#and i can’t even explain what’s going on to her | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

atlabeth · 2 days ago

Text

(please) spare me indignity

pt 3

pairing: spencer reid x fem gideon!reader

summary: you and spencer spend more time together. it's bad, then it's good, then it's something else altogether.

a/n: continuing the gideon!reader series! a whole lot of this is arguing because they love each other fr. sorry this took so long, for some reason i had a really hard time finding my footing here but i hope you enjoy!! reader is a victim of the sassy man apocalypse bc this may be s1/2 spencer but he is not going to not be standing up for himself!! have this new banner that i made to try and help with my inspiration. title is from nothing new by rio romero

wc: 5k

warning(s): r and spence argue some more. angst, hurt w/o comfort, then hurt with comfort! idk theyre kinda sweet

You and Spencer spend the next six and a half hours watching movies.

You make it through Goodfellas and you only tell him to be quiet twelve times. You take a break to get water and make popcorn, which was so generously provided in your grocery supply, and while you’re doing it, Spencer insists on picking the next one. You end up watching Psycho, and you don’t think he lets a single scene go by without explaining the meaning behind it.

You choose Notting Hill after, and he knows just as much. He picks Halloween—it doesn’t really help your stalker anxieties, and Spencer apologizes profusely when you bring it up, but you still end up finishing it. Next you go for Pointe Grosse Blank, then Spencer picks Kolya, a Russian film that he specifically put into the box.

There are subtitles, but he spends half the time translating for you anyway—apparently there are nuances to the script that an English translation doesn’t get compared to the original Russian, and that would be a tragedy.

He’s in the middle of his third rant going on seven minutes when you finally break.

“Okay,” you say as you reach for the remote, “I can’t do this anymore.”

You do a double take when your hand meets another instead of hard plastic, and you see Spencer beat you to it. You pull your hand away as soon as possible, feeling your face heat from annoyance.

“What are you doing?”

“What are you doing?” he echoes. “The movie’s not over yet.”

“I can’t take any more of your rambling,” you say. “I’m cutting you off.”

He frowns. “We have to finish the movie first.”

“What are you, a broken record?”

“I couldn’t be a broken record because I said two different things,” he protests. “Besides, what else are you going to do?”

“Unpack my things? Read a book? Sit in silence staring at the wall in my room?” You shrug as you stand up and walk over to the kitchen. “I’ve got a lot of options.”

“Gideon told me not to let you out of my sight,” Spencer says, standing up as well.

“You can see me pretty well from there,” you say. “You don’t have to invade every bit of my privacy.”

“I— I kind of do,” he says. “The whole point of a safe house is to keep you safe. If you’re off doing your own thing, it’s not really safe.”

“It’s not like I’m leaving!” You throw up your hands in exasperation. “What, are you going to sleep with me too? Make sure I don’t go anywhere in the middle of the night?”

It’s almost funny how fast his face flushes bright red. You’ve got a feeling he doesn’t have a lot of experience with this sort of thing.

“That’s what I thought,” you say. “Keep watching your movie if you want. Just leave me alone.”

You feel his eyes on your back as you storm off to your room. The childish part of you wants to slam the door, but you decide to throw Spencer the smallest bone and leave it open.

It’s not his fault that you hate him, and that just makes you hate him even more. He gets to come out of this the bigger person, a saint for putting up with your various deficiencies while keeping you safe from a stalker. You’re just the difficult, ungrateful, estranged bastard daughter of the most deified man in the Behavioral Analysis Unit who can’t set her personal grudges aside for her own good.

You shove your duffel bag into the bed with a little too much force. You unzip it, deciding to try and occupy yourself with unpacking. You’re here for the indefinite future, so you might as well make yourself at home.

You can’t help the dry laugh that comes at the thought. You don’t know if you’ve ever felt at home anywhere.

This might be the worst thing about this whole situation. You’ve got a stalker out there, and it’s making you do all this bullshit introspection against your will. It’s got you thinking about your dad and your relationship with him, and thinking about Spencer Reid and how he’s replaced you in your father’s life without even really knowing about it because he didn’t know about you until he walked into your dad’s office a month ago.

Ten minutes pass in a blur before you’re knocked out of it by a rapping on your door. You turn to see Spencer standing in the doorway, expression unreadable.

“What?” you ask.

“You’ve been quiet,” he says. “I’m just checking in.”

“I’m still alive,” you say. “Nothing exciting happened in the five seconds I was gone.”

“It was ten minutes and thirty two seconds, actually,” he says. “But— but good.”

Again, more silence passes between you. You look up at him from your pile of clothes after thirty seconds.

“Are you just going to stand there?”

“I— I don’t know what else to do,” he stammers.

“Didn’t you say you did something like this before?” you ask. “Guarded some girl from her stalker?”

Spencer nods. “She was a lot easier to get along with.”

You roll your eyes. “Somebody out there wants to kill me to get back at my dad. Sorry that I’m not the pinnacle of happiness.” You make a point to avoid his gaze. “But what I’m trying to say is that you’ve done this all before. You should have some kind of idea of what to do besides bothering me.”

“How am I bothering you?” Spencer asks in exasperation. “I’ve said three sentences to you!”

“Everything you do bothers me, boy genius,” you say. “I thought you would have figured that out by now.”

“I—” He looks like he wants to say more, but instead he just clamps his mouth shut and shakes his head before he walks away.

You stare down at your pile of clothes, largely unfolded and scattered around the bed. The silence doesn’t give you the satisfaction you thought it would.

It only lasts for all of thirty seconds though, and you don’t have time to linger in the discomfort—you hear footsteps, heavier ones this time, and you look up to see Spencer round the corner once again.

“What is your problem with me?” he blurts out.

You frown. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” Spencer nods. “You hate your dad, fine— but he’s not here for you to fight with, so you’re taking it out on me. It’s classic displacement, and you don’t get to take it out on me.”

“Why not?” you ask.

“Because it— it’s not fair!” he sputters. “I didn’t do anything to you— I didn’t even know you existed until a month ago!”

“Well, gosh, boy genius,” you say, “I’m sure you’re smart enough to figure it out yourself.”

“Stop calling me boy genius!” he exclaims. “We’re the same age!”

“Then stop acting like one,” you retort. “I know you’ve got a psychology degree, but you don’t need to use them on me whenever you can.”

He frowns, his mouth opening for a second before he closes it.

“Were you going to ask how I knew that before you realized the obvious answer?” you ask.

“No,” he says.

“Yes, you were.” You continue folding your clothes. “You went to Caltech, MIT, and Yale, even though it was your safety school. You’ve got three PhDs, two BAs, and you’re working on a philosophy degree, but you’re not done with it yet.” You shrug. “A little difficult to make it to classes with all the FBI stuff.”

“…Does he really talk about me that much?” Spencer’s voice is quieter than it was before.

“Oh, yeah,” you say. You set a finished pair of jeans to the side then look at him. “I graduated from college too. Granted, it was a couple years ago, not when I was 17, but I think it still warrants a little support.”

“You went to George Mason,” Spencer says.

Your movements stutter. You weren’t expecting him to actually know.

“Yeah,” you say. Your heart skips a beat. “How do you know?”

Has he talked about you to the team before? Sure, they didn’t know you existed before you showed up out of the blue, but maybe he showed them a picture after it happened. Your mom carries one of you in your cap and gown in her wallet—maybe he got a hold of one and Spencer caught a glimpse of that. Maybe you just missed it and he does have a picture of you on his desk. Maybe—

“You have a sweatshirt for it,” he says with a gesture. You look where his finger is pointing, and sure enough, your GMU sweatshirt is tangled up with a couple of other crewnecks.

“…Of course,” you say. You don’t know why you even dared to hope. “Because it’s more likely that you’d notice something like that than it is for my dad to talk about me.”

Spencer says your name, and you hate the sympathy in it.

“No.” You cut him off before he can get any further. “Don’t try to defend him. You know,” you huff a cold, humorless laugh, “he missed my graduation, too. Two separate dates for commencement and my actual school’s ceremony, one 45 minute car ride, and he couldn’t make it to either one.”

“You don’t know how busy we are,” Spencer tries again. “We work weekends and holidays and around the clock— sometimes we get called in at 3am to stay in some random town for weeks at a time, and there’s nothing we can do about it! I— I mean, we’ve had three days off in the past 47 days and—”

“That’s why I have a problem with you!” you cry out, throwing the shirt in your hand onto your bed as you turn to face him. “Because I’m twenty-four years old, and I’ve lived an hour away from my dad for the past six years, but his team that he spends all his time with didn’t even know I existed until I showed up at your office.” You take a step forward, anger resurging inside of you. “Because I threw away a chance at an Ivy to get to see him more, just to deal with the same bullshit as usual. Because I worry about him dying every single day he’s in the field, and he can’t even give me a phone call at the end of it all—” another step forward— “and even in the middle of this shitshow, you think you have a right to defend him— to- to tell me how to feel about him!”

You move even closer, close enough to see his wrinkled button-up is partially untucked, his lips are slightly parted, and his stupid doe eyes—that haven’t left yours—with his stupid dilated pupils, and you jab your finger in his chest.

“Because all I ever wanted is my father’s affection,” your voice breaks, and you hate the way it makes you feel, “and he’d rather build an entirely new life with an entirely new kid than give it to me.”

You push your way past him, making sure to shoulder-check him on your way out. You don’t look back as you forge your way to the bathroom (that you unfortunately have to share), even though his gaze burns into your back.

You close and lock the door. It’s childish, you know, but you need to be alone right now. You can’t stand to be around him.

Spencer just— he irritates you in a way that no one else ever has. He’s your age and more accomplished than you could ever dream to be, with almost six times the degrees and a much better job, and probably a family that loves him. Who wouldn’t love him with everything he’s done?

You, apparently.

You plant your hands on the countertop as you stare into the mirror. Your usual dark circles have become more pronounced over the past month, and you can’t help a wry laugh at the thought. All that trouble sleeping and it was for the wrong damn reason.

If you knew someone was watching you, you would have moved out of Virginia months ago. But maybe this bastard would have found you anyway. If Spencer’s profiling is right and he’s going after you because of your dad, you don’t think much could really dissuade him.

Tears pool at your waterline, and you wipe them away with a rough hand before they can manifest into something more. You slump back against the opposing wall as you continue to stare at yourself.

You’re pathetic and you can’t even find it in yourself to care.

You hear the sound of footsteps once more and you wrap your arms around your midsection. This chill won’t go away.

“…Are you still alive?” a hesitant voice calls.

You bite back a remark. “I’m fine.”

“You’re sure?”

“No.” You don’t know what makes you answer honestly.

A beat of silence passes. You really do feel like a kid. You’re talking to him through the door because you just yelled at him and Spencer is still being the bigger person.

“Can I help at all?”

This answer comes a little quicker. “No.”

Again, more silence.

“Okay.” Spencer pauses, and the footsteps start again. His voice is a little closer the next time he speaks. “Just… let me know when you’re turning in. So I know you’re still alive.”

You huff. He can’t even stick to his guns and hate you like you hate him for ten minutes. “I don’t think I’ll be dying anytime soon.”

“You never know,” he says. “Spontaneous human combustion might not be proven beyond pseudoscientific concepts, but there’s a first time for everything.”

The laugh that comes out of you is unexpected, both in its lightness and occurrence at all. “Keep an ear out for the smoke alarm, then.”

“If you smell anything burning, stop, drop and roll,” he says. “Make sure you don’t run. All it’ll do is add to the oxygen and feed the fire.”

“Okay,” you say. “…I still don’t like you.”

You swear you can hear the smile in his words. “I know.”

You wake up when the smoke alarm goes off.

It’s a very rude awakening. It jolts you out of your very uneasy sleep to unfamiliar surroundings—in your disoriented state, you almost forget where you are.

Right. You’re in a safe house in the middle of nowhere because someone is stalking you. How could you possibly forget?

You stumble out of bed, rubbing your eyes to try and assuage some of your exhaustion as you leave your room.

“Is the place on fire?” you ask through a yawn.

“No!” Spencer exclaims, sounding more panicked than usual. That straightens your back and speeds your pace. “No, everything’s fine—”

You smell smoke, and as you come around the corner, you see him waving his hands overtop the toaster trying to dispel said smoke. You can’t help but laugh, and you actually smile when he gives you the most helpless look.

“I’m so good at so many other things.”

“What are you trying to do?” you ask wryly. “Burn this house down to try and get a better one?”

“This wouldn’t have started a fire,” Spencer says. “Toaster fires usually spread because they’re below wooden cupboards, which catch easily and spread everywhere else.” He gestures at the toaster, which he has plugged in to an outlet on the side of the island. “No cupboards, no house fire.”

“You started this because you were making toast?” you ask.

He flushes. “I’m used to the toaster I have at home. I have the settings worked out perfectly there. This one is all wrong.”

You sigh and shake your head. “Just… hit the reset button, and open the door. It’ll be fine.”

“I can’t open the door,” he says. “It goes against the safety thing.”

“Then open a window.”

“Making it easier to get in here in any way goes against the safety thing,” he says.

“So we have to just deal with the smoke?” you ask in exasperation.

Spencer hits the vent button on the microwave, and the fan whirs into action. “No?”

You shake your head in disbelief as he then reaches up to hit the button on the smoke alarm. His t-shirt lifts with the movement—your eyes drift to the bare strip of skin, and you immediately look away when you realize.

“Where’s the coffee in here?” you ask, clearing your throat as you start sifting through drawers. “I’ll be even worse to deal with if I don’t have caffeine.”

“I already brewed a fresh pot,” Spencer says, gesturing with his head. “Half and half is in the fridge, and sugar is in the cabinet.”

“Oh,” you say. You stop what you’re doing, your hands lingering above the drawer handle. “You didn’t have to do that.”

You see him shrug out of your peripherals. “Why wouldn’t I?”

Because I was a total asshole to you last night, you want to say. Because I’ve been awful to you since I met you and you refuse to fight back and give me a better reason to hate you.

“Because you didn’t need to,” you finally say. Good one.

“I did. So you’re going to have to deal with it.” Spencer takes the burnt toast out and throws them in the trash can, talking while he does it. “You know, it’s actually a rumor that burnt toast contains carcinogens and can increase the chance of cancer. Acrylamide forms when you burn food, but researchers haven’t found a link between starchy foods with high amounts of acrylamide and cancer.”

You hum in some form of acknowledgement as you take a mug out of the cabinet and fill it from the pot. You take a sip and grimace—it’s not the best, but it’s caffeinated. After three years of shitty gas station coffee throughout college, you can deal with it.

“How did you sleep?” Spencer asks.

“Fine,” you say.

He frowns. “Really?”

“Yes,” you say, a little rougher. “The dark circles come with the model.”

“There are a lot of causes other than sleep deprivation,” Spencer says. “Contact dermatitis, hyperpigmentation, dehydration, alcoholism, stress—”

“Got plenty of that,” you interrupt.

“Even genetics can play a part in it,” he says.

You huff. “I think this is one thing I can’t blame my dad for. I haven’t slept since the nineties.”

“Well, you should try,” Spencer says. “The blood vessels around your eyes don’t constrict like they should when you’re sleep deprived, which means your blood vessels dilate, which increases blood in the area, and that gives you dark circles.”

“Wow,” you say wryly. “I really look that bad with them?”

“I— that—” Spencer’s face flushes red as he stutters, and you hide the slightest smile with your mug— “that’s not what I mean! I’m just trying to give advice to help—”

“I know.” You set your mug back down, not able to fully bite back your amusement. “I was joking, Spencer.”

“Oh,” he says. “That’s… new.”

“Am I not allowed to joke?”

“It just doesn’t seem like you,” Spencer says. “Especially after last night.”

“I’m too tired to fight with you right now,” you sigh. “Enjoy your break.”

He clears his throat as he takes two fresh pieces of bread out, then looks at your mug. “You drink it black?”

“It’s not coffee if you don’t,” you say. “It— it’s a sugary mess.”

“It is not!” he exclaims. “It still has the same amount of caffeine, and it’s still coffee—”

“No it isn’t!” you laugh, and you nod at his mug. “How much sugar did you put in there?”

“A couple spoonfuls but—”

“Spoonfuls?”

“But it’s how I like it!” Spencer defends.

“Don’t you have some facts about how harmful excessive sugar consumption is?” you ask.

“Of course I do,” he says. “I also have some about the benefits of black coffee, but I’m not going to tell you now.”

“Wow,” you say. “I’m so hurt.”

He shakes his head as he slots two more pieces of bread into the toaster. “And to think, I was trying to make breakfast for you.”

Again, that gives you pause. Why does he keep trying to do nice things for you?”

“Don’t bother.” You pick up your mug and go into the living room. “I don’t really eat breakfast anyways.”

“That’s not healthy,” he calls after you.

“Most things I do aren’t,” you respond. “What’s on the agenda today?”

“Skipping breakfast puts you at a higher chance of heart disease,” he says.

“Then I guess we won’t have to worry about the spontaneous combustion, will we?” You look back at him. “What’s on the agenda?”

Spencer sighs. He’s given up momentarily, it seems. “Gideon’s going to call me in thirty-two minutes for an update. The whole team has been focusing solely on your case.”

You perk up. The coffee warms your hands through the mug but it doesn’t fully assuage the chill down your spine.

“Do they have any leads?”

“I don’t know,” Spencer says. “Gideon hasn’t called me yet.”

You roll your eyes. “Do you think they have any leads?”

“Maybe.” The toaster pops and he pulls the bread out, then starts buttering it—or trying to. His brow knots in annoyance at the stick of butter, still hard, and he pushes his glasses up with his free hand. You have to look away. “Like I said, Gideon helped start the BAU. He’s solved more cases than anyone else, and,” you feel his eyes on you, “it’s personal this time. He’s probably working around the clock.”

“Just have to hope they get somewhere,” you murmur. Your coffee tastes even more bitter than usual, but you drink it anyway.

“They will,” Spencer says. “I promise.”

“Y’know, people keep making promises they can’t keep,” you say. “I’m getting real tired of it.”

“Well, I’m not leaving your side until they do,” he says. “And I’m going to keep you safe. So consider that promise kept.”

“Great,” you say. “I’m stuck with you until I die or this is solved.”

“You’re not going to die.”

“You don’t have to take everything I say so seriously.”

“Then don’t say everything so seriously.”

You huff a laugh and shake your head. Spencer comes over with his plate of messily buttered toast—not very easy with fully solid sticks of butter—and sits down across from you. He holds the plate out.

“Want one?”

“I told you, I don’t eat breakfast.”

“You should.”

“Because one piece of toast will make so much of a difference,” you mock.

“It will,” he says. “Maybe it’ll even make you happier.”

You roll your eyes and drink more of your coffee. “Are you going to bother me all day like this?”

Spencer took a bite of toast then shrugged. “If you’re this blase about everything relating to your health, then yes.”

You groan as you stand up. “It’s too early to deal with you. See you in a few hours.”

“And good morning to you too,” Spencer says wryly. You make a parting gesture with your hand in response.

