#THEY WILL CHANGE THE TRAJECTORY OF MY LIFE | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

filmnings · 2 days ago

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“You both may be on Earth, one old and one new human soul linked as one, but you know this is what it means to be higher than even the immensity of heaven.” OH MY GODDDD??????

i’m sorry it took literal ages for me to read this but i’m so happy that i was finally able to!!! this was so so so good!!! hehe i also loved all the names of the dogs and cats that was so cute~~ (ＴｗＴ。)♡

higher than heaven | 𝐜𝐬𝐛

୨୧ pairing: choi soobin x fem!reader ୨୧ word count: 10.3k ୨୧ genre: fluff, angst, smut ୨୧ tags: guardian angel!soobin, human!reader, mutual pining, sexual tension, dirty talking, nipple play, chest worship, fingering, unprotected sex ୨୧ synopsis: Soobin, your devoted guardian angel, has one singular purpose in his ethereal existence: to bring your heart's deepest desires to life. Unbeknownst to him, his mere presence fulfills that desire. Yet, the lingering question remains— how can he effectively transform your most intimate dreams into reality? ♬ playlist: iris | nightly, dizzy | yueku, unbreakable | jamie scott, monsters | joan, feel every bit | the ivy, infinitely falling | fly by midnight, kiss my scars | august royals, next to me | peter fenn, hideaway | jacob collier, salvation | gabrielle aplin, magic island | tomorrow x together ⟢ AUTHOR'S NOTE: First fic of 2025! I’d like to thank @lovetaroandtaemin, @chugging-antiseptic-dye, @ylangelegy, @gyubakeries, and @xomakara for beta-reading this fic for me, I know it was a quick journey and I appreciate every one of you who followed the story from the beginning to the end 🤍.

The time fills as plastic shot glasses and empty solo cups discarded into trash bags. Some stragglers of the party lay on the couch or floor, but you pass by them with ease. You sigh before Beomgyu stops you with a sharp tug. "Dude, you don't have to help me. You're supposed to be one of my guests!"

"I'm just avoiding the inevitable tomorrow. And if you come into the shelter late because you procrastinated cleaning your own apartment, I may just kill you."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. I get it, boss.” He rolls his eyes and unfurls the empty bag you had between your hands moments before. You giggle in earnest.

“If I get a single text, Gyu–”

“Why don’t you enjoy the early morning hours of New Year's and get out of here?" He shoves you towards the door of his apartment with an "I love you” to follow you out, determined to do what you swear he won't without your help.

Beomgyu may be your childhood friend, but habits hold on tight with him. It’s clear from the three years he’s worked at your animal shelter. Your parents always said he has good intentions, although he’s brash in decision-making. "The kid just asks for forgiveness more than permission most of the time," your dad would joke, and Beomgyu wouldn’t disagree.

Your parents’ words replay in your head on the walk home. You hear every piece of parental advice with each step on the cobblestones, the clack or your heels accompanying every word. It's customary on New Years to feel the ache of their absence so strongly. Your thoughts of them are as vivid as the pain of their loss. It seems to haunt you more with every year that passes.

One day, you had been tagging new intakes and cleaning food bowls like normal. The next you were receiving the call that your parents had been in a fatal car accident. Every space they inhabited, including the shelter, felt colder, quieter, a little less like home. Even your own house twenty minutes from your job barely felt like your own.

Five years of grief made the pain manageable, but on nights like tonight, it doesn’t feel like you’ve made much progress..

The cold of January accompanies the repetitive emotional and mental cycle you're on. The weather bites with a hard set of teeth, almost more brutal than the traces of sadness you feel in your heart.

You don’t realize amid the somber trek home how close the surrounding shadows are, one of a stranger within an arm’s distance.

Your animals greet you at your door with perky barks and whooshing tails. Mina and Minho, your two tabby cats, seem to be delighted that you’re back, but save the ecstatic greetings for their canine siblings. Key, your senior chihuahua, does what he can energy-wise compared to Bori, your labrador mix.

“Bobo, please,” you beg as she jumps up on you when you kneel at her eye-level. It’s all a mess of slobbering tongue and eager pants with her. Once she’s done, you rub Key between the ears to give him some affection.

Even your hedgehog, Rio, taps against the glass of his enclosure to say hello to you. It’s almost like every pair of animal eyes asks you how the party went and why you left them alone for so long.

You can’t supply them with an answer, because you notice the person-shaped figure at your kitchen counter, silent and clouded in darkness. The sight makes you release a decibel-breaking scream.

You grab an umbrella from the iron wrack near your door and charge to the kitchen, expecting Key and Bori to follow you and bark aggressively at the intruder. They don’t, but they do pad behind you in curiosity at your strange actions.

They barely react at all when you turn on the light in the small kitchen. The new illumination reveals the black-haired stranger dressed in white. He says nothing, but holds a smile of mirth on his face at your line of defense. He's neither scrawny nor muscular, but towers over you to a surreal degree.

You think you can take him if you have the element of surprise, but with the alcohol still buzzing through your veins, you may lack complete hand-eye coordination. It’s anyone’s guess.

“What do you want? If you’re looking for money, you got the wrong house, buddy.” You say with a steady voice, aiming the sharpest point of the umbrella in his direction.

He smiles wide, pearly teeth and a set of dimples almost blinding you. “I’m Soobin.”

His lack of an answer and warm smile throw you off. It’s definitely not the reaction anyone expects from a burglar. Maybe the guy's intoxication is even greater than yours, enabling him to enter someone's home without permission. No matter the reasons, you don’t release your hold on the umbrella. You stare him down hard despite your shaking hands.

“Well…Soobin…I don’t know what you want, but you’re not gonna find it here.”

“I’m in the exact place I need to be.” He says your name with the same level of warmth that remains in his smile, but your blood runs cold at the fact he is aware of who you are. Was he stalking you? Had he stopped by the animal shelter while you were too busy to make a mental note of him? “Put down the umbrella and we–”

“Get the fuck out of my house, you creep!” You raise the umbrella as high as you can before it falls on his head, shoulders, or any location on his body that will stun him. He knows it’s coming, though.

Soobin somehow materializes right in front of you before you can step forward, taking your wrists gently in one hand to stop you. “There’s no need for that. I’m not here to harm you.”

You struggle in his hold, trying your hardest to release yourself from his grip with all of your might. Then, you freeze, unsure of how both his speed and his lack of alarm to your furry animals makes any logical sense.

