in your tight ass and claiming you for his own, of reaching his own release deep inside and then watching his seed spill out afterwards. What a satisfying sight that will be.
He scrambles up from between your legs to catch your lips with his, fumbling his boxers off as his tongue invades your mouth. When he pulls away, his eyes are bright, needy. "Ready for me?" he asks.
You're not, not really, but you can see the fervor in his eyes, hear the urgency in his voice, and you convince yourself that he won't be able to work you open much more with his fingers no matter what. Your agreement doesn't matter anyway—he's already rolling you onto your side and slotting his chest against your back, his straining erection poking at the cleft between your thighs.
"Like this?" you ask, surprised by the choice of position.
"Just like this," he pants in your ear. His teeth nibble at your lobe as he slicks his cock generously with lube. "Want you spooned against me so I can see those cute faces you make, feel you squirming when you take me."
And fuck, when he slips one hand back down to finger your asshole one last time, it doesn't disappoint—your body ripples against him when that invasion catches you off guard, and he can see the way your lips part obscenely as you gasp at his touch. His fingers abandon your tight hole almost as quickly as they'd entered, and then Dabi is aligning himself with your entrance, using the last of his restraint not to slam his hips forward and bury himself inside with a single thrust.
You can feel the spongy head of his glans, and the slick coolness of the ring that adorns his tip, prodding at your rear. One of his arms worms its way under your side, his hand groping distractedly at your breasts as you tense in anticipation.
"Relax, baby girl," he murmurs, but he doesn't wait for you to even try. He's already slipping in, moving slowly until he encounters resistance an inch or so inside, and then pausing.
He has to struggle to keep his composure. Even like this, with not even the full head of his cock in your ass, his balls are tightening, just the thought of what he's doing nearly enough to send him over the brink. He waits until he's sure that won't happen and then starts moving, pushing insistently to work you open around his length with shallow thrusts.
"A-ah, Dabi, g-go easy," you stutter, already squirming. You can feel your body resisting the intrusion, so much larger than his fingers, and it aches slightly every time he tries to breach that inner ring.
"I am, baby, don't worry. I'll take care of you." His cheek is nuzzling against yours, his lips kissing and sucking wherever he can reach, but his motions don't change at all even as he murmurs so sweetly. He only slings one arm over your hips, toying lazily at your clit. That attention helps you relax, helps distract you a little, but it's not enough to prepare you for when he drives himself in further, finally surging past that taut band of muscle.
The invasion brings a sharp pain, one that has you crying out. Tears prick at the corners of your eyes, your body reflexively contorting to try and escape the cause of that hurt, but his arms tighten around you, holding you in place as he continues to work himself deeper with every thrust.
"Dabi, that hurts." Your words are sharper this time as each stroke sends another unpleasant throb through your overstretched hole, but his only response is to plunge the fingers rubbing at your clit into your dripping cunt.
"Shh, you're doing great." He curls his fingers, stroking against that spongy spot deep inside. It makes you writhe, but that does nothing to address the pain between your legs as he fucks you.
"Dabi, don't, that's not helping, I—"
"It's okay, baby girl, you're taking me so well," Dabi coos. You'll adjust, he knows you will—you're usually up for anything, of course you can take this. And fuck, there's no way he can stop now, not when it's even better than he'd imagined—hotter and softer, your pillowy walls enveloping his length every time he plunges into you, the exquisite tightness of your entrance massaging his shaft with each thrust.
"I'm not— I don't— I don't want to do this anymore." You can hear the desperate edge in your voice now. Your heart is racing and there's a cold sweat forming on your skin as tears of pain and confusion start to leak down your cheeks. "Dabi, stop."
"Shh, shh, you're fine. You—fuck—you feel so amazing. 'S never been this good with anyone else, fuck."
"I don't care, I don't want this." You can't understand what's happening, why he's not listening. You twist your head to look at him, pleading with your eyes, but he's barely even focusing on you. His blue eyes are glazed and half-lidded as his lips wander over your shoulders and your neck, all the while murmuring those useless reassurances against your skin. You're thrashing now, your feet scrambling for purchase on the sheets as you try frantically to pull away, but he keeps his tight grip on you, one of his legs hooking around your own to hold you in place. "Dabi, I said stop!"
He shushes you again, rutting into you harshly, and a choked sob escapes you when he bottoms out inside you, his hips flush against your backside as you struggle against him. You feel sick to your stomach, and it only worsens when he pulls out until nothing but his tip remains, then drives himself back in with one agonizingly rough thrust.
You keep begging, pleading, wracking your brain and trying every past safe word you can recall, but he only continues to pound into you, his breathing erratic as he pants in your ear. "It's okay, baby. You're taking my cock like such a good girl. You're—ngh—making me feel so good."
The ache between your legs is diminishing slightly as you adjust to his girth, your body entirely unconcerned with whether you want that or not. He's still fingering your sopping cunt too, his palm grinding against your oversensitive clit with each plunge of his long digits, the lewd squelching sound of those attentions mingling with the sharp slap of his hips against your ass as he fucks you.
"You like this?" he asks, but you know he's not really asking. "You like knowing I'm the only one? That I'm making you mine, just mine, just like how it should be?"
"Dabi, stop. Please stop." Your appeals are feeble now, far more for yourself than for him as you continue to utter them between quiet sobs. Dabi's somewhere far away, awash in the tight heat of your ass and the satisfaction of finally staking his claim on you, aware of your supplications but not hearing them, not really.
You slump, still sobbing, and let him take what he wants. His attentions to your cunt have a coil tightening in your gut, but when your climax hits it's perfunctory and mechanical, no real pleasure to be found even as your hips jerk and your holes spasm, a joyless whine passing from your lips.
No real pleasure for you, at least. But fuck, the feel of you squeezing around his cock as you come is what Dabi has been waiting for, your insides massaging his length as though desperate for him to decorate your walls with his cum. It's a gift he's glad to grant—he rocks his hips more urgently, keeping his thrusts shallow now so that he's sure to get it all deep inside.
"Fuck," he groans against your neck. "Gonna make me come, baby girl. That what you want? Want me to fill you up?" You shake your head, but his movements are already growing spurtive and erratic, his grunts louder and throatier, and then you can feel his cock jerking inside you, a hot rush of cum flooding your guts.
Dabi doesn't stop then, either, keeps fucking his seed into you until he's softening, not quite able to work himself in and out of your tight, abused hole any longer, and only then does he finally pull out, a dribble of cum leaking obscenely down your thigh.
You're sniffling, drawing shaky breaths, and you try to pull away the moment his arms relax around you. They only tighten again, his lips planting soft kisses along your temple.
"Shh," he murmurs. The sound of his shushing makes you want to scream. One hand lifts to wipe at the tears on your cheeks. "You were so good, baby girl, there's no need to cry. You were fucking incredible." He means it too, doesn't think he's ever come so hard in his life as he did now, making you his.
Dabi can't wait to do it again.
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quiltedgold · 4 years ago
Text
study buddies - leorio p.
pairing: leorio paladiknight x f!reader
wc: 1.9k
genre: smut. 18+ pretty please
contains: smut, unprotected sex, switch!leorio, switch!reader, college-age, handjob, yada yada
notes: this has not been proofread so forgive any mistakes. my friend saw a tiktok art this concept and inspired me to write this. also the empty leorio smut tag made me sad, so. enjoy :p
As you approached the door of your apartment, you dug in your bag for your keys, and
 Nothing. No metal against your fingertips or jangling sounds from the depths of the backpack.
Damn it. No way you forgot them in Leorio’s apartment. You two had been studying for so long, and you were positive you had gathered up all your things from the table before heading out

After one last sweep of your backpack, you were positive. No keys.
Sighing, you turned to make the trek back across campus to Leorio’s place. It wasn’t too far, a fifteen minute walk, ten if you hurried. Hopefully he was still up.
Before long, you were back at the entrance to his apartment complex. Grabbing your phone, you dialed him up and waited as it rang, then went to voicemail. Ah, maybe he was in the shower? No matter, you had a spare key to his place in case of emergencies, and he for yours. He wouldn’t mind if you used it to grab what you needed and got out of there. Fishing it out of your bag, you unlocked the door and headed up to his floor.
Rapping twice on the door, you called out- “Hey, Leorio? It’s me, I forgot something
”
No reply.
Frowning, you slotted the key into the lock and eased the door open, hoping he wasn’t asleep.
Before you saw him, you heard him. Quick, ragged breaths, and the wet, unmistakable sound of
 Oh, god.
He was splayed on the couch, his legs spread and his sweatpants loose around his thighs. His head was thrown back against the cushions, facing towards the door, and you. His face was twisted in pleasure, his teeth digging into his lower lip. His sunglasses were nowhere to be seen.
The sounds you heard were coming from his hand wrapped around his dick, rapidly fisting it into his palm. As you watched, his hips stuttered upwards once, and he threw his head back even further, letting out a whine, adam’s apple bobbing up his throat. He looked absolutely debauched.
Your brain battled with your desires, respect for your friend warring with the thoughts raging through your head.
Just when you thought you could work up the courage to leave, Leorio moaned your name in the most breathless, needy tone you’d ever heard from him, followed by a whiny, “Fuck, y/n, please-”
Your feet were immediately frozen to the floor, heart leaping into your throat. Your common sense told you to scram, to shut the door quietly and let him have his privacy and forget this ever happened, for both of your sakes’.
But the other part of you was louder. The part who knew that you’d been lusting after your friend for months, the part who’s encouraged the urge to crawl into his lap and kiss him breathless and more each time you hung out to study, but always been stifled
 until now. That part of you made your brain kick into gear again.
You stepped quietly inside, shutting the door behind you, kicking off your shoes and placing your bag on the ground.
You padded over to the couch, face heating up with anticipation as you got closer.
“Leorio
” you whispered, and his eyes flew open, letting out a choked gasp. The hand around his dick halted its ministrations, and he scrambled to pull his sweatpants back up.
“Oh my god, y/n, I’m so sorry, I, I thought you had left-”
“If you were so pent up, you could have asked for my help,” you hummed, gently pushing his hand away from his sweatpants. “What else is a study buddy for?”
Leorio gulped, desperately searching your eyes for confirmation that his actions weren’t wrong, that you meant what you were saying. His pupils were still blown with pleasure, sweat beaded across his forehead.
You trailed your fingers up his thigh, ghosting the base of his dick.
“Need some help?” you asked, holding his gaze for affirmation.
“Yes, please, god, yes. I- I need you so bad, please,” he moaned, bucking his hips up into your featherlight touch.
Smiling, you retracted your hand and fiddled with the hem of his t-shirt instead. “I want you to show me how you were doing it,” you requested.
Gasping, he grabbed his cock again and began pumping it, screwing his eyes shut with pleasure and perhaps shame.
“Tell me what you think about when you do it,” you said, sliding a hand beneath his shirt.
“You, always you,” he moaned without hesitation. “Kissing you, eating you out, f-fucking you, nngh-” He cut himself off as your fingers circled his nipple.
“Keep going,” you teased.
“Oh, god. You, sucking my- my cock, under the table or in the shower, or- fuck!” He jolted as you gave his nipple a pinch. “Please, I want you to
 I want-”
“Want me to jerk you off?” You offered.
“Yes,” he answered, gasping.
With a devilish grin, you slid onto the couch next to him and tucked yourself into his side, placing your hand atop his on his cock, entangling your fingers and leading the pace, purposefully slowing it down. You moved with long, slow strokes, squeezing lightly at the base and tracing your thumb against the tip. He was painfully hard, beads of precum oozing from the angry red tip, and his hips bucked up with every especially hard squeeze.
“Fuck,” he garbled. “Fuck, y/n, it’s so good, please, I need to
 I need to c-come, please-”
“Go ahead, Leorio,” you purred. “Come for me.”
With a strangled moan, his hips jutted upwards one last time and cum spurted from his tip, painting both of your knuckles’ white. Each pulse of liquid sent a jolt up his cock, and you squeezed it lightly as he rode out the bulk of his orgasm.
As he wound down, panting, you lifted your hand from his dick and brought it to your mouth, making sure he watched as you lapped up his salty substance from each finger. His eyes, already lidded, darkened with desire.
Flitting your gaze down again to his length, you saw that, unbelievably, it was still hard.
“Y/n,” he rasped. “Let me fuck you. Please.”
It was all you could do to nod before he flipped you over, back pressed into the cushions and head against the arm of the couch. In the blink of an eye, he had your shirt and skirt off, leaving you in simply the matching set of lingerie you’d worn in the event that this was an outcome of tonight’s study session.
Leaning back on his heels, he raked his eyes across your figure, admiring each inch, squeezing the base of his cock again with the sight of you.
Struck with a wave of self-consciousness, you pressed your thighs together and turned your head into the armrest, face burning.
Leorio tsked, “Don’t get shy now, not after you just jerked me off on my own couch,” he growled, slotting his knee in between your thighs to force them apart. Running a finger along your covered slit, he stopped when he reached your heat, pressing lightly then bringing his finger up to examine.
“Oh, my god, you’re soaking,” he groaned, sucking his finger into his mouth to lap your juices clean. He leaned down to capture you in a kiss, hungrily sucking at your lower lip and dipping his tongue into your mouth. You could taste yourself on his tongue, and something that normally would have disgusted you only served to turn you on further as your tongues pressed against each other. You kissed hungrily for several moments, until the heat burning down below became too much to bear.
“Please, fuck me,” you moaned into his ear, looping your arms around his neck. “I can’t wait any longer, please.”
Nodding, Leorio wasted no time, shoving your panties to the side and lining his cock up with your entrance. Even the touch of his tip against your hole had both of you groaning, and he met your gaze and held it as he pushed his length all the way in. You wailed, wrapping your legs around his trim waist and trying everything to pull him closer, deeper.
His cock stretched your walls deliciously, filling you perfectly and making you wonder how you could have ever lived without this.
After his pelvis pressed flush against yours, his length as deep as humanly possible, he paused to give you time to adjust. Time held still, your breathing synched, his head dropped against your shoulder and pressing openmouthed kisses against your collarbone, light sideburns scratching gently against your jawline.
Then the moment was over, and he pulled out entirely, just the tip remaining. You almost cried at the loss, but he thrusted back into your heat before you could procure the sound.
The pace he set was breakneck, cock slamming into your tight hole, his moans echoing in your ear. What should have been too much only fanned the flames of your lust, throwing your head back with each thrust and crying his name and an assortment of obscenities.
“Fuck, you have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do this,” Leorio groaned, breathless. “Ever since you came to my place in that short-ass skirt and kept uncrossing your legs in front of me, god-”
His hands gripped your waist for dear life as he fucked into you, the size of them deliciously large compared to your frame, his thumbs practically touching. Leorio’s fingers pressed shadows into the soft of your stomach, undoubtedly leaving marks by the end of the night; which you couldn’t find it in yourself to be unhappy about.
“Remember that?” He asked, rolling his hips in a way that made you squeal. “I was convinced you were doing it to- nngh- to tease me. By the end of the night I was this close to bending you over the table and taking you right there, shit.”
Catching his breath, he leaned down to hiss in your ear. “But I guess that’s what you wanted, wasn’t it? Little slut.”
Fuck. You wailed at that, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. Your fingers scrabbled for purchase against his back, likely leaving scratches against its tan expanse.
He groaned, speeding up the pace of his thrusts, cock insatiably hot and thick inside you. “Y/n, I’m close- want you to come with me, c’mon-”
Thankfully, the incessant slapping of his balls against your ass, pelvis rubbing against your clit, and his length reaching impossible centers within your cunt was sending you dangerously close to the edge.
“Please, Leorio, I need it, I need you, please-”
“Fuck, baby, I’m c-coming, where d’you- where do you want it-”
“Inside, inside-” you gasped without thinking, and he buried his cock inside you one last time, groaning as thick spurts of white painted your walls. The feeling of his cum inside you sent you over the edge, arching your back and sending your eyes rolling back into your skull as your orgasm racked your body, fireworks of pleasure radiating through each appendage. You gripped his damp hair for purchase as you rode out your climax, and he huffed against your throat, arm muscles rippling as their strength faded.
Both of you panted as you came down from your respective highs. Rolling off you, Leorio collapsed at your side, hands trailing over your heaving chest.
With a puff of laughter, you turned your head to meet his eyes, now droopy and satisfied as they gazed into yours.
You grinned softly. “I should forget my keys over here more often.”
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brettsey-two-tts · 3 years ago
Note
Title: I am so tired of everybody leaving
Brettsey
"I'm so tired of everybody leaving..."
Sylvie confesses it to Stella and Violet one night in her apartment when they're in the middle of a girl's night. She's two glasses of wine deep and has to be kept away from a third. She's no longer her happy, sunshine self that she usually is. She's solemn, more openly honest with her feelings, and anxious because Matt had to cancel their scheduled call last night due to one of his firehouse buddies needing his help with something at his house. The news left her sad and lonely, which also stemmed from her imminent period that was due in a couple of days.
Stella and Violet share a solemn look. Stella knows how hard it's been on Sylvie ever since Otis died. Foster left to go back to med school, Cruz moved out, her birth mother passed away, and then Matt moved to Oregon. She had seen how much Matt made Sylvie happy and vice versa, so to see her bright smile start to fade from the realization of the emptiness he left behind was nearly gut-wrenching.
Stella envelops her best friend in a strong and tight hug. She always cherished Sylvie's ability to be positive, even in the worst of times, but not everyone can stay positive forever, not even her.
Stella tells Severide and it's not because she wants her fiance to do something about it. She honestly wanted to talk it out with him and try to see what his reaction would be. Of course, Severide barely gives his take on it. He merely nods and sympathizes with the blonde paramedic.
The next day, Severide calls Casey. He asks if he had talked to Brett in a while. Casey replies that he talked to her a couple of days ago. When Casey asks why he was asking, Severide tells him what Stella told him.
To hear it from Sylvie herself would've been much less painful because it meant that she wanted to talk it out with him, find some common ground, and find a way to work towards a compromise. But, the fact that Severide was telling him, of all people, meant she was trying to hide her feelings from him. For whatever reason, Sylvie didn't want him to know, which was an immediate red flag, and he felt terrible that all of it came out while she was drinking. After he ends his call with Severide, he wonders how long she had felt that way and why she didn't say something to him.
When he tries to call her later that night, she doesn't answer. He thinks maybe she's mad at him but even when she was upset, she always communicated it to him. When he asks Severide about her, he tells him that she called out sick and was probably trying to sleep it off. Matt pinches the bridge of his nose; he hates it. He hates that she feels like everyone in her life is leaving her and to top it all off, she's alone and not feeling well. He looks at his calendar and knows he could cash in his favor for helping one of his buddies with his kitchen remodel.
It's 12 PM and Sylvie is feeling like death itself. Whatever sickness she caught was not being nice and it felt like no amount of medication was going to help. After she forces herself to drink some chicken noodle soup, she goes back to bed with a loud sigh. Somewhere between her sleepy haze and cloudy consciousness from the drowsy medication, she hears her front door open and then Matt's voice.
Matt is on the edge of her bed and his hand is gently smoothing out her hair. "I'm not going anywhere," he softly tells her. Sylvie feels the bed dip and then feels his arms wrap around her. She's so drowsy that she doesn't believe he's there beside her until she wakes up a few hours later and realizes she's enveloped safely and securely in his arms and very comfortable surrounded by his underlying woodsy smell.
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make-me-imagine · 4 years ago
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Sensory Prompts: ‘Frozen in fear’, ‘Feeling of warm blood on your hands’ + ‘Lying in a hospital bed and wanting to call out but you can’t’.
Requested by: Anon (first two prompts) and @spuffyfan394​ (third prompt; requested 2 years ago lmao yikes). 
Pairing: Spike x Gen!Neutral Reader
Triggers: Fighting, choking, injuries, and blood
Words: 1,922
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As you walked softly down the hall, you listened intently for any noise as your hand remained tightly gripped around your weapon. Yet another demon came to Sunnydale, and you tracked it to this old broken down factory. 
You had been split up from Buffy and the others when you went chasing the demon and now you were alone, much to your dismay. Not that you couldn’t fight well, but this demon had a magic that could amplify your fear to the point were you’d become parallelized. That’s how they get their victims. But they seem to only be able to do it to one person at a time, hence why you were in a group, and why you were so cautious now that you were alone. 
Pausing as you heard creaking footsteps in the adjacent room, you felt our heart begin to quicken in pace. You prepared yourself to fight just as the figure came around the corner. 
Quickly ducking down, you swung your leg out, taking the figure by surprise and knocking it on its back before you threw yourself on top of them, raising your arm to attack with your weapon but stopping when your eyes landed on the face of the figure. 
“Spike?” you asked incredulously as he groaned from your attack.
“What the bloody hell was that?!” he asked as he stared up at you.
“What are you doing here?” you asked lowering your voice. Spike had stayed behind when all of you came to hunt the demon, he insisted none of you knew what you were getting into. 
“I came to make sure you didn’t get yourself killed.” he said as he sat up on his elbows before his eyes grazed up and down your figure “Not that I’m not enjoying this particular position, but you are crushing my legs.”
You glanced down at your self, seeing you were mounted over his upper thighs. Feeling a blush come to your face you quickly got up “I was doing fine by the way, but now you jinxed me.” you said in annoyance from his comment.
You didn’t miss the way he rolled his eyes as he got up, brushing off the dirt from his pants “What the hell are you doing walking around alone, you know that is exactly what you should not be doing.” 
You sighed “I got separated from the others when he were chasing the demon. But look-” you gestured to him with a smile “I’m not alone now.”
He rolled his eyes again as he walked past you “Let’s just go find the others.” 