It’s been a day and a half, and not only have you argued with him twice, but he still refuses to give you anything to work with, still insists on trying to be there for you. It’s as infuriating as it is gratingly admirable. Anyone else probably would have tried to kill you by now.

Well, you’ve already got a stalker trying to do that.

You sigh and down half your coffee. You’ve got a long day ahead of you.

Spencer doesn’t know why you not liking him bothers him so much.

It’s illogical, but it makes sense for you. Your dad spends more time with him than he does with you, and you’re projecting your hatred for Gideon onto Spencer. Whatever.

But it’s not just whatever, and that irks him.

This is an assignment, simple as that. Gideon trusted him enough to put you under his protection, even if it’s for your mental health more so than your physical. It should be a point of pride, being chosen for something like this by someone like Gideon.

Spencer presses his fingers against his temple. You’re a lot, there’s no way around it. But you also claim to hate him, and he knows that’s not true.

Yes, you argue with him. Yes, you’re short with him. Yes, he lost his temper momentarily because not even Spencer is capable of endless grace.

But he also sees your moments of lightness throughout it all. Your brief smiles, the quips that lean towards jokes more than insults—and he notices your eyes, and the brightness that breaks through on occasion.

He always notices your eyes.

Spencer’s phone rings in his pocket, jolting him out of whatever reverie he found himself in. He pulls it out and flips it open, then presses it to his ear. “Gideon?”

“Reid,” he greets. “How are you doing?”

“Fine,” he says. “You’re calling twenty-four minutes early.”

“We just finished a briefing,” Gideon says. “I wanted to get word to you as soon as possible.”

Spencer sits up. “What is it?”

“Morgan, Hotch, and Garcia have been working together to comb through my past cases and see what they’re up to now. They finally found a potential unsub,” he says. “Someone I put away a decade ago was released last year, and recent records indicate he’s back in the area.”

“Who is it?” he asks.

“Adam Hernandez. Also known as—”

“The Stafford Strangler,” Spencer finishes. “He killed three people in two weeks in the 90s—classic spree killer. You caught him with David Rossi’s help.”

“Released on good behavior, despite the victims’ families campaigning against it,” Gideon says. “You know it?”

“Obviously,” he says. “I’ve read all of your old case files.”

Gideon chuckles, and he can almost imagine him shaking his head. “Of course you have.”

“Do you think Hernandez is your guy?” Spencer asks.

“I’m not sure yet,” Gideon says. “We applied for a warrant—as soon as we get it, Morgan and Elle are heading his way to ask a few questions.”

“You think he’d do something like this?” Spencer shifts his position as he frowns. “Hernandez got fired, lost his house, then went off the deep end. He killed because he didn’t see any other solution. The guy going after your daughter is a lot more emotional about all this, and—” his throat feels dry all of a sudden— “and it’s like he’s got some kind of attraction to her.”

“You don’t need to remind me,” Gideon says roughly. “We’re going for leads where we can, and we’re still working every other angle. It doesn’t end with Hernandez.”

“...Good,” Spencer says. “Let me know if there’s anything I can do to help from here.”

“You’re already doing everything I need you to do.” Gideon pauses, and he hears the creak of the chair in his office as he adjusts how he’s sitting. “How is my daughter doing?”

“I don’t know,” he answers honestly. “Her mood changes with the wind. One second she’s trying to start a fight with me, the next she’s trying to joke around with me. It— it’s a lot, I won’t lie.”

“But how is she handling all of this?” he asks. “Staying in the safe house, dealing with a stalker, feeling like a sitting duck.”

“Very cynically,” Spencer says. “She keeps talking about dying or getting killed.”

Gideon sighs. “That sounds like her.”

“She’s… she’s mad at you, mostly.” Spencer picks at a hangnail, ignoring the sharp, temporary pain. “Every time I bring you up, it lights a fuse. You’re the one thing she hates to talk about.”

There’s nothing but silence on the other end.

“Gideon?” he asks. “Did I lose—”

“I’m here,” he interrupts. “Just… thinking.”

“It’s not your fault,” Spencer says. “She’s—”

“It is my fault,” Gideon interrupts again. “Has she told you much about her younger life?”

“...Some,” Spencer says.

“Like?”

Spencer doesn’t really know what to say. He doesn’t want to just tell Gideon that you’ve told him he’s been an awful dad. That it’s really all you’ve told him.

“You can say it, Reid,” Gideon says. “I won’t get mad.”

“...She says you’ve missed out on her whole life,” Spencer finally says, notably quieter. “Her high school graduation, her college graduation— most of the stuff that happened in college, actually.”

Gideon lets out a rough sigh. “I’ll always regret it.”

“So it’s true?” Spencer asks. He’s surprised at the sharpness of his voice.

“I don’t get to control when cases come in,” he says.

“We’re a whole team of qualified agents,” Spencer says. “We— we always have been. Especially when you and Rossi were together. It was like the golden age of profilers.”

“Spencer—”

“You made it to my graduation!” he interrupts. “You were there for my chemistry PhD, and you said you would be there when I get my philosophy degree, but you couldn’t make it for your only child’s high school and college graduations?”

“I already told you I regret it,” Gideon says. His voice is as calm as ever, and for some reason, that irks Spencer even more. “What more can I say? It’s in the past now. I can’t change what I did.”

Spencer stares at the wall. He doesn’t know why this is such a damning thing to him.

His own dad has missed all of his graduations. He’s missed almost every part of his life. But his dad walked out—he wanted nothing to do with Spencer or his mom.

Your dad is right here. Gideon is still around, working every day to save lives and change the world and take down monsters—but he’s still not there for you.

He’s so close and yet he always steps out of your reach.

“Spencer.” Gideon’s voice is tinny through the speaker, and he presses his phone back against his ear.

“Call me back the second you get another lead,” Spencer mutters.

He hangs up without another word.

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction #gideon!reader #spencer reid angst #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds angst #x reader #sadie writes #and yes. reader heard spencer's whole side of the convo<3

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jjscrybaby · 2 days ago

Note

thinking about “who did this to you?” and frat!boy rafe 🤭 his girl is always at his frat house and one night at a party, he’s looking for her and can’t find her. He eventually finds her crying and maybe with light bruises on her wrists or something? protective frat!rafe 🥰

rafe cameron x fem!reader | hurt & comfort | (creepy guy, wrist grabbing, bruising, protective!rafe, mentions of anxiety, sort of shy!reader,)

︶︶︶ ⊹ ︶︶ ୨♡୧ ︶︶︶ ⊹ ︶︶

The lights were giving you a headache. Topper thought it was funny to repetitively switch the main light on and off, to try and give the room a rave vibe. Most people inside were too fucked up to be annoyed by it, but you weren’t. You’d only had two vodka cranberries, and honestly all you wanted to do was crawl into Rafe’s bed and go to sleep.

During the majority of these parties you’d be glued to your boyfriend’s side, hanging off his arm like a trophy, but tonight was different. You were trying to branch out more, stop being so anxious at these things. Rafe loves a party, and being his girlfriend you should as well. So, for the last hour you’ve been roaming around; making minimal contact with him.

You left the main room with a huff, rubbing your temple as you walked out into the hall. There was no-one in sight, and you let out a sigh of relief that you had a moment alone. You sat down on the floor, leaning your head back against the wall. The door to the bathroom opened and a boy, one you hadn’t seen before, walked out.

“You alright?” He asked, looking down at you in amusement.

“I’m fine, just takin’ a break,” you explained. You didn’t want to speak to him, but it would be rude to send him away; especially with the mission you were on tonight.

“Mind if I join you?” He questioned. You didn’t even get to respond, he was already sitting down next to you. “I’m Parker, by the way.” You introduced yourself, shaking his outstretched hand. “Ah, you’re Cameron’s girl?”

“Yeah,” you smiled, just the mention of him had your mood lifting. Maybe you should just give up with the outgoing thing, maybe you should just go and find—

“You don’t seem like his type.” The statement caught you off guard, all thoughts leaving your head as you looked at him with furrowed brows.

“What does that mean?” You wondered, trying to sound calm.

He let out a hum, as if deep in thought, before shrugging his shoulders and giving you a smirk. “Rafe’s, like, into all this shit, y’know? Parties, drinking, drugs. You’re sat in the hallway alone.”

“Opposites attract,” you shrugged back, picking at the pink nail polish on your nails.

“That is the saying,” he laughed, running his fingers through his hair. “I just think maybe, a pretty girl like you, deserves someone that’s more like her. Someone that would sit with her in the hallway, for example.”

You thought he was degrading you, like the rest of Rafe’s fanboys usually did. But, you realised now that wasn’t the case. He was your fanboy. You let out an awkward chuckle, looking to the door that hadn’t opened since you stepped out. You prayed for someone, anyone, to need the bathroom.

“I’m gonna head back in—” you decided to screw the anxiety, and just do what was necessary.

“Why?” He interrupted. He didn’t sound quite so friendly anymore. “We’re hangin’ out, don’t go in yet.”

“I need to find Rafe.” You tried to stand, but his fingers gripped onto your wrist to stop you. You winced in pain, his hold only tightened. “Get off.”

“No—” your prayers were answered as the door opened, a drunken couple came stumbling through. The sudden interruption had him letting go of you, and you swiftly rushed away.

You ran upstairs, through the corridor of boy’s bedrooms, until you reached Rafe’s. With tears in your eyes, you pushed open the door and laid down in his bed.

It only took ten minutes for the door to open again, you flinched; thinking that maybe Parker had followed you up here, but you let out a shaky sigh of relief at the sight of Rafe.

“Hey, baby. There you are, been lookin’ all over— are you crying?” He interrupted himself, walking over to sit on the edge of the bed.

“No,” you blatantly lied through your tears, voice coming out muffled.

He wrapped his arms around you, wiping your tears with the pads of his thumbs. “Hey, what happened? It get a bit overwhelmin’? You could have told me, you know I’d much rather sit up here with you.”

“Not exactly…” you reached up to move your hair from your eye-line, you realised your mistake the moment that gentle look in his eyes dropped.

“What is that?” He grabbed your arm, not harshly but forcefully. Your wrist had turned a bright red colour, bruises would be forming soon enough.

“Nothing!” You squeaked out, trying to pull your arm away from him.

“Don’t bullshit me. That wasn’t there earlier. What happened?” He demanded to know. You knew he was serious, the look in his eyes and the tone of his voice.

You gave in, tears rolling down your cheeks as you explained to him what happened with the boy. He stroked over your wrist, a moment of silent going over the two of you before he leant forward and kissed your temple.

“Get changed, put on a movie. I’ll be back in a minute, okay?” He murmured softly.

“Where’re you going?” You asked nervously, you were pretty sure you already knew the answer.

“To sort out that fuckin’ kid. No one puts their hands on you, get it?” He stated, pecking your lips before getting off the bed.

You didn’t argue, there was no point. Rafe was too in love with you, if someone hurt you he’d do just about anything to get payback.

#rafe cameron #outer banks #obx #rafe cameron prompt #rafe x reader #rafe cameron x reader

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yoonjae20 · 2 days ago

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Danny deeply distrusts the Justice League

Based on the wonderful @saltymarshmall0w 's prompt.

I really feel like they aren't enough fanfics or prompts where Danny dislikes the Justice League — and continues to dislike them even after everything (Anti-Ecto Acts) is revealed and taken care of. (Or maybe I'm not looking in the right places — if you guys have any recommendations put them in the Tags or Comments!)

Read on ao3. Masterpost

After many years Danny has finally retired — sure he had to leave everything he loved and that was familiar to him behind for it, but it was worth it. He had a small little house that was his own, he would water his plants every morning and make small talk with his neighbors. Everything was fine.

Everything turns not so fine, when there’s a sudden knock on his door. Expecting it to be one of his neighbors — for example needing eggs or flour (a neighbor’s kid had needed eggs to bake one of her parents a cake and Danny had been more than willing to spare the few she needed) — he opens the door without a second thought.

Only to almost immediately want to close it again.

Because that’s the Justice League standing in front of his door. And that can mean nothing good.

Before Danny can slam the door closed, Superman‘s shoe slides in between the door frame, blocking his escape. The smile the man shoots him is probably meant to be reassuring, but the only thing Danny feels is dread.

To most civilians the Justice League is seen as a beacon of hope — but to Danny? He knows the bitter truth. When he needed them the most they turned his back on him before chasing him across half the globe calling him a villain without even hearing his side of the story. They handed him over the GIW for Ancient’s Sake. He would have died if it weren’t for Tucker and Sam. (He may not have scars to show for it but he can still feel his chest burn when he thinks back to it.) Not that they can remember that though. He still doesn’t trust them.

“You are Danny Fenton, correct?” Superman asks and Danny stiffens.

Fenton — not Nightingale like he has changed his surname into to escape his parents influence and leave everything behind.

“Yes,” he says warily — seeing no point in lying. Considering Batman is lingering behind Superman the Detective would figure it out instantly.

“And you used to be Amity’s Park’s vigilante Phantom?”

Danny grips the door frame, knuckles white. What’s their point? Are they trying to intimidate him?

“Yes,” he grits out.

“We were told that you are the one we should seek out in matters involving Ghosts and the Infinite Realms,” Superman continues, but Danny doesn’t let him finish.

“I’m retired,” he interrupts. “Find someone else.”

“There’s a world-ending event,” Superman says like that would convince Danny. Like Danny hadn’t lived though so many of them — had to prevent them from happening without anyone’s help every single time. Guilt-tripping much? “Even if you don’t want to fight — we need you as an advisor.”

Danny snorts, shaking his head.

“Go take up the matter with the Justice League Dark then.”

Danny moves to close the door, but still Superman’s foot doesn’t budge. He could probably brute-force his way through this — but Danny’s tired and he’s not in the mood to explain to his neighbors why his door is broken and he needs to do repairs.

He glares at them and to his surprise Superman actually takes a step back — but still not enough to be able to close the door.

Danny hasn’t transformed into Phantom since he left Amity Park. Had kept that part of himself locked away — would have separated his Ghost Self from himself if he didn’t know he would be selfish for that. Had ignored his Obsession even if it screamed at him — had pushed it away in his Human Form even if it muted all the colors around him and it meant that every breath was a painful wheeze.

Faced with this situation he almost wants to break the promise he made to himself — but he can’t.

There is no GIW anymore —�� Danny had made sure of that. He had wiped all of their files and his parents published research with the help of Technus. He had dismantled both portals to the Ghost Zone and made sure no one would be able to replicate it. But Danny also knows the Justice League — knows how much Superman’s punches hurt, how it feels to get mind controlled — they could overpower him in an instant if he twitched as much as into the wrong direction.

He really doesn’t have a choice here, doesn’t he? If he doesn’t go out of his free will — they will force him with any means necessary, of that much he is sure.

His gaze trails to his neighbor’s house and the swing in their backyard. And if they are right and he turns them away — is he sure he won’t feel any guilt if something happens that he could have prevented? Sometimes Danny really hates his Martyr Complex.

Danny sighs, defeated.

“What do you need my help for?”

They had liked their new neighbor despite the fact that he barely left his house other than to water his plants. They had known that the young man was sickly. He looked like death wormed him over and was weak on his feet— his ice-blue eyes dull. His smile barely held any warmth in it.

Still they invited them over after he had given their daughter eggs to bake the cake for their birthday. They learned that he was kind and had escaped to their small village to live a quiet life.

When the young man came to tell them that he would be out of town for a few days and to please water his plants if they could, they were worried.

“Are you sure that you are fine, son?” they asked and touched the man’s forehead — but it was icily cold like the rest of their skin had always been. “You look even paler than usual.”

The young man had only given them a half-hearted smile and affirmed them that he was fine

Their daughter's excited steps had hurried behind them and she tugged on their pants after the man had left.

“Was that Uncle Danny?” the girl asked. “Can I play with him?”

They gave their daughter a weak smile.

“Uncle Danny is busy for a few days,” they explained. “Later, okay? How about you draw him a picture while we wait for him to come back? So he has something to look forward to?”

Their daughter nodded and raced back to the living room, searching for supplies, while they continued looking out of the window. They can’t help but have a bad feeling about this.

It’s unnerving how quiet the young man is.

There are no easy smiles, sassy quips and puns like from the few shaky phone videos they had pulled from the internet about Phantom.

He’s meticulous. Probably even more than Batman — and that is a statement. There had been a deep mistrust in the eyes when they had located him and asked him to help them. It’s evident in every step he makes. He double-, even triple-checks every single evidence, every single sentence, every single word they say.

Nothing is left unturned as he works the way though the situation like if he is dealing with a case. He never stops moving, always doing something — reading through heavy leather-bound books or through their reports. His heart rate is so slow that Clark sometimes wonders if the boy is still breathing at all.

When the young man had asked them if they spoke to the leader regarding the war declaration and the reasons behind them, he had clicked his tongue when they told him no.

He hadn’t let anyone help him when he drew out the summoning cycle — it looked even more intricate and complicated than they had seen from Zatanna or Constantine. When he had spoken the words for the spell, his words had sounded ancient and undescribable — hushed whispers following every single word. He clasped his hands and only opened his eyes when he spoke the last word, his eyes burning a deep green.

The cycle goes up in green fire before a form appears — Clark recognizes the Ghost from the declaration.

The man’s cold gaze sweeps over the Justice League before it stops on Phantom. He smirks, bowing his head slightly.

“I greet the Prince of the Infinite Realms.”

“Cut the crap Fright Knight,” Phantom's voice is steel-hard. “We both know I refused that position.”

The man tilts his head but nods.

“Very well,” he says. “I greet Phantom, savior of the Infinite Realms.”

Phantom grits his teeth like he wants to refuse that title too before he shakes his head. He gestures to the Justice League.

“Explain.”

“We are just paying back what has been done to us,” Fright Knight claims. “Vita brevis, ars longa, occasio praeceps, experimentum periculosum, iudicium difficile.”

“Life is short, art is long, opportunity fleeting, experiment treacherous, judgment difficult,” Diana translates for them.

“I see the Daughter of the Queen of the Amazons knows her arts,” the man’s voice has a hint of mockery. “Humanum genus est avidum nimis auricularum. Ignorantia legis non excusat:”

Diana’s eyebrows knit together as she listens.

“Mankind is too greedy for lies. Ignorance of the law does not excuse,” her voice is almost a whisper.

“I would have thought you would know of this Phantom,” Fright Knight addresses the young man again. “But now seeing your state, you probably didn’t feel the call for the announcement either. Is there a reason why you are starving yourself?”

Phantom doesn’t meet any of their eyes as he answers.

“That is unimportant to this situation.”

Fright Knight’s lips twitch back into a grin.

“If the savior of the Infinite Dreams claims so, then I have no choice but to accept it.” He turns back to the Justice League. “Si vis pacem, para bellum.”

“If you want peace, prepare for war.”

“When have we been ignorant?” Batman finally steps in.

Fright Knight huffs out a dark laugh.

“When has mankind not been ignorant?” Fright Knight questions. “When your government captured my brethren and tortured them, where were you? When they declared us as non-sentient and staged war against us, where were you? When they threatened to destroy our home, where were you?”

The man’s eyes seem to burn as he repeats himself.

“Where were you?”

Clark and the rest of the League are shocked to silence.