Soobin senses your lack of effort to go through with your attack and lets go of you, taking a small breath of air. “Will you drop the umbrella?”

“Once you tell me what you are,” you whisper. “My dogs would have ripped off your ankles by now, but they didn’t. Why?”

Soobin chuckles, but you feel anything but humorous. “The why to that question is a bit hard to explain. But I can tell you why I’m here.” He runs a hand through his hair, suddenly bashful. “Let’s just say I have a mission to complete.”

Soobin sits at one end of the couch, hands in his lap, while you sit on the other. Your dogs lay at the edge of the couch, snoring peacefully now that the chaos is over. Your knees sit tight against your chest, still guarding yourself from him or any potential advances he may make.

You may not think he wants to kill or rob you anymore, but that doesn’t mean you’re immediately trusting of the stranger. One that is no doubt breathtaking, but still hiding his intentions.

You size him up, still unsure how or why the guy is familiar with you when you’ve never seen him before. He can barely provide you with an adequate answer for the questions that pop into your head.

Where are you from? How do you know me? Have we ever met before?

He chuckles at each one, continuing on with the same reflexive response. “Proprietary information.”

You roll your eyes. “Every time you say that, you sound like some kind of spy.” You move closer to his spot on the couch, looking at him with more intensity than before.

The analysis makes him laugh even more, his cheeks turning pink. “I’m not an alien, if that was your second guess.”

“That’s not what I was thinking!”

He quirks an eyebrow at you. “You look like you’re about to cut me open with a scalpel.”

Your lips transform into a firm line. “Should I want to, Soobin? Maybe you’re saying you’re not an alien to throw me off.”

“Trust me, I am not an extraterrestrial. Not cool enough.”

You can’t help but laugh at the ridiculous situation you find yourself in, matching the smile on Soobin’s face with your own. An hour ago, you were about to kill him in self-defense for what you assumed was a classic break-in scenario. Now, you’re laughing with your would-be victim. This has to be the most peculiar first day of the year you’ve ever had.

He claps his hands softly on his white denim jeans. “We should call it a night. You’re probably tired. I can explain more tomorrow, if you’d like.”

You look around your house, unsure where Soobin is planning to stay for the next few hours. The one-bed-and-bath cottage is anything but roomy, most of your space taken up by work supplies or your animals’ stuff.

He senses your trepidation and grins. “Don’t worry, I can come back in the morning.”

You suck in a breath. Most of you feels relief, but there’s a small inkling of sadness that pervades your emotions. You barely know Soobin, but his presence provides a warmth that your home has been missing.

It has to be the last traces of alcohol and the simmering grief still in your system.

“Okay. I have work in the morning, but–”

“I’ll be here before you have to leave,” Soobin cuts you off. He holds his hand out in a goodbye, and you take it. His soft palm meets yours and heats your skin, and you have to cut the parting short to not feel any more flustered.

“See you tomorrow.”

“Goodnight, love.” He leaves you with one more grin before he exits, confusing you further.

The touch of his fingertips on you follows you into sleep, his skin the last coherent sensation you have before it all goes black.

There is a murky quality to the dream you find yourself in. You’re surrounded by grey, the color’s opacity fading only partly as the details become clearer.

The room around you looks more like a cavern than a traditional room. It’s made of stone, cavelike and primitive. The entrance to the area is too vast for a normal door. It’s almost as if you could step out and fall into nothing but clouds. The world outside is a mixture of inky blacks and dark blues, signifying nighttime outside the four rocky walls.

You look back to the inside of the space. It holds a desk covered with paperwork and photographs. You’re alone, standing in the center of it all, but too far away from the papers on the table to see any information.

Before you can step closer, Soobin enters with a blonde man hot on his heels. They both walk right through you, seemingly not noticing your presence at all as they continue their discussion.

They emit their own light somehow, the room nowhere near as dark as when you were alone inside of it.

“If you fail at this, Yeonjun will demote you and have no qualms about doing it.” The blonde man ruffles his hair in frustration, and inches closer to Soobin. They clearly have a close relationship, from the concern on the stranger’s face to the hand that he rests on Soobin's shoulder. “You’ve worked too hard to lose everything, Soobin.”

“I know, Hyuka,” Soobin says in a somber tone, sorting through the papers on his desk. “But she needs me now more than ever. And I know I can help. And if I succeed, I can actually—“

“I get it. We’re just not supposed to get involved unless we’re certain about it. You know this.”

Soobin sighs. “You didn’t see her, Kai. I have to.”

The man named Kai exhales a deep breath and walks away, his pleas seeming to hit a brick wall. The last thing he says, “I hope you know what you’re risking,” barely makes it to your ears. All you notice before Kai’s departure is the unfurling of wings from his back, the white and gray feathers spouting from the tendons just below his shoulders.

You scream when he drops from the entrance, his wings carrying him away. You don’t care if the sound alerts either of the two men, not after witnessing such an unrealistic moment.

You scream again when you hear the unfurling of Soobin’s wings, the sound almost whipping you onto your back from the gust his wings emit. They’re dark grey, larger than Kai’s are. They create such long-casting shadows that you have no question now what Soobin is or where he comes from.

The word replays in your mind as the surrounding scene dematerializes and you wake up with a rapid heartbeat: an angel.

Soobin waits at your door in the same white button-up and jeans he had on the night prior. You welcome him inside, and he looks more ethereal somehow in daylight.

The dream hits you again with its full force, the image of his grey wings flashing across your memory.

“So, you’re an angel,” You say, filling the space between you both with a new tension. The anxiety only permeates from you; Soobin exudes an air of calm instead, despite your accusation.

He almost ticks his head down in a nod as he responds with the words, “Proprietary information.”

You nod your head and gulp hard. Somehow, the aura around you and the subtext in his expression tells you what you know to be true.

He showed you all you needed to know last night through your dreams, a miraculous loophole to the restrictions placed upon him.

When you’re finally ready to go to work, the morning chores around the house finished before Soobin even made it to your doorstep, you look over at the man in front of you again with trepidation. The white attire may lead to a multitude of questions that you and Soobin cannot answer.

“What? Is there something on my face?” Soobin asks, confused.

You laugh and shake your head, any residual tension from your realization broken. “You look a bit too…uniform for the shelter.”

“Oh! Well…” He blushes, unsure how to respond.

An idea pops into your head when his words come up short. “I may have some old stuff that’ll fit you.”