You began to follow him, smile on your face as you thought about why he came “I knew you had a soft spot for me.” you said while catching up to him. Spike remained silent and he avoided looking at you, only making your smile widen. 
As you entered into a large open space in the factory, moonlight from outside shining down from the broken up roof, you saw Buffy, Xander and Willow on the other side. You raised your hand in greeting as the three of them looked relieved to see you, but confused to see Spike. As you began to meet in the middle of the room, you all jumped in surprise as a large roar echoed through the room as the demon jumped down from somewhere above, nearly landing on Buffy and managing to knock her down. 
“Buffy!” you yelled as you ran to her aid, jumping on the demons back and stabbing the weapon into it’s back. As it roared in pain, lunging backwards, knocking you to the ground and spinning around, you flinched as it moved towards you, only for Spike to jump in front of you and attack the demon. 
Buffy and you got up at the same time as you moved to help Spike just as he was thrown a few feet away. You halted in your step as you felt an overwhelming sense of terror fill your body as the demon pointed at you, it’s eyes beginning to glow as it used it’s powers on you. 
Your heart was hammering in your chest so heavily you thought it might burst. Dizziness started to take hold as you could hear the muffled sound of the other’s voices as they began fighting the demon. Your eyes managed to focus on what was happening, though your body was still frozen in fear. You saw Willow and Xander thrown back, as Buffy continued to try and fight the demon.
Spike appeared in front of you as he gripped your shoulders “Y/n, Y/n, look at me!” his voice seemed to be far away but you tried to focus on him as he began to shake you lightly. 
“Spike” your voice came out quiet, almost squeaky “I can’t move” you muttered out as your chest began to feel heavier the longer the demons magic had a hold on you. 
Spike growled under his breath as the fear in your eyes remained, taking the weapon from your hand he turned towards the demon but was surprised that the demon was right in front of him. He moved to stab the demon but the demon wrapped his hand around Spikes throat and lifted him off the ground. 
You suddenly began to feel your paralysis lift as you saw what was happening. Spike was struggling against the demon, and you began to come back to reality as the fear of dying was replaced by your fear for Spike’s life. 
As you watched the demon lift his hand, now holding a broken peace of wooden plank, you realized that he was about to stab Spike in the heart. The fear holding you back suddenly seemed to shatter as you were able to move as you lunged forward grabbing Spikes waist and yanking down as hard as you could. 
Catching both Spike and the demon by surprise, the demons grip loosened as you managed to pull Spike away, just as he was moving to stab him. As Spike fell to the ground, and you began to fall on top of him, he watched in horror as the demon continued to plunge it’s arm down. Your eyes widened in shock and pain as the wooden steak was plunged into your back. 
“No!” Spike yelled out as he reached forward as you fell forward. Spike’s eyes stayed on the demon as it arched back and howled out in pain as Buffy struck it through it’s own heart with her weapon. 
As the demon collapsed, Buffy saw what happened as Spike held you in his arms, her attention leaving the now dying demon as she ran towards you, Willow and Xander doing the same. 
Your breath was uneven as your head rested on Spikes shoulder. Spike lifted his hands from your back, seeing and feeling the warm red blood from the wound on his hands. 
“Y/n, hold on!” you heard Willow’s voice as you began to grow weaker, your body becoming limp as you felt exhaustion take over and your vision began to fade. 
- - -
“Y/n!” 
Your eyes bolted open as the memory of someone calling your name woke you from your unconscious state. Your panic began to fade as you realized you were lying in a bed in what appeared to be a hospital room. Your body was sore as and your head was aching. Your eye were heavy as you looked towards the door. You could hear the muffled sound of people talking in the hall outside your room. Opening your mouth to call out, but you couldn’t. You seemed to have no strength to do so as your eyes continued to grow heavier and heavier. 
Seeing something from the corner of your eye, your eyes begin t focus on a figure that comes from the corner of the room. Your vision was blurry, but you could recognize the bright blonde hair of the figure as his face appeared in front of yours. You could hear him speaking but couldn’t focus on his words as your eyes closed yet again and you felt into a deep sleep. 
“Y/n, y/n” Spike said softly as he watched you struggled for consciousness, only for you to lose as close your eyes again. He sighed as he took your hand in his. This was the first time you had woken up, even if it was only for a moment, he was glad you did, it gave him hope. He had not left your side since they brought you here, near-death three days prior. 
As he walked back over to the window, staring out at the night sky, he re-played what happened in his head again. Especially the moment you were stabbed, after having saved him. Looking back at you he smiled sadly “I guess I really did jinx you huh?” he whispered before leaning against the wall and closing his eyes. 
- - -
Your eyes opened gradually again, as the dim room came into focus. Looking around the room, your eyes land on a figure in the window, silhouetted by the dimming light of the sunset. 
“Spike” your voice was quiet, but loud enough for him to hear as his head snapped in your direction. 
He smiled as he met your tired eyes, quickly making his way over to you and sitting on the edge of the bed. “Took you long enough.”
You smiled up at him, taking it you must have been out for a while since the fight with the demon. “Are you okay?” 
He scoffed “You’re lying in a hospital bed and you’re asking me if I’m okay?” 
You let out a soft laugh “Force of habit.”
He shook his head lightly as he took your hand in his “I’m sorry I jinxed you.” 
You frowned slightly in confusion before you remembered what you said in the factory. Shaking your head you smiled lightly “Don’t be. I’m fine, see.” you said as you lightly gestured to yourself. 
He rose a single brow as he sighed in mild amusement “I went there to save you, and you ended up saving me.” 
“Hey, that just makes us even then.” you said in reference to a time in the past when he had saved you from a vampire. Your eyes moved to the window as it began to get brighter “When did you get here?” 
Spike looked to the window as the sky began to grow darker “I never left.” he said as he looked back at you, nodding his head to the window “Black out curtains, just used those. Though one of the nurses almost killed me when she tried to open them today.” he said with an amused tone. 
“You never left? How long have I been here?” 
“Uh, a..few days..give or take.” he said dismissively, trying to ignore the heat rising up his neck. 
Your smile grew “See? I knew you had a soft spot for me.” 
He rolled his eyes and smiled, trying to think up some snarky flirty comment before letting out a small sigh and looking back at you “No. I’ve got much more than a soft spot for you.” Bringing his hand to your face, he stroked the side of your face before leaning down and pressing a kiss to your forehead. 
“Took you long enough.” you said amused as he let out a dry laugh. 
“Oh shut up” he joked before pressing a kiss to your lips, knowing full well it took him way to long to finally admit how he felt. 
xx End xx
Please consider reblogging this if you enjoyed it, likes are appreciated but do not share writers work. 
If you’d like to be added to a taglist for any character, show or movie let me know.
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wizkiddx · 4 years ago
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too early
this is a lil fluffy blurb after the state of his ig stories the other mornings I also realise I am VERY late on this but hey ho
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tomhollandxreader
fluff + implied smut
It was simply too early to function. Too early to think. Definitely too early to have any logical thought or attempt any form of comprehensible communication. That’s why when the frankly obnoxious chimes of the default iPhone ringtone reverberated through the previously peaceful room, the reaction of the two inhabitants was delayed to say the least. 
It took at least 2 cycles of the noise for you to be pulled from your deep sleep into a semi-conscious state, at which point as a reflex you just rolled over hoping to muffle out the noise with your head pressed downwards. Yet, the pitch of the ringer was just at that ‘sweet spot’ where it was impossible to even try to drown out - one that physically reverberated through your skull. It made you groan whilst growing a lot more consciously aware of your surroundings - particularly to the deadweight of a boyfriend you were currently trying to hide your face into - his strong chest still proving no match for the incessant alarm noise. Fed up and angry for being disturbed, you unpicked your arm from the weird sleeping position it had somehow ended up in , curled weirdly under your right boob, and then shoved at Tom’s side multiple times - rocking him back and fourth. 
With a sleepy and incomprehensible word falling off his lips, he then jerkily and suddenly craned his neck up - you felt the movement against the top of your head.
“Turn your fucking phone off” Grumbling into his side, you reworked your legs to try and get comfy again - more than ready for him to decline the call and the two of you to go back to bed. Tom was still incredibly confused and disorientated from the haze of sleep, taking him moments for the cogs to start turning as he stretched over to his bedside table and grabbed the vibrating device from hell
. maybe a bit dramatic but you loved your sleep. 
With a mutter ‘shit’ as he winced at the phones brightness, Tom pressed his eyes closed, building up the bravery to face the offensive blue light again. It took a couple of blinks for him to be able to focus on the screen, but when he did his eyebrows furrowed even more at the name and he swiped to unlock the phone - which due to the lack of speed surely was about to ring out. 
“-ello?” The hoarse and croaky sound of his voice reverberating round in his chest had you instantly arching up, looking at him with a puzzled and puffy eyes. You couldn’t hear the voice on the other end, but tried to get the drift of the situation purely from reading Tom’s facial expressions in the low light of the bedroom.
“You’re late Holland”
“I’m-I’m late? It’s like-“ Tom cut himself off with a cough to try to clear the morning voice, whilst simultaneously looking over at the bedside to read the clock that said 5:37 am. “It’s 5”
“No it’s 5:40 and we agreed to be at the gym at half past”
Ah. Tom realised. He might’ve forgotten about the fact he agreed to an early morning training session before the morning shoot for Spiderman. 
“Oh shit um I-“
“Overslept? Yeh could tell mate. Just get your ass down here I’m waiting on your fucking door step and it’s fucking freezing”
“Sorry I’ll be right down.”
With that Duffy instantly hung up, the automated tone allowing Tom to throw his head back in sheer desperation. Because he knew he had your pouty eyes to face.
“What the fuck did you do?” Of course, your sleepy eyes were still managing to pierce Tom’s soul as he sighed, feeling your chin lying on his sternum, knowing the disapproving way you were looking at him. 
“I-“ Opening his eyes and trying to soften you up by cupping one of your cheeks with his hand, thumb gently stroking up and down your cheek. “I might’ve forgot I’ve got a PT session.”
“In the middle of the night?” The look in your big y/e/c eyes was so close to making Tom leaving Duffy on the doorstep all morning- instead opt for a blissful start to the day with you cradled in his arms. 
“Before the morning shoot
 you go back to sleep love, you won’t even realise I’m gone.” Sighing, Tom lugged himself into a sitting position, forcing you to slide off his body and curl up in the now emptiness of the bed. Honestly, there was nothing Tom would rather do than crawl back up to you and fall asleep in your arms, yet he knew that realistically tomorrow was his day off so that was very soon on the itinerary. Also he just would feel exceptionally crappy if he didn’t get a work out in today, because even if it didn’t feel like it at this very minute, exercise was one of his happy places. You were probably the happiest but the gym made a close second or third place.  But finally and most importantly, he was not getting out of this because his shrt tempered and incredibly bulky PT was waiting impatiently at the doorstep. 
The issue Tom had though was perhaps just how quickly you agreed,  he felt like no sooner had he told you to lie back had you already started to collapse into the pillows. So, after throwing a heather grey top and his simple nike hoodie on he couldn’t help but lean back over the bed to dust your cheek and nose with light kisses. 
“You’re not missing me?” He spoke with a pout, while you groaned slightly, eyes fluttering open. 
“I love you, but 
. I love my bed more” Your sleepy grin completely had Tom enchanted, even in the dim light of dawn, he wanted to memorise every little detail of your face. 
“Could the bed have made you cry out its name like I did last night?” The glint of mischief was infuriating, a dirty smirk on his face.  
“Maybe you do have you some uses” Sniggering, you pulled at the tufts of his brown curls at the base of his neck, enjoying the way he leaned further into you at the action. “Anyway you absolutely cannot leave like that.”
“Am I just too sexy in my joggers?” Feeling incredibly self fulfilled, at what he thought was a compliment Tom smiled, leaning back up and starting to edge toward the bedroom door. The small beam of light from the hallway that reached through the door even more illuminating the state of him, as if backlight just to exaggerate his stupid look even further. It had you giggling incessantly, even though you were currently being deprived of sleep, it was all worth it to see the absolute birds nest on top of his scalp - the way his brown curls extended and stretched out in every direction, similar to if he had been fried with electricity. The only possible cause for anyone to have the audacity of their hair doing that, only had a single explanation - and the truth of it had you biting your lips slightly, the memory of last night washing gloriously over you. 
“Nope
 you still have sex hair you idiot and I’d prefer for Duffy not to know the intimate details of our Friday nights.”
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forasecondtherewedwon · 3 years ago
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Runaway Ride
Fandom: Never Have I Ever Pairing: Devi/Paxton Rating: T Word Count: 4889
Summary: Kamala gets herself into a pickle, Devi needs to go to her, and Paxton has a car. Problem-solving has never been so simple, but that's how it is when your new boyfriend is Paxton Hall-Yoshida. Throw in a little hand-holding on the highway and this family crisis might just be the best date Devi will ever have.
When they finally took a break from dancing—disconnecting hands from hips and shoulders, lips from lips—Devi stepped away in a dreamy headspace. She almost collided with Jonah, but he didn’t tell her to look where she was going, only offered a shrewd, indulgent smile.
Actually, everybody was treating her like that; every eye that caught hers on her way to the table where she’d left her stuff was unjudgmental, admiring, straight up fairy-godmotherly. Devi hadn’t received this much notice since her dad’s death and her subsequent paralysis. And those looks had been pitying, freaked out. Positive attention was new and cool and she wondered, as she grabbed her phone out of her turquoise clutch, whether her socials would show more of the same when she opened them. Would people have snapped stealthy pics of her and Paxton dancing now that she’d been vaulted into the pseudo-celebrity strata of the high school hierarchy? Would the Insta posts be captioned with hashtags of their ship name? Paxi? Daxton? Vishwall-Yoshumar?
Devi never got to check.
Unlocking her phone, she found two missed calls from her mother. Maybe two wouldn’t have seemed like a whole lot to someone else, but Devi knew that, in order for her mom to risk rudeness by stepping away from the company she was hosting at home not once but twice, she’d need to be pretty frantic. Two missed calls from Nalini Vishwakumar were the equivalent of six or seven from any other mother.
Skirting the edges of the gym as she headed away from DJ Humanoid—that nit-witted saboteur of slow dances—Devi was about to call her mom back when her screen changed to an incoming call from Kamala. She pressed her other hand to her ear and answered it.
“Hey. Do you know what’s going on with my mom? She called me twice and, honestly, she knows I’m at the d—”
“Devi, shut up. Sorry,” Kamala sighed. “But I may have kidnapped your history teacher and now I’m panicking a little.”
Devi stopped in her tracks.
“You did what? Why is the sound weird?”
As she was trying to identify the background noise coming from Kamala’s end, her eyes swept over the crowd of her classmates and landed on Fabiola’s. Her friend had been smiling, mid-sway as she held Eve from behind and chatted with Sasha, but it fell off her face like Devi off Dr. Jackson’s roof. Fab disentangled herself from her girlfriend and crossed the room to stand with Devi. She was frowning, silently asking for an explanation for Devi’s distress, but Devi didn’t really have one yet.
“We’re in his car on the highway,” her cousin was saying. “He was a little drunk, so I’m driving.”
Devi had imagined that Kamala was exaggerating, but no, this was really starting to sound like a kidnapping.
“You better be on hands-free right now,” she lectured. Then, because she wasn’t exactly a paragon of road safety herself—barely an hour ago, she’d walked right out in front of Paxton’s jeep—didn’t wait for confirmation. “What the hell happened? Context, Kamala!”
“Well, as soon as I snuck out of the house—”
“But why did you sneak out?!”
“Devi, I can’t talk about that right now!” Devi’s eyebrows shot up at the clear and abnormal hysteria in her cousin’s voice. “I ran out of the house,” Kamala continued, “totally directionless, and the first thing that popped into my head was Manish’s invitation for me to come to karaoke
”
“Ew, what the fuck, don’t call Mr. K that.”
What? Fab mouthed at her, but Devi shook her head.
“That is his name and what he asked me to call him. Anyway,” Kamala said, sounding strained, “I went to your school and met up with him and now I’m driving his car and I think I might have shut my sari in the car door, but I’m scared to pull over and check because if I stop the car, I’m going to have to confront things and I think I’d rather not do that yet.”
“Kamala,” Devi said in a heavy, careful voice. “You have to pull over. I totally get what you’re saying because it sounds like something I might do—minus the part where you kidnapped Mr. K—” Fabiola’s eyes went dramatically wide as she was adjusting her tiara. “—but this isn’t you. You don’t run away from your obligations and elope with my teachers!”
“Manish and I didn’t elope. It isn’t in any way romantic.”
“For sure though? It’s not?” Devi heard another voice in the car ask.
“Mr. K, back off! Kamala’s in the middle of a crisis!” she shouted. “And please be drunk enough to forget that I yelled at you.”
“Devi, what should I do?” Kamala asked, sounding desperate in a sad way now.
“Where are you?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Ok, well, which direction are you heading in?”
“Um, either north or south.”
“You’re a disaster,” Devi muttered.
“What was that?”
“Uh
 I said, don’t drive any faster. Try to read the next sign you pass so you can tell me where you are.”
“Alright,” Kamala said.
Devi tilted her phone away from her mouth so her cousin wouldn’t hear her frustrated sigh. She locked eyes with Fabiola.
“Kamala panicked at her engagement dinner and ran off with Mr. K. They’re either headed for Mexico or Canada, but I’ll know more in a minute.”
Fab blinked.
“Wow.”
“I know. It’s a lot. And this is me talking,” Devi emphasized.
“I don’t know if you would do anything this big. Mainly because you don’t have a driver’s license.”
“True.”
“Santa Barbara in twenty-six miles,” Kamala said in her ear.
“Damn, you made good time.”
“The traffic was quite manageable.”
“Try to calm down a little and get off the highway when you can. Don’t go past Santa Barbara. I’m coming to talk you down in person,” Devi said. “Oh, and don’t answer any of my mom’s calls; she’ll just stress you out.”
“That doesn’t seem very responsible. How about I send her a text when I stop to let her know I’m ok?”
Devi rolled her eyes.
“Suit yourself.”
“Thank you, Devi. But how will you get here?”
“Let me worry about that. Text me when you stop so I know exactly where I’m going.”
“I will.”
“’K. I’ll see you in a bit.”
Devi hung up and sighed massively, slumping into the wall and feeling a streamer crumple against her back. She and Fabiola stared at each other.
“What are you gonna do?” Fab asked.
“Be the hero my family needs, but not the one they deserve.”
“Are you misquoting Batman to justify doing something reckless?”
“First of all, rescuing Kamala isn’t reckless, and second of all, the movie isn’t called Batman, it’s The Dark Knight. Young-ish Christian Bale, hello.”
Fabiola pointed a finger at her own face.
“Young-ish out-of-touch lesbian, hello. At least I was close.”
Devi sighed again while Fab smiled sadly at her in obvious sympathy.
“It’s after ten at night. How am I gonna get to Santa Barbara?”
“Assuming you’re not going to ask your mom—”
“No.”
“Then you need a ride.”
“You need a ride? I’ll drive you.”
It was Paxton, walking up and tentatively taking Devi’s hand while darting uncertain glances at Fabiola. Devi felt her entire face light up.
“You don’t want to know where or why?” she teased.
His expression said those were insignificant details. Wow. Devi’d never had a fantasy where Paxton joined forces with her, bounty hunter-style, to track down a flighty Kamala, but this felt oddly romantic. Passionate even? They’d see where the night took them.
“You wouldn’t wanna leave the dance unless it was serious,” Paxton reasoned. “So, I’ll drive you. You wanna go now?”
“I guess we better. Lemme just grab my
”
“I’ll get it,” Fab said, raising a hand like the nerd she was as she volunteered.
She darted back through the dancers to grab Devi’s things and Devi watched their classmates part for their Cricket Queen. She was so proud of Fab. Also, she felt kinda bad for ditching such a momentous occasion. But Kamala needed her, and would totally do the same for her if she ever went off the deep end and kidnapped a dude while fleeing a proposal. Not that Devi could see herself fleeing a proposal (she glanced at Paxton as she thought this, then quickly away, thinking, Way too soon!). Carrying out a kidnapping? With a sufficiently convincing pro-and-con list, anything was possible.
“Basically, Kamala freaked and drove to Santa Barbara with a drunken Mr. K,” Devi said, because Paxton might not have asked to be informed, but she wanted him to know what he was getting himself into. Beyond that, she wanted to give him the chance to say, No way, Devi. I came here to look hot and dance up on you, nothing more.
“Oh shit,” was what he said.
“Damn right, oh shit. You still want to drive? This is going to take a while.”
She should probably have felt guilty about trying to subtly persuade him with her eyes, but not only was Paxton the least complicated option, he was also her first choice. If she maintained eye contact long enough, Devi figured it might trigger some kind of boyfriend override that made going for a long drive at night just as appealing as staying here and dancing with her butt pressed thrillingly to his groin when the teacher-chaperones weren’t looking.
“As long as we can hit up the bathrooms first. I was going to, but then I got talking to Trent, and then Marcus was doing a handstand
”
“Definitely,” Devi assured him. “Good call. Empty the tank. Oh, actually, that reminds me
 how much gas do you have in your jeep? If we need to stop at a gas station, I’ll have to factor that in to the ETA I give Kamala.”
Paxton shook his head at her, smiling in what she liked to think was affectionate amusement.
“I filled it up on the way here. I needed a minute to, uh
” To her epic astonishment, he ducked his head self-consciously, cheeks pinking. “You know. Get my shit together. Up here.” He tapped his temple with his index finger. “I wanted to show up for you, like, completely. You know?”
