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[flux1563]

Biggest secret

Words : 7381

Tags : squirting, tied up, a lot of fingering, BWC, creampie

"Wonyoung, we're going to be so late," Yujin called out, her voice echoing through the bustling airport.

Wonyoung, the ever-calm member of the K-pop group, glanced at her watch. "We've got five minutes," she said with a gentle smile. "Breathe, Yujin."

They were two young women about to embark on a much-needed vacation. Famous for their talents, their faces graced billboards and magazine covers across Asia. Yet here they were, trying to navigate the unfamiliar European airport as inconspicuously as possible. Their fans had no idea they were even on the same continent.

Their manager had assured them that this trip was off the books, a chance to let their hair down and enjoy the continent without the pressure of performances or appearances. They had packed light, eager to leave their glammed-up personas behind. Wonyoung, with her sharp features and piercing gaze, had swapped her usual high ponytail for loose waves that fell around her shoulders. Yujin, on the other hand, had opted for a more dramatic change, dying her hair a soft pink and trading her stage outfits for comfortable streetwear.

The air was thick with excitement as they stepped out into the warm embrace of the afternoon sun. The cobblestone streets of the city stretched out before them, a canvas of history and culture waiting to be explored. They had a map, a basic grasp of the language, and a list of must-see spots. But what they hadn't anticipated was the encounter that would change their lives forever.

As they approached a quaint café, a man emerged, his 6'3" frame casting a long shadow. His eyes, a piercing blue, met Wonyoung's and she felt an immediate jolt of attraction. He was ruggedly handsome, with a strong jawline and a mop of curly hair that danced in the breeze. Yujin's cheeks flushed as she took in his casual yet confident stride. The two women couldn't help but stare.

"Ladies, are you okay?" he asked in a rich, accented voice that sent shivers down their spines. His name was Y/N, a local artist who had recognized the subtle signs of lost tourists. They nodded, trying to play it cool despite their racing hearts. He offered to help them find their way around the city, an offer they eagerly accepted.

Wonyoung and Yujin found themselves drawn to his easy charm and the way his eyes twinkled with mischief. As they walked, Y/n pointed out hidden gems that weren't on their itinerary. They laughed at his jokes, feeling a sense of freedom that was rare in their usual tightly-scheduled lives. The tension grew as they shared glances, each one loaded with unspoken desires. The energy between them was palpable, and it wasn't just the heat of the day that was making them sweat.

When he invited them to his penthouse, they didn't hesitate. The elevator ride was filled with nervous giggles and sly glances, their hearts pounding in unison. The penthouse was a stunning blend of modern architecture and antique charm, with floor-to-ceiling windows that offered a breathtaking view of the cityscape. They felt like they were stepping into a different world, one where the only rule was to enjoy themselves.

As they settled in, Y/n suggested they stay with him for the duration of their vacation. He promised them privacy and a chance to experience the city like locals. The thought of escaping the watchful eyes of their fans and the suffocating bubble of their celebrity lives was too tempting to resist. Plus, the thought of getting to know him better was an alluring prospect that neither of them could ignore.

The next day, they set out early, their excitement palpable as they wandered through the cobblestone streets, the smell of freshly baked bread and blooming flowers filling the air. Y/n led them to a hidden market where the vibrant colors of the produce popped against the ancient buildings. They sampled cheeses that melted on their tongues and tasted wines that sang of the region's rich heritage. The sun climbed higher, casting a warm glow over their exploration.

As the evening approached, they returned to the penthouse, their senses filled with the day's adventures. The city had come alive with the setting sun, its vibrant energy seeping into their very souls. They decided to embrace the local nightlife, eager to let their hair down even further. Y/n pulled out an assortment of fine wines and beers, setting the stage for a night of relaxation and camaraderie.

The drinks flowed freely, and soon enough, Yujin and Wonyoung's inhibitions began to wane. They giggled and whispered to each other, their cheeks flushed from the alcohol and the excitement of their secret escape. Y/n, who had been nursing his drink more slowly, watched them with a knowing smile, enjoying their playfulness.

"You know, we have a fantasy," Yujin slurred, her eyes glancing coyly at Y/n. "A... a really big one."

Wonyoung's eyes widened for a second, then she giggled, her cheeks turning a deeper shade of pink. "Yeah," she agreed, her voice a little unsteady. "A... a big white cock."

Y/n's smile grew wider, and his eyes darkened with desire. He leaned in closer, his breath warm on their necks. "Is that so?" he murmured, his voice low and seductive. "Well, I've got something that might just live up to your... fantasy."

The room grew hotter as the words hung in the air. Wonyoung's heart raced, and she felt a pool of wetness forming between her legs. Yujin bit her lower lip, her eyes never leaving Y/n's. "Prove it," she challenged, her voice a soft whisper.

With a knowing smirk, Y/n stood and began to unbutton his shirt, his muscular chest coming into view as the fabric fell away. The two K-pop stars watched in awe as he revealed a sculpted body that could have been chiseled by the gods themselves. His skin was a warm, golden hue, kissed by the sun. He approached them, his confidence a tangible force in the room.

"Gentlemen prefer blondes," he murmured, reaching into a drawer and pulling out two lengths of soft, velvety rope. "But I have a feeling I might make an exception for you two."

With surprising gentleness, Y/n approached Yujin first. Her eyes were wide with a mix of excitement and trepidation as he took her wrists in his firm grip. He deftly wound the rope around them, securing them to the chair's arms with a series of quick, precise movements. He made sure the knots weren't too tight, but just tight enough to keep her in place. The soft fabric of the rope was a stark contrast to the cold metal of the chair, sending a thrill through her body.

Next was Wonyoung. She watched with bated breath as he approached, her heart pounding in her chest. He knelt before her, his eyes never leaving hers as he bound her ankles to the chair legs. The way he moved was mesmerizing, a dance of dominance and care that had her panting with anticipation. He then reached for her wrists, wrapping the rope around them in the same expert manner as before. He tied them to the chair's back, making sure she was as secure as Yujin.

The two friends sat there, bound and helpless, their breaths coming in short gasps. The room was filled with a new kind of tension, one that was palpable and electrifying. They had never felt so exposed and yet, strangely, so alive. Their eyes locked on Y/n as he stepped back to admire his handiwork, his gaze roving over their bodies with a hunger that was almost tangible.

"Now, where were we?" he asked, his voice low and gruff with lust. "Ah, yes, your fantasy. Tell me more about this... 'big white cock' you've been dreaming of."

Wonyoung's cheeks flushed an even deeper shade of red, and Yujin bit her lip to stifle a moan. They exchanged a look that spoke volumes, and with a nod from Wonyoung, Yujin began to speak, her words tumbling out in a rush. "We... we've always wondered what it would be like. To have someone so powerful and in control, to give us pleasure beyond what we've ever known."

Y/n's eyes narrowed, a predatory gleam entering them. He took a step closer, his hand reaching out to trace the line of Wonyoung's jaw. "And what makes you think I can give you what you're looking for?" he whispered, his thumb brushing against her plump bottom lip.

Wonyoung's breath hitched, her eyes never leaving his. "We've seen your pictures," she said, her voice low and seductive. "We know you can handle two eager mouths."

With a smug smile, Y/n leaned in closer, his breath hot against her skin. He placed a gentle kiss on her neck, eliciting a soft moan. His tongue snaked out, tracing the line of her collarbone and down to the swell of her chest. He could feel her pulse racing under his lips, the heat of her body beckoning to him. His hand slid under her shirt, cupping her breast firmly.

He stepped back, his gaze lingering on the two bound women before focusing on Yujin. He approached her with the same deliberate grace, his eyes burning with a hunger that matched their own. He leaned down, his mouth capturing hers in a searing kiss that stole her breath away. His other hand reached for the hem of her shirt, lifting it up to expose her midriff. His tongue traveled down, tracing the curve of her belly button, making her squirm in her seat.

Their moans grew louder as he continued to explore their bodies with his mouth. He kissed and licked every inch of exposed skin, savoring the taste of them. His teeth grazed Wonyoung's nipple, eliciting a high-pitched whine from her as she arched her back, trying to get closer. Meanwhile, his hands had moved to Yujin's thighs, his thumbs teasing the sensitive skin just beneath the hem of her shorts.

He moved back to Wonyoung, his tongue flicking over her erect nipple before switching to the other one. He took his time, savoring the sounds of her pleasure. Wonyoung's eyes were closed, lost in the sensation of his mouth on her body. He knew she was wet, he could see the evidence staining the crotch of her pants, and the scent of her arousal filled the air.

Yujin watched, her own desire building as she felt the heat of his breath against her skin. She could feel the wetness seeping through her underwear, a testament to the effect his words and actions had on her. When he finally turned his attention to her, she was more than ready. He kissed along her neck, his teeth scraping against her sensitive flesh as he moved downward.

He pulled her shorts aside, exposing her to the cool air of the room. His tongue darted out, licking a slow, torturous path from her belly button to the top of her mound. She gasped, her body jolting in the chair. He didn't stop there, though. He pushed her legs apart, giving him full access to her soaking wet pussy. His tongue dipped into her folds, tasting her sweetness. Yujin's eyes rolled back in her head, her moans growing louder as he explored her with his mouth.

The room was filled with the sounds of their passion, the soft wet noises of his tongue on their skin. He took his time, teasing and tormenting them both until they were begging for more. The ropes that bound them seemed to tighten with every passing second, their bodies straining against the restraints.

Y/n looked up, his eyes meeting theirs. "Ready to see if I can live up to your fantasy?" he asked, his voice thick with lust.

Their eyes glazed with desire, they nodded frantically. The night was young, and they had a feeling it was going to be one they'd never forget.

Y/n stood, his gaze never leaving the two bound beauties before him. He unbuckled his belt with a smooth click, the sound echoing through the room. He unbuttoned his pants with a leisurely grace, the anticipation building as the zipper slowly descended. He pushed his pants and boxers down to reveal the monstrous 10 inches of BWC that had fueled their fantasies for so long. It stood proudly erect, a testament to his arousal.

He sauntered over to the sideboard, his eyes never leaving the girls. He picked up a sleek, black vibrator that lay there, charging with an eerie glow. "While I'm fucking one of you," he said, his voice thick with desire, "the other will watch, with this little friend here keeping her company."

Yujin and Wonyoung stared at each other, the competition in their eyes burning hot. They had shared so much together, but never had they competed for a man's attention quite like this. Yujin leaned forward, her bound breasts jiggling with the motion. "Me first, please," she begged, her voice a desperate whine. Wonyoung's eyes narrowed, her chin tilting up in defiance. "No, she said, "my pussy is better than hers."

Y/n's smile grew even more wicked as he took in their slutty expressions. It was clear that the two friends had a wild side that was eager to be unleashed. He knew that this night was going to be one for the books, and he had the perfect plan to cater to their every desire. He stepped closer to Yujin, his cock hovering over her face. "You seem so eager," he murmured, tracing the tip of the vibrator along her cheek. "But remember, you're going to have to share."

Y/n positioned the vibrator at Wonyoung's entrance, her eyes wide with anticipation. He flicked it on and watched as her pupils dilated at the first touch of the buzzing toy. She moaned, the sound muffled by the fabric of the chair. He leaned down, his mouth inches from her ear. "You're going to watch," he whispered, "and you're going to imagine it's your mouth wrapped around me instead."

Turning his attention to Yujin, he grabbed a fistful of her hair and pulled her closer to his cock. She opened her mouth eagerly, taking the tip between her lips. He groaned, feeling her warmth and wetness as she began to suck. He could feel Wonyoung's eyes on them, her desire almost tangible. He pushed his hips forward, sliding his cock deeper into Yujin's mouth, watching as she struggled to take all of him.

"Fuck, he's so big," she murmured, her eyes watering as she tried to adjust to the size. Wonyoung's breath hitched, her own desire growing as she watched her friend's face contort with pleasure and pain. Y/n's cock was indeed massive, and the sight of it stretching Yujin's mouth was incredibly arousing. She knew it was only a matter of time before she felt that same fullness herself.

.

Y/n watched with hooded eyes as Yujin's cheeks hollowed with effort, her mouth straining around his thickness. Despite her inexperience with a cock so substantial, she took him in with surprising enthusiasm, her eyes watering but never leaving his gaze. He reached down to stroke her hair, whispering words of encouragement as she choked and gagged, her throat tightening around him.

"U can take it, baby," he coaxed, his voice low and reassuring. "Just relax, breathe through your nose."

Wonyoung watched as Y/n's cock slid in and out of Yujin's mouth, the vibrator inside her pulsing with an intensity that matched the throb of her own need. Her eyes never left the erotic dance of his hips as he fucked Yujin's face, the sight of her friend's submission sending shockwaves through her body. The vibrator inside her was a poor substitute, but it was all she had to cling to in that moment.

Y/n's eyes flickered between them, his grip tightening in Yujin's hair as he picked up the pace. "Glukk glukkk glukkk," he groaned, the wet sounds of his cock filling the room. "Your mouth is so good and tight, baby."

He began to fuck her face more aggressively, his hips snapping forward with a ferocity that made her eyes water. The vibrator inside Wonyoung buzzed away, the sensation amplified by her friend's desperate sucking sounds. She felt her own orgasm building, the pressure in her core growing tighter with each thrust of the artist's hips.

Y/n's grip on Yujin's hair tightened, his strokes becoming more erratic as he approached climax. His abs tensed, and a low growl rumbled from his chest. The room was filled with the sound of wet suction and the muffled gasps of the two bound women. Yujin's eyes grew wider, her cheeks hollowed as she took him deeper, her throat muscles working overtime to accommodate his size.

The moment came, and with it, a torrent of cum shot into Yujin's mouth. She struggled to swallow, her cheeks puffing out as rope after rope of white hot liquid filled her. It was too much, too fast. Cum began to leak from the corners of her mouth, dribbling down her chin and onto her chest. Wonyoung watched, her own orgasm cresting at the sight of her friend's submission.

Wonyoung pussy clenched around the vibrator, and with a cry, she came, her juices spurting out onto the chair beneath her. The vibrator's relentless buzzing only heightened her pleasure, sending wave after wave of ecstasy through her body. Her eyes rolled back in her head, and she screamed his name, the sound echoing off the penthouse walls.

Y/n pulled the vibrator out of Wonyoung with a wet pop, her cum dripping down the shaft. He didn't even bother to wipe it clean before sliding it into Yujin's eager pussy, her legs still spread wide from her own oral ministrations. She let out a moan that was half-surprise, half-ecstasy as the toy filled her up. The artist's cum was still warm on her chin and chest, mixing with her saliva and sweat.

"Now is ur turn, Wonyoung," he said, his voice a dark, seductive purr. "Take it like the good slut u are."

Y/n stepped back, his cock glistening with a mix of precum and Yujin's spit. He approached Wonyoung with the same predatory gaze, his hands reaching for her bound wrists. "Prove to me," he said, his voice a low growl, "that you're the better cocksucker."

Wonyoung looked him dead in the eye, her own hunger palpable. She didn't need any further encouragement. As soon as the ropes were loosened, she leaned forward, her mouth open wide. Y/n stepped closer, positioning his cock at her eager lips. Without a moment's hesitation, she took him in, all inches disappearing into her mouth.

The sound of "Glukk glukk glukk" filled the penthouse, a rhythmic symphony of her mouth's submission to his length. Wonyoung's eyes watered as she worked his shaft, her tongue swirling around the head, tasting the saltiness of his pre-cum. She took him deep, her throat muscles constricting around his cock, and he watched with rapt attention as she took his entire length.

"You're so much better," he moaned, his hands tangling in her hair. "So tight, so good." His words were like gasoline to the fire of their competition. Yujin, whose pussy was still pulsing around the vibrator, watched with a mix of envy and arousal. Her own mouth was sore, but she couldn't help but want to try again, to prove herself to him and to her friend.

But the night wasn't about competition anymore. It was about pleasure, raw and unbridled. Wonyoung's eyes watered as Y/n's cock slammed into her mouth, his hips moving with an intensity that bordered on brutal. She could feel his desire in every thrust, his need for her submission. Her throat was a tight ring of muscle that stretched around his thickness, and she reveled in the feeling of being used by this powerful man.

He groaned, his hands tightening in her hair. "Fuck, I'm going to cum in your throat," he growled, his voice thick with lust. Wonyoung moaned in response, her eyes never leaving his. She nodded, eager to take him all the way.

With a roar, Y/n's cock erupted, filling Wonyoung's mouth with hot, sticky cum. She swallowed as much as she could, but it was too much, too fast. Cum spurted out of her mouth and down her chin, covering her neck and chest. Yujin watched, her eyes wide with a mix of amazement and envy as Wonyoung's cheeks bulged with the effort to contain his seed. It was clear that Wonyoung had outdone herself, taking even more of his cum than Y/n had given her.

The vibrator inside Yujin's pussy hit just the right spot, sending her spiraling into her own orgasm. Her eyes rolled back in her head, and her body convulsed in the chair, her moans muffled by the ropes around her wrists. Her orgasm was intense, her muscles clamping down on the buzzing toy, her juices coating it. She felt a strange sense of satisfaction as she watched Wonyoung take her prize, even though her own mouth was empty.

As Wonyoung swallowed the last of Y/n's cum, Yujin felt the first spurt of her own juices. It was unlike anything she had ever experienced before. Her pussy contracted, sending a geyser of liquid shooting into the air, drenching the chair and the floor beneath her. Wonyoung looked over, her eyes wide with surprise, and then with a wicked smile.

"Maybe you lost in the mouth, but I think your pussy is greater than Wonyoung's," Y/n said, his voice thick with lust. He leaned down, his cock still hard and glistening with saliva. He licked the cum from Yujin's chin before pressing his lips to hers in a deep, hungry kiss. "Tell me, baby, does that make you feel good?"

Yujin whimpered into the kiss, the taste of their combined flavors swirling in her mouth. She could feel the heat of embarrassment mingling with the high of her recent orgasm. "Yes," she admitted, her voice small and needy. "It feels... amazing."

Y/n chuckled, the vibrations of his laughter sending shockwaves through her body. He pulled back, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction as he surveyed his handiwork. The two idols were a mess of ropes and cum, their faces flushed and their chests heaving with each ragged breath.

"Enough for today," he murmured, his voice filled with a sense of finality. "I've got to save some for tomorrow." He began to untie Yujin and wonyoung, his movements slow and deliberate, as if savoring the moment. Their wrists were red from the ropes, but she didn't flinch as they fell away. Instead, she leaned back in the chair, their legs still trembling from the aftershocks of orgasm.

They stumbled into the bathroom, still naked and sticky with cum. The shower was large and luxurious, with jets that could massage every inch of their bodies. They stepped inside, the warm water cascading down on them, washing away the sweat and the evidence of their earlier escapade. Their eyes met, and in that moment, any hint of competition was gone. They were just two friends, sharing a secret that no one else knew about.

Y/n took his time soaping them up, his hands gliding over their curves and valleys with the same gentle precision he had used when tying the ropes. He kissed their necks and whispered sweet nothings in their ears, making them feel cherished and desired. They giggled and played, the tension of their earlier encounter giving way to a newfound intimacy.

Once clean, they stumbled out of the shower, their bodies glistening with water droplets that clung to their skin like diamonds. He led them to the large, comfortable bed that dominated the penthouse's master suite. The sheets were cool and crisp, a stark contrast to the heat of their bodies as they tumbled in, still wet from the shower.

Wonyoung, ever the tease, rolled onto her back and spread her legs with a wicked grin. "Yesterday, Yujin got the first taste," she purred, her voice husky with desire. "But today, I want your cock inside me first."

Y/n chuckled, his hand stroking his still-hard cock. "Beg for it, baby girl," he said, his voice low and seductive.

Wonyoung's smile grew even more wicked as she licked her lips. "Please," she murmured, her eyes never leaving his. "Please, fuck me first."

Y/n's grin widened, and with a swift move that belied his strength, he flipped Wonyoung onto her stomach. Her legs trembled with excitement, and she wiggled her ass in the air, silently begging for his attention. He took a moment to admire the view, her plump cheeks framing her glistening pussy. The scent of her desire filled the air, and he knew she was more than ready for him.

He leaned down, his mouth watering at the thought of tasting her again. His tongue slid out, tracing a wet path from the base of her spine to the sensitive flesh between her thighs. Wonyoung moaned, arching her back to give him better access. His tongue delved into her folds, lapping at her clit with a fervor that made her legs shake.

Y/n took his time, his tongue swirling and probing, teasing and taunting. He knew just how to make her squirm, just how to push her to the edge without sending her over. He felt her pussy clench around his tongue, and he chuckled, the sound vibrating against her sensitive skin. He licked her with long, firm strokes, each one sending a bolt of pleasure shooting through her body.

Her moans grew louder, echoing through the penthouse suite. She was close, so close, but he wasn't done with her yet. He pulled back, his eyes meeting hers in the reflection of the floor-to-ceiling mirror. "Beg for it," he murmured, his voice a dark promise.

Wonyoung's eyes were glazed with lust, her breath coming in ragged gasps. "Please," she whimpered. "I need it. I need you inside me i want it raw."

Y/n's grin grew wolfish. "So greedy," he murmured, his hand coming down to give her ass a firm slap. She yelped, but the sound was muffled by the pillow she had bitten down on. "But if you can't even wait your turn..."

Before Wonyoung could respond, she felt the pressure of his cock at her entrance. With one powerful thrust, he was inside her, filling her completely. Her scream was a mix of pleasure and pain as her body stretched to accommodate him. Y/n didn't stop, pumping into her with a ferocity that had her seeing stars.

The feeling was unlike anything she had ever experienced before. Her pussy was so tight around him, and with each thrust, she could feel him hit a spot that made her toes curl. She threw her head back, her eyes squeezed shut as she felt him reach depths that she didn't know were possible. "Oh, fuck," she screamed, her voice echoing in the large room.