“Why is the rando wearing your dad’s windbreaker?” Beomgyu asks while cleaning Jin, the newest adoptee at the shelter. His eyes peer over at Soobin filling some food bowls with kibble. Soobin’s presence fills the space the same way it did in your house.

He wears your dad’s long-sleeve shirt, windbreaker, and khaki pants well. Despite his freakishly tall height, the clothes don’t look small on him, and you’re relieved he’s able to fit in like any normal guy with the change in wardrobe.

You scoff, continuing to fill out the documents for Jin’s tag and vaccinations without looking up at your friend. “Soobin’s new in town and lost everything on the plane ride here. He just needed to borrow some stuff until his luggage gets delivered.”

Beomgyu nods, still concerned. He goes back to scrubbing Jin’s coat with the anti-tick shampoo, and you leave his spot at the cleaning station to stand beside Soobin.

“You do this every day? These bags are heavy, even for me.” Soobin grunts and clips the bag closed.

“I usually make Gyu or another volunteer do it. But you saved me the trouble of asking.” You smirk and take two of the bowls in your hands. “Want to help me feed the dogs?”

Soobin’s eyes light up, and he nods. You wonder as you walk to the cages if he’s ever interacted with animals before he left his home in the skies.

Since you were a kid, the shelter has always been a part of your daily regimen. Once college was out of the way, you had a stable job waiting for you to practice your veterinary degree on. While some could only handle so many cat scratches, dog poops, and absurd origin stories, it made every day worth it in your eyes. And the fact that you had a history with tending to furry friends with your parents only made it more worthwhile to continue doing.

The second you open the cages to let the dogs eat, you recognize how natural Soobin is at the job. He talks to them in a childlike voice and rubs their bellies as they munch on kibble and necessary medicines you give in between feeding. Even the dogs with the rougher backgrounds take to Soobin like a bee to honey, the warmth he naturally exudes relaxing them.

He truly is an angel, you realize, and not just in the literal sense.

You lock up the shelter for the day with a lot less weight on your shoulders thanks to Soobin. “I might as well give you the keys to this place. It suits you well,” you joke.

Soobin tucks his hands into his windbreaker, smiling hard. “It just came easy, I guess. Animals aren’t like people. They don’t have to hide behind words. It’s all about energy.”

You look at him as you walk away from the building together, your face softened from his words. “My mom always used to say stuff like that. To her, animals were the bestest friends you could ever ask for. She’d say it’s like they see into your soul.”

Soobin grins. “She seems lovely.”

You swallow hard, balling your hands into fists inside your jacket. It’s not anger that permeates your body now, not the way it used to. All that exists is the reality that their words are simply memories. “She was. My dad too. That place was their second home.” You wave your arm in the direction of the shelter. The building diminishes from view as you round the corner to head home. “And mine, too.”

“Did you envision this being your life?” Soobin asks, the question taking you by surprise. “I don’t mean to pry.”

“No, it’s okay!” You laugh. “I mean—I love working with the animals every day, and I have great friends. It just can be very routine sometimes, like there’s this gap that I can’t fill.” You hold back the more intimate details of your desires to Soobin, still guarded and uncertain of being so vulnerable so soon.

He steps closer, the walk becoming more intimate with his shoulder almost brushing yours. “You’ve been alone for quite a while. It’s understandable to want to share your life with someone.”

You blush hard, a mixture of the January cold and his correct assumptions building a steady heat on your cheeks. “That’s what most people want, I guess.”

Eyes widening, you realize now why Soobin may be discussing these things with you. Could his super secret mission, which he discussed the night you met, relate to right now?

“No fucking way,” you whisper to yourself, stopping on the stone street. Soobin only gets a few paces farther than you before he stops.

“Is there something wrong?” He asks, his eyebrows drawn up and his mouth in a small O that you would normally giggle at.

Now, you have no time for humor.

“Did you come here because of the stupid wish I made on New Year’s Eve?”

“Taehyun, if you give me another shot, I will throw up!” You exclaim in a fit of giggles, three drinks already in your system over the last hour and a half. His girlfriend, Kazuha, stands by your side as she downs the shot in her hand, her mouth puckering as she swallows it down. “Zu, I thought you were the DD tonight!”

“Fuck it, I’ll call an Uber.” She winks and chases the shot with a sip of beer. Beomgyu wades through the throng of people in his living room to join all of you in the kitchen.

“Taking shots without me? That’s a party foul.”

“Whatever, man. It’s not like we can’t make more.” Taehyun passes him one filled with tequila to catch up, and Beomgyu downs it in the next second. By the time the buzz of the drinks hits your head, Jungwon barrels into the kitchen with his own girlfriend Yeri to tell you all that the ball is dropping.

Everyone crowds around the television to watch the remaining minute of the year play out. The strangers around you scream out the last seconds, others speak in a drunken lilt.

You turn to your friends, somehow the only person without someone attached to their hip. Beomgyu is holding a random girl's shoulder, while your other friends stand closely together in their respective couples, watching the countdown..

“Four, three, two, one! Happy New Year!” Beomgyu says the words into his date’s neck before kissing her roughly on the lips. Your other friends have their own celebratory make-out sessions. You feel like an intruder as they all enjoy the moment in their respective couples.

You’ve never been a grouch about your single status, not once. But it felt like a part of you was missing out with little of a choice in the matter. Whether by the confines of chance or love simply not being meant for you for the past twenty-seven years, you can only be comfortable for so long before the pain of solitude drains you dry.

Was it so awful to want to find someone to share funny videos with? To talk to about days at the shelter when a cute animal comes in and needs a loving home? When days are heavy on your heart and you need the one you love the most to lift you up and make it all evaporate with a simple “I love you”? To make every struggle and hardship, no matter how big or small, worth it?

And so, with only a drunken mind and heart to listen to your deepest whims, you wish for what seems the most out of reach as your eyes line with tears: a soulmate to bridge the gap between your loneliness and true fulfillment.

When the reality of why Soobin’s here hits you, you can’t help but release one of the loudest laughs you’ve ever emitted before.

“You have to be fucking kidding me,” you say with exasperated breaths, all the air in your lungs saved mostly for your laughter. “You came all the way from up there to play matchmaker?”

Soobin chuckles to himself, the sounds that leave his lips a lot quieter than yours. “You make it sound so childish.”

“Can you blame me?” You ask. “I don’t need help in that department!”

Soobin gives you a knowing look, hitting you somewhere deep in the chest. “Then I wouldn’t be here, would I?”

“Okay, don’t speak in riddles to me!”