Right as Devi was at dangerously high risk of sagging to the floor in blissful bonelessness, Fabiola sprang to her side, shoving the rest of her possessions at her.
“Ok, ok!” Devi said, harried.
She had to dump it all on the bathroom counter a minute later anyway, but after she’d done her pre-road trip pee, she came out and gave Fab a better thank-you.
“Your Highness,” Paxton told Fabiola with a nod.
Fab nodded back, smiling wryly.
“Prosecutor.”
“I think this is the start of a beautiful friendship,” Devi assessed, “but we gotta go! Say congrats to Eve for me again!”
“Sure. Drive safe!”
Devi and Paxton pushed through the doors together, striding quickly with his hand wrapped around hers. In the parking lot, she glanced sideways to see him digging his keychain out of his front pocket.
“Oh,” she said, “so I wasn’t just feeling that you were very happy to dance with me.”
Until they got into the jeep, it was too dark to see whether she’d gotten him to blush again, but she liked to think that she had. He was definitely smiling.
They got in and Devi carefully tucked her skirt around her legs, mind on Kamala’s cautionary tale. At least it was until Paxton leaned forward to shrug out of his jacket and she saw his shoulder muscles jump beneath his fitted button-down, his narrow black tie swinging forward. Dang. Fifty shades of Hall-Yoshida.
“Santa Barbara?” Paxton double-checked once he was settled behind the wheel, steering out of the student lot.
“Santa Barbara.”
Until they were on the highway and heading out of Los Angeles, Devi did her best to keep her worry about Kamala’s situation contained to the way she flapped her phone against her thigh. Usually, she was stressing about the problems right in front of her (when she wasn’t blatantly ignoring them, only to have that approach bite her in the ass later), but with whatever was going on with Kamala, she kinda had to look ahead.
Had she wanted Kamala to get engaged to Prashant that badly? Well, the best thing about Prashant was that you never knew when having additional hot relatives would be to your benefit. (Devi was already hoping that Mr. K would get over the more nerve-wracking elements of this night and just remember having fun with her stunning cousin
 and that this could possibly translate into at least a month of generous grades, if she could somehow spin these shenanigans as an intentional blind date arranged by herself.) However, an engaged Kamala was wholly different from a married Kamala. She wouldn’t be around to watch nonsensical episodes of Riverdale, or be duped into hijinks, or listen to Devi when her mom was too tired, or bitch about her shitty lab-mates in exchange for sitting through Devi bitching about her complicated feelings on the subject of Aneesa dating her ex. She wouldn’t live with them anymore, and the family that had begun to miraculously fill out after her dad had died would be back down to three. And the other two members of it would be old (Sorry, Mom, she thought) and not at all prepared to champion her dating life or the cleavage-accentuating formal dress currently buoying it.
So, yeah, Devi was looking ahead—eyes glazed over as the yellow lights of cars slipped around them to prevent her vision from fully adjusting to the blue-black sky—and feeling more than a little nervous and scared of the Kamala-shaped hole she’d have in her life if her dazzling, dorky cousin left her house for one she might eventually fill with the most beautiful children the world had ever seen.
Thankfully, Paxton was there. It startled her when he took one hand off the wheel and felt across her lap to grab hers, loosely interlacing their fingers. Devi quit hitting her phone against her leg. She sent off their updated location to Kamala and then let her phone fall flat.
“Did she say where she was?” Her boyfriend’s voice was quiet in the car and she realized for the first time that her head had been too crammed with thoughts to put on any music.
“Carpinteria State Beach. Do you know the exit?”
“We’ll find it.”
“And if you want me to drive while you rest on the way back
”
Paxton laughed.
“No way. Safety first.”
“Says the guy driving one-handed,” Devi countered, not that she was eager to surrender the hand warming hers.
He turned his head just long enough to shoot her a look.
“Whoa, pal, eyes on the road!” she said. (She had a half-baked plan to call her boyfriend ‘pal’ a few times and thereby de-weaponize the word in a memory that still felt like a fading bruise, an almost-gone sore spot in who she and Paxton were before they were openly a them.)
“Sorry,” he said, staring out the windshield again. He grinned. “You look gorgeous.”
“Really?”
“So gorgeous.” Paxton’s voice was softer this time, the underlying laugh it had carried since she’d offered to drive his jeep drained out of it. It was nearly a sigh.
“Thanks. So do you.”
“You know, I feel fucking awful for hitting you with my car, but I still think I mighta felt worse if I’d walked in and seen you dancing with somebody else.”
Devi twisted their hands, touching the back of his to her thigh so she was sandwiching it between leg and palm for a moment, aiming for reassuring.
“I wanna say I would never be that flaky, but my previous offenses speak for themselves.”
“So does doing this with me.”
“Uh,” she droned, “to recap, you left a fun thing to do a huge favour for me. You’re talking about it like this is my act of redemption. I feel like if you examine it for a sec, you’ll see how I’m actually kind of a dick for accepting your help.”
“I want us to be together,” he said bluntly. “Here we are. Together.”
“It’s that simple?”
“I don’t see why it can’t be.”
“Huh. I think you’re really gonna be good for my tendency to overcomplicate a situation.”
Paxton laughed and unthreaded his fingers from Devi’s. But it wasn’t to release her for pointing out that this date was, in actual fact, the coordinated response to a family crisis; his fingertips moved lightly over her palm, momentarily trapped when her fingers flinched inward in reaction to how it tickled, then traced along the thin skin of her inner wrist. He wasn’t trying to pull away. He was lingering. Though his touch when he sunk his hand into her hair or drew her closer by her waist had always been fairly gentle, it had often had the faint aggression of hastiness to it, clutching her as they made out in her room, always listening for footsteps in the hallway. How Paxton touched her now was pure, exploratory tenderness. It made the hairs on the back of Devi’s neck stand up as a wave of shivers rushed up her spine and crested somewhere around the nape of her neck.
He must’ve felt that wave break, the foamy aftereffects in some tic of her arm or quickening of her pulse while his fingers skimmed gradually up the inside of her arm towards her elbow, because he chanced another quick glance at her.
“That feels good,” she explained.
Paxton looked forward, nodding slowly, and shifted in the driver’s seat.
“Good.”
She thought it must have felt good for him too, knowing he’d made her shiver.
—
The miles were flicking past for Paxton—another, another, another, as fast and steady as the dashed lines painted between the lanes, his arms cutting the water on the front crawl. He wanted Devi, beside him, to believe that he was paying attention to his driving, but he was honestly kinda zoned out. Like that time he’d swum to San Diego, he let his body go through the motions (in this case, twitching the wheel, putting on cruise control when traffic thinned so he didn’t have to focus on the pedals) while his mind floated freely.
Where it floated was to his girlfriend.
At ten years old, he’d been the last kid in his swim class to jump off the 10m board. It was optional—a treat after getting water up their noses turning somersaults below the surface and doing egg-beater legs in between—but all the other boys in the group had done it eagerly, shrieking on their way down to sloppy pencil dives. Paxton had climbed the stairs all the way to the top easily enough, even stepped onto the wide platform, bordered by metal railings and rough under his bare feet. He’d walked out to the end and frozen to find himself so high above the pool.
He hadn’t feared the water, he’d feared the air. Being so exposed on his own at the end of the diving board. Eventually, he’d retreated, then surprised the coach waiting down at the poolside by turning around and taking the jump at a run. Few memories felt as good as the sensation of giving himself back to gravity and letting it reunite him with the water. He’d just had to get past the exposure.
Same thing tonight, going to find Devi at the dance. Holding her hand in his had been him reaching the platform, but when they stood together, just inside the school’s doors, Paxton hadn’t known for sure whether he would take the leap or retreat. And not just for a running start this time, but in a way that turned his sixteen-year-old present self back into one of those nervous ten-year-olds who wimped out and had to take the coward’s way down—descending each step they’d climbed. He might not have run, and yet he hadn’t needed to back up and race into their relationship either. Momentum hadn’t carried them inside for everyone they knew to see them. It had been a calm approach, even if he’d been shaking on the inside when he saw Trent staring at them.
So maybe Paxton had learned something in the last six years, or maybe it was harder to feel exposed with somebody right next to you.
She really did look gorgeous, like he’d said, and because he didn’t want her to worry about his focus if she spotted him gazing at the side of her face while she texted her cousin, the glances he stole were of the knee region. Her dress’s overlay sparkled when the high lights of eighteen-wheelers passed them and the specific teal of the dress itself reminded him of a river he’d swum in once during an out-of-state family vacation. Natural and deep and fresh, and exasperating for his parents because he’d accidentally doggy-paddled himself all the way to a small waterfall and hadn’t heard them calling him back for dinner around the campfire. He felt all that about Devi, except for hoping for a different reaction from his parents when they met her.
Holy shit. He was going to have to introduce his girlfriend to his embarrassing hippy parents. But then, she’d already met Rebecca, so maybe they were set? A sister’s approval should count for a ton.
No, no, no, Devi would have to meet his parents. He was doing this. The two of them were doing this. Paxton exhaled determinedly through his nose and made himself concentrate on the remaining miles he needed to cover. His mind, anyway. His hand continued to stroke and search, covering his girlfriend’s hand with his until he had her fingers tucked away protectively under his own, and then caressing all the way up to the crook of her elbow so suddenly that she made a noise between a laugh and a yelp because he’d unintentionally tickled her. Man, she was cute.
The very end of their journey required the most concentration from Paxton; he finally took back his hand to have both on the wheel as he steered them off the highway and Devi’s got lonely or something, because it chased across to where he was sitting and landed on his thigh. His jaw clenched. He could feel the heat of her palm through his pantleg and congratulated himself on being a driving legend for driving smoothly to where they needed to park for beach access.
Devi had a pink sweater that she put on, but Paxton grabbed his jacket out of the back as well in case she needed it. It was almost midnight and a breeze rolled up off the water, rippling his tie and swishing Devi’s dress. He didn’t have to ask what they should do next—there was just one other car parked nearby and Devi’s cousin was already standing outside of it, raising a hand to wave sheepishly as they got out of his jeep.
“Here,” he said, holding out his jacket for his girlfriend to put her arms through the sleeves. “You guys talk. I’ll be down at the beach.”
Devi turned her back to him as she accepted the jacket, but she glanced over her shoulder with a look of concern.
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah. You’ll want privacy. I need to stretch my legs anyway.”
“Just don’t swim away, ok?” she requested. “I don’t think I can handle more than one rescue mission per night.”
Paxton could tell by her expression that it wasn’t entirely a joke. He grinned and gripped his lapels, now on Devi, reeling her in.
“I promise. You’d probably take the opportunity to try to drive the jeep home, and I don’t want to risk that.”
“Me committing grand theft auto or me getting hurt?”
“I bet they tested you for smartness,” he said, “but you think they have a test for being a smartass? You’d score high, Vishwakumar.”
“I know, I know, you don’t want me to get hurt.”
She was so infuriatingly flippant, rolling her big brown eyes at him.
“That’s right,” Paxton said plainly. There he was, up on the platform again.
Devi straightened his tie and let her hand rest flat on his chest. He remembered how overwhelmed she’d looked the first time he’d placed her palm there, right on his skin. Even now, it almost made him laugh.
“Ok,” she said, and he was surrendering himself to the sweet strength of gravity, propelled down to the beach while Devi stayed to talk to Kamala.
—
Devi had heard that there were tidepools here, and she was nervous about stepping into one and spearing some aquatic animal on her high heel. Well, she couldn’t magically improve her night vision, but she could take her shoes off and remove the possibility of impalement. They dangled from her fingers as she picked her way down to the beach.
Her boyfriend was sitting in the sand, staring out at the ocean. It just looked so romantic—with the stars the sky was too bright to see at home, and the waves, and the back of Paxton’s white shirt in the moonlight—that Devi decided to slip into the scene without saying anything at all.
A mistake. Paxton gasped and jumped. Apparently, he hadn’t heard her over the noise of the water.
“Sorry, sorry!” she said.
He sighed and smiled, getting to his feet.
“How’d it go?”
“I think it went well. She was feeling calm enough to drive, so she’s on her way home now. She’s gonna cover for me until we get back.”
“That’s good
 but what about Mr. Kulkarni?”
“He was passed out in the passenger’s seat,” Devi stated. “I guess he’s kind of a lightweight? Kamala said she’s going to drive back to our school and leave him and his car in the parking lot. She’s planning to call my mom for a ride home. If it were me, I think I’d take the bus and try to sneak back into the house as quietly as possible, but Kamala still has a lot to learn about how to thoroughly dodge your problems.”
“And maybe about how to climb to the second floor of your house from the outside?” Paxton suggested with a meaningful smirk.
She did her best to return it, but the odds were that it didn’t look nearly as sexy on her. Then again, she had moonlight and midnight and well-displayed cleavage on her side.
“How’d you learn to do that so quietly anyway?” Devi asked, tossing her shoes to the sand and stepping forward to boldly wrap her arms around Paxton’s waist.
He’d had his hands in his pockets, but as soon as she’d begun to move towards him, he’d pulled them out. His arms encircled her, his hands on the back of his own black jacket. Although Devi wanted to offer him the jacket back—he felt slightly chilly through his shirt—she didn’t want the two of them to separate. Besides, body heat was a thing. This was practically what it was for. So Devi just pressed herself closer, breathing the scent of the ocean and Paxton’s fading cologne.
“Trent,” he said.
“Yeah, actually, that checks out.”
Were there boundaries between warming someone up while having a conversation and just hugging them? It wasn’t clear to Devi, but it felt good when they both went quiet for a while. She stood unevenly on the cold sand and listened to the thud of Paxton’s heart.
“You never said yes,” he said eventually, quietly.
“Yes to what?”
“I told you I came to the dance as your boyfriend and you never actually agreed to be my girlfriend. We kinda just started making out.”
Devi lifted her cheek from his chest so she could look at him. He didn’t appear disappointed, more like he was making an observation. Maybe he’d been reflecting, out here in the dark, while she and Kamala had talked.
“In my books, that’s an obvious yes,” she said, grinning. “What more do you need?”
She could see him trying not to smile.
“A little atmosphere would be nice,” Paxton said. “Maybe a long drive, or the beach. A full moon. Romance me, Vishwakumar.”
Devi vibrated with silent laughter. Or her heart was just beating really, really freaking hard.
“Sounds like you’ve got some pretty big expectations there.”
“And stars,” he added. “There should be a shitload of stars.”
With that, he took one hand off her back to point far above them. Devi tipped her head back, the light of the stars a friendly blur as she tried to pick one to settle on, just one. Paxton’s face coming forward to hover over hers blotted them out. Her boyfriend kissed her, light and ghosting and then firm and slow.
“On the other hand,” he said, pulling back a little, “I think we were onto something with the making out.”
Devi smiled and dug her toes into the sand to make herself taller, lips at the ready and realigned with his.
“We did set a precedent.”
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dutchdread · 3 years ago
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No offense bro, but why are you always so protective of Cloud? No disrespect to you or anything but I've heard quite a bit of different opinions and theories on Cloud myself and I do agree with the people who say that he takes Tifa for granted. Going through trauma in the past is not really an excuse for his behavior. He also does act like he's the only one who has suffered in his life. Do you have other reason to defend him other than the fact that you "relate" to him? Just wondering.
Sorry for the late reply, my life has basically left no room for hobbies these past months. Your question is hard to reply to because I am not sure what you mean when you say I am protective of him. I guess you mean I defend his actions? Specifically in ACC? Firstly let me state that there is a difference between being a good character and being a nice character, there is also a difference between agreeing with someones actions, or just understanding them. Personally, I never really liked Cloud, especially not when I was younger. A lot of my defense of Cloud doesn't come from me personally liking him, but from me thinking he's a good character. I also think Snape is a good character, but I don't like his actions, and I don't defend them, although I still understand them to a certain degree. I should also say that as I started to understand Clouds character more, I also started liking HIM a bit more, although I still don't like the things he did, and would very likely not be friends with him. But I do understand why he did what he did and cannot be too critical of him because of that. You've probably heard that before you judge someone, you should walk a mile in their shoes. That's great advice, if you want to judge someone, you should imagine what it would be like to be them, however, I've noticed that too often when people try to walk a mile in someone elses shoes, they refuse to take their own shoes off first. They don't think "what would it be like to be him", they think "what would I do in that position". But Cloud is not you, and you cannot judge him by how you would act, you've not gone through the same things he has, your thought patterns aren't the same etc. This matters because too often I see people judging Clouds actions in ACC, and establishing his motivations by saying things that boil down to "If I were in his position, I would only do those actions if I loved Aerith/didn't love Tifa/whatever". But they're not Cloud, and they're not understanding how Cloud thinks, and that it's different from how THEY think. But like you said, I do see some recognizable elements of myself in Cloud, which is why I do understand his actions, and why I feel relatively certain in defending them, because I see them coming from a good place. It's common for me to react to things in a way that others find counter-intuitive. Let me give you an example, my brother once was mad at me because I had not told him my girlfriend of several years and I had broken up while I did tell a random stranger at the pub. He said that he felt like he wasn't important to me if I told a random stranger but not him. The truth was the exact opposite, I love my brother, and could not bear to face him for some reason, as I told him: "if not caring enough was the problem, then I wouldn't have told a random stranger". I see people exhibit that same lack of understanding when discussing Clouds actions, where they feel like his actions must be the sign of him just being a bad person, or not caring. But ask yourself what is more likely, that Square-enix wants their hero to be a bad person, or that you simply are misunderstanding the character? I understand why people don't get Cloud, Cloud suffers from obvious mental health issues, and mental health issues simply are not something that the general public understands, even today. Not only that, but Cloud went through the most insane series of traumatic events anyone could ever imagine. He had an alien parasite in him, saw his entire town murdered before his eyes, then saw Zack murdered in front of his eyes, then saw Aerith murdered in front of his eyes, and just when he started living a peaceful life he is forced to watch his child succumb to sickness in front of his eyes, and then he finds he himself is dying. All this on the psyche of a man who had had a fear of failure ever since he was a child, spent most of his life essentially in war, and had a severe identity crisis as well. Do you think you can honestly judge him by going "that's not what I would have done"? Would that not be incredibly
presumptuous? Have you suffered from depression as a result of severe post-war PTSD and a lifelong feeling of inadequacy combined with a fear of failure and the belief that many of your loved ones died because you failed and were inadequate? Because that's the context in which you have to view Cloud when watching Advent Children. Saying "Going through trauma in the past is not really an excuse for his behavior" is just incredibly short-sighted, your behavior is determined by who you are, and who you are is determined by what you go through in the past. You can't expect a broken child to become a well-adjusted adult when being a well-adjusted adult is the result of having a normal childhood.
I also don't want to cause offense, but this really is a mindset you should change, because this mindset is one of the most pervasive and damaging ones in our society, it's the one that probably bothers me most when I hear it because it makes zero sense. It's like breaking a robots self-repair unit, and then being angry at it on the grounds that the self-repair unit should have fixed it. It's also very insensitive in general, it's the equivalent of saying "why are you depressed, just stop being depressed", people don't choose to be depressed, people don't choose to have a fear of failure. People don't choose their emotions, they're just there. They can be influenced by behavior over time, sure, but behavior is equally influenced by who you are and your emotions, which, as mentioned before, is determined for a large part by your past. People don't just "snap out of it". They fight and fight and fight, and sometimes they win and break out of the spiral, and sometimes they lose and it breaks them.