Y/n's rhythm grew more erratic, his breath coming in harsh pants. He could feel the walls of her pussy clenching around him, trying to keep him in, as if afraid he'd pull out too soon. He leaned over, his chest pressing against her back, his cock going even deeper. "You like that?" he growled, his voice low and guttural. "You like having my big white cock inside you?"

Wonyoung could only nod, her voice lost to the intensity of her pleasure. She could feel her orgasm building again, the pressure in her core growing with every stroke. "Fuck me harder," she begged, her voice a hoarse whisper. "I want to feel it in my stomach."

Y/n's hands tightened on her hips, and he complied, his cock slamming into her with a force that made her whole body shake. The sound of skin slapping skin filled the room, punctuated by their gasps and moans. Y/n's cock was like a piston, moving in and out of her with a precision that was almost mechanical.

Y/n's thumb found her clit, rubbing it in tight circles as he continued to fuck her. Wonyoung's moans grew louder, the pressure in her stomach unbearable. She felt like she was going to explode from the inside out. "Yes," she screamed, "yes, I can feel it in my stomach!"

Her orgasm washed over her, a tsunami of pleasure that had her entire body convulsing. Her pussy clamped down on him, her juices flooding the bed beneath them. Y/n grunted, his hips moving faster, his cock swelling even more as he approached his own climax. "Take it," he groaned, his voice tight with effort. "Take all of me."

Wonyoung's cries grew louder, her body writhing in ecstasy. Y/n's cock was a blur, his strokes so fast they were almost a blur. And then, with a final roar, he came. His cum flooded her, filling her up until it spurted out around his cock, coating her ass and the bed beneath them. She could feel the warmth of it, feel the power of his release.

As he pulled out, she collapsed onto the bed, her legs trembling. "Fuck," she breathed, her voice weak. "That was... I don't have energy right now, i can't believe i can take 10 inches." Her pussy was still pulsing, her body still trying to come down from the high of that intense orgasm.

Y/n chuckled, turning to face Yujin, who had been watching the whole thing standing, her knees slightly bent and her own pussy visibly throbbing. "You're next," he promised, his eyes gleaming.

Yujin licked her lips, her gaze never leaving the artist's still-hard cock. She had never felt more desperate for anything in her life. The way Wonyoung had taken him, the sounds she had made... she wanted that. She needed that.

Wonyoung rolled onto her side, panting, and gave her friend a knowing smile. "Your turn," she murmured, her voice still thick with lust. "Show him how it's done."

The artist stalked over to Yujin, his cock bobbing with each step. He grabbed her chin, forcing her to look up at him. "Are you ready for this?" he asked, his voice a dark whisper.

Yujin nodded, her eyes wide with excitement and a hint of fear. She had never been with a man this big before, but she had watched Wonyoung take him, and she knew she could do it too. She had to. For herself, for her friend, and for the thrill of the challenge.

He pushed her onto the bed, her body bouncing on the soft mattress. "Spread your legs," he ordered, his tone firm but gentle. She complied, her legs spreading wide, giving him full access to her pussy. He positioned himself at her entrance, his cock glistening with Wonyoung's cum. "Look at me," he said, his eyes boring into hers.

Y/n pushed into her with a slow, deliberate movement that had her gasping. He was so thick, so full, and she could feel every inch as he filled her up. "Oh, God," she whimpered, her nails digging into the bed sheets. "It's so big."

He didn't rush, taking his time to let her adjust to his size. His eyes never left hers, the connection between them intense. "Breathe," he murmured, his voice soothing. "You can do this."

Y/n's cock stretched her further than she had ever been stretched before. She felt her body give way to his, her tightness enveloping him like a warm, wet glove. "So tight," he groaned, his eyes rolling back in his head. "Tighter than Wonyoung."

Y/n began to move, his strokes long and deep, filling her to the brink with each thrust. The pain was exquisite, a delicious burn that she had never felt before. She watched in the mirror as her own pussy swallowed his cock, the sight of it making her even wetter. She reached down, her hand shaking as she touched her clit, her movements frantic.

"Fuck me," she begged, her voice a hoarse whisper. "Fuck me like you did Wonyoung."

Y/n chuckled, his eyes dark with desire. "But you're not Wonyoung," he murmured, his cock teasing her entrance. "You're Yujin. And I'm going to make you feel things she never could."

With that, he pushed into her again, harder and faster than before. Yujin's body responded in kind, her pussy spasming around him as she felt her orgasm build. She had never squirted before, never felt that intense release of pleasure, but with each powerful thrust, she grew closer and closer.

Her hand worked her clit in a frantic rhythm, her breath coming in ragged gasps. The artist watched her intently, his eyes never leaving her face as he fucked her. He could feel her pussy tightening around him, the beginnings of her orgasm starting to pulse through her body. "Show me," he growled, his hips slamming into hers. "Show me what a squirting pussy looks like."

The room grew hazy around her, the only thing she could focus on was the feeling of his cock inside her and the pressure building in her core. And then, with a scream that was more animal than human, she did. Her pussy clenched down on him as a flood of liquid shot out, soaking the sheets and the both of them. It was a sensation like nothing she had ever felt before, a release that seemed to come from her very soul.

Y/n's eyes went wide with amazement. He had never seen a woman squirt like that before, especially not on his first try. "Fuck, baby," he breathed, his strokes becoming more erratic as he watched the show. "You're a squirting queen."

Yujin could feel her orgasm building again, her pussy spasming around him. She had never felt so alive, so wanted, so...used. It was intoxicating. "More," she moaned, her voice barely recognizable. "Please, don't stop."

The artist chuckled, his eyes gleaming. He knew he had her now, that she was his to do with as he liked. He picked up the pace, his cock slamming into her with a force that made the bedframe rattle. The sound of wet flesh slapping together filled the room, a symphony of lust that had Wonyoung watching with envy.

Y/n reached down, his thumb finding Yujin's clit again. He rubbed it in tight circles, feeling her body respond to his touch. Her eyes rolled back in her head, and she let out a high-pitched keening sound. She was close, so close.

"Cum for me," he growled, his cock pumping in and out of her with a ferocity that had her panting. "Let me feel your pussy milk me dry."

Y/n's thumb circled her clit with precision, the pressure building until she couldn't hold back any longer. Yujin's body bowed off the bed, her pussy contracting around his cock as another gush of liquid shot out, soaking him, the bed, and the floor. He groaned, the sensation of her squirting pushing him closer to the edge.

With one final thrust, he came deep inside her, his cum spurting into her womb. The feeling was indescribable, the heat of his seed filling her up in a way that made her feel complete. She could feel his cock pulse with each spurt, his body shaking with the force of his orgasm. They stayed like that for a moment, locked together in the throes of passion, their bodies slick with sweat and cum.

As he pulled out, Yujin's pussy gaped open like the letter "O," the aftermath of his powerful release leaving her utterly exposed and vulnerable. Wonyoung's eyes widened at the sight, a mix of awe and envy. The artist chuckled, his cock still hard and gleaming with their combined juices. "Look what I did to her," he said, his voice filled with pride.

Y/n's eyes were hooded with desire as he took in the sight of Yujin's pussy, still quivering from the intensity of her orgasm. He leaned down, his tongue tracing the edges of her swollen folds, tasting the sweetness of her cum. "You're so beautiful when you cum," he murmured, his voice low and intimate. "Your pussy is a fucking work of art."

With a wicked grin, he reached out with his hand and lightly touched the sensitive bud of her clit. Yujin's body jerked in response, her breath catching in her throat. He began to tease her, his fingers dancing over her clit in a rhythm that was both maddening and exquisite.

Her eyes went wide as she felt the beginnings of another orgasm. She had never been this sensitive before, never felt like she could cum again so soon after such an intense release. But here she was, her pussy gushing and spasming as if it had a mind of its own.

Y/n watched in amazement, his eyes glued to the sight of her juices flowing out of her. "Again?"

Yujin nodded, her body trembling with the effort of staying conscious. "Yes," she gasped, her eyes glazed with desire. "I need... I need it."

With one final, gentle squeeze of her clit, the artist leaned back, watching as Yujin's body was wracked by another orgasm, this one even more powerful than the last. Her eyes rolled back, and she let out a scream that was cut off as she passed out, her body going limp beneath him.

Wonyoung's gaze flickered from Y/n to her unconscious friend, her own desire flaring anew at the sight of Yujin's pussy, still quivering and open from the intense pleasure. "Looks like she passed out," she murmured, a hint of sadness in her voice. "But her pussy's still wide open like 'O' for you."

Y/n chuckled, his smirk never leaving his face as he turned to face Wonyoung. "And now, it's your turn," he said, his voice dripping with anticipation. Wonyoung's eyes widened, a thrill of excitement coursing through her as she realized she was about to be the center of attention once again.

He crawled over to her, his still-hard cock bobbing with every movement. Wonyoung spread her legs, eager to feel him fill her up. But instead of entering her, he lowered his head, his tongue tracing a path along her inner thighs. She moaned, her body already sensitive from the earlier orgasms. He licked her slit, his tongue delving into her folds and tasting the sweetness of her desire.

Wonyoung's hips bucked, her body responding instinctively to the sensation. She had never felt so exposed, so vulnerable. But with Y/n, she knew she could let go completely, surrender herself to the pleasure he so expertly delivered. His fingers found their way inside her, pumping in and out with a steady rhythm that had her pussy clenching around him.

Her moans grew louder as he worked her over, his tongue and fingers in perfect sync. She could feel the beginnings of another orgasm building, a pressure that was both exquisite and unbearable. "Please," she begged, her voice a desperate whine. "I can't take anymore."

Y/n's only response was to push harder, his tongue delving deeper, his fingers curling to hit her G-spot. Wonyoung's body was a tapestry of sensations, a maelstrom of pleasure that threatened to consume her. She felt like she was on the brink, about to shatter into a million pieces.

And then it hit her, an orgasm so intense that it stole her breath away. She screamed, her body arching off the bed as her pussy spasmed around his fingers. He didn't let up, his tongue still lapping at her clit, his fingers still pumping away. The pleasure was so intense it was almost painful, a never-ending crescendo that left her trembling and gasping for air.

As the waves of pleasure finally subsided, she collapsed back onto the bed, her eyes fluttering shut. "No more," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "I can't..."

But Y/n wasn't done with her. He slid his fingers from her pussy, bringing them to her mouth. "Taste yourself," he ordered, his voice firm. Wonyoung's eyes snapped open, and she took his fingers into her mouth, her eyes never leaving his. The taste of her own cum was surprisingly sweet, a heady cocktail of desire and satisfaction.

Her eyes glazed over as she sucked on his fingers, the sensation of his gaze on her making her stomach flip. He watched her intently, his own desire never waning. "Now, I want you to watch," he murmured, his voice low and commanding.

Wonyoung nodded, her cheeks flushing with arousal. She turned to face Yujin, her eyes locked on her friend's pussy as Y/n began to finger her once again. Y/n's movements were slow and deliberate, his eyes on Wonyoung's face as he watched for any signs of discomfort or distress. But all he saw was pure, unbridled need.

Wonyoung's body was a canvas of desire, her pussy swollen and glistening with her juices. Her hips began to rock in time with his fingers, her breath coming in shallow gasps. "Fuck," she whispered, her eyes never leaving Y/n's. "I'm going to cum again."

Y/n watched as Wonyoung's orgasm built, her body tightening around his hand. He could see the moment she lost control, her eyes rolling back in her head as she let out a scream that was more primal than anything he had ever heard. Her pussy clenched down, and she came hard, her juices spurting out to cover his hand and arm.

It was too much for her to handle. With a final, desperate whimper, Wonyoung's eyes rolled back, and she passed out, her body going slack. Y/n pulled his hand away, watching the aftershocks of her climax ripple through her. Her pussy was still spasming, her legs trembling slightly from the exertion. He chuckled, feeling a sense of pride at his handiwork.

The room was thick with the scent of sex, the air heavy with the sounds of their panting. Y/n looked down at his cock, still hard and demanding more. He knew he had to take a break, though. He had work to do, a canvas calling his name. He stood, his legs shaking slightly from the effort of holding back his own climax. "I'll be back soon," he murmured, his eyes lingering on the two passed out stars.

Leaving the sated girls on the bed, Y/n padded over to the en suite bathroom, his cock still standing tall despite the recent releases. He stepped into the massive tub, the warm water enveloping his body, and reached for the soap, his mind racing with the images of their shared pleasure. The scent of sex still lingered on his skin, a potent reminder of the power he had wielded over them. He began to cleanse himself, his hands moving over his chest, down his stomach, and finally to his still-hard member, which seemed to protest the interruption of its fun.

As he washed away the sweat and cum, his thoughts drifted to the unspoken challenge in their eyes. They had pushed each other, competed for his attention and affection, and he had reveled in it. The sight of their pussies, open like the letter 'O', was burned into his mind, a visual testament to the depths of their arousal and submission. It was a powerful image, one that stirred his creative soul and inspired a new painting in his mind.

He stepped out of the tub, water dripping from his sculpted body, and padded over to the bedside table, where he found a piece of paper and a pen. In the dim light, he scribbled a quick note. "I will come at night, take care of yourself," he wrote, the words a promise of the pleasure yet to come. He knew they wouldn't wake until morning, but the anticipation was part of the thrill. He placed the note on Yujin's pillow, knowing she'd find it when she woke up.

[seokwrts]

I LIKE ME BETTER | jjk

PART TWO

summary : After walking in on her boyfriend Sanho cheating, Y/N moves out and ends up living with Jungkook, a cocky yet caring acquaintance she once couldn’t stand. What begins as a tense, passive-aggressive roommates situation slowly transforms into something deeper, as both navigate heartbreak, vulnerability, and emotional healing. Through stormy nights, late-night confessions, domestic routines, and quiet tension, Y/N and Jungkook gradually uncover the warmth and safety they’ve both been missing—especially in each other.

“After all, what’s the worst that could happen just living under the same roof?”

pairing : jeon jungkook x f!reader

genre : roommates , fluff , smut

word count : 6.2k

warnings : Explicit. This story contains sexual content, explicit language, and themes of emotional trauma. Expect a roommates-to-lovers slow burn with intense enemies-to-lovers tension, mutual pining, and eventual smut. Features include domestic intimacy, past cheating, emotional hurt/comfort, and lots of kitchen tension. There’s jealousy, unresolved sexual tension, first times, comfort sex, and characters who are both emotionally guarded and touch-starved.

When Jungkook returned from his errands, the apartment was steeped in an eerie kind of stillness—the kind that made you slow your footsteps without realizing, as if even sound didn’t dare to linger too long. The late afternoon light filtered through the living room blinds in golden slats, painting stripes on the hardwood floor like prison bars. Shoes off.

Keys tossed lightly onto the counter. The silence pressed in, broken only by the low hum of the refrigerator and the soft, irregular rustling of something fluttering in the air.

He turned toward the kitchen and saw it.

A yellow Post-it, barely clinging to the fridge door, its corner twitching in the soft breeze from the slightly open window above the sink. Below his own note—short, stiff, factual—another had appeared in familiar, looping handwriting.

“Good, because I don’t belong to him anymore.”

For a moment, he just stood there, a canvas bag of groceries still clutched in one hand. He didn’t move. Didn’t blink. The words registered slowly, then all at once—slipping past his rational mind, sinking straight into his chest like ink bleeding into paper.

Her handwriting.

He recognized the way she looped her y’s and how the ‘t’ never fully crossed. Slanted, a little rushed, like she didn’t want to think too long before committing it to the page. Like it came from somewhere raw. Honest.

He exhaled, quietly. His body relaxed before his brain could catch up.

It wasn’t for him. Not really. The note was a rebuttal to what he had written earlier—a cold, information-only message about her ex showing up. A neutral report, no commentary. But this… this was personal. This was a declaration. Of freedom, of closure, maybe even of defiance.

And still—somehow—it felt like it was his.

Not his to own. Not his to claim. But his to witness.

Something stirred in him. Not quite joy, but not far from it. Warmth bloomed in his chest, curling around his ribs like ivy. Was it pride? Relief? Possessiveness? God, he didn’t know. He barely even knew her. She was a stranger two weeks ago, now occupying the same apartment, drinking from his mugs, sleeping behind a thin wall, leaving sticky notes on his fridge like they’d lived ten lifetimes together.

He reached out and touched the edge of the Post-it with a finger. It crinkled gently beneath the pad of his thumb. Fragile. Intentional. A message meant to be read. To be seen.

He reread it.

“Good, because I don’t belong to him anymore.”

The corners of his mouth twitched. Not a full smile. Just a flicker. The kind that rose up before you could stop it—quick, involuntary, and all the more dangerous for it.

She didn’t belong to him anymore.

That line repeated in his head like a song stuck on loop, and goddamn if it didn’t make something in him tighten. Not because he wanted to own her. No. It was something else. The conviction. The edge in her tone. The reclaiming of her own body, her own choices, her own damn name.

She wasn’t running back. She wasn’t cracking under the weight of gossip or guilt. She had chosen—again, and deliberately—not to go back to the boy who broke her.

And she had written it down. Here. For him to read.

He didn’t know what to do with that.

The groceries hit the counter with a soft thud. He didn’t bother unpacking them yet. Instead, he leaned back against the opposite wall, arms crossed, eyes fixed on that little square of yellow like it might vanish if he looked away.

He didn’t know what was happening to him. Not really.

But he knew how he felt when she was in the room. He knew the sound of her laugh in the morning, muffled by her toothbrush. He knew she sang to herself while washing dishes.

That she hoarded teabags in the second cabinet to the left and stole the good throw blanket when she was curled up on the couch. That she cried, quietly and with her whole body, when she thought no one was listening. That she left her vulnerability hanging in the air like smoke, stubborn and soft and impossible to ignore.

He knew all that. And he hadn’t known her at all two weeks ago.

A stranger, they said.

Some girl, they said.

And now—now he felt like her fucking shadow.

He pinched the bridge of his nose and exhaled through gritted teeth. The weight in his chest twisted and pulsed, too close to something dangerous. He didn’t want to name it. Naming it made it real. And real meant risk. He didn’t do real.

But he was thinking about the night she fell asleep on the couch with her hair tangled in his hoodie. He was thinking about how her bare feet looked on his kitchen tile. He was thinking about the way she had smiled—just a little, just once—when he handed her a bowl of instant ramen without asking if she wanted dinner.

He ran a hand through his hair, frustrated. “FUCK”

“What the fuck is happening to me?” he muttered aloud.

His voice echoed back at him, thin and unimpressed. There was no one to answer.

And still, something about the apartment didn’t feel so cold anymore.

He turned back toward the Post-it. Read it one last time. Then pulled open the fridge, grabbed a bottle of water, and walked away—heart heavier than it had been that morning, but somehow lighter, too.

Like something had changed.

And maybe it had.

Maybe it was already too late.

That morning, Y/N had left early for college, the lingering scent of Jungkook’s hoodie still clinging to her like comfort. The fabric wrapped around her like a memory she wasn’t ready to fold away yet—a soft promise in a world that had become too loud.

She didn’t look in the mirror as she stepped out. Not because she didn’t want to see her face, but because she couldn’t bear to face the girl behind it—the girl still stitching herself together with trembling fingers and borrowed strength.

Campus was already awake. Students flooded the halls, laughter and music spilling from the dorms like the world hadn’t ended just a few days ago. But today, it all felt different. Laughter didn’t sound quite right.

The air was too sharp. The conversations stopped too abruptly when she passed by. Eyes dragged across her body like questions she didn’t want to answer.

She ignored it. Shoulders back. Chin up. Pretend nothing had changed.

And then, she saw him.

Sanho.

Standing just beyond the courtyard gates like a curse she thought she’d buried. Like an old wound torn back open. He wore that same leather jacket he always had when he wanted to look put-together. Hands in his pockets. That same smug confidence like nothing had touched him. Like he hadn’t shattered her.

He called her name like it still belonged to him. “Y/N.”

She stopped walking. Everything inside her twisted into a fist.

He stepped forward. “Can we talk?”

Her voice was cold. “No.”

“Just five minutes,” he insisted, his tone drenched in entitlement. “I just want to explain.”

“There’s nothing left to explain.” Her arms crossed over her chest—guarded, stiff. “You cheated. End of story.”

“It wasn’t like that,” he muttered. “I made a mistake.”

She barked a bitter laugh. “No, Sanho. A mistake is forgetting a date. A mistake is spilling coffee. You didn’t trip and fall into someone else’s bed.”

“It didn’t mean anything!” he hissed. “It was one time.”

“That’s supposed to make it better?” Her voice cracked, high with disbelief. “That it was meaningless? You broke me for nothing?”

“I was drunk. She came onto me. You were always so—so distant.”

There it was. The excuse. The one she’d been waiting for.

“Don’t you dare try to blame me for your inability to keep it in your pants.”

He rolled his eyes. “This is exactly what I’m talking about. You’re so fucking dramatic.”

Her blood ran hot.

“No,” she said. “I’m not dramatic. I’m devastated. There’s a difference.”

He stepped closer. Too close.

“And now you’re living with some guy you barely know? That’s not devastated. That’s pathetic.”

She didn’t flinch, but her heart did.

“Don’t talk about him.”

“What, are you sleeping with him now?” he sneered. “That why you’re so quick to forget me?”

Her jaw clenched so hard it hurt. “You don’t get to ask that.”

“It’s a fair question.”

“No, it’s not,” she spat. “You lost the right to ask anything about me the moment you climbed into someone else’s bed.”

Sanho’s voice rose. “You’re really gonna act like I meant nothing to you?”

She blinked. Pain pulsed behind her eyes like a bruise she hadn’t touched. “You meant everything to me. That was the problem.”

The silence between them was thick, suffocating.

“I’m sorry,” he said finally, softer now. “You weren’t supposed to find out like that. I didn’t—”

“You didn’t think I’d matter enough to protect,” she cut in. “Just admit it, Sanho. You liked the way I loved you. You just didn’t want to be responsible for it.”