“Now that the danger has passed, why should we just forgive you? Why should we forget?” Fright Knight continues. “If we are not worthy enough to be counted towards mankind that means we just have to rewrite the rules. And since we were never given the chance to negotiate, that means by force.”

“The Meta-Protection Acts-”

“Only count towards those that are alive.” Fright Knight interrupts Batman. “After all, how can the dead feel any emotions such as pain? I’m sure if you ask your government they will hand you a lot of pretty reports on the biased experiments that prove so.”

“But that’s-” Clark starts but Fright Knight doesn’t let him finish.

“Despicable? When has that ever stopped mankind?” Fright Knight asks. “We can talk if there isn't a law that states that we can be eradicated without any consequences.”

Before either of them can stop him, Fright Knight swishes his cape made out of purple fire and disappears. Clark faintly asks himself if that is how other people feel when Batman does that in front of their noses.

Seeing no other option the entire League turns back to Phantom who hasn’t said a single word since the Ghost went on his tirade.

“Phantom-” Batman tries, but the young man’s eyes burn with so much hate that the normally stoic man stocks in his words.

“I don’t have to tell you anything,” Phantom seethes. “You heard him. Now finally do your jobs right for once.”

Then he leaves the room without a single glance back.

Clark gulps as they look at each other.

“I feel like we made a mistake.”

When the news declares the Anti-Ecto Acts as abolished, Danny feels nothing but exhaustion. The Justice League barely managed to avoid a large-scale — and very justified war.

Danny leans back tiredly on his sofa. His eyes trail to the drawing his neighbor’s daughter had given him and the first genuine smile in months graces his lips.

“What I don’t do for mankind,” he sighs before he closes his eyes.

#dc x dp #dc #danny phantom #danny fenton #justice league #danny meets justice league #danny is not the ghost king #yoonjae20 writing #yoonjae20 #fright knight #anti-ecto acts #dc x dp crossover

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meazalykov · 2 days ago

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the stars on her skin

lena oberdorf x reader

summary: you are a star, and there are stars that represent you

you’ve been with obi for three years, and somehow, she still manages to surprise you.

in that time, your relationship has only grown stronger, even with all the chaos that came with it at times. lena recently made the decision to transfer from wolfsburg to bayern, leaving behind the club that had been her home for years.

the reason? you. she wanted to be closer to you, and now that you’ve just signed a renewal with bayern to stay until 2026, it feels like your lives are settling into something that feels permanent, something that feels like home for the first time since you guys became official.

even with her sidelined by her acl injury, lena remains your biggest supporter. when you went to the ballon d’or ceremony just weeks ago, receiving second place behind aitana, lena’s smile was brighter than anyone else’s in the room back home in munich. she knows how it feels to be one of the ones at the top, getting fourth back in 2022.

lena’s pride for you is unmistakable, and you felt it with every fiber of your being. she believed in you even when you doubted yourself.

today, lena had plans to spend the day with lea and rena. they were getting tattoos together—something they’d talked about for months but never found the time to do until now. you teased lena about going along just to supervise, but she rolled her eyes at you with that familiar smirk you loved so much.

“don’t worry, i’m not getting one,” she’d said before kissing you and heading out the door.

hours pass, and you go about your usual routine, alternating between light training at the gym then lounging at home.

when lena finally returns, there’s something different about her. lena’s smile seems brighter, her steps lighter. you notice it immediately but say nothing as she drops her bag by the door and walks into the kitchen where you’re making tea and dinner for the both of you.

“how was it with lea and rena?” you ask, turning to face her. you lean casually against the counter, the warm cup of tea in your hands.

“it was fun,” obi says, her voice casual. but there’s a certain glimmer in her eyes that you can’t quite place. she steps closer, leaning on the kitchen island.

“they got their tattoos, and… well, i got one too.”

you blink at her, momentarily stunned.

“you? no way. you didn’t mention wanting a tattoo.”

she grins, rolling up the sleeve of her sweatshirt just a few inches.

“well, i guess it was a last-minute decision.”

your curiosity piques, and you set your cup down, moving closer to her. she extends her wrist toward you, and there it is—a delicate design etched into her wrist.

tiny stars surrounded by subtle twinkles sit on the inside of her wrist, the black ink still fresh and skin slightly red from the session.

your breath catches as you take it in.

“it’s beautiful,” you murmur, your fingers ghosting over her wrist, careful not to touch the tender skin.

“it’s so... you.”

“do you think so?” she asks, her voice soft but with a hint of anticipation.

“i saw the design in the artist’s sketchbook while lea was getting her sun tattoo on her ankle. i asked about it, and he was able to fit me in after rena.”

“that's so cool! and yeah, absolutely.” your eyes flicker up to meet hers, and you tilt your head slightly.

“but obi… does it mean something? or did you just like the design?”

a small, shy smile tugs at the corners of her lips, and she glances down at the tattoo before meeting your gaze again.

“it’s for you.”

your heart skips a beat, and your eyes widen.

“what?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

she chuckles softly, her free hand brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “the stars,” she explains, pointing to the tattoo.

“they represent your zodiac sign. i saw the design in the shop, and it immediately reminded me of you. luckily, the artist had to tell me that it aligned with your zodiac sign. i knew i had to get it.”

you stand there, momentarily speechless, staring at her in awe. the gesture is so thoughtful, so inherently lena, that it leaves you completely floored. warmth blooms in your chest, spreading to every corner of your being.

“lena,” you whisper, stepping closer.

“you’re... this– i– sorry.. you’re so amazing.”

without thinking, you wrap your arms around her, pulling her into a tight hug. she laughs softly, holding you just as tightly.

“i take it you like it, then?” she teases, her voice muffled against your shoulder.

“like it?” you pull back slightly, your hands still resting on her shoulders as you look at her.

“i love it. i can’t believe you got this for me.”

obi’s eyes soften, and she shrugs as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“of course i did. you’re my everything.”

your cheeks flush at her words, and you glance down at her wrist again, unable to stop yourself from smiling.

“i can’t wait for it to heal,” you say softly, tracing the air above the tattoo.

“i’m going to kiss it every chance i get.”

lena smirks, tilting her head slightly.

“oh, i fully expect that.”

you laugh, your heart feeling lighter than it has in days.

“seriously, though. it’s so beautiful, lena. thank you.”

“you don’t have to thank me,” she says, leaning in closer until her face is just inches from yours.

“I'd get more for you.”

“be so for real,” you giggle.

before you can respond, she closes the distance, her lips capturing yours in a kiss that feels as grounding as it does electrifying. obi’s hand cups your cheek gently, her thumb brushing against your skin.

when she pulls away, her smile is soft but full of love.

masterlist

#lena oberdorf x reader #lena oberdorf #woso fanfics #woso community #woso x reader #gerwnt #bayern frauen

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justinspoliticalcorner · 2 days ago

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The Warning With Steve Schmidt:

Four years ago today, after losing a presidential election, Donald Trump incited an insurrection against the US Constitution. His mob stormed the Capitol, pissed on the walls and shat on the floors. They did $1.5 million in damage, caused injuries to at least 174 of Capitol police officers, and caused the deaths of five people. Trump will soon pardon the January 6 criminals, lionize them, and hang medals around their necks. Have no doubt about this. Meanwhile, Elon Musk has denounced Nigel Farage, the leader of the UK Reform Party, saying that he is unfit to lead it. He has also stepped up his interference in the forthcoming German elections. He has also begun severely limiting criticism of himself and others on X with a social media scoring system that is straight out of China.

The Washington Post is in a state of collapse. The paper’s best political writers, journalists and commentators are like the first-class passengers on Titanic being lowered into half-filled life boats taking them to the Wall Street Journal and The Atlantic, but the truth is that there aren’t enough life boats for all. Everyone is going to want off a ship that is sinking into disgrace. Whatever private commitments were made between the Graham family and Bezos when he bought The Washington Post regarding its stewardship have been shattered. The most incredible part about the capitulations — which are not the least bit surprising — is how quickly they happened, and without so much as a soft whimper or scuffle.

By doing so, most editorial leaders of these institutions have demonstrated the only place they are truly fit to work is the Trump White House. There, they could combine the practice of moral appeasement, fecklessness, dishonesty, weakness and self-interest with being cheered, promoted and celebrated. Instead, these low men and women have to face the reality that the person staring back at them in the mirror is a different version of Lindsey Graham — only they call themselves journalists as opposed to senator. The farce is the same. The cowardice is the same. The record will show that when the starting gun sounded nobody came close to Joe Scarborough and Mika Brzezinski with their Usain Bolt-like dash to Mar-a-Lago. Bezos must look at them through his capitulant lens as visionaries. Perhaps they will have the opportunity to summer aboard Koru, his yacht, with the Lady Sanchez in the south of France. Given that Bezos has green-lit a Melania documentary that explains her reemergence from witness protection, maybe she could be there as well, softly purring about her deep love of Donald and America.

[...] Jeff Bezos, Sam Altman, Elon Musk, and all the rest of America’s oligarchs hold the American people in contempt. Because they do, they can’t see the character of the steelworker, trucker, nurse, teacher or cop. They only see one thing, and that in the end, is why this whole miserable MAGA project will crash and burn. They are locusts preparing to swarm to engorge themselves even though they feel no hunger and want for nothing. Donald Trump will keep pushing until someone, somewhere, some day, effectively pushes back again. I hope that day comes soon because until then they are going to be full speed ahead. By the time the inaugural address is over there will be perfect clarity around what must be fiercely opposed as indecent and un-American.

Steve Schmidt’s column is on the nose here. It’s insulting to see so many people and institutions obey in advance and capitulate to Trumpism, especially the Washington Post.

#Steve Schmidt #Donald Trump #Joe Scarborough #Mika Brzezinski #Jeff Bezos #Melania Trump #Trump Administration II #Elon Musk #Nigel Farage

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paige05bby · 1 day ago

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Favorite Crime

summary: A UConn cheerleader reflects on a forbidden, passionate romance with basketball star Paige Bueckers.

a/n: based on Favorite Crime by Olivia Rodrigo

warning(s): just tension & heartbreak (sad ending)

pairing: paige bueckers x cheerleader!reader

“All the things I did, just so I could call you mine.”

It started like every cliché I’d ever scoffed at—a stolen glance, a lingering touch, a shared secret. Paige Bueckers was everything I was supposed to avoid. She was magnetic, untouchable, the golden girl of UConn basketball. Everyone wanted her, and she knew it.

I wasn’t supposed to be different. Just another cheerleader she charmed with her cocky smirk and honeyed words. But when she kissed me for the first time under the bleachers after a game, her hands gripping my waist like she’d fall apart if she let go, I let myself believe I was special.

She told me I wasn’t like the others, and I wanted it to be true. So I fell. Hard and fast, like a freefall with no parachute. I gave her everything—my time, my trust, my heart—even as the cracks began to form.

“The things you did, well, I hope I was your favorite crime.”

At first, it felt like a dream. She’d wait for me after practice, her hair still damp from the showers, her grin lighting up the hallway as she pulled me into a corner to kiss me senseless. She’d sneak into my dorm room after midnight, her laughter low and breathless as she whispered promises I was too desperate to question.

But then the lies started. The late nights she couldn’t explain. The unanswered texts. The faint smell of perfume on her hoodie that wasn’t mine.

“Do you still talk to them?” I asked one night, my voice barely above a whisper.

Her expression was unreadable as she tilted her head, feigning confusion. “Talk to who?”

“You know who.”

She sighed, running a hand through her hair. “You’re overthinking again. Why does it matter?”

“Because it feels like I’m not enough for you,” I said, my voice cracking.

She stepped closer, her hands sliding around my waist. “You’re all I need,” she murmured, her lips brushing against mine. And for a moment, I believed her. I always believed her.

“You used me as an alibi, I crossed my heart as you crossed the line.”

But the doubts didn’t go away. I started noticing the way other girls looked at her, the way they lingered after games, desperate for her attention. Sometimes, I’d catch her flirting with them, her smile just a little too familiar, her laugh a little too easy.

“You can’t keep doing this,” I told her after one particularly painful moment, my voice shaking as we stood in the empty gym.

She shrugged, her eyes gleaming with something I couldn’t name. “They don’t mean anything,” she said. “You’re the one I go home to.”

But it wasn’t enough. I wasn’t enough.

“It’s bittersweet to think about the damage that we’d do.”

The fight happened after the biggest game of the season. She’d hit the game-winning shot, the crowd roaring as her teammates lifted her into the air. I should’ve been proud. I should’ve been happy.

But when I saw her outside the locker room, leaning casually against the wall with that infuriating smirk, all I felt was anger.

“What are you doing here?” I asked, my voice sharp.

“Thought you’d want to congratulate me ma,” she said, her tone light but her eyes serious.

“Congrats,” I said flatly, brushing past her. “You’re amazing. We all know it.”

Her hand shot out, grabbing my wrist. “Don’t do this,” she said, her voice low.

“Do what?” I snapped, spinning to face her. “Point out that you only care about me when it’s convenient? That you disappear whenever it gets hard?”

Her jaw tightened, her eyes flashing. “That’s not fair.”

“Isn’t it?” My voice rose, the words spilling out in a torrent of frustration and pain. “You act like I’m the only one, but you’re everywhere, Paige. You flirt with everyone, and I’m supposed to just… be okay with it?”

“You think I don’t love you?” she shot back, her voice trembling with anger.

“I think you don’t know how to,” I said, my voice breaking. “You love the attention, the game, the chase. But me? I’m just another name on your list.”

She stared at me, her breathing heavy, her expression unreadable. “You don’t get it,” she finally said, her voice cold. “I’ve given you everything I can.”

“Well, it’s not enough,” I whispered, tears streaming down my face.

“I hope I was your favorite crime.”

Years Later

The Dallas skyline glittered in the night as I adjusted my uniform, the sparkle of my cheerleading outfit catching in the stadium lights. It was just another Cowboys game, just another night in a life that was supposed to make me forget her.

And then I saw her.

She was standing on the sideline, WNBA warmups hanging off her tall frame, laughing with someone from the press. Paige. The same Paige. Older, sharper, somehow even more magnetic than she’d been back then.

My breath caught, my heart lurching in my chest as her eyes flicked over to me.

For a second, I thought she might not recognize me. But then her lips curved into that familiar smirk, and suddenly, I was 19 again, standing under the bleachers with her hands on my waist.

“Hey, stranger,” she said when she finally approached, her voice low and teasing.

“Paige,” I managed, forcing a smile. “Didn’t know you were in Dallas.”

She gestured to her jersey, the Dallas Wings logo bold on her chest. “Been here for a year. Guess we’re both in the same city again, huh?”

I laughed nervously, the weight of our history pressing down on me. “Yeah. Small world.”

Her eyes softened, the smirk fading. “You look good,” she said quietly. “Really good.”

I swallowed hard, my heart racing. “So do you.”

We stood there, the noise of the stadium fading into the background as the past crashed between us. I wanted to say so much—to ask if she ever thought about me, if she missed me, if she’d ever truly loved me.

But all I managed was, “It’s good to see you, Paige.”

She nodded, her smile wistful. “You too.”

And just like that, she was gone, walking back to her team, leaving me with the ache of everything we’d been and everything we never would be.

Paige Bueckers was still my greatest heartbreak, my deepest regret, and my favorite crime.

#uconn wbb #paige bueckers #paige bueckers x reader #paige x reader #paige bueckers x oc #paige bueckers fanfiction #paige bueckers headcannons

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demonic0angel · 3 days ago

Note

Jason joins Dani in being forced to have a check up by Frost Bite by Danny and Jazz. They commiserate on having ghost health problems.

(I went in a slightly different direction on this)

Jason sighed. Jazz patted his knee and kissed his forehead before saying, “It’ll be okay, dearest. Sit tight, I’ll go get Frostbite, alright?”

Jason huffed again but nodded. He ignored the scathing glare from the teen next to him. Jazz left and Jason sat in silence in the room next to the seething teen. He felt tired and prickly, like the cold air was getting sucked into his body. After a while of looking around the room and cataloguing everything, he asked, “So… what’re you in here for?”

“Why was Jazz kissing you?” The girl asked angrily. Jason glanced at her and observed her features, noting the heart shaped face, the sharp eyes, and delicate features with a hint of wildness.

He squinted. “Are you Jazz’s sister?”

The girl, Dani or Ellie he realized now, sneered. “Yes. Are you dating Jazz?”

“Yeah,” he said carefully. “We’re dating.”

Dani huffed, crossed her arms, and then answered, “I’m here for a checkup. I got into a fight recently and used too much power, so Danny made me come here so Frostbite could check me over too. What’re you here for?”

“Jazz said that the ectoplasmic rot in my soul was getting better,” he said, trying to recall what Jazz had explained to him before, “but I still need to be looked at because my case is a little uncommon.”

Dani nodded. “Yeah, mine too. My genetic makeup is unstable, so I can’t use my powers too much or for too long. I’m weak, but I have to try.”

Jason blinked. “Weak? You seem pretty strong to me. And that’s not a compliment because you’re my in-law. What do you mean by genetic makeup?”

Dani scowled, but she also looked pleased. She explained softly, “My creator, Danny’s enemy, made me to be an assassin and replacement. But… he messed up when he created me. I was supposed to be Danny’s clone. But I think Vlad didn’t have the heart to kill me using the portal like what happened to himself and Danny… so I’m unstable. He couldn’t stand to hurt me when he made me, but he had no problems trying to erase me later… and he’s the one who made me weak.”

Something dark flashed over her face, something like love and rage and regret and something that Jason related to like two people with holes in their hearts.

He chuckled humorlessly. “I kinda get it. I got killed. I was being stupid. I wanted to find my mom and she sold me out to the Joker.” He smiled, amused, as Dani hissed at the mention of the clown. “I was tortured and then when I tried to save my mom one last time… I was killed in a final explosion. I was forgotten. Almost nobody went to my funeral. I was buried and remembered only as a “good soldier,” and when I woke up in that coffin… I clawed myself out and was basically a zombie. Then I got tossed into a Lazarus Pit and I was trained to be an assassin too.”

He gave Dani a small smile, who just stared at him. “And you know what’s worse? When I came back to my senses, I found out that my dad didn’t even avenge me. The Joker is still alive, just killing other people. Taking other people away from their families. My dad didn’t even care about me. He slit my throat and saved the Joker when I gave him the chance, even though he used to tell me that he would never abandon me. So I kinda get it. Especially about a dad who made you, gave you everything, and when you finally did what you had to and completed your mission, he abandoned you for a better model. That’s what happened to you too, right?”

Dani nodded slowly. She looked at her hands and kicked her feet idly. “And now we’re fucked up because of them.”

Jason snorted. “Fuck dads. That’s what we have siblings for.”

A smile bloomed over her face. “Yeah. Fuck dads! That’s why we have big brothers and sisters!”

“We’ll be okay, squirt,” Jason grinned as he reached over and ruffled her hair. She immediately gave a cry of outrage, batting away his hands, but he continued, “We’ll make it through this. After all, we’re survivors, right?”