FFVII, and especially Advent children, is all about that struggle, and during those struggles you will have high-points, and low-points. FFVII shows all of those. It shows Cloud trying, it shows Cloud wanting, it shows Cloud failing, but it also, ultimately, shows Cloud prevailing. Judging Cloud for not breaking out of the spiral by the time of Advent children, when he was mentally only barely 18 years old, and when he started at the worst place anyone could ever imagine, is just not reasonable. It's the modern day equivalent of "let them eat cake", something that can only be said from the place of privilege of not knowing what the struggles of the people you're critiquing are actually like. So having that out of the way, lets look at Clouds actions from the perspective of Cloud. Cloud is a young boy, and he's in love with the girl next door, he wants to get her to notice him. One day said girl walks up a mountain and he follows, she falls off a bridge and ends in a coma. Cloud followed her because he's in love with her, and he gets the blame from the adults. Cloud internalizes this, and its important to imagine what this must be like for a child, to have the adults all tell him it's his fault that the person he loves ended up hurt. "your fault", "your fault". Afterwards Cloud starts thinking Tifa hates him and starts acting out. I think this is a good moment to point out btw that this child has no father figure. This is the start of his feelings of failure and inadequacy, he blames himself for not being able to protect Tifa, failure number 1, he thinks that if he were strong, he'd be able to protect her, he thinks that if he were like Sephiroth, then even Tifa would have to notice him. Now until this time Cloud is not an asshole, he's a bit of a rebellious kid yes, but notice that he's not a bad kid as much as he's a kid who wants to protect someone, has no direction, and is acting out. So Cloud thinks he's not good enough, but he leaves town confident that he'll become good enough, and even makes a promise to Tifa. All this follows logically from what we know about Cloud, and tells us a lot about how deeply seated these feelings are. Becoming Soldier wasn't a small thing, not some small passion project that he just came up with one day, it's the result of the things that happened in his childhood and he left everything behind make it so. He told the girl he loved, he promised, he boasted. And then he failed. Failure number 2. He comes back to Nibleheim and can't bear to look Tifa in the eye and admit that he couldn't do it, that he's a failure. His entire life so far has revolved around this and he wasn't good enough. So here we have Cloud, not in a great mindset, thinking he's a failure, and what happens? His entire town is murdered by the person he admired, someone he worked with. His Mother is killed, and Tifa, the girl he PROMISED to protect, gets slashed open so badly that apparently she needed to have her ribcage reinforced with metal. I think we can all agree that this by itself would be enough to potentially scar a person for life. (Cloud, not Tifa XD) So what's next for the boy who left town in order to become a hero? Well, he gets captured and experimented on for 4 years, during which his mind and sense of identity is bombarded with memories and knowledge of the lifestream in the form of mako, muddying up his thoughts. Cloud already had a weak sense of self as a result of his childhood, it's why he failed to enter Soldier and now this distaste for who he is makes him extra susceptible to Jenovas influence. The next thing Cloud sees, (he didn't consciously experience the 4 years of mind-fuckery) is his best friend getting killed trying to protect him, because Cloud wasn't strong enough. Failure #3. At this point, in Clouds mind the list of people dead because he could not protect them, because he's a failure, include his mother, his entire town, his best friend, and as far as he knows, the girl he loves. This is his life. His mind is broken, he hates himself, he doesn't want to be himself,
he has a mind-altering parasite inside of him trying to adjust his identity and Clouds just goes "I reject this reality and constitute my own". And why wouldn't he? Why wouldn't he want to live in a fantasy world where he wasn't a failure, where he made it into soldier, where he was cool and successful and not a disappointing failure? Zack tells him to be his living legacy and Cloud goes with it, then he runs into Tifa, Jenova adjusts Cloud further based on Tifas memories of them and rejoined with the girl for whom he joined Soldier Cloud is unconsciously all too willing to play the part. FFVII starts and it doesn't take long for the cracks in his fake persona to show, he meets Aerith, and becomes her bodyguard. He gets to be the hero he always wanted to be. But then, even as "Cloud strife, soldier first class", Cloud is still a failure, the plate still drops, killing thousands, he gives Sephiroth the black materia, he beats up Aerith, and ultimately, fails to save her as well. Tifa was the First Failure, and Aerith was the Final Failure. Even as a soldier, Cloud still couldn't save anyone, he loses even more faith in himself, he doesn't know who he is, he doesn't trust himself, and then when he also loses Tifas trust in who he is, he just breaks and gives over to Jenova/Sephiroth. Even Hojo calls him a failure. Cloud feels like a nobody. Now mentally weakened, under the influence of jenova cells, he gives Sephiroth the black materia AGAIN, and meteor is summoned. Another entry on the long list of moments Cloud can look back on in shame later on in life. He falls into the lifestream and again his psyche is under attack. We know what happens afterwards, Tifa finds him, cares for him, and saves him through his feelings for her. Cloud realizes who he is, realizes he's weak, and goes after Sephiroth without lying to himself. In the end he defeats Sephiroth mentally and is supposedly rid of his direct influence.
But that doesn't mean that this mentally 17 year old is now fine, we should remember these events when analyzing ACC. Cloud has been in constant fighting/war/peril ever since he left home as a child, and is now a traumatized 17 year old in a 21 year olds body. Novels and other materials give us an insight into how Cloud thinks during these times, and how he thinks about himself. We hear him say that he's going to live because that's the only way he can atone for his sins. He talks about wanting to change, and about believing he can change because he now has Tifa. He's a man (boy) who just exited war, and wants to be positive, but is still clearly blaming himself. We see that this initially goes well, we are told that Cloud experiences peace and happiness that he's never experienced before. We're also told about the things that make it go badly, when he has to deliver flowers to the ancient city for instance. While Cloud regained the sense of who he was the belief that he wasn't good enough, that he was a failure, was never solved, if anything it was put on hold until he got his memories back, and now he is forced to deal with it.
While he is no longer directly manipulated by Sephiroth he's still suffering from PTSD and, most notably, survivors guilt. He blames himself for the deaths of Zack and Aerith in particular, and starts visiting the church. Now most people might think it's natural to avoid places that make you feel bad about yourself, but that's not how a depressed person thinks, Cloud thinks he deserves to feel badly he WANTS to punish himself, he WANTS to feel bad. He's ashamed of the moments where he's carefree and laughing with Tifa. Why should he get to be happy when Aerith and Zack are dead because of him? He shouldn't be happy, he should be in pain, he should remember them, not doing so would be an insult to their memories, he must never forget how he failed them! That's how Cloud is thinking. We know of course that this is non-sense, Aerith and Zack wouldn't want this, if anything it's this mindset that is tarnishing the memories of Aerith and Zack, but that's not how a mentally unwell person thinks. Cloud wants to atone, and thinks he finds salvation in Denzel, whom he finds at Aeriths church. He thinks that by saving this life, he can, in some way, make up for all the death he caused. Tifa has a similar belief when she finds out Denzels parents died in the plate crash. And when Denzel joins the family, and Cloud has path towards redemption in his mind, things start getting better again. Because this is the cause of the problems Cloud is having in ACC. When Nojima says:
first off, there’s the premise that things won’t go well between Tifa and Cloud, and that even without Geostigma or Sephiroth this might be the same
This is the conflict he's talking about, he's not saying "Tifa and Cloud are incompatible, it has nothing to do with Sephiroth", he's saying "if Sephiroth didn't show up during Advent children, Cloud and Tifa would still be having problems because Cloud is going through survivors guilt."
But the good times don't last, Denzel has Geostigma and Cloud cannot find a cure, Denzel....is going to die. Cloud, has failed again. Not only that, but Cloud catches Geostigma....Cloud is going to die. And THIS is why Cloud leaves in Advent children. And you have to look at this as Cloud. Cloud said he was going to live to atone for his sins, but instead he's going to die. He won't atone for his sins, even worse, he's going to leave Tifa and Marlene behind. He failed again. He couldn't protect Denzel, he potentially brought an infectious disease into their house as well. Literally all Cloud can think about is that literally everything he's ever tried has ended in failure, everyone he's ever tried to protect, he's failed at. Do you understand how easy it would be for a person like this to fall into the trap of thinking "I deserve to die", "I don't want Tifa and Marlene to see me die", "Tifa and Marlene are better off without me anyway", "they'd be happier if I weren't here". Etc. Now we know this is nonsense, but come on, how many instances have you heard of depressed people genuinely believing that their loved ones would be happier and better off if they just didn't exist? However, throughout the movie, Zack, Tifa, and Aerith, all confront Cloud, and urge him to not give up. Cloud eventually does try again, and ultimately finds redemption not by being stuck in the past, but by letting the past rest and be beautiful (a lesson Cleriths unfortunately never learned). "I never blamed you you know, not once" "I want to be forgiven. By who?" "Isn't it about time you did the forgiving?" In the end, Cloud moves on, and therefore, so do Zack and Aerith. Aerith and Zack walk into the light, Cloud plants flowers on Zacks grave, and lets Zacks buster sword rest in Aeriths church, now no longer rusting, but shining. Instead of the past being a negative reminder, Cloud lets the past be beautiful. Cloud was doing Aerith and Zack a disservice by remembering them the way he did, because it was ruining his life, it wasn't a good thing, but it did come from a good place, from a good man whose ashamed of not being good enough. Yes, it harmed Tifa, people going through these things often do hurt those around them, but it's not because they're bad people, or even weak, but because people are imperfect and Cloud has gone through hell, both internally, and externally. Are his actions really that weird or deplorable? "He didn't even go save the kids!" Yes, he's hesitant about saving the kids, why shouldn't he be? Everyone Cloud tried to protect or save, ended up maimed or worse, or as Cloud puts it: "I can't even save myself". "He left Tifa alone!" Yes, he thinks he's going to waste away and die, can you blame him for not wanting to put Tifa through that and for thinking she'd be better off without him? "He drinks!" Wouldn't you?! Who wouldn't want to forget that stuff? But in the end, He's only gone for about a week, he never intended to harm Tifa, he never physically harmed Tifa or cheated on her, his entire life revolved around wanting to be better for Tifa and blaming himself when he wasn't good enough, how is it reasonable to say this man takes Tifa for granted when the fact that he thinks he has to BE BETTER in order to be worthy of being with her has been a constant throughout his entire life and story? He DOESN'T take Tifa for granted, that's why he's beating himself up, that's why he leaves, not because he thinks he's better than her, or that he'll always have her, or that she'll follow him like a dog, or something like that. But because of the opposite, because he thinks HE is not good enough, that SHE would be better of without him. Saying Cloud takes Tifa for granted, is honestly, simply, wrong. It's 180 degrees the opposite of what is happening in FFVII, the biggest constant in Clouds life, is that he doesn't take Tifa for granted, and I don't understand how anyone could argue otherwise.
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syubub · 4 years ago
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May 13th Reading
Definitely long awaited and way bigger than I intended it to be so buckle up.
Funky disclaimer: this is for entertainment purposes only and not to be taken as fact! This is my interpretation of the cards!
Oh boy. The continuation of yoongis soulmate saga.
(Note frome future me: it's not proofread but I'm hungry. Sorry for mistakes!)
So so so so
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Let's start.
I started with all the normal jazz. Connecting with his energy and shit. Same as usual same old same old. Platform= same same. I was like, "hey, let's talk about your soulmate and the whole may 13th shit" and we connected via energy stringy thing to the forehead and such. I was intresting bc my end of the string was kinda my energy color! Neato. Looks like some rest has really done me good!
Okay, here's where I start actually asking shit. I made notes at this point before the reading as I usually do. I'm just gonna insert the screen shot here.
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The 14 thing really fucked me up. You'll see later. Also, when I got the whole Pisces Jupiter thing I had to do me some googling bc we established that Jupiter went into Pisces ON May 13th so I was like?? Am I missing something?
I was. I forgot that it goes retrograde and then co.es back to Pisces on December 28th. And I do indeed think it to be significant.
The shit about temperance makes a lot of sense. In yoongis first soulmate read I flipped my shit bc he was like, "You're gonna get temperance reverse" in regards to a card for his soulmate and I was like "pft whatever. Don't play me like that"
And then I got temperance reverse. It's been a significant card from the jump.
I asked him if he had any advice for his soulmate and that's what "Don't wait for big things, you'll miss the small ones that lead you to bigger things" and "Look for facts before assuming" and "Don't try pushing it, forcing it won't make sense" and "A spade is a spade/ ace is an ace" and "Don't make ill informed guesses" all were
Now this part:
"Union has happened , yet to on the physical"
Gave me some hints thankfully because he straight up said no more hints.
This ties back into the whole Jupiter thing too. The seeds are/ have been planted and now they have to grow before they can be harvested.
Well Mr. Yoongi, I'm impatient and I don't want to wait. I want to see you in love pronto.
Anyways
He showed me a little dream box/ trinket box looking thing and a super vague Keychain with no further explanation... so... there's that I guess.
I can't quite decide if "Don't make ill informed guesses" was a tongue-in-cheek pike at me or if it was genuine advice to his soulmate? He just loves to not explain things.
Now let's begin the monster read.
So. The first row of cards
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I asked the question, "what the fuck was May 13th and what was it's purpose in regards to your connection"
Important is what it was lol. I interpret this as them finding their footing and this being the starting point of the genuine foundation being layer. Like they've been manifesting eachother for a while but May 13th marked the start of them making the real life changes in their actual lives that will be the set up for them meeting.
The seven of coins is about thoughtful planning and creating security/ stable plan. The tower is essentially ripping away anything and everything that was built on unstable foundation and challenging/ testing your character (an extremely rude awakeing if you will). Judgement is releasing the past so you can rise above it and confronting yourself as you are (Also legit awakening) the queen of coins is financial security and self confidence in your abilities. Ten of coins is prosperity and abundance and most of all, stability. Eight of wands is explosion of potential and rapid movement. Temperance is awareness and balance between physical and spiritual. It's also that quiet peace where you find balance.
So. Seeing all those cards it really does seem like maybe his soulmate took on something new that could lead straight to union? Same for yoongi. I'd like to analyze and recent or new-ish habits or hobbies he's picked up?
Moving right along though. I asked what the 13th did for each of them in their personal life and personal journey. Kinda like what came as a result of that energy? Let's start with yoongles
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This was really intresting to me. I think he definitely gained some form of clarity about the situation with that sun card. The 5 of cups tells me that either he was kinda forced to confront some of his flaws in a way that he was trying to avoid or he had to consciously let go of something dear to him? Could be something he had to leave behind because it crumbled with the tower moment but he didn't see it coming or didn't know that it was time to part with it? With that queen of wands though fits beautifully with the sun! Its like he's found warmth after a long winter. Definitely found a spark of compassion and generosity from a place of happiness and love rather than anger, fear, obligation or pitty.
I asked for clarity cards/ anything else that may 13th signified bringing in and we got the 2 of cups and 10 of swords. I have two thoughts. Either he let go of a relationship that he was already in because he didn't feel as though they were particularly compatible anymore (Also ties into the above section) OR the 13th had made him very much consciously aware of his soulmates incoming status and he is now preparing and working on himself for when this person comes. The 10 of swords would be him releasing the past and the pain and any ill fitting behavior that don't vibe with him any longer. Yellow really seems to be working for him by the way.
Soulmate time
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Lol. All signs point to his soulmate genuinely starting a new venture. New creative pursuit that will bring them good money. 10 of pentacles is abundance, prosperity and stability. The ace of wands is a new creative spark and passion and it's the first big steps into something new. The 2 of wands is "the world is in the palm of your hands" vibes. Choices need to be made swiftly and with the ace of wands I think they will be. With the heirophant too, it will be a well informed decision because they've been manifesting this and has been searching for all the possible information.
As for clarity, we have the moon. Damn. Soulmates been doing that shadow work. Dredging up all their bullshit and getting rid of it while still taking the time to sit with it and release it so nothing is unresolved. Also probably extra creative due to all the emotional baggage being thrown out. (Definitely helping with the ace of wands vibes tbh)
Now for the bad boys in the middle
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The question I asked is what those individual changes (detailed in the last two sections) will bring for the bond and I just can with them. These fuckers. I am so invested in their love story bc it's so... them? And just so fucking ROMANTIC. UGH I CAN'T.
Back to the point. High priestess, 4 of wands and the lovers. The high priestess is deep knowing and insane intuition, the 4 of wands is the purest joy and marriage and the lovers is well, the lovers.a magical union.
FUCK DUDE I NEED THIS TO BE A ROMCOM.
For the row of bottom cards
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I asked if they had anything at all to add so I'm gonna explain each card individually bc I think they could be individual tid bits of shit.
Knight of coins is good news about finances/ money looking promising and organized work (also dependability!!). Death is all about transformation, the beginning of a new chapter and accepting in order to move foward. Ace of coins is spiritual and material abundance and also a reminder to keep grounded. Page of swords is confidence, important news coming and really good insight! Roots out secrets or hidden things like a truffle pig. The star is promising potential, healing and guidance from an enexpected place. The two of cups is a soul connection, love, intuition especially in regards to another person and a good bind. The emperor is self awareness, foresight, fearlessness to achieve a goal and confidence. Eight of coins rev is poor discipline and skating by on low effort.
Now to the sides!
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Yoongi is the left, soulmate is the right.
So, let's begin with yoongi. The first two cards are anything he wants to say to his soulmate. Wheel of fortune and three of swords reverse. I take this as "its all in divine time/ it's destiny" (wheel of fortune) and "trust your intuition. It's okay to get hurt, you just need to remember you can always pick yourself up" (3of swords rev.)
We have now cards that I asked what he was learning through this process/ in this time. Be positive and first step.
The last two cards are affirmations he wants to give his soulmate.
"When I introduce joy to a situation, I change the vibrational frequency of what's happening around me" and "directing my focus onto what's thriving creates more of what I want"
Now for soulmates cards (same structure)
Strength and eight of swords. "You're stronger than you think. Take every part of yourself and acknowledge it. You're a force to be reckoned with" (strength) and (soulmate snapped at him on this) "the only thing holding you captive is you."
Now we have peer pressure (I think soulmate is learning to say "fuck you" and "fuck off" to people who have a set idea of how everyone should be living their lives), emotional healing and open your arms to receiving.
Then we have "its good to feel good" (lol I feel like yoongi definitely needs this one) and "when I connect to the spiritual realm, I open the door to recieve divine guidance, clear direction, and great wisdom"
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The last stretch my friends.
So. Completion, leave behind the things that no longer serve you. Exist in the present and don't keep mulling over the past or any future happenings. Magic, pay attention to the magic around you. Listen for the signs of the universe and take them as they come (essentially listen to divine guidance) . Be open minded but logical as well. Luminous warrior, try focusing on the good in yourself instead of berating yourself for every small flaw. Spiritual path, self explanatory. The blade, your power can be a weapon when used willy nilly (most often wounding the wielder) or it can heal. Don't fear it but also consider how you choose to utilize it. The give away, be greaful for the sake of being greatful for it, not because you want something in return. The rain maker, manifestation station. Create with the tools you have because you have everything you need in order to manifest. "Don't take life personally"
Now we have heaven sent.
""Let yourself be helped" assistance is coming your way so act on it and say yes"
" This Oracle also comes with the message that you are to trust in the things that you feel and say to others without knowing why. It moves them. You might not understand, but through trust you are allowing yourself not to overthink and censor yourself. As such you are able to become a vessel through which the spiritual gift can be passed on to others. Don't block yourself. Let life happen through you. Only benefit can come from this."
And free from judgment, free to love
" If you have been asking life for a solution to a specific difficulty you have been having, this Oracle comes with the message that a solution is in gestation right now. This situation is already being sorted out and the resolution will come to fruition very soon. Hold tight and wait for the eminent birth of that resolution."
" This Oracle also brings you a message about love. You may find that you are loving, or soon will love, in a different way. You may worry about this love, given that it defies what you have known or been taught about love. Perhaps you are becoming able to love another tremendously, even though you don't have much of a personal relationship with them. You might question if this love is real. It is real Kama it is just happening at a different level to the love and attachment you experience when you are involved in a personal relationship with someone. It is not more or less, it is just a different facet of love. It may be that you are opening up to love the planet and her creatures, including the animals, the ocean dwelling life, your own body, the trees and so on, more than before period you may feel passionately purposeful about giving your time and energy to causes that protect and nurture the Earth and her creatures. You are affirmed in this love too. The universal mother is operating through you to nurture life. She will support you in your work, so that you can continue To come from love and not become drained, depleted or lost in despair or fear of futility. Instead, you will be energised and expanded by your dedicated service to life."
" Finally, this Oracle has a message for those who may be feeling alone or lonely in a need of greater nurturing from others. You are asked to stop, relax, centre and settle into your body to feel your connection with life itself. The air in your lungs is the same as the air that moves through the trees. The water in your blood is the same water that fills the oceans and is moved by the phases of the moon. The flesh of your body is the same substance as the body of the Earth itself. The heat in your digestive system is the same fire and heat as that from the Sun. Feel this connection, then do something nice for another without agenda. Make a donation, even if just a small one, smile, say a prayer, sent out a good thought or make a wish for another. That's it. You have connected to life again and in doing so, life can connect with you. And so it shall.
And that's all for the cards but but but.
Someone (either my guide or yoongi) was like, "do a song. Do a song. Do a song." And I was like, "oki doki, sounds good.
So I asked what numbers I should try refreshing and then it hit me. The number 14 came up before the reading and it seemed a bit misplaced? So I did 14 shuffles and look what popped up
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You gotta be fucking with me.
Istg these fools will actually be the death of me dude. Euphoria is so romantic and I lowkey feels like it describes a bit of what their bond must be like.
YOONGGGIIII
Anyway,
I came back to the platform to be like, "thanks homie" and it was weird bc he was practically pure energy? Like usually I visualize his energy as what his physical body looks like because it's easier to comprehend? But nope, he was just a big shimmery glob of energy.
As I was going to disconnect, a few things happened. I felt tingly and the platform was vibrating almost? So I was like, "hold on, what the fuck is this?"
And then
It hit me
"MIN YOONGI IS YOUR SOULMATE HERE??"
I could tell this fuckin asshole was smug even in his blue glob form.
The color was... blue like yoongi but also a light lavender/ pink kinda vibe. Pretty damn distinct.
I was so stoked and I thought we'd all get to chat and I could yell at his soulmate for being an elusive asshat
But Mr smug butt had different plans.
My dude dropped a little marble thing in my hand and I was like ??? And he was like, "you'll know when you need it" and I was like ?????
My guide took pity on me and said, "it's just a representation on information that you've been given but it isn't the proper time to unpack it yet"
Cool cool so like and energetic zip file that will release itself whenever it damn well pleases? Cool cool cool.
(Asshole)
Anyway, I genuinely think that my excitement of this whole situation must somehow also influence how yoongis energy handles my prodding? Like what the fuck is this marble bullshit?
To top it all off, he gives me a friendly shove off of his platform.
Thanks, buddy.
Now we are here. And as always, I'm left with more questions.
My main take away is that amay 13th through July 28th will be all the foundation and ground work and December 28th 2021 through May 10th (11th? 9th?) 2022 will be a more likely time for physical union and actual relationship stuffs.
Anyone who knows more about astrology please feel free to chime in on this whole Jupiter in Pisces bit! My understanding is super surface level!!
~~~~
That was a big boi and now my thumbs hurt real bad. Hope you were entertained by the chaos.
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hopelesshunny · 4 years ago
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the love languages part iv: quality time (f.w)
pairing: fred weasley x fem!reader
summary: fred wakes y/n one morning so that he can take her on a secret adventure.
warnings: kissing, mentions of war, mentions of death, mentions of eating/food, mentions of marriage/engagement.
word count: 2.2k
a/n: i was so excited to write this part as unlike the previous part of this series, quality time is my personal love language. i'm also quite excited to write the final part of this series as well as finish and post a number of wips so get ready for lots of writing soon!! luv ya'll so much.