He didn’t answer.

“You talk about what we had like it was some epic love story,” she said. “But the truth is, it was a slow erosion. You chipped away at me, piece by piece, until I was small enough to ignore.”

“I messed up,” he said. “But we can fix this.”

She stared at him. “No. You messed up. And I’m finally done paying for it.”

He narrowed his eyes, his voice turning sharp. “You think he’s better than me?”

“I think he’s not you,” she whispered.

He scoffed. “You don’t even know him.”

“And you never tried to know me.”

Sanho took a step forward, eyes hard. “He’ll leave you, too. Just wait. You’re not exactly easy to love.”

That hit like a punch. She staggered back—emotionally, if not physically. But she didn’t let it show.

“No,” she said. “I’m hard to hurt. That’s why you’re so angry.”

He was silent.

“And for the record,” she said, stepping close now, so only he could hear, “if I were sleeping with him? That would be none of your goddamn business.”

His eyes blazed, lips parting—but she wasn’t finished.

“You can’t stand it, can you?” she whispered. “That I’m not broken without you. That I’m still standing. That I might actually find someone who sees me.”

She saw the twitch in his jaw, the clench of his fists. But she didn’t back down.

“You didn’t lose me because I moved in with someone else,” she said. “You lost me the moment you decided I wasn’t enough.”

And then she slapped him.

The sound echoed through the courtyard like the end of something. Final. Brutal. Righteous.

He recoiled, hand flying to his face in disbelief.

Everyone saw. Everyone heard. But for once—she didn’t care who was watching.

Y/N didn’t wait for him to recover. Her chest heaved, but her shoulders were square. She turned, her feet steady, and walked away.

And this time, she didn’t look back.

By lunch, it was all over Twitter.

#Y/NHomewrecker

#SanhoDeservedBetter

#RoommateAffair

#SheCheatedFirst

#CampusSlutFiles

They spun tales from scraps of reality like rabid playwrights addicted to drama.

According to them, Y/N had cheated first.

According to them, Sanho was the heartbroken angel.

According to them, the man she now lived with was either her secret boyfriend, her escape plan, or her latest conquest.

One thread read:

🧵 @campusKween

Not her moving in with a whole man as if we wouldn’t notice 💅

Roommate?? sis you don’t need six suitcases for “boundaries” 😭

#Y/NHomewrecker #RoommateAffair

Another posted a blurry photo of her outside Jungkook’s dorm, dragging her suitcase behind her:

🧵 @truthordorm

ok timeline:

• Y/N and Sanho date for 3 years

• Sanho caught crying in econ lecture

• Y/N moves in w campus hot boy

• Y’ALL DO THE MATH 💀

#SanhoDeservedBetter

Even the fake-feminist takes hurt the most:

🧵 @feministfae

i love women. i support women.

but not women who cheat and lie and manipulate soft boys.

Sanho used to bring her lunch. Now she’s bringing trauma to a new man.

this is why therapy > relationships 💋

#Y/NHomewrecker

Confession blogs began to pile on:

🧵 @confessU_blog

💌 “I used to know her. She always needed attention. Once told me Sanho was ‘too clingy.’ I’m not shocked.”

#Y/NTea #CampusConfessions

🧵 @libconfessions

“We don’t know him, but the guy Y/N moved in with looks cold af. Tall, sharp jaw. Probably doesn’t talk to people. Probably writes poetry. Probably ruins lives.”

same anon: “…but hot.”

#MysteryRoommate #RoommateAffair

Group chats got leaked:

Group Chat Screenshot: Architecture Girls GC

👩‍🎓 Hana: bro she sat 3 rows behind me in studio yesterday

👩‍🎓 Nari: did she look guilty??

👩‍🎓 Yejin: nah she looked DEAD inside

👩‍🎓 Nari: maybe she should be

👩‍🎓 Joo: idc she’s got taste, that guy is sexy

👩‍🎓 Hana: SANHO CRIED IN FRONT OF THE DEPARTMENT

She didn’t cry. Not again.

She walked into the library with her hood up, gaze lowered, hands stuffed deep into her pockets. A pair of students paused mid-conversation when she passed. One of them smirked.

“That’s her. The homewrecker.”

“She looks tired. Guilt must be exhausting.”

Y/N didn’t look back. She just kept walking, all the way to the last table near the dusty old window where no one ever sat. The light above her buzzed, flickering like it couldn’t decide whether to stay on or die altogether.

She pulled out her notes. The page was wrinkled. Her highlighter was dry at the tip — yellow, faded. She licked it. It worked again.

She underlined half a paragraph before her vision blurred.

In her head, it played like this:

Sanho cheating.

Sanho crying.

Sanho weaponizing her silence.

Jungkook saying nothing. Jungkook letting her be.

And then the tweets again, looping, glitching in her brain like static:

“She moved on in 48 hours. Who does that?”

“I heard he’s a dropout.”

“She’s disgusting. Poor Sanho.”

Hours passed.

She didn’t get up to pee. She didn’t eat. Her hands were ink-stained. Her phone vibrated once, twice. She didn’t check.

By the time the sun dipped behind the skyline, she felt like she had aged years.

She packed her things silently, walked past the whispers again.

“She didn’t even flinch.”

“Probably doesn’t feel anything anymore.”

“You think they’re sleeping together?”

“Duh.”

Outside, the wind was sharp. It slashed at her cheeks and turned her breath into cold clouds. But she didn’t feel it.

She walked to the convenience store like she was sleepwalking. Her feet knew the way. Her mind was back in that night — the night she saw the text on Sanho’s phone.

The girl’s name.

The apology she hadn’t asked for.

“I didn’t even finish,” he had said. Like that excused it.

Inside the store, the fluorescent lights made her headache bloom behind her eyes.

She stared at the wall of soju bottles — peach, grapefruit, lemon, classic.

The green glass shimmered like fragile promises:

Peach for the girl who used to believe in gentle love.

Citrus for the bitterness lodged in her chest.

Original for the version of herself that didn’t exist anymore.

Should she get drunk?

Would it help?

Would it make her cry or feel numb? Would it make her want to knock on Jungkook’s door at 2 a.m. and tell him she was tired of being strong?

Would it make her forget Sanho’s hands on someone else?

Would it make her forget the public shame — being reduced to a hashtag?

She didn’t choose.

She bought all six.

The cashier didn’t say a word. Just scanned the bottles and handed her the receipt without a glance. As if this kind of thing happened every day.

Maybe it did.

The plastic bag thudded against her thigh as she walked back home.

The streets were quieter now. The wind less cruel. The numbness thicker.

Her thoughts drifted like fog. To Sanho. To Jungkook. To everything she’d lost and everything she wasn’t sure she wanted anymore.

Sanho had cried publicly. He’d collapsed into people’s sympathy like a prince denied his crown.

Jungkook hadn’t cried. He hadn’t asked questions. He hadn’t even judged her.

He let her take the bigger bedroom. He passed her a cup of warm tea last night without saying anything about the trembling in her fingers.

He didn’t pretend to understand her. He just stayed close enough for her to feel less alone.

She wondered what people would say if they knew the truth.

That Sanho cheated.

That she never wanted revenge.

That she hadn’t even kissed Jungkook.

Not yet.

Her apartment was close now.

The windows glowed softly in the dark, one of them flickering — probably Jungkook’s room. But as she drew closer, her footsteps slowed.

The light was on, but the apartment felt wrong. Still. Unoccupied.

No music. No soft hums from his room. No muffled sounds of him moving about the kitchen in that quiet, economical way of his — like he was trying not to disturb something already too fragile.

The apartment was empty.

Jungkook wasn’t home.

That hit harder than she thought it would.

She’d told herself she didn’t want him to see her like this — a ghost with shaking hands and six bottles of denial rattling in a plastic bag. But some buried part of her, cracked and craving, had hoped he would be there. That he’d glance up when she walked in, maybe nod silently like he understood something without asking. That he’d be there to keep her from doing what she was about to do.

But he wasn’t.

The door creaked open. The hallway greeted her with shadows and the faint smell of clean laundry and sandalwood — the scent Jungkook carried in the folds of his sleeves.

Her fingers closed tighter around the plastic bag as she stepped inside.

The lights had been left on — one in the hallway, dim and gold, casting long, quiet shadows. His door was ajar, the curtain fluttering softly from the cracked window. He’d forgotten to close it again. He always did that.

She toed off her shoes without a sound. Her socks caught on the edge of the rug and twisted. She didn’t bother fixing it.

The apartment was too quiet. The silence almost rang.

She moved to the kitchen and placed the soju bottles on the counter with more care than they deserved. One by one. Their green glass clinked gently against the laminate, each thud a soft admission.

She stared at them. Like they might answer something she hadn’t dared ask aloud.

Who am I now?

She didn’t know.

She wasn’t the girl Sanho loved anymore.

She wasn’t the girl the internet thought she was.

She wasn’t even sure she was the girl who had once walked across this campus with a smile and a future and a boy who held her hand like it meant something.

She wasn’t the girl Jungkook knew, either.

Not really. He’d never asked for her story. He just made space for her to breathe inside his.

Her steps faltered. She walked away from the counter.

Into the bathroom.

The light was harsh when she turned it on. It flickered, then held. Her reflection stared back — a stranger made of bruised eyes, bitten lips, and skin that looked too pale under the fluorescent wash. She looked tired in a way that sleep couldn’t fix.

She turned the tap on and scrubbed her hands with a vengeance, like she could scrape off the day. The noise filled the room, water rushing over her trembling fingers, but inside her chest, everything was quiet.

Jungkook’s voice flickered in her memory — something he’d said a few days ago when he thought she wasn’t listening:

“You don’t owe anyone your pain.”

She hadn’t responded then.

Now she almost laughed.

Maybe that was the problem. Maybe she did owe it. Maybe that’s why the world was making her pay for it, over and over.

She turned off the faucet and stood there, breathing.

Then she walked back to the kitchen, like someone moving through the wreckage of a place they used to call home.

The bottles waited for her.

One in particular — peach, soft pink label, the kind she used to share with Sanho on the nights they pretended they were more than just tired and trying.

She picked it up.

Twisted the cap.

Click.

The scent hit her — sweet, syrupy, childish. Like it was mocking her for thinking it could fix anything.

She stared at it for a long moment.

Then, with slow, deliberate hands, she poured it into a glass.

It barely filled halfway.

Her fingers trembled when she picked it up.

The first sip burned a little — not from the alcohol, but from everything behind it.

And in the silence of an empty apartment, surrounded by shadows and unopened bottles, Y/N finally stopped trying to hold it all in.

She didn’t cry.

Not yet.

But her throat burned.

And she kept drinking anyway.

Jungkook had been at the studio most of the day, headphones wrapped tight over his ears, fingers tracing melodies on the worn keyboard. A new track was slowly coming together — a rising indie artist with raw, honest lyrics that stirred something fragile inside him. Nothing fancy, no big labels or flashing lights, just music that paid the bills and gave him a sliver of joy he couldn’t find anywhere else. A quiet refuge from the chaos outside.

The dim lights of the studio hummed softly, casting long shadows against scattered sheets of lyric paper and half-empty coffee cups. He closed his eyes, searching for the right note, when suddenly his phone buzzed insistently against the cluttered desk.

Dad.

His chest tightened. The name alone felt like a weight pulling him under. He almost didn’t answer — every fiber of his being screamed to let it go to voicemail, to shut that door again. But curiosity mixed with exhaustion made him lift the phone.

“What are you doing with your life, Jeon Jungkook?” The voice was sharp, cold — like an ice blade slicing through thin skin, no greeting, no softness, just judgment.

Jungkook swallowed hard, his fingers trembling slightly. “I’m working,” he said evenly, forcing calm into his voice.

“Working? You call that music shit a job? You think producing beats and mixing tracks will get you anywhere? You had potential—medical school, business, something real.”

“It’s my career,” Jungkook shot back, voice rising slightly. “I’m not wasting time. I make music people want to hear. I help artists find their sound. It’s real work.”

“Real work?” his father sneered. “You’re a kid playing with sounds, fooling yourself that this is success. You’re nothing but a failure in my eyes. When will you grow up and face reality?”

Jungkook’s jaw clenched, his knuckles whitening around the phone. “I’m not you. I’m not living your life.”

“Then you’re wasting it. Don’t expect me to support some fantasy.”

The words weren’t new. They had echoed through years of silence and disappointment. But today, they landed differently — sharper, heavier, bleeding beneath his skin. Like a punch he didn’t see coming but felt in every breath afterward.

“I’m proud of what I’m building,” Jungkook said, voice quieter now but firm. “Maybe not what you want, but it’s mine. I’m working with artists who believe in me. I’m not just chasing a dream—I’m making it real.”

“You’re chasing nothing but failure. I hope one day you realize that.”

He ended the call before he said something he’d regret.

Jungkook sat motionless for a moment, the phone still pressed to his ear, as if holding on might keep the words from settling in. The soft buzz of the studio faded into a distant murmur. He wanted to scream, to throw everything against the walls, but instead, his hands fell to his lap, shaking.

The artist, who had been quietly watching from the mixing console, finally spoke.

“You okay?” she asked softly, her eyes gentle but concerned.

Jungkook forced a tight smile. “Yeah. It’s just… family stuff.”

She nodded knowingly. “I get it. My family thought this whole music thing was a joke too. But you’re good. Really good. This track? It’s got soul. You’ve got a gift.”

He looked up at her, the weight of his father’s words still pressing down but softened a little by her faith.

“I’m trying,” he admitted. “Every day. Producing, mixing, writing… It’s not glamorous, but it’s honest. I don’t have a big studio or a fancy label. I’m just me and a laptop, a couple of synths, and whatever beats I can create. It’s small, but it’s mine.”

She smiled. “And that’s enough.”

“Maybe for now,” he said, gathering his jacket. “But sometimes, it feels like I’m fighting against the whole world.”

“Then fight smarter. Take care of yourself too.”

He nodded, grateful for the reminder.

“Let’s call it a day,” she said softly. “You’re not here right now.”

He wanted to argue — say he could still fix the track, could still lose himself in the music — but he knew she was right.

“Tomorrow, Jungkook,” she added gently.

He nodded, though she couldn’t see it, and stepped out into the night.

The city buzzed around him — distant car horns, muffled conversations, neon signs flickering with tired light. But none of it touched him. His mind replayed the call, his father’s voice echoing louder than any street noise.

As he walked home, the cool wind nipped at the edges of his hoodie, but Jungkook barely felt it. His mind had wandered off somewhere else — somewhere messier, somewhere strangely warm.

That stupid little Post-it had resurfaced in his mind again.

Good, because I don’t belong to him anymore.

He’d read it hours ago, just once, maybe twice. Okay, four times. But he hadn’t stopped thinking about it since.

The thing was — it wasn’t just what it said. It was the tone. The bite. The breathlessness beneath it. It wasn’t about Sanho, not entirely. Not anymore.

Some reckless, whispering part of him kept circling back to the way she’d left it — stuck to the fridge, where he would see it. Where only he would see it.

He hadn’t meant to read it. But now that he had, it was like it had been written for him.

His lips curved upward, slow and stupid. God. He was smiling. Like an idiot.

Like a full-grown man who couldn’t stop grinning over a pink square of paper and seven sharp words.

What if she wanted him to see it?

What if, deep down, it was meant for him?

The idea wrapped around his chest like a dangerous promise — a terrifying kind of hope he didn’t know what to do with. He hadn’t believed in stuff like that in a while. Maybe never.

He reached the edge of the block, stopped under the flickering streetlamp, and leaned against the brick wall for a second. His fingers itched to text her. Or say something dumb. Like Thanks for the note, or I don’t want you to belong to anyone either.

But that was the problem.

He wanted to say something.

He wanted it to mean something.

And that scared the hell out of him.

What if he was reading too much into it?

What if it really was just about Sanho?

What if he was just the roommate — the temporary, emotionally damaged guy who happened to be kind enough not to ask too many questions?

His smile faltered. The warmth in his chest began to splinter under the weight of reality.

But even so, he couldn’t shake it.

That Post-it note was burned into his memory now. The way she wrote it like a punch she’d finally thrown. Like she had no one else to say it to. Like she’d waited too long to say it at all.

And still… she’d stuck it there.

Right on the fridge. Right in their shared space.

Maybe it wasn’t a confession.

Maybe it wasn’t anything at all.

But to Jungkook — walking home from a long day, his father’s voice still echoing in his ears, his hands still trembling from words unsaid — it meant everything.

It meant someone else out there was trying to choose themselves, too.

And that felt like the closest thing to connection he’d had in years.

He exhaled slowly, shoved his hands in his pockets, and crossed the street toward their apartment.

Scared or not, smiling or not —

he knew one thing for sure.

He was going to remember that note forever.

When Jungkook walked into the apartment, the lights were dimmed, and Y/N was leaning against the kitchen counter, one hand wrapped around a green soju bottle, her eyes vacant, distant — like she hadn’t quite come back to earth yet.

She didn’t look up when he entered. But he didn’t need her to. The air between them already knew how heavy the day had been.

Wordlessly, he stepped into the kitchen and poured himself a glass beside her. The bottle clinked softly against the rim.

She glanced over, finally. “Bad day?”

He nodded and downed the shot.

Another followed. Then another.

After the third, he finally exhaled, jaw tight. “My dad called.”

Y/N’s fingers curled loosely around the neck of her bottle. “Yeah?”

“He thinks what I’m doing is a waste. That music’s a fucking phase I’ll grow out of. Wants me to quit and get a 9-to-5 like a ‘respectable adult.’” The last words dripped with bitterness.

Her gaze softened, quiet fury and quiet pity threading together in her throat. “That’s not fair.”

“No,” he muttered. “But it’s expected.”

They drank more. The silence thickened—not heavy, not empty. Just swollen with everything unsaid.

When she passed him the bottle again, her fingers brushed his. He didn’t pull away.

She watched him quietly for a second. “He doesn’t know you,” she said. “What you’re capable of.”

Jungkook let out a dry laugh. “Maybe. But he’s right about one thing—I don’t have much to show for it.”

Y/N’s voice sharpened. “That’s bullshit.”

He looked at her.

“I’ve heard your mixes,” she continued. “I’ve watched you work in your room for hours without blinking. Your music has this… ache. Like something alive trying to crawl out of you. It’s not just beats and basslines, Jungkook. It’s fucking beautiful. It matters.”

The words landed differently than anything else had all day. Deeper. Unfiltered. Undeniable.

They passed the bottle again. Their fingers brushed. This time, neither of them moved away.

He was about to ask her something—anything—when her voice cracked the silence again. Quiet. Small.

“Sanho came up to me today.”

Jungkook stilled.

“Outside the student café. Just—walked up to me like we were still something. Like I was his.”

His jaw tightened. “What’d he say?”

She laughed bitterly. “Called me a whore. In front of everyone.”

Jungkook’s shoulders went rigid. “What?”

“Said I was flaunting you. That I moved in with you to get back at him. That I’ve probably already fucked you and that’s why I’m so smug.”

“What the actual—” He started pacing. “That fucking prick. That pathetic, hypocritical, lying little shit—”

“He said I ruined his life.”

Jungkook turned around sharply. “He cheated on you. He ruined yours.”

Y/N’s hands curled tighter around the bottle, but her voice remained calm. Too calm. “I didn’t even say anything. Just stood there. Let him talk.”

Jungkook cursed under his breath. “Motherfucker. And the rest of them? Twitter?”

She gave him a flat look. “#RoommateAffair. #Y/NHomewrecker. #SanhoDeservedBetter. Apparently, I cheated. I slept around. I’m using you for attention. Nobody remembers what he did. Not one tweet questions him.”

“Fucking hell,” Jungkook hissed. “I swear to fucking God, I hope every single one of those dipshits breaks a nail scrolling through their fake-ass hot takes. What the fuck is wrong with people?”

He turned to her, furious now. “You’re not a goddamn villain. You’re not some rebound whore or social climber. You’re just—you’re just trying to breathe and they’re treating you like blood in the water.”

Y/N’s chest rose and fell sharply, but her voice was barely above a whisper.

“I didn’t cry.”

He looked at her.

“Not after the tweets. Not after he yelled. Not even after people started filming me. I didn’t cry. I just walked to the library and kept reading the same paragraph for three hours. I don’t even remember what it was about.”

Something twisted in Jungkook’s chest.

“I thought about drinking the entire way home,” she confessed. “I thought about getting so drunk I wouldn’t have to feel any of it.”

She looked up at him then.

“But then I remembered that post-it.”

His breath caught. “The one on the fridge?”

Y/N nodded. “It wasn’t just about him. It was about… choosing myself. For once.”

Jungkook swallowed hard. The ache between them stretched, pulling taut, desperate to snap.

“You’re too soft for this world,” he said, voice low.

She gave a hollow laugh. “Then stop making it harder for me.”

Something shifted.

A slow, magnetic pull.

He reached for the bottle again, but she caught his wrist.

Their eyes locked.

And then—finally—he leaned in.

Their lips met, slow but aching. One kiss. Then another, firmer, deeper.

The tension that had coiled between them for weeks unspooled all at once. He cupped her jaw with one hand and slid the other to her hip, tugging her against him with a soft groan that trembled through both of them.

She gasped into his mouth, and it unraveled him.

It wasn’t gentle now.

It was hot, hungry. His tongue swept over hers as her hands clutched at his hoodie, dragging him closer until there was no space left. Her back hit the counter, and he pressed into her, chest to chest, heart to heart.

Her fingers tangled in his hair, tugging when his lips moved from her mouth to her throat, tracing a path of heat and hunger.

She moaned. “Fuck, Jungkook…”

He exhaled sharply against her skin. “Say that again.”

She whispered it slower this time, teasing, breathless:

“Fuck, Jungkook.”

Something in him shattered.