Dani gave him a critical look and then nodded. And after that, they sat together in amicable silence until Dani grew him into another conversation. When Frostbite finally entered, Jason didn’t feel so terrible anymore. After all, he had someone here who also related to him.

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rivalsispunk · 3 days ago

Text

The Interview (Chapter 1 of ongoing series When We’re Alone)

Best friend’s dad!Declan O’Hara, boss!Declan O’Hara x AFAB reader

Journalist Declan O’Hara is in need of a personal assistant as his Corinium career skyrockets, and his daughter Taggie has the perfect candidate: her best friend. What seemingly starts as a professional relationship soon snowballs into something both Declan and reader were never expecting and are no longer able to deny.

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, (eventual) smut, cursing, age gap romance (reader is a few years older than Taggie), more warnings added per chapter

Word count: 3.1k

Author’s note: Hello! Long time reader, first time poster! Please be kind but also let me know what you think! Proof read but probs still some mistakes. Not entirely canon, Declan still works for Corinium, Maud has disappeared to god knows where and the rest, well, you’ll have to read to find out :)

Chapter One: The Interview

You were going to positively kill Taggie once you returned to the Cotswolds. Only she, your closest friend since you relocated to the country after finishing your university degree six months ago, could convince you to cut your gap year short in favour of interviewing for a personal assistant job at Corinium. And, for her father, Declan O’Hara, no less.

“Oh, go on!” Taggie had pleaded with you over The Priory’s kitchen counter. “I know you’re getting bored out here. You can’t spend all of your days sitting around here, helping me peel the shite out of prawns for dinner parties.”

“Why not?” You plucked a grape from the fruit platter she’d just finished assembling for an event at Freddie and Valerie Jones’ that evening. “I happen to like spending all my time with you. Even if it does mean peeling shite out of crustaceans.” You eyed your friend with faux suspicion. “Are you getting sick of me already?”

“Of course not! I just think you’d be grand at it, that’s all, what with your journalism degree and all,” Taggie explained. “You’ve heard Daddy when he comes home. Always complaining about the sorts he’s had to interview. Plus, he already knows you. That’s ought to win you some points right there.”

“I suppose it wouldn’t be all bad,” you confessed, mulling the opportunity over as you chewed through another handful of grapes. It would look amazing on your resume and you’d have a foot in the door at one of the biggest TV networks in the United Kingdom. Plus, it wouldn’t kill you to have a front row seat to Declan in all his glory every single day. You would never mention it to Taggie, but you fancied her dad a rather handsome sod.

“Say you’ll do it. At the very least, for me?” Taggie bat her thick eyelashes at you.

“Fine,” you eventually relented, a smile cracking over your face at the new possibility. “I’ll go in for an interview, but no promises. And I don’t want you convincing him of me either! I want to get this job on my own merit, okay?”

“Convince Daddy of you? Please, he already adores you.” The sentiment spread fire through your chest. Tag rounded the kitchen bench and grabbed you by the hand. “Now let’s find you an outfit! Mummy ought to have left something halfway suitable behind.”

Taggie nor Declan had said much about their absentee matriarch Maud in the recent weeks since she fled the countryside after yet another explosive argument between her and her husband. You knew better than to ask, but you could tell by the way Taggie’s shoulders sagged at the sight of her mother’s partially empty closet that her absence had a somber affect on her.

You’d only been into the main bedroom of The Priory once before, when the room was overtaken by Maud’s florally perfumes and extravagant evening gowns. This time, however, the space was so intrinsically Declan; all heady cedarwood and whisky and smoke. Shirts with patterns of plaid and tartan as well as numerous odd, natural-coloured socks were peppered across armchairs and vanities, while a stack of memoirs sat on his bedside with a full ashtray perched atop. Your heart swelled, and sunk simultaneously, at the thought of Declan being sat up here alone at night, or early of a morning, thumbing through a book while taking slow drags of his cigarette as he let himself be consumed by a life far different to the one he was currently living.

“How about this?” Taggie’s voice ripped through your daydream, forcing you away from thoughts of her father. You peered at the oatmeal-coloured dress she had retrieved from the closet, surprised that Maud owned something so…brown. You’d always known her to wear jewel tones that complimented her flaming red hair. You shook your head, and thus began a cycle of Taggie suggesting an outfit and you shooting it down. Eventually, you agreed to Taggie swapping out your creature comfort jeans and Wham! T-shirt for an old black pencil skirt that you were convinced had given you hives from the way your legs hadn’t stopped itching since you put it on, as well as a silky fuchsia blouse that stretched a little too tight over your breasts. While your friend had done a good job at assuring you that you’d fit right in at the Corinium offices, you weren’t as convinced.

The receptionists, all in latest season fashion with not a hair out of place, had looked you up and down as soon as you stepped foot in the marble foyer, snickering behind your back about your fashion fauxpas once you’d checked in. Sarah Stratton wasn’t as covert with her judgement. As you sat outside Declan’s office, waiting to be called in, Sarah outwardly guffawed when she spotted you across the floor. You’d met her several times in passing at parties and Corinium events you’d previously attended as Taggie’s plus one, and for the most part, she’d kept her observations to herself. But now, as her red heels clip across the carpet, her gaze set right on you with her matching rouge lips upturned. “I would never have expected to see you here, darling!” she coos down at you, reaching for a strand of hair that has slipped in front of your shoulder. “And playing dress ups, no less!” Another laugh tinkers out of her as she twirls your hair around her finger. “Interviewing for the assistant job with Declan, hm?”

You nod with a taut smile and try not to let her comment about you looking god-awfully out of place get to you. Sarah’s eyes shift to Declan’s closed mahogany door and tuts. “Well, good luck, sweetheart. Seems like you’ll need it with the way the rest of those interviews have panned out.”

“Oh, hop off it, Sarah!” an unmistakingly Irish voice barks from your left. Sarah jolts upright and despite the embarrassment that tinges her cheeks pink, still manages throw a sultry smile in Declan’s direction. Your posture matches her pin-straight stature as you side-eye his office. It hadn’t occurred to you that he wasn’t inside, preparing for your interview the way you had been all morning. You’d crafted your pitch of yourself perfectly, complete with ideas and suggestions for potential guests for Declan’s show, anything to set you apart, make you seem even a fraction less useless that the interviewees that came before you. “Don’t you have anything better to do? Where’s James?” he questions Sarah, alluding to the very common knowledge that she and her co-host James Vereker are having an affair. Declan makes a show of raking through his moustache - god, that moustache - then adds with a smirk, “James and better. Probably not two words that should be in the same sentence, eh?” Sarah’s smile plateaus at that, and that stiff upper-lip culture she was dying to marry into takes its place.

“I’m sure I can make myself busy, Declan. Got a show to prepare and all that. Ciao!” She doesn’t look at you again and you’re grateful that Declan starts to speak before you bumblefuck your way through the silence.

“Ciao,” he repeats once Sarah’s out of earshot . “Doubt that leech of a woman’s ever had a decent carbonara, let alone stepped foot in Italy.” he says, offering you the first genuine smile you’ve received all day. “Let’s get to it, shall we?” He swings open his office door and holds an arm out. “After you, love.”

“Thanks.”

You shuffle into the room ahead of him, completely oblivious to the way Declan’s eyes are trained on your arse in a skirt that’s familiar to him, but he’s unsure how. Right now, however, he doesn’t care, because it fits your body so magnificently, as if it were made for you. He fights to ignore the dull throb beneath his trousers while he watches you sit, the black fabric pushed to its limits as it stretches across the globes of your arse.

God, has she always been so… womanly? Declan wonders, then immediately chastises himself for leering so openly at his daughter’s best friend. Yes, she was a few good years older than Taggie, and always a beautiful girl, but he was glad his middle child had finally made a friend amid the shitshow that was the move to the country and his crumbling marriage to Maud. He didn’t need to muddy the waters with pervacious thoughts about the young lass’ curves. If only she’d shown up to his office in her usual ripped jeans and George Michael-adorned tees.

“Everything okay, Mr O’Hara? Should I sit somewhere else?” you ask when you notice Declan frozen in the doorway with a furrow etched in his brow. You immediately start second-guessing yourself and wonder if this was a bad idea after all. You can only imagine everyone else who lost out on this job before you faced that same expression. He shakes his head at you, at himself, then busies himself with straightening his maroon tie as he moves to sit behind his desk. You shift in your seat, trying to thwart of the lingering itch Maud’s skirt has buried into the back of your thigh. You think if you can wriggle just so, you can ward it off for at least the main portion of the interview. While you think your subtle movements go unnoticed by Declan because he’s perusing your resume - impressive, he’d earlier noted in black pen beside details of your internship at The Times - he’s been clocked onto your behaviour since he’d laid eyes on you across the office. Scared shitless, and he doesn’t half know that Sarah’s sneaky comments only added to it, thanks to the way you’re fidgeting with that damned skirt mere metres away from him. If Declan had any less sense in him, any less dignity, he’d have half the mind to tear it straight from your body. Of course, he decides against it and tries a less barbaric approach to settle your nerves.

“No band t-shirt today?”

Now it’s your turn for your brows to knit together. “I’m sorry?” Declan nudges his head in the general direction of your chest and your chin dips in response to see what he’s referring to. There, your vision is flanked with fluorescent pink and a tinge of flesh where the silky material doesn’t quite stretch to cover your breasts between buttons, and you silently curse Taggie for allowing you to wear something so borderline revealing at her father’s workplace. Plus, you were surprised he’d even noticed your usual attire.

“I thought it was best I grow up a bit in the clothing department if I were to go for a job at Corinium,” you confess. Declan doesn’t miss the way the swell of your breasts arch against your shirt when you take a deep breath and fold your arms across yourself. “But now I’m thinking the bright pink was a mistake.”

You peer across the expansive wooden desk expectantly, and Declan pitches his hands up in mock surrender. “Don’t ask me! Fashion, clearly, is not my strong suit. All I know is, according to my girls, leaving the house with ladders in your tights is a big no-no unless you’re a gothic or Winona Ryder.”

You chuckle at that, even more so for knowing that his youngest daughter, Caitlin, would be all for half-shredded tights.

Declan looks coy as he sips from his tea. “But if it counts for anything, you look lovely.”

“Well, I should hope you think so. These are your wife’s clothes, after all.” Your confession elicits a splutter from the otherwise put together man in front of you. Tea spouts from his lips across the desk, marring your resume and any other papers with brown stains. You immediately spring into action, scanning the room for a towel, handkerchief, anything that could mop up the mess.

“Sorry, love,” Declan says quietly, thumping a fist against his chest. “Wrong pipe.”

That’s when you see it, a pocket square the same colour as his tie poking from his breast pocket. Without thinking, you lurch across Declan’s desk and pluck it from its resting place, and begin soaking up the liquid. Declan ought to help you, it’s his mess after all, but he’s frozen at the view you’ve awarded him as you lean over. Your cleavage fights against the V cut of Maud’s blouse and Declan can just make out the ripple of a black lace bra below the neckline. He can’t even imagine Maud in that outfit. Right now it’s all so you. His cock stirs at the sight and he can’t help the pained groan that bubbles up his throat.

“Stop,” he breathes in barely a whisper. You don’t, of course, you can’t hear him, and you keep wiping at the desk, your breasts bouncing with every swipe up and down.

“Christ, girl, stop it!” Declan explodes, bolting up from his chair. Thankfully, the height of his desk hides his growing bulge, but it doesn’t matter. The look of pure fear painting your face has the same effect as a cold shower. You sink back into your seat and begin spluttering apologies, that you shouldn’t have used his pocket square, that you were out of line and another dozen variations of sorry, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. Declan mirrors you by returning to his chair, raking a hand over his face.

“I’m sorry, darlin’,” he states eventually. “I don’t give a dying rats arse about the pocket square. It’s just… I’m a bloody fool just standing here while you clean up after me. I can’t have you doing that. You don’t even work for me.”

Despite the shock of Declan’s outburst, you manage to muster up a bit of cheek in response. “I don’t even work for you yet,” you correct him.

Your confidence juts Declan’s eyebrows to his curly hairline and a grin cracks across his face. “Cocky little thing, aren’t ya? Go on then.. tell me why I should hire you.”

You spend the next twenty minutes talking Declan through your university studies and experience, the tension from earlier already forgotten. When Declan mentions he once worked with your media law professor, the conversation detours into the pair of you sharing stories about your experiences with the man, far too senile and set in his ways to do the younger generation any good. The rest of the interview carries on like that, you and Declan laughing and exchanging anecdotes like two friends in the pub rather than an employer vetting a potential employee. You’re about to pitch the idea of getting Farah Fawcett on Declan’s show when the office door thumps open to reveal Corinium’s managing director, Tony Baddingham, at its entryway.

“O’Hara! If you’re done with giggling like a little schoolgirl down here, we’ve got a production meeting to get to,” he bites, barely glancing in your direction. You don’t miss the roll of Declan’s tawny eyes as he waves Tony off.

“Alright, Tony. Give me five, I’m just finishing up here,” he says before introducing you by name.

“Nice to meet you, Mr Baddingham,” you tell him, standing to shake his hand. He doesn’t properly look at you until your palms meet, and your spine stiffens when his beady eyes rake over you.

“One of Declan’s assistant candidates, I presume?” he wonders aloud.

“Yes, sir.”

“Well, you’re far prettier than some of the other trolls we’ve had roll through here recently.”

“Tony,” Declan warns. The last thing he wants is another man leering at you like you’re a rite of passage for them.

“Right, well, lovely to meet you,” Tony clasps his other hand over the top of yours, careening his neck so he’s at your eye level. “Hope to see you around here. You’ll definitely be a much-appreciated addition.”

Offering a tight-lipped smile, you reserve the urge bawk in his face. You’ve worked with enough Tony Baddinghams to know his interest in you has nothing to do with your professional ability and everything to do with aesthetics. Fucking men.

For the most part, they sickened you and Declan all the same, but for the latter, he was mainly sickened with himself for wanting to pummel Baddingham for the way he was eye-fucking you. But who was he to talk? He’d been doing the exact same thing just minutes earlier.

When Tony leaves the office, he leaves the door ajar, a reminder that Declan is expected elsewhere. You’re about to ask Declan if Tony is always so…Tony, but he’s already got his briefcase in hand and is ushering you towards the door. “I have to admit, I was surprised when Taggie said you wanted to interview for this position, with you being on a gap year and all,” he confessed as you strolled out onto the office floor. “But you know your stuff. You’re bloody intelligent. Passionate. That’s rare these days.”

“Thank you, Mr O’Hara.”

“Please, call me Declan. Here, and at The Priory. Just Declan,” he smiles and you return it.

“Alright, then. Declan.”

“I’ve got to get going, but I’ll let you know about the job. There’s a couple more interviews on the books in the next few days, I’m sure you understand.”

“Of course.”

Declan gives you a curt nod, and you start for the elevator, but you barely make it five steps before he calls you back.

“For what it’s worth, I’d be lucky to have ya here. And like I said, you look great, but I prefer the jeans and t-shirts. They’re much more…you.”

His admission sends your heart thrumming against your ribcage, and red creeps up your neck and onto your cheeks. “Thank you, Mr O’Ha- Declan,” you correct yourself. “Thank you, Declan. See you around.” You turn on your patent black heel, leaving Declan standing there with an image that’s bound to haunt him for nights to come: you in that fucking skirt.

Please let me know if you enjoyed this, and if you’re feeling generous, a lil’ reblog won’t go astray <3

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urinarythreatinfection · 3 days ago

Text

Is This Love?

Luffy x Male Reader. Angst. Post Jinbe. 1919 words. Slow-ish burn. Part two, Part three

Desc: You confess to Luffy then go through the aftermath of what you did.

Late at night, under the stars, and sleep deprived.

“Luffy?”

“Hm?”

“I think I’m in love with you.”

That is how this started. A sudden confession under these conditions while Luffy was on watch duty and you stayed with him since you couldn’t sleep. Maybe it was the tiredness you felt that made you spill it, or the inability to keep it inside any longer; or maybe it was both. That doesn’t matter too much now.

“...” Luffy is silent, brain processing what happened while he stares at you. “You love me?” He asks.

“In love with you. Like a lover loves their lover.” Laying it out there so even he couldn’t misunderstand is how you continue. He continues to stare, examining you before looking back up at the stars and resting his chin on his knees.

“Weird.” The captain states, “You’re being weird, (Y/n).” not in a cruel way. Just an observation, something to point out like you ate bananas with ketchup. What is he supposed to say to that? It was so random to him, so he stays silent. Your head drops a bit, he wasn’t cruel, not on purpose, but the nonchalant rejection hurts in a different way. Then again, you didn’t expect much. He’s never shown interest in those things on his own. You almost want to apologize, but choose silence, it’s better to let things pass now. You rest your hands on the floor beside you. The stars and moon shine brightly tonight, as if they shined brighter than usual just to comfort you through this.

——————————

Things didn’t change, Luffy is still your captain and you his crewmate. He doesn’t mention what you said nor does he act differently around you. At first.

“...” Quiet. He’s staring, you can feel it. You look up and the two of you meet eyes. He doesn’t break contact though and you end up just going back to what you were doing. No smiles, no laughter. Maybe this did ruin something, but it’s not like you can take it back.

_________________

Again, during snack time, he acts off. Staring then slowly reaching a hand over to your food while keeping his eyes on you. It’s making you anxious, you feel like a wild animal being approached. You can’t tell what he’s thinking, if he is thinking anything, while he does this. However, you gently push his hand away. The action makes him frown, looking almost… confused. Then, he speaks.

“I thought you were in love with me.” Luffy says and you freeze along with the other shocked crewmembers around.

“Luffy!?” You’re shocked as well, he just said it, just put your feelings out there.

“You’re in love with me, but I can’t have some?” He asks with a tilt of his head, is that why he was staring at you? That gets more people frozen, except for Robin, who frowns a bit after a second.

“L-Luffy-” Usopp manages to start before you stand up, tossing the snack on Luffy’s lap and entering the Sunny. Maybe they’re speaking about you, about what just happened, but you can’t hear it right now. You go into the men’s quarters and sit on your bed, putting your head in your hands. You had thought he’d forget about it, and even if he didn’t that he wouldn’t mention it, but he did. You should’ve told him to keep it secret, but once again it’s too late. This sucks, you should’ve just beared with keeping it in.

(Luffy’s POV)

Luffy looks down at the snack on his lap, then up at his crewmates. Nami clenches her teeth before yelling. “Luffy you IDIOT! Why did you say that?” The captain tilts his head in confusion again.

“But he does, he said it.”

“That’s not the point…” The navigator says with a sigh before turning around and rubbing her temples. “Gods, I’m getting a headache.” Jinbe shakes his head in disapproval.

“What you did was insensitive, Luffy.” The fishman explains while Robin nods. He doesn’t get what he did. You love him, why would you keep it secret? It’s not like he’s gross enough that you should be ashamed of loving him, right? Yet you were silent no matter how much Luffy stared at you, no blushes or shyness, no signs of love. You didn’t even let him have your snack until you left.