*all photos are from pinterest*
series masterlist // part i // part ii // part iii
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A quiet groan left Y/N’s mouth as the sun pushed its way through the sheer drapes of hers and Freds shared bedroom. As she began to regain consciousness she could hear the birds chirping outside the window, excited for the morning, she could smell the familiar scent of fresh coffee brewing, but most importantly, she could feel the bed sheets beneath her instead of the comforting rise and fall of her boyfriend's chest. Sighing, she pushed herself out of bed and followed the smell that was escaping from the kitchen, slipper clad feet padding across the wooden floors.
“Mornin’ angel.” Fred smirked, pouring her a cup of coffee and placing it in her eager hands. “Thought I might have to carry you out of bed.”
“What time is it?” She muttered, laying her head against his chest as Fred placed a hand on her back, rubbing small circles.
“It’s 7 in the morning love.” He spoke into her hairline, causing her to pull back from him with a bewildered look.
“It’s Saturday, Freddie.” She exclaimed, still staring at him with a slack mouth.
“I know.” He chuckled, placing a kiss to the side of her head. “I’m taking you somewhere, so drink up.” He said, tapping the coffee cup before pulling himself from her to head back to their bedroom.
She turned to watch him as he sauntered down the hall, a smile forming on her lips at the sight of him. Lucky was an understatement, Y/N often thought that she must have been a saint in her past life and was being blessed in this lifetime with Fred Weasley. From the moment she saw him in first year, her in a uniform that seemed much too big for her body and he with flushed cheeks and a bright smile, she swore to herself that he was the man she was going to marry. In her second year when she watched him and George prank the Slytherins relentlessly and laugh loudly at their stunned faces, she remembered thinking that his laugh was like medicine, it could surely cure any illness. During third year she often found herself staring at Fred constantly from across the Great Hall, hoping that he would return the glance. Then came fourth year when she finally caught his eye, so much so that as he and George ran down the hall, attempting to escape some self-inflicted trouble, he almost ran directly into a wall due to his staring.
Since that moment that had been inseparable - it had begun as Fred’s adolescent attempt to flirt with her but grew into the most beautiful friendship she ever had, when she couldn’t get the hint that he was interested in being more than that. Which is why his invitation to the Yule Ball shocked her in sixth year and his early departure from Hogwarts destroyed her in seventh year. Looking back now all of that seemed silly, from that first glance she caught of Fred she knew that they would find their way together somehow and after the war when she finally had the nerve to walk back into the shop to see if he made it out alive that’s exactly what happened.
The heavy door to the shop creaked as she pulled it open, her heart had plummeted to her stomach as soon as she saw the building from down the street. She was scared, terrified that the ghastly war had taken Fred as its own, so scared that she had pushed off confronting the possibility of it until now.
“Hello?” She called into the empty space. “Freddie? George?” Please be alive, please be alive, is all her brain could muster up to think.
“Y/N?” A voice called from the back. “Y/N!” George shouted as he came into view, running towards her to smother her in a hug.
“Hi.” She spoke softly into his chest, still fearing the fate of his twin. “Fred?” She asked quietly when she pulled back from the hug, concern and worry lacing her features. But the raging storm of guilt and terror within her was calmed when George flashed her a genuine smile and turned to call towards the back room.
“Fred! It’s Y/N, she’s alive.” With that Fred came bustling out from the far end of the shop, his eyes bloodshot, hair messy but that golden smile still plastered on his face. When she saw him tears that she had been holding back for days came flooding down her face as he picked her up, wrapping his arms impossibly tight around her body. George chuckled to himself before making his way up the stairs leaving two lovers that were too stubborn to realize they were lovers to finally become lovers.
“You scared me Y/N.” Fred whispered into her neck. “I thought I’d lost you.” She let out a choked sob before pulling back to look at him.
“There was so much happening, I couldn’t find you.” She said. “And then once it was all over I was worried th-that something had happened and that you w-were.” She trailed off, trying to find the words that made the most sense to her in this very moment but before she could, he was softly shushing her, planting her feet on the ground and placing a sweet kiss to her forehead.
“No need for any of that. I’m here, you’re here, we’re okay.” He spoke, her face in his hands. “I guess now’s as good a time as any to tell you that I’m in love with you Y/N.” He chuckled, earning a giggle from her.
“Fred Weasley, I am way ahead of you on that one.” She retorted, leaning up to capture his lips with hers.
“Okay Weasley, where are we going.” She said, emerging from their bedroom to find Fred on the couch, his head resting back on his neck before snapping it forward at the sound of her voice.
“You know.” He started, getting up from the couch to move toward her, placing his hands on her waist. “I see you every single day and it still feels like that first time I almost snogged the wall trying to catch a glimpse of you.”
“Always a charmer, you were.” She giggled before he reached down to grab her hand, pulling her out the door and down the street. He swung her hand in his as he pointed out abstractly shaped clouds saying they looked like her hair in the morning or her butt when she leaned over to pick something up.
“You still haven’t told me where we’re going.” She spoke.
“We’re going right here.” He said, pulling her into an ice cream shop. “Well, we’re starting right here.”
“Starting?” She questioned. “What do you have up your sleeve, Freddie?” He chuckled at her inquisitive state as she never really trusted Fred when it came to surprises because it typically ended in her hair being dyed a garish colour or something seemingly delicious tasting absolutely horrendous. But this surprise was good, he reassured her with a soothing hand on her back.
With ice cream cones finished and Y/N’s mind still wandering, the pair was now standing in a lush garden in the countryside, wisteria trees blowing gently in the summer breeze as Fred clasped his hands over her eyes. When he finally pulled them back to reveal the gorgeous sight in front of her all she could manage was a gasp, taken back by the pure beauty of the garden, so much so that she hardly saw the picnic blanket he must have set up ahead of time.
“It’s beautiful Freddie.” She whispered, her hand pressed against her chest in amazement.
“Just like you.” He said, wrapping his arms around her from behind, resting his chin on top of her head. “Hermione actually told me about this place after she leant you that book about trees.” He chuckled, recalling the memory of his girlfriend passionately telling him about a different tree somewhere in the world every morning.
With that he ran and landed on the blanket with a thud outstretching his arms as giggles bubbled from her mouth. She gladly accepted his offer however, laying on the blanket with him, her back against his side as she gazed up at the bright blue sky, through a veil of wisteria, her hands finding his to gently run her fingers along his knuckles. From their position on the ground Fred had the perfect view of Y/N’s face, the face he had memorized so many years ago, the face that lit up the first time he had ever spoken to her and everyday since then.
He and George sprinted down the hall, Filch hot on their heels as boisterous laughter filled the air, adrenaline running through both their veins like hot lava, setting their bodies on fire. Then he saw her, coming around the corner, books clutched tightly to her chest as her eyes wandered out the window, but his remained solely on her. A little too much it seemed because when he finally forced his line of sight away from her, he found himself face to face with a wall, just inches away from having his face planted flat against it. He brought up on his heels before ducking away into a closet, George after running far ahead of him.
He cracked the closet door open just enough so that he could steal a look at her, he watched as she giggled and shook her head and then made her way down the hall. Was she laughing at him? Was she laughing at him because she thought he was funny? Or because she thought he was a fool? He thought about this for a moment before finally deciding that he could make either one of them work. Once the coast was clear and he was sure he was no longer being chased, Fred practically fell out of the closet and began sprinting down the hall again but this time in the opposite direction, in the direction of her. When he finally caught up to her, he layed a gentle hand on her shoulder causing her to turn towards him before he doubled over out of breath.
“Just give me, give me one second.” He said, holding his hand up to signal for her to wait. She chuckled at him as he then decided to take a seat on the ground still attempting to pump air into his lungs. Y/N sat on the floor of the hallway with him, pulling her knees up to her chest as he looked at her in surprise. “I’m Fred Weasley.”
“I know.” She said before giving him a shocked look, angry at her mouth for betraying her. “I mean, I’m Y/N Y/L/N.”
“I think we’re going to be great friends.” He replied, while she flashed him a smile that could light up the entire castle on the darkest of nights.
Great friends they were, if you consider great friends, people who can’t sleep without each other, kiss each other good morning and good night and just about a thousand times in between everyday, they were the best of friends, if best friends were in love with one another. Fred couldn’t imagine his life without Y/N in it, couldn’t bring himself to imagine being with someone else, she was all he ever wanted, all he’d ever need.
“Is that a squirrel over there?” Fred questioned. “Climbing up that tree?” He pointed to a tree in the distance, causing Y/N to sit up straight, shielding the sun from her eyes with her hand as she squinted in an attempt to see what Fred was on about.
“I don’t see a squirrel.” She scoffed. “You must be seeing things Fre-.” She started, turning around to see Fred kneeling on one knee in front of her, a silver ring propped up in a velvet box grasped in his hands as his eyes searched hers. Shock ran deep on her face and a rush of nerves took over Fred as he couldn’t quite read her reaction.
“Y/N, from the moment I met you I’ve wanted to do this. I’ve thought about asking you to marry me almost everyday since fourth year and hell if I had a ring back then I would’ve done it. But I have one now so I’m asking-.” Fred began, still tentatively studying her face.
“Yes!” She cut him off, launching herself into his arms. “Yes, I’ll marry you any day and I would’ve married you when we were fifteen if you asked.” She peppered his face with kisses as he laughed loudly, slipping the ring onto her finger. Tears pricked her eyes as she pulled back to look at the new addition to her hand but her eyebrows knitted themselves together at the collection of numbers engraved in small font on the underside of the band.
“Numbers?” She questioned, shooting him a quizzical look as he chuckled.
“Coordinates.” He responded. “To the exact wall I almost hit the first time I saw you.”
taglist (join here!!)
@onlyfreds @fandomhideout @lilypad-55449@youngblood199456 @thanxxskz @emma67 @gaycatlord-stuff@alicetweven @a-castle-of-glass @youcantbesirius@omghufflepuff @izzyyy-1​ @70sweasleys
if your url is crossed out i could not tag you!!
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writer-ish · 4 years ago
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φόÎČÎżÏ‚, or the persistence of fear
prompt: to shower with my muse / for sex on a table/counter/desk / for our muses to try a new position + words: “make me” pairing: mason x detective (grace bennett) word count: 5.3k words | rating: super E!!! (minors dni) summary: φόÎČÎżÏ‚ (FO-vos) Greek. “fear”. Post-Book 3 Final Demo, Mason and Grace have some trouble overcoming their individual fears.
author note: i know you said “or”, lovely @detective-sweetheart , but to my eyes you were issuing a challenge as to whether or not i could do them ALL. i didn’t quite succeed, but hopefully it doesn’t disappoint. 😘 and, uh
 *side-eyes the word count* ...yeah. really should get that ao3 account up and running huh?
warning: this smutty lil fic immediately follows the end of the final demo for book 3 (bobby route) so if you don't want any inkling of what that's all about, stay away.
XX nsfw prompts
X X X X
Saying that it had been “one of those days” would not only be an insult to days but to the concept of singularity itself.
By the time they roll into the warehouse, it's just after nine-thirty in the evening. The sun has already dipped beyond the horizon almost entirely, but there remains an eerie summer glow of light that seems to permeate the atmosphere. Not quite day, not quite night, but instead some liminal moment that feels almost otherworldly. Familiar, yet not.
Grace shivers.
Mason, sitting beside her in the roomy black SUV, turns towards her as the almost-imperceptible tremor runs through her body.
She meets his gaze, taking in his expression – tight and concerned, the grey of his irises stormy and conflicted – before she feels his hand reach across her lap and cup her outer thigh, tugging her closer to him.
They wait in silence as Adam parks and the rest of Unit Bravo gets out, Felix patting her leg reassuringly from beside her before exiting on his side. Mason gets out as well and turns to her, hands now shoved deep in the pockets of his leather jacket.
It's Grace's turn, so she gingerly exits, the weight of the day finally revealing the toll it's taken on her body. The fifteen minutes of inactivity in the car were, apparently, all it had needed as a reminder of what she'd endured in the last sixteen hours or so. All of a sudden she feels exhausted, weighted down, frustrated, and in desperate need of a shower.
"You good?" Mason asks as they walk together towards the entrance of the warehouse, shoulders brushing, a bit behind the others.
"Just tired," she responds, rubbing her eyes wearily. "Can't wait to shower and just lie down."
"Need any help with that?" The drawled reply is rife with a familiar irreverence, but there is something heavier in his tone that makes Grace glance up.
He's looking down at her, telltale smirk on his lips. But his grey eyes are dim and there's a furrow between his brows that isn't normally there.
"Yes."
Her quick response seems to surprise him; he stops walking and turns to look at her with an inscrutable expression. She can understand why—she isn't normally so brazen when it comes to his advances and she knows he revels in her shyness sometimes. Mastering the art of getting a rise out of her, making her flustered, teasing her and watching her blush.
But this time she doesn't care if her response feels bold or unlike her. Since dawn that morning, the litany of things she'd experienced were enough emotional and physical turmoil to last a person a lifetime, never mind a period that's comprised of less than twenty-four hours.
And now she wants Mason and she wants a shower and she wants to sleep. In whatever order she can have them.
Instead of saying anything flirtatious or sarcastic, he lets his eyes roam over her face for a moment and then he just nods and drapes an arm over her shoulders, leading her inside.
Upon entering the Warehouse, they’re greeted by Adam, Nate, and Felix, who appear to have been waiting for them. All three agents turn when they see Mason and Grace walking in, and Grace feels a pang of guilt, knowing that Adam will probably want to coordinate a meeting of some sort to go over the events of the day as well as next steps.
Sure enough, he intercepts them as they attempt to walk by.
“We should be debriefing on everything that just occurred." Adam crosses his arms and peers down at Grace. "And Detective, have you gotten a hold of Agent Bennett? I can’t seem to—“
Grace opens her mouth to reply, and perhaps Mason can feel the way her body leans away from him, already attempting to gear herself up for the meeting Adam has planned for them all, because he tugs her closer and begins dragging her away, speaking over her before she has a chance to respond.
“The Detective,” he announces, forcing her to keep pace with him, “is currently unavailable."
She can feel Adam's disapproval radiating at her back and she looks up at Mason helplessly.
"Stop," he commands her, then says over his shoulder: "She's had a rough day, okay? We'll meet in the morning."
Adam grumbles his reluctant acquiescence and Felix shouts after them: "Don't forget how thin the walls are!"
Nate splutters, as Mason throws back: "They're concrete!"
Nate’s splutters turn into a groan as Felix responds: "With you two it doesn't seem to make a difference."
Grace groans as well, feeling the heat surge up into her cheeks as she buries her face in her hands. Mason just laughs and continues to drag her along.
As soon as she gets to her room, she lets him in and then closes the door firmly behind them, leaning on it heavily with a deep sigh.
Mason is already walking around the small room, inspecting the current aesthetic. When the room had been set up for her, cues had apparently been taken from her own apartment. So there’s a vibe that can definitely be considered “cozy”, like her style – long white curtains, a plethora of pillows, a down comforter – while also being weirdly unfamiliar. It’s like a Sims version of her own place in some Bizarro universe. She isn’t sure if it makes her feel more at home—or less.
“What did you bring from your place?” His voice breaks her out of her reverie and she looks at him in surprise.
“Oh, uh—” Taking a look around, her brow furrows. “Honestly, not much. After what happened this morning, I didn’t have the wherewithal to grab anything that I really needed. Thank god there’s some stuff here. But I’m going to have to go back tomorrow and sift through the damage. See what can be salvaged.” She shrugs, then to her horror, she can feel her eyes inadvertently well with tears.
“Hey, hey—” Mason is in front of her before she can blink, tilting her chin up. “What’s that for?”
“Ugh, just—” She rubs her eyes frustratedly. “What a fucking day.”
“Yeah, you’ve been through it,” he agrees, before roughly pulling her into his arms. “One for the record books.”
His arms around her provide more comfort than he could probably ever understand and she feels her whole body wilt into his strength and his heat and his scent.
“I’m so sick of days ‘for the record books’,” she mumbles into his chest and she can feel his chuckle more than she hears it.
“Why don’t we see if we can make this one a bit better, hmm?” She looks up just in time for him to capture her lips with his.
Letting out a little sigh, she twines her arms around his neck and allows him to kiss her slowly, leisurely, taking little sips from her mouth, stroking her tongue with his own, stoking a slow fire that always seems to be maintaining a low burn in his presence. She presses her body closer, enjoying the feel of her breasts against his torso, his growing hardness pressing into her stomach.
He glides his hands down her back and cups her bottom, squeezing it appreciatively, before pulling her even closer still.
Moving his mouth to her neck, his teeth glide against her pulse point, and her heart skips a little beat when she feels the sharpness of his canines against her sensitive skin.
“Relax,” he whispers, kissing her softly right in the place where his teeth had just scraped. “This isn’t where I want to taste you.”
She lets out a little whimper and brings his mouth back to hers, kissing him fiercely, feeling the points and ridges of his teeth with her tongue crowding his mouth. He pulls her tightly to him, dragging her body up so her feet leave the ground, and then he drops her backwards on the bed, his knee already down on the mattress with her, poised to pounce.
“No—” she protests and before she can blink he’s off of her and standing at the edge of the bed.
“What is it?” His voice is calm, with none of the frustration she would assume he’d be feeling in that moment.
“No, it’s just—” She pauses and glances at the door to the ensuite bathroom, teeth digging into her bottom lip. “I really need a shower, before any
 tasting happens.”
He blinks and then in a flash he’s on her again, his body pressing her deep into the soft mattress.
“For what it’s worth, sweetheart,” he says, nipping at her lips, “I’ll taste you whenever, however.”
“Reassuring,” she laughs, “but trust me when I say a shower is needed.”
“Then let’s get you wet.” She laughs again with a groan, allowing him to hoist her up.
He tugs at her shirt and she raises her arms accommodatingly, allowing him to lift it up and over her head. Piece by piece, he undresses her, hands grazing her skin with each article he removes, discarding the item as quickly as it comes off her body, until she stands in front of him fully nude.
Self-consciousness at her nudity is a forgotten pastime now that she’s with Mason. It’s something about the way he looks at her —he’s always just so pleased. With her or with himself she can’t tell, but either way it does wonders for one’s self esteem.
Even now, she can almost feel the heat emanating off of him, a hungry smoulder of pure energy as his eyes roam up and down her body.
“Shower,” she squeaks, not sure who needs the reminder more.
Instead of answering, he lifts her up effortlessly, dragging her thighs around him until she can cross her ankles behind his back. She feels the fabric of his clothing rubbing every inch of bare skin it encounters – the leather of his jacket against her nipples, his jeans between her legs – and he settles her onto a dresser that she literally hadn’t even noticed before that moment.
Her breathing escalates in anticipation and yearning, waiting for wherever his mouth or his tongue or his teeth go next, but instead he remains quiet and still, before leaning forward and resting his forehead on her shoulder.
She freezes, unsure what he wants or even what she should do. And then she feels it.
A light tremor, scarcely noticeable, running through his body.
Before she can react, his arms tighten around her in a crushing hug and she instinctively hugs him back fiercely, running her hands up and down his back, pulling him closer with her legs.
“Mason,” she whispers. “What—?”
With a growl, he lifts his head and captures her mouth with his own, teeth and tongues clashing in a hungry, desperate kiss. His fingers tangle in her hair as his thumbs caress her cheekbones in a juxtaposition of rough and gentle.
She kisses him back, trying to keep up with the shift in his mood. Pulling away with a gasp, she attempts to catch his eye.
“Are you—?”
Groaning, he leans in and kisses her again, hands running over her body in frantic strokes, as though memorizing the shape of her with his palms.
When he lifts his head again, she sees the conflict in his narrowed gaze, the grey irises stormy with anger and desire and another, less discernible emotion that causes gooseflesh to rise on her bare skin.
“Just look at you.” His voice is harsh, almost angry, and her jaw slackens in surprise at his tone. He tilts away from her as he speaks and she registers the absence acutely as cool air hits bare skin that now feels on display, her legs still spread open around him.
Shyness overcomes her as she becomes truly conscious of her nudity for the first time. She makes to close her legs and he grips them tighter around his hips so she can’t move them, his eyes flicking between hers, seeking answers and absolution.
“You’re so soft, so small,” he continues, his voice still rough with shades of anger, even as his words feel hollow and almost somehow reminiscent of—grief? “This skin, this body you’re in—it’s so weak.”
“Mason!” She finds her voice finally, confusion and indignation at war with one another in her mind as she tries to coincide his expression – which can only be described as tortured – with the hurtful things he’s saying.
“How can we let you go back out there?” His voice is raw now, the anger appearing to slowly fade away, leaving him worn-out and desperate in its wake. “Unprotected? Out in the open for any fucker to grab, to take. To hurt?” He gives her a little shake and she gasps. “Huh? How?”
Understanding dawns. Yes, it had been a rough day for her. One of the worst.
But it looks as though, maybe, it had been a rough day for him, too.
Immediately, her hands begin to move of their own volition, running up his chest and over his shoulders. His whole body seems to sag, the fight draining out of him completely, and he closes his eyes, turning his head away from her.
“I have the Agency,” she murmurs as she tries to soothe him with her touch, her tone, her words. She tucks her hands under his jacket and pushes it off until it drops on the floor. Smoothing her hands back up his arms, she doesn’t stop until they cup his face. “I have them to protect me.”
She turns his head and waits until he opens his eyes, his gaze still narrowed, but with a telltale furrow in his brow.
“And I have you,” she adds, softly. “To protect me.” She pauses, watching the creases in his forehead smooth even as his eyes drift away from hers once more. “I’ll be okay.”
