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linoxpudding · 9 hours ago

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Inches In Between Us

summary: moment where you and him are caught too close for comfort… or maybe just close enough, tension simmers

pairing: skz x gn!reader

genre: slight angst, fluff, forced proximity trope

a/n: this one’s been sitting in my drafts forever (based on this request) I took my time crafting each moment to really bring the tension and emotion to life! comment below and let me know which scene had your heart doing somersaults ♡

Masterlist

~°~

Bang Chan (established relationship)

You flew across two countries just to see him.

You told yourself it was worth it—the late-night packing, the long airport waits, the time off you had to beg your manager for. You missed him. You missed you and him, and those Facetimes squeezed between rehearsals weren’t enough.

But now, sitting stiffly on the plush leather seat of the tour bus, knees locked together and jaw tight with frustration, you weren’t sure why you bothered.

You had claimed the wide back row—meant to seat four or five—but you sat all the way in the corner, facing the window, hoping to be left alone.

Chan’s voice had barely left your ears since the fight earlier—sharp words you both didn’t mean, silence that hurt more than shouting. He’d said he needed space.

So, you decided to give it to him.

Now that the schedule was over, the members and staff had scattered across the bus, most of them slouched in the two-seaters lining either side of the aisle. Some had earbuds in, some quietly scrolled their phones, but no one said a word about the tension radiating from the very back.

Chan climbed in last.

For a second, you thought—hoped—he’d take one of the many empty two-seaters. Maybe even sit with Minho or Changbin, who were already half-asleep a few rows ahead.

But no. He walked straight to the back and slid into the long seat. Not just the seat—but right next to you. Right up against you.

You blinked at him. “Seriously?”

In response, he just leaned back with a soft exhale, gaze forward.

Annoyed, you got up and moved to a two-seater near the middle of the bus. You didn’t look at him.

Seconds later, the seat dipped beside you again.

You didn’t even have to look to know it was him. The quiet, stubborn presence. That familiar scent. The way your thigh brushed against his because the seat was narrow and neither of you budged.

You huffed, loud enough for only him to hear, but said nothing. You didn’t want to draw attention. Not to the fight. Not to how your heart still sped up when he was near—even now.

His thigh pressed against yours, his shoulder brushing yours. There wasn’t enough room not to touch unless you climbed out the window. You didn’t move. Neither did he.

You refused to look at him, eyes glued to the streetlights racing by outside. Still, you felt him— his quiet sigh, his fidgeting fingers. The way he turned his body toward you, even if he didn’t say a word.

"You’re really not gonna say anything?" he finally whispered, voice low enough that no one in front could hear.

You shrugged.

"You were the one who said you needed space," you murmured bitterly, still not looking.

He was silent for a long second, then said, "Yeah. I was wrong."

"You can’t just say stuff like that and expect it to go away, Chan."

"I know," he said. "That’s why I’m here. In your space. Because I don’t want it. I want you."

“You told me to fly out. You wanted me here. And then you barely looked at me all day.”

Chan’s jaw tensed. “I didn’t mean to—”

“You think that makes it better?” Your voice cracked. “I cleared my schedule, booked time off, flew across countries just to watch you pull away from me every second. I know what dating an idol means, Chan, but this—this felt different.”

He looked like he’d been punched. “I know. I messed up.”

He reached for your hand, tentative. You let him, but didn’t squeeze back yet.

“I thought if I focused on the tour stuff first, I could make time for you later. But I just pushed you away, I’m sorry, baby.”

You turned to the window again, biting your lip.

“I was just excited to see you,” you whispered. “And you made me feel like an afterthought.”

Chan exhaled shakily. “You’re not. You’re the only part of this I don’t want to mess up.”

His voice was rough, edged with guilt.

“For the rest of today, I’m yours,” he said, gently pulling your intertwined hands to his chest. “No staff. No members. Just us. And I swear, I won’t let you feel like this again. Let me fix it.”

You hesitated. But you looked at him and there it was again: that open, vulnerable gaze only you ever got. He was looking at you— eyes glassy, sincere, scared.

So you nodded.

He leaned in, his voice even quieter.

"You can keep being mad at me. I’ll sit here the whole ride, touching your knee like a loser, until you’re ready to forgive me. I just… I don’t want this silence anymore."

Your anger crumbled a little at the edges. He was ridiculous. Dramatic. Stubborn. And yours.

You huffed, barely hiding the smile tugging at your lips. "You’re squishing me."

"Good," he said, bumping your shoulder gently. "I missed you."

You let your head drop onto his shoulder, just for a second. “You’re lucky we’re in public.”

He smirked. “Trust me. I know.”

Lee Know (frenemies)

It was supposed to be a relaxing weekend. A break from the city, from work, from stress.

A weekend camping trip with all your friends consisting of a bonfire, setting up tents, good food, and no cell service— sure, it sounded cute on paper. Until you found out Lee Minho was coming too.

Minho. The eye-roll king. Your arch nemesis in every group chat and game night. The one who always had something smug to say, who knew exactly how to push your buttons and enjoyed doing it.

So, here you were, standing in the middle of a forest clearing with an uneven patch of dirt under your shoes, mosquitoes humming in your ears, and Minho—a.k.a. your personal plague—stretching beside you like he owned the woods.

You didn’t even want to make eye contact.

“Alright!” Chan clapped his hands. “Everyone gets paired up in tents—but, to make things fun, we’re drawing sticks.”

Groans went up immediately, mostly from you and Jeongin.

“What is this? Summer camp?” you muttered.

“Exactly,” Felix grinned, holding out the small bundle of color-coded sticks. “Pick your destiny!”

One by one, your friends picked sticks, with excitement and curiosity filling the air.

You pulled yours last. It was red.

And then your heart sank.

“Red too,” Minho called casually, holding his up and locking eyes with you.

You blinked. “No. Nope. Pick again.”

He smirked. “Aw, are you scared of sharing a tent with me?”

“More like scared for my sanity.”

You whipped around to Han. “Please, just switch with me. I’ll give you my hoodie—the one you love. Or that extra brownie from earlier!”

Jisung burst out laughing, already dragging his guitar to a fancy-looking tent. “Can’t switch! I got the one with the LED light strip and padded floor. I’m not giving THAT up for your romantic tension!”

“There is no tension,” you barked. “Only rage!”

Minho was already walking toward your sad, lopsided tent, humming like he was enjoying every second of your meltdown. You shot pleading eyes at Chan, at Hyunjin, at anyone—but they were all pretending to be busy adjusting gear or unrolling mats.

Betrayal. Pure betrayal.

Sighing dramatically, you picked up your bag and trudged after Minho, muttering curses under your breath. Grumbling and defeated, you stomped into the tent, tossing your bag to the far corner. The inside was cozier than you expected, but that didn’t mean you were happy about it.

“Okay but seriously,” you said, peering into the tent, “why is there only one camping mattress?”

Minho, behind you, tsked. “You lost. I shouldn’t have to suffer.”

“You think I didn’t suffer the moment I saw your face and ‘red stick’ in the same moment?”

He didn’t answer, just ducked inside and threw his sleeping bag onto the narrow mattress—if you could even call it that. It was barely wider than your body, lumpy, and definitely not meant for two.

“Oh, hell no,” you snapped, following him in. “That’s not just yours.”

Minho raised an eyebrow as he flopped down and smirked. “You wanna sleep on the floor then?”

“No. You sleep on the floor.”

“I got here first.”

You both stared at each other for a moment. The unspoken war was real.

“Fine. I’m not giving it up,” you stubbornly said and climbed in.

There was maybe—maybe—three inches of space between your bodies. Arms touching. Legs bumping. Shoulders pressed awkwardly side-by-side.

This was not ideal.

“Stop moving,” you hissed as he adjusted.

“You’re poking me with your elbow!”

“You’re hogging the blanket!”

“Your knee is in my spine!”

A moment passed.

Silence.

Then, somehow—inevitably—you both stilled. The night was quiet outside the tent, filled only with the distant crackling fire and soft murmurs from the others. Inside, the air was warm. Heavy.

You could feel the rise and fall of his chest. Every little breath.

His eyes met yours. And you didn’t look away.

The bickering faded. The closeness became unbearable in a different way. His face was inches from yours, eyes flickering from your mouth to your gaze and back again.

Your heart pounded. Loud. Messy. Dangerous.

“Don’t snore,” you broke the silence.

“I don’t snore,” Minho piped up, rolling his eyes. “But I do talk in my sleep. Usually insults.”

“You’re really annoying,” you whispered.

“So are you,” he replied quietly.

But he didn’t move away. And neither did you. His hand brushed yours under the blanket. Barely touching. But enough to make your breath hitch.

You both leaned in—slow, tentative, until your noses almost touched—

“Yah! Who stole the marshmallows?!”

Han’s voice rang outside the tent and you both jerked away like you’d been electrocuted.

Minho cleared his throat, turning stiffly onto his side. “Sleep. Now.”

You swallowed hard, heart racing, facing the opposite direction.

But long after the outside voices faded, you stayed awake, replaying that moment—one breath away from disaster.

*************************************

The sun had barely risen over the quiet campsite, dew still clinging to the grass and birds chirping in the distance. Most tents were still zipped up, the fire pit long gone cold.

Han yawned dramatically as he and Hyunjin wandered toward your tent, both of them tasked with rounding people up for breakfast duty. "Let’s just yell and run," Han muttered. "Classic wake-up strategy."

Hyunjin shushed him. “No, I want to see their faces. Especially those two.”

Han smirked. “Ohhh right. Mortal enemies sharing a tent. Bet they killed each other in their sleep.”

They unzipped the tent slowly, careful not to wake any potential dragons.

But what they did see stopped them in their tracks.

Inside, the two of you were a complete mess of limbs—your arm flopped across Minho’s chest, his hand loosely resting on your waist, legs tangled beneath the thin blanket. One of his knees was even wedged between your thighs, and your face was tucked into the crook of his neck.

Utterly relaxed. Peaceful. Intimate.

Hyunjin let out a quiet gasp. “Oh my God.”

Han clapped a hand over his mouth, eyes wide. “Dude. What… the hell?”

Hyunjin grinned. “So the tension finally melted.”

Han whispered, “Yeah. Into a puddle of cuddles and potential kisses? Do you think they kissed?”

Hyunjin smirked, “It might’ve happened.”

They slipped away without waking either of you—though Han did snap a silent photo on his phone, “just for documentation.”

However, the quiet rustling outside was just enough to stir you.

You blinked, stretching a little—only to freeze the second you realized something was very wrong.

Your cheek wasn’t against your pillow.

It was on someone's chest.

Warm. Steady. Rising and falling slowly beneath you.

You shifted just a little—and then you noticed it. Minho’s arm around your waist. One of your legs slung over his. His hand resting lightly on your back.

You nearly stopped breathing.

And just then, he stirred too—brow furrowing, eyes fluttering open. He blinked once. Twice. Then looked down.

Right at you.

There was a beat of silent realization. Eyes locking. Tension crackling in the small, stuffy tent.

Your breath caught. His hand twitched on your back.

“…You—”

“This isn’t—” you both started at once.

You scrambled back in a panic, elbowing the tent wall as you untangled your legs and rolled toward the exit. “I—I didn’t mean to—!”

“You’re the one who shoved me over in your sleep!” he whisper-hissed, equally flustered, hair a mess and voice rough from sleep.

You yanked the zipper open and practically ran out, heart pounding, cheeks burning.

The morning air slapped your face as you stumbled into the open, hoping no one saw. (Too late.)

From the campfire pit, Han and Hyunjin exchanged a look—and then burst into laughter.

Inside the tent, Minho sat up, running a hand through his hair and muttering to himself.

“…So dramatic.”

But even as he said it, a faint, undeniable smile pulled at his lips.

Because your warmth still lingered on his skin.

And that moment—however brief—was now burned into him.

*************************************

Back at the communal camp kitchen, Han was making scrambled eggs while Hyunjin cut fruit, both humming softly. Minho emerged from the trees a while later, hair a bit messy, lips pressed in a line as he poured water into the kettle like nothing happened.

“You sleep okay?” Han asked innocently.

Minho side-eyed him. “Why wouldn’t I?”

Han shrugged. “You know. Considering the person you used to say you’d rather fight a bear than share a tent with.”

Minho didn’t look up. “Shut up. There’s nothing between us.”

But then he hesitated. Almost like something tugged at him.

And when he glanced over his shoulder, there you were—laughing at something Felix said, your cheeks squished adorably in the cool air, your hair a mess from sleep. You tossed your head back as you laughed, eyes sparkling while Minho was watching. And he smiled softly. Almost in a daze, like it bloomed out of his chest before he even knew it was there.

Han caught it, catching the way Minho lingered just a second too long before turning back around.

He didn’t say anything.

He just smiled too—watching his best friend quietly fall.

Seo Changbin (friends to lovers)

Changbin’s apartment smelled like buttered popcorn and clean laundry.

It was your favorite place to be lately—low lights, cozy blanket, a ridiculous action movie playing on the screen, and him beside you, warm and familiar. Your legs were tangled casually over his, a bowl of popcorn between you, laughter spilling out as some over-the-top fight scene played.

"This is the dumbest movie you’ve made me watch," you grinned, tossing a popcorn kernel at him.

Changbin caught it in his mouth effortlessly and winked. "Admit it. You love it."

"I love mocking it," you teased, nudging his thigh with your foot.

He caught your ankle before you could pull back, grinning wickedly. “You sure you want to start something?”

You wiggled your toes defiantly. “What, you’re gonna fight me?”

“I could win.”

“You wish, Seo Changbin.”

That’s all it took.

Suddenly, the popcorn bowl was tossed aside, and you were squealing, squirming, as Changbin tackled you onto the couch in a flurry of limbs and laughter.

It wasn’t serious—just a mess of soft slaps, blocked pokes, mock grunts. You wrestled, pushing at his shoulders, but he was strong and quick, playful growls leaving his throat as he countered every move with ease.

“Okay, okay, I take it back!” you laughed breathlessly, trying to twist away.

He caught your wrists.

One smooth motion, and you were pinned flat against the couch cushions, Changbin hovering above you—knees on either side of your hips, hands holding yours gently but firmly down beside your head.

The laughter stopped. Well everything… stopped.

His chest was rising and falling, breath just a little uneven. Your wrists burned under his fingers, not from pressure but from presence. The movie still played in the background, but it was a muffled hum now—nothing compared to the thunder of your heart.

He was close. Too close.

His face hovered just above yours, eyes flickering over every part of your expression—your parted lips, your wide eyes, the heat that was now unmistakably there in both of your gazes.

Neither of you moved.

You swallowed hard. “Are you gonna let me up?”

He didn’t blink. “Do you want me to?”

You couldn’t answer.

Because maybe you didn’t want him to.

Your silence stretched. His grip loosened ever so slightly, just enough that your hands could move if you wanted—but you didn’t pull away. Not yet.

Your fingers curled around his wrists instead, and his breath caught audibly.

“You’re dangerous,” you whispered.

He leaned a little closer, voice low. “You bring it out in me.”

For a second—just a second—he dipped his head, your noses brushing, lips almost meeting. Almost.

But he hesitated. Like he needed permission. Like he didn’t want to cross a line unless you asked him to.

“Binnie…” you breathed, and that was all it took.

His forehead touched yours. Not a kiss, not yet—but his weight above you, his warmth, the want in his eyes was enough to melt you.

“You’re more than just a friend to me,” he murmured. “I’ve been trying to hide it for so long, but when you look at me like that—”

You surged up just enough to press your lips to his.

Soft. Careful. But charged like fire.

He kissed you back like he’d been waiting forever.

Changbin’s lips lingered on yours like he wasn’t ready to let go just yet.

You watched him in that small, quiet moment—his lashes brushing his cheeks, his hands still cradling your wrists. He looked… vulnerable. Not like the loud, confident Changbin who barked laughs and flexed his arms to annoy you. This was different.

He finally opened his eyes and met your gaze—softer now. Nervous, even.

“So…” he said, voice quieter than you’d ever heard it. “Now what?”

Your heart flipped.

You smiled shyly and tugged your hands free, only to lace your fingers with his. “Now,” you whispered, “you help me up, because you’re crushing me.”

A breathless laugh escaped him, and he immediately rolled off to the side, reaching down to help you sit up. “Sorry,” he said, a little flushed. “Didn’t mean to KO you on the first date.”

You both paused.

You tilted your head. “So this is a date now?”

He looked a little caught, but the smile never left his face. “I mean… if you want it to be.”

You nudged his knee with yours. “Only if it ends with another kiss.”

Changbin turned bright red, chuckled, and rubbed the back of his neck. “You’re gonna make fun of me forever for this, aren’t you?”

You leaned in, close enough that your noses touched again, your voice barely a breath. “Probably.”

He kissed you again—quick, sweet, like he couldn’t help himself.

Then he got up, held out his hand, and pulled you to your feet. Still holding on. Still close.

“So,” he said again, this time with a grin, “sleepover rules still apply. I’m making ramen. You’re picking the next movie. And maybe later, we kiss again.”

You smirked, tugging him toward the kitchen. “We’ll see if you earn it.”

“Hey!” he whined playfully. “I pinned you! That’s gotta count for something!”

“It counts as me letting you win, obviously.”

“Oh, it’s on.”

And just like that, you were back to bickering—but now, between the sarcasm and the teasing, were shy glances, soft smiles, and the kind of tension that didn’t need words anymore.

You’d always been close. Now, you were closer than ever.

Hwang Hyunjin (crushing on seonbae)

It was your second week as a trainee for a new girl group under JYP Entertainment, and you had already learned that the training schedule was intense. You were still trying to find your rhythm in a world filled with highly talented idols, and it felt like everything was moving too fast. You spent most of your time in the practice rooms, working on vocal exercises, choreography, and dance routines.

One day, after a particularly long session, you found yourself taking a quick break to catch your breath. You'd never thought you'd meet Hyunjin from Stray Kids during your training, but here you were, sitting in the corner of the studio, trying to recover from a grueling dance practice. He was in the middle of a solo routine, and you couldn’t help but watch, captivated by his flawless movements. The way he danced was mesmerizing, and for a moment, you forgot everything around you. You did harbour a huge secret crush on him.

When his practice ended, he caught you staring, a playful smirk appearing on his face. “Like what you see?” he asked with a teasing tone.

Caught off guard, you blushed, quickly looking away. “Oh! Uh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

“No need to apologize,” he interrupted, walking over to where you were sitting. “I saw you struggling with your choreography earlier. Need some help?”

You blinked, surprised by his offer. You had only been a trainee for a short time, and the idea of dancing with someone like Hyunjin made you nervous. But his smile was disarming, and you could tell he genuinely wanted to help.

"Actually, yes," you admitted, standing up. "I can't quite get the moves down for our routine. Maybe you could show me some tips?"

Hyunjin grinned, taking his place in front of you. "No problem. I'll teach you the basics, and we'll see if we can make it a little more fun."

He started by showing you the footwork, his body moving effortlessly to the beat. You mimicked his movements, but the steps felt awkward under your feet. Hyunjin noticed immediately and gave a little chuckle.

“You’re overthinking it,” he said, gently placing his hands on your shoulders. “Relax. You’re supposed to feel the music, not stress about the steps.”

His hands lingered just a second too long, and you felt a heat rush to your cheeks. You took a deep breath, nodding. “I’ll try again.”

You continued practicing, and as the movements started to feel more natural, Hyunjin encouraged you with small comments here and there. The choreography was getting better, but you were still a little offbeat.

"Okay, how about this," Hyunjin suggested. "Let’s do the next part together. I'll guide you."

Before you could say anything, he stood close behind you, his hand lightly resting on your waist to help guide your movements. His proximity caught you off guard, and your heart skipped a beat. The way his body was pressed against yours, his warmth radiating onto you, was almost overwhelming. You could feel his breath on the back of your neck as he leaned in to correct your posture.

“Here, just like this,” he said, adjusting your hips with his hands. The touch was gentle, but the closeness made it impossible to ignore the sudden tension in the air. You could feel your body growing tense, unsure of how to act with him so near.

His grip shifted slightly, and you found yourself in an almost perfect mirror of his stance. "See?" Hyunjin smiled, his voice low. "Much better."

The way his eyes locked onto yours made your breath catch in your throat. The dance had become less about learning the moves and more about the unspoken connection forming between you two in the space. His hands were still guiding you, his touch firm but soft, and every movement seemed to bring you closer together.

You both continued practicing, but it wasn’t long before the movements became more fluid, and you realized that it wasn’t just the choreography that was making you feel this way. Hyunjin’s presence, his proximity, was stirring something in you. Every time he adjusted your form, his hand would brush against your skin, sending a shiver through your body. Your heart beat faster, and the air between you felt heavier, charged with an unspoken tension.

At one point, you made a small mistake and spun the wrong way, causing your bodies to collide. For a brief second, you both froze, trapped in a moment of unintended intimacy. Hyunjin’s chest was pressed against your back, his arms still holding you in place as you both tried to steady yourselves. His breath hitched slightly, and you could feel his heartbeat racing against your skin.

You locked eyes, and for a second, everything else faded. The studio, the other trainees, the music—it was just the two of you, caught in this unexpectedly close moment. The space between you was nonexistent. The gentle brush of his fingers on your arm sent a jolt of electricity through you.

“Well,” Hyunjin said, his voice now husky, as he reluctantly stepped back, breaking the tension. “I guess we got a little… carried away.”

You bit your lip, trying to steady yourself. “I—I didn’t expect that,” you murmured.

He smiled, a little sheepishly. "Yeah, me neither. But hey, at least the moves are starting to look good, right?"

You nodded, though your thoughts were still a little scattered from the closeness you’d just shared. You both stood there for a moment, the silence between you filled with the lingering tension that neither of you dared to acknowledge.

“Well, if you ever need more help," Hyunjin said, his voice returning to its usual playful tone, "I’m just a call away.”

You gave a small, nervous smile. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

As he left the practice room, you stayed behind for a few moments longer, your heart still racing from the unexpected intimacy of the dance. There was a mix of excitement and confusion swirling inside you. What was that? Was it just the dance, or was there something more there?

You didn’t have time to answer your own questions because, as a trainee, there was always another routine to learn, another move to perfect. But as you left the studio later that day, your mind kept returning to the way Hyunjin had touched you, the way he’d held you close, and how in that one moment, you couldn’t tell if it was just dance… or something more.

Han Jisung (secretly dating)

It was game night, a regular gathering with the boys at their dorm, where laughter and playful competition filled the air. You'd been looking forward to this night, to unwind and enjoy their company, especially Han Jisung's. You were secretly dating him, keeping it low-key for the time being, but lately, it felt like a secret you wanted to shout from the rooftops. There was just one problem—you didn’t know how to tell the others without making things awkward.

Tonight, everyone was hyped up and playing a board game, the atmosphere light and buzzing with friendly rivalry. The stakes had gotten higher as the rounds went on, and the trash talk was flying. You and Felix had become a bit of an invincible duo—strategizing, making each other laugh, and working seamlessly together.

But as Hyunjin leaned back in his chair with a smirk and exclaimed, “Oh my god, Felix and Y/N, you guys are totally an unbeatable duo!” the comment seemed to hit differently. Jisung, who had been quiet for a while, stiffened beside you, his eyes momentarily narrowing as he watched you laugh along with Felix.

You noticed the subtle change in his demeanor. A quiet jealousy simmered beneath his usual playful and easy-going attitude. You felt your stomach tighten with an instinctive pull toward him. Felix, oblivious to the shift, was still bantering with Hyunjin.

But Jisung was different. He was unusually quiet, and the energy in the room had shifted in a way that only you could sense. You could feel his gaze lingering on you for a little too long, and it made your heart race—nervous, excited. The tension between you two was palpable, something you both tried to keep under wraps.

As the game continued, you couldn't help but glance over at Jisung. His smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. His playful vibe had shifted into something more guarded. It wasn’t like him to stay quiet for so long, and it made you feel uneasy, like you had inadvertently caused the shift in the air.

Felix was deep in conversation with Hyunjin, while the others were absorbed in the game, but you couldn’t focus anymore. You excused yourself from the table, slipping into the hallway in an attempt to get some space. You figured you could give Jisung a moment to cool down or maybe even talk about whatever had been bothering him.

But before you could walk further, Jisung was there. You didn’t even hear him approach, but suddenly his hand was on your wrist, and he was gently tugging you toward the hallway leading to his room. “Hey, where are you going?” you asked, trying to keep the casual tone.

He didn’t respond right away, his grip firm but gentle. There was a certain intensity to his gaze now—his eyes darkened slightly, and his usual teasing smile was replaced with something more serious. “I need to talk to you,” he muttered, his voice low.

You didn’t say anything. You knew this wasn’t just about the game anymore.

When you reached his room, Jisung quickly closed the door behind you, his hand resting on the handle for a moment, as if gathering his thoughts. The two of you stood in the middle of the room for a few seconds, the air thick with unspoken words.