‘Hammock cooked and gave me stuff all the time…’ He thinks to himself, yet he was rejected your snack and is now admonished for being confused. You don’t act like Sanji fawning over women or Hancock fawning over him. “I don’t get it.” Everyone lets out a collective sigh. Why did you have to fall for this idiot? They consider scolding him more but stop when Luffy looks down at the snack, he’s thinking. He isn’t taking this as lightly as they thought at first. “I love all you guys and I’m not like that.”

“Not everyone wants to let out their love so openly.” Jinbe takes the role of explaining to the captain. “Romantic feelings cause more anxiousness as well.” Anxiousness.. would he feel anxious if he was in love with someone like that? He takes a bite of the snack and reaches for his hat, putting it on his head for comfort. Why’s it so complicated? Plus, you’re a guy, but you got.. shy? Was it shy? He thinks back on his brothers, of all the men he grew up with, were they ever… shy? Because of romantic love for someone? He’s starting to get a headache of his own, lost in thought as he hums. Luffy cares about you so much, he wants to understand, but he doesn’t know. He can’t gatling his way out of this.

“Luffy.” Robin’s smooth voice gently breaks him from his thoughts, looking down at him. “Imagine if you told me you were hiding snacks somewhere, and wanted to have a picnic with just us two with them, but I refused. Then later I suddenly mentioned where you hid your food and now everyone knows where it is. You didn’t get the picnic, and I told everyone what you told me.”

“He didn’t tell me to keep it a secret though.” He points out and Robin shakes her head softly.

“That he may have messed up on, but even so it’s common sense to someone that it’d be a secret. Even if you forgot to tell me not to reveal your hiding spot you’d still be upset, wouldn't you?” The archeologist continues to explain. The metaphor is helping, though Luffy wouldn’t know why he’d want to have a picnic with just Robin and not everyone else; but he would dislike it if she refused and snitched. He continues to rack his untrained brain, then flops onto his side and shoves the rest of the snack into his mouth. It doesn’t taste as good anymore. The Strawhats stare at their captain. How pitiful for the both of you.

(Your POV)

That night, you sleep outside. The men’s quarters house every guy, including Luffy, so it would just feel too awkward to be in there. It’s worth the sacrifice of being a bit more uncomfortable outside than trying to get some shut-eye directly after what happened. It’s still cold though, and windy, maybe it’ll be better in the crow’s nest. You go up to the crow’s nest and find Zoro training, he does sleep rather late. You don’t bother to announce your presence, he already knows. “The idiot keeping you up?” He asks while swinging a large metal bar with weights attached.

“Not.. sound wise.” You mumble, hopping onto the wooden floor. It’s not windy in here, better.

“I know. It’s not like I'm a love expert but I know enough not to blurt out someone else’s feelings in front of a crowd of people, even if they’re other friends.” He puts the bar down and grabs a cloth to wipe his forehead with.

“Common sense just isn’t common with him, unfortunately. Don’t know how I didn’t think of having to tell him not to blurt it out. My fault, really.” You talk while grabbing a weight. Pretty heavy.

“This one should be better” He says before stuffing another into your hands. It’s even heavier. “Though it depends on what type of workout you’re doing.”

“Late to be doing a full workout.” It’s way past dark out.

“Late for you to be awake despite not being on nightwatch. It’s 2am.” The swordsman points out while motioning with his head to the clock. He makes a good argument. You grab another heavy one and place it onto a bench press bar. “Starting out strong, stretch first.” You shake your head, you’ll be fine. You just need to get your stress out. Zoro sighs and walks over to spot you while you lay down. You lift the bar up off the hooks and slowly bring it down, then back up.

One

Is it really your fault? For not telling Luffy to keep it secret? He should’ve known, but maybe it was a mistake to tell him at all.

Two

You acknowledged before, during, and after telling him that he’d never shown that kind of interest in anyone, much less a man; yet you still did it. Even clarified so you had no way to weasel your way out of it.

Three

Then again, you haven’t known him for his entire life. He could’ve had a crush when he was younger. A nice girl, or boy, or book character. He doesn’t have any books in the Sunny library but someone could’ve read to him when he was little.

Four

He knows Shanks, said it was when he was little. Shanks is pretty popular. Did Shanks ever tell him about love? Was there ever a chance for you? Even a semblance of one?

…Five

It could be that you’re the dumbass that confessed to someone that could never be interested. You’re not even the best bachelor around. Plus, Luffy thinks of you as a friend.

Six, seven, eight

Thought of you as one. You’re the asshole that took a friendship and tried to turn it into something it’s not. You betrayed his trust. Good crewmate, you aren’t even a good friend.

Nine, ten, eleven

“You’re going too fast.”

You fucked it all up. Everything. It’s never going to be the same. You’re going to be known as the loser on the crew that confessed and got rejected by the captain like nothing forever.

Twelve, thirteen

Slip

“Ah.” You lost your grip. Before the bar can fall on you it’s caught by a strong hand.

“I told you you were going too fast. It doesn’t even help at that speed.” Zoro places the bar back onto the hooks. “You’re just hurting yourself at that point. Stop thinking so much.” You sit up, shaking your arms a bit. You were thinking too much. You’re thinking too much about everything, you doubt Luffy is even thinking so much about this and he’s the one you forced a confession on. Though he is Luffy, not thinking is pretty much what he’s known for besides being so effortlessly good. You sit up and roll your shoulders. You can already feel you’re going to be sore. Even if it wasn’t a lot, going so fast from attempting to sleep to benching heavy; and with no stretching; is gonna mess you up. You look down at your hands while Zoro puts the weights away.

“Dumbass.” You messed up.

Don't freak out! This isn't ending on a cliffhanger. This is gonna be a multi part series since I felt like it, kinda weird how both my multiparts (for now) have ended up being Luffy but he is my fav character tbf. I already have the second chapter partially written. Don't know when i'll finish it though, my new class is kinda rough. Still, I have a good grasp on it and I honestly do the best creating media when avoiding doing other things so this may be a blessing in disguise. Anyway hope you enjoyed.

Part two

#one piece #anime only #fanfiction #one piece x reader #angst #luffy x reader #monkey d luffy x reader #male reader #luffy x male reader #one piece angst #one piece x reader angst #luffy x reader angst #slow burn

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iamgonnagetyouback · 2 days ago

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muggle christmas and gingerbread houses

muggleborn!reader who introduces the slytherin skittles to muggle christmas

↬ word count : 1,104 words ˎˊ˗

↬ warnings : none ⋆˚࿔

↬ requested : by @leeny-leens ➺ here ♡

↬ author's note : thank you so much for the request, leeny! love ya <3

It all started on a chilly December morning in the Slytherin common room, where you, the lone Muggleborn among a brood of purebloods, found yourself stuck in a conversation about Christmas plans.

“Father’s hosting the annual gala, of course,” Regulus drawled, looking like he’d rather jump into the Black Lake than attend. “It’s a tedious affair. Wine, polite chatter, more wine, and some distant cousin inevitably gets hexed.”

“I’ll be in France,” Barty chimed in, lounging on the emerald-green sofa. “Mother insists we spend Christmas at the villa. Snow-covered vineyards are apparently very ‘in’ this year. Never mind that I despise snow.”

Evan, sprawled on the armchair like a cat, added, “We just exchange gifts and drink until someone passes out. Classic Rosier family bonding.”

Dorcas shrugged. “I’m just here for the food.”

“What about you, sweetheart?” Pandora asked, perched cross-legged on the carpet, her eyes sparkling with curiosity as she looked at you. “What do Muggleborns do for Christmas?”

The room went quiet. All eyes turned to you. You blinked, caught off guard by the question, but then your face lit up with an enthusiasm so un-Slytherin it almost made Regulus flinch.

“Oh, it’s amazing,” you gushed, leaning forward like you were about to unveil the secrets of the universe. “We watch Christmas movies, bake cookies, drink mulled wine—”

“Mulled what?” Barty interrupted, raising a brow.

“Wine, but it’s warm and spiced! Like… liquid Christmas,” you explained.

Barty squinted. “Sounds cursed.”

“It’s delicious!” you insisted. “And then there’s plum cake, gingerbread houses, carols…”

“What’s a gingerbread house?” Pandora asked, tilting her head.

You gasped audibly, clutching your chest. “You don’t know about gingerbread houses?!”

“Why would anyone live in a house made of bread?” Regulus muttered, looking genuinely baffled.

“You don’t live in it, you eat it! It’s a house-shaped cookie! Decorated with icing and candy!”

“So it’s a building you eat?” Evan asked, pen and parchment suddenly in hand. “How structurally sound is it? Is there a charm involved?”

You stared at him. “It’s not real architecture, Evan. It’s… it’s just fun!" you said, throwing your hands up. “Fun. You’ve heard of it, right? Or do purebloods have a ‘no joy’ clause in their family crests?”

Barty let out a bark of laughter. “I like Treasure’s energy today. Keep going.”

“Sounds inefficient,” Regulus sniffed, though he didn’t look away from your animated expression.

“Oh, for Merlin’s sake,” you groaned, throwing your hands in the air. “I can’t believe this. How can you lot be so deprived? Do you even know about Christmas movies?”

“I’ve seen A Christmas Carol,” Pandora offered helpfully.

“No, no, no,” you said, shaking your head furiously. “That’s just the tip of the iceberg. There’s Home Alone, Elf, Love Actually, Grinch…”

“What’s ‘Home Alone’?” Barty asked, sounding both skeptical and intrigued.

“It’s a masterpiece!” you exclaimed, your voice echoing slightly in the cavernous common room. “A kid gets left behind when his family goes on holiday, and he outsmarts burglars with booby traps! It’s iconic.”

Regulus’s brows furrowed. “Why didn’t the parents use a locator spell?”

“It’s Muggle,” you sighed. “No magic. Just wit and… household objects.”

“Sounds dangerous,” Dorcas commented, but her interest piqued when you added, “Also, he eats a ridiculous amount of pizza.”

Pandora clapped her hands together. “Darling, you must show us all of this!”

“Show you?” you repeated, an idea already forming in your mind. “Oh, I’ll do better than that. I’ll educate you. Prepare yourselves for the most Muggle Christmas experience of your lives. I’m taking you home for the holidays.”

“Oh, treasure, you’re inviting us home?” Barty grinned mischievously. “How sweet.”

You ignored him. “PowerPoint presentation. Slides. Visual aids. You’ll see.”

Your cozy, fairy-light-strewn living room was a far cry from the grandeur of the Slytherin common room. The gang had been skeptical about “Muggle festivities,” but after hours of your enthusiastic explanations, their interest had piqued.

You stood before them with a literal PowerPoint presentation projected onto the wall.

“Slide one: Christmas Movies,” you announced, pointer in hand. “This is The Grinch. He’s green, he hates Christmas and people, and he’s iconic.”

“Relatable,” Regulus muttered, sipping mulled wine with far more sophistication than necessary.

“Slide two: Food!” you exclaimed. “Behold: mince pies, Christmas pudding, turkey with all the trimmings—”

Dorcas leaned forward. “You made all of this?”

“Some,” you admitted, “but most of it’s from the bakery down the road.”

“I love your Muggle bakeries,” Evan said under his breath, scribbling in his notebook.

“Slide three: Ugly sweaters,” you said, holding one up triumphantly. It was garishly red with a Rudolph nose that lit up.

Barty snorted. “You actually wear that?”

“Not only wear it,” you said, grinning, “but we have competitions for who wears the ugliest one.”

“This is ridiculous,” Regulus muttered, but he was watching with unnerving focus.

“Last slide!” you announced. “Mistletoe! Hang it in a doorway, and if two people stand under it…”

“They duel?” Barty asked, eyes sparkling.

“No, Barty. They kiss.”

“Oh,” he said, smirking. “Much better.”

As you launched into an enthusiastic explanation of Christmas traditions, complete with visual aids and holiday snacks, the reactions were… mixed.

“Wait, so you hang socks over a fire?” Pandora asked, horrified. “Why?”

“Stockings!” you corrected. “And Santa fills them with gifts!”

“Who’s Santa?” Evan asked, taking meticulous notes.

“A magical man who delivers presents to every child in one night,” you explained.

“That’s absurd,” Regulus muttered. “He’d need to Apparate faster than…”

“Regulus, it’s not about logic!” you exclaimed. “It’s about magic… the non-wand kind.”

Dorcas, meanwhile, was utterly focused on the food slides. “Do you have these… sugar cookies? Right now?”

Pandora was already halfway through decorating a gingerbread man. “This is delightful,” she said, adding tiny buttons with a concentrated frown.

Regulus, trying to appear disinterested, kept glancing at the screen as you explained Christmas movie plots.

“And in Elf, the main character…”

“Wait,” Barty interrupted. “You’re telling me a grown man thinks he’s an elf?”

“Yes, and it’s hilarious!” you insisted.

Regulus’s lips twitched as if suppressing a smile. “Ridiculous,” he muttered, but didn’t look away.

By the end of the evening, the room was littered with crumbs, icing, and half-decorated cookies. Evan was still taking notes, Pandora was humming a carol, and even Barty admitted he’d try mulled wine if you made it again.

Regulus lingered by the fireplace as the others left, staring at the stockings hanging there. “It’s… quaint,” he said quietly.

You grinned. “Muggle Christmas wins, admit it.”

Regulus didn’t look away from the stockings. “It’s tolerable.”

But the faintest flush on his cheeks said more than words ever could.

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moody-alcoholic · 2 days ago

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These Violent Delights

Chapter 21 - Sorry Go 'Round

Summary: Poly 141 x fem!reader, a/b/o alternate universe 10k words. OK so what now? Surly there are no more surprises right?

CW: +18 content MDNI. a/b/o alternative universe, a/b/o dynamics, typical a/b/o universe tropes, sex, oral (m receiving), fingering, PiV sex, nightmares, alcohol, mental health, mentions of miscarriage, angst.

AN: It feels good to be back.

Previous - masterlist - next

AO3

enjoy <3

She’s alive. It almost doesn’t feel real.

She stood there though, in the garden, and she was real. Your hand goes to your braid running it through your fingers. You moved on. You had let her go but now she’s here. You should be happy but instead there's nothing. Just guilt, and anger. You're angry at yourself for the way you acted, guilty that you punished John for so long. There’s a knock on the door.

“It’s me,” John says.

“Go away!” You shout. He doesn’t though. He comes into the room, closing the door behind him. You can hear him as he sits on the bed. You stay under the covers, sniffling and letting the tears run down leaving a wet patch on the bedding.

“I thought she was dead. I mourned for her. I punished you for her death,” you say between sobs. His hand lands on your back and he rubs it through the covers.

“It’s not your fault,” he says. You scoff and crawl out from under the covers looking at him. You can smell her, and it makes you feel sick.

“When did you find out?” you ask. Maybe he’s known for days, weeks. Maybe he always knew and he lied to you all this time.

“Last night. Kate called to tell me she was on her way,” he says. You believe him. He scoots closer to you in the bed reaching over to squeeze your thigh.

“You know what’s the worst part?” you ask him as he brushes your tears away. “I broke the bond I had with her. I let her go. I don’t think I want to repair it.” Guilt fills the air. John gets up, towering above you and cupping your face in his hands.

“You don’t have to, but whatever you want, we’ll be here. We’re a pack.” You nod looking up at him. You should be happy she’s back. She’s not dead after all.

“Can we just spend some time together? That’s all I wanted to do today.” You expect him to say no. He’s going to be busy with Piper. He leans over to kiss you.

“Let me talk to Simon,” he says, breaking from the kiss and stroking your cheek. You smile back at him. He leaves the room and you lay back on the bed. The room is pretty, lit up with shades of deep orange and red. You look up at the ceiling. It would be selfish of you to not reconnect the bond. She’s not in your pack, you don’t owe her anything.

Yes you do, she gave her life for yours. You owe her your life.

John comes back quicker than you expect. He lays in the bed next to you and you hear the car start. Your head turns to the window even though you can’t see anything.

“They’re going out shopping. They’ll be back in a few hours,” he says. You smile, turning your body and wrapping your arm across his chest. You hum letting his arm squeeze you as he pulls you further up his chest.

“Why is she here now?” you ask.

“She was injured. She needed to recover before she could come,” he says.

“What happened? I want to know how it happened.” You turn your head, looking over at him. He lets out a sigh for a second.

“Okay,” he says. He explains it as you run your hand over his stomach. They found her in the basement of Hale’s mansion. They were taking her out when they found their way into the security room. They could see Hale was on the property, Shadow Company was closing in, Hale had invited investors to the property.

He was making a new lab. Piper explained the ‘contingency’ plan as John calls it. It was a perfect opportunity to deal with Hale and cover their tracks. If the mansion was destroyed there would be nothing to invest in. If Piper was dead and Hale was dead, the DOD would wipe their hands with the matter. Then 141 could be free. They could take you and go, which is what they did.

“We always planned on getting her out, but she loved you so much. She knew what she was doing and why,” he finishes.

You let out a sigh. You don’t know if this has helped or not. You’ve moved on. You’ve moved on without her but deep down you still love her.

You will always look at her like the only stable parental figure in your life. She is the mother in your life, she’s who you think of when you think of your mother. You still love her; that will never change. She has always been there for you through thick and thin. But you have a pack now. Things are different. You don’t need her as much anymore.

“I don’t regret it, letting her go,” you say after a few minutes of silence. “I regret being mad at you. It just feels like time wasted.”

“It wasn’t your fault. We all thought she was gone, you had every right to be upset with me,” he says, kissing the top of your head.

“Still wasn’t fair though,” you say quietly. He sighs rubbing your arm. “Promise me you won’t do anything like that. No giving your life for mine. I couldn’t live with myself if any of you did that.”

He smiles at you, his hand coming to your chin, then he leans to kiss you. Your hand presses on his stomach as you let him run over your tongue with his. He’s gentle but firm, it's the kisses you’re used to feeling from him, the ones you’ve missed.

Your hand runs further down his stomach to the waist of his pants. He hums in your mouth, his hand running down from your shoulder to the small of your back. You press your body closer to him, and his kiss becomes quicker, needy.

“I’ve missed you,” you say, breaking from the kiss and pressing your nose next to his. His breath is warm on your face. There’s an ache in your body, a need to be with him. It’s been almost a month. You’ve missed his touch, his scent, everything about him. Your fingers slip below his waistband.

“We don’t have to rush anything,” he says.

“I want to, please.” You look up in his eyes, your hand slipping further into his pants. He kisses you, his arms wrapping round you and turning you so you’re off his chest laying flat on the bed. His hand rests on your stomach. His touch is warm as he grips the bottom of your shirt, pulling it up over your breasts.

It’s like he’s testing your reaction, making sure he’s not going too fast or making you uncomfortable. You relax for him, smiling as his thumb brushes over your nipple. You moan softly. His touch sends vibrations down your spine. He leans down to kiss your stomach.

His lips are soft but his beard tickles your skin. Your hands come down to pull your top off over your head. He moves up to your chest. His tongue runs up between your breasts before moving to one of your nipples. You close your eyes, tipping your head back. One of your hands runs through his hair, massaging his scalp. He likes that, his teeth nipping at your nipples, making you rub your legs together in an attempt to quell the throb.