He reminds her now of a beast being soothed; a wolf, perhaps—hackles still up, but with the understanding that the threat has passed, for the time being, at least.
She knows not to look too much into it; loyalty is intrinsic to Mason’s being. His defence of her would be his defence of any of them.
But she kisses his brow anyway, just in case. His cheek, too, even as he stiffens in her arms.
“I’ll be okay,” she repeats, “unless I don’t get a shower in the next thirty seconds.”
His expression shifts back to a familiar one: arched brow, lips curled up on one side, white teeth showing one sharp canine. He seems almost relieved, though at what she’s not sure – the reprieve? Her unspoken forgiveness? Her assurance?
Regardless, she knows she won’t get the answers she seeks and, sure enough, he says nothing, only lifts her back into his arms and carts her off to the bathroom.
She can’t help but laugh against his neck, although her heart still thumps an erratic beat at the odd moment they’d just had.
Depositing her by the sink, he peels off his shirt, dropping it unceremoniously onto the floor as he reaches inside the shower to turn on the water. He then strips out of his pants and underwear just as quickly, appearing more comfortable in his nudity than he is clothed—a fact that she’s come to realize is true.
She can’t help but take him in, flawless and muscular, a constellation of freckles across his upper body and arms. Unruly onyx waves tumble towards his shoulders and her fingers itch to run through them. His chest is covered in short, curling hairs that stretch across his pectorals and down, over his defined stomach and even further still. His prominent erection is unselfconsciously on display, flushed and waiting, apparently, for her.
Feeling the colour rise in her cheeks as she stares, she hazards a glance back up to his face.
He’s regarding her quietly, a growing smile on his lips, his gaze half-lidded and pleased.
“Like what you see, sweetheart?”
“Always,” she responds before she can lose her nerve, her face heating even more.
He chuckles softly, taking a step towards her, stroking his knuckles down her cheek. “The feeling is mutual.” He nods towards the running water. “Feel that and tell me if it’s okay.”
Hopping off the counter, she reaches her hand in. The water is scalding and she hisses out a breath, before adjusting it slightly cooler. She waits a beat until it runs at a suitable temperature on her palm and wrist. “That’s good for me. You?”
She finds herself craning her neck to look up at him. He’s standing tall in front of her, looking down without really tilting his chin. He has a half smile on his face as he watches her and she feels herself redden again under his gaze.
“I’ll be fine,” he says eventually, before crowding her until she has no choice but to take a step in.
Entering the shower fully, she allows the water to run down her back, tilting her head to wet her hair. He follows her in and runs his fingers softly down her chest, snagging on her nipples, already distended and aching.
“Beautiful,” he murmurs, tracing over her lightly with his fingertips, playing and stroking. One finger circling a nipple before going down further until it grazes between her legs.
She bites back a moan as her eyes shut briefly, her palms pressing back against the cool tile of the shower for some sort of purchase.
He loops an arm around her waist and brings her to him, kissing her wetly, open-mouthed and demanding, their bare skin slipping against one another.
Swiftly, he turns her, pressing himself into the cleft of her ass. She can feel his hardness wedged deeply between her; a new sensation, but not entirely unpleasant, either. She wriggles experimentally and gasps at the titillating pressure.
“One day,” he murmurs in her ear, reading her mind, and she knows from the way he chuckles that her cheeks have gone truly red this time.
He strokes down her forearms, linking his fingers overtop hers before pressing them onto the tile so that her body is forced to tilt forward slightly. Then, he adjusts the spray of the water so it’s not hitting them directly.
“Open.” His voice is a gruff command and she can’t help but obey, her feet slipping slightly in her haste to spread her legs.
She feels his hand course over her wet skin, erection still pressed against her bottom, as his fingers move across her, teasing and playing, until they settle into the warm, liquid centre of her.
She lets out a protracted moan, her legs shaking, the relief of finally having him touch her right where she needs him to almost more than she can bear.
He strokes her masterfully, a finger delving into the wetness her body is producing just for him, for his touch, and then circling at the apex of her thighs. Her clit throbs with his attention and she can’t help but cry out as he applies steady continuous pressure. The shaking in her legs increases and his body presses against her even tighter, his other hand coming up to cup her breast, thumb strumming her nipple at the same pace as his other finger works her clit.
“I want you to come,” his voice grinds out next to her ear. “I want you to come all over my hand. I can already feel you dripping all over me, all over yourself. Let go, sweetheart.” He bites her neck lightly and she feels the sharp prick of his fangs on her sensitive flesh. “Let go.”
The pain and pleasure intertwine into a blinding flash of white light, her body convulsing as she cries out, her shout echoing throughout the small room. Her legs give way and he holds her steady against him, his arm the only barrier between her and the tiles.
She comes down slowly from her climax, her shaky breath echoing around them, trembling fingers still scrabbling for purchase on the wet tiled walls of the shower.
Before she can fully catch her breath, he turns her around wordlessly and crushes his mouth to hers again. She matches his fervour, opening her mouth and allowing him to consume her. Their kisses feel hungry, desperate, and she whimpers against his lips. Tightening his hold, he lifts her up into his arms, pressing her against the cool tiles. She can feel his hands splayed across her back, cushioning the impact, and she tightens her legs to draw him closer.
His erection is notched between her legs, stroking hotly up and down the teeming wetness there, both from the shower streaming between them and also, she knows, from her own body’s response to him, his nearness, and the promise of what’s to come.
She reaches between them and grips him, running her hand up and down his length as he tilts his head back and groans.
“Jesus, Gracie,” he bites off, and she can feel his fingers digging into her where they rest on her upper and lower back. “You gotta stop that, sweetheart, before I—”
“Make me,” she teases, revelling in these small, rare moments where she has the upper hand.
His head snaps up and she feels her heart skip a beat at the expression on his face, those silvery irises as thin as crescent moons against the deep black of his dilated pupils. His lips curl in a familiar smirk as he bounces her up higher in his arms. Laughing in surprise, she loses her grip on him and has to put her arms around his neck instead for balance.
At the new height he has her, she can feel the tip of his cock nudging into her liquid centre.
She lets out a breath that extends into a moan, feeling him enter her as she opens for him further. He holds her steady, hands cupping her ass as he guides her down, then back up, then down again, allowing her body time to accommodate him comfortably.
“Oh,” she whimpers, the sensation almost too much for her to bear. “I can’t—I’ve never—”
“Shhh.” He shifts and one hand goes to the back of her neck, drawing her head down his shoulder, while his other arm grips her around her hips. “I got you.”
Slowly, slowly he thrusts and pulls back, thrusts and pulls back, shallow and fluid movements, her body giving and giving some more, until he holds her tightly against him, their pelvises notched together, him fully seated within her.
There is never a moment in which she feels so vulnerable as the moment when they’re connected like this. Her body trembles with emotion, the full weight of the day finally crashing down on her. She tightens her thighs against his hips and her arms around his neck, tilting her head to kiss his wet, freckled shoulder, neck and jaw, happy that the steady stream of water from the showerhead prevents him from noticing the tears streaking down her cheeks.
She can’t do this right now, she can’t allow herself to succumb to this moment, these feelings, because if she does, she’s going to say something she regrets. Something that will ruin everything.
So she distracts herself with the physicality of what they’re doing and with the pressing need for release.
“Move,” she begs with a sob that hopefully he believes is impassioned rather than emotional. She rocks her hips against him, needing the moment to end just as much as she needs it to last forever.
He quickly and silently obeys, using her body to create a rhythm that matches his own, crowding her against the corner of the shower, holding her securely in his arms. She can feel his heart pounding against her body and without thinking, she digs her teeth into the soft skin where his neck meets shoulder, not hard enough to draw blood but certainly enough to leave a mark.
The sudden action, fierce and uncharacteristic of her, almost possessive in its intensity, clearly surprises him. His hips stutter against hers and his hands grip her tightly—so tightly that she knows she’ll be seeing the bruises in the morning. He lets out a hoarse shout and she can feel his release inside her and that’s all it takes to send her hurtling over the edge with him. Letting out a cry that matches his, she rides the wave of her own climax, her body holding tightly to his, inside and out.
They stay like that for a beat, hearts pounding, Grace’s breath echoing shakily against the tiles. Gently, Mason disentangles her from him and sets her down, still holding her against him firmly. He strokes her back until she can get her breathing and pulse under control.
Once she’s steady, he pulls away from her. She inadvertently lets out a whimper as the water, now lukewarm, causes goosebumps to rise on her skin, the heat from his body too tempting to be taken from her. She has no reason to be concerned, however, because he’s back on her almost immediately, this time with a soft, soapy cloth in his hand that he begins to wash with her with.
Long, languid strokes down her back, her arms, the backs of her legs. Gently between her legs as he washes away the intermingled essence of what they’ve just done, rinsing and rewashing, in light, soft strokes.
She allows him his ministrations, feeling sleepier and more languorous by the moment, enjoying the feel of him caring for her. She registers that the soap has a light scent, inoffensive to her own nostrils, but she can’t help but wonder if it bothers him.
Reaching up lazily, with an arm that feels sluggish and heavier than usual, she brushes the damp hair back from his forehead.
“The soap—?” she tries, taking the wash cloth from him and allowing it to drop between them. She steps back slightly and rinses herself with the water streaming down.
“It’s fine.” He shrugs. “I can only smell you.”
“Me—?” She realizes belatedly he means her arousal, and the evidence of their union, and her face flares up with heat once more. His smirk turns into a full fledged grin.
“Oh, sweetheart, if I could make you blush like that forever, I’d be one lucky son of a bitch.”
The word forever seems to hang between them and the smile drops quickly from his face at her sharp intake of breath.
“Turn around,” he says gruffly and she obeys quickly, reluctant to allow the moment to be shattered completely.
She hears the sound of another liquid dispenser and the telltale coconut scent of her favourite shampoo fills the humid space – when the Agency does something, they really do it right, she thinks, impressed and a little weirded out – before she feels Mason’s hands in her hair.
If she’d expected impatience or roughness from him in this endeavour, she’s pleasantly surprised to be proven wrong. For all his brusqueness and usual lack of desire to perform acts of service for others – outside those related to sexual pleasure – he takes his time with her hair, leisurely massaging in the shampoo, fingertips expertly pressing into her scalp and lathering the wet strands.
She tilts her head back and closes her eyes, a hum of pleasure escaping her lips. The warm water streams over her body and she’s convinced she’d be able to fall asleep standing if she let herself.
After a few more moments of quiet bliss, Mason places his hands on her shoulders and turns her back around. He gently tilts her chin up until the water is streaming over her hair now and she brings her own hands up to assist in rinsing out all the shampoo.
As she gets the shampoo out of her hair, his hands idly tease and caress her, his fingers running over her body once more in light strokes. The touch doesn’t seem to be intended to reignite anything; instead, it appears to be for the simple pleasure of just touching her.
They’re both quiet, the need or the desire to speak seemingly sapped out of them, and she allows him his touches, until all the soap is out of her hair and off her body. Then, she languidly opens her eyes and just watches him—watches how his eyes follow his hands as they move over her body, tracing her with his gaze as well as his fingers.
“Your turn?” she asks, finally, her voice a quiet echo in the small space.
He shakes his head and gathers her close to him, kissing her soundly on the mouth. “I’m good. Ready to come out?”
Instead of answering, she wraps her arms around his neck, stroking down his back and into his damp hair, the unruly waves curling around her fingers more than usual. She kisses him again, then nods against his lips, her eyes dropping closed of their own volition.
The rest is a blur. She feels him towel her off, remaining completely boneless the entire time and succumbing to his ministrations with nary a physical protest. He must dry himself as well, but who knows, because next thing she feels is him carrying her to her bed. She snuggles even more securely into his arms and she can swear she registers his lips against her forehead.
When he settles her on top of the covers she doesn’t even bother to do anything except burrow herself underneath them, still naked, hair frizzing and damp.
Her eyes are still closed, but she knows he hasn’t left, can feel him like a physical ache. Hovering but not touching or sitting. She doesn’t know if he’s in the process of dressing or stark naked. Doesn’t know if his intent is to stay or to go.
The need to keep her feelings inside, to not...ruin things, or push him away, is so, so strong. She could ask him to stay and he could go anyway, taking her heart with him. She could stay silent and wait for him to make his own decision, knowing the outcome would likely be the same.
As she wars with herself, feeling time ticking past, feeling him slowly slipping away, an image arises in her mind unbidden.
It’s his eyes.
She thinks of how they’d looked that morning, clouded with worry and not a hint of lasciviousness, even though she knew she’d been about ninety-nine percent see-through as she’d squelched up the drive.
How they’d looked when he’d apologized to her for his harsh words at Haley’s the other day, contrite and a little bit confused.
The way they’d held anger and, more than that, hurt when Bobby had spoken about kissing her.
And then she thinks about the look she’d seen in them as they’d all been overrun by Trappers and, immediately afterwards, as she had faced certain kidnapping by a supernatural he knew he could not defend her from.
He’d been terrified.
Those storm-grey irises, so familiar and already so dear, had been filled with abject terror and fear.
Fear for her.
The images fade as she hears him rustling, collecting his things.
She thinks again about how he’d been scared for her. Scared of losing her.
She’s scared, too.
She’s scared that all of this might be for naught. That she’ll fall deeper and deeper in love and he’ll soon be looking for a way out.
But tonight isn’t for fears, she decides. Tonight, they’re safe. Tonight, they’re together.
Tonight, he's hers.
“Mason?” Her eyes remain closed, but she hears his movements stop. She lets out a shaky breath, releasing the final bit of her trepidation, before speaking with conviction:
“I want you to stay.”
X X X X
👀 tags: @utterlyinevitable , @ethansramsey , @otherworldlypresents , @worldoffandoms , @raleighcarrera , @ejunkiet , @starrystarrytrouble , @terrm9 , @openheartthot , @octobereighth , @campsearchlight , @coldshrugs , @kelseaaa , @homeformyheart , @intothestrawberryjar , @magebastard , @kodysteach , @newfangledsoul , @silma-words , @lalizah , @detective-sweetheart , @lem-20 , @ifshebreathes-shesathot , @takemyopenheart , @v2itbwstct (if you want to be added/no longer want to be tagged, pls let me know!)
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anthemxix · 4 years ago
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whumpay day 11: "don't touch me!" / "don't leave me."
request from @wolfwarden: I’d be really interested to see day eleven with Warriors (and maybe Time/Mask involved?).
Sooo I've been working on a multi-chapter fic about Warriors and Mask/Time for a while now. This prompt fit with a scene I had in mind, so I took the opportunity to write it. I hope that's okay! Still works as a self-contained story, I think. :) Hope you all enjoy~
warning: aftermath of torture
The rusted lock and warped wooden door surrender to the Fierce Deity’s boot with no resistance, and he steps into the dark chamber, tracking bloody footprints across the stone floor. As his pitiless gaze lands on the figure against the back wall, he stiffly halts, deterred by an unfamiliar tugging on his consciousness.
The child is trying to regain control.
Fierce Deity blinks, maybe feeling something akin to surprise. The child needn’t struggle so ardently. With all proximal threats vanquished, the presence of a war god is no longer required.
As soon as the mask is removed, the child reappears in a swirling cloak of magic. Mask is instantly overwhelmed by the room’s rancidity, the stenches of blood, sweat, and grime mixing with mildew and rotting wood. The chamber is poorly-lit, half of its lanterns extinguished, and the remaining dim, flickering flames cast odd shadows across the ghastly sight before him.
With hands and ankles bound, the Captain is on his knees, limp and sagging in the metal collar that chains him to the wall. Sluggish rivulets of red wind down his neck and bare chest, and ribbons of blood and saliva dangle from his mouth. Mask edges closer, grimacing at the scabbed lacerations that crisscross the Captain’s back, at the exposed and irritated nailbeds on his fingers, at his bruised and swollen shoulders.
“Captain
?” Mask chokes out. “Captain? Are
are you awake?”
Tentatively, he reaches out to press his fingers to the Captain’s neck, searching for a pulse, but the Captain jerks away from his touch, grumbling something incoherent.
“Captain, it’s m-me. It’s Mask.”
He reaches out again, smudging the blood on the Captain’s neck as the older hero again flinches away.
“Don’t,” the Captain groans. He sounds agonized and exhausted, and it carves fissures into Mask’s heart.
“Okay,” he mutters to himself, swallowing as he glances around the room. “Keys. There’s gotta be keys for
”
The only furnishings in the room are a shoddy chair and table, both looking liable to splinter under pressure. Reticent, Mask moves toward the table and tries to ignore the stained implements haphazardly tossed there—dagger, pliers, skewers—as he hunts for keys to the shackles. The longer it takes, the more his concern burgeons, as he worries he will have to retrace the path Fierce Deity took. One of the captors might have the keys, and Mask isn’t keen on rooting through the pockets of dead people, especially ones that died by his own hand

Then he spots the key ring, antique and shabby like everything else here, and a surge of excitement urges him forward—but he freezes, staring at the chipped bowl beside them.
It contains broken, bloody fragments of teeth.
Nausea sweeps over him. Mask swipes up the keys and bolts back to the Captain, his hands shaking as he tests each key in each lock and chucks aside both sets of manacles with a resounding clatter. The skin on the Captain’s wrists and ankles is chafed and blistered, glistening with pus, and Mask struggles to block out images of the atrocities the Captain must have endured over the past week.
Last to come unfastened is the collar, and Mask’s relief is overtaken by horror as he discovers the short spikes ringing the inside of it, leaving behind their bloody mirror image on the Captain’s neck, and he tries not to remember the generals and the queen wasting time on bullshit debates, all while the Captain was here praying for a rescue he would have assumed was imminent—
With no restraints to support him, the Captain collapses into Mask’s arms, grunting in pain, and Mask feels lost, feels severely underequipped to handle this situation in any sense.
Arms trembling, the Captain attempts to worm out of Mask’s hold, and the kid reacts swiftly, easing his friend up and into a sitting position, leaning his weight against the wall.
“Captain, it’s okay now,” Mask asserts, false confidence in his tone. “It’s me. Those people are— They’re not here anymore. You’re not gonna get hurt anymore.”
At last, the Captain cracks his eyes open, taking a moment to register the person crouched in front of him. Blood dribbles from his mouth when he mumbles gibberish.
“I-it’s okay. Don’t talk. I’m gonna help you, okay? And then we’re gonna get out of here.”
The Captain licks his chapped lips, reminding Mask to pull out his waterskin. He holds it up and helps the Captain drink, hoping he’s not ingesting too much blood, or any spare bits of teeth.
When he’s finished drinking, he draws in a deep breath, wincing, and rasps, “Real?”
“
Wh-what?”
It takes a moment, but he eventually croaks, “You. Real?”
Mask’s stomach lurches. “Am I
real?” The Captain watches him silently, motionlessly, without expression. “I— Yeah. Yeah, I’m real.”
This avowal earns only a languid blink.
Mask bites his lip. “Hey, y-your shoulders are, uh. Dislocated, I think. Can I check?”
Not expecting an answer, he cups his hands around one of the joints as gently as he can. The Captain twitches, makes an awful, pained whimper as Mask conducts a careful examination.
Given how swollen and tender the shoulder is, Mask hesitates to pop it back in place—but it will be two or more days before they can reach a field hospital. Leaving it untreated seems unwise.
“I’m going to try and fix your shoulder.”
He aligns the bones and successfully pushes the joint together; the Captain grunts, winces. Mask moves to his friend’s other side, but as he settles his hands on his shoulder, the Captain wheezes, “Hurts.”
“I know,” Mask whispers. “I’m sorry.” His mouth twists as he studies the fresh blood still leaking from the Captain’s mouth and some of the shallow punctures on his neck. “I’ll do the other shoulder later. Let me find something for your, um, other injuries, okay?”
Tottering to his feet, Mask frowns as he glances around the gloomy chamber, which clearly has a single purpose. He doubts he’ll find medical supplies in here. “Look, I’m prob’ly gonna have to go somewhere else for bandages and stuff, but I’ll be right back.”
The Captain mutters something muddled again, and Mask offers a small smile that he hopes is somehow reassuring. He’s halfway to the exit, smashed remnants of the door scattered nearby, when the Captain calls out, strained and broken, “Don’t leave me.”
It takes Mask a moment to compose himself before turning towards the older hero. He forces his voice to stay level. “I have to go find things to treat your injuries. But I’ll be back really soon, okay?”
There are others who would leave him, Mask thinks spitefully, which is why he’s here alone now, on a solo rescue mission. There are so many cowards who left the Captain, despite all the sacrifices he’s made for his people, to suffer and die.
Mask recements his resolve. He has to stay strong so he can bring his friend—his brother—safely home.
Without effort this time, his voice is steady and sure. “I’ll be back soon, Captain. I would never leave you.”
114 notes · View notes
softykooky · 4 years ago
Text
sanctuary: six
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summary: leaving your father was easy. leaving them? well...that’s a different kind of strength. 7.9k words.
genre: mafia au, fluff, major angst
pairing: ot7 x reader
warnings:  toxic and dysfunctional familial relationships, mentions of domestic abuse (physical and verbal), swearing, ptsd & trauma, poor mental health, mentions of anxiety & panic attacks, reader goes to therapy, hurt, argument/yelling, the boys are mean...
author’s note: i made you guys wait long enough hehe :) hope you like it, please let me know what you think! and please take notice of the warnings!! they are there for a reason <3
♡ series masterpost ♡
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Your nightmares have gotten better...somewhat. Better in the sense that you don’t let them carry over as much to the next day. Better in the sense that now, there are seven smiling faces that greet you every morning to help the fear dissolve. But they still relent as strong as ever, and make you toss and turn every single night with no pity. 