Finally, he spoke, his voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t like the way you two were... getting so close. Felix and you, laughing together like that.” His eyes were intense, full of something you hadn’t seen before—something raw. “It’s not like you’ve done anything wrong, but… it makes me feel something I don’t know how to handle.”

Your heart skipped a beat. You stepped closer to him, instinctively. “Hannie…” you began, but he interrupted you.

“I want to tell them, baby. I want to tell everyone we’re together,” he said, his hand gripping yours, his thumb brushing over your knuckles gently, though his voice was firm. “I’m tired of pretending like we’re just friends.” He took a step closer, his face inches from yours now. His breath was warm against your skin, and you could feel his heart racing in his chest, matching yours.

The proximity was overwhelming, intoxicating, and for a moment, you forgot everything around you—the noise of the game, the others in the house. It was just him, and the desire in his eyes. You couldn’t lie to yourself any longer; you felt the same way. You had been trying to ignore it, keeping your relationship under wraps for the sake of the group, but in that moment, it all felt like too much to keep inside.

You swallowed, struggling to find the right words. “I want to tell them too, baby. I really do. But…” you hesitated. “Do you think they’ll understand?”

Jisung’s eyes softened, and he gently cupped your cheek with his free hand. “It’s not about them understanding,” he said, his voice tender now, the tension easing from his shoulders. “It’s about us. I want to be open with everyone, especially with you. You mean so much to me.”

The words hung in the air, a promise wrapped in vulnerability. You were quiet for a beat, the intensity of the moment consuming you. Slowly, you nodded. “Okay. Let’s tell them. Together.”

He smiled, the usual playful glint returning to his eyes, but there was still an undercurrent of sincerity. Without another word, he closed the gap between you two and kissed you, soft and slow, as if savoring the moment that had been a long time coming. The kiss deepened, both of you letting go of the tension and unspoken feelings you’d been holding onto.

When you pulled away, your foreheads touched, breaths mingling. He whispered, “I’m so glad you’re mine.”

You smiled, your heart lighter than it had been in weeks. “Me too,” you said softly.

From that moment on, there was no more hiding. You were his, and he was yours, and that was all that mattered.

Lee Felix (colleagues to lovers)

The music video shoot had gone longer than expected, and most of the staff had either stepped out for a break or were busy resetting lights outside. The trailer where touch-ups usually happened—the one usually buzzing with stylists, cords, and brushes—was now completely empty.

You were the only one there, you were sitting on the couch scrolling through your phone when Felix popped in, flashing that signature grin and muttering, “Hyung said I need my hair re-gelled. Sorry,” like he was inconveniencing you, even though it was literally your job.

“Sit,” you said, trying to sound normal. Professional.

But nothing about Felix ever let you stay fully calm. Not the way he tugged off his jacket with one hand and tossed it lazily on the couch. Not the way his damp dark hair curled against his forehead, making him look more boyish, more human, than the stage idol version everyone else saw.

You stood behind him, gently combing through his roots. The gel hadn’t fully set, and you needed to rework it from the front.

"Can you tilt your head back?" you asked.

He did, but the angle was awkward. He sat too low in the chair, so you had to lean forward, your hips brushing the armrest. When you reached to push his fringe back, your chest nearly grazed his shoulder.

He stilled. You froze.

Then, in one ungraceful second, your foot slipped against the leg of the chair. Your balance tipped forward—too fast to catch. A small gasp escaped you as your knees bumped the edge, and suddenly you were no longer standing.

You landed on him.

Your hands flew to his shoulders to steady yourself, but it was too late—your body was already pressed against his, knees planted on either side of his lap, your faces just inches apart.

His breath ghosted across your cheek. Warm. Shaky.

Neither of you moved.

“Sorry—” you whispered, trying to push yourself back up.

But his hands had found your waist. Not tight, not holding, just there. Warm, grounding. And when your eyes met, something shifted.

“No—” he breathed, voice quieter than you’d ever heard. “Don’t move.”

Your breath caught.

“Felix—”

“I didn’t mind… I mean, it’s okay. I just…” His stammered.

You blinked at him, heart hammering, heat blooming across your chest and neck. You’d danced around this for weeks—maybe months.

The lingering stares, the way his smile always stretched wider when you were near. But this…

His hands were still on your waist. And for a moment, neither of you moved.

The only sound was the low hum of a distant monitor and your heartbeat hammering in your chest.

Then, slowly, his fingers reached up and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, his touch barely grazing your skin. The motion was so gentle, so intimate, that it made your breath hitch. And the moment his hand dropped, his eyes widened—like he hadn’t realized what he was doing until it was already done.

“I—I didn’t mean to—sorry, that was—” he breathed, voice shaky.

You didn’t move. Couldn’t. His cologne wrapped around you like a net, grounding and dizzying all at once.

“I just—” he went on, swallowing, “God, I’m sorry.”

You stared down at him.

His face was already flushed pink, his eyes still locked on yours like he wasn’t sure if he should let go or pull you closer.

“I didn’t mind,” you said quietly.

He blinked.

“What?”

Your voice came out softer this time, more vulnerable. “I didn’t mind. That you touched my hair.”

“Really?” he asked.

You nodded.

He exhaled through a breathless laugh, like disbelief. “Because I’ve been trying not to do anything like that since you started.”

“Why?”

“Because I like you,” he said instantly. No hesitation. Just the truth.

“And I didn’t want to make things weird. But God, you’re always so close, and you’re so gentle, and I’m pretty sure I’ve started dreaming about the way you touch my hair—”

You kissed him.

Quick. Certain. Nothing intense, just a quiet yes to everything he’d just admitted.

His hands tightened on your hips, grounding himself. “Okay,” he whispered against your lips, dazed. “Yeah. That just happened.”

You laughed softly and brushed a strand of hair from his forehead. “It did.”

“I still need to finish your look,” you teased.

He grinned, pulling you even closer. “I think you just did.”

The silence was comforting this time. Not awkward but intimate.

Kim Seungmin (sunshine x grumpy)

When Chan invited you for a quiet weekend at his countryside farmhouse, you didn’t hesitate. It had been months since you last saw your best friend—too many midnight voice notes, too many “I miss you’s” with a sad emoji tacked on at the end. So you packed a bag and drove up that Friday evening, not even bothering to ask who else would be there.

Chan had welcomed you in with the warmest hug and whispered, “Seungmin’s here. Try not to combust.”

You elbowed him, cheeks warm. “I don’t like him.”

“Sure,” he smirked.

Of course Seungmin was here. Still just as grumpy, still refusing to smile at your stupid jokes, still never calling you by your name—just “you” or “Chan’s friend.”

And yet, somehow, you still looked for him in every room.

By Saturday night, you were full of barbecue, three glasses into a fruity drink, and cozy in an oversized hoodie. Laughter buzzed through the warm-lit living room. Chan had pulled out board games and card decks, and Hyunjin tossed on a playlist. You and Seungmin had exchanged exactly four words since arriving: “Morning,” “Move” and “No, thanks”

After too many rounds of Mario Kart, Chan flopped onto the massive couch and clapped his hands. “Okay, new game. Seven Minutes in Heaven.”

“Are we in high-school?” you and Seungmin said in perfect sync from opposite ends of the couch.

Everyone laughed, but Chan just wiggled his eyebrows. “Come on, you’re all cowards. It’ll be fun.”

Chan started spinning a bottle, and before you could sneak away, your name was called—followed by Seungmin’s.

The room howled.

You whipped around to Chan, whispering furiously, “You rigged that!”

“Did not,” he said with a very smug expression. “Enjoy.”

The closet—tucked in the corner of the master bedroom—was dim, a little too warm, and far too tight for two people. The door shut behind you with a soft click.

“I hate them,” Seungmin muttered, already looking up at the ceiling like it might offer a hatch out.

You nervously glanced around in the little space. You took a breath. “Wow. Cozy.”

“Not really,” he said flatly.

You smiled anyway. “I forgot how much fun you are at parties.”

His lips twitched. The smallest, smallest smirk.

Minutes passed. Maybe only one. Maybe ten. You didn’t know. The quiet between you felt heavier than the night sky outside.

Then—he spoke.

“You flew all this way just to see Chan?” he asked.

Your brows rose. “Yeah, why?”

“No reason,” he said immediately, then hesitated. “Just… wondering.”

You took a step closer, trying to read him. “Why do you always look at me like I annoy you, but then keep showing up in every room I’m in?”

His jaw flexed. “You don’t annoy me.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

He pushed off the wall now, standing straighter, closer. “You’re… too much sometimes.”

You blinked. “Too much?”

“Too much sunshine. Too much sweetness. It gets under my skin.”

You smirked. “Good.”

He gave you a flat look. “This is ridiculous.”

“Then why are you blushing?”

“I’m not.”

You grinned. “You are. It’s kind of cute.”

He glanced away, jaw tightening, but the pink in his cheeks betrayed him.

You leaned in just a little. “What’s wrong, Seungmin? Closet too small? Or is it just me that’s making you all flustered?”

He narrowed his eyes at you. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”

“You wound me,” you gasped, hand over your chest. “I’m just being friendly.”

“Yeah, well… maybe tone it down a little.”

You tilted your head. “But I thought I was ‘too much sweetness’ and ‘gets under your skin’—don’t tell me I’m growing on you.”

He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Do you always talk this much?”

“Only when I’m stuck in a closet with my longtime crush.”

Seungmin froze.

Your eyes widened. Crap. You hadn’t meant to say that out loud.

“…What?” he said after a beat, voice lower.

You scrambled. “I mean—not crush crush. I mean like, maybe. Possibly. Okay, definitely. For a long time. Like years-long. But you were always so—”

He took a step forward. You stopped babbling.

He didn’t say anything. Just looked at you for a moment, then leaned in slightly, voice dry. “Chan told me you’d be here.”

“…Okay?”

“I’ve been trying to act normal since yesterday.”

“That was you acting normal?”

He smirked, just a little. “I don’t flirt like you do.”

“I don’t flirt—”

“Really?” he stepped closer, close enough that your breath caught. “Then what would you call this?”

You were backed against the shelf, heart in your throat, eyes flicking between his and his mouth. He braced one arm beside your head, gaze sharp.

“…Trouble,” you whispered.

He smirked again—wider this time. “Yeah. You’re trouble.”

And then, just before the timer outside buzzed, he kissed you.

Slow, deliberate, and nothing like the annoyed boy who always pretended you were too much.

When he pulled back, lips barely grazing yours, he whispered, “Next time, we skip the game.”

And when the door finally swung open to the cheering crowd, neither of you said a word—but the heat in your face said everything.

Yang Jeongin (brother's best friend)

You hadn’t seen Jeongin properly in almost a year—well you really haven’t seen him much since he’d debuted and got busy with his idol life. But when your brother casually mentioned, “Jeongin’s having a little dinner thing at his place. Just a few of us. You should come—it’s been forever.” something fluttered in your chest that you tried very hard to ignore.

You’d crushed on him since you were probably twelve, back when he was just your brother’s slightly awkward best friend who always let you have the last slice of pizza. And now? Now he was I.N—idol, heartthrob, and the same boy who still texted your brother dumb memes at 2am.

You didn’t expect much when you arrived—just polite greetings, awkward small talk, maybe a few inside jokes that would go over your head. But when Jeongin opened the door…

Your heart did that stupid thing again.

He looked tired but beautiful, hoodie sleeves pushed up, the kind of soft glow that came from being around people he trusted. He looked mature now—fame-polished, confident, sharper around the edges—but you still saw glimpses of the boy who used to chase your brother through your backyard, who used to steal popsicles from your freezer and grin like he won the lottery.

“Hey,” he smiled, eyes flickering over your face for a second too long. “Didn’t know you were coming.”

“My brother dragged me,” you said lightly.

Jeongin tilted his head, still holding the door open. “Good. I’m glad you’re here.”

The dinner was casual, cozy. Laughter echoed through the apartment, plates clinked, and stories flowed like old times. But something about the way Jeongin kept glancing at you when your brother wasn’t looking—when he refilled your drink before anyone else’s, when your knees accidentally touched under the table and he didn’t move away—it felt like you weren’t imagining it anymore.

It wasn’t until later—when everyone was a little too full and a little too tipsy and began playing loud music—that you slipped away to find some quiet.

The bathroom was unlocked, thankfully, and you slipped in, locking the door behind you. Only to turn around and freeze.

“Oh?” you exhaled.

Jeongin stood leaning against the counter, arms crossed, he was startled to see you too.

You nodded, suddenly too aware of the small space, the way the air felt heavier between you two. You both stood there in silence, not quite looking at each other. You should leave, your mind said. Step out, apologise, pretend this didn’t feel like something.

But for some reason… you stayed.

His gaze flicked to you, then away. “You okay?”

“Yeah. Just… needed a break from all the noise,” you said softly. “Didn’t think I’d find you here too.”

He gave a half-smile. “Yeah, well. Guess we’re still in sync.” Then he shifted. “I didn’t think you’d actually come tonight.”

You shrugged, trying to ignore the way your hands felt clammy. “Yeah, well. My brother can be pretty persuasive.”

Jeongin smiled, then glanced down, almost bashful. For a second, he looked like the boy you remembered—the one who got flustered when you caught him singing in your garage.

You stepped back, “I’ll find somewhere else—”

You were about to step toward the door when he suddenly reached out and caught your wrist.

“Wait.”

You turned, startled by the contact. His hand was warm around your wrist, gentle but firm enough to make you pause.

His voice was quiet. Earnest. “How long are we gonna pretend we’re not dying to be with each other?”

Your stomach flipped.

You looked away, jaw tight. “My brother would never agree.”

He chuckled—soft, humorless. “Your brother doesn’t get to decide who I want.”

“Innie,” you warned.

He locked the door behind him.

“Innie?” he echoed, teasing. “You haven’t called me that in a while.”

You froze. “Jeongin—”

“I know. Your brother would kill me.” His voice was lower now, almost a whisper. “But it’s driving me insane, pretending I don’t feel something every time you walk into a room.”

He stepped in. Close. Too close.

“I thought I was imagining it,” he said, finally looking at you. “But the way you look at me sometimes... it doesn’t feel one-sided.”

“It’s not,” you whispered.

“Don’t tempt me,” he said, voice rough.

He pinned you to the counter so easily you couldn’t think straight.

He stepped even more closer before saying quietly. “If I kissed you right now, would you push me away?”

You didn’t answer. Instead, you closed the space between you, barely a breath apart. And whispered, “I should.”

“But you won’t,” he said, voice hoarse.

“No,” you breathed, “I won’t.”

And then he kissed you—soft, hesitant at first, like he knew the line he was crossing. But when your fingers curled into his hoodie and he pulled you closer, you both forgot everything but the feeling of finally, finally not pretending.

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

Permanent Taglist:

@kaiyaba @lov3rachan @pixie-felix @ellemir2404 @willowhanji @skzimagines @wavetohannie @jamroses @vietjeb @kayleefriedchicken @kokinu09 @nightmarenyxx @my-neurodivergent-world @shuuporanglinos @silly250 @notmedina127 @thecutiepieme @stay-tiny-things @inlovewithstraykids @skz-ot8-stay @emilyywhyy @havenwithleeknow @hungryhobbit815 @seungminnieinthebuilding @beabidoobee @geni-627 @ye0lkkot @yaorzu-blog @butterflybananabread @nightshadeblooming @rockstarkkami @finannn @poody1608 @scarlet789 @mbioooo0000 @icannotbelieveit @casperlynn23 @rtyuy1346

Forced Proximity Trope Taglist:

@4ng3l-ch1ld @dolphin-scream-s

235 notes · View notes

firstkanaphans · 2 days ago

Note

Hello! Sorry to jump on the train of asking you stuff about the couples😅 but i have to ask, you put earthmix and aouboom on the definitely dating list. Earthmix i have no questions about it😂, but i know next to nothing about aouboom, and id really like to know more of your thoughts on them, if that's ok with you😊💞

[Thank you to @doublel27 for helping me compile this list.]

The first thing you need to know is that AouBoom are like FK on steroids. Take the codependence of First and Khaotung, turn it up to 11, and you have AouBoom. They met on the set of Enchanté and have been inseparable ever since—so much so that they’ve talked about how some people at GMMTV don’t even know which of them is which. They just call them both AouBoom.

One of the main things I look for when trying to determine whether two actors are dating is whether they live together. I’m not sure if AouBoom have ever actually talked about their living arrangements, but if they aren’t living together, they’re certainly sleeping over at each other’s houses enough for it to be suspicious.

Here’s a compilation video of them wishing each other happy birthday. The first is from 2022—way before they were ever paired. The second is from this year. Boom took the video at midnight as Aou was walking out of the bathroom in his pajamas, so clearly they were having a sleepover 😂

Aou also drives Boom to and from set every day and if you’ve been following Memoir of Rati at all, you'll know that they’ve had a bunch of late nights and early mornings. I'm talking filming until 3AM late. I just can't see any logical reason for him to do that unless they were living in the same place.

Another thing I look for when I'm trying to determine if two actors are dating is whether they take vacations alone together. AouBoom do. A lot. My favorite was their trip to the beach on Valentine's Day of this year when Boom posted this video which is still pinned at the top of his twitter page.

They’re also just very attached to each other and frequently attend each other’s solo events even when they are hours away. In particular, LL showed me this video of Aou and his dad showing up to one of Boom's events several hours outside Bangkok.

Boom has also become Jasper’s de facto manager. He attends every single event they have and what I find most amusing is that no one teases him for it the way they do when Phuwin or Perth or Dunk show up. It's almost like it’s just a given that he's going to be there.

I don’t know, guys. There’s just something about them. It’s in the way GMMTV sent them to all of their marriage equality events even though they weren’t technically a branded pair at the time. It's in the way directors always give them the high heat roles in otherwise very tame shows. It's in the way Aou talks about being jealous of Boom's crush on "The Vet" as if it's a conversation they've actually had in real life and not just something they bust out for fan service.

Oh, and they have matching jewelry. Y'all know how much I love matching jewelry.

All in all, I'm less confident about them than I am about EarthMix, but I still think they're way more likely to actually be dating than any of the other CPs. I just think they're neat 🥹

I'm also going to tag @lazzarella, @elliebirdwrites, and @sherrymagic because they all know these two much better than me. Feel free to educate us if you have any additional lore you would like to share!

#asks #aou thanaboon #boom tharatorn #aouboom

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livecrow · 2 hours ago

Text

Looks like there's been some mild confusion, so I did want to clarify why the self deprecation is debatable.

cw: fat size comparison i guess?

(tl;dr) At risk of being kind of gauche and referencing specifics, whether it's self-deprecation or not is completely dependent on the actual size of the reader ie. you.

Simply put, if you're a fat reader like me, let's say, closer to the "oh lord she comin" end, then joking flippantly that you're "un-kidnappable", isn't actually self-deprecating or even unreasonable.

Biiiitch, that's just reality. It's just probability. Logistics. The average dude is NOT going to be able to move me if I just plop my big ass down on the ground somewhere and refuse to get up. I haven't exactly tested my theory, but I probably could sit on someone as a self defense strategy if I managed to catch them off-guard, lol.

For that kind of fat reader, it IS genuinely shocking when someone manages it. That reader didn't really factor in the men who aren't exactly average. Or as Gaz points out, that it could be more than one person.

HOWEVER!

If you are closer to "She Chomnk" and you're out here claiming that some guy needs a forklift to move you, you are absolutely being self-depreciating. That, or you're completely delusional, lol. Sorry, babe.

So yeah, from the author's standpoint, in that fic at least, the only intended insecure comments from the reader is rooted in the idea that she thinks she wouldn't be targeted because she's undesirable """aesthetically""" and isn't a proper """trophy""".

Which, spoiler, turns out to be distinctly not true.

That all being said, I do acknowledge it can read differently based on your personal experience as a fat person. I do understand that the comments from reader might unfortunately put some people off, which is why I added that particular content warning and felt the need to clarify that I didn't have reader say some of those things out of self-loathing.

Because I have a massive, raging hard-on for kidnappings, this kind of confusion feels inevitable, so I wanted to try and clear the air now.

So here's my disclaimer. Whether subconsciously or consciously, my writing is informed by my experience as being Fat-fat not Chubby-fat.

❤︎ I love all my fat readers and and hope y'all enjoy my stuff! ❤︎

All that's to say, I'm not opposed to exploring the fat experience and insecurity, I definitely am and will.

You're out with friends and joke that you're “un-kidnappable”.

John Price and the lads think that’s interesting.

Soft!Dark!John Price x fat fem reader

cw: debatable self-deprecation, kidnapping, noncon

You don’t recall exactly how it came up. Maybe it was the latest episode of a popular true crime podcast a couple of your friends mentioned listening to the other day.

All the same, while lounging in the familiar bar’s cozy glow, the atmosphere at the table stayed light and relaxed, despite the morbid topic.

Between drinks, your friends detail stories of encounters with dubious men and swap self-defense strategies—anything to avoid an impromptu debut on a Dateline special.

They were mostly the basics. Remember to lock your doors immediately. Keep your phone on you. Never leave a drink unattended. Always travel in groups. Oh, and carry pepper spray. It turns out all of your friends carry some.

Not you, though.

When you are inevitably questioned on the matter, you concede that you have some, "...somewhere."

Your mom gave you a little canister years back. But you don’t actually know where it is, much to the displeasure of your friends. Upon further interrogation, you guessed it’s probably forgotten in a drawer somewhere, lost among AAA batteries, tangled cords of unknown origin, and appliance instruction manuals.

As one friend suggests the classic keys-between-your-fingers trick, some of the men at an adjacent table laugh.

“Best use for keys when you’re attacked is opening a damn door.”

Apparently, they had been following your conversation. It was the oldest man who spoke, rumbling over the rim of his glass with aplomb that leaves little room for argument. He has a resonance that makes you pause, reminding you distinctly of the distant rolling thunder that forebodes a coming storm.

The dark, handsome man at his elbow agrees. “'Sides, they’re not brass knuckles. No stability. You’re not actually gonna cause any damage like that.”

“Aye, ye’r better off jus’ takin’ one key an poppin’ the bastard’s een out.” A man sporting a mohawk added with a grin, crudely miming gouging an eye out with his free hand.

“Fine, I’ll punch them out then!” the smallest of your friend group counters, palming her fist loudly while trying to keep a straight face.

That just earns more amusement, of course. The huge masked man at the end of their table scoffs, “Like that you’ll jus’ break your fuckin’ thumb.” He proceeds to instruct her how to make a proper fist.

It's all in good fun. They’re an interesting bunch, probably military of some sort, you’d wager. Three Brits and one Scot. Your group welcomes the interruption, despite the biggest one of the lot looking particularly murdery himself, decked out in all black and a fucking skull balaclava.

The gregarious, younger two made up for it. They were all smiles, speaking candidly as if they’d just run into some old friends. Before long you’ve practically joined tables. Why not? After all, the four certainly look like they know what they’re talking about, each man large and brawny.

The younger men did the vast majority of the talking, answering questions and enthusiastically offering techniques to their audience while Voorhees only interjected a brusque retort every so often. Your friends were utterly charmed by the Scot’s cheeky beam and the pretty Brit’s warm eyes as they moved from outlining bodily weak points with an emphasis on “soft targets” to discussing the pros and cons of different weapons.

But there was something about the man who initiated the discourse—some quality. He held an unspoken commanding presence, despite saying little. Here he was, the catalyst of the entire interaction, and yet he seemed content to observe rather than participate. It brought to mind some indifferent, deist higher power.

You estimated he was a decade his mates' senior, give or take. Apropos stormy eyes framed by heavy brows and the beginnings of crow's feet. Odd, antiquated facial hair, wood brown with smatterings of grey. Privately, you thought it suited him—looked distinguished. At some point earlier he caught your gaze.

He introduced himself as “John.” Although, curiously, none of his cohorts called him that or introduced themselves in turn. Not that your friends seemed to mind; that, or they didn’t notice.

Along with his name, he offered a subdued Duchenne smile that disarmed you, softening his gruff countenance in an instant. For an instant, anyway.

You’d swear that, even in the bar’s low lighting, you caught his eyes twinkle. Some uncharacteristically childish sentiment swept over you for a moment, making you want to believe that the look was for you and that he wasn’t in reality only being polite.

“...honestly, if you have the stomach for it, your best choice is always gonna be a strap.”

The Scot readily agreed with pretty-boy, as he reclined, his chair balancing precariously on just the back two legs. However, they did quibble over the type of handgun, debating various specifications that were gibberish to the rest of you. While they all listen enraptured, only one of your friends really seems truly open to the idea. The rest unsurprisingly remain gun-shy.

Another friend suggests a taser as a compromise.

“Not for me,” you laughed, “there’s absolutely no way my ass wouldn't immediately accidentally taser myself."

“No mace, no taser, no knife—not even one of those keychain alarms!” your friend groused. “You should have something—”.