“I’m just stating facts, love.”

You roll your eyes, and Soobin laughs again. “So you’re magically going to find me the perfect partner after only knowing me for 48 hours?”

“I’ve known you for much longer than that.” He steps even closer to you, your fingers brushing his as he stands a few inches from you. “But again, it’s—“

“Proprietary information, I get it,” you whisper. You cough into your fist and glide past him, the moment broken. “Either way, I am just fine with or without a boyfriend, Soobin.”

He follows behind without a word, but you sense his smile without looking at him. Jerk.

Soobin has helped many people in his immortal life. It’s an existence he couldn’t fill in just one book. He’d have to go back centuries to the very moment he started his work as a guardian. His life began long before that, but his true merits came when he started helping those who needed supernatural guidance.

He’s seen from his eagle’s eye view many heartbreaks, losses, successes, and love stories, but nothing as encapsulating as the story of your life.

You were a vision to see the first time you held an animal in your hands, hands tepid but heart full from the creature giving all of its affection to you for you to reciprocate wholeheartedly. He was in awe of you when you stepped across the stage with your degree, eager to put all the knowledge you gained about medicine to a good use. And his ever-still heart ached with yours the second you got that phone call in November five years ago, wanting nothing more than to catch you before your knees hit the tile below.

You’re the one assignment he’s kept too close an eye on, the others in his caseload not holding his focus so strongly. He succumbed to forbidden desires, wishes he knew were unattainable.

But the second he felt your heart break on the one night he knew he could seize the chance to step over the border between Heaven and Earth, he chose the only option that felt right: he had to leave home and heal what needed to be mended inside of you a long time ago.

He watches you help the teenage girl adopting her first pet with immense adoration.

You check off the supplies needed for Jin and all the vaccines the dog will need moving forward with clinical focus. It’s admirable how dedicated you are to your work, not caring if it went beyond the bounds of a traditional work-life balance.

And when you wave the teenager and her parents out the door and turn to him with a signature eye-roll, he can’t stop the way his skin heats. Your gaze in his direction screams: How long are you going to keep pestering me?

Forever, he says to himself with a hell of a lot of hope.

When you’re both alone in the shelter, one hour after you’re closed for the day, you sweep the floors in a huff. “I am telling you I do not need you to play matchmaker for me.”

“You keep saying that and yet I’m still here, love,” Soobin tuts, flipping through the magazine on top of your desk. He sits at the chair opposite from the receptionist counter so casually, feet crossed and casual despite his heart yearning to explain everything to you.

I’m here because I can’t take any more of your pain. Because someone deserves to know how special you are. Because I—

“I can find a date without your help. Beomgyu already took up that role a long time ago. He’s been pestering me about going out with his friend Heeseung for months. So there.” You stick your tongue out at him and continue sweeping.

Soobin chuckles to himself and flips to another page of the magazine, but he can’t deny how his focus remains on you, the center of his attention, for longer than he expected.

“Lee Heeseung, twenty-two. Works at the ramen shop downtown. Entirely incompatible with you. Just for your information.”

You stop sweeping and aim an accusatory eye at him. “And that’s not proprietary information how?”

“I’m not looking out for him. And that only took a couple of Google searches to figure out, love.”

By the time you lock up the store, Soobin is in the habit of checking the door behind you to make sure you didn’t miss the back door or forget to close the play-gate on the way out. Two weeks of observing your routine up close has given him incredible intel, and not just into your schedule.

“Let’s walk past downtown,” Soobin suggests, taking your hand and walking through a new pattern of alleyways and cobblestone paths.

You’re unsure why this route that adds another ten minutes to your walk is worth the trouble, but you take his advice, anyway. He’s your angel for a reason, after all.

“Soobin, unless you suddenly got a hankering for human food, we really should—“

You knock into someone’s shoulders hard; the impact sends you to the gravel. Soobin vanishes from view, his name on your tongue the second you recognize that you’re on the ground.

A pair of hands that aren’t Soobin’s, more calloused and robust, lift you up off the ground.

“I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have been standing so close to the alleyway.”

A beautiful pair of brown eyes gaze at yours, and it stops you dead in your tracks. The stranger’s brown hair falls over his face in a mess of free curls, some of them tinged with sweat. He wears a baking apron around his waist; flour and, you presume, icing cover his shirt.

You look at the building next to you, the pastel pink sign reading “Gyu’s Baked Goods” beaming over your head. And you turn back to the man in question, the baker himself as his hands keep you sturdy on your scraped feet.

“It’s totally fine. I’m the one who should be sorry. I mean, I wasn’t looking anyway and I—“

“No, you don’t have to apologize. This is what I get for taking a smoke break when I have cupcakes to make, right?” The baker chuckles and releases you. Your heart thumps at a rapid tempo when he holds his hand out to you. “I’m Mingyu. Sorry I’m built like a mountain.”

You chuckle and take his hand, the handshake gentle for the size of his palm. It reminds you of a sturdy fireplace, strong but tender. “Pleased to meet you. Apologies for having the build of a leaf.”

Soobin looks on with a knot in his stomach from an opposite alleyway. The process has begun, and he cannot halt its progress. No matter if he wants to be the one in the human male’s place.

Soobin watches on as Mingyu stands with you by the kennels, acid simmering on his tongue from watching the two of you in such a chummy position.

He clutches the novel in his hands with intense pressure, on the edge of ripping pages between his fingers. For the past week and a half, you and Mingyu have spent time together as new acquaintances, giving Sobbing time to read mortal literature.

He should be happy for you; his initial plan to find someone who fits your life and wishes so well is going perfectly. Yet why does he wish he could rewind time and take it back?

To your pleasure and Soobin’s secret dismay, Mingyu’s surprise gift of homemade mini animal treats made the day an amazing experience for all three of you.

You pay no mind to Soobin’s sudden and off-putting sulking as you show Mingyu around the animal shelter, your new friend interested in your job as much as you’re intrigued by him.

Beomgyu saunters up to Soobin with a bag of kibble in his hands, clicking his tongue. “It’s tough, isn’t it, man?”

Soobin huffs and looks at the younger man, the aura around your friend similar to his back home. If only Kai could see him now, grumbling and pouting like a kicked puppy.

“What is?”

“Seeing the girl you like with someone else. I mean, she’s pretty great so I get it.”

Soobin rolls his eyes and goes back to the novel in his hands to distract himself. His jaw ticks when he hears your laughter. The sound creates such a beautiful symphony to his ears, but it’s not reserved for him at the moment, and it makes his stomach turn. “You’re wrong.”