The sound of his name on her lips—fragile, wrecked, desperate—tore into whatever thin thread of control he had left. His mouth crashed against hers, hungry and bruising, hands threading into her hair as he pressed her further into the counter like he wanted to crawl inside her chest and live in the space where pain met desire.

And she gave in—fully, freely—fingers clinging to his hoodie, thighs tightening around his hips, a low moan slipping out between their kisses.

But just as she leaned in to kiss him again—

He froze.

Right there.

A flicker of hesitation. Then dread.

Jungkook pulled back abruptly, breath ragged, eyes wide and frantic like he’d just woken up from something dangerous.

“I…” He stepped back another inch, voice cracking. “You don’t want me.”

Y/N blinked. Confused. Lips swollen, chest heaving. “What?”

“You don’t,” he said again, quieter now. “I’m not—” He exhaled like it hurt. “I’m not safe.”

She straightened, sliding off the counter as her high drained into something hollow. “What are you talking about?”

Jungkook shook his head, hands curling into fists at his sides.

“I’m not the guy people fall for, Y/N. I’m the one they use to feel something again. I’m the rebound. I’m the one you get over someone with.”

His voice turned rough, desperate. “You don’t even know me.”

“That’s not—”

“You think this is a good idea?” he snapped, gesturing between them. “You’re hurting. You’re angry. You’re drunk. You don’t want me, you just want a way out.”

Her heart thudded. “You don’t know what I want.”

“I know myself,” he muttered, taking another step away. “And trust me, you deserve better than this mess.”

Silence fell between them—heavy and final.

And before she could say another word, he turned and walked out of the kitchen.

The door to his room clicked shut behind him.

Y/N stood there for a long time, staring at nothing. The fridge hummed behind her. The bottle sat open on the counter, still half full.

Her fingers pressed to her lips, and for a second, it felt like he was still kissing her.

The warmth hadn’t faded yet.

But god, the cold was starting to creep in.

« previous | next »

hey tumblr !!

i’m back with part two of “i like me better” — and things are definitely starting to heat up 👀

hope you guys can feel the tension simmering between these two because it only gets messier from here.

also, the masterlist for this series is now up, so don’t forget to check that out if you’re new or need to catch up!

reblogs, comments & kisses are always appreciated 💌

with love,

xo, ario 💋

[brattyvox]

★ GALLY’S GIRL — MxF.

NAVIGATION — MASTERLIST // Inbox to be on Taglist!

Thomas has just arrived at the Glade, and only days after his arrival, a girl is introduced, and the first person who catches her eye is Gally.

GENRE ★ Fluff if you squint?

PAIRING ★ Fem reader x Gally

WARNINGS ★ Reader is implied to be injured, nothing serious though, Gally’s a bit of an asshole, reader kind of replaces Teresa? Idk, you’re Teresa in this case, reader is of age.

Word Count — 2.94k

My first ever fic on tumblr, lol.. i hope u guys like it :))

In the early dawn, the glade was alive with the hum of activity. Thomas, still new to the group, was already finding his place among the other boys. They moved together, each knowing their role in the daily routine that kept this place thriving. The scent of cooking fires mingled with the dew-laden grass as the sun began to peek over the towering walls that surrounded them.

The sky above was a canvas of pinks and oranges, the light dancing off the leaves of the trees that grew in an orderly fashion around the clearing. It was as if nature itself had laid out a path for them to follow, a silent guide in this otherwise mysterious world. The air was cool and fresh, hinting at the secrets the day would soon reveal.

Gally took a deep breath, feeling the tension that lingered just beneath the surface of everything. Everyone else seemed to ignore it, but he couldn't shake the feeling that something was about to happen. He watched as the runners returned from their early morning laps, sweat shining on their skin, muscles flexing as they moved.

Suddenly, a low rumbling cut through the serenity of the glade. The boys paused in their tasks, heads tilting upwards as they listened. The sound grew louder, a grating intrusion in their peaceful world. It was the box, rising from the depths of the maze much sooner than expected. A flicker of unease passed over their faces. The box was here way too early.

"What is that?" Thomas asked. Newt being the only other person near him at the time dropped his tools and put his hand on his forehead.

"The box is coming back up but — it's way too early for them to be sending anyone…" He mumbled the last part. "But it can't be resources either… I think it's a person."

"What?" Thomas scoffed, walking over to where the song was coming from along with Newt and the rest of the glade. "Why would they send anyone if it's too early?"

“You’re asking me as if I know.” Newt folds his arms.

“Well, you’ve been here than me I would’ve thought-” Thomas paused when the sound grew louder, his voice was with a mix of curiosity and fear. The rumbling grew closer, the earth beneath their feet vibrating gently with each mechanical jolt.

The group gathered around the hole in the ground where the box normally emerged, their eyes fixed on the distant corner where the box would soon appear. The walls themselves seemed to be holding their breath in anticipation. The grinding noise grew louder, the metal beast rising from the earth with a shudder that sent a chill down Thomas's spine. The box emerged from the shadows.

Inside was…you? A girl?

Your eyes fluttered open, and you gasped for breath, the smells of metal and dust filling your nose as you took in the faces of the stunned group of boys. Your clothes were tattered, and your skin was riddled with dirt, but the look of shock on their faces wasn't for your appearance. It was because you were a girl, and you were sent way too early something they hadn't seen in a very, very long time.

The box shuddered to a halt. The door creaked open, revealing the cramped space you had been confined in. You backed into the corner, legs wobbly and unsteady from the journey. The group of boys parted, creating a pathway for Gally to walk through. Before he reached the box, Thomas stepped forward, hand outstretched to help you, but you shied away, eyes wide with fear and confusion.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he says, voice quiet to not alarm you. “None of us will.”

Thomas stared, feeling as if he recognized you but…it wasn't clicking. You were so out of place here, a stark contrast to the world of boys he'd known since he woke up in the glade with no memory. His mind raced, trying to piece together why you were here, what this meant. The glade had always been a place of order, of understanding their roles and sticking to the rules. Now, everything was off.

The other boys whispered among themselves, a mix of awe and suspicion. Gally's eyes narrowed, a scowl etching itself onto his features. He was the first to break the silence, his voice harsh and accusatory. "What is she doing here?"

“Do you really have to act like that right now? She’s clearly scared.” Thomas grumbled, very fed up with Gally at this point.

Alby, the leader of the glade, pushed through the crowd, his eyes never leaving yours. "Looks like she's been through a lot. Get her to the med hut.” His tone was gentle but firm, a stark contrast to Gally's aggression.

As Thomas helped you out of the box and to the medical hut with Gally, Alby, and Newt following close behind, your hand trembled in his, and he couldn't help but wonder what horrors you had faced. The glade was a harsh place, but it was their home, and the arrival of an outsider, especially a girl, was unprecedented. The whispers grew louder, questions and theories flying around like leaves in a storm. The glade's rhythm was disrupted, and the unease grew stronger with each step you took away from the box.

Once inside the medical hut, the other boys hovered around, eager to help, but you remained guarded. The healer, a gentle-hearted boy named Clint, began to examine you. His eyes searched yours, looking for signs of recognition or understanding. But you were a blank slate, a girl with no name and no memory of how you got here, like the rest. The stitches on your forehead, a stark reminder of your journey, stood out against your skin.

Gally's shadow loomed outside the hut, his suspicion thick enough to be felt through the walls. His arms were crossed tightly over his chest, and his jaw was set. "Why the hell did they send a girl," he spat. "What is this, some sort of prank? Ever since you got here, stuff started to go wrong. And now a girl is here."

Thomas felt his temper rising. He had seen enough fear in those first moments when he arrived to understand how you must feel. "It doesn’t matter how or where she came from, we can't just leave her to fend for herself," he countered, his voice firm but not confrontational. "We need to help her, find out who she is."

Newt, who had been quietly observing from the side, spoke up. "It's never been like this before, man. Girls aren't sent here." His eyes searched yours, filled with a curiosity that matched Thomas's.

Alby sighs and takes a seat next to you. "Do you know your name or where…where you came from?"

You looked around the small, makeshift medical area. "I-I don't know," you stammered, your voice cracking. "I don't remember anything."

The room fell silent, the weight of your words pressing down on them like a heavy blanket. The boys shared looks, a mix of concern and confusion. Alby's eyes softened. "We'll figure it out," he assured you, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder. "You're safe here."

"Thomas, Gally, watch her. I'm going to try and find something to get the dirt off of her. Make sure none of the other boys get to her. God knows what the hell they'll do. Newt, cmon." Alby sighs before walking out, Newt stopping next to Thomas.

“And make sure Gally doesn’t choke her out.” He whispers before finally leaving.

Thomas nods solemnly, his eyes never leaving yours. "Don't worry, I'll make sure you're okay." His voice is gentle, the first hint of kindness you've heard since you woke up in this strange place. You nod slightly, not trusting your voice to speak again. The other boys start to disperse, their whispers and stares still following you like a cloud of bees.

Once Alby is out of earshot, Gally turns to Thomas with a snarl. "I don't trust her," he says, his eyes flicking to you and then back to Thomas.

Thomas's grip tightens around the spear he's holding. "Gally, you're not — that's a stupid assumption to make, okay?"

"After you came here, shit started to spiral out of control and now we have a girl here? You think I'm stupid for assuming she could be a danger to us?!" Gally's voice raised slightly, your ears perking to his voice. His eyes landed on you, sighing and pulling Thomas away. "She doesn't know her name and she doesn't remember where she came from."

“You trusted me, didn’t you?”

“…That’s different.” Gally groans. “We don’t get sent girls.”

Thomas's gaze remained steady. "The point is we treat her like we would any newbie. Help her, keep her safe, and figure out what the hell is going on." His voice was firm, leaving no room for argument.

Gally looked skeptical, but nodded begrudgingly. "Fine. But if she causes any trouble…" He left the threat hanging in the air, his eyes dark.

"I'm cold…" you mumble. Gally's face contorted.

"It's not even cold outside, how are you cold-?" Gally began, but was cut off by Thomas' gentle nudge.

"Let's get her a blanket, okay?" Thomas offered with a kind smile. You nodded, feeling a small spark of gratitude for his understanding. He left the hut and returned moments later with a warm, woolen blanket that smelled faintly of the glade's flora. Wrapping it around you, he sat down opposite, his eyes never leaving yours.

"What's your name?" he asked softly. The question was simple, but it held a world of meaning in this place where everything was a puzzle.

You searched your thoughts, but the fog was thick and heavy. "I-I don't know," you replied, your voice quivering. "They never told me."

Gally leaned against the wall. "Well, until you remember, your name is Greenie." His tone was not unkind, but it was firm, a reminder that until you had proven yourself, you were still a puzzle piece that didn't quite fit.

Thomas flinched at the term, but you just nodded, pulling the blanket tighter around your shoulders. "Ignore him, okay? I'm gonna check on Alby to see where he is with the stuff. Gally, be nice to her." He shot a look at Gally before exiting the medical hut, leaving you and Gally in an awkward silence.

Gally took a deep breath, his features softening slightly. "Look, I'm not trying to be an ass," he began, his voice gruff. "It's just that we don't get girls here, and the last thing we need is for you to mess up our routine. No kidding, you’re surrounded by boys who haven’t seen a girl in years. Who knows what the hell they’d do to you.”

You nodded, not knowing how to respond. The walls of the hut felt as if they were closing in on you, suffocating you with their unspoken questions and accusations. Your eyes searched the room, landing on the shelves filled with medical supplies and makeshift weapons. You felt utterly out of place, a wildflower in a field of thorns.

Gally's gaze softened, sensing your distress. "Look, I'm not saying you're gonna cause trouble, but we just need to be careful, alright?" He paused, his eyes searching yours for understanding. "Everything changes now, and we need to stick together."

"…What's your name?" you ask. The question felt strange on your lips, foreign and yet familiar at the same time. Gally's eyes narrowed, his arms still crossed.

"I told you; I don't trust you so I'm not tellin'," he replied curtly. "Until then, I'm kinda like your superior or whatever."

You tilted your head, even pouting. "That guy before kept saying Gally and Thomas but I don't know which one is which," you whispered. Gally's stance didn't change, but something in his eyes did, a flicker of something that wasn't quite anger or suspicion anymore.

"Fine," he huffed. "It's Gally." He pointed to Thomas' empty spot. "And that's Thomas. He's the one who brought you in here."

You studied him, the name 'Gally' echoing faintly in your mind like the distant chime of a bell. "Thank you, Gally."

He nodded curtly, still keeping his guard up. "Look, I'm sorry if I'm being harsh, but we've got a system here. It keeps us all alive, and we can't have anyone messing with it. Do you understand?"

You nodded, the warmth of the blanket beginning to seep into your bones. "Yes, you’ve…said that. I won't cause any trouble," you promised, your voice small and hopeful.

Gally sighed, his stance relaxing slightly. "Good."

You twiddled your thumbs, now avoiding eye contact. You still wanted to talk, but you didn't know about what. So, you started to ramble.

"So…what is this place? And — hlong have you been in here?" you asked, trying to piece together the puzzle of this strange place. Gally's eyes searched the room, as if looking for answers in the shadows.

"Too long," he murmured, his voice distant. "A couple of years, I think." He paused, considering his words. "It's hard to keep track of time when every day is the same. And no one really knows what this place is.”

The silence that followed was filled with the unspoken understanding of lives lived in a perpetual cycle of fear and survival. You could see the weariness in Gally's eyes, the weight of his responsibilities etched into the lines of his face. "What's it like outside this place?" you whispered, the curiosity burning like a tiny flame in the pit of your stomach.

Gally's expression darkened. "We don’t know. Like I said, we’ve been stuck in here for years." he said bluntly. "You should be worrying about what it’s like in here. Especially for a girl." His voice held a warning, a clear boundary you were not to cross. Yet, the curiosity grew stronger, the need to understand this world that was now your home.

"You seem to care a lot about me being a girl in here. So like, are you gonna protect me or something? Since it's too much for a girl like me?" You asked Gally, your voice a mix of hope and challenge.

Gally looked at you, his eyes narrowing slightly. Was she flirting with him? No, he’s just crazy. "I'm not saying that."

"Well, you're acting like because I'm a girl, I can't survive in here so does that mean you're gonna protect me, yes or no?" You questioned, your voice a little stronger than before.

Gally sighed and rubbed his eyes. "Look, it's not like that. It's just…-"

"Then what is it?" You push your hair out of your face, causing Gally to choke on his words.

"I-uh, I just-" He stammers before stopping. "Look, Thomas is the one who'll be looking after you."

"But why can't you?" You press, feeling a strange need to understand the dynamics of this place.

Gally's eyes harden. "Because Thomas is the nicest one of us all. He's the one who can handle…this." He gestures at you, his voice laced with something you can't quite pinpoint.

"But he's not the one saying I won't make it because I'm a girl. It's you. You seem to care a lot." You looked up at him, your eyes searching his, trying to understand the complex emotions that played across his face.

Gally's cheeks flushed slightly. "It's not that, it's just…" He trailed off, at a loss for words. "The glade isn't for the weak." His voice was gruff, but the way he said it suggested that he didn't believe you were weak, just different.

"Well, I'm not weak." you slide off the bed and walk over to him, the height difference between you stark. "I've survived whatever they put me through to get here. I can survive this."

Gally's jaw tightens, his eyes never leaving yours. "You might think you're strong, but the glade and the maze…it's not like anything you've ever faced. I mean, you won’t be going into the maze, anyway. We're all here for a reason, and none of us are weak. But we're also all we've got." His words hang in the air, a stark reminder of the precariousness of your situation.

You stand tall, the blanket falling from your shoulders. "I'm not going anywhere. And I'll do whatever it takes to survive." Your voice is steady, the resolve in it unmistakable. Gally stares at you, his expression unreadable.

"I guess we'll see," he says finally, turning away. "For now, you need to rest. We'll figure out your role once you're feeling better." His words are dismissive, but the tension in his shoulders suggests he's still processing what you've said.

You scoff and walk back over to the bed, sitting down and turning away from him. Gally notices the blanket on the floor, wondering if he should pick it up and give it to you or if he should let you stay cold. He wanted to leave it, but - ugh, he couldn't. He picks the blanket up and storms over, putting it around your shoulders. "Here," he says gruffly, his face a mask of frustration. "Don't get too comfortable, Greenie. We've got work to do and I'm not carrying you around."

You look up at him, a hint of a smile playing at the corner of your mouth. "Thank you," you murmur, your eyes never leaving his. Gally clears his throat, uncomfortable under your gaze. He turns to leave, needing to get out of the room before he says something else stupid.

[rivwritesiguess]

Lost and Found - Chapter 1: Lost

Chat I fell down the Task Force 141 rabbit hole a while ago and now this is here

Word Count: 8.6k Angst, like hurt no comfort angst Poly!141 x gn!omega!reader Chapter Summary: A mission goes wrong. The pack loses a member. What happens when that member isn't as lost as they though? Warnings: Character death, horrible attempts at doing European accents/dialects, probably a few plot holes, military inaccuracies Notes: It's an omegaverse fic, the 141 is a pack and they all love each other. Also reader is gender neutral, they/them pronouns. this story does not follow the Modern Warfare story whatsoever, none of the main people are gonna die (no headshots), and it will be filled with military inaccuracies because I'm just here to love hot men and babygirl-ify the men in a military propaganda video game :). As said in the title, this is chapter one, so the there will be more. The guys might be a bit out of character in this, oopsies. I might end up rewriting this in the future but for now this is it. I also made an entire sims 4 build of the pack house for this fic alone and spent way too long on it 💀 there will be smut (afab) in this fix at some point in the distant distant future Made the little banner thing with Canva and the divider with Photopea Navigation Series Masterlist (this is currently the only chapter) Also on AO3 next

  “C’mon up now and we might spare you. Make us come down there and your death will be a slow one.” It’s not good. None of this is good. It took such a turn. Everything had seemed to be going well until Kyle said that there were cars approaching the building. “Don’t be stupid. 15 versus 1 is not a fight you want to start.”

  “They think there’s just one o’ us.”

  “Could make use of that. Catch ‘em off guard.”

  “It’d be easier tae surprise them if we weren’t cornered in the damn basement.”

  “Didn’t seem like you had any better ideas.”

  “Anythin’ but a damn basement.”

“That’s enough.” John cut the conversation short with a sharp tone. It wasn’t like an actual argument, just playful bickering. Now, however, was not the time.

  John’s brain was going a mile a minute. There wasn’t much he could think to do at the moment. They were cornered. He didn’t know how this happened. The mission had gone well. It was only once they got to the safe house to rest for the night that things went wrong. 

  You were just getting ready to fall asleep with Johnny on the bed upstairs. John had taken the bed in the living room near the door. Simon was on the front porch while Kyle sat on top of the building, both keeping watch until it was their turn to sleep. You were pulling Johnny under the covers with a smile, ready for the cuddles the beta would offer you. However, then you heard the sound of Kyle coming over the radio. 

  “I’m seeing two cars coming towards us.”

  John had ordered Simon to come inside so you could all come up with a plan. It should’ve been easy, but the cars got to the house much faster than the group expected. There was no time to run, so Kyle suggested getting down into the basement to come up with a plan. With two cars, you all thought there would be at most 10 people. Not 15.

  There weren’t supposed to be any problems. No one was supposed to be anywhere near this safe house, no one was supposed to even know about it. Obviously, Laswell’s information was wrong.

  John was beginning to feel a bit anxious. It wasn’t much, but that underlying feeling that this wouldn’t be ending well was starting to set in the pit of his stomach. He looked back at you. You’d been quiet since the group moved down to the basement. 

  He never would’ve brought you on this mission if he saw this coming. It was supposed to be simple, something that wouldn’t put you in too much danger. He knew you could handle danger, but that didn’t mean he liked you being in it. But now you are. He let you come along, and now things are looking bad. You’re in danger. His pack is in danger. He needed to find a way to get you all out of it. It was not only his job as Captain, but also his job as the pack alpha.

  “Captain, if we go up there they might get overwhelmed. We’ve got a shot at takin’ them by surprise,” Johnny suggested once more.

  “A chance. It’s not guaranteed,” Kyle injected.

  “Is anythin’ ever?”

  “It’s risky.”

  “We only saw twa cars. They could be bluffin’, trying tae scare us.”

  “Not ‘us’. They only think one person is down here.”

  “They’re idiots if they can’t tell there’s more than ane person. Captain’s got blankets on the couch and Ace and ah had blankets on the bed. If they’re stupid enough to no’ notice that, it might be easy tae take them doon.” Simon shook his head.

  “Even if they’re all stupid, they’ve got weapons an’ we’ll all be coming out of a little door for them to point those weapons at. Stupid men and weapons are ne’er mix well. Even if there’s not 15, we’d still be outnumbered. People will get hit and hurt.”

  “It’s better we get hurt than stay stuck doon here waitin’ fer them tae come tae us.”

  “Or we could stay here an’ take up positions ‘round the room. They come down an’ we start firin’. It doesn’t risk someone getting hurt just ‘cause you wanted to rush in.”

  “Ah didnae say that.”

  “I never said you did.”

  “Stop it.” You were the one to speak up this time. You didn’t need a commanding tone like John. The group listened to you regardless of your tone or not. You were you. You were their omega. If you wanted something, they wanted to give it. And right now? You wanted them to stop arguing, so they’d do just that.

  The attention was directed back to John as he stood up silently. He glanced around the room, coming up with a plan. He nodded, more to himself than the rest of the group. He faced all of you, starting to talk.

  “Alright. Soap’s right. Those guys up there aren’t expecting five of us. We’ve got the chance to take ‘em by surprise. Ghost’s got a point as well. The door up there we’d walk out of probably has all their guns trained on it as we speak. They’ll shoot us down. But we can’t stay down ‘ere. It’s giving ‘em time to plan for any possibility. They might catch on that there’s more than one of us.” He took a breath. “I’ve got a plan, but it’s a bit dodgy. They think there’s only one of us, so one of us goes up. Plays at surrendering. Once those guys up there aren’t all holding their weapons at the door, the person who went up will say something to let the rest of the group down here know. Then, the four left will go out and start shooting.”