Your eyes met again. You and John. Even with the subtle haze of alcohol relaxing you, it felt penetrating.

Your eyes retreated down to his drink seeking relief. One of his large hands flexed slightly around his glass, thick tendons shifting under the skin and scattered vellus hair peeking over his cuff, dusting as far as his knuckles.

He seemed to be in thought as he took a drink. Whiskey you think it was. His shrewd eyes didn't leave you; maybe he was just looking through you—

“How do you keep yourself out of trouble then, love?”

His timbre immediately cut through the chatter. If you weren’t feeling so fizzy from the drink, you might feel put on the spot when suddenly everyone’s eyes are singly on you.

You were effectively the token “fat one” of your group. While the rest of this friend group happened to be straight-sized, there was absolutely nothing “straight” on your body. Hell, there was hardly a part of you that didn’t jiggle, at least a little bit.

You didn’t resent it; you were just self-aware. You were perfectly cognizant that you blended in among them about as well as a hippo “blends in" with oxpeckers.

If you were entirely sober, you might be a bit put out, might worry he’s being mean, poking fun at your expense. But no, the alcohol thankfully chased away any anxiety from building in your gut.

Besides, there’s no humor to be found in his expression, no edge of malice in his eyes. None of his mates crack a smirk either, apparently also interested in your answer.

You were mid-sip when the question was lobbed your way, and you used it to stall. You weren’t sure precisely why, but you found yourself squirming in your seat a bit before recovering half a second later.

“Me?”, you grinned around your straw, cocking a brow. “Trust me, I’m not worried about it. I’m practically un-kidnappable,” you asserted, in a way that sounded suspiciously boastful.

John’s focus remains steady on you, appraising, but the other men share a glance.

You could have left it at that, but pretty-boy chimed in, brow furrowing. "How do you figure that?"

You weren’t completely sure that the men weren’t just being intentionally obtuse, but you’d entertain a ridiculous question with a ridiculous response. Flippancy came naturally.

You carefully set your drink back onto the table. You lean in, voice lowered to a grave tone, biting back mischief that threatened to give you away. “Listen, my strategy is airtight,” you paused. “If some guy comes along, tries something?" You hold again for dramatic effect.

"...Sit on him."

"Oh my god," your friends groan collectively.

But you went on, unfazed. "It's all over for him! Why would I need a weapon when I have positional asphyxia? Besides, if that doesn't kill him, the embarrassment will."

Any outrage falls on deaf ears considering your friends are fighting back grins.

Buoyed, you continue. "It’d be like someone trying to ‘kidnap’ a grizzly bear. I am not gonna get abducted unless the guy just happens to show up with a forklift—", that earns a swat from your friend sitting closest.

"—And if that's how I get caught? Honestly? I’d have it coming if I somehow missed the fucker rolling up and can't, what, power-walk out of there?"

Another friend beseeches, "Be serious!"

“I am serious!" you shot back, laughing. "Those things go, what, 5 miles an hour, tops?"

Apparently, the rest of the group also found the image of a low-speed fucking forklift chase funny, judging by the Scot's almost spit-take that left him choking a bit. You were pleased that he and pretty-boy had a sense of humor and didn’t bother with the pretense of finger-wagging.

You were disappointed you didn't get John, though. He only hummed thoughtfully, an odd liminal not-quite frown on his lips that was mostly obscured by his glass as he took another sip.

Tough customer.

One friend challenges you, “Oh, yeah? You say that, but what if he pulls a gun and tells you to get in the car? What then?”

You pressed your lips together, tilting your head in consideration.

"Well, at that point, I guess I’d have to accept I'm going to die.”

"What?!"

You shrugged, "There's no way I'm getting in that car. You never go to a secondary location. Everyone knows that. Why drag things out unnecessarily when you can die in the street? After all, there are plenty of worse ways to go than by a bullet—besides, at least then my body will be found."

Worried the last bit would have more of a sobering effect on your company than you intended, you pivot and retrieve your drink. You tilt your chin up, gazing off into the distance dreamily, gesturing with your glass.

“My final words? 'Good luck trying to dispose of my corpse, asshole. Hope you know a good chiropractor.'"

With that you slurped down the dregs, ice clinking noisily at the bottom, finally giggling with everyone else at your own joke. Cue lots of your name and "Stop it!"s.

Hell, you even eked out a single low "heh" from Hot Topic that you’ll claim as a proper laugh. You were 3 for 4.

Your friends, bless them, are extremely predictable when you’re so candid self-deprecating. They laugh only to retreat to feigning scandal. When they recover, you’re peppered with more scenarios and protests.

You’re barely able to suppress an eye-roll at their persistence. "I mean, it's a moot point from the start. I'm not the mark for that kind of thing in the first place."

Before your friends could cut you off, you clarified, “I’m not saying anything bad. I would just be—" you paused, searching for the right word—"an interesting choice."

"No, I’m not the target demographic for something like that.” You waved a hand dismissively. “I'm simultaneously not preferable aesthetically and not worth the hassle logistically. So that ends up pretty convenient, considering I’d rather not be kidnapped."

You swabbed the ring of condensation you left on the table with a bar napkin absently. "They want some dainty thing—they don’t want me,” you gestured to your person flippantly. “They want a trophy, but not the 'big game' variety," you gave a lopsided smile.

Your friends’ chastisement was swift, distracting enough that it didn’t quite give you a second to contemplate the strange, tenebrous emotion that was simmering just under the surface of John’s expression or that of his mates’. The nuance was lost on you.

Mercifully, after experiencing a couple more variations of “You should be more careful!” from your friends, the topic finally changed.

It transformed and split, becoming a bit too chaotic for you to follow in your current state; several simultaneous threads of conversation going at once turned into white noise.

After a while you must have zoned out a bit, because among the din you didn’t notice that John was now sitting near you. He leaned over discreetly, at a respectful distance that still made your head foggy and face warm, voice low.

“They’re right, you know. You might think you're an exception, but you’re not. Is dangerous to think that.”

You're so struck by the intensity of his steely gaze that you were slow to catch up to the actual words. You couldn’t fathom how blue eyes could feel so searing; you’d swear you could feel their heat. Completely caught off-guard by the sudden seriousness, you struggled with how to respond to that. “I—”

Before you could say anything, you realized the Scot was talking to you, asking you something, reeling you back into the fray.

…

Time seems to pass differently after that; you have no idea how long it’s been, all talking and laughing, sharing bants. More rounds of drinks. It’s a good time.

But the night is winding down for you; you can feel exhaustion creeping in. By the time one of your friends’ partners shows up ready to continue the fun elsewhere, you decline the offer.

You hated being seen as a wet blanket, but right now all you wanted to do was go home and take a hot shower. Peel off your “going-out” clothes and change into something comfortable. Maybe order in and catch up on a show. A little, "dolce far niente".

They invited the men too, but apparently they had other plans. Your friends didn’t waste any time pouting, exchanging quick, tipsy goodbyes before heading out.

It’s much quieter after that. Even the light conversation between the men has fizzled out. The small bar that night was particularly slow, consisting mostly of your two groups to begin with. You pull out your phone to check the time, frowning when you find it dead.

“...I can call you an Uber?” John suggests, as you stand.

The silence is loud, somehow. Oppressive. It looks as if the men are waiting. The air is heavy with something unsaid, some kind of significance that’s entirely lost on your fuzzy mind.

You never noticed the inscrutable look Voorhees sends John after he spoke. You’d find too late that a lot of things skipped your boozy notice that night.

Your lip tugs at the offer. “Thanks, but I promise it’s fine. I actually live pretty close.”

John simply inclines his head, doesn’t press further. As you’re headed to the door, glancing back, you offer an earnest, albeit tired, smile. “Was nice meeting you. Maybe I'll see you around?”

“Maybe.”

…

You were barely halfway home before suddenly, out of the darkness of a Cimmerian passing alley, arms locked around you, ripping an undignified squeal out of you.

When you catch sight of the familiar faces of your “attackers”, you clutch your chest, trying to calm your hammering heartbeat.

“Fucking hell!” you heaved.

If you weren��t so rattled and clamoring over your words, you would have been especially mortified by the incidental contact on your squishy middle. You couldn’t remember a time someone has grabbed you so brazenly. By process of elimination, it must have been Hot Topic’s large form who was holding you against his front.

“Shit! You guys are assholes,” you exclaimed between pants. “That’s not funny!” Your hands grasped at the large forearms around you, yanking fruitlessly.

It was John who was standing in front of you, thumbs hooked in his pockets, backlit by a streetlamp, haloed in faint breath vapor. It was the first time you’d recall seeing him standing; he was even bigger than you expected. They all were.

“You left, what—” he pulled out his phone and glanced down at the blueish light in his hand, “20 minutes ago?” His eyes return to your face, raising his thick brows. “Not very ‘close’, is it? Your home.”

John spoke conversationally, a picture of ease, like he was commenting on how chilly it was for this time of year, and hadn't just jumpscared you.

“Dinnae even try tae throw a punch, no’ even one o’ those girly slaps—” the Scot muttered, not particularly quietly, to pretty-boy, who kissed his teeth in disapproval.

You’re running on fumes, so your brain is moving in slow motion, only just processing John’s words, not yet able to summon even a glare for the Scot’s commentary.

“It is close,” you insist, coming out slightly more defensively than you intended. You’re still embarrassingly working overtime to catch your breath while trying to pull away from the hard body at your back in irritation. “Besides, how do you define ‘close’? That’s completely subjective.”

Not as if that’s any of your business. You held back that particular remark.

You took a measured breath or two more. “Look, of all people, I appreciate the commitment to a bit,” you clawed uselessly at Voorhees’ iron grip around you, “but can you call your dog off?”

Hot Topic’s previous abridged facsimile of a “laugh” echoed in your ear, an amused huff so close that it made you flinch. That wasn’t really what you expected from your unadvisable barb.

You think it was the material of his mask that you felt slightly graze the shell of your ear, but it was fleeting enough that you couldn’t be certain.

“You can call me Ghost, sweet’eart”.

On any other day that edgy moniker would have garnered some kind of mirth, but your clouded brain didn’t seem fit to supply a witty retort with some strange man at your nape.

While John said nothing, something in his expression must have communicated to Ghost. You instinctively relaxed when his arms released your middle.

It soothed your nerves a touch, enough that you didn’t register that you were in the process of being edged backwards and were now partway through an alley you should have passed on your route home.

You crossed your arms, opting to ignore the introduction in lieu of another shaky inhale. “Just wait till my friends hear that you guys blew them off just to fuck with me. So much for having ‘plans’, huh?”

You tried to tease, still desperately attempting to slow your heart, recoup some composure, and match the men’s nonchalance. You’re not sure how convincingly you pulled it off. Some nagging anxiety still seeped out of you in a slow leak, despite your best effort to pull yourself together, to not be a buzzkill in response to a technically harmless pran—.

“This is the ‘plan’, love.” John replied simply, not missing a beat.

You huffed in exasperation, brows pinched. “...What, ‘making a point’?”

John paused for a moment, seeming to weigh his words, “That’s one way to look at it, if you’d like.”

There was a pregnant pause, and suddenly the scrape of shoes on the dirty pavement seemed loud in your ears. The smell in the alley is particularly damp and musty now. Had you been moving this whole time? You’re getting all turned around—

Pretty-boy cut in, “You know, your whole premise was faulty from the start. ‘Sides you didn’t account for more than one person being involved”.

“Involved in what?” you blinked, bewildered.

“Your kidnapping, obviously.”

“My k—?”.

“—Speak for yourself, Gaz. I’d ‘ave ‘er either way.” Ghost interrupted, making you jump, a stark reminder of the presence still at your back.

You were stunned into silence for a couple of excruciatingly long seconds before choking out a pained laugh.

“Ha-ha. Alright—alright, fine. I get it.” You raise your hands in surrender, head swiveling back to John as you turn to press your back against the rough brick of the alley wall, trying to keep them all in your field of vision.

“I’ll get a taser or something, is that what you want?” you offered, wearing your best expression of deferent contrition.

When John finally peels his eyes from you, he just sighs heavily, shaking his head at the pavement; either in disapproval or disbelief, you couldn’t be sure which.

“Bit late for that now.”

“…What—what the hell is that supposed to mean?” You stutter indignantly.

You were starting to feel woozy; maybe you drank a bit too much.

Your sole scuffs against some debris, almost tripping you up completely if not for the brick wall to steady you. Your palms sting as they slide slightly on the stone, but you don’t dare take your eyes off them to look down for even a second.

Suddenly, with a furtive glance over Ghost’s shoulder, you realize you're almost out on the other side of the street. His massive form fills the alleyway, destroying any hope you’d be able to squeeze your wide body past him or John and the others on your opposite side.

Your mouth is painfully dry. Your throat works, trying to swallow but still managing to somehow choke on nothing. You force some authority you don’t feel into your tone, but it tapers off rather weakly.

“Listen, you’ve had your fun. I really need to get home.”

You were struck by how different they all seemed compared to hardly a half an hour prior. The shift was dramatic—made your head spin. It was hard to rationalize that the people who were just sitting across from you in the homey local bar sharing drinks and the people now caging you into a dreary, abandoned street corner were one and the same.

An approaching streetlamp visible through the yawning maw of the alley cast harsh shadows on their faces. A literal “light at the end of a tunnel” that only offered you dread.

You swayed slightly on your feet, head darting around, desperately trying to keep an eye on the four of them. You were feeling suddenly inexplicably drunker than you felt mere moments before.

As your knees quivered and you tried to steady yourself, John remained a pillar in your wobbly field of vision. Watching. Waiting.

You're not sure which was preferable, the ominous comments or the ominous silence.

You weren’t small. You’d never felt small in your life. But with a group of large men looming over you, it was suddenly hard not to. It was not a feeling you were accustomed to and one you didn’t enjoy now.

You needed air, it was getting impossible to think. You tried to speed your gait to no avail; you couldn’t gain any distance. They prowled, following you closely, as if there was a gravitational pull anchoring them to you.

“Fine. Fine! Okay, you proved your point, alright?!” you exclaimed, getting more frantic by the second, louder. “Let me pass. I’m serious.”

“Oh, so now she’s serious…” Gaz teases, somewhere off to your left.

“You think I’m not?” John husked, sounding incredulous, forehead lines deepening as he raised his brows, tucked his chin to stare down at you through hooded eyes. “Love, I’m serious as a heart-attack.”

Then he was smiling at you again.

It looked the same as before. Sincere. But where previously it endeared you, now, now it makes your heart stall, then shudder in your ribcage; fill you with the sensation of a freefall, the one that jolts you awake while on the very precipice of sleep, leaves your heart racing, despite the tranquil darkness.

His eyes flick over your head.

Before you are able to register the glance, Ghost is suddenly on you again, grabbing you round the middle quicker than someone his size had any right to be, this time actively herding your large form forward.

You realized dully that his last grip on you must have been relatively loose compared to his grip on you now; it was clearly only a fraction of his actual strength.

“What are you doing?!” You cry, a hair's breadth away from a shriek. Your head whips back to John, imploring, “Stop—Stop, I don't know what you want!”

This is probably what it feels like to be a frog. Pounced on and scooped up roughly by some huge creature—some grubby kid’s scrambling fingers. Slippery, round body gripped tight.

You were finally out of the alley, pulled by Ghost as well as your own unsteady feet, your body's instinct to try and avoid cracking your cranium on the concrete abetting him, betraying you.

“What we want?” Ghost chaffed over you, mimicking your voice. “Go on then,” he urged, “give your ‘ead a wobble?”

You could practically feel him cocking his head, feel his smile even with him against your back, even behind the mask.

The open air did nothing for you. It didn’t clear your mind or relieve the claustrophobia churning in your belly a single iota. After all, it wasn’t really the walls closing in on you—it was bodies.

“You’re just trying to scare me!” You accuse sharply, voice strained, grunting as you only manage to nearly heimlich yourself on the last attempt to free yourself from the steel grip around your midsection.

Gaz and the Scot chuckle.

John says your name. He utters it like it was a complete sentence, but you're not sure what it means, what he wants. Either way, it made you regret giving it to him. You suddenly preferred not hearing it on his lips in that rumbling baritone.

Ghost scoffs. “For ‘avin such a smart mouth she’s a bit thick, eh, Soap?” he comments meanly over your head.

Soap’s responding before you have a chance to voice any displeasure, somewhere between a laugh and a scold.

“A bit? Haud yer wheesht!” He turns his attention quickly back to you, leaning in close, “Aw, pet, dinnae pay him mind…Lt kens our bonnie is well thick”, he pats your cushioned hips affectionately.

A shocked gasp slips out of you unbidden at the brief but unmistakable gentle fondle of your fat love handles.

They all drank in the vulnerable, little noise. It would be the first of many. It was impossible to interpret the gesture as anything but “familiar”.

Your body jolts. You would have practically jumped a foot off the ground if not for Ghost anchoring you. With the hold, stark realization floods you like a bucket of ice water—there’s quite literally nothing you can do to avoid any of their touch. Your skin crawls at the unfamiliar contact and doubly so at the threat of more yet.

“Dead fit,” Gaz says readily, sounding like an agreement if you’ve ever heard one, his eyes roam your form.

Words were stolen from your overheating brain, still trying desperately to reboot, to process what the fuck is going on.

“Captain ‘s a man of taste—such a pretty, dainty thing,” Ghost sneers in your ear. “Playin’ coy now, when she was practically battin’ ‘er lashes all night.”

“—It’s not too late—it’s a joke, right? Let’s—we can just forget about this—”

Ghost completely ignores you. “Soft thing like you prancin’ ‘round, cunted at this hour, thinkin’ you're safe?”

“Cun—? I’m not fucking drunk!”

“You’re lucky someone with bad intentions didn’t hear you.” The grin is loud in his tone, oozes off every syllable.

“You think I'm a dog? So you knew wha’ you were doin’ then? You were teasin’ a ‘ungry dog, waving a juicy steak under ‘is nose. Rubbing it in all our faces, of any bloke ‘n earshot? That it?”

“What—what the hell are you talking about?! You—you can’t be serious!” You finally parroted uselessly, equal parts baffled and horrified. These men are crazy.

“She keeps sayin’ tha’,” Soap comments, perplexed.

“‘Denial’ ‘s not just a river,” Gaz shrugs.

Ghost continues. “Captain—” A big hand is suddenly on your jaw, centering your gaze back on John, ”—‘s doin’ you a kindness. Keepin’ you safe n’ sound, makin’ sure you don’t get yourself chewed up and spit out 'n some dirty fuckin’ alley,” nodding back towards the way they came, “Nice of ‘im, innit?”

You flailed desperately, hoping to catch Ghost off guard for even a second. You send your elbow into his ribs, as hard as you could manage at the awkward angle.

It was akin to hitting granite. You sucked in air through your clenched teeth as pain radiated through your ulnar nerve. His grip on you didn't waver, he didn't flinch. He laughed.

A true, low “heh, heh, heh”, that you regretted ever wanting to hear—could have happily gone your whole life without hearing. It sent rogue shivers down your spine and piloerection up your arms as you gawked up in shock, pain forgotten.

“Och, that’s a bit better, Bonnie.” Soap feigns, judging your strike like he’s trying not to hurt your feelings.

“John—” you plead helplessly, turning your gaze back to him. But saying his name was a mistake, deepening the look already there. Rubatosis filled you.

“Think you're strong, eh?" His words still swollen with caustic amusement, "That you could ever ‘urt any of us? Show ‘im you can fend f’ yourself then.” Ghost wobbled you to and fro, shook you, as if you were some weightless bauble.

As your world tilted, you instinctively gripped his arm for dear life, dizzy, afraid you would topple over.

You knew he was right, of course; there is no point denying it.

But a man like him, like them—saying it? It was wrong—it chilled your blood. It felt needlessly cruel, to rub in how weak you are compared to them. The provocation freezes you, making Ghost’s dark eyes crinkle.

“Slim pickings, huh? Must be feeling desperate?” you bit out, before you could stop yourself, voice bitter and thick with emotion—panic and anger congealing into snark. A hole is a hole, after all. Bad luck that you happened to be the one around.

Who would you trade places with? Better you than someone else, your conscience whispered faintly.

“You really don’t get it?” John wonders aloud, bafflement mixing with a heady intensity.

“Imagine thinking no one would want all this—” Fingers grazed your curves. Touched every roll, every hill and valley on your side with a reverence that shocked you for the hundredth time that day, left your mouth literally agape.

“—thought is an utter travesty. One of life’s greatest pleasures is a big, soft girl. Nothing sweeter,” he declared breathily despite himself. “Nothing. So much more to hold, to squeeze—”

There was a certain palpable greediness to his touch, even while he was clearly restraining himself. Groping, not bruising. He only went so far, skirting frighteningly close to your more private bits.

At least it appeared your actual debasement was not going to happen on this particular street corner. His hands make a slow jaunt, mapping your contours. Down your back, your side, your belly, your thighs—kneading and squeezing your ample flesh.

A pitiful, “Please stop—” is eked out of you. Your unadulterated fear on full display, sincere and raw. Begging. You were begging, or trying to, anyway. Your breath hitched, flesh jolting with every unwelcome brush against you, sending your nerve endings alight, already feeling overstimulated.

There was that expression again, that you didn’t recognize before. But it was no longer just simmering under the surface; it was boiling. Emanating out through his pores, muddled with a touch of pity. You finally recognized it—hunger.

“I’m not cross with you,” he adds oddly. “You don’t understand now, but you will. This isn’t a punishment—it’s a consequence.”

Your throat clamped painfully, words tumbling out of your mouth incomprehensibly, trying to find the right thing to say to make him stop. “Please, I don’t, I can’t, wh—”

More hands were on you, pulling your wrists together in front of you.

“Am not going to hurt you. You have my word.” The solemnity of the promise rattled you. Maybe he truly believed it, but you certainly didn’t. After all, you’d wager you had different definitions of “hurting”. You’d die on the hill that this was “hurting” someone.

Somewhere inside you, your body was screaming at you to do something. You’d take the inspiration.

Scream what, exactly? You couldn’t be sure. You should scream “fire” not “help”, right?

But you’d never get the chance, because on your inhale, John’d somehow divined your intentions, and suddenly a hand was clamped over your lips before a sound could escape them. The pressure of the palm was close to bruising this time, unyielding—he wasn’t taking any chances, apparently.

Jerking your head did nothing to dislodge the hand, unlike those on your limbs. It followed the movement rather than impede it. As fate would have it, your struggles only left your head spinning, vision partially obscured by the force of the hand pushing your plump cheeks into your eyes. Whiplash pinched in your neck at the frantic jerks. God, you felt sick.

After that, everything happened very quickly. Suddenly it felt like there were hands all over you, everywhere. Grabbing, holding, pressing. You could hardly tell up from down.

You’d shut your eyes for even a momentary reprieve, willing the vertigo to cease. For everything to stop. For all of them to stop touching you. Hoping desperately that you’d wake up and find yourself safe in bed, this all a bad dream.

Then there was a ripping sound, then a couple more. Someone was pushing stray hairs out of your face. The hands on your wrists moved up instead to grip your forearms. No sooner than you heard it, the large hand had fled your lips only to be immediately replaced by some large sticky substance that was stretched taut across your mouth, from cheek to cheek.

Startled, your struggles renewed, some expletives trapped by the stuff, transforming into useless “mphhhing!” as your hands jumped to pull the offending material from your face. An entirely fruitless endeavor considering the grip on your arms, which didn't budge an inch. John seems fit to ignore your pitiful struggle, simply smoothing it out carefully, layering a couple more pieces. He hums in satisfaction, wide palm patting his work, cupping your mouth and jaw again for good measure.

There was that sound again. With the fear it shot through you, it might as well have been a gun racking. You couldn’t see it, but this time your sloshy mind recognized the distinct creak and shrill shrrrrrrrrrrrp. It was duct tape being pulled from the roll, then wrapped noisily around your wrists, aided by the hands forcing your arms together.

Trying to shove, to bully yourself between them was hopeless. They were all too close, too strong, too heavy, all bearing down on you. You didn’t have room to throw your weight around or even properly kick out at them. Round and round, the tape went, and round and round again for good measure before the end was ripped, smarting where it snagged slightly on the hair on your arms.

You're quite literally fighting for your life, sweating with exertion and panic, panting behind the tape, but your desperate flailing didn’t deter them at all; you didn’t receive even a single hitch in any of their breath for your effort. Hell, it couldn’t even hinder some conversation. Not that you caught most of it with your head swimming, heart pounding loudly in your ears.

“—‘course she’s scrikin’, we’re nicking ‘er,” Ghost rolls his eyes.

Something else was said, probably by Soap, based on the accent.

Ghost just doubles down. “No point tryin’ to talk sense into ‘er. Thing doesn’t know what’s good for ‘er—“

John took his time; he’s dedicated to his task. Precise yet generous with the tape. As soon as the hands left your forearms, more tape was applied where they departed, this time around your entire body, effectively pinning your arms down at your front, circling you enough times that you lost count.