They’ve gotten more frequent since that meeting with your father. More vivid. Some nights, your nightmares are so bad that you just end up migrating over to Taehyung’s room right next to you and sleeping on the edge of the bed (though you just end up wrapped around each other in the morning). Taehyung never bats an eye. Only opens the side of his thick duvet for you to crawl into and flicks on a lamp because he knows you don’t like the dark after a nightmare. 
Tonight is no different. From the other side of the wall, Taehyung can hear your pained whimpers and mumbles that he can barely make out. Your sheets rustle as your body protests the vivid dream, and he can’t help but to bolt out of his comfortable position to check up on you. You’re still deep in restless sleep when he opens the door and approaches your bed. 
“Y/N, sweetheart, please wake up”, he soothes, caressing the side of your face with one hand. “It’s just a dream.”
The yellowing bruise on your cheek has begun to fade, but it still makes their blood boil every time they catch sight of it. Seeing it right now makes Taehyung want to burn the entire city down and your father along with it. But he is here for you. And Taehyung (and the other six) cannot be anything but soft towards you. 
“Baby, wake up”, he says again, louder this time and it makes you begin to stir out of sleep. You quiet at the contact of his skin but your eyes remain closed and that fitful frown is still on your face. Taehyung doesn’t know that his mere presence brings you comfort. Even when you’re not conscious. 
He takes the authority to nestle under the covers next to you and it’s as if your body just naturally gravitates to his, tucking yourself into his arms like a linking puzzle piece. It’s a selfish reason, and Taehyung doesn’t want to tell anyone, though he has a feeling the guys already know and also share his belief. But he secretly treasures the moments that he gets with you, even if it is for a heartbreaking reason such as nightmares. 
He loves the feeling of your body next to his, and the blankets that get just a little too overheated because the both of you are human furnaces. He loves the gentle thud of your heartbeat on those nights that he holds you closer than normal, when you shake like a leaf through your dreams and he is your tether to the ground. 
And to think, just a while ago he was yelling at you from the other side of the wall, complaining about your loud crying. He wants to go back in time and kick himself. Taehyung’s scared. He’s never really cared for someone like this before. 
You are already safely stowed away in his wide chest when a shadow walks by the room. Taehyung is not surprised when Yoongi creaks the bedroom door open, and not surprised when he sees Jimin in tow. 
“We heard her all the way from upstairs.” Yoongi mutters through a yawn. Jimin just sighs and looks at your sleeping figure with concern and longing. The two men shuffle into the room and as Jimin lifts up the blanket to flank your other side, Yoongi sets himself at the foot of the bed. Not that any of them lacked space, of course. The boys made sure your room was properly equipped with a large California king. 
“It’s been getting worse. I don’t know what to do. I want to help her, but I-” 
Taehyung finds himself getting choked up through his words. They all feel the same way. It’s just that there’s been too many nights where he’s had to hold your broken pieces together while you scream out the ghosts of what has happened to you. If it’s too much to bear for the seven of them, looking from the outside, they can’t imagine how it must feel for you. 
Jimin reaches over, your body nestled between the two of them, and inserts his hand inside Taehyung’s, caressing the thumb back and forth of his skin. 
“I guess all we can do is be here on the nights that are difficult.” Yoongi tilts his head so that he’s looking at you, still drifting off in your dream with a pained expression on your face.
“She’ll get through this. She’s strong.” 
The words that Yoongi whispers into the night air of your bedroom are hopeful. Uncharacteristic for a man like him, but when it comes to you, optimism is the only choice. He’ll allow himself to have hope if it’s for you. 
The four of you fall back into shallow sleep, and time passes by differently when it’s night time and your bones cry for rest. They fall in and out of consciousness for a minute or a couple hours, none of them are sure. All they can focus on is their worry, and you continue to battle through your war of bad dreams. Jimin and Taehyung awaken again when you begin to stir.
You quiver like you’re cold, even when you’re sandwiched in between two warm bodies and they both snuggle in to hold you even closer. But you remain lost to your nightmare and begin to cry tears that drip down and dampen the fabric of Taehyung’s pajama shirt. He knows you’ll apologize profusely for that in the morning, but he couldn’t give less of a damn about his shirt. The feeling of you crying in his arms makes him feel like an utter failure. 
Jimin wipes away the wet trail that the tear left behind on your skin, and wants to cry himself. He doesn’t know how to take your pain away, and wants to scream because sleep is the only time where you can truly rest and the universe deprives you of even that. 
“I’m so sorry, princess. We’re here.” He whispers to your unhearing ears. “We’ll be here.”
When your cries begin to get loud and your muttering becomes pained, the door is softly opened again. This time, it reveals a wide-awake Jungkook and a not so awake Hoseok. Yoongi rolls his eyes but can’t help the fond smile that paints his lips. 
“Jungkook, I told you to stop staying up so late playing video games.” he whisper-scolds, and Jungkook looks sheepish in the lowlight of your bedroom. They’re not surprised by his late night antics by any means, and they’re also not surprised that he abandoned them to check up on you. They all know Jungkook has an unreasonably tender spot for you. 
“Is it her dreams again?”, Hoseok says, pure worry leaking out of every word and staring at your impossibly small self in Taehyung’s hold. There’s no annoyedness in his tone. They’re all just deathly concerned about you. 
Pushing Hoseok inside the room and quietly closing the door behind him, Jungkook situates himself on the loveseat next to the bed, while Hoseok just plops on the plush rug, snatching a throw pillow and tucking it under his head. Jimin sweeps a stray hair away that had fallen into your face. 
Though they’re all trying to close their eyes and sleep, they all know that tonight will be a restless one. If you are not peacefully sleeping, they won’t be able to either. And it seems that that statement applies to all of them, when not even 10 minutes pass until Namjoon and Seokjin make their way to your bedroom, for the same reason as the other five. They wordlessly set out pillows and blankets on the floor beside your bed, nestling into each other for warmth and hoping that you can feel their sincerity even in sleep. And if anyone could see them now: big, bad mafia bosses cuddling together to help you through a night of bad dreams, Bangtan would force them to sign non-disclosure agreements. For you though, they could do this for hundreds of nights. 
When all seven are there, you miraculously slumber peacefully through the night. For the first time since Taehyung crept into your room, you are resting comfortably, quiet and undisturbed. And when you start snoring, Taehyung wants to cry with sheer relief. It was as if your subconscious vied for the presence of all the boys, and now that you have it, they finally allow themselves to drift off as well. 
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The last thing you expected when you woke up this morning was to be dripping in sweat and much too aware of the extra three bodies on the bed with you. Ones you don’t remember going to sleep with last night. You have no recollection, just remembered that you went to sleep alone and now the seven men you’ve grown far too fond of were in the room with you, still snoozing the day away. 
At the foot of your bed, Yoongi stretches his limbs and groans when the sunlight peaks through the curtains into his eyes. He squints away the sleep and smiles dopily at you from under a blanket. Hopefully he doesn’t notice the way you practically melt at just his gaze. 
“Morning, sweetheart.” His throaty morning voice makes you blush two shades of red. 
“Good morning”, you whisper back, not wanting to wake any of them up. They just look so adorable and so completely exhausted. Yoongi bets that all of them would rather forfeit their positions as mafia bosses before telling you it’s because they stayed up all night worrying about you. “Um
”, you murmur, eyes darting around the room, “why are you all in here?” 
Yoongi doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t want to admit how whipped they actually are for you. 
“You were...having bad nightmares. So we wanted to come make sure you were okay.” 
Your eyes widen at Yoongi’s confession, and it reminds you of when Namjoon had done the same for you all those nights ago. It makes your heart ache and bloom at the same time because well..no one’s really cared enough to do something like this for you. Something so simple yet significant. You blink away the mistiness in your eyes, looking around the room once again. 
Three of them are on your bed. The rest are distributed across the floor and Jungkook’s slung uncomfortably on a chair. When you look back at Yoongi, it seems like he already knows all the thoughts running through your head. He already knows the words you want to say, but don’t know how to articulate. 
“We’ll do this every night if we have to, Y/N. For as long as it takes.” 
You leap from your spot under the blankets to wrap Yoongi in a bear hug, burying your face in his shoulder as he buries his in your hair. Though you are overheated from the cuddling and still dazed from sleep, you hold him with as much sincerity as you can muster. You have a feeling he can tell when he holds you back just as warmly. 
The movement makes Jimin and Taehyung wake in unison and as they rub the fatigue from their eyes and land on the sight of you perfectly swathed in Yoongi’s arms, the two of them think it’s a sight they could get used to waking up to. They wonder if you feel the same way. 
“Thank you.” Your words are airy and light in his ear, but Yoongi knows their true weight. He doesn’t say anything. Just plants a soft kiss on the side of your temple and relishes in the scent of your shampoo. 
When he stares past your shoulders, he meets the gaze of Jimin and Taehyung, who are fondly peering at the two of you. Years of being with each other, they’ve learned to communicate certain things without having to say anything. And right now, in the gentle morning light, the realization is beginning to seep in. 
Perhaps the way they care about you is more what they had expected. 
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Living with the seven of them is an adjustment. Getting accustomed to a rhythm and routine in a house that’s the headquarters of an underground powerhouse is easier said than done. You were constantly surrounded with uncertainty and tiptoeing danger but you had never felt unsafe. They were there. And as long as you had them, this house was sanctuary. 
You’re not in any immediate danger. Your father had basically agreed to leave you alone for the foreseeable future and the media had begun to calm down. However, when the tides have settled, the boys are able to see you up close and personal and at all the ugly scares you’ve tried to hide from everyone. They’re able to see what those years of trauma has done to you. 
Whenever someone’s voice booms too loudly across the mansion, yelling orders at subordinates or for any other reason, you start to quiver like a leaf in the wind. When one of them reaches towards you too quickly, for simple things like a wave or to hold your hand, you can’t help but to flinch in anticipation. And you try to hide it, but it’s impossible not to notice. 
They notice everything. 
They always do, when it comes to you. 
With every mannerism and survival instinct that has been involuntarily drilled into your subconscious, they all grow angrier that you’ve been subjected to this pain. Hoseok has had to talk Namjoon down from sending their entire fleet to dismantle the ambassador a couple too many times as they continue to learn how deep the trauma with your father truly runs.
“Y/N
”, Jin hesitantly mutters, fiddling with the food on his plate nervously, “have you ever thought about...going to therapy?” 
You freeze in between a chew and swallow, eyes staring into his with an innocent deer-in-the-headlights expression. You look like you might have a panic attack, and Jin is quick to cut the tension. 
“N-not that we’re forcing you to do it, my love. It’s only a suggestion. It’s just that..maybe it would be good for you. To talk about things and get professional help.” By the way he says it, and the way the other boys are staring at you expectantly, you realize this is something they’ve probably been discussing for a while now. And though it’s heartwarming to know that they care about your health, the idea of going to therapy is deathly daunting. 
“I don’t know, guys
” You twist your hands in your lap, a nervous habit to show your discomfort and they all instantly regret bringing this up at all. You keep your gaze glued downwards. You’re afraid that if you look up, you’ll just see disappointment from the ones that you’ve grown to care about so much. You don’t think you could handle it. 
“Could you look at us, Y/N?” Namjoon’s voice is soothing and there is no single trace of anger or frustration. You slowly tilt your head upwards and meet his eyes. 
“At the end of the day, you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. If you don’t want therapy, then fuck therapy, princess.” 
Namjoon feels gratification when his statement makes you smile, and his heart suspiciously flutters in his chest. 
“But we just want the best for you. We all want you to heal because
”, Namjoon looks around and makes eye contact with the rest of the boys, whom he knows share his same feelings. 
“You’re so important to us.” 
You’ve known this. You know that they care about you even when your mind forces you to doubt that anyone does. But when you hear it like this, so raw and unfiltered with sincerity leaking in every letter, it ignites something that you haven’t felt in a long time. 
Hope. 
You take a glance next to you at Jungkook, whose warm smile makes your lungs feel like molten honey. At Yoongi, who looks back at you with gentle eyes. At Hoseok, who is impossibly soft with you. At them all. It makes you realize something:
You don’t want to go to therapy. It’s scary and you’re not really sure if you want to talk about your father or your family or anything that happened before you met Bangtan. But you have people who care about you now. And if you didn’t want to do this for yourself, then, well... you would do it for them. 
“You don’t have to decide now, but-”
“I’ll do it.” Your voice slices through Taehyung’s words. “I’ll go to therapy.”
“Are you sure, Y/N?”, Hoseok questions. Though he wants you to very badly, he wants you to do it on your own terms. And though your statement is strong, he can see the doubt and uncertainty swimming in your irises. 
“No, not really.” you whisper, and they practically deflate so you are quick to remedy their dejection. 
“But...I know that I want to get better. I know it’s going to be hard, but I want to get better.” You take a deep breath.
“For you. All of you.” 
The room falls silent, and the noise of clinking cutlery against porcelain plates stills. They could only look at you and wonder what country they have saved in their past lifetime to deserve to stumble upon someone like you. Someone so wonderful, and so damaged but so determined to heal. For them. For all of them. 
Jungkook scoops your hand in his, and when you look in his eyes, you are stunned to see that there are unshed tears pooling at his waterline. He looks at you and there’s something in his gaze that you can’t place. Something lovely that makes you feel like all this hurt has been worth it. Jungkook looks at you like there is something worth looking at. 
“We love
” From your other side, Jimin starts speaking, but cuts himself off halfway through and suspiciously glances around the table, meeting the gaze of the six other boys who already know how he wants to finish that sentence. But he doesn’t. 
“W-We love that you want to do that for us”, he coughs, and you return it with a smile. 
Did a part of you want him to say something different? Something deeper? You’re not sure, but the tinge of disappointment in your stomach that follows his words is a sign. 
Could you allow yourself to think that someone could actually genuinely like you past platonicity? Much less seven powerful men? After years of your father telling you the complete opposite, accompanying each scathing word with a bruise, it’s difficult to believe anything different. 
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Therapy was, in a word, completely exhausting. It was tiring dancing around the subject of your father’s abuse, your mother’s neglect, Soyeon’s blatant denial and just the complete package of being the eldest daughter to Ambassador Yoo. When they all had scheduled you for 4 sessions a week, you immediately wanted to decline and opt for one. But their eyes had all looked so hopeful. So excited for you to get professional help, and there was no possible way you could have turned them down. 
Progress is frustratingly slow, though. Some days you just want to quit.
 You plop unceremoniously on the large plush sofa, grabbing the nearest throw pillow and cradling it to your chest. The boys are all in the other room, but are now fully aware of your presence after you slammed the front door and huffed your way to the comforting couch. They can practically feel the rays of stress emanating from you. 
“Y/N? Baby? What’s wrong?” Jimin is the one that first approaches, and the rest stare on with concern leaking out of every pore. And when you reply with a sniffle and hiccup, their hearts all collectively break. 
You feel a dip in the couch and crane your neck to lock your teary eyes with Jimin’s, whose brows are deeply furrowed. You involuntarily launch into his arms, tucking your face into his neck, and inhaling his cologne that always manages to calm you down. You hear them all shuffle around you. 
“It’s just..”, your voice pitifully cracks, “hard.” From your position, they are thankful you cannot see the heartbreak in their expression. It’s so hard for them to see you as anything but happy. 
“I don’t know if I can do it”, you breathe out, feeling a new wave of tears begin to rise. You want to cry even more at the thought that they would be more disappointed in you. .
But there is a warmth from your other side, and you don’t know who it belongs to as it sits next to you. 
“I’m so proud of you, Y/N”, Namjoon whispers oh-so-softly. They are such simple words. Arguably mundane and ordinary. Then why does it knock the wind right out of your chest? Why does it light up your dark tunnel? He’s proud of you. They all are. Even when you are an emotional mess with low mental energy, Namjoon is sitting next to you and telling you that he’s proud. 
You erupt into heart wrenching sobs that won’t seem to stop no matter what you do. It’s the kind of cry that feels like a weight has been lifted off your chest. A cry that comes straight from your core and it sounds painful but truthfully, it’s just relieving. You know that all of them are worried out of their minds. You can feel it in the way Jimin shakily holds you as tight as he can, as if you are delicate chipped porcelain in his arms. 
But this is how you rebuild. With the seven of them by your side. You tell Namjoon to cancel your future therapy sessions the next day. Your psychologist was far short of revolutionary, and when they all asked you why, you admit that it’s not the therapy that’s helping you get better. 
It was just them. Being around them. Talking to them. 
It was Seokjin carding his hands through your hair and rubbing out the tension that always inevitably develops in your temples. It was Namjoon letting you lounge quietly in his office as he goes through paperwork, enjoying your presence as much as you enjoy his. It was Yoongi and Hoseok rambling to you about their adventures on the field (leaving out the gory details, of course. They wanted to keep you innocent and soft). It was Taehyung sneakily replacing your pink peonies as soon as the first petal began to wilt, even after the infinite amount of times you told him it was unnecessary. It was Jungkook and Jimin making excuses to spend the afternoon snuggled up on your bed when you all knew it was simply because they wanted to hold you. 
It was all of them tiptoeing around affection, craftily sneaking in spare kisses and touches on the skin. Holding you a little longer than necessary, a little more tenderly. Intertwining your hands under the dinner table, or when their subordinates weren’t looking. 
You notice the way they blush more often, if you let your touch linger for too long, or if you brush past them and make skin contact. You notice how pet names are easier to spill from their lips; ones like: my love, honey, sweetheart, baby...and you can’t help but to completely indulge in the way it is addressed only for you.  Little ways to subliminally tell you that perhaps you meant more to them than they were ready to admit. And you would be lying if you said your feelings for the seven of them were completely platonic. You would be lying if you said love wasn’t on the brain. 
Perhaps you are the missing piece to a puzzle they hadn’t realized was unfinished. 
“Hyung...I think I love her.” Jungkook is unsurprisingly the first one to voice it. The six others don’t even bat an eye. 
“No, Jungkook. I know you love her”, Hoseok whispers back in the tense silence of their meeting room. You are fast asleep on the floor above, but their hearts call out to you through the short distance. 
“I am too. We all are.” It is a truth they’ve known for a while. Sooner than they’re proud to admit. 
“I guess now all we have to do is figure out how to tell her.” 
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They did want to. Tell you, that is. They wanted to shout it from the rooftops and make it known to the world that you are the angel that has snatched their hearts without even realizing it herself. If it hadn’t been for the disaster that suddenly struck their mafia, the boys would have already bared their souls to you. But timing was never kind. 
Bangtan were not known to be gullible. Not known to be easily fooled. So when Taehyung ran into their meeting room, red-faced and clenching his fists so hard they turned white, the Judas in their gang had come as a scathing surprise. 
One of their inner circle. Someone they had poured their trust and faith into, who had learned the system of their syndicate, had been a mole the entire time. Of course, they had disposed of him quickly, but the damage had already been done to their business. Allies and affiliates were backing away from collaboration in fear that Bangtan had been breached by law enforcement. Shipments were going missing more frequently, and even the lower hierarchies of their gang were beginning to become doubtful. To say the least, the seven of them were under debilitating stress and frustration. 
Nowadays, things were different than before. You were mostly kept in the dark about their business but you knew that something had happened. Something to make them so wound up, and it worried you to no end. It’s impossible not to notice how tense the house had become. 
Taehyung no longer stops by your room late at night, and in the early hours of the morning, you can still hear the frustrated clacking of his keyboard from next door. Not that you needed him to help you through your nightmares, but...you’ve gotten used to his comforting presence next to you.
Jungkook doesn’t seek you out for random conversations, and Namjoon just completely disappears in his office most days, not sparing you a single glance when he does manage to show his face outside. He locks the door now. You take it as a strong message that you are no longer welcome, and it upsets you, but you understand they are going through a rough patch. Your job is to be the least bothersome person you could possibly be. 
But Yoongi just flat out ignores you now, and you know Hoseok pretends to care about whatever topic of conversation you bring up. You can see right through his empty affirmations and nods. The kitchen is completely void of Jin, and there are no more clanging pots and pans when you try to cook for yourself. And Jimin is just like the rest of them: absent and indifferent to your presence. 
You know that it’s not you. The problem on their plate is bigger than you, but it still feels like you are a walking, breathing burden. You know that it’s not you, but your mind tells you they don’t want you here anymore. They’re sick of you. 
Two weeks pass by, and they’re still so cold even after all your attempts at trying to be calming comfort in their chaotic lives.  They still talk to you, but it’s strictly refrained to small talk that feels obligatory and like they have better things to do than spend time with you. They’re so busy that you often find yourself hanging out alone in the garden or making light conversation with the maids, or gang rookies that hang around the mansion. 
And it hurts to admit, but they don’t notice when you begin to regress to your old behavior. They don’t notice when you begin to flinch at anything that moves too quickly again, or the way you begin spacing out more than usual when you delve too far into your thoughts. They don’t notice when your nightmares start worsening again, too busy in their pooling stress to hear you toss and turn late at night and emerge from your bedroom with red, sunken eyes in the morning. You are relapsing into the learned behavior from your father, and you are terrified to admit it to yourself. But after a particularly bad day of anxiety and panic attacks, you put your fear aside to talk to the boys again about going back to therapy. It was virtually pointless, but you won’t let the seven of them take the brunt of your mental health when they had so much going on already. 
You timidly make your way down to the lower level of the mansion, slow footsteps leading you to their meeting room, where they’re all engrossed in their work and you can feel the tension choking the air. None of them notice your presence at first, until you cough to get their attention. They all snap their heads up and stare.