“Okay, dude. I get it. None of my business.” Beomgyu lifts the bag over his shoulder and starts walking, but looks back at Soobin with a smirk. “But maybe it might be mutual if you gave it a shot.”

Soobin scoffs at the kid, and then at himself for the split second he entertains the idiot’s idea. Soobin can pine all he wants, but he knows the boundaries. A multitude of reasons prevent this line from ever being crossed.

He may have incredibly powerful feelings for you, but they’re hidden away and unable to reach the light of day. Not just because he has a strategy for you and Mingyu, but he is not an acceptable suitor because he doesn’t belong here, simply put. Earth is only a temporary stay on his list. And when he goes back and reports to Yeonjun of his success, who knows what will happen?

All he knows is that your paths will cross only once in his and your lifetime, and never again.

Soobin almost remains stuck in his misery until you walk up to him with an orange icing-colored dog bone treat in your hands. You hold it out to him with a shy smile. “For you.”

He smirks, taking the snack from you and rotating it between his fingers. “Isn’t this for the dogs, love?”

And the signature eye roll comes, your bottom lip between your teeth as you do it. “They’re organic. Anyone can eat them.” You look back at him directly, suddenly concerned. “You can eat, right?”

He chuckles. Nodding his head, he looks back at the snack. “Just not sure if I’ll like it.”

You stick your tongue out at him. “Just try it, please?”

Reluctantly, he bites down. Sweet potatoes and carrots, harmoniously blended, flood his mouth. The icing and pinch of cinnamon provides the perfect level of sweetness to round it all out, and Soobin groans. Even the dog treats the guy makes are perfect.

“Okay, it’s pretty great,” Soobin admits, taking another bite. “Even if they’re meant for dogs.”

You laugh and take a tiny corner for yourself. “At least you can say you’ve eaten a dog bone.”

Soobin’s tender smile makes you blush, and it stirs up all the feelings you’ve suppressed when you’re not in his presence. Mingyu’s a welcome distraction from it all. His looks and personality are undeniably attractive, but you always circle back to the angel in your midst.

Who can blame you? He’s ethereal, his magnetism undeniable. But that warmth he’s had from the first day you met is why you can only stay away for so long. He’s a part of your world now, and you can’t imagine that changing in the foreseeable future.

He’s made his place on Earth with you, and you dread the day he has to go back to where he belongs.

The end of January brings the last time for branches to stay vacant of leaves. You notice the small sprouts of leaves amidst the brown limbs as you and Soobin walk back to your house. You bite back a smile, and Soobin comments on it.

It’s like he clenches your heart between his fingers as he says it. “You always hide your excitement like nobody should be watching. Like it’s wrong to be happy about the little things.”

You blush while strolling beside him. “It’s not that I’m hiding it. Maybe I just don’t think anyone will get why I’m happy about certain things.”

Soobin bumps you with his shoulder, a close-mouthed smile on his lips. “Try me.”

You exhale a breath to get your bearings. “Okay, so everyone is always excited about the start of the new year. But then it’s like the excitement dies down and we just go on our merry way until the next holiday comes up. It’s not in the days for me. It’s the environment that always makes me feel the shift, you know?

“Like with animals, almost. The energy is unique, and I feel it when I see the colors and feel the temperature fluctuate.” You shake your head and tuck a stray hair behind your ear. “That may sound stupid, but—“

Soobin stops you on the open sidewalk, taking your hand in his. He looks into your eyes earnestly, wanting you to take his words to heart before he says them. “Nothing you’ve ever said to me is stupid, love. Every thought you have is beautiful because it’s yours.”

Like the town greenery, something shifts inside of you then. Even on the rest of the walk home and the talk over dinner about the day at the shelter, you sense an unfamiliar emotion swirling in the air between you and Soobin. You can’t name it, but it reminds you of the first blooms of spring, brimming with promise.

The first week of February comes in a tidal wave. Many people flood the animal shelter looking for the perfect furry friend to complete their family on the cusp of Valentine’s Day.

All you can hope for is that a majority of them, or at least fifty percent, don’t come back to the shelter after the holiday is over to return the animals looking for forever homes.

That was the one thing that bugged you the most about this job: biting your tongue at the obvious lack of responsibility people put into owning pets.

It holds more weight than anyone knows, bringing another being in your home to tend to like a child. The only difference is that many of them have histories that deserve more care than normal, and some don’t want to put in the right amount of effort.

You sit on these thoughts as Soobin holds the newest cat to the shelter in his hands. “Have you thought of a name for Mr. Cat yet?” Soobin inspects the spot near the cat’s tail. “Or Missus?”

You giggle and grab the clipboard with the cat’s information on it. “He’s a he, Soob. You can come up with a name.”

He ponders the choices, before his smile grows and he presses his nose to the cat’s. “How about Hyuka?” He rubs the back of the cat’s ears tenderly.

You grin at Soobin and brush your fingers over Hyuka’s fur. “I think it’s a perfect fit.”

Soobin looks over at you with bright eyes, his expression transforming into one that feels like the one you held that day so long ago when he called your thoughts beautiful. A question forms on his tongue, but it flits away the second Mingyu walks through the double doors of the animal shelter with a bouquet of daisies.

At least the jerk knows your favorite flowers, Soobin thinks to himself as he walks with Hyuka back to his block in the back room.

You smile at Mingyu and thank him for the flowers, immediately pressing your nose to them to inhale their smell. “They’re amazing, thank you.”

“My buddy Wonwoo is a florist, so don’t thank me too much. I got a discount even though I should’ve paid full price.”

“Can’t beat a couple bucks off.” You set the bundle down on your desk and cross your arms over the countertop. “I take it you’re not just here to deliver flowers?”

Mingyu chuckles and presses a hand to his neck, his toned biceps stretching out his shirt. “Actually, I was going to ask if you had any plans for Valentine’s.”

You stumble on your explanation, discussing the closure of the shelter for the holiday. “Well,” Mingyu starts, “I was thinking you could come by for dinner. And I promise it won’t just be me making you taste test cupcakes again.”

You laugh, but the sound falls flat. You had always been the one pining, yearning for the boy you liked to like you back. Being on the other side of the coin was not exactly ideal. “Mingyu, you know I appreciate you and I am flattered, but…”

Soobin.