Your struggles and thrashes reinvigorate, an absolutely method portrayal of a snared rabbit. It hurt—hurt how hard you were pulling against them. Bruises would undoubtedly bloom in the coming days wherever their hands gripped you from your wild jerking. That is, assuming you lived that long. Your chest heaves with anxiety. The men allowed you a bit more space, enough that you didn’t feel actively compressed on every side. By them at least.

Not John, though. It was his face that filled your vision, his eyes that pinned yours.

“Shhh. There’s a girl. It’s already over.” You hadn’t yet noticed the tears gathering, that you were so close to falling apart. He said it like it would be some sort of comfort, cupping your plump cheeks delicately. John spoke to you gently, in the softest tone you’d heard yet, softer than you would have believed his husky voice capable of, and yet, with an disturbing finality. “It’s done. Nothing you can do now,” he whispered into your terrified face.

He was too close—there was a little mole on the right side of his nose you never noticed before. He smelled of smoke, and under that, something woodsy and spicy. A large, rough palm smoothed over your hair. Your terrified eyes squeezed shut, willing him out of your face, to stop looking at you. You’re certain he could feel your terror; hell, he could probably feel each little panicked puff of air forced out of your lungs on his face as you tried vainly to regulate your breathing through your nose. “There you go,” he praised, “In and out.”

Shining tears wobbled precariously in your waterline. You tried with all your might not to let them loose, to salvage any shred of dignity. Any sense of control. As if that would somehow make things worse, as you sucked in a wet, sniveling sound.

Your internal pleas for space were less than useless, as John leaned in ever closer, cradling your skull in his hands, pressing his lips to your crown in a chaste, whiskery kiss.

The sheer intimacy of the gesture made you balk. Held and boxed in, there was no way to move away, making you whimper pathetically. Sounding foreign to even your own ears. A savourable sound, that went right to John’s belly.

Trying to hold it in was all for naught; as soon as John’s lips touched you, your resolve shattered. Shattered into so many pieces even Kintsugi couldn’t repair it.

Your face was soaked with the onslaught, tears traveling as far as down your neck. Dizzy with panic, the duct tape swallowing up most of your damp sobs. You couldn’t recall the last time you'd broken down like that in front of another person, much less four near strangers.

“I’m keeping you.” He says suddenly. He waits for you to take in the words, thumbs stroking slow circles into your cheekbones.

You hiccup behind the tape, teeth chattering in your clenched jaw as you realize you’re shaking. Face tacky with tears. You angrily tried to pull away again, but John just held you still as you quake.

…John didn’t need Ghost for muscle, you realized dully. His grip was an epiphany, the promise of strength in his hands alone—it made you feel all the more useless.

Calloused thumbs rasped over your cheeks, wiping away the wetness there, only for more to replace them. “I won’t try to stop you from crying, won’t punish you for being upset,” he rumbled, “but, you have to understand it won’t change anything. What'll happen. From now on, you’re mine—but I take care of what’s mine. You’ll see.”

Why?! Your heart ached. You couldn’t understand how people you’d been chatting and laughing with mere minutes ago could do this to you. People who had seemed so normal—

Gaz smirks, nudging Soap, murmuring, “Oh, don't worry, she’ll feel heaps better when she’s creamin’ on—”

You didn't think you were capable of feeling worse. Your eyes bulge in horror, breath snagging again in your throat.

John sighs, interrupting him with a harsh jangle of metal as he pitched some keys to Gaz, who caught them easily in one hand. “Bring the car ‘round will you?” John asks, but it’s really not a request.

“On it!” Gaz’s reply is prompt and cheery as he steps off the curb into the darkness beyond the reach of the streetlamp, practically a spring in his step.

You sniffled, sinuses starting to burn, following your eyes’ watery influence. Feeling humiliated as you can feel your nose start to run, tickling your philtrum. Soap cooed over your teary face. You flinched as he raised his hand to you, but he only wiped your nose, disgustingly with his own sleeve.

He had the nerve to look chagrined at your reaction. When he spoke again, it was uncannily quiet compared to his familiar boister, as if he was trying to soothe a spooked horse. “Dinnae fash, it’ll be awricht, bonnie, swear it.”

His words were worthless; didn’t pacify you at all. You were possessed by a primal terror of a cornered animal that couldn’t fathom what was going to happen to it. Your eyes flooded, everything in your vision warped by tears. You couldn’t see, couldn’t hear over your own hammering heart. Soap’s cursin’, saying something. Maybe it was fucking Gaelic, you didn’t understand what he was saying.

“—Wee lamb, greetin—”

“‘Nough fussin’, Soap. You’re almost as bad as ‘er.”

“Ah ken, ah ken…”

“I did warn you, even gave you an out.” John sighed, commiserating, as if he weren’t the source of your angst. It wrung completely hollow, he didn't sound disappointed in the slightest with any of the events. If anything, you'd suspect we has trying to tamp down the opposite.

“Jesus wept, Cap—” Soap blurts, any remorse apparently long forgotten as he suddenly grips your ample belly possessively, making you shriek, “—almost made us lose out,” he grumbled. “Ah knew ye were tryin’ tae tip ‘er aff”.

You thrashed in his rude hold, face hot, but he just grinned, loved how your squirms just showcased your enticing bounce. Despair and humiliation ached in your chest, heavy like lead. You just wanted to go home.

Headlights round the corner.

In a last-ditch attempt, you allow yourself to completely go limp, following through on the threat of being unmovable. You barely start tipping before Ghost and Soap are on either side of you, holding you up between the two of them, completely halting your descent.

Your mind shuddered to a halt with the idea they might actually be able to lift you. When you tried to buckle your knees, they went ahead and confirmed your fears true. Not even a slipped grunt of exertion gave you any satisfaction, when you were being half carried, half dragged practically kicking and screaming to the car. Well, as much as you could through the tape. As you’re urged onward, you lock your knees as your legs jam against the car’s running board.

“You’re going one way or another,” John calls simply, tapping something into his phone.

“Watch your head, trophy.” Ghost grins, huge hand spanning your skull, pushing you down past the door frame, but you think you just might have preferred the concussion. Your own weight does the rest of the work, sending you sprawling belly first onto the back seat, teary cheek smooshed against the cool, leather interior.

You should have been prepared to be absolutely as difficult as possible, regardless of whether or not it’d change your fate, but you were utterly spent. Your limbs ached at all the struggling. You couldn’t muster any more fight as Soap and Ghost maneuvered you into the middle seat. Your plentiful "handholds" aiding the process.

The lone lap belt buckled tightly across your lap before Ghost and Soap followed you in, sandwiching you, sitting in the seats on either side. You were practically spilling over onto them, it was a tight fit.

You couldn’t quite swallow a yelp as rough fingers were wedged under your plush form on either side. Apparently unsatisfied with your positioning, you were swiveled so your ass remained in the seat while the rest of your body lay flat. Your upper body in Ghost's lap and legs curled in Soap’s, the seat belt digging into your soft belly at the awkward angle.

You were normally hyperaware of the space you occupied and tried to be as respectful as possible about it. You would be mortified, feel a bolt of white-hot shame if any squishy bit of you even accidentally brushed up against someone else. You’d do anything to risk a stranger's look of annoyance or disgust, god forbid someone say something. And yet, here you were, your fat body draped across two men's laps, both looking quite fucking pleased with the arrangement. There was nothing you could do about it, as Soap paws at your thigh, humming happily.

“Behave, you lot.” John stoops, smiling at the group fondly as he shuts the door.

The car is moving.

You were completely adrift. Maybe you were in shock. All it took was a handful of seconds for your life to become entirely and irrevocably derailed.

While lying prone, the motion rocked you slightly. Outside the window, the world flitted by. All you could make out from your vantage point was the wide expanse of sky, purplish, the color of a dusky developing bruise, only swagging power lines and the tops of towering street lamps flashing across the horizon.

Just like that, slow conversation started up again, right above your head. It was as if they were back at the bar; the normalcy of it was chilling. Soap’s hands were still resting over your thick thigh, petting you. Repetitive strokes up and down your thigh that also eventually blended into the background. The car was so warm now—John must have cranked the heat. You feel the warmth dust across your face where it filtered into the backseat.

You're feeling floaty—disconnected. Your body couldn’t sustain the level of terror that should still be at the forefront of your mind. Adrenaline burned everything out of you, drained you till there was nothing left but fog, thick and cloying. It became a task to keep your eyes open.

You were so tired.

Your limp body bounced lightly as the car went along. The voices were even more distant now, a muted background noise, like someone speaking on the phone in the next room over—you can just hear the mumble through the wall but can’t decipher any of the words.

…

“—get some proper rest on the plane.”

(I horked this up originally after re-reading one of @391780 posts. I think it was the one where Simon calls dibs on you while you're out with friends? Clearly things deviated a lot, but still. Do yourselves a favor and read all of their stuff.)

#really felt like i had to clarify this #i hope it makes sense #self report i guess?#i really want my stuff to work for all fats i think this kind of thing is hard to avoid #anon take this as my response

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revelboo · 13 hours ago

Note

In your drift fic and seeing drift is happy that reader is mad at him and smiling, while his human is not and pissed off lol

Ratchet is also not pleased by this, which is making the situation worse. My boy drift what've you done 😔

He’s trying his best to take care of reader, but tends to neglect caring that much for himself. I figure he and Ratchet aren’t quite together, yet.

Sure! I think I can use the mass post editor after work tonight to add the valveplug tag to everything. Just figured out my little 🌶️ emoji is searchable. That’s going to make this so much easier 🤣 I’ll get that stuff tagged with valveplug, but it’s going to take me a bit and I’ve got another 8 hour class today. But fair warning, all of what I write has those elements crop up eventually- I write spicy storylines and scenarios. I do write fluff, but I also write a lot of risqué stuff

The Samurai Code Pt 10

Drift x Reader

• “Can you undo what he did?” You ask, ignoring Drift to glare at Ratchet. Will undoing it leave you slowly dying again? Or was whatever he did enough to permanently cure you? And you smack at his servo without any real heat when Drift tries to run it down your arm. You’re still trying to reconcile the things you’d seen while tangled in him. His guilty need to make amends, his life all right there for you to live and you’d gotten the impression that he’s ancient. To him your life is a moment, it’s nothing.

• “The only way to remove a partial bond is by fully bonding another bot and having them shred the old bond,” Ratchet growls, exhausted with both of you, because whole it’s doable, it’s taboo. And traumatic. Turning his stare on Drift as the bot tries to touch you again and he knows that’s the bond. Needing to touch you, be near you. Eventually to claim all of you. “Do you have any idea how long a human lives?” He demands and the other bot glances at you, but you won’t meet his optics, jaw clenching. Do you know how long they live then? Had you gotten that from the bond?

• “A couple thousand years?” He hazards, servos brushing your spine and you allow it. Allow him to touch you and it eases some of that need spangling through him. Had never really imagined taking a bond mate. Definitely not an organic one, but he doesn’t regret what he did. That he’d saved a life instead of taking it. Your shoulders hunch slightly under his touch. He’ll try to make you happy. Try to take care of you. And it’ll be nice to not be alone, optics lifting to Ratchet, there’s a moment of disconnect. Of a path that he’d been just starting to walk and now he’s pretty sure that choice is lost. Likes the irritable medic, his temper and attitude sparking through him. But it’s not like Ratchet liked him in return.

• “Eighty or ninety years,” you whisper at the same time Ratchet snarls ‘a vorn.’ And Drift just looks from you to the medic. “So you can’t ever do that again,” you add, voice gentle. “If you fully bond to me by accident, you’ll die when I do, won’t you?” And he’s silent staring at you like he can’t believe how short your life is compared to his. Hate that even as you’re furious at him for doing it even though you’d told him no, that you’re also so thankful you want to breakdown crying. Because you didn’t want to die out here far from home.

• Swearing softly, Ratchet slumps back in his chair, head back. And Drift can’t stop staring at you. He’d seen all of you while bonding with you, seen that you’re nothing like he is, that you’re good. Knows he shouldn’t want to claim you fully, to tarnish your brightness with his darkness. But a selfish part of him wants to lose himself in that light, to pretend that he’s only Drift that Deadlock never was. “The bond needs to be replenished regularly or you’ll grow weaker,” he manages. Not a lie. Less than a vorn then to make up for his sins. No time at all, but he’s lived a long time anyway. And looking at Ratchet, regrets hums through him.

#transformers x reader #drift x reader #mtmte drift

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sixxels · 17 hours ago

Text

diva

nerd!gojo loves his absolute diva of a girlfriend.

there were a lot of things satoru gojo didn’t understand.

why his professor insisted on giving 7 a.m. lectures when good sleep was scientifically proven to improve cognitive function. why the wifi crashed every time he needed to upload his lab reports. why textbooks cost more than his monthly rent.

but the one thing he understood better than anything? he was in love with his girlfriend. dramatic, high-maintenance, lip gloss shining at 8am, the whole thing was tiring sometimes, sure. but you were his lifeline, his escape.

and what surprised him the most was how much he loved the little, mundane stuff. the small rituals. the shared routines that stitched your days together.

he liked meeting you outside your psych class, where you'd always emerged with a dramatic sigh like the lecture had emotionally wounded you. “he used brain rot memes on the slides, satoru. i can’t keep doing this.” you'd say that, every time, and he’d laugh like it was the first time you'd ever said it.

he especially liked your aesthetic, full-on mcbling throwback fantasy. pink velour, rhinestoned phone cases, bedazzled hair clips, juicy sweats like it was 2004 and you were the star of your own teen drama. you looked like a fever dream from a y2k music video, and he was obsessed. the lip gloss, the glitter, the low-rise jeans with butterfly charms. it all should’ve been too much. but on you? it was perfect.

“you look like a bratz doll,” he told you once, eyes wide like he couldn’t believe you were real. “and i’d die for every version of you.”

you just blew him a kiss and said, “good. you’re supposed to.”

he liked when the two of you grabbed coffee between classes. you ordered like you were reciting a poem—iced vanilla oat milk latte, one pump caramel, light ice, no cold foam. he never even looked at the menu anymore. you'd sip yours and hum in approval while he nursed a plain black coffee like the boring nerd he was. you always wrinkled your nose at it. “you drink that voluntarily? for what? character development?”

he liked when you studied in the library together. you never lasted more than twenty minutes without complaining. “why is econ just… numbers pretending to have feelings? such a drag.” you'd whine, head resting dramatically on his shoulder, perfume hitting him like a truck. he pretended to be annoyed, but secretly, he loved when you did that—like he was her safe little island in a sea of boring lectures and broken printers.

he liked how you always dragged him around like a personal pet. pulling him into stores as you judged products you knew you were never going to buy. “should i get this ‘girlboss’ notebook?” you asked once. “cant tell if it's empowering or a hate crime.” he still didn’t know what that meant, but you looked cute holding it.

he liked the late-night walks after study sessions. you always wore those fuzzy slippers that weren’t meant for outdoors, but insisted they were “serving.” the two of you would walk under the string lights strung across the quad, your perfectly managed hand in his, talking about nothing and everything—professors the both of you hated, dumb memes, the little thoughts you had. "y'know toru, having a hot nerd like you on my arm makes me look 100 times more cunty."

and he especially liked when you'd pull him into empty stairwells just to kiss him, pulling him down to your height and shoving your tongue down his throat as you teasingly grinded your hips against his crotch in a passionate exchange. your lip gloss sticking to his mouth like a brand. “to keep you focused,” she’d tease, before strutting off like she hadn’t just short-circuited his entire brain, he was now faced with a problem in his pants.

it wasn’t just the big gestures or grand declarations that made him love you. it was the daily stuff—the little, ordinary routines that you made feel magical, chaotic, and unmistakably yours.

he didn’t need roses or fireworks.

he had oat milk lattes, sarcastic one-liners, stolen kisses between classes, and you.

and that was more than enough.

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world-of-aus · 1 day ago

Text

Off The Boards

Pairing: Hockey Player!Bucky x Sports Photographer!Reader

Warning: More Angsty Dialogue. Still on that perhaps a turning point?

Author's Note: Chapter 4 is here and i apologize for the delay but life caught up and tripped me up on the ice friends! I hope you enjoy this one, part five is in the editing phase and should be released on saturday, thank you all for your patience.

Montreal greeted the staff and team with a brisk chill and dull skies, the kind that whispered winter but didn’t quite commit. You arrived early, as you always did during game days. You preferred the quiet before the chaos, it gave you time to check your lighting, frame your shots, and walk the empty rink with fresh eyes.

Camera in hand, Bruin's jacket zipped up, you moved through the bowels of the Bell Centre like you belonged there. You checked your list, adjusted your aperture, and lined up a few rink shots. You caught a reflection you liked off the plexiglass and moved closer to capture it.

Click.

The muffled thump of gear bags and voices echoed down the corridor next to where you stood working, the team bus had arrived. The players making their way in.

Your grip on the camera tightened for a second - only a second - and then you were moving again, rounding the corner toward the locker room hall as players filed in.

"Hey Y/n," Sam Wilson called as he passed, still in his sweats and beanie. “Lighting good here or do I need to stand in a flattering pose for your lens again?”

You snorted shaking your head with a smile pulling at your lips. “Please don’t. Last time I had to edit your smirk out of half the media reel, I get you're a fan favorite but c’mon Sammy Etsy sellers have enough of your face to last them over 2 years they don’t need anymore.”

“What can I say baby, the face sells.” he grins as he continues past you knocking his fist against yours.

The players start filtering through after Wilson, most of them used to your presence now; some pose, some ignore you and your camera choosing to be all business as they make their way to the locker room. They were game ready. You chatted briefly with two rookies that walked in towards the end promising to capture more of their time on the ice then giving a nod to the equipment manager as he passed you a smile on his face as he held you to a promise to kill it out there.

Bucky filtered through last.

He stepped into her frame without hesitation, helmet tucked under his arm bag hung on his shoulder, his head down in focus.

You barely blinked, seemingly unaffected as you lined yourself up adjusting the focus as you snapped two quick shots like you would with any other player that made their way into the arena.

“Morning Barnes,” you said, “good luck out there.”

His eyes flicker to you, the faintest pause as he takes you in, the smallest tilt of his lips kisses the corner of his mouth. “Thank’s y/n, you too.” The silence didn’t stretch between the two of you as you let your camera drop softly back to your chest, a nod of your head as you turned on your feet to head to the ice.

The arena lights blazed down in cold white rows as you crouched low by the boards, lens trained on the ice. Warm-ups were always her favorite part especially on games that took the team away from home. It was fast, chaotic, full of energy and unfiltered emotion as if they were warming up the ice to be made just for them. This was where she caught the good stuff: candid grins, effortless strides, players nudging each other into motion like a storm gathering force.

Your camera moved on it’s own, your hands simply holding it in place as it tracked the players, click, shift, adjust.

Sam Wilson flew past you first, carving the ice with a wide grin. He slowed just enough to flick a puck your way. It tapped the boards harmlessly beside your boot, you shook you head.

“You gettin’ my good side, Hot Shot?” he called out with a wink, flipping his stick up as he turned.

A grin pulls at your lips as you lower your camera. “Pretty sure that’s subjective Wilson.”

Sam laughed, skating backwards now. “That why you always cut me from the highlight reel?”

“Oh come on, I do not cut you, I only post the stuff that sells,” you shoot back.

Sam clutches his chest like you’ve wounded him. “I’m going to remember that hot shot, when you need the good i won’t be there.”

Laughter bubbles past your lips, the moment rolling past you, light and familiar. It was the kind of banter that kept you grounded.

Across the ice, Bucky was stretching near the center line, helmet off, eyes up.

You didn’t look at him for long, just long enough to note the tension in his shoulders, the way he moved a half-second behind the rhythm of the team.

You wondered if he had heard it.

Your camera rose again like a shield, fingers quick and practiced as you continued to document their warm-ups.

“Good pace today,” you said aloud, stepping toward the boards where Wilson and another forward were sprinting drills. “Watch that backlight off the glass, it’s flaring your helmet like a disco ball.”

“Noted,” Wilson said, grinning as he skated by again.

Behind you, a heavy presence hovered. Not close enough to touch, just enough for you to feel it. To feel him.

Bucky.

You didn’t turn, didn’t give him a moment, or a spared glance as you continued to work. You made you way around the rink edge, trading nods with the players as they skated through the remainder of their drills. Your camera caught the flick of blades, the spray of ice, a half-laugh between defensemen after a missed pass. You loved these moments; where skill and personality bled together on the ice.

You crouched for a lower angle, capturing the sharp lines of Sam’s stride as he cut across the neutral zone again. The perfect shot; for as much as you teased him his imaged were always clean, strong, and centered. You reviewed it for a moment, then gave a satisfied nod. This would make the reel.

“That the money shot?” Clint Barton, one of the coaching assistants, asked as he passed.

“Could be,” you said, eyes still on the viewfinder. “We’ll see what I get during faceoff.”

“Classic Y/L/N,” he grinned. “You always make us look better than we are you know that? Team would be lost without you.”

Pride fills your chest, heat slamming into your cheeks, “I do what I can coach.”

As you straightened, a flash of gold and black caught your eye. Bucky, skating a line near the far blue line, shoulders squared but his face unreadable. His movements were clean, disciplined—but something in the way he held himself gave him away.

He was aware of her.

Not in the obvious way; not staring, not watching.

But in the way his pass missed by an inch too far. The way his glove adjusted more than necessary.

You lifted your camera again, framing the team in a wide shot that included him, but didn’t center him.

Just as you were about to move on, Sam passed close again and nudged her foot with the edge of his stick. “Listen, If you ever need a new assistant, I got a good eye for angles.”

You laughed. “Your angles are half the problem Wilson.”

He barked a laugh, then nodded toward the far line. “Looks like you got someone trying to figure out your angles.”

Y/n didn’t follow his gaze, you didn’t have to. “I’ve already figured mine out.” you said returning to your work.

Behind you, Bucky looked away first.

The puck dropped with a resounding clack, echoing through the Bell Centre like a starting gun.

You were already in motion, eyes sharp behind the lens, fingers steady on the shutter. You moved along the edge of the rink, always a step ahead of the action. The energy in the building crackled with opening night tension; Bruins versus Canadiens, a rivalry steeped in blood, sweat, and grudges.

Perfect for photos.

You kept your focus broad during the first period, shooting wide frames of the full ice, catching the arcs of skates slicing through the surface, gloves flying mid-check, mouthguards flashing in shouts. The players were dialed in; fast, aggressive, alive.

You were, too.

Every time Bucky touched the puck, the crowd reacted. A swell of anticipation, of curiosity, he was new to the team, but the name Barnes carried weight. Especially here, where the fans knew their hockey and their headlines.

You tracked him like you would anyone else. Clean passes. Good positioning. A near miss on a one-timer in the first five minutes. Your camera caught it all but you never lingered on him longer than necessary. Once upon a time you might have followed him more, lingered a bit longer – but that was before, this was now. You refused to give him more frame time than he earned.

“Great pace tonight,” Wanda’s voice crackled through Emma’s earpiece during a pause in play. “You getting the hits on three?”

“Already sent to the cloud,” you replied, adjusting your position near the Bruins bench. “Just keep me updated on angles.”

You knelt down again, shifting her lens toward a pile-up near the Canadiens’ net. Two players slammed into the boards; one of them was Bucky. You winced, heart pitter pattering away but your lens stayed focused. The shutter clicked rapidly as you caught the impact, the shift in his expression, the flash of instinct as he pulled himself upright and skated back into the play.

He was in it now; you knew that look from the many times you had been in a position like this before.

Near the second half of the period, Sam Wilson skated toward the bench, helmet off, sweat streaking his brow. As he grabbed his water bottle, he looked your way flashing you a tired grin.

“Tell me you caught my assist on that last rush.”

“I did,” you grin. “But I was more impressed by your trip into the boards.”

“M’telling you y/l/n when you need footage you won’t find me,” he muttered, shaking his head. “Your camera’s got no mercy.”

Your grin grows. “Neither does the ice.”

The two of you exchange a familiar smile before Sam skates back out onto the ice.

Bucky glanced toward the bench in that moment, his eyes catching the tail end of your smile. He didn’t say anything, but the look tightened something in his jaw as he looked away and back into where his gaze should have been.

As the second period ticked down and Bucky picked up speed through the neutral zone, streaking past two defensemen with alarming ease, you felt it, that shift.

That undeniable magnetism that had once pulled you in so easily.

The way he skated like the ice answered to him. The way he passed; a flick of the wrist, precise and fluid. The way he read the game two steps ahead. It had always been like this.

It had always made you look harder, track him quicker with the lens of your camera.

You didn’t let your fingers falter.

Not even when the second period opened with a bang quite literally, as Bucky body-checked a Canadiens winger against the glass hard enough to rattle your lens. This time you didn’t flinch, instead adjusting your setting and continuing to capture the second period. You didn’t let your heart run wild with the moment, didn’t let yourself think about how you used to know what it felt like to see that intensity up close without plexiglass between them.