  The group was quiet. No one seemed to really like this plan, but John was right. Waiting down here only gave them time to realize what was going on, and going out as a group only gave them a large target. 

  “Ah’ll gae up,” Johnny said, starting to pull his gun out of his holster.

  “No, you stay down here. I’ll go.” Kyle put his hand on Johnny’s, stopping the other beta as he started to put his own weapons to the side.

  “Neither of you are doin’ that. I know how to handle this. I’ll be the one to go up.” Though Simon said this, he didn’t make any immediate move to disarm himself. He probably wouldn’t do so until the very last second. 

  “It was my idea. I’ll be the one to surrender,” John argued. 

  They were arguing about who would be putting themselves closer to death’s door. They didn’t want to let another member of the pack do it, not when there was no guarantee that the people upstairs would actually spare whoever went up. 

  You hated it. This argument wouldn’t end any way you wanted it to. Someone could die. That couldn’t happen. No one in your pack was going to be dying. You couldn’t let that happen.

  You quickly tried to think of something that could solve this issue. A plan better than John’s. You’d seen the blueprints of the house. The basement didn’t have an exit that would lead outside. There were, however, a bunch of weird rooms down here. There was even a small holding area with soundproof walls. There was even- 

  Wait.

  That’s it.

  “I think there might be a way out from down here. A different exit.” 

  Everyone’s head turned to you so quickly they could’ve flown off.

  “Why didnae ye say anythin’ earlier, Ace?!” Johnny asked. 

  “I- I’m sorry, I didn’t think of it till now.” 

  Lying was never something you enjoyed doing. Doing it to your pack made you feel disgusted with yourself. If you weren’t lying for a good reason, the omega inside of you might’ve been screaming and crying. But even it understood this was necessary. You had to keep your pack safe.

  John sighed.

  “It’s alright, sweetheart. Just show us where it is.”

  The focus was now on you. You turned around, walking out of the small room after making sure that the guys upstairs had stayed upstairs. Once seeing that they had, you walked quickly and quietly, occasionally glancing back to make sure all of your pack was still behind you.

  You debated if you were really going to go through with this. If your pack caught on to what you were doing, they’d stop you without hesitation. You’d have to deal with their disappointment and then have to deal with one of them going up and potentially getting themself killed. You couldn’t let one of them get killed. They were too important. Not just to you, but in their fields. To each other. You didn’t even know if this would work, but you had to try. You’d rather this than the world losing one of them. You could only hope it went how you wanted. You could only hope that your pack trusts you enough to listen.

  You got to the end of the hallway and opened the door in the left corner. It was a sitting area, but this time there were two doors on the far side of the wall. You took a deep breath before looking back at your pack, who all seemed confused.

  “That door, over there. Get in there.” You pointed to the door on the left side. You stepped out of the doorway so the rest of them could walk past you. They, however, hesitated. You sighed. “Just trust me here, okay? Please?”

  You didn’t want to exploit their trust in you, but there was no other choice right now. You had to get them into that room. 

  Another thing you had to do was control your scent. Sure, you were wearing scent blockers, but your scent was naturally pretty strong. When your emotions got too high, your scent normally pushed past the blockers. So you had to focus on keeping it suppressed right now even though you were full of fear. They wouldn’t go in first if that was the case. They wouldn’t think you were lying, but they’d want you to be closest to safety if you were feeling fear.

  “We’re following you, love.” Simon pulled the ‘love’ card. You weren’t hiding your scent well enough. He only did that when he was trying to keep you calm. They were following you to stay in between you and the danger that lurked upstairs. You needed to do better. Suppress your scent. It gives you a headache to do, but if they don’t walk into the room first, the whole plan would go up in flames.

  You couldn’t argue with them walking over now without looking suspicious. So, with a small nod, you turned and walked over to the door. You had to think. Think. Think.

  Once closer, you opened the door. It was a heavy one, which you suspected since it was supposedly soundproof. You hoped that was true. There was a small window in the door that slid open and closed from the outside. You stepped around and used your body to keep the door open, still trying to figure out a way to get them to go in without you.

  As the door was pressing against your back, you realized you could simply continue to hold the door as they walked in. That was the only way this could work. They just needed to listen to you.

  “Go on,” you said, motioning inside with your head. Johnny stepped forward, approaching your side to take the door from you.

  “Let me hold it, Bonnie.” You moved away from him slightly, stepping back and moving the door away from him as well. You shook your head.

  You saw the confusion on their faces when you did this. There was no exact reason for you to not give Johnny the door. He could hold it just fine. You had to think of something to make them not confused. Something natural. Something that said you were calm and not terrified.

  You rolled your eyes.

  “I can hold a door, Soap. Let me do one thing, won’t you?” You plastered a playful smile on your face, doing your best to get it to reach your eyes as well. You weren’t feeling playful. No, you were full of terror. Your senses had always been higher than others. Right now you could hear the people upstairs starting to pace. Their patience was running low. They’d be coming downstairs within the next few minutes.

  You couldn’t let your pack realize this. They could end up feeling cornered and decide to fight. Someone would get hurt during the fight, and that wasn’t what you needed. You couldn’t let them realize your terror either. If they did, they’d get suspicious. You shouldn’t be feeling such terror if you knew a way out. They’d realize something was off. They’d catch on. They’d never listen. They wouldn’t do what you wanted. They’d go through with John’s plan, or they’d go fight and then one of them would die and then you would lose them and you would’ve failed and then-

  “‘Right, ‘right, I get it. Ye’re independent an’ aw that,” Johnny said, hands raised in mock surrender as he smiled at you. It’s playful. You were starting to feel thankful for that one theatre class you decided to take back in school.

  You could tell the group felt a bit relieved as well. They were starting to be hesitant about your supposed ‘exit’. They were also worried you’d be panicking and doing this just to stop one of them from going up. But if you’re being playful and you’re able to joke around with them, then it’s fine. 

  Johnny walked past you and into the room with a smile in your direction. Kyle did the same. John followed behind. Simon went in last, and you seemed to follow.

  Once they went in, they realized something was wrong. The room was pretty dark, not able to properly be inspected from outside. But now that they’re in, they realize there are no more rooms attached to this one. This was a dead end. 

  John was the first one to realize this, but he was too late. He turned around to see you quickly stepping away and letting the door shut with you on the other side. He ran over, only to find that there was no handle on this side of the door.

  “Ace! What are you doing?!” He moved over slightly as Simon started to try and open the door. John looked through the little window on the door, trying to get an explanation from you. Simon had no success with the door. Johnny and Kyle were now standing behind them, confused and starting to feel a bit panicked.

  You were staring at the door with wide eyes, shaking slightly. You looked back at the exit door to the room you’d just come in from and then back to him. Your breathing picked up slightly as you pulled your bag around your front, pulling out a burner phone.

  “What are they doing? What’s gaun on?!” Johnny asked from next to John. He didn’t want to push, but he was trying to angle himself so he could see you through the window as well. He wasn’t able to, making his panic only start to increase. Meanwhile, Simon took a few steps back from the door, starting to pace through the room. 

  “Ace? C’mon, hun, talk to us, what’s going on?” Kyle asked, standing anxiously behind John. He couldn’t see you. He needed to see you. See what was going on in your head. Why the hell you’ve locked them in here. He needs to know your plan. He wants to trust you, but he needs to see you first. He has to,

  “I-... Laswell knows the safe house isn’t safe. She knows where you are. Once the people upstairs leave, then- then our people will show up to let you out. It’s- it’s gonna be fine.” Your voice was shaking. Your terror was full force now that you’d gotten them safe. The next part of your plan wasn’t a part you enjoyed, but it was a part you had to do. You glanced at the exit door of the room again.

  “Darlin’, whatever you’re doing, you need to rethink it. You need to let us out. We can’t do anything from here. Let us out. Now,” John said. It started soft, but his tone turned commanding towards the end. He might be your alpha, but he’s also your superior as well, and you weren’t listening. 

  “Look, this- this isn’t the best scenario, obviously, but it- it’s needed, and- and I know you guys won’t agree with me, but- but-”

  “Agree wi’ what?! What are ye tryin’ tae do?!” Johnny asked. 

  John saw the tears that gathered in your eyes. He was so confused. Normally, he could read you like a book. He could always tell what you were thinking and why you were thinking it. But now he had no clue what was going on in your head. What were you trying to do here?

  Simon’s thoughts were racing. There was no way out. You locked them in. Why would you do this? Why would you just lock them in here? Could you possibly be a traitor? Had you been one all this time? Were you about to call whoever was upstairs down here to turn them in? Did you tell them that the group was here?

  No. That wasn’t the case. Not only did he refuse to believe that you’d betray them due to his own bias, but there was also your scent that was in the air. When your panic slipped through the scent blockers during missions, it helped him push through the mission just to get you out of the situation. When you two were falling asleep in his bed, your scent helped ground him. It helped keep him calm. Now, your scent was anything but calm. There wasn’t any satisfaction that there would be if you were a traitor. There wasn’t any happiness. You weren’t feeling smug. No, he could smell it, you were feeling terror. Panic. Hesitation.

  And yet, underneath all of that, Simon could sense the smallest bit of relief. He was hurt at first, taking it as relief that meant you were a traitor. But with everything else on top, he was mostly confused. He couldn’t understand why you would be feeling-...

  When the realization hit him, he froze. He looked to the door where John, Kyle, and Johnny were still trying to get you to explain. 

  “Just tell us what you’re doin’, please.”

  “They’re going to risk sacrificin’ themself.” 

  The room froze once Simon had muttered the words. Johnny turned back with the same force that he’d looked back at you earlier when you mentioned a way out. That isn’t right. Simon’s wrong. You wouldn’t do that. Simon’s lying. It’s a joke. A cruel, cruel joke that was out of place and he had no right to be saying right now.

  Kyle turned around as well, looking at Simon. He needed him to take his words back. Just take it back. Why would he ever suggest that? You- you couldn’t- you wouldn’t- you wouldn’t-

  Meanwhile, John stayed facing you. He’d gone quiet the minute Simon spoke. He stared at you, trying to read your face. You stood on the other side of the door, staring back. Your eyes were sad, but your stance was set. You made no move to let them out. And that was all John needed to see to realize that Simon was right. This was your plan all along. You never knew a way out. You hadn’t brought them here with the intention of getting everyone out. You didn’t even have a way to get them all out.

  No, you’d brought them here with a different intention. You’d brought them here to save them. To trick them and keep them safe while putting yourself in the line of danger. You were having no thoughts about letting them out now, dead set on your own plan. 

  It wasn’t right. John had a plan. It would’ve kept you safe. None of them would’ve ever let you be the one to go upstairs. And John knew that you knew that. He knew that you knew if you suggested being the one to surrender yourself the others would have shot you down immediately and brushed you to the side before continuing to argue. You wanted to keep them alive, and this was your way of doing that.

  John didn’t approve of your way. Not at all. He would’ve changed the plan. Would’ve gone with Simon’s instead. Anything but this. Anything but you being the one to get hurt. He was desperate to try and get through to you, but just looking at your eyes told him you were set.

  “Don’t do this, alright? Don’t,” he tried. He knew it wouldn’t work, but he had to try. His voice was desperate. Quiet. He wanted you to listen. He’d be on his knees right now if you would still be able to see him.

  “I’m sorry,” was all you said in response to him.

  And those words were what told Johnny and Kyle that Simon was right. You were trying to risk sacrificing yourself here. Kyle couldn’t even talk. Maybe this was a bad dream. He’d had a few like this before, ones where you sacrificed yourself to save them. Maybe it’s just one of those.

  Johnny, on the other hand, no longer had the restraint that he had before. He lightly pushed John to the side, who was too busy trying to think of a way to get you to not do this to care. 

  “Bonnie, ma heart, hen, luvbug, please, dinnae dae this, ‘kay? Open this door. Ye dinnae have tae dae this for us, ye understand? This isnae what needs tae happen, what needs tae happen is ye openin’ this door, aye? Just open the door, let us oot, we can figure it oot! One of us will go up, follow through wi’ his plan, no’ this.”

  You shook your head.

  “I can’t let any of you do that. You’re all too important.”

  “No’ as important as ye! Let us oot! We can dae somethin’! Talk, come up wi’ a different plan, kick their sorry arses, an’ if we get beat then we go down kickin’ an’ screamin’ together! Anything but this. We cannae lose you. We can no’. Open this door, come on, please.”

  “Technically, I’m not. You are all more skilled than me. I offer the least amount to the team. I’m the loss that won’t cost as much compared to the rest of you.”

  “According tae who?! Nae one who actually matters thinks that way aboot ye, open the door!”

  “The people upstairs still think there’s only one person here. They are expecting someone. I’m going to make sure they don't stop thinking that it’s only someone. None of you have to go up there and get into a fight you might not walk out of.”

  “No, no. That’s not what we do. We’re a team. We’re a pack, we stick together. Ye don’t get to just decide this fer aw us! Open the damn door, Ace, please!”

  You took a few steps forward towards the door. For a second, they thought Johnny’s pleading had gotten through to you. They nearly felt relieved when you lifted your hand.

  But why would things ever go their way? Your hand kept moving up, grabbing the smaller door to the window on the door.

  “Luv, no, no please-”

  “I love you. All of you. You’ve been better to me than I ever thought any pack would be. I’m eternally thankful for the way you all welcomed me in and everything you all have done-”

  “Cut it out. Quit it, you’re not saying goodbye.” John took his place in the window again as Johnny was dealing with the fact that you were shutting them out. He nearly stumbled when John lightly pushed him to the side, mind racing.

  John was fuming. How could he not have realized this? How could he not have seen the signs? He should’ve gone over the blueprints with you. Then he never would’ve fallen for you saying that there was a way out. He shouldn’t have brought you on this mission. He should’ve kept you at home. His gut had told him to do that, didn’t it? Or was he imagining that feeling in order to give himself more of the blame? He should’ve realized. You were his omega. You were their omega. How could he not have realized?

  “I’m sorry, John. I’m sorry, Johnny. I’m sorry, Kyle. I’m sorry, Simon.” You whispered your apologies one after the other, voice soft. You never said their names on a mission. You were a bit paranoid in that regard, not wanting any enemies to potentially hear and use it to get any information. You saying it meant you had truly made up your mind. There was no swaying you.

  John felt helpless. Johnny couldn’t get through to you, and neither could he. How would this even work? If you went up there and died, how would his life be without you in it? How would he function, how would he live? How would he wake up in the morning and not be met with your happy smile when he left his room? How would he get through his day without your random short texts of encouragement? How would he go to sleep without having seen you curled up on the couch, cuddling with Johnny and Kyle? How would he eat breakfast without seeing you dragging Simon along to eat with them?

  He shook his head. He wouldn’t have to do any of that. This… This wasn’t happening. None of this was happening. You were all at home, in the pack house. You were in the living room; there was some sports game on the TV that he wasn’t paying attention to. Simon was poking fun at Johnny for his enthusiasm; Johnny was overreacting to it. Kyle was bringing over some snacks. You were leaning back on John, your back against his chest as you smiled watching the other three. He was watching you. Their omega. His omega. Safe. You were safe. You had to be safe.

  Simon stepped forward, a bit more aggressive than he meant to be when he pushed John to the side.

  “Open this door. You’re not doing this. You’re not allowed; you understand me? I am ordering you to open this bloody door.” You only shook your head. The tears that had been in your eyes were now starting to fall down your face. A growl started to form in Simon’s chest as his fist slammed on the door. “Open it!”

  “I love you, Simon. I love all of you.”

  “No, no, don’t you fucking dare, I can’t lose y-”

  You closed the window.

 Johnny moved back over, slamming his hand on the door as he called out for you. Simon let Johnny push him over, currently in a state of shock. You ignored him. You always listened to him. You always listened to him. Why didn’t you listen? Why didn’t you just fucking listen?! Why were you doing this?! You crawled your way into their hearts, into his heart. Their hearts had built new walls around you to keep you inside, and yet now you were breaking those walls down from the inside without warning. How could you?

  John was the first to do something. He stepped forward, grabbing Johnny and pulling him away from the door.

  “What the fuck, Cap-”

  “You need to be quiet. This room seems to be soundproof, but if it isn’t, then they’ll ‘ear you and come down here. They’ll catch Ace.”

  “They’re gonna catch them anyway! They could end up gettin’ themselves killed, we need tae stop them!”

  “No, no, they-” John shook his head. “They said they might show mercy. When Ace goes up, they’ll buy us time for backup to get here. They’ll get out before they get hurt. They’ll be alright.”

  John had to believe it. He had to believe it wasn’t your plan to get yourself killed. The thought of you dying made him feel like vomiting. The thought of you going up there with all those people, not even trying to fight. The thought of your body- no. No, there’d be no ‘your body’, you were going to be fine.

  “That was a goodbye. They don’t plan on coming back to us alive.” Kyle said quietly as if he’d just had the realization himself.

  “Exactly! We have tae get oot o’ here, stop them, shout at them, drag them oot of here, somethin’! We have tae-”

  Simon walked over, grabbed Johnny, and pulled him further away from the door as he put a hand over Johnny’s mouth.

  “We can’t. There’s nothin’ we can do.” Johnny struggled for a moment, muffled disagreements leaving him as he tried to get out of Simon’s grip. Simon shook his head. “We can’t do anything except shut up and wait. If we get the attention to come down here, then what they did is for nothing. They might have a chance of bein’ spared, but if the people up there figure out they’re lyin’ and hidin’ us down here, they could get pissed off and just kill them anyway.”

  Johnny managed to push Simon away, going back to the door. He wasn’t planning on listening to Simon. Not when you were still alive and he could be trying to do something.

  “We could stop them, we just-”

  “No, we can’t,” John said, his tone final. It wasn’t a realization he wanted to come to, but he had to. There wasn’t anything they could do. 

  John motioned for Simon to grab Johnny again. Simon did just that. He grabbed Johnny, pulling him and getting him against the back wall. The beta froze before crumbling to the ground, his head in his hands. He was speechless.

  John and Simon stood still, not knowing what to do next. They couldn’t look at one another. They’d failed as alphas. Their betas were suffering. You were in danger, and they hadn’t gotten you out of it. Their omega was going to get hurt and they couldn’t do anything to stop it. 

  It was quiet for a few moments before Kyle spoke up.

  “...maybe they did know a way out and we all just couldn’t go through. Maybe the plan’s to get out and draw the attention away from here. Or maybe they’ll be able to fight their way out. I mean, yeah, sure, they’re outnumbered, but they do well in training. Maybe- maybe they’re quicker than they let on and they’ll take them lot down.”

  “They are definitely cleverer than we thought. Underestimated ‘em. They managed to trick us down here without us even fully giving it a second thought,” John said with a sigh.

  “No, they didnae trick us. They didnae trick us, they just….. It wasn’t trickin’. They wouldn’t. They…” Johnny was speaking quietly, a big difference from the anger and action he had shown only moments ago. He couldn’t properly grasp this, but he knew he didn’t like the idea of you ‘tricking’ them. That made you sound like a bad person. You were not a bad person.

  Kyle walked over, sitting down next to Johnny, feeling a need to try and comfort the other beta. He put a hand on Johnny’s shoulder, nodding.

  “This… This is just a confusing situation. They’re gonna be fine. They’ll find a way ou-”

  Kyle was interrupted by the muffled sounds of gunshots echoing through the house. It went on for about five seconds before they stopped.

  The group went silent. They stayed silent for another five minutes, waiting for something. Anything. More gunshots. The sound of you fighting. Maybe it stopped because you had managed to get away. Or maybe you managed to handle the people firing at you and the gunfire would start up again with you handling more of them. Or maybe there’d be more fighting and that would be the rescue team who would have a medevac to get you out. Treat whatever wounds you received. Maybe the door would open. Maybe it’d be you, coming to let them out. You changed your mind, the gunshots upstairs were actually the group of fifteen fighting amongst each other, you were coming back to them.

  However, nothing came. No pounds of fighting. No gunshots. No door opening. Instead, there were just quiet footsteps above their heads. Footsteps that walked out of the house and never came back.

  It was about 30 minutes before the door opened. It wasn’t you.

  As they exited the basement, they saw there were discarded guns on the floor. Bullet casings on the ground. Holes in the basement door and the walls around it. Blood on the floor.

  The blood pooled right in front of the basement door. It trailed out the front door like a body had been dragged. The trail went outside, the blood mixing with dirt and grass. It stopped and gathered at a spot in the driveway as if someone had dropped a body there before throwing it into a car.

  If that blood all belonged to the same person, there’s no way that they lived.

  There was a lot the group noticed. The blood, the guns, the bullet casings, the holes in the wall and the basement door.

  The main thing they noticed was the one thing that wasn’t there. 

  You.

  You were gone. They had lost you.

  They failed.

  It’d been a year. One whole year.

  The first three months were the worst. They’d given a bunch of lies to the psychological evaluator, claiming they were fine to work. It was a lie, and everyone knew it, but taking one of the best task forces out of the playing field wasn’t a good idea, even if it was temporary. They were silent on base. They didn’t talk to anyone unless it was during training or mission related. They didn’t look at each other. They didn’t spend time in the pack building unless it was to sleep. They were silent on missions. There were no playful jokes, no joking jabs. Nothing. Dead silence aside from orders. The base watched the closest group of people there become the most distant from each other.

  It was worse behind closed doors. In their pack building, tensions were high. The air was thick with the smell of anger and hurt. When they had to be in a room alone together, it was terrible. They’d screamed and shouted at each other when it was just them, pushing the blame back and forth. It wasn’t until Laswell caught one of these screaming matches that she was able to get the team into therapy. She’d talked to John, told him that it was for the better of the pack. At first, she was understanding of the refusal. However, when she asked the third time and was met with nothing, she knew she had to take a different approach. When John tried disagreeing, she told him that the pack had no choice. Either they went through with the therapy or else they’d be put on an indefinite leave. It’d been two months since your death when they all had their first meetings.