You’re unsure how to continue, but Mingyu holds a hand up in understanding. “I get it. How about I make you a meal, anyway? Consider it a friend treating a friend for all of her hard work.”

You blush and nod. “I’d like that very much.”

You’re washing dried-up wet food from the cat bowls when Soobin walks up to you, his face red. By the time Mingyu left, you expected Soobin to come back to your side so you could wash the dishes together. You did it yourself, seeing as he took forever to come back. Soobin asks with a tone of authority, “What the hell are you thinking?”

You poke your cheek with your tongue, contemplating. “I’m thinking Hyuka’s chances of getting adopted before Valentine’s is about—“

“You know that wasn’t what I meant, love.” He says the pet name with annoyance as he drops one bowl into the sink next to you. His tone catches you off guard, not expecting to see Soobin angry for the first time like this.

“You asked me what I was thinking, and I’m telling you.”

“Why did you say no to the date?” Soobin asks, his eyes blazing with fury. Something without a name sits below though, you can tell.

“I, technically, didn’t say no. It’s just more friendly than romantic.”

“Do you expect me to find you another soulmate like this?” Soobin drops another dirty plate in the sink for you to clean up. You don’t know if the question is exactly for you or for himself.

The tension sits thickly in the air, the running tap the only sound for a good minute or two. “I’m sure you’ll think of something,” you respond, hoping to ease the awkwardness.

Your cheekiness makes Soobin chuckle deeply. You missed his laugh, you realize, not hearing the sound in a while. Not since before Mingyu came around. “What am I gonna do with you, love?”

You shrug and go back to washing the bowls, hiding your smile behind soap suds and dishwater.

Soobin’s leg shakes as he sits on your couch, watching the clock on the spot above your door. 10:49 PM. He’s been waiting for hours to welcome you home from your “friendly” date with Mingyu. Admittedly, he’s been waiting since the second you left, the night of Valentine’s Day on the forefront of his brain since he heard the meathead ask you to have dinner.

Minho and Key keep him company, the older animals in your horde understanding and patient while Soobin mopes around. The angel feels as impatient as Bori can be when she has to wait for dinner.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Soobin says to Key, the chihuahua’s overbite hanging almost like a taunt. “I’m not stewing.”

He’s definitely stewing. The animals must be saying to each other, conspiring about what will occur when their mother finally gets home.

And on the cusp of eleven, you walk into the house and unbuckle your heels. You watch Soobin on the couch, his hands fidgeting on his lap. “Have you been sitting there for three hours?” You ask in a cute tone that drives Soobin nuts.

“No, I made the animals dinner.” You set your bag on the iron wrack where your coats lie, and throw your shoes in some corner of the living room before Soobin continues with, “So, how was the date?”

You stride to the mirror, beginning to unclasp the flashy studs in your ears. “It was fine. Nothing special. Just two friends having dinner.”

“That’s all it was? No candles at the table, no romantic music, nothing?”

“Why are you so concerned, Soobin? I went out, I had fun, now I’m home.” Soobin’s not prepared to hear your voice so clipped and direct. Your frustration is usually a mask of humor or concern. Not genuine anger, like right now. You don’t look at him directly, continuing to remove your jewelry as your ire grows.

You try to de-escalate the argument by retreating to the kitchen, but he only follows you there. And moving back into the living doesn’t help either. “Stop following me, Soobin!”

“Stop running away,” he barks back.

“I will when you stop making a big deal out of this.”

“It is a big deal,” he says with a scoff. “And am I not allowed to worry about you and who you’re with?” He asks with a bite that matches your irritation.

“Why are you so concerned if Mingyu’s the person you wanted to set me up with in the first place?”

“Don’t ask me that question,” he whispers. His jaw tightens and his hands clam up, but you don’t give in. If he wants to finish the discussion, then you’ll continue to press him for an answer.

“Why? What kind of ‘proprietary information’ relates to how you feel about this? What does me going out with Mingyu and you being a complete ass about it have anything to do with top-secret intel?”

“I love you, alright?!” He yells, standing stock still as his veins pulse in his head and neck. His hands go to the messy strands of his hair, almost like he feels himself going crazy at his own confession. “I did not mean to, and it’s awful. I can’t give you the life you deserve. Someone like Mingyu or any other human man would be lucky to have you, yet I can barely stomach the thought of someone else getting to touch you in all the ways I wish I could. And it’s driving me insane.”

The confession knocks something loose inside of you, remaining inhibitions be damned if it means now that the feelings Soobin harbors mirror your own without a doubt.

You step closer to him, the tension almost too much to bear any longer. You press your hands to his neck, and bring him closer until your lips are a mere inch apart. “Nothing and nobody’s stopping you, Soobin.”

He takes a deep breath to hold himself back, grounding himself so he doesn’t do something that will upend both of your worlds. “You don’t know that, love.”

You chuckle softly. “Maybe not, but I do know that I love you too.”

When you brush his mouth with your own, every being in the universe, heavenly or not, ceases to exist in your mind. It’s only you and Soobin in your own world. You want to kick yourself for taking so long to seize this moment, this kiss, with him. For all of the reasons Soobin supplies as to why it’s wrong for the two of you to be together, this could not feel more right.

Soobin only gives himself a second of separation from you to catch his breath before he dives back in for one, two, three more kisses. He moans eagerly into your mouth. He tugs on the fabric of your dress to occupy his hands, his body hungry for any contact he can get.

Heavens do be damned, if it means he can keep you between his arms and against his lips.

Your back hits the bed as Soobin attaches his lips to your neck. The dogs scratch at the locked door of your bedroom, but you know they’ll give up after another minute of waiting for a result that will never come. You have other priorities to tend to.

Soobin’s lips and teeth mark you up as he travels along your skin with his mouth. He removes your dress and his shirt so your skin is in closer contact, the feeling of his every present warmth lighting you from the inside out. Your undergarments are still in the way, but you know they’ll be discarded soon.

“You do not know how many days I wished for this,” he mumbles into the spot between your breasts, his kisses setting you on fire to the point you can barely tell where he’s going next. He unclasps the clips holding your bra together, your top half now bare for his eyes to witness.

He marvels at the fullness of your chest before he takes one of your nipples into his mouth. He licks at the skin as he suckles. The action pulls a moan from your lips, your body thrusting up at nothing but open air.

“You can touch me in other ways, Soobin,” you gasp, taking his hand in yours and intertwining your fingers.

He blushes a deep crimson, releasing your nipple from his lips. “I don’t know how,” he admits.