Still, your eyes flicked to the ice, narrowing in on #14.

Bucky skated away from the boards, expression unreadable beneath his helmet. Focused. He had always been like that game face on, eyes straight ahead, the weight of everything else tucked away behind those sharp, storm-blue eyes.

Once, he used to grin after a play like that.

Once, he used to glance toward the stands to find you.

You used to wave from the rails, camera lowered, mouth curled in that smile only he got.

Back in the early years, before scouts, before contracts, before the Boston spotlight they used to talk about moments like this. He used to tell you how he could feel the difference when you were there.

“It’s not luck,” he told you once. “It’s you. When you’re watching, I move better.”

You’d laughed and rolled your eyes back then, called him dramatic.

But he meant it.

And now here they were, sharing the same rink again.

Just not the same universe.

You caught yourself lingering in the memory and quickly snapped back to your settings, adjusting for low light as the puck was cleared down the ice. You moved to a new position just as a flurry of activity broke out in front of the Canadiens’ goal. Bucky was in the thick of it, jostling with a defenseman, stick down, fighting for position.

He didn’t score, but he looked good.

You tracked his next shift more carefully, not for him, you told yourself - but for the photo. The photo that would sell, the one the fans would want.

He was a story. You were just here to tell it.

Still, when he skated past your section of the boards and his eyes flicked toward the camera, just for a split second – like he knew you were there - your grip tightened.

You didn’t look away, but you didn't look too long either.

By the third period, the game had slowed. The score was tied. Both teams were tired, the hits heavier, the skating messier. You stood to stretch your back near the Zamboni entrance, one hand on your hip as you scrolled through a batch of burst shots.

Behind you, the Bruins bench buzzed with tension. Yells, stick taps, adrenaline high.

You lowered the camera to your side for a moment and watched the ice with you own eyes.

And there he was again.

Gliding across center ice, hair damp beneath his helmet, jaw set with that quiet fire he used to wear in parking lot arguments and post-practice confessions.

You used to love him like that; too much, too fast, too deep.

And he let you.

Until he left.

You exhaled slowly, shifting your weight as a fresh line change sent Bucky back to the bench. He didn’t look at you this time, didn’t need to, you could feel him. The memory of him tugged at the corners of your mind like a half-healed bruise.

You’d promised yourself you wouldn’t slip. Wouldn’t fall into nostalgia or let your professionalism crack under the pressure of proximity.

Still, it was hard not to remember what it felt like to skate with him late at night, just the two of you and a frozen pond.

Hard not to remember the first time he kissed you halfway through a snowball fight, laughing with frozen breath and wind-burned cheeks.

Hard not to remember the way he held you after he told you he was leaving.

I’ll find you again.

The memory was quicksand, and you shook it off fast

You didn’t need promises anymore, you needed consistency.

And so far, he hadn’t earned that, not yet.

You raised the camera again just in time to catch a near goal. The shutter clicked and clicked and clicked, and you locked Bucky in a frozen frame that would’ve made the cover of any magazine five years ago.

Now? It’d just be another file in the archive.

You were okay with that.

Mostly.

The final buzzer echoed through the arena, followed by the hollow thud of sticks on the boards and the low roar of the crowd. The Bruins had edged out the Canadiens in a gritty 3–2 win, and the energy walking off the ice was electric.

You moved with the team, camera already slung across your body, capturing quick moments as players headed down the tunnel. High fives. Sweat-soaked relief. The subtle exchange of glances between teammates who’d battled tooth and nail for sixty minutes.

You stayed back, keeping your distance, tucked into the shadows behind the media line. Your job wasn’t to be seen. It was to catch what others missed.

And still, he found you.

Bucky exited the ice last, helmet off, curls damp and curling at his temples, jaw clenched tight. His gaze scanned the corridor, sweeping past the line of reporters, past the assistant coaches until they landed on you.

Your fingers twitched on your camera.

He didn’t say anything. Didn’t smile. Just met your eyes with something you couldn’t name; quiet, steady, heavy.

You didn’t flinch.

Didn’t look away.

Just lifted the camera and took the shot.

The shutter clicked once.

A clean, sharp frame.

And then you dropped your gaze and turned on your heel, heading down the hall without a word.

You were sorting through images backstage when Wanda appeared, arms crossed, a knowing look carved into her face.

“I saw the stare-off,” she said.

You didn’t look up. “There was no stare-off Wands.”

Wanda snorted. “Right. It was just two people communicating wordlessly in front of a live audience.”

“Exactly,” you replied, dry as ever. “Very professional I’d say.”

You flicked to the next image, and your breath caught. It was the one - that one - Bucky looking at you like nothing else existed.

Your chest ached for a beat too long.

Wanda stepped closer. “You good?”

“Fine Wands,” you said quietly, but the lie was old and transparent between them.

Wanda didn’t push, her comforting hand falling to your shoulder as she squeezed gently “I’ll catch you back at the hotel, you owe me dinner.”

The hotel hallway was quieter now, the buzz of the game’s aftermath starting to settle into the usual travel routine. The distant hum of the elevator, muffled chatter from players still in the lounge, it all felt like background noise to you as you made your way back to your room.

Just as you reached for the door, a voice stopped you.

“Y/n.”

You turned, your breath catching slightly in your throat.

Bucky stood a few feet away, his broad frame leaning casually against the wall. His hair was still damp, and the faint scent of ice rink coldness lingered on him. He wasn’t looking for an argument, wasn’t bracing for anything. He simply looked at you, really looked at you for the first time since they’d reconnected. Though to be fair, he’d been looking since he first caught wind of you, but this time he saw what you had become, what you’d built without him at your side.

Your heartbeat skipped a little, but you fought it back. You couldn't afford to let your emotions rule. Not yet.

Bucky cleared his throat and stood a little straighter, his voice low but genuine. “I wanted to say something - something I should have said a long time ago.”

You raised an eyebrow, uncertain, as you stayed silent yet waiting.

“Your shots,” he continued, his eyes briefly dipping to the camera still slung across your body. “They’re incredible. Your work, y/n. I’ve seen it in the photos, but watching you tonight how you move, how you catch the moment, it’s different. It’s you now. I don’t think I ever told you how proud I am of you.”

Your heart skipped in your chest. You opened your mouth to say something, but your words were lost.

“You’ve built this life on your own. Even after everything. Even after I was gone, you found a way to make it work. I can’t imagine what it took to get here. But you did it. And you didn’t need me for that.”

He stepped closer, and for the first time, you didn’t step away. You simply stood there, taking in the sincerity in his voice. He wasn’t here to apologize. He wasn’t here to fix anything. This was something else. This was him acknowledging you.

You swallowed hard, your gaze softening just a fraction. “Thanks, Bucky.”

A long beat of silence followed. Neither of you knew what to say next, but there was an understanding that didn’t need to be spoken. You could hear the weight in his voice, the weight of regret, of missed opportunities but it was layered with something more.

He wasn’t asking for forgiveness, not yet. But he was trying.

“I see you, y/n,” Bucky said, his eyes still locked on yours. “I see how far you’ve come, and it makes me proud to see the woman you’ve become. Even if it took me too long to realize it.”

You let out a breath, your chest heavy, but you didn’t look away from him. Your voice was quieter than usual, but firm. “You’ve changed, too, Bucky. I see it too. But just because I see it doesn’t mean I’m ready to let go of what happened between us. You’ve got a lot of work to do if you want me to believe you’re not the same person.”

Bucky nodded, accepting your words with the same quiet understanding he had when they first met tonight. “I get it. I’ve got a long road ahead. I’m not asking for anything from you right now except maybe this.” He stepped even closer, his voice soft but determined. “Let me try. Let me prove that I’m not that guy anymore. That I can be who you need me to be. Even if we have to take it slow, even if we’re just strangers for a while.”

You blinked, taken aback by his honesty. You had expected the same thing: the need to rush forward, to fix everything in one moment. But this, this was different.

“I’m not going to make promises I can’t keep,” he added, his voice thick with sincerity. “But I will show you. One step at a time.”

You paused. “I’m not ready to forgive you. Not yet. But I can see that you’re trying, Bucky. And for that - thank you.”

He didn’t smile. He didn’t even nod. But there was something in his eyes, relief, maybe, or hope that softened the edges of the tension that had hung between the two of you for so long.

“Goodnight, y/n,” he said quietly, before turning to leave.

You watched him walk away, your heart feeling heavier than it had in hours. You weren’t sure where this would lead. But for the first time in a long time, you didn’t feel like you were losing yourself.

Maybe…

You let the thought hang in the air, knowing it was too early to decide anything but giving yourself permission to wonder.

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x you #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes au #hockey player!bucky

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yoiisa · 1 day ago

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Hey Sofie!! Hope you're doing well! I wanted to make a request for a Wind breaker fic if that's okay!

Can you do a Sakura Haruka x Reader one where Reader's been pining (mutually but Sakura is so dense he doesn't even know what he's feeling) after Sakura for like a while. And like just recently figured out that they've liked him romantically.

I'm pretty sure you know how sensitive Sakura is to romantic stuff, and if you've read the manga, and has like a romantic sensor where he can tell someone has feelings just by the look in their face.

Now, what about Reader is trying their best to hide their feelings for Sakura and Sakura is like 'THEY LIKE SOMEONE?!' And that's the whole plot. They get together by the end of it.

IM REALLY SORRY IF I'M LIKE BEING TOO SPECIFIC ITS JUST THAT THIS CAME TO MY MIND AND I COULDNT GET IT OUT OF MY HEAD 💔😣

Feel free to ignore if you don't like this 🙏 Thanks for reading!! 🌹

this is so cute oml. it reminded me of this time I didn't realize a guy had a crush on me until five months after we stopped talking and my friend was the one who pointed it out (ᵕ—ᴗ—) im suuuppper dense irl!

➜ in my mind, the first person to actually bring it up to Sakura would be Nirei. Like, it would be as they're leaving school for the day, and you happen to be there ➜ here's the thing though: like you said, he can still tell something's up. that blush you're rocking doesn't go unnoticed. he just thinks it's for someone else entirely

"Sakura!" you call, waving your hand. Nirei, Suo, Kiryu, Sakura, and Tsuguera come to a pause as they see you walk over. You hold some small wrapped candies out to them. "I got these in a goodie bag from the arcade. I don't like these flavors so you can have them!" Sakura, cocking his head to the side just huffs. He can feel his face growing warmer by the minute, and he's not about that. He casts his gaze off to the side and huffs, "I don't want your leftovers . . ." but he still takes them! "That was really nice of Y/N!" Nirei says as you send them a wave and walk away. "What flavors did she bring?" Kiryu asks, peaking at the wrappers in Sakura's hands. Sakura rolls his eyes and practically throws them into Nirei's hands. "Tch. Who cares? She just wanted an excuse to come over here and see Suo." When the boys all freeze and stare at him like he's grown fifty heads, all he can manage is a flustered "The fuck are you looking at?!"

➜ and here's the kicker. this goes on for months. literal months of sakura thinking that you want suo, because every time you come over, suo just happens to be nearby. ➜ you also go to suo for advice on Sakura as well, so you're spending even more time with him through that, and it really isn't helping your case here ➜ all of the other boys can tell though, that it's sakura you want, but none of them say anything: nirei feels bad for keeping quiet and tries to change the subject whenever you come up, kiryu says you could do better (which sakura wholeheartedly agrees with, completely oblivious to what kiryu's actually saying) tsuguera doesn't really care all that much, and suo? ➜ SUO THINKS IT'S HILARIOUS ➜ always one to mess with sakura, he's taking this incredibly seriously. he nods in agreement with sakura's assessments, and moans about how "it's too bad, she's such a nice girl but I'm just no interested . . . oh what to do . . ." ➜ and sakura feels bad, so he overcompensates for what suo's "lacking" ➜ he's more warm with you when you walk up to him ➜ if the two of you go somewhere together after/before school starts, like kotoha's restaurant, he'll carry your bags for you. if you see something you like, like a keychain or even one time, just a really good looking apple, by the next day, it's yours. you get worried at first that sakura's spreading his funds low over you, but he just waves you off and says it's from bofurin's influence.

"Sakura, seriously?" you sigh as he holds out a tiny stuffie of a white puppy with a black spot on its eye. "I didn't even touch it . . ." "But you wanted it didn't you?" Sakura asks before gently tossing the small dog to you. "I saw you staring at it when we walked past." "Yeah, but I didn't get it because it's a collectors edition from this brand. This must've been crazy expensive!" Sakura just shrugs. "The owner of that store gave me a discount. Said his daughter knows Umemiya or something. Said he likes Bofurin . . ." You gently stroke the soft fabric of the dog's coat. you do really like it, and the asymmetrical design kinda reminds you of Sakura. Your eyes widen as a hand comes up and pats you. When you look up through your lashes, you see Sakura's face growing pinker by the second. You feel your own cheeks heat as he says, "You wanted it, Y/N. That's . . . that's reason enough." His words are hardly a whisper, and his voice is hoarse, as if he's forcing them out. Still, it's genuine enough that it earns a bright smile from you, and a soft "Thank you."

➜ eventually sakura reaches his breaking point with suo, because he wants you! of course he wants you, who wouldn't? you're smart, talented, and beautiful! suo is so ungrateful for not appreciating you properly, and sakura tells him as much

"What's your damage asshole?" Sakura grumbles one day as he pokes a straw through his juice box. It's hot outside, and he just got finished cleaning up grafiti on the side of some convenience store. "Hmm? What do you mean?" Suo asks as he wipes his forehead on the collar of his shirt. "If you don't have feelings for her, just reject her already," Sakura snaps. "It's worse for you to drag it out and make her think she has a chance with you-" "Who're you talking about?" Hiragi asks, unwrapping his ice cream sandwich. "Y/N L/N," Suo says. "You know her?" "Oh," Hiragi says. "Eh, not all that much. I saw her at Kotoha's restaurant the other day though. She was talking about some guy thing, but I could've sworn she said 'Sakura' and not 'Suo'-"

➜ oh lordy, poor sakura's brain just breaks ➜ like full on short circuits ➜ because what the actual fuck does hiragi mean you were talking about him to kotoha? that doesn't make any sense ➜ but when he looks up at nirei and suo, they're giving him knowing smiles. ➜ he thinks back to the past four months and how you were always trying to single him out from the group. he thinks about the sparkle in your eyes whenever you saw him and how you brighten, and how your smile widens, and how- ➜ HOLY SHIT YOU LIKE HIM-

Sakura body is moving before he can even compute anything happening around him. Suddenly, his entire being is on a one track minded sprint to your side, desperate to see you. You're standing outside, taking out the trash when he turns the corner to your street. You have lounge shorts on, a loose white shirt and your hair tied in a low ponytail. You fluff your shirt's collar to try and ventilate yourself better on this hot day, and as you look up, you see Sakura. "Oh! Sakura, hi-" You hardly manage another word, as he practically collapses onto you. His arms come around your shoulders and he squeezes. "You should've told me, idiot." "W-what?" you stammer, your arms coming up to his biceps. He huffs and pulls back, staring at you. His face is so red, he looks sunburnt, but you know he's just incredibly embarrassed. "I like you too, dumbass. So . . . so you should've told me! I was thinking it was Suo this whole time!" You give him an unimpressed look. "Suo? Seriously?" "Still!" Sakura cries out before shaking his head. He wraps his arms around you in a tight hug and huffs. "Whatever. It's over now anyways. I know everything and you know everything so we're good now." You return the hug, your arms equally tight and nod.

➜ around the corner, nirei, suo, and hiragi stand there, watching the spectacle unfold ➜ hiragi is just incredibly confused, but nirei looks close to tears of happiness and suo's messaging in a separate group chat with nirei, kiryu, and tsuguera. one that they made specifically to gossip about you and sakura

suo hayato: (one attached photo) SUCCESS! ദ്ദി´ ˘ `)✧

#wind breaker x reader #wind breaker #wbk sakura #wbk #sakura haruka #haruka sakura #sakura x reader #haruka sakura x reader #haruka sakura x you #sakura haruka x reader #wbk fluff

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fandomfablesunleashed · 3 days ago

Text

The Stakes of the Heart Pirates

Law x reader (she/her) ft. Heart Pirates

Part of the Polar Tang Chronicles but can be read as a standalone! (They're all just various one-shots featuring the Reader, Law, and the Heart Pirates)

Summary:It’s poker night on the Polar Tang, and you managed to pull Law into joining the fun

Tags: suggestive at the end (they really all turn this way)

Words: 3.3k

Notes: Originally, I wanted to describe the game more. I even did some research for it, but honestly, I didn’t want to mess it up since I’ve only played poker once or twice in my life. In the end, I decided it wasn’t that important.

It ended up turning suggestive. Apparently, every little story in this series wants to go in that direction.

I still have a lot of ideas for this, so if you want, help me decide the next story here.

English is not my first language

Masterlist

Law was sitting at his desk, hunched over various maps, plans, and some random notes, his sharp eyes scanning everything with meticulous focus. He was always like this—lost in some work, as if the weight of the world rested solely on his shoulders.

You stopped in the doorway for a moment, captivated by the sight of him. His spotted cap lay forgotten on the desk, leaving you free to admire the chaotic state of his black hair, likely ruffled even more with his hands—those beautiful, tattooed hands—whenever frustration got the best of him.

A smile pulled at your lips as you leaned against the frame, arms crossed, unable to tear your eyes away. There was something oddly endearing about how consumed he became by his responsibilities.

You always admired that about him.

Law continued scribbling notes, utterly unaware of your presence. The only sounds in the room were the scratching of his pen against parchment and the distant murmur of the crew moving around other parts of the submarine.

With an amused shake of your head, you cleared your throat.

Law's head snapped up, his piercing gaze locking onto yours. “What is it?” he asked as he set his pen down to give you full attention.

That was your first sign that you could get him away from his work.

“Nothing, just wanted to check up on you.” You stepped closer, slowly making your way towards him.

“I'm fine,” he waved his hand, dismissing your concerns. Typical.

“You always say that,” you said with a smirk, standing behind him. You put your hands on his arms, hugging him from behind. “The rest of the crew is drinking and playing cards tonight. You need to unwind a little too, you know.” You basically purred into his ear, wanting nothing more than to persuade him to join in your activities.

Law exhaled through his nose slowly, his expression remaining impassive, but you caught the subtle change as he mulled your words over. “I have work to do,” he replied, gesturing to the mess on his desk.

You scoffed, rolling your eyes as you pressed more against his back, peering down at the parchment. “You always have work to do,” you teased, pushing one of the maps aside.

“I don’t need to unwind,” he said stubbornly. “I'm fine here.”

You arched a brow, sensing an opening. “Oh, come on,” you pressed, your voice dripping with charm. “Pretty pleeeease?”

“Nope.”

“Please, my darling, my love, Captain of my heart, my Doctor Heartstealer, my star guiding me through this chaotic life, my—”

“Are you done?” he interrupted, deadpan. Completely unbothered by your theatrics.

“I’m done.” You flashed a playful grin. “But you can grace us with your presence every now and then. It won't kill you to enjoy yourself.”

Law let out a quiet sigh, running a hand through his hair as if debating whether indulging you was really worth the trouble. For a moment, it seemed like he might object again—but then, at last, his lips quirked ever so slightly at the corners.

“Fine,” he relented.

You grinned, triumphant. “Finally.” With a playful shove to his shoulder and a quick kiss on his cheek, you straightened up. “Now hurry before they drink all the good stuff.”

Law huffed, as if exasperated, but there was a spark in his eyes as he stood, stretching his arms over his head, though you could tell that he wasn't really opposed to the idea. He never was, just liked to pretend otherwise.

You wasted no time, looping your arm through his and leading him toward the door. “You'll thank me later,” you teased.

“I doubt that,” Law murmured in his usual fashion, but you knew by now that he enjoyed being pestered to join in on the fun. Especially if you were the one doing the prodding.

You kept dragging him through the corridor, the distant sounds of laughter and clinking glasses growing louder with every step. You were almost giddy at the thought of having a relaxing evening. What made it even better was the fact that Law was letting himself be pulled into it.

And whether he admitted it or not, you knew he wouldn’t regret it. The rare moments of peace, the simple joy of being with the people who cared for him—this was exactly what he needed.

The second you entered the common room, you were met with a chorus of cheers and whistles from the gathered crew members. The warm overhead lights filled the room with a pleasant glow, as your eyes swept over half-filled glasses and scattered playing cards.

“Well, well, well,” Penguin drawled, throwing his cards down dramatically. “The captain actually left his cave. Somebody mark the calendar!”

Shachi snickered, leaning back in his chair with a knowing grin. “For a second there, I thought he'd fused with his desk.”

A ripple of laughter spread through the room, and even Ikakku joined in, crossing her arms with an amused smirk. “Pretty sure the only reason he's here is because you dragged him out.”

You chuckled at their reaction, steering Law toward the table. “See? I told you they'd be happy to see you out here for once,” you said, plopping down into an empty chair.

Law sighed as he lowered himself into the seat beside you. “Yeah, yeah,” he muttered, but there was no real bite in his tone.

Bepo beamed from across the table. “We're glad you're here, Captain! It’s always more fun when you play.”

Clive leaned forward. “Now the real question is—are you gonna let us win this time?”

“You’d better watch out, Captain. We’ve been practicing without you.” Jean Bart added.

He rose from his seat and made his way toward the bar. Without needing to be asked, he started preparing drinks for you and Law. You watched him for a moment, grateful for the kindness, and accepted the offer with a soft, murmured thanks.

“You all talk big,” Law said, picking up his cards with practiced ease, “but I’m not going down easy.”

You watched the exchange, shaking your head with a grin as you leaned in slightly, giving Law’s arm a playful squeeze. “Better be prepared to back up that talk,” you teased.

“Just watch,” he murmured, his gaze not straying from his cards.

The game began, and just as expected, Law approached it with the same intense focus he applied to everything else. He studied his cards, his expression unreadable, his brilliant mind already calculating every possible move. The crew did their best to distract him with banter, but he hardly flinched.

Penguin groaned as Law won yet another hand, tossing his cards onto the table in defeat. “Dammit, Captain, you're like a damn rock. Can you at least pretend to look phased for once?”

Shachi narrowed his eyes, squinting at Law with mock suspicion. “You’re cheating, aren’t you? No way you’re this good without some kind of ruse.”

Law barely acknowledged their accusations, simply smirking as he shuffled his cards. “No tricks,” he said smoothly. “Just skill.” He glanced at you then, an almost imperceptible smile showing at the corner of his lips, a tiny acknowledgment only you would catch.

A few more rounds passed, and Law's dominance remained unchallenged. The crew's attempts to rattle him were futile, though their frustration never soured the mood. If anything, it only fueled the playful competitiveness.

“I'm starting to hate you again,” Shachi muttered as Law raked in another pile of winnings. “No one is this good every single round.”

“Oh, accept your defeat gracefully, Shachi,” Law responded dryly, stacking his chips with practiced ease. “Not my fault you’re all so predictable.”

You laughed at their exchange, enjoying the crew’s exaggerated complaints. “He’s got a point,” you teased, nudging Shachi with your elbow. “You guys are pretty easy to read.”

Shachi pouted, crossing his arms. “Easy for you to say! You’re doing way too well, too. Maybe you’re both just cheating.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “No cheating here, just pure skill,” you said smugly, leaning back in your chair. “Right, Captain?” You turned to Law with a knowing wink.

For a split second, you and Law exchanged a glance, a silent understanding passing between you.

The truth?

He had taught you how to play—how to spot the tells, how to bluff, and how to read people before they even realized they’d given themselves away. But neither of you was about to disclose that.

“That’s right,” Law said, his poker face impenetrable. “We’re just that good.”

The crew groaned in unison at his remark, though beneath their dramatic protests, there was just a joy of spending time together.

“This is getting ridiculous,” Ikkaku grumbled, glaring after her latest loss. “Are we absolutely sure Captain isn't secretly psychic?”

Law chuckled, setting down his cards with easy confidence. “You’re just a sore loser.”

Shachi threw Law an unimpressed look. “You could at least pretend to lose once in a while,” he complained.

Law raised an eyebrow, feigning surprise. “What, and go easy on you all?” he replied. “Where’s the fun in that?”

Bepo grinned at his captain. “You're just too good, Captain.”

It wasn’t every day that Law let loose like this. There was a lightness to the way he played, an almost uncharacteristic charm as he gathered his winnings with that trademark smirk of his.

You couldn’t even be mad at losing. The warmth, the laughter, the carefree fun—it all felt like a small victory, one that came not from triumph over others but from moments like this, where everyone could just be present, enjoying themselves without worry. And, as always, it came with the unmistakable thrill of being with a crew you could actually call family.

You leaned back in your seat, taking in the chaos of it all. “So,” you mused, your tone dripping with amusement, “still happy I dragged his ass here, guys?”