  It was one month of therapy before pack counseling had started. All of them were against it at first, not wanting to see each other. However, each of their therapists managed to convince them eventually. When the group first got together, it was silent. The only person talking during the session was the therapist. This went on for the next few weekly sessions. That was until the therapist managed to push a button.

  “You all blame each other… isn’t the omega the one at fault?”   It had been chaos. The screaming and shouting went on for about ten minutes. It turned into them screaming at the idea of any of them being blamed for what happened. Then, the group realized that the therapist hadn’t reacted at all. 

  “You’re still a pack. You think your omega dying has torn you apart, but the way you all just jumped to defend them? To defend each other? You’re still close, you still want each other. You just need to let yourselves want that. You think there’s no way to recover, but this has the opportunity to bring you all closer together than you were before. You just have to let it.”

  The sessions changed after that one. It was still quiet in the beginning, but they ended up willing to talk to each other. Then they ended up wanting to talk to each other. They started spending time together outside of sessions, started doing more things in the pack house. About half a year after losing you, they found themselves sitting on the couch together again. Cuddling. Holding each other. Helping each other.

  They got their act together. They had to. You never would’ve wanted them to tear themselves apart. You’d given yourself up for a reason. For them. If they were to throw that away, they’d be betraying you. They couldn’t do that. Not after what you did for them. Not after the sacrifice you had done for them. You’d given your life to keep them together, and they didn’t plan to let anything come in the way between them again. Your memory kept the pack strong.

  Missions had gone back to what they once were. They were similar to how things were before you had joined, but never the same. They all felt more protective over one another. The idea of losing another member of the pack kept them on their feet. Some thought it’d be their downfall, that it would distract them. It was the opposite. It encouraged them to work even harder to return home. If they died, your sacrifice would be for nothing. 

  Their next mission had come across John’s desk a few days ago. It was one where they’d be working with someone not on the task force, something they had only done one or two times since losing you. The only information on the person was their abilities and skills. John tried to find more on the person, but there was nothing. When he asked Laswell, she had told him it was all classified information. They wouldn’t know anything up until the mission briefing the day of. So, when the group walked into the meeting room, it was safe to say their curiosity was piqued by the lone figure against the wall.

  The figure wasn’t looking at them. They weren’t looking at anyone. They had a hood up and their face down, making it impossible for them to make out their features. Along with that, they had no scent. It wasn’t that their scent was just bland, it was that it wasn’t there. Even when they’d met the rare person who didn’t have a designation, that person still had a scent. It was normally something bland and basic, but it was still there. However, this figure had absolutely nothing.

  There wasn’t much time to ask questions before the briefing started. The four of them listened, but ever since seeing the figure they had a strange feeling in their stomach. A feeling they couldn’t quite describe. It wasn’t bad, but it didn’t feel bad either.

  “I’m glad all of you could make it. We’ve got some very important intel on the line here, so I need everyone to listen very, very carefully.” 

  The Colonel giving the briefing was British, but it wasn’t someone who John had met before. Laswell knew him, and when he was asking Laswell for assistance with a mission, Laswell had offered the 141. The Colonel had the scent of an alpha. He looked to be much older than John, maybe in his mid-50s. 

  “There’s an organization that is attempting to weaken the military to open up the space for a larger attack over the past five years. They’ve been attacking officers in their homes away from base, attacking actual bases, and stealing intel. We don’t know why they are doing it, but we plan to find out. There’s a safe house we’ve been watching for a while now. The organization has been using it lately as a stop between transporting illegal weapons. We’ve seen a few of their higher ups go through here. Hawk-” The Colonel motioned to the figure. “-has figured out the next time one of these higher-ups, Christopher Stone, is going to be passing through. It’s going to be today at 2200. Grabbing this higher up is the best chance we have at getting the information we need to finally bring these people down.”

  “So we’re going in and nabbing a guy?” 

  John looked over to the other side of the table. He recognized the soldiers on that side. He’d seen them around base. They were from one of the better platoons on base. The man who had spoken up was the sergeant. John could smell the alpha all over him. It was as if the man was purposefully pushing his scent out into the world, trying to establish dominance. His lieutenant sat next to him, right across from John. The sergeant was sitting across from Simon and there were two other soldiers sitting across from Kyle and Johnny. All of them seemed to be alphas. They weren’t a pack, but John knew they worked well together. Not as well as his team, of course, but well.

  “You’re not doing that. Lieutenant Evans, you, Sergeant Brown, Corporal Davies, and Corporal Walker will be leaving here at 1800. You will be sat in different lookout spots around the base. They have a routine they do every time one of the higher-ups is passing through. They clean things up, set up more lookouts, get more people on the roof of the building with weapons. You will be looking for these things to happen. If they aren’t happening by 2000, then the mission will be aborted. If they are, however, then you need to let us know. Once we have confirmation that it’s happening, Task Force 141 will head over with Hawk.”

  “Understood, Colonel.” Lieutenant Evans said with a nod. Sergeant Brown didn’t seem all too happy about his task, but he stayed quiet.

  “How are we goin’ about this once we head o’er?” Johnny asked. The Colonel nodded towards Hawk.

  “They developed a plan to get you all in and out without needing to fire a bullet.” The group looked over to where Hawk was still leaning against the wall. Their position hadn’t changed, but they did seem a bit more tense than before. Their head was moved slightly further down, something that Simon may not have even realized if he hadn’t been paying such close attention to them in the first place. It was when Johnny spoke that they changed so slightly. They’d been a still figure the entire time, up until Johnny said something.

  “Without a single bullet? How many people are going to be in this safe house?” John asked, skeptical of this plan.

  “Fifteen to twenty people. But Hawk is smart. The plan is for you all to drive about a mile away from the house. Then, three of you will get out, along with Hawk. One of you will set up a lookout spot about halfway to the house while the other two keep moving forward with Hawk. Once there, Hawk will move forward while the two of you will stay in the trees. Hawk’s going to go through an unlocked window. Hawk broke the window lock last time they snuck in. Hawk will sneak through the house to unlock the cellar door. They’ll give you a signal over the radio and you two will get to the cellar door without drawing attention. From there, Hawk will lead you through the house. Hawk will take the lead. They can get rid of any threats you come across without raising any alarms. Not only that, but they know the safe house better than any of us. They know where to hide the bodies so you won’t get caught."

"At 2300, Stone will be sleeping. Hawk will sneak into the room while you two will take guard outside the door. They’ll knock him out. One of you will need to carry Stone while the other watches their back. Hawk will be focused on moving forward and creating a clear path for you to carry him back out through the basement and through the cellar door. Once out, you will alert those who stayed behind. You will meet halfway between the house and where the lookout is set up and then you will get in the car and drive. By this point, it is expected for someone in the safe house to realize Stone is missing or to find the bodies. You all need to be in the car and driving away, no delays. Do you understand?”

  “We understand, Colonel,” John responded.

  “I asked for the 141 because Laswell speaks very highly of you. This is an incredibly important mission. It can not go wrong.” 

  It was a surprise to everyone in the 141 when a familiar alpha scent of a warm fire entered the room.

  “And I told you, it won’t.” Through the door walked Laswell. She walked around the table to stand next to the Colonel as she spoke. “The 141 has had a near 100% success rate on all missions they’ve been on.”

  “I’m allowed to be cautious, Kate Laswell.”

  “And I’m allowed to tell you you’re being overdramatic, Oliver Green.”

  The Colonel sighed, shaking his head slightly, but there was an underlying small smile on his face.

  “I told you I could handle this briefing. You didn’t have to fly out.” Colonel Green stood up, shaking Laswell’s hand as she took her spot next to him.

  “You know you’re going to need my help with this. It’s complicated.”

  “You’re the one who suggested-”

  “I know, I know. Just let me do the talking here, alright?” Laswell turned away from Colonel Green, looking to Evans, Brown, Davies, and Walker. “You four are dismissed. Take the files in front of you with you. They have everything you need to know for when you leave in four hours.” The other four stood up with a nod, saying words of acknowledgment before doing as told and leaving the room. Laswell looked back to the 141. “Been a while, hasn’t it?”

  John gave a smile.

  “‘Bout six months, I think.” He said as he stood up and leaned over the table, shaking Laswell’s hand. Laswell shook it, but she remained standing when John sat back down. There was an open chair next to Colonel Green, but they’d both been standing since Laswell walked in. Why hadn’t they sat down?

  “Six months too long. I meant to make it out here for your last mission but got held up at home. My omega seemed to be going into heat, had to stay back to make sure they were alright.”

  Kyle nodded.

  “We understand, no big deal. Your omega comes first, yeah?” Laswell smiled.

  “Thank you.”

  “Ah take it they’re doing better? It’s aw good?” Johnny asked. Laswell’s smile widened.

  “Definitely. It’d been a false heat that got triggered by pregnancy.” The group’s eyes widened. John returned Laswell’s smile.

  “That’s amazing, we’re happy for you.” Laswell nodded.

  “Thank you, again. We’re very excited.”

  Simon spoke up next, and it changed the mood in the room.

  “Why’s this mission so important that you left your omega to come here?” Simon asked. 

  No alpha would leave their omega in another country without a reason. Laswell only did it a few times during the year to come over and check up on the task force, something she didn’t technically have to do. For Laswell to have left her pregnant omega, something big had to be going on. Something huge.

   When Simon asked his question, the rest of the room seemed to realize this as well. Well, the rest of his pack. Laswell already knew this, obviously, and it seemed like Colonel Green did as well. Hawk stayed against the wall with no reaction. 

  John sat up in his chair slightly along with Johnny and Kyle. he narrowed his eyes at Laswell, suspicion setting over him.

  “Ghost makes a good point. Everything alright, Kate?” He asked, glancing between Colonel Green and Laswell as the two exchanged a glance.

  Laswell sighed. She looked back at Hawk and then back to Price.

  “This is about to get really weird. You and your team might be very upset. Enraged. I need you all to try your best to stay calm.”

  John looked at Hawk who was becoming stiffer. He glanced at the rest of his pack, meeting their eyes and seeing the same confusion reflected. He slowly looked back at Laswell.

  “...what’s going on?” He asked. He was hesitant. He looked at Hawk once more, who’d turned their head away from the group entirely. 

  Colonel Green and Laswell exchanged another look before he sighed, looking back at Hawk.

  “Come on, kid.” Hawk did not move. “Hawk.” Once again, no movement. Colonel Green turned fully. “We discussed this already. You can’t get through this mission without your partners knowing and seeing your face. Come on.”

  The pack watched as Hawk stayed completely still. Despite the Colonel’s tone of instruction, Hawk didn’t move. They didn’t even begin to move. Colonel Green sighed, looking to Laswell.

  Laswell nodded, patting Colonel Green on the shoulder before walking over to Hawk. She stopped a few feet away.

  “Come on. We’ve been getting ready for this. You have to let them see.” Laswell’s voice was soft. The only time John heard that tone of voice was when Laswell was first suggesting therapy for the pack. It was meant to reassure, to convey empathy. To convince. 

  Johnny went to say something. This person didn’t need to show them their face. Sure, it’d make things a bit weird, but Simon hid his face during missions all the time. And Simon had his reason, so this person probably has them too. Before he could say this, however, Laswell shot him a look, shaking her head. Johnny stopped and no one else said anything, beyond confused.

  “At least the hood, alright? You can keep the mask, but the hood has got to come off.” 

  Hawk was still for a moment before their shoulders slowly dropped with a quiet sigh. Laswell nodded, taking a few steps to the side so they weren’t blocking the 141’s view of Hawk. 

  Hawk’s head lifted. Through the shadow of the hood, they could see that Hawk was wearing black a surgical mask. Their eyes were shut before they took a shaky breath, lifting their hands and pulling their hood back as they fully lifted their face, letting the light hit them and revealing themself to the group.

  Half of their face is covered. There aren't many notable features that can be made out through the mask. The one thing that can be made out, however, is their eyes. Those same eyes that all four members of the 141 saw in their dreams. Those same eyes that all four members of the 141 saw in their nightmares. The same eyes that they had last seen filled with tears, pleading for forgiveness and understanding. The same eyes that had once looked at them with such adoration and joy, now filled with a deep darkness and sorrow that the boys felt sinking into their very skin. 

  The quiet sits for a moment before it’s broken by a quiet whisper of your name.

[weirdstrangeandawful]

It’s done!!! Bound and blocked. I'm about to take it off the board but it's easier to take a picture when it's still pinned to the board. If anyone is curious I use sequin/appliqué pins to block my pieces. I need a better corkboard though. This one was from the dollar store for CA$6 and the pins go right through both the cork and the cardboard backing and it's a hazard. It's definitely a step up from using cardboard boxes though!

Image description: A waterscape scene stitched on an 18-count canvas. The scene is divided horizontally by distant land across a calm but rippling river. The sky is smoky but bright and full of dynamic clouds. The left side of the sky is sunny despite the menagerie of clouds whilst the right is dominated by a brewing thunder tower. The whole sky is reflected distortedly in the water with the thunder tower casting a dark shadow over the water and blackening a slightly nearer outcrop of land. A tiny, lone sailboat drifts in the middle distance, still too far off to tell if it's coming in to navigate the buoys dotting the water. The canvas is pinned with tiny pins to a corkboard.

@elodieunderglass If you wanted to see what it looks like not sopping wet, here you go

[neverstophyo]

⨳ 　 ʾ apps/sites 4 shifting 　 . 　 ♡

hi! this will be long but i made a list of apps/sites that might be helpful for your shifting journey. reminder that you don't need these to shift but they can be helpful with manifesting, keeping track of stuff, etc.

enjoy! divider cr

NOT SPONSORED BTW LMAO

﹒ 　 ⊹ 　 🝮 　 OO1: NOTION 　 ✩

description:

basically notion is an app for documents and stuff. i have to say this one's relatively known and it's such a huge life saver and i know that probably everyone knows about it already (as they should) but i'm gonna recommend it once again.

useful for:

scripting

dashboards you can add life goals & stuff here you can look up some templates/ideas and see what i mean LOL

cons:

i personally can not think of any major ones because this app is just that good

you do have to make new accounts for the text ai generating feature but i don't know if anyone would use that

additional notes:

i personally love how customizable it is! like you can make each page have a custom icon & header, add widgets, images, and so much more. it is so so so insanely helpful for scripting i'm telling you. or you can just be basic, that works too. there's also a bunch of script templates online including specific ones (like a better cr, fame dr, fantasy dr, fandom-specific drs, bla bla bla) and it's literally the only thing shifttok is good for imo. i'm a big fan of shifterium's templates but there's other people who make them as well and i'm sure you can find some recommendations!

★ 　 ₊ 　 ➲ 　OO2: CANVA

description:

a website + app where you can design stuff from headers down to presentations, posters, covers, etc..

useful for:

album covers for singer/idol drs

book covers for writer drs or something

fake social media posts but there's better apps out there and i'll list them here as well

and much more!

cons:

a lot of things (most of which i think are the good stuff) are paid but you can find similar replicas if you scroll long enough i guess..?? and there's a free trial but i don't know if that helps

additional notes:

definitely my favorite place to go when i need to design something tbh. there's a bunch of templates you can use and the layout is very easy to navigate through! and it's pretty easy to find free alternatives for the paid stuff you do have in there

₍ⁿ⑅..ⁿ₎ 　 ˇ 　 ⩩ 　 OO3: PARROT 　 ❀ 　

description:

parrot is an app where you can record yourself saying literally anything and play it on a continuous loop

useful for:

affirmations (manifesting??)

cons:

i'm pretty sure it's iOS only

additional notes:

personally i haven't used this app (i don't like my voice so i will not be recording myself saying affirmations thank yew) so i can't give it a rating but from the looks of it and based off of recommendations i've seen it's pretty useful. should be a white icon with a pink circle that has a white parrot in it!

≥≤ 　 ﹕ 　 ⤷ 　 OO4: BEHINDTHENAME 　 ◍

description:

a site where you can generate names & even life stories if you choose it (including height, weight, blood type, birthday, nationality and more i think?? at least it gives those for me). you can choose from different cultures and stuff like fantasy & mythology.

useful for:

finding a name & info for your dr self (which is literally you by the way don't forget that!) and potentially other people you'd like to script in

cons:

it really just helps to make a basic profile of a person so the things you can do with it can be a little limited

additional notes:

i prefer using this site for ocs instead but i think it can definitely help with shifting! oddly enough it also shows like a lifespan & cause of death so.. cool i guess!!!!

✦ 　 ﹕ 　 OO5: SOCIAL MAKER/dummy

description:

social maker & social dummy are both apps where you can replicate almost basically anything from the internet from twitter posts to facebook posts, youtube posts, and more!

useful for:

social media stuff especially useful for fame drs, streamer drs, idol/singer drs and so much more

cons:

both apps were deleted so you have to have had installed them before if you want to get them back

social maker is ios only i think?

additional notes:

yeah both apps are deleted but there's alternatives out there like twinote (for twitter) photonote (for instagram) canva (has fake social media templates as i said lol) and others that you can look for (because i personally only use twinote)

⋆ 　 ᶻᶻ 　 　 OO6: HELLOFACE 　 ﹒ 　 ★

description:

basically an app for ai face swapping

useful for:

seeing what your face claim (if you have one) would look like on for example dances, fancams, interviews definitely useful for idol/singer/maybe fame drs

cons:

uses ai (i'm personally not a big fan of ai)

pretty underground so the chances that you might not like it are not low

✭ 　 　 ❒︎ 　 OO7: ROOM PLANNER 　 . 　 ♡

description:

basically what the name says. it's a 3d home designer

useful for:

making your dr room/house

visualizing your dr room/house

cons:

has paid stuff

┊ 　 ‧ 　⬭ 　 OO8: COMBYNE

description:

an app where you can combine items you like from a wide selection of stuff to make outfits!

useful for:

making outfits for your dr

visualizing said outfits

additional notes:

there's other things you can do on the app like challenges where you can compete to make the best outfit i think?? looks pretty fun i might try it HAHAHA

yuh so i got a little lazy here at the end & i know this is prolly not very helpful because most of these apps/sites are pretty well known but maybe just maybe.. i helped someone out...

HAPPY SHIFTING!!!!!

[gremlin-girly]

Warmest Welcome

Pairing: Biker Bucky x f!Cafe Owner Reader

Warnings/tags: mild threat, intimidation, petnames (doll) meet ugly

Not beta'd. I do not give permission for my work to be reposted, copied, translated or put through an AI machine.

Chapter Summary: The final touches of your café are being put together and on the day of your grand opening, you meet the leader of the White Wolves.

Word count: 2.4k

Dividers by: @/bernardsbendystraws | Banner by me, made in canva, images from canva and Pinterest (credit to the original creators)

Series Masterlist | Bucky Barnes Masterlist | Navigation

Part 1 | Part 2

The sun was setting over Briarridge Town as you sped past the welcome sign. The houses on the outskirts gave way to sun-bleached suburbs with lush green trees

This was your fourth, and final, trip back; the last of your belongings packed tightly into your car. Years of saving, grinding and working hard had paid off and you were finally able to live your dream of opening a café.

Despite your family's protests and worries about you moving away from them, you felt amazing. Setting out on your own, building your own path, your own business.

Doing something you loved.

The building had been dirt cheap, a fixer-upper for sure, but nothing a lick of paint and deep clean couldn't fix. You’d been lucky finding a place to set up a small café at such a cheap price. The townsfolk seemed nice enough if not a little withdrawn but you hoped they’d warm up to you soon enough once the café was up and running good and proper.

You unloaded the last of your boxes from your car with a spring in your step into your new home-cum-café. The apartment above the café was yet another fixer-upper but, like your café, it was yours.

The apartment was relatively large; two bedrooms, a bathroom and a large living room with a kitchen just behind it. Another steal, had it not been for the fact that there was a hole in the centre of the floor, the water wasn't working and other components were in various states of disrepair.

Again, nothing a lick of paint couldnt fix. And Google.

Maybe a plumber.

Your bed wouldn't be arriving until the following day so a blow-up bed you'd set up with a duvet and pillow on your first visit would have to be your place of sleep for the night. Dumping your last box you collapsed against the musty smelling makeshift bed. Despite your circumstances, excitement still filled your chest and you squealed with joy into your pillow.

Tomorrow would be a fresh start to your new life in Briarridge.

The first thing on your agenda the next morning was coffee.

You leaned onto the kitchen counter etching down the things you needed to buy with the rest of your savings. Bed was bought. Café equipment already fitted. Chairs, tables coffee machine ordered. The sign out for delivery.

You needed a lot of paint, coffee and all of the ingredients to ready yourself for opening. You hum thoughtfully to yourself. You'd also need to think about decorating the apartment, not just the café.

Maybe put a rug over that hole.

You're at the department store the moment it opens buying a trolley full of paint, tools, fake plants and a few other odds and ends. The other odds and ends being milk and snacks for sustenance as you get to work on making your café look appealing and your apartment a home.

The first room you tackle is your bedroom. It's the bigger of the two bedrooms and painting the room a delicate lilac, the room already looked brighter. After a short break and accepting the the delivery of your bed, you start on the café downstairs.

There's a brief moment when you're on your hands and knees, scrubbing the life out of the wood-effect linoleum if it was worth it. However, at the final wash and the gleam in the warm lighting, you knew it had been. Why pay when you could do it yourself?

An excellent work ethic is something you had always had and to achieve your dream you knew it would be the longest and hardest battle you would have to fight.

But dammit, it was worth it!

Sighing, rolling your aching muscles, you make your way up to your apartment after locking up; desperate for a hot shower. Crawling back under the covers of your air mattress you fell into a deep slumber, ready to wake up and do it all again the next day.