You take his hand to guide lower to the top of your underwear, urging him to slip his hand inside. He does so, immediately finding the wetness of your folds against his fingertips. “You can move them around—just like that.”

He takes your advice and expertly finds your clit to take between his thumb and index finger. Your hips buck up into his touch, and he smirks against your lips. He asks, “Is this what you like?”

“Yes, please.” He takes your underwear off to freely glide his fingers in and out of you, three of the digits simultaneously filling you but leaving you aching for more. “Please, Soobin, please,” you beg.

“What do you want, my love? Don’t hold back.”

“I want you inside of me,” you confess. He listens to your request without question. Unbuckling his pants, his cock springs free to make your eyes linger to the bottom half of his body. You don’t guess for long what it feels like, as he immediately sinks into you to make your eyelids flutter.

“Holy shit,” you exclaim, pressing your hands to his lower back, pushing him in deeper until he’s filling you to the hilt.

“You feel amazing.” Soobin says the words against your lips as he thrusts for the first time. He pulls completely before slipping back in, groaning the entire way.

While you appreciate the slow movement of his body against yours, not too eager to rush the experience, you cling to him with eager fingers, hoping the message will come across. “Soobin, go faster.”

You’ve only ever been with two other men in your life, two lackluster experiences in college you wished to forget. All the time between now was just a waiting game, you only willing to go the distance when you felt it was with the right person. And it seems like all the failures in your history have led you to this perfect blip in time.

Like Soobin can read your mind, he slows down just enough so he can whisper to you, “It’s always been you. It’s only ever been you.”

You can’t help the tear that forms in your eye, but it’s quickly kissed away with Soobin’s lips on your cheek and, subsequently, your mouth.

“I’m gonna come, Soobin. Please don’t stop.” His hips work faster, his thumb pressing down and rubbing your clit harder, and you can barely feel your body before it lights up in every area.

Your toes curl, your mouth slacks, and your soul explodes as the pleasure overtakes you. You feel empty yet so full from the endorphins released from your orgasm.

Soobin continues to move his hips against yours. His pace stutters, signaling his own release. He captures his lips with yours as he spills inside of you, your body his to claim completely. Nobody has ever had you in this way—emotionally, mentally, physically.

When you tell Soobin “I love you,” you mean it in every facet of reality, your soul intimately linked with his otherworldly one.

“I love you too, my love.” He smiles like a bashful child, taking you into his arms and pulling you closer as the night continues on outside. When you again, bodies intertwined between your sheets, all that you wish for now is for the moment to last forever.

And when you fall asleep that night in his arms a few hours later, you pray to every god you can name that it never ends.

The expectation of waking up to the warmth of Soobin’s arms and kisses dies when you feel his empty side of the bed. You search the entire house , your dogs padding behind you as you search every corner for him.

To your terror and slowly breaking heart, he remains to be seen. Soobin is gone like he was never there to begin with, your house flooding with a chill that hits you to the core.

You crawl back into bed, naked and alone, tears streaming down your face. The only time you rise is to let the animals eat and use the bathroom. For the rest of the day, you remain in bed like a phantom. Half out of your body, half inside of it to feel every ounce of pain. Each shred of sadness reminds you that you still exist, and the man—angel—that you love is gone.

Yeonjun has his head in his hand when another pair of associates throw Soobin in front of his desk. Soobin put up an intense fight in the resulting scuffle to bring him back to the office above Earth, but he doesn’t regret it. The only thing he regrets is not leaving you with some sort of explanation, even something as little as a minute to tell you he loves you.

“When I approved your descent, I expected you to help your assignment. Not sleep with her.” Yeonjun sighs and reads over the paperwork at his desk. “The guys above me are gonna love this.”

“Jun, please.” Soobin falls down on his scraped knees and raises his hands in a prayer. “Let me just tell her—”

“What else is there to explain? You’ve clearly done enough.”

“I’m begging you—”

“You think I’m going to let you spend another second with her and make me look like an idiot? No.” He slams his hand on the desk. “If you’re lucky, Soobin, all the archangels will do is send you to the second circle of Hell. I’m surprised they’re not reprimanding me as your superior. You broke our greatest oath.”

Do not consort with humans, Soobin reminds himself as tears stream down his face. “I love her, Yeonjun. And you know she loves me. Didn’t I do my job? I found her a soulmate, just like she wished for.”

Yeonjun shakes his head with a sad smirk. “Don’t think you can get around our rules this time, Soobin. I just called you here to tell you the council will see you in the morning. Be grateful they’re giving you a chance to explain yourself.”

The angels that brought Soobin in drag him away to the lower cells of the building. As he’s pushed and pulled through dark hallways, Soobin has barely enough time to come up with a plan to fix what he’s ruined. Barely.

Your dream is almost the same as the one you envisioned months ago, the dark cavern welcoming you like an old friend. The fog of your transition from sleep to dreaming still pervades your senses. You barely have time to make out the details before Soobin has you wrapped in his arms, holding you so tightly that you feel the air knocked out of your lungs. “Thank God it worked.”

You sob immediately when you recognize Soobin’s voice and his arms around you. It’s like a magnet the way you gravitate to one another, not worrying if the dream will last a second or into eternity. You can barely remember the pain of being without him now that he’s in front of you.

You call his name as he kisses the crown of your hair. He backs you into the desk at the far end of the room, lifting you up by the legs to sit on its marble top. He trails his lips down until they meet your own, and he says so tenderly, “I’m so sorry I couldn’t be there when you woke up.”

Breaking into a fit of sad laughter, you run your hands through the hair at the nape of his neck. “I’m just happy you’re here with me now.” You kiss him again and again, until your lips feel bruised and sore.

Soobin sheds a tear and looks back into the night outside of his office door. “I don’t have long. They’ll bring me back to my cell soon. But I wanted to tell you I love you. And I’ll come back as soon as I can.”

“W-Why are you being punished? You did what you were s-supposed to,” you stutter, a mournful knot building in your throat.

“I fell in love with a human when I shouldn’t have,” he answers, another tear welling in his eye. “But it was worth every rule I broke. How could I regret finding my best friend?” Soobin smiles despite the pain that you two share.

You hiccup into his neck. “When will I see you again?”

“I-I don't know. But I’ll fix this,” he assures you, a steadfast determination in his expression.

“You don’t know that for sure, though,” you cry, heart ripping deeper at the seams with each word.

“I don’t, but for now, know that I love you. I love you more than my existence allows.” He kisses you one more time as the edges of your dream blur. “It’s only for now, I promise.”