The collective groan from the crew was all the answer you needed.

“Yeah, yeah,” Shachi grumbled, tossing his cards onto the table in defeat. “Even if he's kicking all our asses.” With that, he drowned the rest of his drink.

“You all make it too easy,” Law replied smoothly. His words were cool, casual—like he was simply stating a fact—but the twinkle in his eyes and the way his smile deepened betrayed the pride he took in each flawless victory. Even in moments like this, when the game was more about fun than stakes, Law’s competitive edge never quite faded.

You shook your head, still laughing, as you turned to Law. “See? I told you it would be fun.”

“I guess you were right,” he admitted.

The crew mumbled their reluctant agreement, still licking their wounds from their losses.

“You should listen to her more often,” Penguin quipped, though there was still a sulky edge to his voice. “She knows what’s good for you.”

Law shot him a pointed look, but there was no real annoyance behind it. Without thinking, his hand drifted to the small of your back. His fingers brushed lightly against your skin, a casual, instinctive gesture that sent a welcome sensation through you. Affection between you two was rarely displayed in front of the crew, kept tucked away waiting to be shared in private. So even something as simple as this felt deeply intimate. It wasn’t much, not outwardly. But to you, it meant everything.

Feeling his touch, you turned your head slightly, your gaze finding his. Soft, unspoken, meant only for him.

The crew noticed, of course. They always did. But, for once, decided not to comment, content in the knowledge that their captain—reserved, calculating, and stubborn as he was—was finally, slowly, allowing himself to let go.

“Alright, that’s enough poker for one night,” Law declared, pushing back from his chair. The crew nodded, still pouting over their losses, but none of them had the energy to protest.

“Yeah, I need a break from getting my ass handed to me,” Shachi muttered, rubbing his forehead in defeat.

Bepo beamed at Law, his fluffy ears twitching with excitement. “You were awesome tonight, Captain.”

“Next time,” Law drawled, voice laced with mock arrogance, “maybe you all can put up more of a fight.”

You stood up beside him, stretching slightly. “Or maybe you could just go a little easier on them,” you countered.

Law rolled his eyes dramatically. “And give up the chance to watch them suffer a little?” He smirked. “Never.”

The crew groaned once again. But even as they grumbled, they couldn’t hide their wide smiles. Because, for all his teasing and destroying them in games, Law’s way of letting go had its charm.

“You’re ruthless, Captain,” Harugan complained, shaking his head.

Shachi nodded in agreement. “We’ll get you back. Count on it.”

Law’s grin widened slightly, clearly enjoying their futile determination. “I’ll be looking forward to it.”

As much as you enjoyed your life as a pirate, all the adventures, discoveries, and endless places to explore, those small moments with the crew—with your family—were always the most significant part.

You grabbed Law’s arm, pulling him away from the table. “Alright, that’s enough gloating. Let’s give them time to nurse their wounded egos,” you said, laughing.

Law followed your lead, his arm naturally sliding around your shoulders as you both walked away from the table. His gaze drifted back toward the crew, the corner of his mouth lifting slightly. “See you all tomorrow. Rest up, lick your wounds.”

“Yeah, yeah,” they called after him, waving him off. Their complaints were empty, their eyes glinting with the promise of future revenge.

As the two of you stepped out into the quieter halls of the ship, the sounds of laughter and grumbling fading behind you, the air seemed to settle into a more peaceful atmosphere. Law let out a low chuckle, a rare softness creeping into his voice.

“Thanks for dragging my ass out there, as you put it.”

You grinned up at him, amused by his reluctant admission. “Told you it’d be good for you,” you replied, poking at his side playfully. “Besides, it was fun watching you humiliate them—even if I got a little humiliated in the process too.”

“No, no, you held your own,” he assured you. “You even beat me a couple of times.”

“Yeah, a couple,” you scoffed, though you couldn’t hide your smile. “But you still won overall. I forgot how competitive you can be.”

Law’s smirk deepened. “Can you blame me? Sometimes it’s good to remind them who the captain is,” he said, a hint of that cocky arrogance of his slipping through.

You shook your head fondly. “And there’s that ego of yours,” you teased. “You really can’t resist proving you’re the best, can you?”

“When I am the best,” he said smoothly, his voice dropping slightly. “Why would I hold back?”

Oh, how you loved that cocky edge in his voice.

You wouldn’t confess it out loud easily, but truth be told, you wouldn’t change a damn thing about him. Not his arrogance, nor the way his eyes were a little too sharp. Not even how blunt and insensitive he could be.

It was late by the time the two of you reached the captain’s quarters—your quarters now, too.

Officially.

The air carried a familiar tranquility, broken only by the steady motion of the submarine and the distant, muffled sounds of the crew retreating to their routines. But here, behind the closed door and beneath the soft, amber glow of the lights, the world had narrowed to just the two of you.

As the door clicked shut behind you, you marched toward Law. “Thanks for teaching me how to play poker,” you said. “It really paid off in there.”

Law chuckled, leaning casually against the wall, his golden eyes studying you. “You picked it up fast,” he admitted, the usual calm in his tone betrayed slightly by the note of pride. “Didn’t expect you to catch on that quickly.”

You grinned, practically glowing at the compliment. “Well,” you said, taking a step closer, just enough for your shoulder to brush his arm, “I had a good teacher.”

Before he could respond, you closed the distance between you in a heartbeat, wrapping your arms around his neck. Your fingers slid into the strands at his nape as your body pressed flush against his.

Law inhaled sharply at the sudden intimacy, his body stiffening for just a second before his hands instinctively found your waist, pulling you even closer. His grip was firm, the warmth of his palms seeping through the fabric and settling into your skin.

“Flattery will get you everywhere,” he murmured.

You laughed, soft and smug. You reveled in the power of being the one to rattle him. “I know,” you whispered, your lips grazing along the sharp edge of his jaw before pressing a tender kiss there.

Law’s breath hitched at the contact. His tattooed fingers tightened on your waist as he tilted his head slightly, granting you better access.

Taking full advantage of the way he melted beneath your touch, you let your lips trail slow kisses along the sharp line of his jaw, down the strong column of his throat. Your fingers slipped over his chest, exploring the muscle hidden under his shirt, every rise and fall of his breath growing just a little less controlled.

“You know,” you said against his skin, the words barely more than a breath. “I think we’ve spent enough time entertaining everyone else for tonight. Don’t you?”

“Yeah…” His voice was rougher now. His hands slid from the back of your neck down your spine. He paused at the curve of your hip before gripping your thigh firmly, pulling it up to hook around him, and the shiver that coursed through you was instant. “Let’s entertain ourselves now.”

A delighted giggle escaped your lips just before Law moved, swift and decisive. In one fluid motion, he lifted you as if you weighed nothing, his grip secure. Your legs wrapped instinctively around his waist, your arms tightening around his neck, fingers tangling in his hair for balance—or maybe just to feel closer.

The world blurred as he carried you across the room with that same steady confidence he carried everywhere.

When your back met the bed, a small gasp left you, the mattress dipping beneath you as he hovered above. His gaze was heated, his expression unreadable like usual and yet entirely consuming.

“So…” You looked up at him, your lips parted, your body already responding to his touch. “What kind of entertainment did you have in mind?”

Law’s smirk deepened, his hands sliding over your body with intentional slowness, tracing every curve beneath his fingertips. His golden eyes gleamed with that vitality that was reserved just for you as he leaned down, his lips brushing just barely against yours.

“Something a little more… private,” he answered, his voice a dangerous whisper. His hands traveled lower, fingers tracing heated paths along your skin. “Something that doesn’t involve any cards… or clothes, for that matter.”

“Sounds like my kind of entertainment,” you whispered, your fingers tightening in his hair just as he finally closed the space between you.

The time you spent with the crew was important, meaningful in its own right. But this? These rare moments behind closed doors, when Law let the world slip away and gave you the parts of himself no one else saw. This was what you treasured most.

#onepiece #one piece fic #trafalgar law #trafalgar law x reader #trafalgar law fic #law x reader #trafalgar d water law #one piece law #polartangchronicles #heart pirates

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cherriies-snake · 3 days ago

Text

But I like it!! ⋆˚꩜｡

PAIRING : Sam Monroe x Curly/Wayvy!reader

WORDS : 1.1 k.

WARNINGS : Reader insecure about her hair.

“Sunshine, do you believe in love at first curl? cause I’m hooked. Now, Sam truly believes that angels have curly hair."

Sam Monroe is your best friend, so it was no surprise that he was always at your house. Clearly, today wasn't the exception. You both had developed a strong bond since you had been friends since preschool.

Who would have thought that sharing half of a peanut butter and jelly sandwich with the kid who forgot his lunch would be a great way to start a wonderful and unbreakable friendship?

Obviously, if you ask Sam, he wouldn't have any problem with breaking the friendship, you know, in that way.

You had just gotten out of the shower, so you were sitting at the vanity in your room, about to struggle to make your hair look decent for once in your life, without looking like one of those clowns that wear a giant rainbow wig.

All the products you always used to define your hair were scattered across the surface of the vanity, brushes, creams, mousse, gel, and even serum. All the products were open and kind of spilling from use since everything always ended up in a sticky mess, and you were too lazy to clean it up.

"Why do you have so much stuff for your hair? Looks like you're scared of going bald."

Sam asked with a smug smile from the comfort of your bed, which was something adorable to watch from your perspective because his black clothes made a huge contrast with your pastel colored sheets, not to mention your army of stuffed animals.

(Where there was also a cute Rilakkuma plushie that Sam had given you for your birthday.)

"You're also at a good age to avoid the receding hairline you might inherit."

You replied with the same sarcasm he always used with you, and you could see how his smug expression turned into a look of pure horror and panic as he dramatically ran his hands through his hair, looking for any possible bald spot.

"Don't ever mention that shit again, I don't want to have nightmares about bald patches on my head."

Hearing his comment, you couldn't help but laugh out loud. Oh, you would definitely remind him about it for the rest of his life.

"There are other alternatives, don't worry, you can always wear a wig, Sammy!"

He immediately rolled his eyes in response as he sat on the edge of your bed to watch better what you were doing.

"But seriously, what’s all that crap for? I never see you using all that."

He asked curiously from his new position.

He was right, you almost never defined your hair unless it was for an important occasion or something like that because you found your curls very annoying to manage.

This time was no different because Sam had told you that tomorrow both of you were going to take a walk on the beach and eat an ice cream, so you wanted your hair to look nice and not like you had just woken up.

Usually, you always styled your hair somehow without leaving it loose, that’s why you always ended up with a messy bun on your head and some loose strands, because you had the idea that when you wore your hair down, you looked like a walking bird’s nest.

"They're to define my curls."

You explained in simple words so he could understand, but you failed because Sam had a completely confused face.

"I mean, all these things help my hair look nice."

He simply nodded when he understood your point.

You started to divide your hair into small sections with clips, then you applied cream and gel and used the brush in a way that your curls formed naturally.

"Why do you almost never wear your hair down? Your messy buns don't look bad, but your loose curls are prettier."

Sam broke the silence with that comment, and he could feel how his ears and entire face turned red and heated instantly.

"Thanks Sam, that was something sweet to hear. The truth is, I don’t think I’ve fully accepted my hair yet, you know?"

Your relationship with your hair had always been complicated because you were coming out of a curl transition after years of chemical straightening in a desperate attempt to boost your self-esteem, but that just destroyed your hair.

However, now you were at an intermediate point about how you felt about your curls. It was more of a love-hate relationship.

It didn't help either that during those years, you had dated a boy that, under your spell of being in love, you thought was the one.

But Sam had never liked him for various reasons, but you always thought he was just being dramatic and jealous because you were spending less time with him.

But when your curls started showing again, that boy began to grow distant little by little and finally stopped talking to you, but not before saying a hurtful comment that stayed burned in your memory:

"You looked cleaner and prettier with straight hair, now it's like I'm dating a damn bird's nest."

When you told Sam what he said, it was like a pressure cooker exploded, his blood boiled completely. How could someone dare say such a thing to HIS GIRL? Okay, you weren't his yet, but you would be.

You literally had to stop him and beg him not to go and punch that guy.

"If you ask me, I like your hair the way it is. I mean, you basically look like an angel fallen from heaven."

Hearing his words, your cheeks instantly turned a deep crimson pink. Whenever Sam gave you a compliment, you could feel little butterflies fluttering in your stomach. You always tried to convince yourself it was because you weren't used to the compliments he gave you.

But deep down, you knew it was because feelings for him had bloomed inside your heart.

You just gave him a warm, submissive look because, as always, words seemed to get stuck in your throat.

You both stayed in a comfortable silence for a few minutes, looking at each other. Words weren't necessary at that moment, your gazes were more than enough to speak for both.

You slightly lowered your gaze to his lips they looked fluffy like a freshly sponge cake and pink like melting cotton candy, so fucking kissable. You thought.

And as if Sam could read your desires, finally leaving his fears behind, he lunged at you, pulling you closer and pressing his lips to yours in a soft and warm kiss.

The kiss was full of passion, but without becoming sexual, it was simply your souls melting together in a kiss you both had been waiting for a long time.

After slowly pulling apart, gasping slightly for air, your foreheads rested together, and you both laughed warmly.

"I'm crazy about you, dumbass."

Sam finally said with a slightly nervous laugh.

"Me too, Sammy."

Who would have thought, after ignoring and bottling up the feelings you had developed for each other over the years, you finally confessed, starting a new stage together.

OMG, I FINALLY REACHED THE 1000 WORDS!!! CONGRATS TO ME 🥹🫶🏻

All of u are invited to a party 👏🏻👏🏻👏🏻

I love Sam with all my fucking heart man <3

TAGLIST: @anakinstwinklebunny @bxbyysstuff @sinisterminist3r

#cherrie's post ⟡ ݁₊ !!#Lucy gray my beloved 💕#hayden x reader #hayden christensen x reader #sam monroe #life as a house #hayden christensen #sam monroe x you #sam monroe fanfiction #sam monroe x reader #sam monroe x y/n #sam monroe fluff #Sam monroe fanfic #hayden christensen characters #hayden christensen fanfiction #Hayden christensen

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petranaradulovic · 7 hours ago

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ok now that i've officially been booted from my work laptop/company accounts and have a bit more of my head on my shoulders:

I was just shy of my 7th anniversary at Polygon, where I was hired as an intern. I wrote a BUNCH of amazing stuff! I got to work with a bunch of spectacular people. I am so so so damn proud of our site, which apparently was doing so well that I guess Vox decided to make a quick buck off of us! Damned if you do (make a profit), damned if you don't!

In my time at Polygon, I really pushed to cover games/tv/movies/everything else through a particular lens, aka being an unabashed Tumblrina in this year of our lord 2025. Sometimes that meant being outwardly covering tumblr (like Goncharov); sometimes that was simply just gushing in a fangirlish way. I'm so grateful for all the editors who helped me along the way, all the wonderful writers I got to work with. And I am so, so disappointed in Vox Media's upper management for effectively killing one of the best sites for entertainment and gaming coverage out there.

Before I worked at Polygon, it always felt like a special place to me, because it was a gaming site that was unabashedly pink and purple and embracing a different sort of audience than what we typically associate with "gamers." For the past 7 years, I've covered rom-coms and visual novel mobile games and Jane Austen adaptations and pushed the boundaries of what our coverage could be -- while also gushing about Dragon Age, Marvel movies, anime, and other typical Gamer TM content. I always wanted to hammer home the idea that the love that fuels stereotypical "geek stuff" is applicable to all sorts of things, especially those traditionally loved by a non cis straight male audience. And when approaching the stuff like video games/comics/etc, I always approached it from my fangirly tumblirna POV.

Idk what my point is here... I guess I wanted to share this on Tumblr, because I really do owe so much of my professional career to the days I spent on here cultivating my own interests and voice. And I hope that in some way, my writing felt y'all be seen

I'm taking some time to myself before looking for new opportunities. This actually coincides with me getting a chance to attend a prestigious creative writing workshop at the end of the month. So maybe it's a sign that I should more aggressively pursue my creative projects! But this won't be the last you see of me and my writing!

all my love <3

Petrana

hey hey my plucky tumblr gang --

i've been laid off! actually, almost all of polygon has! bc vox sold us!

This really sucks and I wish i had something more to say right now but i am still in shock. wanted to let y'all know though since i know there's plenty of polygon fans on here who might not be on twitter/bsky/wheveever the rest of the polygon staff is <3

#polygon #petrana posts

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deardiarywrites · 2 days ago

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dealing with the blues : how to manage negative emotions and more ૮꒰◞ ˕ ◟ ྀི꒱ა rotting vs resting

i know how upsetting life can be sometimes. you want to get better but something happens and life just keeps pushing you down, and you fall further and further into a rut. and because of that, you start to feel even worse. "why am i not doing as good as the others?" , "why am i so xyz?" , "why am i not like her?" etc etc. cmon my love. this isn't the time to compare yourself to others and feel even worse but to slowly dig up the soil, and find out what is actually going on. ♡ just take a day off, babe seriously. sometimes you just need to let yourself be upset and be unproductive yk? there is nooo shame in being unproductive as hell for a day or two. take your time and have a good break. now talking about breaks, we have a problem. are you really resting or rotting? RESTING makes you feel good, happy and energised ROTTING makes you feel guilty, unproductive, sluggish a lot of the times, instead of resting and recharging our minds, we are feeding our minds with lots and lots of brainrot, indulging in bad habits in the name of "resting", avoiding important work etc which in return make us feel even worse! well, resting isn't supposed to do that, right? resting is supposed to recharge you, get you ready to fight again. so next time you choose to 'rest', be mindful. do not indulge in things that you know will make you feel worse. doomscrolling is not resting. stalking your friends is not self care. intentionally avoiding important work is not self care. binge watching series by wrecking your sleep schedule and then feel guilty abt being on your phone all day is not self care. self care and resting is doing things you love which will nourish your mind and distract you for a little while, so that you can take a step back and just be aive for a bit.

an example of a day off could be smth like this ( just an example, please remember that everyone's life is different and so is yours. adjust accordingly ) : ʚɞ do not set any alarm, let yourself wake up naturally and when you do, pick up that book you have been meaning to read for a long time. ʚɞ have breakfast ʚɞ do 1 thing you really love and which makes you super happy (dancing, singing, acting etc) ʚɞ talk to someone or write abt how you are feeling ʚɞ try to create smth. a quick diy project, a lil sketch, crochet, a new dance move, a song cover, a poem, a video, photography etc ʚɞ do 1 imp work which you have been putting off (homework, stdy for a test etc) ʚɞ delete instagram for a bit and surround yourself with positivity. use tumblr, youtube, pinterest instead. ʚɞ go outside, even for just 5 minutes. ʚɞ maybe call up your friend/s and play smth ʚɞ take cute pics of urself ʚɞ maybe post smth cute on tumblr wink wink ʚɞ have a cute night ritual and then go to bed. ₊⊹ monitor what you have been consuming lately what you feed your mind and body actually matters (lol what a shocker). so tell me, have you been eating well? sleeping well? surrounding yourself with positivity? or have you been consuming content which further degrades your mental and physical health? try to replace unhealthy junk with healthy stuff. fix your fyp, choose "not interested" for posts which no longer resonate with you. declutter and reorganise. i really, really suggest trying a quick digital detox for a day. ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡ talk to someone who you feel safe with. you can even text me, ill try my best to respond <3 please talk to someone when you feel upset, communicate bbgs, communicate! even if it is hard and uncomfortable. if you feel like you have no one to talk to, talk to a stuffed animal or a tree or yourself. let those thoughts and feelings out, don't hold them inside your body. release them. observe them. try to understand them. but never let negative emotions become a part of you. they come and go, like any other emotion. you will be just fine. even when it feels like it is the end of the world love you always,

@deardiarywrites

#healing #becoming that girl #self improvement #self love #thatgirl #study motivation #lana unreleased #lana del rey #coquette #pink pilates princess #glow up #girlblogging #love #confidence #self care #manifestation #mental health #self concept #girlhood

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moody-alcoholic · 3 days ago

Text

These Violent Delights

Chapter 30 - Clear Blue Sky

Summary: Poly 141 x fem!reader, a/b/o alternate universe 12k words.

CW: +18 content MDNI. a/b/o alternative universe, a/b/o dynamics, typical a/b/o universe tropes, panic attack, mental health, flashback, PTSD, sex, PiV sex, oral (M&F receiving), fivesome MMMMF, threesome MMF, cum play (kinda but not really), hurt/comfort, angst, mild self harm (scolding). AN: I'm not 100% happy with this chapter, I might come back and edit it a bit at a later date.

Previous - masterlist - next AO3

Enjoy <3

Price walks into the room, Ghost has his back to the door. He doesn’t move though, John can hear a tap running.

“He talked?” John asks, closing the door behind him.

“He talked.” Simon says, the tap turns off.

“What did he say?” John asks, he watches as Simon braces himself on the sink.

“It doesn’t matter what he said.” John clenches his jaw, he looks down at the papers on the table. It’s all the intel they managed to gather, no one expected them to talk. John was already running out of time, MI6 were desperate to send them back to America, back to Graves.

“You think he’s lying?” John asks, steping up to the table.

“Intel’s solid, Laswell’s already checked it out.” Ghost sighs, turning around to look at John.

“You think it’s a trap?” John asks, Ghost looks away for a second before crossing his arms and leaning back up against the sink.

“Awfully conveniently. Gets caught breaks in less than an hour.” Ghost says, raising an eyebrow.

“Some people are not built for interrogation.” John reminds him, especially not Ghost’s type of interrogation. There’s silence in the room, John's mind goes back to when they caught the second guy. Graves' men are smart, he trains them well. A mole deep in a military base that's a valuable asset to just give up.

“We still go, follow the lead. We’re only planning on doing reconnaissance anyway, we’re gathering intel, following leads.” John says crossing his arms, Ghost stands up off the sink and walks over to the table.

“And if it is a trap?” Ghost asks.

“Worst case scenario we go in alone. That's why I need you with me.” John says, it's the worst case scenario, if they’re forced to go against Shadow Company, Graves and Hale alone before Soap and Gaz can get to them.

“She’ll be safe in Scotland.” John says trying to keep his voice level, Ghost is staring down into his eyes.

“No. No she won’t. She won’t be safe anywhere until Hale is dead.”

You’re leaving today.

For once you’re happy you’re leaving. You hate this place, nothing good has happened here. You slept in Johnny's room last night, you’re not sure why it just felt right and he was more than happy to have you with him. He's barely taken his hands off you as you slowly made your way down for breakfast. You look outside and only see 2 random soldiers at the gate entrance.

You’re not going to miss the strangers, you’re looking forward to spending some time alone with your pack. You can’t wait to go to the loch, you can’t wait to get back to the countryside with the rolling fields and the dense trees. After breakfast when you walk out of the dining room with Johnny, Kyle and Simon are starting to pile bags up in the lobby.

“Johnny.” Simon calls walking over to you both. “Car’s going to be here in a bit, where's all your stuff?”

“Chill LT. It’ll be ready.” Johnny says, patting his shoulder.

“Should have been ready this morning.” Simon says before turning to look at you. “What about you? Need a hand?”

“No, I’m almost finished, I just have to pack up my nest.” You say smiling. It’s the last thing you’ll pack, things always feel so weird when you don’t have one. You can’t wait to get back to the one in Scotland, you knew leaving it there instead of packing it up was a good idea. He nods going back over to the pile of bags.

“Have you really not packed yet?” You say looking at him. He sighs, squeezing your hip.

“We’re not leaving for another 2 hours, I’ve got plenty of time.” He says smiling. It makes you chuckle, you see John step out of his office he smiles at you while Johnny calls Kyle over.

“I’m going to finish packing, have a shower.” You say.

“Okay, love.” Johnny says and kisses your head before you turn and head upstairs. You grab a pair of comfy clothes from your bag, you’re going to have a long car journey and you want to be comfortable and hopefully sleep most of the way.

You look down at your nest. You should really pack that up first. You take out the important things, the tokens you have from each of them including Piper's scarf. You pack them up on the top of your bag and start to fold the blankets. When you’re done you look at the now barren spot. It feels wrong, it feels weird. You don’t have a nest here anymore, honestly you don’t mind.

You miss your nest in Scotland, you smile thinking about going back there. Apparently it’ll be warmer this time you might get to spend even more time outside. You pick up your bag and drop it outside your door with your fresh change of clothes and a towel tucked under your arm.

You can hear Johnny and Kyle laughing in the lobby, you peek over the railing and see them moving bags around. It makes you happy, it makes you smile seeing them smile and joke with each other. Simon is standing next to John with his arms crossed, you can’t hear what they’re talking about.

You head into John’s room, he has already packed and stripped the bed. You throw your clothes down and head into the en-suite. You don’t have time for a bath besides you’ll have plenty of time when you get to Scotland.