After a week of gruelling work, of painting, of baking, of preparing, decorating and hiding the hole in your apartment; you were ready.

The unveiling of your dream come true was nothing short of surreal; the curved black signage of Whisk & Whimsy glistened in the dewy spring air and the swell of pride in your chest.

Even though you'd told yourself not to expect throngs of people bursting down the doors, it was still disheartening when you waited for hours getting excited when anyone walked by, for no one to even stick their head in to take a peek.

Maybe you'd expected too much. Being a new business and a stranger in a new town but it was too quiet for a Wednesday at lunch hour.

You'd triple checked the best before dates, checked the food signs for the pastries and cakes, and had wiped every surface at least two dozen times since opening in the morning. Everything had to be pristine for your grand opening. Even if no one showed up.

You plucked a cupcake from behind the display case and munched irritably as you attempted to enjoy a fresh cup of coffee. The café was crickets and it irked you to think you'd done all this work, spent all this money, to fail before you even began.

"I should drag them in here and make 'em try a cupcake." You grumble to yourself, watching a few locals walk past your window without so much as a glance in your direction.

When the bell rings above the door, you're in the middle of counting the croissants in the display case and almost knock yourself out jumping up so quickly.

And oh boy, you weren't prepared for what greeted you.

A long-haired brunet man, easily about six foot four, as wide as he is tall with muscular arms that flex under his Henley. His face isn't tan but beautifully and perfectly sun-kissed, accentuating the pink of pouting lips under the five o'clock shadow and sweet-pea blue eyes.

Your eyes flicker to his torso noting how his red Henley is streaked with black smudges and flecks of paint. But where the collar lies against his collarbone, opened enough to give a teasing peak of a tattoo that's hidden beneath.

Why didn't anyone about the gorgeous men in this town? Maybe this was why your family was worried.

When your eyes look back to his face again as he leans against your countertop, smirking at you, interlacing his fingers with one tan hand that sports some silver rings and one tattooed one. He knew he looked good and he knew that you thought so too.

Yeah, your family was definitely worried about men like him.

"Welcome to Whisk and Whimsy," you say warmly, breaking into a delightful customer service smile and trying not to blush under his gaze. "What can I get for you?"

He smiles over at you and you can feel your heart beat a little faster but chide yourself gently. He's a customer. A handsome one, sure, but a customer nonetheless.

"Coffee please doll," He says, voice sweet and smooth like honey. "Black."

You nod and immediately get to work prepping the coffee and ringing it up through the register.

"Staying in or to go?" You ask

"To go, doll. This shouldn't take more than five minutes."

You wonder what he's talking about but put the portafilter into the slot and run the espresso into the take out cup before filling it with boiling water. Securing the lid you place the coffee in front of him and tell him the price, to which he hands you a five dollar bill, far exceeding the price but refuses change.

"You got settled in pretty quick," He comments, sipping the coffee quietly. "Didja work out a deal with the White Wolves before coming into town or what?”

“White Wolves?” You say, purging the portafilter and wiping down the machine. You shoot the guy a confused frown. “Is that the sports team here?”

He snorts. “You can’t be serious. No one’s told ya?”

You shake your head moving to the bar, resting your forearms on the counter opposite him. "I moved here a little over a week ago - I don't really know anyone yet."

"Really?" He grins at you before offering his large right, non-tattooed hand to you. "Well, I'm Bucky."

You tell him your name and shake his hand, trying not to wince as the rings dig into your skin slightly. He releases your hand, taking another glug of coffee and eyeing you curiously.

"So," you start. "The White Wolves?"

"Right. White Wolves." He grins, but now a feeling of unease creeps along your skin. "The White Wolves are a biker gang that run the town. No one comes or goes without them knowing and all the businesses pay.... well, insurance, shall we say."

"You can’t be serious." You snort. You would not paying insurance. All of your hard work, your earnings, your savings, your dreams... Shattered in less than a week? Absolutely not.

"Very serious." Bucky nods somberly before his eyes meet yours and they're not gleaming with anything other than frost. "And I'm their leader."

"Leader?" You scoff with a smile. "Fuck off."

Bucky raises an eyebrow and his lips quirk at the corners, clearly amused by your disbelief. Bike gangs? Seriously? He came all the way here to feel you out, see what you know and bully you into giving him money? Utterly laughable.

"Wish I was lyin' doll but I make a point of seeing every business for the first visit. It's a shame nobody warned ya." He sighs theatrically but smirks over at you. "I'm gonna give you some leeway for that, and because you made such a delectable cup of coffee, but by the end of the month I expect payment."

If you had no sense of decorum, and if you hadn't just washed the counter three times, you'd probably spit at him. You grind your teeth, fire in your eyes as you consider your options. But then the fire fizzles and dies as you sigh.

Bucky grins triumphantly at the sight, which should anger you more. It only serves to fuel your answer. Your shoulders relax. You sigh. Your eyes meet his.

"No." You say simply.

"I wasn't askin' doll." Bucky says, sipping at his coffee, eyes narrowing in confusion. "You're going to pay up."

"No." You say again and, to make it a point, you turn away from him. You can see a warped version of his face in the shiny surface of the coffee machine, his smile replaced by a gape of sheer disbelief. You wipe down the back counter acting like he's not even there. Meanwhile, your mind churns. Why did you say that? What have you done? You'd not even been here two weeks and of he wasn't lying, you'd just royally pissed off a bike gang leader.

Bucky chuckles. "No? You think you can just tell me no?"

"Yeah." You say throwing your rag down and turning to him, hands on hips. "Bet you don't hear it often."

Bucky blinks and looks genuinely shocked that you're not backing down and refusing his not-so-subtle act of intimidation. "I - no. I don't actually."

He considers you for a moment, eyeing your defiant stance in your black apron. "You're either stupid or brave, doll but I'm sure you'll come around."

Bucky straightens, cracking his neck with a sigh before heading to the door. "Cute place ya got here doll. Be a shame if something happened to it." He says before walking through the door with an eerie jingle of the bell.

Nausea swirls in your stomach with anger, watching him leave. You never liked bullies. Even if they were gorgeous, Henley wearing biker leaders.

You'd be dammed if you paid that arrogant biker a dime of your hard earned cash. You needed to come up with a plan, one you could execute while keeping your business afloat.

Two bikers sat outside Whisk & Whimsy the following morning. You'd given them a cursory glance as you opened the shop, and they nodded at you, but made no moves to get up and follow you inside.

Both hulking masses of men, easily over six foot. One was blond and pale skinned, looking like a porcelain doll come to life with pink lips curved into a slightly cheeky smile as he talked with his friend. His friend was slightly shorter than him but no less imposing, with dark skin and a beautifully radiant grin that would give Bucky a run for his money.

"They look like models not bikers." You huff to yourself, peeking through the blinds before sighing and rolling them up. You'd done all the prep the night before but the biker's just sat on their bikes, watching the café.

They didn't come in but you watched as every potential customer crossed the street to avoid them. Intimidation tactics 101.

By mid-afternoon, you'd had enough. Lunch rush was fast approaching and you needed the business. Stuffing two large coffees into a cardboard holder, you grabbed a to-go back and filled it with creamer, sugars and stirrers before wrapping two grilled cheeses and two sweet pastries. The small feast would be a minor set back in the grand scheme of things and you waited until the thrum of lunch rush began to step out into the street and approach the two men with your head held high.

You approached the one closest to you, full beaming smile as you handed him the bag and drinks. In front of at least a dozen civilians.

"Sorry it took so long!" You say brightly and both men look baffled. "If you need any napkins they're just inside the door."

You turn on your heel and bounce back inside, leaving the two men to look between themselves in confusion. You smirk to yourself as you watch a small group of the civilians talk amongst themselves for a moment before crossing the street and stepping over the threshold to Whisk & Whimsy.

You grin and welcome them; taking sick satisfaction in the bewildered annoyance written on the faces of the men outside realising they'd been had. If everyone else thought you and Bucky were square, you'd get customers and profit, whether his lackeys were outside or not.

You - one.

White Wolves - Nil.

Chapter One - End

A/N: So.... Welcome to Whisk & Whimsy!!

I love a good biker Bucky x sweet reader but you know what I love more? A reader whose a menace. I don't usually like letting Bucky keep his left arm.... but he kinda needs both for the bike and also.... TATTOOS. 😫😫 this is a set up chapter clearly giving a little intro to our reader and how much of a pain in Bucky's side she'll be :)

I was actually working on some Bucky Bingos today and trying to get more of my 20qs submissions done but I got possesed to get this out lol

Thoughts, comments, reblogs are all welcome!!

Taglist

Add yourself here

@vunblr @buck-star @mrs-elsie-barnes @jeremyrennermakesmesmile @irishhappiness

@awkwardgiraffe726 @looking1016 @disneyprincessbuffyannesummers

[sastrology]

SATURN: "WHAT DO I REACH FOR?"

SATURN IN THE NATAL CHART: HOUSES 1-5

disclaimer: what sign Saturn is in and how it is aspected will show a lot of information on how it is expressed in the natal chart, with some signs able to handle the energy of Saturn more productively. Saturn is not an inherently negative planet, as it signifies a lot of potential growth and karma for those willing to work hard for Saturn's demands.

MINI SEGMENT:

SATURN RETROGRADE: While it is not uncommon to have this planet in retrograde, it still makes an impact. It often signifies delays in the house it is in. Navigating public settings or those demanding specific etiquette may induce a sense of awkwardness for those with Saturn retrograde, revealing a complex relationship with social norms. Additionally, they may encounter more frequent karmic instances, suggesting a deeper connection to the consequences of their actions and choices.

SATURN IN THE FIRST HOUSE: To Find Myself

Saturnian energy exerts a pronounced influence in the first house, shaping the individual's appearance and demeanor. From my vantage point, the first house serves as a canvas, absorbing and reflecting the essence of any planet within it. They may appear older than they are, and carry a thin figure that harbors a serious expression. Others might describe them as having a somewhat solemn or cold demeanor, reminiscent of the impact Pluto can have in the 1st house. This effect can be likened to the aging process of a fine wine, where Saturn individuals may mature with time but grapple with underlying self-confidence issues. The late bloomer indication doesn't only apply to looks it also applies to the expression itself with most "finding themselves" later in life. In general, they will struggle with wondering if they deserve things. To top it all off, a deep yearning for the innocence of childhood may resonate within, as Saturn in the first house prompts a lifelong quest for balance between maturity and the childlike spirit buried within.

Positive aspects can help them navigate the challenges presented by the first house more adeptly. Nevertheless, a persistent struggle with feelings of deservingness may linger, casting a shadow on their sense of self-esteem.

RETROGRADE 1ST: Much like the expression of a direct Saturn the individual comes across as somber or expressionless, people with the retrograde here often heavily struggle with Saturn's demands, and the restrictions can be easily felt. The individual may struggle with extreme lethargy and motivation, and if negatively aspected they may easily break bones or experience dental issues. The demands of Saturn are especially burdensome to a rx Saturn as they can struggle with being shy or relying on other's often misconceptions of them to define them.

SATURN IN THE SECOND HOUSE: To Find My Worth

These individuals may have a deep fear of running out of things and emptiness. While the first house is all about self-expression, the second house is more about self-worth. It's no surprise that a positively aspected Saturn here could point to an individual who could be financially well-off. They may have a lot of projects to try to make money. While this position can be materialistic it is not in the way you'd expect. They're often trying to find self-worth through material items and possessions as each item has a "goal." Values for these individuals can be strict and unchangeable. They can have a strong fixation on money and will experience financial downturns very hard as this will reflect onto the self. When negatively aspected, debt could be a problem.

RETROGRADE 2ND: In the presence of a retrograde Saturn in the 2nd house, there is a heightened focus on financial matters and material possessions, with a potential inclination to prioritize them above other considerations. There could be a delay in financial stability and it may take them longer to pull themselves "up by the bootstraps" and struggle with being overly cautious when opportunities present themselves.

SATURN IN THE THIRD HOUSE: To Find My Words

Individuals with Saturn in the 3rd house often display a remarkable early aptitude for articulate and intelligent expression, or conversely, may choose a more reserved/silent approach to communication. Preferring to weigh their words carefully, they are not prone to impulsive statements, instead opting for a thoughtful and methodical approach to verbal expression. This is not a position known for public speaking, they have a quiet intelligence and excel in presentations and activities that afford them the space to think freely, unencumbered by the pressure of an audience. They are likely not known for being neighborly and may struggle with meeting strangers as they are not good at forced conversation or change. Auditory dyslexia/dyslexia is not uncommon here, either. They could also feel a strong sense of responsibility or burden regarding siblings if they have them.

RETROGRADE 3RD: Saturn being retrograde here in the third house points to an individual who struggles much more with communication than the direct Saturn. They may find themselves dealing with miscommunication on a daily basis. Likely to feel undervalued by peers, self-isolation is an indicator. The person may have to work harder than others to communicate or learn something effectively. They may struggle to relate to others especially when younger and feel self-conscious when speaking.

SATURN IN THE FOURTH HOUSE: To Find My Home

For individuals with Saturn in the 4th house, the words family and responsibility are synonymous. Being as the 4th house is a water house, Saturn's restrictions symbolize cold water. While it's not impossible to make the best of this position, It's possible the individual grew up in a frigid family, with a lot of rules and boundaries or with a parent(s) who were emotionally unavailable. Often they could have trouble being able to relax around family members/parental figures due to a pronounced level of strictness. The love received from family members may carry a sense of conditionality, where mistakes are met with little tolerance, marking an individual as a black sheep. There's a vulnerability to becoming entangled in familial responsibilities, especially if a family member falls ill, compelling the individual to assume the role of caregiver and potentially feeling trapped within the confines of the home.

RETROGRADE 4TH HOUSE: The person may find themselves at odds with the expectations imposed by the family, feeling constrained by a predetermined concept that doesn't align with their true self. This internal clash often gives rise to a natural rebellion or power struggle, as they grapple with the tension between their authentic self and societal expectations. They may have struggled to speak up or have a stable home. Reflection on the past becomes a significant aspect of their emotional landscape, influencing their present state of mind.

SATURN IN THE FIFTH HOUSE: To Find My Joy

Individuals with Saturn in the 5th house may struggle with the ability to find joy in things. More specifically, these individuals want happiness so much that the second they get it, they can give in to fear and over-analyzing. They will demand excellence in every creative endeavor they try to do, and if they fall short they could stop altogether. Within this house, Saturn's influence is particularly pronounced, shaping the individual's approach to joy, children, and love. Often they view love and children very realistically and are unlikely to suffer from rose-tinted lenses. Even if the individual has a bubbly, passionate chart, they will feel thwarted with spontaneity. Expressing themselves might pose a challenge, leading them to gravitate towards the background rather than the spotlight. During childhood, the vibrant colors of spontaneity were muted in favor of the practical tones of maturity.

Insecurity around dating and children is also common here as the individual may not find themselves very fun to be around, often trying to overcompensate for this. Due to this, they may find themselves drawn to older, mature partners. A negatively aspected Saturn here could point to issues with fertility, a worry/fear of children, or you may never have kids even if you wanted them. However, if children do come into the picture, the connection between parent and child is profound, often characterized by a sense of karmic intertwining, suggesting a deeper, soulful relationship.

RETROGRADE 5TH HOUSE: These individuals have learned to find joy they can only rely on themselves. Often introverted, cautious thinkers. Since the way these individuals experience joy appears to move backward, they may find they are the happiest when they are alone as the concept of joy is hard to grasp. While they can certainly enjoy carefree moments with others, these instances of happiness are fleeting, as living in the present proves to be a formidable task. Saturn's influence is marked by a perpetual forward gaze, always contemplating the future and analyzing potential vulnerabilities.

[grayandthyme]

once again u DELIVERED 💐💐💐 <— for u

ive been thinking … im not sure if you like or do no outbreak au, but if u do !!!! going over to Joel’s house with Tommy during the summer and having a cookout

like ugh need this man to come jump in the pool with me!!! i can see him falling asleep in a floaty but he’d totally pretend that he didn’t 😎

ILY SM thank u for everything

- 🦆

authors note: sorry it's so so short.. i'm trying to get out of my writers block.. also not a cookout.. but banter n spice ty ducky ily mwah mwah

warnings: unestablished age. no use of y/n. unestablished relationship w tommy. f!reader presumable.

Sarah Miller was turning ten. You realize what that means, right?

This wasn’t just a birthday—it was the birthday. Double digits.

A rite of passage.

And if Joel’s barrage of texts, calls, and increasingly frantic emojis hadn’t made it clear, your presence wasn’t optional.

They needed backup. Someone reliable. Someone brave.

Someone who could survive a day in the trenches—with the sugar-hyped horde.

You came prepared, though. Sundress swaying in the June breeze, a bathing suit tucked beneath, and your canvas tote armed with snacks, sunscreen, and glitter-bandages.

In your arms, two gift-wrapped behemoths—shimmering in blue and purple sparkles—threatened to tip your balance as you navigated the front walk.

You reached the door, already propped open, save for the stubborn storm-door resisting your elbow-nudge and pinky-finger dance.

"Hands a lil' full?"

Tommy lounged against the garage like he had all the time in the world, watching you struggle with the door. His grin tugged at the corners of his mouth, easy and amused, the kind that always sent a quiet heat curling low in your stomach.

You gave up the door fight with a huff, your last bit of pinky dancing resistance folding like sopping wet paper.

“Do you get off to my suffering, or is this just an especially thrilling day for you?” you exhaled, shifting the gifts in your arms, trying not to drop the top-heavy one that kept threatening to nosedive into the concrete steps.

Tommy’s grin widened, toothpick tipping upward as he stepped forward—finally—pushing the storm door open with one hand like it weighed nothing.

“Nah,” he said, holding the door and watching you pass, “Just enjoyin' the view. But if you did need help twenty seconds ago, feel free to beg.”

You breezed past him with all the grace. All of the grace of someone ready to make this the best tenth birthday party imaginable. Inside, the house was already vibrating with the sounds of children—laughter, running feet, a shriek that sounded too dramatic to be joyful but not quite worried enough to interrupt your stride.

“You’re lucky it’s Sarah’s birthday,” you muttered, setting the boxes down on the kitchen island, “or I’d’ve left you outside to flirt with your reflection in the car window.”

Behind you, the storm door clicked shut, and Tommy’s voice followed close behind, all smirk and sunshine. What an ass.

“You think I don’t already?”

You turned just enough to give him the look—the one that needed no words, no translation. A look honed over years, sharp as a warning flare.

It said, Take this fucking present before I abandon it on the tile like a forgotten Amazon package.

He met it with a flicker of amusement, tongue running slow along the back of his teeth. The toothpick jerked upward with the motion, a gesture halfway between a grin and a challenge.

Then—at last—he moved. Reached out, and lifted the boxes from your arms like he hadn’t just watched you struggle like a packed horse in strappy sandals.

“What a gentleman,” you deadpanned, rolling your shoulder now that it was no longer bearing the weight of Barbies wrapped in glitter paper.

You followed, unhurried, a crooked smile tugging at your lips. “Aw, does that mean you’ll fuck right off for my birthday?” you asked, sweet as syrup and twice as sticky.

The tone was familiar—half tease, half challenge.

This was the game, the language you both spoke fluently: flirty jabs wrapped in barbed ribbon, a constant tug-of-war to see who could get under the other’s skin first.

Tommy didn’t turn around, but his voice came back clear, pitched just loud enough over the shrieks of a water balloon fight in progress.

“Depends—when is it again? So I can schedule my sudden disappearance. Preferably overseas. No cell signal.”

You let his remark pass with little to no acknowledgment, gaze drifting toward the deck—already a scene of chaos.

The aftermath was unmistakable. Water everywhere.

So much splashing.

Your fingers found the handle with practiced ease, a gentle grip. The storm door opened with a smooth pull, creaking slightly in the stillness. You stepped out onto the deck, hands resting lightly on your hips, eyes sweeping the mess before you.

Assessing.

“God,” you muttered, scanning the scene. “It’s a war zone.”

“Yeah,” Tommy exhaled beside you, folding his arms across his chest.

The motion was casual, effortless—but it did things.

The subtle tension in his forearms, the way his fingers flexed and shifted like he was ready to react, or maybe just wind you up.

It was hot. Unreasonably hot.

Probably the weather, though. Probably.

Right?

You cleared your throat, adjusting your tote bag like it was suddenly too heavy. “So… what’s the plan? Sacrifice one of them to distract the others, then make a break for it?”

Tommy’s mouth twitched. “I was thinking more along the lines of arming ourselves. Equal footing. But I like your bloodlust.”

“I’ve always been a tactician.”

He nodded, surveying the battlefield.

“Smart. And when the cake hits the table, that’s when it gets serious.”

As if on cue, one of the smaller kids shrieked and launched a foam missile directly at your ankle. You dodged, but just barely.

“Okay,” you said, pointing at Tommy. “I’m gonna need you to take a hit for me at some point. You’ve got main-character energy—they’ll go for you first.”

He grinned, already pulling a Nerf blaster from behind his back like it was a sacred relic.

Was that in his waistband the entire time?

“Deal. But if I go down, I expect a heartfelt eulogy. Minimum three tears.”

You grabbed a neon green water pistol from the toy bin and cocked it like a pro. “Only if you die heroically. If you trip and fall in the sprinkler, I’m laughing.”

He raised the blaster and pointed it at you, mock-serious.

“We go to war.”

“War,” you confirmed, tapping your pistol against his.

Birthday party warriors, armed to the teeth with Nerf water blasters, and pride too big for being as old as you were.

Though...

The party wasn’t all chaos and noise—it had its quiet beauty, too.

Sweet, thoughtful touches woven into the frenzy, proof of just how much love, and how much effort—Tommy and Joel, especially, had poured into the day.