When you wake tangled in the comforter on your bed, the morning sky bleeding through your window, you begin the torture of waiting for the person you love most in the world to come back to you.

TWO MONTHS LATER

For the past seven Fridays since Soobin left, you’ve stayed in and waited for the phone to ring or the doorbell to sound, any way to signify that he hasn’t broken his promise. You don’t bother going into work, trying to find any excuse to stay in the house.

Beomgyu tries to get you out, go on dates, avoid the aching hole in your chest, but he doesn’t understand. None of your friends do. They think he’s left without an explanation like another random asshole would, but they don’t understand how wrong they are.

They’ll never understand you’re waiting for the one who took your heart between his hands and still holds it to this day, even if you can’t see him for now.

For now. The words play in your mind on a loop, the sound of Soobin’s voice as vivid as the day he said them between kisses in your dream. It’s only for now, I promise.

This Friday, you take his words to heart and decide to go out. You walk Key and Bori, the morning sun turning into an afternoon sky clear of clouds. The warmer weather signals winter is giving way to spring, although you can still feel the chill in your bones.

When you bring the dogs back home, you’re still too restless to stay inside, too many memories in the house haunting you with Soobin’s presence.

You walk around the town streets, the memories of those you love the most filling your heart with a solemn nostalgia that edges out the parts of you that are still miserable. You and Beomgyu learning to ride bikes around the animal shelter. Your parents treating you to your first scoop of mint chocolate ice cream after you won gold at your spelling contest. The kiss you shared with Soobin in your living room, and all the kisses that followed.

Each one contains longing for the past, yet offers some hope for making fresh memories in the same spots. And even locations you haven’t discovered yet.

By the second trip around the blocks you know too well, nighttime rears its head. The city lights mark the street names and numbers with a yellow glow, the heavens above pitch black.

Your legs are sluggish, ankles sore from continuing through the world around you without stopping for rest, but no physical excursion compared to the mental expedition you’ve been on today, a microcosm for all of your tangled emotions for the past two months.

You almost give into the demands of your body when you hear the faintest sound of your name behind you. Turning on shaking limbs, you see the perfect contours and edges of the man you love in crystal clarity. His shoulders heave as his face remains wet with tears, his body on the verge of convulsing from the travel back to you.

Although every muscle strains and screams inside of you, you run towards him with all of your might and crash into his arms. The water on your cheeks mixes with his when your skin touches. He kisses each tear before he reaches your lips, his mouth tasting of salt and peppermint.

“I’m here. I’m here, my love.” He strokes your hair with his hand and runs the other across your back.

“I didn’t get to say I love you too, last time I saw you,” you say, the words tumbling over one another as you try getting them about. You’re crying and mumbling and it all feels incoherent, but you know every sound you emit is true.

Soobin chuckles, and you’re reminded how beautiful the sound of his laughter is. “You never had to say it back, my love. I already knew.”

Your heartbeat is erratic, but it doesn’t distract you from the fact Soobin’s heart seems to beat as well. A strong, even-tempered rhythm, one you’ve never heard before. You look him deep in the eyes, needing to hear the words on his lips. “Are you—“

His voice is still hoarse and tattered, but his smile is like the salve to all of your wounds. “I told you I would come back to you.”

You whimper, another tear escaping from your eyes. “You gave up everything for me? Your immortality, your friends, your—”

He presses a finger to your lips before running it over your cheek, his expression soft. “I completed my mission. And my everything is right here with me.”

You kiss his lips, all the I love you’s not enough to encapsulate every feeling and gift Soobin’s given you since he came into your life. You both may be on Earth, one old and one new human soul linked as one, but you know this is what it means to be higher than even the immensity of heaven.

@yvnempire @sjylouvre @mini-mews @jayparked @heesuncore @yoursjaeyun @sungbeams @jenoslutie @loserlvrss @pars-ley @lovetaroandtaemin @wonwovy @biteyoubiteme @jjunbug

𝐧𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐬 ౨ৎ˚₊

@kstrucknet @k-films @kvanity-main @lapydiaries @moadiarynet @sweetvenomnet @onedoornet @sayxonet @violetanet @svthub @whipped-kpop-creators

#𝓴𝗶𝗽𝗼 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒔! ๑˃̵ᴗ˂̵) ˑ༄#𝓁𝑜𝑣𝑒𝑟𝖻𝗈𝗒──soobin ♡ ˎˊ˗#him standing all creepily in the kitchen???#nah i would’ve had to burn the whole house down i fear #he wouldve gotten smacked upside the head with that umbrella faster than he could speak #HEHEHE it feels so amazing getting all the inside scoop for this and then reading the actual finished product!!! and your writing #is so so pretty too~~#i love the scenes when they’re taking care of the animals like the day to day life aspect of it all makes it feel so cozy and realistic #like yeah i fell in love with an angel on a random tuesday and it changed the trajectory of my life and his forever #baker mingyu tho my baby i’ll avenge you and your organic dog bones that anyone can eat #the two of them would’ve been so cute in another life tho #THE CONFESSIONNNNNN!!!!! the “i love you alright?!” DIES #“nobody and nothing is stopping you” like oh my clothes would’ve already been off i fear show me something that’s REALLY higher than heaven #i don’t think i could wait two months especially after that dream like if he wasn’t back in the next two days i would’ve died #HIM GIVING EVERYTHING UP FOR HER AND FHEN BEING LIKE “you’re my everything” …. WHEN IS IT MY TURN TO BE HAPPY????#they’re so fucking cute i love them and i love their happy ending #txt x reader #txt smut #txt fluff #txt angst #soobin x reader #soobin smut #soobin fluff #soobin angst

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beloveds-embrace · 24 hours ago

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You can’t just post this. You can’t just post this and expect me to go about my day like this didn’t just change the trajectory of my life. Op you are cruel (affectionate) 😭😭😭 this is absolutely perfect. Phenomenal. Idek what I can say I am speechless i love this

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

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 admitted you don’t actually know where it is, much to the displeasure of your friends. Upon further interrogation, you guessed it’s probably 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 the 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 aff jus’ takin’ one key an poppin’ the bastard’s een oot.” 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 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 embarrassment 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 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’ an adult 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 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 just 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 the weather was tonight and hadn’t practically 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 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.”

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?”

“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 '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? 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 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. More hands were on you, pulling your wrists together in front of you. “Please, I don’t, I can’t, wh—”

“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 you 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.)

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