You leave the doors open so you can hear the laughter and the voices traveling through the building. You strip, turning the shower on and holding your hand under it until it gets warm. When you step in you see there's only a bottle of body wash, you’ll have to wait until you get to the house to wash your hair. You reach picking it up to squirt some into your hand.

You freeze when you see the scars. They’re taking longer to heal. You remember the man who attacked Piper, you remember the look in his eyes, he had one job and that was to kill. Before you can stop yourself you drop the bottle reaching to turn the heat up on the water. You let the heat pound on your back until your skin stings.

You remember the pain, the hot fiery drag of the blade against your skin, the adrenaline pumping through your system. You remember your only thought being to protect her, he would have had to go through you before he laid a finger on her. Your stomach feels like it’s doing flips and your heart feels like it’s going to jump out your chest.

Your legs feel like jelly and you slide down the side of the shower to the floor. You bring your knees to your chest and look down at your hands. You kept forgetting to talk to Piper about why they’re taking so long to heal. Maybe it’s because the sink is so soft. Maybe they will never fully heal and you’ll have a reminder for the rest of your life. You squeeze your eyes closed trying to ignore the pain rushing through your body.

The hot water burns your skin but you don’t want to move.

'You saved a liar.’ Hale's voice rings in your head. It’s been a while since you’ve heard him.

“Go away!” You call. You know he’s not there, you know he’s in your head but it helps anyway. You hear him laughing and you slap your hands up to your ears. You can hear the rapid thumping of your heart, your head starts spinning and you squeeze your eyes closed trying to ignore the laughing and focus on the sound of the shower.

Suddenly someone grabs you, they grab your wrists, taking your hands off your ears. You cry out trying to fight them as they pull you out of the shower.

“It’s okay, you’re okay.” It’s Simon, you open your eyes choking on a sob. He pulls you against his chest, wrapping his arms around you while you try to control your breathing. “You’re okay, you’re okay.” You can smell the scent of alpha filling your nose, you start to relax against him as silent tears fall down your face.

You can still hear the shower running, Hale’s laughing has gone, leaving you with just the pounding of your heart and Simon’s gentle voice. You grip his shirt, pressing your hands on his chest, you can feel his steady heartbeat under your hand, you shiver as the water turns cold and the cool air hits your skin.

“What happened?” He asks after a few more seconds of silence.

“I was thinking about Piper. About the time she got attacked.” You say, looking down at your palm, you can’t tell if the scars look worse or if it’s just your imagination. He lets out a sign moving a hand down your arm, he picks up your hand pressing his thumb into your palm, you wrap your fingers around it. It’s good, it helps ground you.

“You were very brave.” He says, you sniffle.

“I didn’t feel brave. I just couldn’t let her get hurt.” You sigh. Simon just holds you in his arms rubbing your palm with his thumb until you start to shiver. Then he helps you to your feet and warps you in a towel leading you back into John’s room

“Do you want me to stay?” Simon asks as you go over to the clean clothes laid out on the bed.

“No. I’m okay.” You say looking up at him, he smiles and bends down to kiss you on the forehead.

“I’ll send Johnny up to help you with the bags.” He says, you nod watching him leave and close the door behind. You look down at the stripped bed, you remember laying in there with him, now the whole room feels empty.

You dry yourself changing into your fresh comfy clothes before Johnny comes into the room beaming at you. He doesn't ask questions, he just picks up the rest of John’s bags and yours and you help him take them down into the lobby. The car is already here even though you’re not leaving for another hour at least.

While Johnny goes to help Simon and Kyle load the car, you walk over to John's office. He has his back to the door boxing paperwork up on his desk. You knock on the door and he turns to see you, he frowns coming over to you holding your face in his hands.

“Are you okay?” He asks.

“Yeah. I- I don’t know, I was in the shower.” You choke on the words suddenly feeling a chill in the air. He drops his hands walking past you to close the door to his office. You wait until he’s back in your view, his hands land on the top of your arms.

“Can I call Piper?” You ask.

“Of course,” he says, moving around to the phone on his desk. He picks it up, you rub your thumb over the scars on your palm. You don’t know why you’re nervous, everything feels like it’s changed. You haven’t spoken to her since she left, you’ve been too busy distracted with packing and getting ready to move.

“I need a secure outside line please.” John asks, secure , she’s somewhere safe. John promised you she was somewhere safe, no one will be able to find her, not even Hale or Shadow Company. He offers you the phone, you step up, taking it out his hand and bringing it to your ear.

You hear the line ringing. “Hello?” The voice is so familiar to you it puts you at ease immediately.

“Piper.” You say.

“Hey hun, what’s wrong?” She asks, suddenly sounding concerned.

“Nothing. I think I just needed to hear your voice.” You say suddenly feeling silly.

“I’ve only been gone two days.” She chuckles.

“I know. I just miss you.”

“Well, things have been going well over here. Are you still on the base?”

“Yeah, we’re leaving today actually.” You look up at John who smiles.

“Yeah? I bet you can’t wait.” You can hear the smile in her voice, you smile too.

“I’m looking forward to seeing the loch.”

“Good, you need a good rest, you deserve a good rest.” You smile, tangling your finger around the phone wire. You’re not sure what to say, you just want to keep listening to her talk.

“Are you sure there’s not anything else you need?” She asks after a few more moments of silence.

“No. I’m okay.” You say, you are, you are okay.

“Oh actually before I go, is John around?”

“Yeah, he’s here.” You say, you hold the phone out for John who steps forward and takes it.

“Piper.” He says, you let go of the wire and reach out to grip his hand.

“She’s okay.” He says his hand coming up to your face. You smile.

“I’ll talk to them about it.” He says. “We’ll call you when we’re in Scotland. Of course. Bye.” He pulls the phone away from his ear and suddenly you’re upset you didn’t get to say goodbye.

“She had a delivery show up, we’ll call her when we get to Scotland.” He says reaching over to put the phone down. His hand drops from your face to rest on your shoulder. There's a knock on the door, he turns calling whoever it is in.

“Williams is at the gate.” Johnny says. John nods.

“Why don’t you go help Johnny finish packing. Then we’ll be on our way.” You nod heading over to the door for Johnny to throw his arm around you.

“If we’re lucky we’ll make it there before dark and we can stop off at the loch.” He says.

“Yeah, that would be nice.” You reply smiling.

You don’t make it to the house until the sun has well and truly set beyond the horizon. When you do get there you can’t wait to get out and stretch your legs. Johnny and Kyle drove this time so you were squished in the back between Simon and John. You didn’t mind too much, it just meant you had less room.

Johnny and Kyle spend most of the drive talking about music and singing along to songs Johnny plays through his phone, fighting about others and comparing musicians they like. You don’t mind, you get to listen to so many music genres you didn’t even know existed. When you make it over the Scottish border John complains of a headache which is met by tuts of disappointment from Johnny and Kyle and the music is switched off in favour of the radio.

You lean up against him hugging his arm and manage to take a nap for the second half of the journey. When you get to the house you’re almost pushing them out of the car. Simon opens the boot and takes out one of the bags before closing it.

“Hey, why don’t you pop into town with Johnny?” John asks. You frown at him and look back in the car to see Johnny still in the driver's seat. You don’t really want to but you nod anyway.

“Good.” John says kissing you on the forehead. You stretch before getting in the front seat.

“We won’t be long, love. Just got to pick up a few things so we don’t starve.” He says, you nod watching as the others go into the house.

Johnny’s right the shopping doesn’t take long, it’s only an hour before the place is going to close so you’re only picking up essentials; tea, milk, eggs and bacon for breakfast tomorrow, bread, cheese and some stuff to throw in the oven for dinner later.

The town looks different now the Christmas decorations have been taken down, it’s still pretty, it's so warm and inviting, especially the main street with the orange street lights beaming down.

“Do you think we could go back to the pub?” You ask as you stop at the top of the street, you see it on the corner there are a few people sat outside in the cold smoking.

“Yeah don’t see why not.” Johnny says as he turns down the road back out of the town. The drive home feels longer for some reason and Johnny seems distracted checking his phone every few minutes or so. He seems nervous about something, it’s starting to make you nervous.

“Is everything okay?” You ask as he pulls off the main road and down the private drive.

“Yeah.” He smiles pulling right up to the house. You nod and go around to the back of the car to take the shopping out. When you make it in the house it’s warm, the living room door is closed so you head into the kitchen. No one is around, they must all be in the living room.

Johnny helps you put the shopping away.

“What about the rest of the bags?” You ask, remembering Simon only took one of them out.

“We’ll get them later.” He says closing the fridge. You nod and go to head towards the living room.

“Wait!” Johnny calls. It makes you jump. He walks over to you grabbing your arm. “Sorry, we have a surprise for you.” You frown at him, he just smiles but you still feel nerves rising in you.

“C’mon.” He says, leading you down the hallway to the living room door. Before you go in you both kick your shoes off. When you’re done Johnny covers your eyes with his hand and you hear him open the door.

“What is going on?” You ask, trying not to show how nervous you feel. You trust him, all of them. He would never do anything to hurt you, none of them would.

“It’s a surprise.” Johnny repeats, as you struggle to walk straight. Suddenly he removes his hands but you keep your eyes closed. “Open your eyes, love.” When you do, you see the living room has been transformed into what looks like a massive bed. The sofa is still there but the coffee table and other furniture has been moved. The floor is covered from wall to wall with mattresses covered in blankets and quilts, with pillows spread everywhere.

John, Simon and Kyle are already sat around, you smile and step onto the mattress before falling to your knees. The bedding is soft and you can see the fire roaring away, other than a floor lamp it’s the only other light source in the room. The low light and the warm room immediately makes you relax, Kyle crawls over to you and he leans in to kiss you. You kiss him back, reaching out for his arm, running your hand down to his.

You feel Johnny coming behind you, his hands land on your shoulders and he presses his chest against your back. Kyle pulls from the kiss and you look up at the twinkle in his eyes. John comes over picking your hand up and lacing his fingers with yours, you realise there’s even soft music playing you almost missed, they really have gone all out.

“We’re not needed anywhere, no one knows where we are, we’re safe.” John says, kissing the back of your hand. “Tonight is all about you. Whatever you want.” You’re not sure what you want. You’d be happy to just lay here with them all together like it’s one big nest.

You lean over and kiss John, your hands press on his chest and he lays back on the pillows. You just don’t want them to stop touching you and they don't. Johnny's hands run up the back of your top, Kyle’s fingers dig into the soft skin of your arse and hips.

They move without bumping into each other. You’re so busy sloppy making out with John when lips press on your shoulder you shiver, they move up to your neck pressing gentle kisses. You hear movement and look over and see Simon coming over to you, you sit back on your knees and wait, he reaches out with one of his hands to rub your cheek.

“How about we just take care of you. You need it.” Simon says before kissing you. Holy shit this is actually happening. You don’t have time to panic or overthink them all being with you at once. Your mind is racing, you can feel your cheeks burning. The scent of vanilla fills the room, you watch as they react to it while you just sit there and let them run their hands and lips all over you. John sits up a little running his hand up your thigh while Simon attacks your mouth, playing with your tongue, his hands pressed around your face, it's needy and breathless.

Johnny moans in your neck sending vibrations down your spine. Kyle’s hands start running up your top you don’t stop him, Johnny’s hand on your back stops at the bottom. A finger teases below your waistband, you lift your arms in the air and Johnny’s hands glady pull up the hem of the top.

You break from the kiss and look down at John who smiles at you as Johnny pulls the top off over your head. Kyle’s thumb brushes over one of your nipples and you let out a long breath. John chuckles, squeezing your thigh before propping himself up on his elbows. His eyes wash over you like he’s looking at you for the first time.

Johnny’s chest is pressed up against your back, his hands running up and down your thighs. “Stunnin’ sweetheart.” Johnny says gripping your hips, his thumbs slipping below your waistband. It’s almost like he wants to claw the rest of your clothes off.

“Calm down Johnny, let's give her a second to breathe.” Simon says, his hand running up to the back of Johnny’s neck causing him to sit back. John moves, gesturing for you to lay next to him. You smile and crawl over to him laying back against the pillows.

He turns on his side, his hand rests on your stomach before moving up to your chest. His eyes look dark in the low light but you can still see the shine of deep blue, you reach over to touch his face running your fingers through his beard tracing his jaw line.

“Our omega. You’ve been through so much.” He turns his head kissing your palm. “Let us make you feel good.” You smile and he leans in to kiss you.

Johnny moaning breaks you from the kiss and you both look down at him, his mouth locked around Simon’s pushing him down onto the bed. Kyle chuckles next to you and you turn to look at him. He smiles, his hand coming to stroke your face. John hums next to you his hand travels down your body to your stomach, then to the front of your pants.

Kyle kisses you, it’s long and slow, his thumb brushes your cheek as he plays with your tongue. You moan in his mouth as his other hand comes to squeeze your breast. He breaks from the kiss for a second pressing his forehead to yours.

“You’re so beautiful.” He says before pressing his lips back on yours. John’s hand slips down into your pants, you spread your legs as much as you can, letting out a breath. You’re trying to focus on Kyle, your hands running up his top as John’s fingers press through your folds and land on your clit.

“John.” You breathe as he presses down hard before rubbing tight circles. You moan and Johnny and Simon’s attention turns to you. Johnny chuckles climbing off Simon and coming over, his hands grip your waistband pulling your pants off in one quick motion. You spread your legs fully for John and he presses his fingers inside you.

“Fuck.” You call balling Kyle’s top up in your hands. Johnny moves up to sit behind him pulling it off over his head. Kyle’s mouth comes down to one of your breasts and you lean back on the pillows. Simon moves to lay down between your legs running his hands up them. There’s so much going on you’re not sure who to focus on.

John’s fingers curl up inside you making you moan out, Kyle’s tongue flicks your nipple and you reach out to touch him. John’s hand presses down on your stomach as you start to squirm. Simon’s hands and mouth don’t stop either, pressing kisses up your legs and running his hands over your thighs. There’s so much going on it’s almost overstimulating, not to mention the overwhelming scents in the room making your head spin. You reach out and grab John’s free hand to warn him you’re about to come.

“That’s it, love.” John says, his voice is low, sending shivers down your spine. You clench around his fingers as you cum crying out as you try not to dig your nails into Kyle’s chest. John rides you through the orgasm, Kyle's mouth comes off your nipple and you look up at Johnny’s face buried in his neck, he smiles at you as you pant through the overstimulation.

John takes his hand out of you and you look up at him. He leans over to press a kiss on your lips.

“Good girl.” He says, it makes you blush, your head pounds, it’s like you can smell the pleasure in the room, you see his pupils dilate. “Who do you want first?” You frown for a second, you didn’t think you would get a choice, you’re not sure what to say.

“Kyle.” You say before you overthink it. Johnny groans which makes Kyle chuckle as he prys himself from Johnny’s arms.

“Quit complaining Johnny.” Simon says kneeling at your feet pulling his shirt off over his head. “Come over here, make yourself useful.”

John chuckles, you look over at him and push your hand up his chest under his shirt. He gets the idea pulling it off, your hand runs up his stomach. You like how John feels under your hand, it’s soft and safe, you know where each scar is, where he likes to be touched. Where he doesn’t like to be touched, you run your fingers through his hair resting your hand over his heart.

“My turn next.” He says smiling as he leans down to kiss you. You just nod in response as you hear belt buckles clicking. Johnny and Kyle are already naked Simon’s laid back against the opposite wall to you, one leg bent watching Johnny throw his clothes to the side. Kyle shuffles around kneeling between your legs, your mouth fills with saliva as his hands run up your thighs.

He hooks his hands under your knees pulling you close to him, his cock is already hard resting on your stomach. John hums, reaching down to run his hand over Kyle's cock and you watch it twitch. John takes the opportunity to move, resting you against his chest, his arms wrapping around your stomach.

John removes his hand and Kyle reaches down to your pussy, his fingers are against your entrance before leaning back and replacing them with his cock. You feel nervous all of a sudden you’re not sure why, you don’t think about it for long though before he presses into you.

It feels like he’s pushing all the air out your lungs, John moves so he can support your back better and you lean against him. He whispers in your ear, rubbing your nipples with his fingers and running his tongue up the back of your neck over his mark.

Kyle is gentle, slow, he takes his time rewarding you with nice long thrusts that make your toes curl. You’re glad you picked Kyle first, you need this, something soft and slow, sensual with gentle touches and praises being whispered in your ears.

Kyle moans, changing his pace a little and you see Johnny’s head pop up behind Kyle, then Simon a second later. You’re not sure what they're doing but whatever it is it makes Kyle speed up and moan, tipping his head to the side and resting it against Johnny who kisses him.

“Don’t get distracted.” Simon says in a low voice running his hand down Kyle's arm. It makes you shiver, Kyle moves, angling himself better against your hips hitting deeper and deeper inside you.

“Fuck.” you breath clenching around him, you’re getting close already. Johnny smiles reaching over to rub your clit which causes you to cry out and arch your back. Simon presses a hand on your stomach and both you and Kyle moan at the same time. His thrusts are desperate now, he’s close too, his fingers digging into your hips.

You can barely call his name when you cum, tipping your head back and squeezing your eyes closed. Kyle mumbles as he cums throbbing inside you while Johnny’s still assaulting your clit. When you open your eyes you see Kyle leaning over to kiss you.

All you can smell is leather, it’s so strong in the air it’s making you dizzy. When you break from the kiss you look over at Johnny who practically shoves Kyle out the way so he can get between your legs. It makes you chuckle as Kyle flops down beside you, his hand resting on your stomach. You turn to look at him and he smiles, his hand moves up between your breasts before making its way over to one of your nipples.

“You okay?” He asks, you nod as you feel the tip of Johnny’s cock tease your entrance. You turn slightly to address John.

“I thought you wanted to go next?” You say, he chuckles kissing the top of your head.

“I’ve got all the time in the world.” He says. It makes you blush for some reason and before you know it Johnny is inside you with one slick thrust. He’s eager, imminently grunting and slamming his hips against you.

“Christ, love. So fucking perfect aint you?” He says, you’ve come to learn Johnny is pretty vocal when it comes to sex. If he’s not throwing a string of praises at you he’s moaning and grunting as he drives his cock into you, the sound of skin on skin drowns out the soft music.

Kyle’s hands don’t stop running over your body, his hand squeezing your breasts or stroking your face. John keeps whispering sweet things in your ears, his thumb brushing his mark sending vibrations down your spine. It’s a strange feeling but you don’t mind it.

“Love you so much. Our perfect omega.” John breathes before pressing a kiss on your cheek.

“Anything for you.” You reply back breathlessly. Johnny picks up his speed and you look down to see Simon naked on his knees, his arms are around Johnny as he nips at his earlobe. One of his hands is on his nipple.

“Si-” Johnny chokes on his words. You watch as Simon’s hand runs up to wrap around his neck. Johnny arches his back. Christ , that's hot.

“Better make her feel good Johnny.” Simon’s growling in his ears, Johnny wimpers you feel his cock twitching in you. You’re going to cum again quicker then before, Kyle seems to pick up on it and his hand moves from your breast to your clit. As soon as his fingers brush it you squeeze around Johnny's cock as he bucks his hips into you.

“Johnny.” You call, you can’t hold it back anymore, not now Kyle is rubbing tight circles.

“Yes, yes, yes.” Johnny calls breathlessly, Simon holds him up as you cum, seconds later you feel Johnny spill inside you, his cock throbs his hips slow as he pumps into you. Kyle moves his hand as you start to shake from overstimulation.

“Fuck, love. I don’t think I’ll ever have enough of you.” Johnny says, Simon is running his hands over Johnny's body. Johnny pulls out then presses his fingers inside you, coating them in cum and your slick before bringing his fingers up to Simon’s lips.

You watch as Johnny pushes them into his mouth and Simon sucks them clean. You feel your body getting warm again, there's a pulsing between your legs as you watch Simon’s tongue lapping at Johnny’s fingers.

You want Simon. You want your alpha. You prop yourself up off John and sit up on your knees. Johnny sees you and moves out the way taking his fingers with him as you reach out to touch Simon. You kneel up and kiss him, you can taste salt and sweet, you can smell his alpha and vanilla. His hands run up your body, your hands run down to his cock.

He hums in your mouth, pressing his tongue against yours. You pump his cock with your hand feeling it twitch, his hands land on your shoulders and he gently pushes you back. John’s hand lands on the top of your back, he kisses your shoulder before looking up at Simon.

You look down at Simon’s cock in your hands, You’ve only ever been with Simon when you’ve been in heat. He’s definitely the biggest out of all of them. You thrust down it with 2 hands rubbing your thumb over the tip smothering the bead of precum around. Your mouth fills with saliva, you bend down wrapping your mouth around the tip.

He moans out instantly, one of his hands comes to run through your hair while he sits back on his legs. You can’t take him all the way so you use your hand around the base of his cock to make up for it. You like the fact he makes your eyes water, you like his moans and the way his fingers press on your head.

You get better position propping yourself up on your knees and your other hand flat on the bed to stabilise yourself. John’s hands start to run up the inside of your thighs and you hear him pulling the last of his clothes off. His fingers brush your clit, before he presses one of his fingers inside you causing you to moan around Simon’s cock.

“Fuck, love. So this is what Johnny’s been teaching you.” Simon says. You smile but you can’t answer.

“Didn’t teach her anything. She’s a natural.” Johnny says, you hear Kyle tut. You wonder what they’re doing, you can hear lips smacking with each other sometimes. You feel John’s hand run up your back all the way to your neck. It makes you shudder and you slow your mouth squeezing the base of Simon's cock.

He twitches in your mouth causing it to fill with saliva. John’s hand runs back down and he spreads your legs slightly. You feel his cock brush between your thighs, he nudges your clit, you arch your back trying to press closer to him. One of his hands lands on the small of your back, his other guides his cock to your entrance pressing it in.

You squeeze Simon’s cock again and he scrunches your hair. It makes your eyes water but you don’t stop, your body throbs as John starts to thrust in and out of you. Your head pulses along with your pussy, you focus on keeping Simon satisfied. The smell of alpha and vanilla is so strong all you can think about is satisfying them, making your alphas feel good.

You wish you could talk, tell them how good they're making you feel, how good Simon tastes in your mouth and how his moans make goosebumps rise across your body. John’s fingers dig into your hips, the room is filled with the sound of skin hitting skin and moans from them both.

“Such a good omega for us.” John says, you hum pushing your mouth down Simon’s cock as far as you can.

“Fuckin’ perfect.” Simon breathes, his breathing picks up and he gently presses on the back of your head encouraging you to take him deeper each time. John’s hand reaches down to rub your clit, you feel Simon’s cock hitting the back of your throat as he starts to buck his hips in time with your mouth.

Your body starts to shake, you’re not going to be able to last long, your breathing picks up, your heart is racing in your chest. You clench around John trying to warn him you’re close.

“You close love?” He asks, you hum loudy around Simon’s cock trying to keep up with his hips. “Simon?”

“Yeah, christ , yeah.” Simon pants, his other hand comes down to rest on your cheek. “C’mon, love, let go, let yourself feel good.” You want to nod but you can't, you come at the same time as John, he stops inside you. You feel his knot swell, you’re not in heat but you don’t mind if he knots you, either way you shake through the orgasm feeling John’s cock throb deep inside you.

“Fuck-” The words catch in Simon’s throat as he cums in your mouth. His hot seed hits the back of your throat and you gag squeezing around the base of his cock, you swallow it down. He immediately pulls out of your mouth bending down and cupping your face in his hands.

“You good.” He asks, you feel John pull out of you, it’s strangely disappointing. You wouldn’t have minded the rest. Your knees tremble and you relax into Simon’s arms.

“Yeah.” You say choking on the word. John comes over brushing the hair stuck to your face.

“You did so well for us.” He says, you smile blinking up at him. He leans in to kiss you, your mouth tastes of salt but he doesn’t seem to mind.

“Towels and start a bath.” You hear Simon say as John breaks from the kiss. You can smell their alpha filling the room overwhelming the scent of vanilla and leather. You hear Johnny and Kyle leave and John turns, reaching over the sofa to crack open one of the windows.

“So perfect for us, love.” Simon says, you look up at him, one of his arms supports your back the other comes down to brush your cheek. “ Our perfect omega.” You smile up at him, your throat is suddenly dry. John pulls one of the blankets off the couch, throwing it over you and Simon.

You let out a long breath even though your heart is still hammering in your chest. John pulls his boxers back on before standing up. He rests his hand on your head, you yawn feeling the deep throbbing in your body fade. Your thighs feel sticky, your body covered in a thin layer of sweat.

“I’ll get you some water then you can go for a nice long bath.” John says, you nod as he moves his hand and you hear someone walk back into the room. You don’t turn to see who it is but Simon does. A second later Johnny bends down by your side, he’s dressed now. He pulls the blanket back slightly bringing a towel over to wipe between your legs.

“There you go, did so well for us.” He says pressing kisses on your cheek and neck while he cleans you. When you start to shiver he stops pulling the blanket back around you. John comes back with a glass of water you gladly accept and gulp down.