His free hand easily slips past the waistband of your PJ shorts and into your underwear. You spread your legs for him, his fingers imminently finding your clit. The contact is brief before he presses down between your folds, his fingers gathering some of the slick that is building up.

He pulls his mouth off your nipple as his fingers go back to rubbing your clit.

“John,” you moan, opening your eyes so you can see him. His other hand comes around your back, propping you up slightly as his fingers are gentle, slow. He’s pressing just hard enough to make your whole body relax against him. Your breathing picks up, your hands gripping the bedding. You’re rocking your hips against his hand.

“That's it, c’mon, make yourself feel good,” he says, his voice low, rumbling. It makes the hair stand up on the back of your neck.

He hums into your neck, his fingers moving down to your entrance. He presses two fingers into you. The stretch feels good. You forgot how thick he is, even just his fingers. You moan out gripping the bedding tighter, his fingers immediately rubbing against the spongy spot inside you. He curls his fingers as he presses kisses on your face.

You clench around him, spreading your legs as far as you can, bending your knees. The scent of vanilla fills the air, and it makes saliva build up in your mouth. You lean over and kiss him pressing your tongue against his.

His arm supports you as he speeds up, his fingers pushing you closer to the peak. He breaks from the kiss pressing his forehead against yours. You still have a hand running through his hair. You grip it tighter, panting as you cum, pulsing around his fingers. He slows down his movements, riding you through the orgasm.

His lips come back to yours. This time, he kisses you deep. He moans in your mouth like he’s drinking you up. He breaks away, letting you breathe, then his arms leave you to pull his shirt over his head. You reach out just wanting to be able to touch him. You run your hand up to his pecs.

He reaches down, picking your hand up before kissing your fingers.

“Missed your alpha, huh?” he says. You blush nodding. He smiles quickly, kissing your fingers again. He swings himself off the bed reaching down to undo his belt and pull his pants off. You do the same, still laid on the bed, shimmying your pyjama bottoms and underwear off.

You fling them off the bottom of the bed before going up to look at John scooting his way back towards you. You put your hand out to stop him. He looks confused for a second. You can feel heat rushing to your cheeks.

“I want to try something,” you say. He raises an eyebrow.

“Okay,” he says somewhat skeptically.

“Lay down,” you say. He follows your instructions, laying back, his head resting on the pillows. You’re not really sure what you’re doing but you want to try what you learned from Johnny and Kyle. You kneel down next to him sitting back on your legs. His cock is already hard. He’s bigger than Johnny. All of the sudden you don’t know if you’ll be able to do this, but you want to try anyway.

You reach out for his cock rubbing your thumb over the swollen head. You remember what Kyle showed you yesterday, and you press your thumb on the underside, letting your hand work all the way down. He moans softly and you look over to see his head relaxed back on the pillows. Whatever it is you’re doing, you must be doing something right.

You bend over pressing your lips to the tip. Precum is spread across them before you thrust your mouth down him. He lets out a louder moan, his cock twitching in your mouth. You smile, you’re definitely doing something right. You keep going taking him as far as you can even if it’s uncomfortable. His hand cups the back of your neck, his thumb brushing his mark before his fingers lace through your hair.

You find yourself pushing your mouth further and further each time. You have to use both your hands when you pull back up to the top. You like making him feel good, that's your job as an omega, to make him feel good. The way his fingers brush your scalp, his little moans and twitches in your mouth let you know you’re doing a good job.

You’re not sure how long you’ve been doing it for when he shifts causing you to pull your mouth off him. His hand comes down from your head to rub your cheek.

“Did I do something wrong?” you ask, your cheeks going red. Maybe you’re not as good as you thought you were.

“Oh no, you did perfect. Christ, where'd you learn to do that?”

You smile at him. He tips his head before sitting up to give you a kiss. You let his arms come round you, pulling you against him and he moves you to lay you on your back. He makes sure you’re comfy on the pillows before leaning over you.

“Now it’s my turn to take care of my perfect omega.” He smiles as you part your legs, his hand runs up your thigh. It makes goosebumps rise on your body as he maneuvers himself between your legs.

You wrap your hands around his neck. Your thumb brushes over the sensitive skin at the base of his skull. He looks down at you, his eyes glossy in the evening sun. It’ll be dark soon. You almost miss his cock pressing against your entrance. A second later he presses into you. It’s like an instant relief: your mind goes blank, no more Piper, no more worries about the future. It’s just you and your alpha, the way it should be.

“I missed you,” you breathe.

He smiles down at you, his face inches from yours. You can feel his breaths picking up as he picks up his speed.

“I’ve missed you too,” he hums in your ear. You tip your head up, baring your neck for him. You project your scent in the air. Vanilla and strawberries fills your nose. It feels so right, your alpha being inside you, his lips on yours. It feels safe and right being in his arms. It’s different from being with Johnny and Kyle. You pant into his neck. He holds you tight. You don’t need to do anything, just lay there and enjoy yourself.

You run your hands down his arms resting them on his chest. You can feel each muscle tense under your fingers. You close your eyes, arching your back slightly. Now it feels like he’s hitting you deeper, your moans becoming more frequent. His breathing picks up too and he speeds his thrusts up to match.

You’re reaching the peak quicker than you expected, your fingers curling the hair on his chest. He’s missed this too, you can tell by the way he’s not quite focused, his usual calm and collected exterior melts for you. His breathing picks up as he adjusts his angle, his moans becoming sweeter, more breathy and desperate.

“John—” You clench around him trying to stop the orgasm rising in your core. He smiles at you picking up speed again as you start to squirm under him.

“It’s okay, C’mon, you don’t have to wait. You deserve to feel good,” he says, his voice low in your ears making a tingle travel down your spine. It’s enough to push you over the edge. He doesn’t stop as you throb around him, your back arching, each part of your body almost shaking. It doesn’t take long for him to cum too, his thrusts slowing and becoming longer.

Eventually, he slows panting into your neck before he comes up to kiss you. You go back to running your fingers through his hair. He looks down at you. You smile at him and he smiles back. You don’t know if it's the post orgasm haze or the evening night but you think it’s the most beautiful he has ever looked.

He pulls out, shifting his body to lay down next to you. You lay there looking up at the ceiling watching the shadows of the trees on the wall. When your breathing slows you turn over to him, running your hand over his chest. He wraps his arms around you pressing his lips to your forehead. He pulls you tighter and you nuzzle your face into his chest breathing him in. You lay there in silence listening to his heartbeat.

“C’mon, let's get cleaned up,” he says after a few minutes. You groan as he pulls away from you, getting up off the bed. He holds his hand out and you take it following him into the bathroom. You run the bath while he goes around getting towels and fresh clothes.

He comes back, gripping your waist as you’re reaching into the bath to test the water. He presses kisses across your neck and back as you lean up against him. When the bath is full you turn the taps off letting him get in first. You lay back against his chest letting the water warm you. His arms wrap round you and he nuzzles his face into your neck, his beard tickling your skin. You lean back further against him, letting the water come up over your shoulders.

“John, are things going to change?” There’s silence for a few seconds as he rests his chin on the top of your head.

“What do you mean?” he asks.

“Well, when we leave here are things going to be different?”

“Maybe, but you don’t need to worry about it.” You don’t know what to say. Of course you have to worry about it.

“Piper is back. You can get a cure. You don—” He shuffles, causing you to turn against his chest.

“Hey, we’re not going anywhere. We’re a pack remember. Whatever happens, we’ll make it work okay?”

You sigh at his words. You want to believe him.

“Do you trust Piper?”

“I trust her.”

You smile dipping your hand under the water letting it run down his thigh.

“She survived. Maybe—” you suck in a breath not wanting to say it. “Do you think maybe Professor Hale survived too?”

“No,” he says immediately. You smile. “He’s dead, Laswell confirmed it.”

You relax. You thought it would feel different, you thought you might miss him. You don’t. It feels right; he’s dead in the ground where he belongs.

You pull your braid out as John starts to wash you, taking his time lathering you all over with soap. You turn round in the tub kneeling between his legs to wash him. He offers to braid your hair again but you decide not to. Maybe you’ll let Piper do it again now that she’s back.

When you hear the car pull up you get out of the bath putting on fresh pajamas. John leads you downstairs, his hand on your back. When you get to the kitchen you see Johnny opening some pizza boxes.

“Thought you might need something to fill you up after all that ‘strenuous exercise’,” Johnny chuckles, nudging Kyle.

“You’re a menace,” Simon says, tapping him over the back of the head. You feel yourself blushing as you go over to sit on one of the stools.

“Try this one, no mushrooms,” Kyle says, pushing a plate with a slice on for you. You smile at him taking a bite as John comes to sit next to you. Piper is standing at the other end of the island. She’s already half way through a slice. She smiles at you too.

You look away sighing. The pizza is good but for some reason it doesn’t sit right in your stomach. You’re not really that hungry. You really want to go to bed. You push the plate away with the half eaten slice.

“I’m tired, I think I’ll go to bed,” you say getting up.

“You sure?” John asks, raising an eyebrow. You nod. Maybe you’re not tired and you just want some alone time. You’re not sure. All you know is you’re not ready to talk to Piper yet, not after you’ve had such a good time with John.

When you make it upstairs you wonder where Piper is going to sleep. Maybe she’ll take your room. You don’t mind sleeping with John but you also like your own space. You go to your room cracking the door open. You don’t mind if she takes it. You head into John’s room and climb into the bed. You open one of the windows slightly so the lingering smell of vanilla will air out.

As soon as you lay down and can smell his scent on his pillows, you relax, closing your eyes and breathing it in. You’ll talk to her tomorrow, clear the air and move on. It’s what’s best for you, and what’s best for the pack.

…

You’re back in the bunker. Alarms are blaring. You can barely think. The place is dark only lit up by flashing emergency lights. You stumble out of your room. You make it into the lab and there are bodies everywhere. You can’t smell anything other than the sickly smell of fresh blood.

When you make it to the open corridor something stops you. You’ve never been far outside your room alone before. Now no one is stopping you. There are more bodies out here, you don’t recognise any of them.

A crash pulls your attention to the end of the hall. You see Piper stumbling out of a room forcing a door closed behind her. Even from this distance you can see her covered in blood, her white lab coat and blonde hair stained crimson.

She spots you and rushes towards you checking over her shoulder every now and then. You’re panicking, you can’t think, all you know is something is horribly wrong. When she reaches you, her cold hands grip your shoulders. There’s blood splashed across her face, and it’s all you can smell in the air, the smell of iron.

“Hale is coming,” she says in a panic, pressing something into your hand. You look down. It's a pistol sticky with blood. It feels heavy in your hands, and cold.

“You need to get out of here. Don’t let anyone stop you.” She’s forcing you to look at her as a bang down the hall makes you jump. The weapon feels heavy and foreign, but you don’t have time to worry about it. She grabs your arm tight, her nails digging into your skin as she drags you down the hall.

“We need to get out of here before he comes,” she says, but she’s dragging you away from the exit. You try to protest but before you get a chance to tell her, a door ahead of you crashes open. You see the Professor step out. Piper turns to look at you. He’s coming towards you. She moves out the way.

“Shoot him! You’ve got to shoot him or he’ll kill us!”

You bring the weapon up to your eye line. You’re shaking. You’re not sure what you’re doing. He steps towards you. It’s like he’s growling.

“How dare you!” he shouts, his voice ringing in your ears. Your finger moves to the trigger. You’re not even sure if you’re doing it right but you don’t care. You’re terrified and he’s coming towards you with anger in his eyes. He’s bigger than you remember, blood splashed across his face and clothes.

“Quick, if he gets to us he’ll kill us!” Piper yells in your ear. You don’t want to. Something is trying hard to stop you. A pit forms in your stomach as he speeds up his strides coming towards you. You back up but you just hit Piper. She’s screaming in your ear. You close your eyes and shoot.

…

There’s a noise louder than anything you’ve ever experienced before.

You don’t know what's happened but there’s someone pressing you hard up against a wall. It hurts and it feels like you can’t breathe. You try to cry out but you can’t. Someone is fighting with you, pulling something out of your hand.

A scream catches in your throat as you squeeze your eyes closed.

“You’re okay, hey, just breathe.” There are warm hands on your face. It’s John. You open your eyes blinking a few times looking at his face. His eyes wide; he looks worried. Whoever is holding you against the wall slowly lets you down and you stumble into his arms. He guides your body down to the floor as you bury your head in his neck. You’re not sure what happened but you’re not in the bedroom.

“What happened?” you ask, looking over his shoulder at Johnny and Kyle. Simon is the one behind you. He was the one who pinned you to the wall. You gasp seeing the pistol in Johnny's hand. Tears well up in your eyes and your stomach drops. You’ve done this before. You’ve been disoriented, shaken out of a sleep state covered in blood. Scalpel in your hand, bodies on the floor.

You break from the hug as you see Piper walking up the steps.

“Did I hurt anyone?” you ask, looking at John.

“No, you didn’t. It's okay,” he says, still holding your shoulders. Your lip quivers as you hang your head. You could have killed them. You were sleeping in the same bed as John, you could have killed him.

“I’m sorry.” You throw yourself back in his arms sobbing. He rubs your back, shushing you and telling you it’s okay. You hear footsteps, people going down the stairs. Another hand lands on your shoulder, and you assume it’s Simon. You don’t listen to what John says. Your ears are still ringing.

“C’mon, let's go back to bed,” he says after the last set of footsteps makes it downstairs. You nod, pulling your face off his chest as he helps you to your feet. He helps you into the bed then shuffles in behind you, pulling your back against his chest and locking his legs with yours.

“I could have killed you,” you say. He squeezes you tighter.

“You didn’t.”

You could have though. You could have hurt your pack.

John walks into the kitchen. Everyone is spread around, heads hung. He sighs. The air is thick with guilt. The sun is just peeking through the clouds. It took him longer than normal to get you to settle. He waited till you fell asleep, sniffling and apologising until you exhausted yourself. It was better than nothing.

“How is she?” Kyle asks.

“Sleeping,” he says. His eyes fall on Piper sitting at the dining room table.

“Should someone be with her?” Johnny asks.

“No, we need to talk. All of us,” John says, turning to Simon. He leans in and Simon tips his head towards him. “How was the trip out?”

“Interesting.”

John turns his head slightly to look over at Piper sitting at the table. He hums then looks back at Simon.

There’s something she’s not saying.

Simon moves to stand behind her next to the fireplace crossing his arms. A little bit of pressure should get her to talk.

“Have they been getting worse?” she asks as John turns to look at her.

“Better actually, this is the first time in a while,” John explains. Piper sighs looking down at her mug.

“First time she’s ever done anything this extreme,” Kyle says.

“Where did she get it from?” Johnny asks, looking at the pistol on the table.

“It was the one in the bedside table. I had no idea she even knew it was there,” John says walking over to the table where Piper is sitting.

“This has happened before in the bunker. She would sleepwalk and get into places we never thought she could get access too. She would find weapons and attack the staff,” Piper says solemnly. “It’s my fault. Sorry.”

She looks back up around the room. No one says anything. John studies her face. She was cagey during their talk, the long drive from the next town over to here. There’s something she’s holding back.

“Hale’s alive,” John says. He watches as the others take in what he just said. The only person who doesn’t react is Simon. He’s not wearing his mask right now but he might as well be.

“When did you find out?” she asks

“When Laswell called me,” John says, walking over to the table and sitting down.

“How did you manage to get out? We saw the building collapse on you,” Kyle says.

“I don’t know. Call it divine intervention if you want. I thought I was going to die.”

John hums. He doesn’t doubt that.

“How do you know Hale is alive?” Kyle asks, going to sit down at the table.

“He’s in Florida. Someone Kate knew got info for us.” She reaches down, taking a folder out of her bag. “She thought it would be better if I brought the papers in person.”

“Who was her contact?” Johnny asks.

“Keller,” John replies, opening the folder and skimming through it.

“It’s everything me and Kate managed to find on Hale and his movements,” she says. John closes the folder and puts it on the table.

“Why is he in Florida?” John asks. She presses her lips together looking round the room. That’s it. Something to do with Hale and Florida.

“Only Anderson and I knew about his house in Florida. Anderson is definitely dead,” she says. She's fidgeting. John sighs, leaning back. He keeps his eyes on her. Simon shifts standing up straight, increasing the pressure ever so slightly.

“I wasn’t completely open with you all. He’s in Florida because, that's where his daughter is buried.” She pauses to look around. John lets out a long breath. “She was the first omega. He needs omega DNA to make more of the formula. It was either dig Vanessa up or come after you.”

“Is that possible? How long has she been dead for?” Johnny asks.

“Almost 25 years,” Piper says. A somber look has fallen over her face as she grips onto the mug in her hands. “It is possible, well theoretically. Hale must have the means to do it or he would have fled the country.”

“What do you think he’s planning?” John asks. She shrugs.

“He’s still paying Shadow Company to protect him,” John says.

“They found us in Canada,” Kyle says.

“You think they could be in the UK?” Johnny asks.

“Don’t know. We have to assume the worst. Laswell is keeping an eye on things.”

“Kate had a theory. The reason Hale needs a copy of the formula is to give it to Commander Graves and the rest of Shadow Company.” Piper looks up at John to see his reaction.

“What makes her think that?”

“His assets are all tied up in real estate. He has a little bit of cash in offshore accounts but not enough to cover the cost of hiring them privately for the foreseeable future.”

“He’s building a personal army,” Kyle says. There’s a few seconds of silence.

“It would explain why he ran to Florida instead of fleeing the country. Shadow Company would have been able to get him over the border. He could have slipped under the radar. Would have taken us months to find him again,” John says. His eyes flick up to Simon.

“What if his ego is just that big he needs to have a copy of the formula? Make himself into an asset. As long as he has the formula, the US government still needs him,” Johnny says

“The US government thinks he's dead. I don’t think he cares enough about his ego to dig his daughter up. He loved her,” Piper says. There’s sadness in her voice.

“Did you know her?” John asks. She nods.

“What happened?” Kyle asked.

“The formula was unstable. Her body couldn’t handle the physical transformation. She died after a few months,” she says.

“How old was she?” John asks.

“17.” There’s silence in the room. Eventually someone sighs. Piper's head snaps up to Johnny who’s standing with his arms crossed. “That was when he disappeared for 2 years and came back with the omega.”

“And you still kept working for him?” Kyle scoffs. John can hear the spite in his voice. She just sighs, hanging her head again.

“He was trying to change the world. The formula has the potential to change the world. Do things we could only dream of seeing in our lifetime, cancer and genetic diseases eradicated, people healthy. The super soldiers were just the start. There was even research to support the potential for immortality,” Piper says, hostility in her voice. “The alpha, omega thing that’s just a side effect. That’s why he was trying to perfect the formula. It would have never been ready until he could get rid of that side effect.”

Simon scoffs, going back into the kitchen. She sighs looking back up at John.

“He wasn’t always a monster. It was after his daughter's death. Something snapped in him.”

“Sounds like you don’t disagree with him,” Kyle says.

“No. I don’t. I don’t disagree with his vision, that's why I stayed. I do disagree with his methods. What he did to the omega was wrong. She didn’t deserve everything she went through.”