“Hey, could I um..talk to you guys for a couple minutes?”
 You feel like a specimen under a microscope. You used to be so comfortable talking to them. Now it just feels unnatural. 
“Can it wait, Y/N? We’ve just lost another shipment, and it’s a big one”, Yoongi grumbles from his seat, rifling through a tall stack of papers with a permanent crease in his brows. 
“Okay, then when can we-” 
“We’re just really busy right now.” 
Jungkook doesn’t mean for his voice to be so loud. He probably didn’t even pay attention to it, but it makes you flinch and stumble backwards. Makes you melt more into the girl you used to be. The one who stayed quiet out of survival, diminishing under the authority of a loud voice with cruel intentions. You know he doesn’t mean to do it. But you can’t help but see the face of your father again, and those long-healed scars seem to re-flicker with pain. 
Still, these were your boys. So you push on. 
A deep breath. “I was just thinking that maybe I could go back to-”
“Y/N, please. We don’t even have enough time to breathe. I’m sure whatever you need can be addressed later.”
The room falls into silence. Their message is loud and clear. And though it's painful to hear, it’s your own fault for exaggerating your place in their lives. He was right, it could be addressed later...you were just being a bother. 
“Right. Sorry.” Your halfhearted mutter falls deaf on their ears. They haven’t spared you a single ounce of attention, eyes still glued onto their work. You swallow down the heavy feeling in your throat and force the tears away. Why does your chest feel like someone’s twisted up your heart? 
You’re always so sensitive, Y/N. Such a crybaby. You can’t even take care of yourself. 
The tread upstairs back to your bedroom feels like an arduous journey as you try to hold yourself together and pretend like their actions hadn’t hurt you. But they weren’t responsible for your trauma. Your problems. You couldn’t blame them for not making it a priority, when their empire was threatened. 
They don’t hear you that night when you hold a goose-feather pillow to your chest and sob out the fear of being unwanted again. They don’t show up at your bedroom door when you wake yourself up from crying through a nightmare. 
You’ll figure it out yourself, with or without a therapist and with or without depending on them. From now on, you decide to make yourself invisible, focusing all your energy on dragging yourself out of the dark place you’re stuck in once again. So if you have to suffer in silence for their sake, so that they don’t have another insignificant loose end to worry about, you’ll do it. It’s the least you can do.
But you’d come to learn that those words are easier said than done. 
“Miss Y/N?” There is a light knock at your door, and the soft voice of the maid barely penetrates through the thick wood. You remember her name was Jun. The noise goes through in one ear and out of the other, and you can’t even find it in yourself to reply. 
“You haven’t left your room in two days. I was just...making sure you’re okay.”
Her statement shocks you out of your dazed stupor, and you hadn’t even realized the amount of time you spent staring into space, limp on your mattress.
 It was getting harder. To just function and drag yourself out of your bedroom so you didn’t, and two days unknowingly passed. But to you, they only felt like hours. Time passes by differently when you’re blindly navigating through trauma. 
It’s hard to sit up and slowly tread to the door, and your bones ache after not moving for so long. When you open it, guilt pools in your stomach to see her worried expression. Though you can guess why she looks so concerned. You’re a complete disaster. 
“Oh, honey
”, she sighs, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear, “here. Let’s get you into some fresh clothes.” 
You mindlessly let her help you out of your days old T-shirt and sweats, mindlessly let her guide you into the shower and turn on the water, mindlessly let her rub shampoo into your scalp. You don’t even have the energy to open your mouth and tell her the water’s too cold. You’re still stuck inside your own thoughts, and you can only hear your father’s voice in your ear as he repeatedly affirms how worthless you are. Useless Y/N, that’s what he would say. Good-for-nothing Y/N. 
You’ve somehow gotten it into your head that the reason why they’ve been so absent with you is because they don’t know to tell you they want you to leave. After all, staying in the Bangtan mansion was only supposed to be a temporary solution. Maybe this is how they kick you out. 
When Jun wraps you in a fluffy towel and drags you out from underneath the showerhead, you catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror. Your cheeks are sunken, and the dark circles under your eyes look almost painful. And somewhere along with that reflection is the image of your father. His angry face, glaring at you and screaming why you let yourself get like this. 
“Jun, have they
are they still busy?” Her eyes widen at the first words she’s heard from you, but there is sad sympathy on her face in a split second and you’ve already gotten your answer before she can say anything. 
“Yes, dear. The bosses are very occupied. But they can always make time for you, hm? They care about you a lot, you know.” Jun’s statement makes you frown, but you don’t retort. Maybe you used to think that they cared, but now it just felt like their kindness was out of obligation. They felt guilty for sending you back to your father. Or perhaps they used to care for you. But now...you weren’t so sure. 
When she manages to get you downstairs, in the kitchen, and set you in front of a bowl of soup, the boys are nowhere to be found. Jun tells you they’re out doing business and you tell yourself you’re not hurt that they hadn’t even noticed your absence for the past two days. 
They’re just roped up in other things, that’s all. 
After your shower and meal, Jun insisted that you take a stroll around the garden, and specifically instructed you to check out the new peony bush she had just planted. She mentioned it was per request of the seven bosses, but you had a hard time believing any of them would be concerned with something like that during this time. They hadn’t even made the time to talk to you. 
You hadn’t realized how much you needed to be outside and breathe in fresh air until you stepped out into the grassy space. Even though the solitude was getting to be too much, you were experiencing a newfound peace that you wanted to keep for as long as possible. Jun was right, and the peony bush was absolutely gorgeous. You actually feel like an alive and functioning human being. It was surprising that you were so dependent on the boys that without them, falling apart was inevitable. But now you were coherent and not so drowned in your toxic mentality (you’ll have to thank Jun profusely later), and you feel determined to talk to them again.  About going back to therapy, no matter how useless it felt back then, and try to get on your own two feet. Now that you had seen and felt how serious it was, you wouldn’t be so complicit if they tried to silence you. 
From over the tall hedges, the sounds of wheels rolling on gravel could be heard before the tense slams of car doors. The sound of Jungkook and Namjoon’s low muttering falls on your ears and though it sparks excitement inside you, you’re also fearful of what they might say. You don’t think you can handle another swift rejection like last time. Their indecipherable conversation ceases when you hear the entrance doors close, and seal them inside while you are still out here in your own world. 
The white peony that’s cupped in your hand feels so fragile and soft that you don’t want to touch it anymore. It makes you think of them. Of how delicate it feels recently and how you’re so deathly afraid of them changing their minds one day and kicking you out with nowhere to go. Maybe you’ll just wander around again. There’s a distant cousin in the states also, but you’d have to figure out how to get out of the country without alerting your father. You shake yourself out of your intrusive thoughts. 
No way your boys would do that to you.
Right?
The way back from the garden to the house is brief, but your anxiety about talking to them lengthens the trips and the feet feel like miles. You are wrapped up in your thoughts the entire way, and when you make your way into the house, you almost don’t notice the angry voices that are bouncing off the walls. It sounds like Taehyung is yelling, and the sound curdles your stomach. You hate it when people yell. It just reminds you of your father. 
You follow the commotion to the kitchen, extra cautious and apprehensive. The sheer volume of their reprimanding seems to shake the house and your hands begin to quiver as you get closer. Peeking out from behind a wall, their backs are to you but you can see the face of a sheepish boy who hangs his head, gaze glued to the floor as the seven men continue to berate him. You recognize him as one of the newer members that was initiated a couple weeks ago; you’ve talked to him a couple times and he was never anything but courteous. He looks like he’s about to cry and it makes your heart ache.
Your attention pans back to the seven out of shock. The only time you’ve seen them this angry was at the meeting with your father, so you can only imagine what that young boy has done to land himself in this position. 
“I told you a fucking million times too many, Lee. I told you to check in with the shipments as soon as they arrived in Myeongdong. So imagine my fucking surprise when I get a call notifying me that they’re all missing. Stolen.” Namjoon’s voice cuts straight through the room. His fists are clenched and even from the back, you can tell the expression on his face is one of scalding fury. 
A shipment? They’re this infuriated over a shipment?
“I-I’m sorry, Boss. Please, I...please forgive me. I know it’s no excuse but I’m new here, a-and I swear this will not happen again.” He shrinks into himself and you quietly whimper in sympathy. 
Yoongi humorlessly chuckles. “You swear? The only valuable thing you have to swear on is your life. And even that’s not worth much.” 
It’s moments like these that you forget how cruel and ruthless they can be. They’ve always been so soft and gentle with you before, you forget they are mafia bosses overseeing an entire empire. That they’ve gotten here for a reason. You forget that people fear them. But you remember now. 
Lee stays silent and still refuses to look up, but you can see the way his knees shake uncontrollably. He is one person standing up against 7 huffing bulls, so angry they can’t see straight so if you - tiny and meek you - has to be the one to come to his defense, so be it. 
Because you’ve been that person going head to head with a bull. You see yourself, terrified and regretful, in Lee. And you’ll be damned if you have to watch and not do anything about it. Your heart beats thunderously in your chest but you push past the fear. 
Their heads all snap up in surprise when you march into the kitchen and stand in between them and the boy, who looks even more painfully young up close and sporting that deer-in-the-headlights expression. You lock gazes with each of them, swallowing your nerves before speaking. 
“Is it really that big of a deal to yell at him like this? Look at him”, you gesture to the cowering person behind you, “don’t you think he’s had enough?” Your voice is still soft, and such a contrast to their angry ones. But it seems like your gentle tone just makes them even angrier, and snaps them out of their initial shock.  
“A big deal? He cost us thousands in shipments! I’d say that’s a pretty big fucking deal to me, Y/N.” Jungkook bursts out, exasperatedly running his hands through his hair and looking at you with an angry frown. You flinch at his volume. The stress on their shoulders is more apparent than ever.  
“Why are you defending him, Y/N? You don’t even know who he is”, Jimin spits, growing even more irritated. There’s a hint of jealousy in his words and it’s so subtle that you don’t even notice it. 
“I know that he doesn’t deserve to be yelled at like this for a little mistake. One that I’m sure he is regretful of making.” It suddenly feels daunting when you realize that you’re going up against all of them, and now, they’re all staring at you with the same anger that was meant for the one that messed up their shipments. 
“And what if that mistake is a sign that he’s traitorous? Hell, I wouldn’t be surprised. Seems like that’s a trend going around here.” From behind you, Lee is quick to open his mouth and begin to protest, but you interrupt and speak strongly. It seems this disciplining session has morphed into a full blown argument between you and them. 
“It was one person. I get that it’s shitty, and I’m sorry it happened. I understand that you have to be on watch now and extra cautious. I do.” You sigh, a pleading look in your eyes but they remain stone cold.
“But one person did that. Are you going to treat everyone like they betrayed you? Are you going to treat me like I betrayed you?”
“I don’t know Y/N, you were so quick to defend him. Maybe you did. I wouldn't put it past you.” 
Taehyung’s words run through you like a hot knife to butter. You almost stagger back at the shock. You’re no stranger to hurtful words but when they are coming out of his mouth, it hurts tenfold. How could they think you would betray them? 
They promised to trust you, didn’t they? They promise they’d believe you after they failed to the first time. Now it just feels like you’re that spoiled little rich girl again in their eyes, standing in front of them and pleading your innocence. 
“W-what? No, I-”
“You know nothing about our world, Y/N. You can’t possibly understand.” Jin’s silver voice is colder than you’re ever heard it. 
“I know that, but could you just please-”
“As a matter of fact, this is a mafia business matter”, Yoongi shoots, poisoned words designed to hurt. 
“I’m not sure why you’re here at all, Y/N. Just leave.” 
Gone is the strong persona that you had put up to protect this young boy. Gone is the confident woman who thought she had the will to stand up for herself, much less someone else. You can only keep your eyes glued to Yoongi, and hope that he doesn’t see your heart crumbling right in front of him. How had he aimed mindlessly at your insecurities, and shot a bullseye into the biggest one?
Maybe you did, Y/N. I wouldn’t put it past you.
Blame it on the blurriness through your tears or the sheer shock running through your veins, but you can’t find one smidgen of regret or guilt in his expression. On any of their faces. Just anger and annoyance, aimed directly at you. And suddenly the spacious mansion feels all too suffocating. 
You know nothing about our world Y/N.
The words you plan to say die on the tip of your tongue, as quickly as they came. There is nothing that comes out and in the aching silence of it all, the way you maintain eye contact with each of them speaks volumes. Yet they are blind to the way you are ripping at the seams, and oblivious to the turmoil they are putting you through. The coldness of their gaze and words shoot through your core, like a blade of ice piercing through your heart. 
I’m not sure why you’re here at all. 
Just leave. 
In short, right at this moment, they look like strangers. Strangers who know what scares you, what foods you don’t like, your favorite flowers, your favorite color. Strangers who have seen your heart, welcomed it, and who were now crushing it in front of you. 
What a fool you were to think that they could reciprocate your feelings. 
What a fool you were to think that they wanted you as much as you wanted them. 
Your pained chuckle is a discordant sound in the tense quiet. Their stares burn on your skin and though you are trying so hard to now show how utterly broken you feel, you wonder if they even notice. when you look back into the eyes of the boy directly in front of you, he is still so angry and red you find it hard to believe anything but your alleged cold, hard truth:
The seven boys you have fallen in love with utterly despise you. Perhaps they always have. 
“Yeah”, you whisper brokenly. “Maybe I will.” 
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potentialproblem01 · 4 years ago
Text
More Padre!Domingo coming right up aka Daddy Sunday pt. 2
As per usual, all my immense love to @creme-bruhlee and my Daniel server for being a sounding board and to @gwaciechang cheering me on to the finish of this one. 
Contained herein is 1.7k of somnophilia, unprotected sex, ambiguously negotiated kink, and further disrespect to Spanish Catholicism. If you’d prefer ao3 and Part One. Stands alone. 
Rahab
Exodus 34, Joshua 6
You and Padre have been seeing each other for a while now, you’ve got a key to his place in the attic above the church. It’s a shame he’s an early riser since waking to the midmorning light above the city is one of the warmest things you’ve ever felt. 
Padre always gets up early for work and you always come in late from classes and there’s always so little time for the both of you. What little time you get to yourselves is used for fucking and sleeping, not that you really complain about it, it’s just how things are. 
It’s verging on summer, sticky heat tagging along to the end of the wet season. You’d gone out the night before and when you came in, he’d already been asleep. You were quiet, careful not to disturb his night before Mass beauty sleep. You had peeled off your boots by the door, yanked your socks and panties off and dived into bed still half clothed. He’d slung an arm around you, pulling you close, nuzzling into your sweat lank hair. The last uppers were worming their way through your system in a heady buzz as you snuggled into him like a second skin before conking out.
You woke when he got up for work the next morning, watching him dress lazily from the bed. Your head was cottony but you forced yourself up to hydrate and pull the rest of your clothes off. He watched you unzip your skirt, giving you a swat to the ass as you pulled it down. You gave him a filthy kiss before he headed out the door. 
You left your clothes on the floor and went to shower, scrubbing the grime from the club off. You towel off preliminarily, the heat of the day will dry you the rest of the way as you collapse back on top of the bed sheets to sleep the rest of the morning away.
---
The late spring sun rises through the upper windows, casting the afternoon in stained glass tinted light, not enough to wake you but enough that when Daniel comes in, your skin is painted in the most delicious colors. 
He undressed quietly, hanging his shirt up and dropping his slacks in the laundry basket before quietly coming up to where you’re sprawled face down on the bed, ankle twisted in the white sheets. He sits gently on the edge of the bed, sliding a hand from your ankle to knee, skin soft in sleep, clean of glitter and sweat. He traces the lax tendons on the back of your knee before travelling up, lingering on the inside of your thigh but you don’t wake. 
He watches you for a few minutes, tracing sigils into your thigh before nudging them apart, dipping into the crease of your thigh, rubbing smoothly. He keeps watch over your face, looking for signs of consciousness. All you do is readjust your head against the pillows. 
His finger gets more adventurous, skimming over your folds to tease at the other side, picking up a hint of damp. He smirks to himself before leaning over you, whispering into your ear “Good dreams, Princess?”
He shifts himself between your legs, careful not to disturb you before stroking himself as he dances fingers across your entrance before slowly inserting one, waiting for a reaction. When none comes he grows bolder, adding a second and gently pumping them, drawing out your wetness. 
You’re wet enough for him to not have to worry about lube but he goes for some anyway, wanting you to wake to his cock being fully seated in you and not a second before. He slicks himself generously before crawling up the bed with the grace of a polar bear on thin ice. He’s vigilant in positioning himself over your thighs to get the easy angle. He approaches haltingly, adjusting himself with one hand around the base of his cock to guide and the other holding your lips apart. 
He checks that you’re still sound asleep before he breaches you, hands falling to the sheets by your shoulders to avoid further stimuli that could wake you. It takes immeasurable self control on his part not to thrust in all at once. It’s smooth and a self-inflicted torture so severe it cancels out the sin of committing it. 
He comes to be fully sheathed in you. He lowers himself to his elbows, rosary falling against your back in a warm cascade of beads, his hot breath fanning over you. You twitch in your sleep but don’t wake. He breathes through another quirk of his lips, you were always such a sound sleeper, secure enough in your position with God to never worry if you’ll wake again. 
He straightens his back, moving to lay more fully over your back, dragging his rosary through your hair, shifting on his elbows to box in your head, pulling back a hand to loop his overly large heirloom rosary around your throat too. 
He pulls out and thrusts all the way back in with all the violence of a man trying to earn his place with a personal God. This is what wakes you with a disoriented moan, dreams blurring with reality. You go to push yourself up only to be restrained by the sharp scent of myrrh and smoke all around you, warm skin pressing you down, beard hair scratching at the side of your face. 
“Do you know what I preached about today, mi cielito?” A thrust, “Of course you don’t. Are you familiar with Rahab?”
You shake your head as he thrusts into you at a leisurely pace, soft and sleepy moans spilling from deep in your chest compressed between the pure sheets and his ribcage.
“The righteous harlot.” 
You roll your eyes and try to wiggle some space to stretch your staticky limbs but are restricted by his beads chaining you to him. He feels you pull on them and shifts his weight again, freeing a hand to put his first bead and cross in your hand. 
“Pray for me, Princess. Contemplate our sins for me.”
You make a half hearted sign of the cross, earning you a thrust and a kiss to the side of your neck. You begin to recite the Apostles Creed, each line earning you half a thrust. “Was crucified, died, and was buried- Fuck!” He pulled all the way out and proceeded to thrust back in with a rough surety, grinding down into you, digging his teeth into your shoulder. 
“I don’t think that’s part of it. Start over.”
You let out a sob as you start the Creed over, trying to hurry through as he resumes his half thrusts. You close with a slightly hysterical ‘amen,’ the last of the sleep warmth leaving you for the heat of passion. The blood flow is no longer sluggish but concentrated in your core, flaring out in need. You make it through the Our Father before another sob makes you deviate from the script. 
Daniel tuts in your ear, “Do you need to start over?”
“No, please. I’ll be good.”
“Are you sure? You keep messing up. Do you need a corrective hand, Princess?”
“No, no. I can do it.”
“Prove it.”
You struggle through the Hail Marys’ and pull in a shaking breath, really hoping he took Charity to heart. He hasn’t let up on his thrusts, he intentionally holds you in the limbo of regularity and almost but not enough. You know better than to beg, he’s given you an instruction and you have to thread the beads through your hand and pray. 
He nuzzles into your ear, telling you how good you’re being for him. You make it through the first Glory Be and go to announce the first Mystery before you can’t take it anymore and struggle under him, trying to force yourself back on his cock. He pulls out, worming a hand under you to paw at your breast, pull at your nipple, “Bad girl. You still have an Our Father.” He presses you up into his chest, kneading at your breast, “Be a good girl for me.”
You struggle, feeling empty without is cock but you make it, begging to be delivered from evil. When you finish, he mutters an ‘amen’ against your throat as he stuffs his cock back in you, pulling the rosary from his neck to leave on you as he sets his weight against your lower back, pinning you down. He widens his stance and drives into you without delay. 
The power in his momentum shakes the bed, causing the headboard to knock against the wall, a rhythmic tempo to accompany you being crushed into the mattress. 
The sheets stick to your clean sweat as you edge closer, breathing hard and inadequately through your pillow. You whimper with the strength he’s using, bending your spine, wetly slamming into you. 
Your orgasm sneaks up on you, shuddering through you in one violent motion before you go limp under him; underwhelming and way too much.
He nudges your legs closed and you let him, creating a tighter channel for him to fuck into. He rebalances, one hand planted on your back, the other climbing up into your hair, yanking it back on the knife’s edge of pain. 
His nails bite into your skin and the grip on your hair tightens before he lets out a long and low growl as he comes. He lets go of your hair but not before, “You’re my blessed whore aren’t you?”
“God, yes.” For that blasphemy he slaps the side of your face he can reach, the angle is awkward but the point is made, you wiggle your hips, clench around his spent cock, “But I’m still in your bed.”
He huffs out a derisive laugh, pulls out, “That you are.” 
The mess of come and lube starts to cool between your legs, sweat growing tacky. You pull the beads through your fingers again, suck the bottom of the cross into your mouth and give him a half lidded stare before rolling over into a dry spot. 
He leans down and licks a stripe up your stomach before latching onto a nipple before you swat at his head and he lets up, coming up to kiss you. He nips at your lips but you deny him, pushing his face away. 
He doesn’t listen, grabbing a tissue from the bedside table to wipe himself off with before laying down next to you, pulling you into an embrace and throwing an arm over his eyes, ready to fall asleep on a Sunday afternoon with you. 
Part 3
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