“Baths ready.” You hear Kyle say from behind you. Simon moves like he’s about to transfer you to someone else’s arms.

“Will you come?” You say looking up at Simon. He nods, smiling and helps you to your feet. You both walk up to the bathroom, the place is warm, the tap is still running and the whole room smells of something floral and sweet. Simon walks over and turns off the tap before climbing into the bath.

You climb in with him leaning back against his chest, you relax as he wraps his arms around you.

“I love you, Simon.” You say, closing your eyes. He kisses the top of your head.

“I love you too.”

“I used to think you hated me.” You say opening your eyes back up and watching the bubbles swirl in the bath.

“I never hated you.” He says, you’re not sure if you believe him or not.

“It’s okay if you did. I understand, it was a new world for you.” You say, he sighs.

“I never hated you.” He repeats. “I was worried you were going to hate me.” You turn to look up at him, you frown at him, you’re not sure what to say.

“Why would I ever hate you? You saved me.”

Simon smiles down at you. “I’m so glad we did.” His hand comes out of the water pulling your hair behind your ear and kissing your forehead.

“I’m so glad I found you. I wouldn’t want to be with anyone else.” You say resting on his chest as his thumbs come to brush over his mark.

“We almost didn’t take the job. It was a spur of the moment plan, we were about to fly back to the UK.” He sighs, you watch his fingers trace his mark. “Finding you was a shock to us all. All I can think about is what would have happened if we didn’t take it.”

“It’s okay, it’s over now.” You say reaching up to rest your hand on his and squeeze it.

“It’s not over yet, but it will be, when we get Hale. Then it will be over.” He says. You don’t want to think about him right now, you had such a good time with them you’re not going to ruin it by thinking about him.

You lean against his chest, you project your scent for him, it’s still filled with vanilla making your head swim. After a few more minutes of laying in his arms he moves to help you scrub your body. He uses something floral before offering to braid your hair.

“I didn’t know you knew how to do that.”

“I didn’t, Johnny taught me.” He says. It makes you smile, he learnt that for you, he didn’t need to do that. When he’s done you both get out of the bath and go to get changed into some fresh pyjamas. He’s waiting for you in the hall, you yawn when you see him suddenly feeling tired. Your body feels heavy and satisfied.

When you make it back down to the living room the sheets have been changed, the lamp has been turned off the only light now comes from the fire Kyle is stoking and the TV. Johnny smiles at you when he sees you shuffling and patting the spot next to him. You smile and go over sitting down and leaning against him.

“You smell good.” He says kissing your forehead. You go to smile but yawn instead. “Tired?” You nod and he shuffles down the bed a little so you’re laying flat with one hand under a pillow. You turn letting Johnny hug you from behind you feel his chest against your back. You look up at John who reaches over pulling a blanket over you both.

You reach over your hand lands on his thigh, he rests his hand on yours and smiles down at you.

“Thank you.” You say yawning again and closing your eyes. The sound of soft music has been replaced by the low drone of the TV and noise from the kitchen. Johnny squeezes you tight, pressing a kiss on your neck. You let out a long breath and relax into the nest surrounded by your pack, the way it should be.

…

You’re cuddled up sleeping between Simon and Johnny, John is laid up against the sofa with Kyle’s head resting on his thighs. He looks over at you watching your chest rise and fall. You look so peaceful, you’re warm and safe. Surrounded by your pack - the people you love and who love you back.

It’s how it should be, for a few minutes he lets himself be sad. He doesn’t want to leave, he wants nothing more than to forget about all of this, Hale and Shadow company, the cure and Graves. But Simon is right, Piper is right; they’ll never be truly safe until Hale’s dead.

“Not tired?” Kyle asks quietly. John looks down at him, his hand comes to stroke his cheek.

“A lot on my mind.” He sighs.

“Wanna talk about it?” Kyle asks, John shakes his head sighing. Maybe he could but not right now, he wants to enjoy this time while he can before he has to leave for at least a month, maybe longer.

“Are you really going to leave?” Kyle asks, looking up at him.

“I don’t have a choice. Hale needs to die.”

“She’s not going to be happy about it.” Kyle says. John looks down at him running his hand over his head. It reminds him of you, when you lay in his lap. This time it's different though, it doesn’t feel the same. There’s no scent to help him relax, it’s just Kyle.

“Simon.” You call out, Kyle sits up as John’s eyes flick over to you. You’re still asleep, your eyes closed as you reach out to the person in front of you. It’s Simon and he wakes wrapping his arms around you.

“I’m here love, I got you.” You murmur in response it wakes Johnny who presses closer against your back reaching over to touch Simon. Johnny kisses the back of your head as you nuzzle your face into Simon’s chest, still mumbling.

He shushes you, his hand running over your head. Even here safe and surrounded by your pack you can’t rest. John sighs as Kyle goes back to lay on his lap. Piper said things would get worse before they got better. He knew that already, he hopes it helps you, opening up to Piper about the past. Or maybe it will make things worse and both the alphas are about to leave.

“I’ll tell her tomorrow. Then at least she has a few days before we have to leave.” John says.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to come instead of Simon?” Kyle asks.

“No.” John sighs. “It’s only for a month, follow up on some leads, maybe try and track him down at least, then we’ll go from there.”

Kyle nods yawning and John looks back over at you scrunched up between Johnny and Simon. He pushes the thought of Hale and the cure out his head, this week is for you, to help ground you. You need this after everything that's happened. You need a break, and you’re going to get it.

You wake in the nest, you look around the room, everyone is here and everyone is still sleeping. You can hear gentle snoring, you’re wrapped up in Johnny and Simon's arms. Kyle is behind Johnny, his hand reaching over to rest on your hip. You smile looking for Price who’s back-to-back behind Simon.

You don’t want to move, you don’t want to break this perfect image, you are safe, surrounded by your pack - people who love you. It’s perfect, it’s all you ever imagined it would be. Johnny shuffles behind you and you hear Kyle grumble squeezing your hip before opening his eyes and propping himself up.

“Morning.” He says, his voice heavy with sleep. Johnny wakes next, reaching over to push Simon's shoulder. Simon moves, squeezing you tight before opening his eyes and looking down at you.

“Morning,” he says, his voice even rougher than Kyle who’s now on his feet walking across the room to the kitchen.

“I’ll get the kettle going. We should go to the loch later.” He says smiling. You prop yourself up excitedly smiling back at him. You’ve been waiting to go to the loch since you found out you were coming back. Johnny chuckles running his hand up your back and you look over to see John sitting up itching his beard. He smiles back at you when he sees you before getting up and heading into the kitchen.

“You look so pretty when you smile like that.” Simon says his hand comes up to brush your cheek. You over at him, you lean in and kiss him. His lips are soft and warm, you’re drinking him up kissing him deep as you run your hand up his body.

You hear the kettle click and break from the kiss. Johnny gets up and offers you his hand. You smile and take it getting up and following him into the kitchen.

…

The sun is out and high in the sky. You remember the way to the loch and you're practically draging them there holding Johnny’s hand as he tries to get you to slow down. You can’t help it though you’re too excited.

When you make it to the loch, you drop his hand jogging down to the edge of the water. It’s lapping on the stones, you can smell the damp wood in the air. The breeze hits you. It's cold on your face coming off the water. It carries the scents of the forest with it.

You hear the crunching of the stones as everyone comes up behind you. You close your eyes, taking a deep breath in as a hand comes to rub the top of your back. You lean on Kyle opening your eyes to look back over the water.

“I really love it here.” You say. Johnny chuckles next to you reaching down to pick up a stone.

“It’s very beautiful.” Kyle says as his hand drops down to your waist.

“I wish I could stay here forever with you, all of you.” You say smiling.

“We’re not going anywhere.” Johnny says, skipping the stone along the water. You let out a sigh, you know that's not true even if you don’t want to admit it to yourself. Eventually John will leave, or at least you expect him to. You know he wants to kill Hale, he can’t do that from here.

You turn to look back at John and Simon stood a little further behind you talking. John smiles at you with a cigar between his lips. The professor smokes cigars, you swallow the lump in your throat turning away. You don’t want to think about him right now. This is a beautiful place and you’re with the people you love.

“Can you show me how to do that again?” You say pushing the thought away and bending down to pick up a stone.

…

When you make it back to the house it feels like something has changed. Maybe you’re just tired from the walk but when you make it through the door everyone's attitude seems to go quiet. It lingers all the way through lunch, it’s uncomfortable but you can’t put your finger on it.

It’s early evening and you’re sat in the living room with Johnny and Kyle when John appears in the doorway. Something about the way he looks makes your stomach sink, you feel sick, nerves bubble in you as you sit up.

“Can I have a word?” He asks you. You swallow the lump in your throat nodding and getting up to follow him out the room. He offers you his hand before leading you upstairs to the master bedroom. Maybe it’s nothing, maybe he just wants to tell you something he can’t tell the others. Maybe he just wants to have you all to himself for a few hours.

It doesn’t seem like that's the case though, he sighs as you enter the room closing the door behind him. He turns to look at you, his expression has softened, that makes you feel a little bit better. His hands run up your arms landing on your shoulders. He lets out another sigh, fuck , this is going to be bad.

“I told you that we wouldn’t keep secrets. That we - more importantly I would tell you everything we knew as soon as possible. No more secrets.” He says, you nod letting him continue.

“Our job is to protect innocent people, to stop the people who hurt others. Hale is one of them. You will never be safe until we’ve stopped him.” He says, raising an eyebrow to see if you’re listening. You nod again, you’re holding your breath, you don’t like where this is going.

“Kate has a lead for us in America. Me and Simon, we're going to go check it out.” He says. It’s like a stab to the heart. You clench your jaw trying not to let the tears welling behind your eyes escape. His hands squeeze your shoulders, it doesn’t bring you comfort though. You knew this was going to happen, you thought about what you would say to him to try and get him to stay but now you’re hearing it your mind is drawing a blank.

“Why?” It’s such a raw question, it makes you feel guilty for even asking.

"We all want you to be safe, to be able to live a long and happy life. You deserve that, and to get that Hale needs to be gone."

“You don't have to do this John. I would rather spend my life on the run or in hiding then risk losing you. You could die then I would never see you again.” You sob reaching out for his arm. “I could lose you both, it's not worth it I can't- please John please just say you’ll stay.”

He looks sad, you feel your bottom lip quiver, he sighs rubbing his hands down your arms. “I’m sorry. We have to go.” You don’t want them to leave. You can’t hold back the sob rising in your throat, it comes out with tears rolling down your face.

John’s hands move to your face. His thumbs brush your tears away.

“I love you.” You sob. He nods, cupping your face in his hands. He looks like he might be about to cry too his eyes are glossy as he looks down at you.

“I know, I’m doing this because I love you, we all are.” He says. You choke on another sob and turn away from him, you can’t look at him right now. He’s going to leave you alone. You’ve only been back in Scotland for 2 days and now he wants to leave again. Him and Simon. You want to leave crawl up in your nest where its safe. Nothing he says to you will comfort you right now, you push past him heading for the door.

When you open it you look out to see everyone standing around in the hall. They look just as upset, you look over at Simon who’s leaning on the stair railing. He stands up straight when he sees you. Your vision blurs as more tears come, you rush past them Johnny reaches out and grabs your arm. You look up at him feeling guilty all of a sudden, you should be happy they want to go out and kill Hale. Then you’ll all be safe. You pull your arm out his hand ignoring his calls and rush down the stairs.

“Leave her mate. Let's give her some space.” You hear Kyle say before slamming the living room door closed behind you. You climb over the bedding, the space you all spent the last two days lounging in. Between the cuddling and the sex, the whole place was starting to feel like an extension of your nest.

Now it feels empty, lonely, there's nothing more depressing than an empty nest. You crawl over to your nest in the corner laying down and pulling the duvet over your head. You sob until you’re exhausted and drift off to sleep.

…

When you wake your muscles feel stiff. Your body is hot and there's an uncomfortable layer of sweat built up. You open your eyes, you’re facing the wall but you can see the orange and pink hues. You let out a sigh, a second later a hand lands on your arm.

You turn in your nest, you hope it’s anyone but John. You’re not so lucky, he’s there sitting against the wall. You wouldn’t have expected anything less honestly. You start feeling tears again, the pain of knowing he’s going away and Simon too. Going to do something that could get them killed.

“Piper told me that you’re soldiers. That being worried about you getting hurt should be the last thing on my mind.” You say, despite your body feeling like it’s overheating, your throat is raw and dry. “Doesn’t make you invincible.”

“No.” He says. “But it gives us a better chance than most.”

“You could die.” You say choking on the sob. He lets out a long breath, he looks like he wants to reach out and touch you instead he turns and lays down parallel to you. You look behind him, the room is empty. Maybe he sent everyone away so he could be alone with you.

“It’s only surveillance. We need to watch them, make sure the information we have is good.” He says.

“Can’t Kate do that?”

“She’s not working for us. She has other jobs to do, we don’t know how deep Hale’s presence is. If Kate stops what she’s doing it could alert him.” He explains, you nod. He’s right, you know it has to be him. Who else would it be, even if he does agree to stay he would always be watching over his shoulder.

Honestly you would be too. You’re never going to be able to fully relax knowing he is still out there looking for you. You sigh, squeezing your sore eyes closed feeling fresh tears come. You shuffle back in your nest until your back hits the wall. You pull the duvet back nodding at him to get into your nest with you.

He hesitates for a second before slowly shuffling in and wrapping his arms around you. You close your eyes, breathing him in as he kisses you on your forehead.

“I love you, you and Simon. I’m so scared about losing you both.” You say. He hums squeezing you tighter.

“I love you too. We’ll be safe, it’s just surveillance. There’s a good chance Hale won’t even know we’re there.” He says, you pull your head off his chest and look up at him. He smiles at you, his hand comes from your waist to hold your face. His thumb gently brushes away the tears still escaping from your raw face.

“Thank you for doing this. Making the room like one big nest.” You smile, he leans in to kiss you. You press yourself up against him running your hands up his chest. He feels familiar under your hands, solid and safe. You can’t imagine him getting hurt, getting shot.

Piper’s right you shouldn’t be worried, even if they were to get shot chances are they’ll be fine. They’re alphas, they’re stronger, they heal quicker and they have each other. That's the most important thing, they have each other. Your hand stops on a scar on his chest and you break from the kiss.

“What happened?” You ask, running your fingers over it.

“Shrapnel, Iraq.” He says you look down at your hand under his shirt moving your hand past the scar until you land on another one. You look back up at him.

“Bullet, Urzikstan.” For some reason that makes you feel better. You’ve been shot, he’s been shot probably more than once. You reach up to kiss him, moving your hand over to rest on the center of his chest so you can feel his heartbeat. The door to the room opens and you break from the kiss, you look over seeing Johnny smiling at you with a mug in his hands.

“Tea?” He asks, holding it up. John turns to see him and you nod. You sit up and John follows. You look around the room, this is how you always imagined pack nests would be. A room of comfort with space for you to all be together.

You crawl over John meeting Johnny half way before he kneels down passing you the mug. John comes up next to you wrapping his arms around you and pulling you back to lean against him. You hum sipping the warm sweet tea. Johnny sits next to you rubbing your thigh.

For a few seconds no one says anything. You enjoy the warm tea and their hands on you.

“Where are Simon and Kyle?” You ask.

“Shopping.” Johnny says as he reaches over to grab the remote and turn the TV on. It’s not long before you find yourself switching to lean up against Johnny as you sip on your tea. He wraps his arm around your shoulders reaching over to run his hand up the back of John's head.

His other hand starts to run up your thigh. You’re only wearing John’s oversized shirt and underwear. He looks like he’s still invested in what’s happening on the TV. John sees what's happening though, his mouth kissing your temple and pressing one of hands on your stomach.

You can’t pay attention to the TV while they touch you like this, Johnny's hand is still lazily rubbing your thigh, his hand brushing closer and closer to your pussy. Your eyes are fixed on his hand, you part your legs slightly letting out a breath as John’s hand travels up your top. John takes the mug out your hand, placing it on the end table.

He kisses your neck and you relax back against him, his hand makes it to your breast and he brushes his thumb over your nipple. You moan and Johnny turns to look at you with John’s mouth in your neck and his hand up your top playing with your breasts. His eyes light up and you smile at him spreading your legs.

He smiles back, turning to slip between your legs, he hooks his arms under your knees throwing them over his shoulders. You squirm as he runs his tongue up your thigh, pressing little kisses until he gets to your underwear. You can’t move to shuffle them off; he has your legs thrown over his shoulders, picking your ass slightly pulled off the ground.

It doesn’t matter though because a second later his hands rip the fabric exposing your dripping cunt to the warm air in the room.

“Johnny!” You call, John tuts before his hands go back to your tits. Johnny doesn’t take his eyes off your pussy, wetting his lips.

“Sorry.” He says before pressing his tongue on your clit. Fuck, he’s eating you out like a man starved. His fingers dig into your hips as his tongue circles your clit pressing down hard and making you shudder with each drag. You moan out reaching down with one of your hands to grip his hair. John hums in your neck, his thumbs are still brushing your nipples sending vibrations down your body.

“Hum. Is he making you feel good?” John asks in your ear. His voice rumbles as he plays with your breasts, running his hands over your nipples.

“Yes.” You breathe, squirming in Johnny’s grip, his hands grip your waist, his tongue doesn’t stop rubbing tight circles moaning around you making you shiver. John’s tongue runs up your neck, he sucks on the sensitive parts as he pinches your nipples. Johnny’s tongue is relentless, he hasn’t slowed down for a second. You’re not sure where he gets all the energy from, it feels like he can and will go for hours if he was left to his own devices.

“Johnny.” You call trying not to squeeze your thighs around his head. John’s lips leave your neck and you pull on Johnny’s hair as you cum. He doesn’t stop though, riding you through the orgasm, you pant crying out until your legs start to shake.

Then his head comes up from between your legs, he smiles at you with a cheeky look in his eyes dropping your legs from his shoulders. He props himself up leaning in like he’s about to kiss you but instead he reaches up to John kissing him instead. John moans as their lips smack together, Johnny breaks from the kiss looking over at you licking his lips.

“Tastes better from the source.” Johnny says, John tuts and shakes his head. Johnny's hand works its way back down to your clit. “C’mon Cap, she’s so fuckin’ sweet.” John sighs and shuffles, you turn to look up at him and he smiles. You lean forward letting Johnny scoot up next to you and you lean against him as John takes his place between your legs.

John feels familiar between your legs, he’s slow unlike Johnny, taking his time to kiss up your thighs. His beard tickles your skin, it makes vibrations travel up your legs. You feel his hot breath on your already soaked pussy. He lets out a long breath, getting comfortable before pressing his tongue through your folds.

You moan and Johnny's hand hikes your top up to reveal one of your breasts locking his mouth around the nipple. You’re so sensitive, you have to clench your thighs around John’s head. It makes him moan and you tip your head back running your hand through John's hair.

You pant John’s name as you cum again throbbing in his mouth. Johnny’s mouth comes off your nipple and he lets your top fall back down.

“Perfect, love.” Johnny says before he kisses you. You feel John coming up from your legs his fingers brushing over your sensitive clit causing you to twitch, you break away from the kiss as John comes back up to sit next to you pulling you into his arms against his chest.

“Our perfect omega.” John says squeezing you tight and pressing a kiss on your neck. You blush sucking in deep breaths as your heart hammers in your chest.

“Johnny, go get her some new underwear.” John says, nudging him with his foot. Johnny nods, standing up and adjusting himself in shorts before leaving the room. You relax against John looking over at the TV as John hums into your neck, running his hands over your body.

“I’m going to miss you.” You say.

“I’m right here, love.” He sighs. “I know, I’m going to miss you too, so much.”

“Promise me you won’t go after him. You said you’re just observing him right?” You turn in his arms so you can look in his eyes. “Promise me John, you and Simon will stay safe.”

He hesitates pressing his lips together.

“I promise.” he says. You believe him, you reach up and kiss him.

It’s raining. The weather fits the mood. You've been here just over a week and it's the first time it's rained.

They took the bedding and mattresses out of the living room yesterday and put them all back on the beds. You ended up crawling into the masterbed with John and Simon joined you halfway through the night. Even then it felt like it wasn’t enough time.

You can see the sun coming through the curtains, John is gone so you turn over in the bed. You expect Simon to be gone too but he’s not, he's there and he’s awake staring at you. He’s smiling but all you can think about is the fact that they’re leaving today. You shuffle over to him, wrapping your arms around him.

He kisses the top of your head and you try really hard to not get upset. He hums, breathing you in as you listen to the rain outside and the sound of his heartbeat.

“I’m going to miss you.” You say after a few minutes of silence.

“I know. I’m going to miss you too.” He says. It doesn’t help, it's not enough.

“You could always stay.” You say, you're half joking but you feel him react to it and you turn to look up at him. He sighs before leaning down to kiss you. You kiss him back, long and needy, you never want his lips to leave you.

“We will be back. We’ll only be gone a month at least.” He says.

“A month is a long time.” You say. He smiles rubbing your cheek.

“It’ll feel like no time at all I promise.” He says, you smile.

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

“I know.” He says. He swings his legs out the bed and starts to get up. You follow him, you want to be close to them, you want to spend as much of the day with him and John as you can. You follow Simon down to the kitchen where everyone else is waiting, John is sat on the island with his back to the door. You walk over to him and throw your arms around him.

“Hey.” He says putting his mug down, his hands coming to land on yours. You press your nose into his neck breathing him in.

“What do you want to do today?” Kyle asks sipping on his mug.

“Take it easy. Enjoy the last few hours of peace.” John says. He squeezes your hand. “Is there anything you want to do?” You're not sure if he’s asking you but no one answers so you shake your head.

“Taking it easy sounds good.” You agree, smiling.

...

Kate arrives just after midday.

You know it’s time when the doorbell rings but no one moves. It’s just like a weird silence falls over the room. Johnny who’s sat between Simon’s legs is the first to move, getting up and heading out the room. John sighs and you take it as your cue to sit up. He stands up and offers you his hand, you reluctantly take it.

When you make it out into the hall, Simon is zipping his coat talking with Johnny and Kyle is outside with Kate. At least it’s stopped raining, you look out and Kate catches your eyes smiling at you. She reminds you of Piper, maybe it’s the blonde hair. Maybe it’s the way they both carry themselves, like they know what they're doing and they can command a room, even with big burly men.

John drops your hand reaching over for his coat and shrugs it on while Johnny helps Simon with the bags. The bags are small for them only going a way for a month, maybe they’ll be back sooner than you think

John’s hand comes to your face, his thumb brushing your cheek. You can’t stop the tears, you don’t even try.

“It’s going to be okay, we’ll keep in touch.” John says, you look up at him and nod. You wanted to stay strong for them but you can’t. You let out a sob before throwing your arms around him, he hugs you back running his hands up your back.

“I’m going to miss you.” You say, your voice muffled pressed into his chest. You project your scent for him, he breathes it in and kisses the top of your head. He presses your shoulders back so you can look up at him.

“I love you.” He pauses, tipping his head slightly and brushing a tear away. “I love you so much.” You nod at him and he leans down to kiss you. You press your lips to him as hard as you can, you never want it to end. Then you feel a hand on your shoulder and you break from the kiss.

You turn to see Simon standing behind you, before he can say anything your lip quivers and you throw your arms around him. He strokes your head as you let out a sob on his chest.

“We’ll be back before you know it. A month isn’t that long.” You break from the hug. He smiles at you and it just makes you want to cry again. He reaches down to kiss you, this time he kisses you slowly, making sure his lips and tongue linger for as long as possible. There's another hand on the top of your back.

“I love you.” You say to him, he smiles and it hurts. It feels like there’s a pain in your chest, it hurts that they’re leaving you. It’s only for a month - 30 days then they’ll be back, but they could get hurt. Johnny and Kyle come up behind you, Kyle grabs your arm gently pulling you back. Johnny’s hand rubs your back.

“Call us when you land?” Kyle asks. John nods and gets into the front seat of the car.

“You better not have all the fun without us.” Johnny says as you all step back from the car.

“It’s not a holiday Johnny.” Simon says as he gets into the back of the car. The engine starts and you all keep stepping back, you look in the wing mirror to see John looking back at you. You smile at him and watch as they drive off. You stay there until the car turns out of view at the top of the drive.

“C’mon, it’s nice and warm inside. I’ll make you a hot chocolate.” Johnny says. You sniff, clearing your nose and turn to look at them. Kyle reaches down and takes your hand lacing his fingers with yours.

“I’ve never had hot chocolate before.” You say forcing a smile. Johnny smiles excitedly, patting your shoulder and walking ahead to the front door. Kyle squeezes your hand.

“Don’t worry, we’ll speak to them in a few hours.” Kyle says, you nod walking back into the house with him.

Dividers by Plum98 & gild-ui

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