This time Johnny lets out a sharp scoff.

“Okay, calm down. This isn’t helping anyone,” John says, sitting back up in his chair. “Both of you go check on her then get some rest,” he says waving Johnny and Kyle away. He hears their huffs and murmurs under their breath. He looks over at Simon, his arms crossed leaning up against the kitchen island, his eyes digging into Piper.

John sighs, leaning forward and pulling Piper's attention up to him.

“You always said you’re not one of the good guys,” he says. “I think that's the only time you’re honest with yourself.”

She keeps her gaze on him. He can see sadness in her eyes. He can smell her determination in the air.

“You don’t work for Hale anymore. What happened in the bunker is the past.”

“I know.”

“Our job is to keep the omega safe. Your job is to find a cure. We need to work together for her sake at least.”

“I won’t do anything to harm her, ever.”

“I know that.” There’s silence again, she looks down at her cup.

“I thought I was going to die. I should have died.” He can smell her guilt in the air.

“You said you had injuries that would never heal,” he says, trying to move the subject on. She nods, pulling the sleeve on her left arm up. Her whole arm is littered with uneven bumps and bright red skin. They look like burns but old ones from maybe a few months ago.

“My leg and stomach are the same. Burns can take years to heal, I don’t know how long these will take.” She pulls the sleeve back down then looks up at John pointing at her eye. “I don’t have any vision in my left eye. I don’t know if that will ever come back.”

“How about the Professor?” John asks.

“I don’t know.” John leans back in his chair.

“How much do we want to tell her? Are we going to tell her about the Professor, Vanessa?” Piper asks.

“She almost distressed at the hospital in Canada. We almost lost her,” John says, his voice low. “I don’t know what stopped her or what kept her here but I know I never want to see her like that again.”

“I understand but she will find out eventually,” Piper says. John looks up at Simon. His lips are pressed together.

“Let’s let her have some peace. It is almost Christmas after all. We can discuss it again in the new year.” He looks at Piper then over at Simon. He can tell she’s not too happy with the idea.

“Go get some rest, we’ll talk later,” John says. She nods at him and picks up her mug moving into the kitchen and putting it in the sink before heading out. Simon waits until the door is closed behind her before standing up and coming over to the table.

“What do you think?” John asks Simon as he sits down in Piper's seat.

“If Graves gets the formula, we’ve lost our advantage. Hale is preparing them to come after the omega. It could already be too late.”

“I’m not talking about that,” John sighs.

“A near death experience can change people. I don’t think she’s lying if that's what you’re asking.”

John sighs, flicking open the folder. He pulls out the top peice of paper pushing it over to Simon.

“How long do you think we’ll have before we have to move?” he asks.

John shakes his head. “Don't know. Laswell will let us know if they move.”

“She’s only one person. She could easily miss them,” Simon says. John sighs. He knows he’s right. They need to keep closer tabs on him. They need to know the second Hale or Graves make a move.

“I need to make some calls. We’re not safe here anymore.” John looks up at Simon, as he thinks of who he can ask for help. He’s going to need every contact he has. Simon reaches out, picking up the piece of paper.

“She’s right, you know. Eventually she will find out. She won’t be too happy knowing you kept it a secret.”

“I know.” He hangs his head sighing. “But I just got her back. I don’t want to lose her again.”

The next morning you decide you need to talk to Piper. Not here, though. You want to go away from the house. Away from your pack. You don’t know why, it just feels right. You walk into the living room. Everyone but Piper is in there.

“I want to go to the loch,” you say, stepping over to John. He nods, putting his mug down on the coffee table.

“Okay I’ll get changed—“

“No, I want to go alone. With Piper,” you say. Everyone looks up at you, Simon steps up next to you, his hand landing on the small of your back. You see John’s eyes flick up to him. You wait holding your breath hoping he will just let you take the time with Piper.

“Okay,” he says.

You take a step towards him. “Promise.”

“You can go,” he says. You look around the room. You’re not sure if you believe him but you have no other choice.

“Thank you,” you say, leaving the room.

…

“It’s nice here,” Piper says, as you make it around the treeline to the opening of the loch. You both walk over to the edge of the water, the snow covered stones crunching under your feet.

“I dream about this place. While you were gone I dreamt about you,” you say. She turns to look at you.

“Did you dream about me last night?” she asks. You nod, bending down to pick up a stone.

“You were trying to save me.” You throw the stone out into the water. “You handed me a gun and told me to shoot the Professor. It felt so real. They always feel so real.”

“Do you dream a lot about the bunker?” she asks, digging her toe into the stones.

“No. I dream about being a bad omega,” you say, reaching down to pick up another stone.

“Why do you think you're a bad omega?”

“Why does it matter?” you snap back at her. You’re mad. You just don’t want to talk about it. You turn the stone round in your hand.

“If you talk about it you might be able to move through some of the trauma you’re holding on to.”

“Stop analysing me.”

“I’m not.”

“You are,” you say, throwing the stone hard against the water. You’re frustrated and it feels like no one understands. It’s not like there’s another omega you can confide in. Piper talks like she understands but really she’s just like the Professor. She believes in the formula as much as he does.

“My job is to be bred, to have children. Satisfy my alpha and submit to him. I couldn’t even do that.”

You hear her sigh like you’ve just explained everything.

“That's what Hale wanted from you. He’s not here anymore. You get to do whatever you want to. You get to choose,” she says. You sigh, hanging your head, digging your toes into the stones. You don’t believe her. Besides, she’s the one always saying you can’t fight biology.

“I could have been a better omega,” you say, trying to hold the sob back. You haven’t spoken about what happened with anyone. You can’t talk to John; he's your alpha. You don’t want to talk to Kyle or Johnny about it. Simon well… You’re still not sure he even likes you. You failed the pack. You failed at one of the only things you need to do.

You’re not even ready to have kids. You know no one in your pack is ready to have kids, least of all with you. It’s still your job though. It’s what you were made for whether you like it or not. It’s a fundamental part of your biology, and you fucked it up.

“You weren't given a choice. What happened with you getting pregnant was out of your control. You don’t have to feel guilty about that at all.”

“I had a miscarriage. That's what they told me at the hospital.” It’s the first time you’ve said it out loud. The person you were carrying inside of you died because you were not good enough. No matter what Piper tells you, that's all you can think. That you were never good enough.

Her hand lands on your arm. “It's not your fault. Your body is not ready to carry a child to term. Professor Hale tried to force a child on you so he could have a pure omega.”

“Isn’t that my job?”

“You would have died. Your body only did what was natural. It did what it had to do to keep you alive,” she says. You look up at her. She brings her hand up to brush your tears away. Her fingers are cold, but it feels familiar, and her touch is gentle. You never thought you would see her again. You step back from her. It doesn’t feel the same. The guilt and disappointment turns to anger. You huff, balling your hands into fists.

“I mourned for you! For weeks I punished John because I thought he let you die,” you shout. Anger is strong in the air. She looks down at her feet for a second then back to you. It feels good, shouting at her, getting out the emotions you’ve bottled up for weeks.

“I know--”

“No! You don’t know. Fuck!” You turn away from her hugging your chest. You’re angry and upset. You should be happy she’s alive, that she’s here.

“I broke my bond with you. I let you go,” you sniffle, wiping the tears away. You hear her walking towards you. “You have no idea what it's like to do that!”

You’re sobbing now. You don’t care if she sees you cry. Her hand lands on your shoulder. You want to throw it off but you can’t bring yourself to do it. She comes around to stand in front of you.

“You promised you would never leave. You promised. I had to go through losing you twice!” Tingles raise up your arms. Your body is pumping with adrenaline. “I didn’t think I would ever see you again.”

“I thought I would never see you again. I thought I was going to die.” You can hear the sadness in her voice. You look up at her. You think you see tears in her eyes. Now you feel guilty. You should be happy she’s here, that she’s alive.

“Did it hurt?” you ask. Your dreams have been guilt-filled imagining her slowly dying, trapped under a building.

“No, I’m fine. Well mostly,” she says. She bends down so her head is level with yours. “Nothing that happened is your fault. If you want to blame anyone, blame Hale.”

“He’s dead.”

“Yes he is. Rotting in the ground where he deserves to be.”

You nod and throw yourself in her arms. He’s gone, he can't hurt you anymore and she’s alive. You are happy she’s alive. She wraps her arms around you and squeezes. Her scent fills your nose. You close your eyes, breathing her in. Lavender, it makes you relax against her chest.

“I thought it would feel different,” you say. She frowns at you. “When he died, I thought I would feel something, like sadness. It doesn't feel right.”

“You need closure,” she says as a matter of fact.

“How do I do that?”

“I’m not sure. We can figure something out though.”

You smile up at her. You turn back towards the lake and she steps to stand next to you.

“I like it here,” you say. Her hand comes up to rub the top of your back.

“Yeah, I thought you would.” She smiles. You stand there with her hand rubbing your back looking out over the lake until snow starts to fall.

“We should get back,” Piper says. You nod, turning away from the lake.

You’re excited when Johnny suggests going out to the pub for dinner. ‘Can’t come to the UK and not go out for some pub grub.’ He was giddy as soon as you got back, throwing his arm around your shoulders, dragging you into the living room

“I wouldn’t mind a pint,” Kyle says. Simon nods with him in agreement. After a few more minutes of convincing, John finally says yes. Piper decides to stay behind; she has work to do apparently. She waves you off though, stranding in the door as you leave.

When you make it to the town the lights strung up across the road are lit up as a sprinkling of snow starts to fall. You hold Kyle's hand as you walk through the street gawking at the flashy decorations. It’s early evening, but most places are still open and the street is still busy.

You stop at the bookstore looking at the books on display pointing out to Kyle which ones look interesting before he gently pulls you to catch up with the others. The pub is at the end of the street on the corner. It looks like it’s the oldest building in the town: massive curved windows, the door decorated with a mosaic of stained glass.

Johnny goes in first. The heat hits you straight away. The dim orange lights, dark walls and furniture make the whole place feel cozy. It reminds you of Johnny’s house, old, warm and inviting. The whole place smells of food, gravy, beef, other things you can smell but can’t name. It makes your stomach rumble.

“John!” a man calls coming over to you all. You watch as John hugs him. They slap each other on the back, then he looks round the group. Johnny introduces him as Archie, the landlord. The place is pretty busy. There are people chatting and laughing, and soft music is playing in the background. You smile looking up at Kyle who squeezes your hand.

“Didn’t think you were back till new years?” he asks, slapping Johnny on the shoulder.

“Got a little break, thought I should come home for once.”

“Good lad,” Archie says and leads you all over to a table in the far corner of the place. You scoot into the circle booth sitting between John and Kyle. Archie tries to pass menus round but Johnny stops him.

“Five steak and kidney pies with all the trimmings and extra gravy,” Johnny says. “And whatever you have on the tap, surprise us.”

Archie seems happy about that, smiling as he writes it down on a pad before nodding and leaving.

“So you spoke with Piper?” Kyle asks, turning to you. You nod, you’re not sure what to say.

“Yeah, I was mad at her. We talked about it, and I'm not mad at her anymore,” you say.

“That's good. I think it’s nice that she’s back.” You smile at him. You know deep down they’re just happy they can get a cure now. You look back at the table bringing your arms closer to you. You don’t want to spoil the night. Johnny at least seems pretty excited to be out here.

Someone brings a tray of drinks and places them round the table. John puts his hand on your thigh, and you smile, looking up at him. You want to lean up against him but you reach out for your drink instead.

“Cheers!” Johnny says, holding his glass up. Simon and Kyle tap their glasses against his before taking a drink. You look at them, confused. John clicks his glass with yours.

“Cheers,” he says before taking a drink. You follow him, taking a big gulp. It tastes good and you don’t mind the alcohol relaxing you. You listen to them talk. Johnny always seems so enthusiastic, talking about everything. He also seems to know almost everyone, with people coming up to the table to ask him why he’s back so early.

The place is warm and after a few sips of your drink you feel your senses dull out as you relax further into the soft booth. John’s hand stays on your thigh rubbing it or squeezing it under the table as he talks with the others. When you’re halfway through your drinks the food arrives. You sit up and your mouth waters when a plate is placed down in front of you.

There is a mini pie and the side of the plate is topped with mash and veggies smothered in a thick gravy. Your stomach rumbles as you enthusiastically dig into your plate.

“Good?” Johnny asks when you look up at him. You nod enthusiastically, your mouth still full with food. He chuckles going back to his plate. You manage to eat everything on your plate. Simon winds Johnny up, something about English vs Scottish cuisine which makes Kyle and John chuckle every now and then.

Your belly is full and the alcohol has made you feel relaxed. When you’re done you do end up leaning up against John who puts his arm around your shoulders. You’re watching the person behind the bar talking with people and pulling drinks for people. You’re not paying attention to what’s going on as John’s other hand strokes your thigh.

It’s been a good day. You’re happy Piper is back. You’re happy that they’re going to get a cure. Things feel better than they have been in a long while, in weeks. Your time in Washington feels like it was years ago, not weeks. It feels like a different world with different problems.

“Henry!” Johnny says getting up. You turn your head to the other side of the booth. It’s the same guy who you saw a few days ago, the one who greeted Johnny in the carpark.

“I’ve been looking fer ya,” he says. He's drunk but whatever it is he seems pretty insistent on talking to Johnny about it. You sit up, the hairs rising on the back of your neck.

“Some fuckin’ brass were looking, askin’ bout yous,” he slurs. You feel John tighten his grip on your thigh. “Yankies fuckin’ sticking their noses in.”

“They ain’t yankies. English, proper posh,” the bartender says as he clears the table of the empty glasses.

“What did they want?” Johnny asks the bartender.

“Wanted to know where ya place was,” he replies. Johnny turns to look at John. You can feel tension rise around the table.

“You didn’t tell them, did you?”

“Didn’t know you were in town. Thought they were renting the place and got lost.” The bartender shrugs walking away.

“Shit,” you hear Simon say under his breath. John’s hand leaves your thigh.

“I told ‘em to fuckin’ sling their hook,” Henry says, waving his hands in the air.

“‘Course ya did,” Johnny says, slapping Henry’s shoulder. He looks over at John who is sitting up. His eyes flick to Simon then back to Johnny. He shuffles his way out the booth, his hand leaving your thigh. You look over at Kyle who smiles at you.

“Go back to the car, we’ll pay and meet you out there,” Simon says, handing keys to Kyle. You’re already scooting out of the booth as soon as he finishes saying it. Kyle’s hand rests on the small of your back as he leads you through the cozy pub that seems to have got busier since you’ve been here.

When you make it outside the snow is heavier. You pull your coat around you tighter. Kyle keeps pressing you down the street to the car park. You can tell something’s wrong with the way they moved, the tension in the air.

“What’s happening?” you ask eventually.

“Nothing. It’s late, we should be getting home. John’ll pay the bill then we’ll be back home before you know it.”

You nod but you don’t believe him. Your mind turns to Piper. She's alone at the house. If people went there looking for you, they’ll find her. They could hurt her.

You feel like Kyle can smell your worry in the air as you make it to the car. He opens the door so you can get in the back. You start pulling the skin around your nails trying to keep calm. There’s no reason to be worried. Like Kyle said: it’s late, it’s dark. You watch as the snow falls on the ground melting away before it can set.

Kyle’s hand lands on yours. You look up at him and stop picking your skin. He smiles at you, and you smile back but you can feel your heart pick up, thumping in your chest. You just want to get home and see Piper. You have a gut feeling something is wrong.

You’re only waiting a few more minutes before Johnny, Simon and John pile into the car. There’s a heavy silence. No one says anything, they just share glances between each other. Simon drove the way here but now John is in the driver seat pulling out of the car park before Johnny has even got his seat belt on next to you.

The ride goes in silence. The small county roads have no lights, and all you can see is the snow hitting the window as John speeds as quickly as he dares back to the house. John stops the car further away from the house than normal.

The house is dark, no lights on inside or out. You grip Johnny's arm. John turns the car lights off. Now it’s pitch black. Goosebumps rise on the back of your neck.

“It’s quiet,” Kyle says.

“Maybe she’s asleep,” you say, trying to hide the fear building inside you. John’s eyes are still scanning the building.

“Ghost, Soap. Go round the back, through the kitchen--” John doesn’t get to finish his sentence before the front door opens and the outdoor lights come on.

“Captain Price, we’re not here to fight.”

“Not American,” Simon says. You move so you can get a better look. It’s not just one person, there are multiple people walking out. They’re all wearing suits, some with guns in their hands or bullet proof vests on.

“Where’s Piper?” you ask, swallowing the lump in your throat.

“Stay here,” John says. You nod leaning back to sit in the seat. Everyone else gets out, Johnny, Kyle and Simon have weapons in their hands now. You look around the car confused—where the hell do they get this stuff from?

The strangers take a few tentative steps towards John. John stops and they do too.

“Major Williams, MI6.” He holds something up. He’s young, skinny with groomed thick black hair. “Your associate Kate Laswell, she said you were busy in Urzikstan. I told her ‘Urzikstan for Christmas must be rough.’” He chuckles before clearing his throat.

“What do you want?” John asks. Williams takes another step forward, but his entourage stays behind. John holds his ground. You can only see Simon and Johnny who have weapons trained on him.

“You’ve got yourself wrapped up in a bit of a mess from what I heard. Something about an omega project? Ring any bells?”

John doesn’t say anything.

“You’re hiding one of the lead scientists out here. I thought Dr. Montgomery was dead. Don’t tell me you have Professor Hale hidden here somewhere too,” he chuckles again. He seems nervous. Your stomach sinks. Where is she?

“God, don't look so worried. She’s fine, just took a hit to the head. Thought we were a threat I guess. Look, I'm not here to take her away from you or the omega you’ve got hiding somewhere. I’m here on official business from Her Majesty’s secret service. You know the drill. We’ve had our eyes on Professor Hale’s little project for a while now. So you must understand we were delighted to find out you had two of the most important pieces hidden up here.” The man kicks the snow at his feet.

“We want the omega project. With Professor Hale gone there is no one in the US to continue the project. MI6 is willing to fund and supervise the research of the formula.”

You can’t believe what you’re hearing. It’s never going to end.

There’s always going to be someone to take up Hale's position. There is always going to be someone after you. If it’s not the Americans, it's now the British. Who knows, next week the Russians could be after you. You just want to be free, but maybe you’ll never be free. You can’t let that eat you up now. You want to find Piper.

“We don’t work for you,” John says, pulling you out of your head.

“Technically you do. Put the weapons down, let's talk,” he says holding his hands up. “We can help you too, get General Shepherd off your case, bring in only people you trust. You run this show now. We’re just here to help.”

“Sounds like you want first dibs on the tech?” Johnny says.

“Naturally,” he says nodding.

John turns to look towards the car and everyone lowers their weapons. You open the door getting out the car. You don’t know what you’re doing, but you want to know what happened to Piper. They said she hit her head, was she injured?

Johnny and Kyle turn to look at you. You feel everyone's eyes on you. You walk over to Kyle grabbing his arm. You look down at the weapon in his hands. It sends a shiver up your spine. You look up at him and he smiles.

“Where’s Piper,” you ask, trying to be quiet but you know they can hear you.

“Dr. Montgomery?” John asks. Williams steps to the side gesturing to the house.

“Inside with an icepack on her head,” he says. John looks back at you quickly. You’re still holding onto Kyle’s arm.

John sighs and walks up to the man. Everyone else holds their ground. You can’t hear them talking. His voice is low and hushed. You try to lean forward to listen but you can’t hear anything. After a few seconds John turns around and walks over to you.

“Soap, Gaz take her in. Get Dr. Montgomery and keep them out the way,” John says. He doesn’t even acknowledge you. His fingers point at people, talking in a hushed voice. You watch him until Johnny and Kyle lead you back to the house. You look down the field past the tree line and see a helicopter parked a little down the hill.

“Great. That field’s fuckin’ runied now,” Johnny whispers under his breath, his eyes digging into the other people who came with Williams. They move out the way letting you pass. You’re still gripping onto Kyle like a vice as he leads up into the living room. You see Piper sat on the sofa holding a towel to her head. She stands up as soon as you come into the room.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t say anything. One of them has a mean swing,” she says, pulling the towel away. Johnny goes up to inspect it. You’re still digging your nails into Kyle as you look over at your nest. They haven't touched it. You let out a breath, breaking away to go to her.

“It’ll heal quickly,” she says sitting back down as you sit next to her wrapping your arms around her arm. She puts the towel down, her hand resting on yours.

“What’s going on?” she asks, her hand squeezing you.

“Not sure yet. Seems like the UK has taken an interest in continuing Hale’s work,” Kyle says. You look back over at your nest. It’s the only place you want to be right now. You want to curl up in it and forget what's happening. It’s like a bubble where nothing can hurt you. You’re not listening to Piper and Kyle talk. You focus on the fire cracking. It’s going to need another log or it will die out.

“—I don’t think we’ll be staying here much longer,” you hear Johnny say. Your head snaps up to him.

“No,” you say. Everyone turns to look at you.

“We’ll come back. Promise,” Johnny says. It doesn’t feel right. You look back over at your nest, unlooping your arm from Piper’s. You get up going over to it, bending down and running your fingers over the blue blanket that came with you all the way from Canada.

“You okay?” you hear Johnny ask. You nod your head. You ignore what’s going on around you, pulling your shoes off before crawling under the blanket. You press your feet up against the stone wall of the fireplace letting the warmth rise up your body.

You’re facing away from the living room. You don’t want to leave. You like it here. John and Johnny said you’d come back but for some reason you don't believe them. You pull the blanket further around you and close your eyes.

…

John walks into the living room almost 2 hours later. Johnny’s the only one left. Kyle and Piper went to bed about half an hour ago. There was no way Johnny was going to leave you alone until John and Simon were done with their meeting.

John hears the front door close behind him, a cold draft wafting in. He looks over at you. You’re curled up sleeping in your nest facing out into the room. John goes over to sit on the sofa next to Johnny.

“Go get some rest. I’ll stay with her,” John says.

“Piper said to leave her be. I don’t think she’s too happy we might be moving soon,” Johnny says looking over at you. “She won’t be comfy if she sleeps in her nest all night.”

“No, but it’s where she feels safe,” John sighs. Johnny gets up heading for the door.

“When do you think we’ll be leaving?” he asks.

“We’ll talk about it tomorrow,” John says, pinching the bridge of his nose. Johnny takes the hint, nodding and leaving the room, closing the door behind him. He spent the last 2 hours navigating the finer details of this plan.

He already has a stack of paperwork to go through, NDA’s to sign, people to contact. He’d never worked with the secret service before, this would be new to him. The pay was good though and he was looking forward to getting Shepherd off his back. With the access MI6 could give them they could keep an even closer eye on Hale and Shadow Company. All he needs to do now is convince them to let Kate help.

They made a lot of promises he doesn’t think will ever happen but at least they’ll be safe. They can stay in the UK working out of a MI6 facility. John looks back over at you, your hand gripping one of the many pillows you’ve placed in your nest. It does look comfy.

He gets up going over to you. He sits down next to you leaning against the wall. His fingers brush hair behind your ear and he sighs. They’re going to have to move again but this time they’ll do it right. No rushing around, no more strangers they don’t trust. If everything goes according to plan it’s going to be their way.

“We’re going to keep you safe. I promise,” he says brushing your face. “It’s not going to be like last time. No more surprises.” He reaches down, picking up your hand and rubbing the back with his thumb. A few seconds later John hears the familiar noise of helicopter blades start up.

The noise gets louder as the helo lifts off the ground causing you to stir, gripping John's hand as you blink up at him sleepy.

“Did they leave?” you ask. He nods, smiling at you.

“Want to come to bed?” he asks. You shake your head. You want to stay in this perfect bubble. He tips his head slightly, his fingers brushing your face.

“It’s going to be okay. I promise.”

You smile up at him. Maybe he’s right. It might be different this time. You might even be able to stay here but you don’t count on it. He bends over kissing you on the top of your head and pulling the blanket over your shoulders.

“I’ll see you in the morning,” he says getting up. You smile watching as he leaves the room, turning the standing light off as he does. The only light that comes in is the warm light from the fire. You yawn, closing your eyes and drifting back off to sleep.

Beta reader and editor - rememberwren

Dividers by gild-ui & plum98

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thewizardingpost · 2 days ago

Text

soulmates...?

poly!marauders x fem!reader

summary ⌇ findng out that you “belong with” the infamous marauders, you run and hide. But in good ole fashioned fate, they find you like they’re supposed to. warnings ⌇2.9k, soulmate au, strangers to friends to lovers, hurt/comfort, angst w/ happy ending, hinted ravenclaw!reader (but not directly said), divorce hinted at (R’s dad cheated), minor injuries (r receiving, mention of some blood), this is my fic (I just got a new account)

At the age of ten you learned about soulmates when three symbols appeared on the inside of your writer. It happened on your birthday, the sight of it scared you and you tried to rub it off until your mom intervened. She had explained to you then–that the three symbols on your arm would fill in with color whenever you were near them. Then you had gagged and waved your mother off, but after a few years you had begun to yearn for it.

After getting admitted to Hogwarts, your friend from back home found hers after just sitting at the dining table after being sorted. She was ecstatic explaining it to you, and that event is what started your desire to know the three people you were ‘destined’ to be with.

Classes had started, and still no luck. A year had gone by, and still nothing. Over the summer your mother had consoled you, telling you it'll take time and that it's usually rare to find out so long. With your hands in hers, sitting on the couch, you asked her a question that would change your perspective on the entire thing. You asked if dad was her soulmate, and she responded with a heartbreaking no. Her ‘soulmate’ had cheated on her.

It changed you. To know that someone was supposed to be your forever could do such a thing, leave your mom broken and alone like that was terrifying, angering. You stopped checking your wrist often. You stopped checking other’s wrists to see if it matched yours. You stopped caring.

Years passed and you were now a Fifth Year at Hogwarts. And about to be late for your first potions class of the semester. There was barely any time left so when you arrived you threw yourself at the first open seat you could find. The air was run out of you, making you breathe heavily. You already caused a scene running in, you had nothing else to lose by breathing loudly.

“Sleep in?”

Your eyes flitted to the person beside you, “Possibly.”

“Oh I think the answer is ‘definitely’,” he grins, “I should know, I do it often.”

Seeing how you were still looking down at the table, moving items around–you noticed in your peripheral how he angled his body so he could see your face.

“Gonna tell me your name or shall I give you one?”

“Why?”

“You’ve been to Hogwarts, haven’t you? Seeing as we’re sitting together, we’re going to be lab partners.”

And that’s how you first met Sirius–sitting in the back of your potions class. At first it had felt suffocating, but now you couldn’t deny the way he made you laugh. Over time you found yourself enjoying his presence, even accepting his invites to study outside of class.

He told you to meet him at the library, but he never said where. You scanned the tables first before you wandered down the book isles, scanning each row until you found him on some random aisle in the charms section.

“Sirius,” you whispered, tone harsh as to grab his attention, “I’ve been looking for you, I–”

“Shh, dollface. Can’t you see I'm reading?”

You brush off the nickname, “you never read, Sirius.”

“Excuse you, I absolutely do. Only if it involves something I’m interested in.”

You move to see the title of the book, “jinxes?”

“Only trying to spice life up a bit.”

You sighed, “we really must finish this assignment, I’d hate to get a bad grade already so early on in the school year.”

When he didn’t budge, you sighed dramatically to pull him out of whatever trance the book seemed to have him in. He trailed behind you, mumbling something about having to tell someone about what he just read later. A few minutes later you found some seating in one of the aisles, the row having only three seats. With the one on the end taken, it forced the two of you to be pushed closer together on the inside.

“I didn’t bring my notebook because my friend’s using it and I assume you don’t have yours,” you mumbled while you flipped through the pages of some old book, “so we’ll have to use this to understand the potion for the assignment. It’s pretty detailed so maybe we can both read it and discuss what we took away after. We have to have this information ready–Sirius, I feel like you’re not listening.”

“Good observation, gorgeous–I’m not. This is a complete snore-fest.”

“This ‘snore-fest’ is 25% of your grade,” you whispered with a smile, moving the book closer to him, “so read. Please. If not for yourself, please do it for me.”

He reluctantly did so, moving his eyes off of you and onto the length paragraphs inside the book. Every now and then he would make a reluctant sound. Sometimes his leg would jitter too much, and hit the leg to your chair. You paid it no mind, and for some reason you enjoyed it–a smile on your face as you read another copy of the book.

“Sirius, why’re you in the library? And reading as well, are you alright?”

You watched Sirius angle himself out of the corner of your eye towards what seemed to be another Fifth Year–just with shorter, brown hair.

“Oh fuck off, it’s for an assignment.”

“I’ve never seen you read for an assignment.”

“I’ve already been attacked by this lass, I don’t need anymore from you.”

“And who is this lass?”

And that’s when you meet James. It was a quick hello, but for some reason after that moment he would pop up everywhere. In the hallway, out in Hogsmeade, across the way while sitting at the dining tables in the great hall. It’s only been short smiles and waves until you bumped into him

outside the Quidditch arena. He called out your name, wondering to you in his get-up.

“James,” you breathed, “you play quidditch?”

“Yeah, just finished a game now. We won,” he smiled wide, leaning on his broom, “I take it you don’t care much for sports?”

“Sorry, no–but that’s wonderful. And what position do you play?”

“Seeker.”

You hummed, “well maybe I’ll come watch you sometime.”

If it was possible, it looked like his smile grew. He reached back to pull someone from the crowd, “this is Remus. He comes to my games often. If you’d like someone to sit with so you’re not alone, he’s here.”

You smile at him, “alright, thank you.”

And that’s how you meet Remus, unknowingly meeting all three of your soulmates within the span of a week. For whatever reason you never checked your wrist. You left your sleeve to cover the area, keeping the markings hidden from your sight. Unbeknownst to you, throughout the next few weeks you would be unaware of how each marking would fill in with color. With Sirius, there was a small dog head that filled with black whenever you were near him. James had a stag that filled with brown, and Remus had a wolf that filled with gray. All three imprints were small, huddled in close together on the underside of your wrist–just barely reaching over an inch in size. Through all the time you spent–going to the Three Broomsticks, attending their Quidditch games, and even sometimes encouraging a jinx on some rotten teacher. You would consider yourself friends–but the tinted markings on your wrist suggested otherwise.

“Darling,” James called to you, “are you sure this is where you went?”

“Yes,” you answered, stepping over an enlarged root, “I’m sure.”

“Just say you don’t trust her,” Sirius quips.

“I do, I just feel like we’ve passed by that stump over there before.”

You were leading the three of them into the forbidden forest after stating that just earlier on your walk to Hogsmeade you saw the mushrooms they were looking for in their potions recipe. They practically begged you, mainly Sirius, to be able to find such an ingredient after being banned from the ingredient cabinet in the classroom downstairs. You were sure the mushrooms were just on this corner, sitting just outside of the forest–but somehow you found yourself wandering through the shrubbery with the boys in tow. Everyone was confused.

“Dove,” Remus started, moving closer to talk privately to you, “if you’re feeling a little fuzzy on where it's located, it’s okay to turn back around and re-evaluate. We are getting quite deep into the forest now.”

You stop, looking directly at him, “I swear it was here. The area is all the same basically. I’m sorry, I didn’t know I’d be leading everyone into nowhere.”

“No one’s upset. I had only brought it up because it’s getting dark outside. Might be best to head back and look tomorrow, we’re in no rush.”

“Thank you,” you smiled, “I’ll make sure you all are able to complete that prank, promise. It just won’t be tonight.”

“I agree with heading back, I’ve heard that students get lost in the woods past dark,” Sirius said, arms resting on his hips.

James looks at him with a weird expression, “where’d you hear that?”

“Why I overheard some professors discussing it. Some couple came out here to make out and didn’t return.”

“I say we hurry back then so we don’t face their wrath,” James whispered, already taking the first step forward.

The forest had an earthy smell that got stronger when the moon started to arise as the forest began to cool. It was quite cold, the wind rushing through the swaying trees causing goosebumps to appear on your skin. James and Sirius were ahead this time, deep in discussion while you and Remus talked in the back.

Two minutes into the walk–that was just starting to feel peaceful–a galloping sound was heard somewhere in the woods. You had enough time to look back when you felt the ground under you rumble, but none when a centaur came barreling through. One then another, then another appeared. They pushed through the area, not caring or not seeing the four of you standing there.

Sirius moves from where he was leaning on a tree for protection, almost cheering, “that was fantastic.”

You wince from your place on the ground, trying to pick yourself up from where you had been knocked over. Behind you heard someone curse and another coming to help lift you up, “are you alright?”

“I’m fine, just a few scratches is all,” you said, brushing the leaves and dirt off of your clothes, “is anyone hurt?”

You look around while James shushes you, “we’re fine, sweetheart. Just worried about you is all, looked like you fell pretty hard.”

“Like I said I’m fine, especially after the fact I just saw a centaur.”

Your statement brought up a conversation, one that lasted until you all were back inside Hogwarts. Throughout the walk you were gripping your wrist, more specifically your shirt. During your fall, your wrist had snagged on something–tearing your shirt and the skin underneath. When you went to stand, you caught a glimpse of the cut–and the pigmented marks on your wrist.

BORDER

You started to avoid them after that night. First it was pretty subtle, you had done a good job of convincing them and yourself that you weren’t removing yourself. You smiled their way, talked to them, but you declined offers to hangout.

Just now they had invited you to join them on a walk over to Hogsmede because Remus wanted to get a new book–and you turned them down, saying you had elsewhere to be.

“I don’t remember her being this busy,” Remus stated.

“There’s no way she’s ignoring us,” Sirius conveyed, looking at the two of them nervously.

That remark spiraled them. When you started to pull away more, they were sure their suspicions were true. You rushed past them, even said you were busy when on the map it showed that you were in your dorm room.

You were ignoring the life-changing news that you found out last week, which translated into ignoring them and trying to keep busy to avoid accepting the truth–to avoid the confrontation of spilling the truth. That you were their soulmate.

It broke you to find out because you didn’t want your time with them to end. Didn’t want the news of a soulmate to tear you four apart like it did with your mom and dad. To willingly remove yourself from three people who changed your life from the better was heart-wrenching. In some sick way, your mind tried to convince you it was better this way. They’d leave you like how your dad left your mom. Four people together? It’ll never work. Plus they seemed happier just the three of them.

Today was Friday, a day you usually spent with them in Hogsmeade–but today you walked those streets by yourself. You had started to read a book at the library before deciding halfway through that you needed to buy it, the reason why you were in Hogsmeade. And just outside when you stepped back into the cold air, you ran chest-to-chest with Remus.

“Gonna run away like you always do,” Sirius remarked, face cold, indifferent. He didn’t seem to care much when it made your face drop further than it already had, “it’s alright, you can leave–we understand. We know how highly you think of yourself now.”

“I don’t think that at all–” you start before stopping, looking at the others walking by on the street, “can we talk. Please.”

“So now you want to talk? That’s fucking rich. After all the times you’ve run away when we tried to talk to you, we have every right to leave you right here.”

“You’re right, I don't,” you said, pushing down on the sadness that was already beginning to crawl up your throat. You tuned, but didn’t get far when a hand grabbed your wrist.

“We’d love to talk to you,” Remus professes, “just after we move somewhere quieter.”

He guided you, moving towards a more secluded area by the river that ran through the small city. You were far enough from the crowds, but you all could hear the faint sounds of the street performer in the back.

“So,” Sirius probes, “why have you been acting like we don’t exist?”

“It’s not you, it’s me. Only recently my mom disclosed some information about my dad and why he left. It ruined my perspective on soulmates, made me believe they were all a hoax because why would you be destined with someone who’d do that to you? So I got scared when I found out I was yours. I didn’t want to ruin what we had. I thought surely it wouldn't work between us. Four people? How uncommon is that? Instead of giving it a chance or even communicating this to you–I ran away, and I shouldn't have. I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.”

“To be honest I thought we all knew we were soulmates. I check mine often. When the third little design on my wrist glowed whenever you were around, I knew it was you and I told the others,” Remus added, “But we all should’ve communicated that. That’s on all of us.”

Seeing the tears turn your eyes shiny Sirius sighs, moving forward to pull you into a hug, “why’re you crying, dollface? Sad that you got three attractive men as your forever partners.”

Feeling his arms around you, the scent of him invading your senses makes the tears start to flow, “I just don’t want you to leave me.”

“We’re not leaving, not ever,” James proposed as he and Remus moved close to wrap their arms around the two of you.

BORDER

You laughed at the feeling of James’ lips tickling your neck.

“Missed you a lot, sweetheart,” he mumbled into the skin, pulling himself closer, “one summer’s too long without you.”

The train’s cushions were comfortable, but they were barely enough to hold you and James–so when Sirius moved onto the seat, you were pushed up against the wall. He had expressed his excitement walking into the cabin, tossing his suitcase onto the other seat before wrapping himself around James’ back.

“Fucking hell I’ve missed you.”

He placed a kiss onto yours and Jame’s cheek before moving onto the other cushion, giving space for when Remus arrived. There was joy and excitement held in each other’s hearts, knowing you all got to see each other again after months of waiting. It was torture, and the letters did nothing. Remus was last, moving into the cart with a relaxed smile. Sirius had held out his hand, pulling him onto the seat so they could greet one another.

“Mm, missed you loads,” Remus whispered, smiling against Sirius and looking over when he heard you laugh.

You were continuing to try and move James away, trying to stop his attack on your neck. You were trying to spew words between your gasps and laughter, trying to move him off but the sounds of you laughing were too contagious.

“James, give the girl a rest. She looks like she’s going to implode.”

“Fine fine,” he said, moving away, “oh hey Remus.” He says noticing the way he had opened the sliding door, eyeing everyone with a warmth in his expression.

“Hi Prongs.”

You greeted him after, feeling yourself grow warm when you feel him press a kiss to your cheek. The both of you leaned back into the seat after, James wrapping an arm around you, “ready for another year at Hogwarts?”

“Absolutely.”

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