White and lavender balloons floated lazily above the yard, clipped to trees and beams. Some dusted with glitter, others speckled with aluminum polka-dots.

Paper stars swung from the porch beams, catching the breeze—the string capturing a reminder of Joel’s scavenger hunt through four different Party City stores, which you’d heard about in hilarious detail.

The cake was a dream—vanilla layered with crisp wafers and a buttercream so decadent you’d swear Tommy cross-county drove it from a bakery halfway to Dallas.

All her friends were there.

And Sarah? Radiant. Giggling, twirling in her sundress, dancing with bare feet on wet grass. When she blew out the candles, the moment held for just a second too long—and you could have sworn Joel blinked back a tear.

But your eyes?

They’d drifted to Tommy.

He wasn’t looking at anyone but her. And the smile he wore—it wasn’t one you’d seen before. It was soft, unguarded. A rare thing, reserved only for his niece.

His Brothers happiness personified. His daughter in another life.

By the time the sun began to drop behind the fence line and the sky turned that drippy pink, it was nearly seven-thirty. The last of the girls had gone home. All that was left was the remnants of the party simmering behind in lost swim goggles and forgotten goodie bags.

From the kitchen window, you could see Sarah and Joel at the counter—her voice bouncing with excitement, probably mid-monologue about the new CD she’d unwrapped or the tiny Barbie accessories you’d chosen with precision.

Sat too damn long in that Toys'R'us.

You were barefoot now, dress peeled off and slung somewhere inside. The Texas heat still clung to everything, heavy and slow. Your swimsuit stuck to your skin as you bent to scoop up pool noodles from the grass.

Behind you, the door creaked open.

“Okay,” you murmured, not to anyone in particular—maybe just to the door itself. “Maybe today wasn’t so bad.”

“I think you might be a little old to enjoy a ten-year-old’s birthday party,” Tommy said, exhaling a quiet huff of laughter as he leaned against the railing. He watched you from the porch, arms resting loosely, the last traces of sunlight painting shadows across his skin.

His shirt still hung open, half-forgotten, fully unbuttoned.

You were out there, barefoot in the grass, collecting waterlogged floaties in the dark. It was ridiculous, and somehow—unfairly—endearing.

Admirable, even.

How completely, effortlessly cute you managed to be, even like this.

He stepped to the side, once, then twice—flicked a small switch near the post, and with a quiet hum, the backyard bloomed into soft light.

Fairy lights strung overhead blinked to life, casting a golden wash across the patio and the ripple of the pool.

You looked up, strands of hair stuck to your cheek, fingers pushing them back with a tired sort of grace.

“Oh,” you exhaled, the smallest smile breaking through the haze of heat and sweat. “Nice touch.”

Tommy grinned, slow and satisfied, turning back toward the railing. “Let there be light, huh?”

The soft glow of the fairy lights hung suspended between you like something delicate—but felt.

It lingered in that narrow space neither of you had quite dared to cross all afternoon.

Your bare feet whispered across the damp grass, soft pit-pats against the earth as you made your slow rounds along the pool’s edge. The last of the floaties drifted near the deep end—one stubborn noodle, lazily bobbing just out of reach like it knew you were tired.

You sighed dramatically.

Enough was enough. The day had been long, the heat relentless, and now this neon foam menace was the final insult.

Planting one foot on the ledge, you leaned out, stretching toward the floatie with a strained grunt, fingers wiggling in the thick, humid air. So close. Almost—

“You look like you’re one bad decision away from a water rescue,” Tommy called behind you, voice amused and far too pleased with itself.

You didn’t even turn around.

“If you’re not gonna help, at least don’t narrate.”

A beat of silence.

“Yeah?"

And suddenly, hands—steady and smug—pressed lightly against your back.

You had just enough time to gasp.

The world became water.

You came up sputtering, hair plastered to your cheeks, water dripping down your lashes as you whipped around mid-pool.

“Are you serious?!”

Tommy stood at the edge, arms crossed, smirking like a man who had never known fear. “You looked hot. I figured I’d help.”

“Oh, you helped all right,” you said, treading water, narrowing your eyes like a predator.

He chuckled, crouching down with a mock-offer of sympathy.

“Come on, I’ll help you out. Hand?”

You swam toward him, grumbling something indecipherable—but your fingers curled around his just the same. His grip tightened, already bracing to pull you up.

Then you yanked.

And with a satisfying yelp of surprise, Tommy went down like a stone—shirt, smugness, and all—right into the water beside you.

He surfaced a second later, spitting out chlorinated water drops.

“You fuckin' yanked me!”

You shrugged, smiling sweetly, treading just far enough away. “You looked hot. I figured I’d help.”

He blinked at you for a moment, then laughed—deep and real—and pushed his hair back from his forehead.

“Oh, did I?” he said, eyes locked on yours, voice low and amused, "Yeah?"

He hummed low in his throat, a playful warning, as he began wading through the water—steady and unhurried, like a predator who already knew the chase was pointless.

With his height, the water barely reached the middle of his chest, droplets glinting across his collarbones as he moved.

You let out a laugh—half-giggle, half-gasp—and twisted away, kicking into a frantic swim. Not graceful, not coordinated—just pure, desperate doggy paddle, arms slicing water in wide arcs, trying to keep distance between your body and the inevitability behind you.

“Don’t you fucking dare!” you shouted over your shoulder, already knowing it was useless.

He surged forward, sending ripples across the pool, cutting through them with ease. You felt it—the shift in the current, the moment before—

Splash.

His palm landed with a gentle thump on the crown of your head, and down you went with a yelp, water closing over your ears in a rush of soundless blue.

You popped back up, coughing, flinging your hair out of your eyes with dramatic flair. “Oh, you’re dead,” you gasped, launching a wave of retaliation.

A war broke out—slapping splashes, arms thrashing through the shallow light, laughter echoing off the patio tiles.

You clawed through the water like a gremlin, trying to pull his arm down; he countered with a full-body wave, sending you stumbling back into the deeper end.

You squealed. He grinned. It was mayhem.

Then—his final move.

He moved fast—too fast—his hand pressing down again, dragging you beneath the surface.

Your shoulders sank, hair swirling like silk strings in your vision.

Then, just as quickly, you broke through the water’s edge, gasping, water spilling from your lips as your eyes blinked to clear the haze.

He chuckled softly, the sound low and warm as he stepped closer, the splash of his movement echoing faintly in the cool night air.

His hands rose, gentle but certain, framing your face with careful tenderness.

His thumbs brushed lightly over your eyelids, wiping away the remnants of mascara and stray droplets clinging to your skin.

His touch was soft, deliberate—the pads of his thumbs moving to rest into the apples of your cheeks, holding you steady.

The air between you thickened, charged with something unspoken but undeniable.

Heat pooled low in your belly, spreading through your chest and settling behind your eyes.

The world narrowed, the fairy lights flickering like stars caught just for you two.

His breath hitched slightly, mingling with yours, and the distance between your lips shrank, breath mingling in the space where everything changed.

"Tommy—" You could only exhale before he tilted.

And you met him halfway.

His mouth met yours.

It began soft—tentative—like a question into the hush between heartbeats.

Your fingers found his damp hair, tangling there, grounding you as the kiss deepened—unhurried, each brush of lips carrying the weight of something that hadn't been foretold.

The night held its breath. The pool lapped quietly at your bodies, a gentle rhythm beneath the tension, as heat sparked and settled into something both wild and unbearably tender.

"Tommy." You said his name again, barely more than a breath, needing him to hear it.

To see you.

Your palm pressed flat against his chest, fingers curling against the soaked red fabric like a plea.

He exhaled—sharp and loud—as if he’d been holding the moment back, afraid to let it break.

“Stop talking.” The words slipped from him like instinct. Then one step, and he had you pinned to the cool wall of the pool, his hands cradling your face with a reverence that contradicted the urgency in his touch.

He pulled back, just for a moment, his gaze flickering toward the back porch—searching.

For Sarah. For Joel.

But the kitchen light was already dark, the house hushed.

Then he looked back at you.

His pointer finger curled inward, knuckle grazing a slow path down your throat, stopping where your collarbones met like an unspoken pause.

“Try to keep it down,” he murmured, his voice low—threaded with dark amusement. His hand slipped beneath the water, slow at first, but purposeful—tracing heat through the quiet current.

Then came the snap of fabric, deft and sudden.

His fingers slipped beneath your swim bottoms, knuckles brushing skin, deliberate—each movement a slow invasion, a quiet claiming. Just a curl, a touch—and then he was guiding you forward, folding you gently into the water.

“Wouldn’t want you to ruin a birthday party… now, would we?” he said, almost laughing, the words soaked a semblance of control.

tommy taglist: @xodilfluvr @angeleen777 @starwars8979 @chateaujoon @noorvell @theretrofuturista

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[freshl6ve]

𝐂𝐇𝐑𝐈𝐒. 𝐒 | 𝐒𝐇𝐔𝐓 𝐔𝐏 & 𝐃𝐑𝐈𝐕𝐄¹

⭑.ᐟ : 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐢𝐭𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐋𝐨𝐬 𝐀𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐛𝐮𝐳𝐳𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐛𝐞𝐲𝐨𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐦𝐩𝐮𝐬, a vibrant tapestry of lights and traffic that never quite reached campus grounds. Night had cast its cloak over the college campus, leaving the place enveloped in an ephemeral darkness.

As the last rays of the sun surrendered to the velvet canvas of twilight, the students prepared to break their routines. The classrooms emptied, leaving behind echoes of muffled conversations and the occasional laughter. The campus roads were lined with cars as students began packing up their belongings.

As I made my way to my car, my voice laced with exhaustion, I clutched the phone tightly to my ear, my eyes searching for my vehicle in the dimly lit parking lot.

“What’s wrong with it now?” I asked, a hint of impatience coloring my voice.

The person on the other end of the line let out a deep sigh. “It’s the engine again. Another problem, same as last time,” they reported. I felt my shoulders slump in defeat. “Damn it,” I muttered under my breath. The engine problems were becoming a recurring nightmare. It was like the universe had it out for me. I leaned against the car, the frustration seeping into my bones.

The person on the other end of the line could sense my exhaustion. “You sound beat, Y/N. You okay?”

“I’m fine,” I replied, brushing off any signs of worry. “Just the usual finals stress. Haven’t been getting much sleep since I’ve been too busy working on the car.” The person on the other end of the line let out a reassuring hum, their voice carrying a hint of concern. “Maybe you should scale back on the mechanic stuff for a bit, Y/N. You need to rest too, you know.”

I reassured the person on the line, “I’ll be alright. Don't worry about me,” with a hint of determination in my voice. With my keys in hand and my bag slung over my shoulder, I climbed into my car, the engine purring to life. As the conversation continued, I announced, “I’ll swing by your place to check your engine before I head home.”

There was a brief silence on their end before a reluctant sigh sounded through the receiver. “Fine, but don’t wear yourself out.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll be right there,” I assured, my voice filled with determination. With a final farewell, I ended the call and tossed my backpack onto the passenger seat, my fingers closing around the steering wheel. Taking one last look at my car, I revved the engine and pulled out of the driveway, my mind set on reaching my destination.

The streets were relatively quiet, the city's pulse slowly calming as the early morning hours approached. I navigated through the streets with ease, a sense of purpose fueling my every move.

The drive was mostly quiet, the only sounds filling the space my soft breaths and a faint hum of the engine. I maneuvered the wheel, my mind lost in a storm of thoughts and emotions. The closer I got to my destination, the more my heart thudded in my chest, a mix of anticipation and nervousness.

Finally, I pulled up to a modest house, the streetlights casting long shadows across the lawn. I put the car in park, killed the engine, and took a deep breath, gathering my composure before stepping out into the cool night air.

As I stepped into the well-lit garage, I first noticed a guy perched on the hood of his car, his attention fixed on his phone. The soft glow of the screen lit up his face, casting a soft glow against his features.

His head jerked up as the sound of my footsteps echoed in the garage, and he looked up at me, his eyes meeting mine. A hint of recognition flickered in his gaze before a small smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

“Finally, you’re here,” he said, his voice laced with a mixture of relief and curiosity. He slipped his phone into his pocket, his full attention now on me. I returned his smile with a nod, my eyes taking in the garage around me.

“Yeah, sorry I took a while,” I replied, my voice betraying the casualness I was trying to project. I set my bag down on a nearby workbench before approaching his car, my gaze drawn to the car he had.

As I approached, the car he was sitting on came into full view. It was a beautiful dark blue Nissan Skyline R34, its sleek lines and smooth paint job a sight to behold. My steps faltered for a second, a small pang of jealousy stirring within me. It was a gorgeous car.

He sensed my admiration and slipped off the hood, giving me space to open the hood. I took a deep breath before reaching for the hood latch, the metal creaking softly as it unlocked, letting the hood pop open.

The engine lay bare before me, a tangle of metal and cables. I scanned it with a professional eye, mentally cataloging any signs of wear and tear. The air between us grew tense with anticipation as I began to poke around, my fingers exploring the intricate parts.

“When did you start having problems?” I asked, my voice steady despite the racing of my heart.

He leaned against the car, his arms crossed over his chest, and watched me with a mix of curiosity and something unreadable. “It started sputtering last week.” he admitted, “And there’s been a weird noise coming from the engine. I can’t quite figure out what it is.”

My hands moved deftly, feeling along the engine, checking for anything out of place. As I worked, I couldn’t help but wonder aloud, “Did you perchance race last week? Maybe took a sharp turn or so?”

He pushed off the car and came to stand closer, watching me with a frown. “Yeah, actually. How did you know?”

I continued to work, my fingers tracing the lines and cables of the engine. As I moved around, I finally spotted the problem.

“Found the issue,” I said, my voice steady. “Looks like one of your spark plugs is misfiring. It’s probably from the sharp turn during the race. I’ll just need to replace it, and that should fix the problem.”

He let out a low whistle, his gaze fixed on the engine. “Damn, it’s that serious?” he muttered. He ran a hand through his hair, a hint of concern flitting across his face. “How long will it take to fix?”

I took a step back, wiping the grease off my hands on a rag lying on the workbench. “Shouldn’t take too long,” I assured him. “I can have it done in a few hours. Got a spare part with me that I can replace it with.”

He visibly relaxed, a sigh of relief escaping him. “Good, good,” he nodded, his shoulders losing some of the tension. He glanced at me, his expression thoughtful. “You know your stuff, huh?”

I moved away from the engine and headed back to my bag at the workbench. “Well, my dad taught me most about cars,” I answered, a small smile tugging at the corner of my lips at the mention of him. “I guess I just picked up a lot from him over the years.”

I rummaged through my bag, a frown of confusion marring my expression as I didn’t find the spare part where I remembered putting it. “Damn, I thought I had it in here,” I muttered, a hint of irritation in my voice.

He watched me from a distance, his eyes curiously following my every move. “Problem?” he asked, sensing my frustration.

I shook my head, pushing the annoyance aside. “No, just misplacing things,” I replied. “I’ll just check the trunk. I keep spare parts there as well.”

As I headed towards the trunk, he followed, his steps falling in line with mine. He leaned against the side of the car, his gaze fixed on me, his curiosity seemingly growing.

I popped the trunk, the lid rising with a soft click, revealing a well-organized stash of spare parts. A wave of relief washed over me, and I quickly rummaged through the selection until I found the part I was looking for. With a satisfied exhale, I closed the trunk and turned back to him, holding up the part in triumph.

I returned to the garage, the spare part clutched in my hand. With a purposeful stride, I moved toward his car, the engine lying open, ready to be worked on. He stood watching me, his arms still folded across his chest, a mixture of curiosity and admiration visible on his face.

I set the part on the workbench and grabbed my tools. Returning to the engine, I began the process of replacing the misfiring spark plug. My hands moved with practiced ease, the task as familiar to me as breathing.

The garage filled with the sound of soft, metallic clinks and the occasional muttered curse as I fumbled with a particularly stubborn screw. The work consumed my attention, and I was almost entirely focused on the engine, completely forgetting about his presence for a few moments.

His voice broke through my concentration, and I jumped in surprise, the suddenness of his words making me realize I hadn't been paying attention. I looked over at him, my heart still racing, and he chuckled softly at the reaction, before saying, “I’ll be right back. Gotta grab something.”

As he turned to leave, I spoke up, my voice a little shaky, “Can you hand me your keys?” I requested.

He paused, his hand on the garage door handle, and looked back at me with a raised eyebrow. “My keys? What for?” he asked, a hint of amusement in his voice.

I shifted my gaze back to the engine, feeling a flicker of annoyance at his questioning. “I need them to check for that weird noise you mentioned,” I explained, my tone matter-of-fact. “Keys, please.”

He regarded me for a moment, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips, before digging into his pocket and tossing the keys over to me.

I caught the keys with a swift motion, my mind already back on the engine. The absence of his eyes on me allowed me to focus completely on the task at hand. He lingered for a moment longer, watching me from a distance before disappearing through the door, leaving me alone with the engine and my thoughts.

With the keys in my possession, I went back to work, my hands moving swiftly and efficiently through the engine. The process was soothing, a familiar routine that allowed my mind to clear. I worked in silence, the mechanics of the engine becoming my world for what felt like a few minutes but was probably much longer.

With the keys in my possession, I went back to work, my hands moving swiftly and efficiently through the engine. The process was soothing, a familiar routine that allowed my mind to clear. I worked in silence, the mechanics of the engine becoming my world for what felt like a few minutes but was probably much longer.

I finished the last adjustments to the engine, a sense of satisfaction coursing through me. Brushing my grease-stained hands on a rag, I moved quickly to the driver’s side of the car, keys still in my hand.

I slid into the driver’s seat, the leather shifting softly under me. Putting the keys in the ignition, I paused for a moment, my ears straining for any unusual sounds coming from the engine.

I started the engine, allowing it to idle for a moment. No unusual noises emerged, only the steady purr of the engine. I killed the engine, a wave of satisfaction washing over me. Everything seemed to be in order.

I got out of the car, closing the door behind me. I returned to the engine, my mind running checks and tests to ensure I hadn’t missed anything. A quick double-check wouldn’t hurt, just to make sure I had done everything correctly.

As I leaned over the engine, my attention fixed on the parts and cables, I heard a soft click from somewhere in the garage. My mind registered it but didn’t fully process it, too engrossed in my work.

I pulled back, satisfied with the double-check, and spoke aloud, my voice confident, “Looks like it’s working just fine now, Matt.”

I pulled back from the engine, my eyes naturally seeking the person who I had assumed to be Matt. But as I looked, my eyes widened in surprise.

The person standing there looked eerily similar to Matt, but a few details were off. Instead of Matt’s short hair, this guy’s was slightly longer, covering his ears a bit more than Matt’s hair and his jawline was a bit sharper than Matt’s.

I frowned, confusion and curiosity mixing on my face. “Oh. You’re not Matt,” I muttered, my voice betraying my surprise.

As he stood there silently, his eyes raking over me, a shiver ran down my spine. I shifted uncomfortably, unused to being scrutinized in such a way.

I cleared my throat and asked, my voice more confident than I felt, “Umm, do you know where Matt is?”

As if on cue, Matt appeared from a door behind the mysterious guy, his voice stern yet weary. “Leave her alone, Chris, go back inside dude,” he commanded, a hint of irritation in his tone.

The guy, now known as Chris, finally looked away from me, his gaze returning to Matt. He smirked and leaned nonchalantly against the workbench.

Chris smirked, his eyes flickering over me once more before replying to Matt, “Relax, I wasn’t going to do anything.”

Matt rolled his eyes, a weary expression on his face, before he walked over to where I stood, his attention fixed on me. His gaze softened as he spoke, “Knowing your ass you would’ve tried to make her sleep with you.”

He shot a look towards Chris before turning back to me, his voice gentler. “Don’t mind him,” he added.

My gaze flickered between Matt and Chris, the similarities between the two more obvious now that they were side by side.

“So,” I drawled, my eyes tracing their features. “There’s two of you?” Chris snickered, a sly grin on his face, while Matt shot him another annoyed look.

Chris chuckled, his eyes glimmering with mischief. “There’s actually three of us,” he explained, gesturing at Matt and then himself. “He’s the oldest, Matt’s the middle child, and I’m the youngest.”

I blinked, my mind trying to wrap around this new information. Three of them? Identical triplets? It was a lot to take in.

I redirected my attention to Matt, a hint of disbelief in my voice, “You’re a triplet? And you didn’t tell me for the three years we’ve known each other?”

Matt shrugged, sheepishness written across his face. “It just never came up, I guess,” he replied, avoiding my gaze. Chris snickered, clearly enjoying the interaction.

Matt shifted awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck. “Look, I know you're upset,” he began, his voice apologetic. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.”

I shook my head, a small laugh escaping me. “Why would I be upset?” I responded, a hint of playfulness in my voice. “It’s cool to know you’re a triplet. Just kinda wish I knew sooner.”

I gestured at Matt, a playful smile on my face, “You do realize I just called him ‘Matt’ and thought it was you?” I pointed out, my eyes flicking between the two triplets. “I got quite confused, wondering how your hair grew after a few minutes of being gone.”

Chris laughed, clearly enjoying the situation, while Matt shook his head, a slight blush creeping up his neck.

He cleared his throat, his shoulders hunching a bit in embarrassment. “Yeah, I know,” he mumbled, his eyes avoiding mine. “It’s... it’s confusing for everyone.”

Chris, still leaning against the workbench, smirked. “We get that all the time,” he chipped in, a sly tone to his voice. “Everyone gets us mixed up. Can’t blame you though.”

I directed my gaze towards Chris, a question in my eyes. “If you’re Chris, and you’re Matt, who’s the other?”

Before Matt could answer, Chris cut in with a smirk, “Nick, he’s the older triplet.” Matt shot Chris an annoyed look, clearly not happy that his brother was disclosing information before he could.

I nodded, absorbing the new information. Three identical triplets. It was certainly something I had never encountered before. Chris chuckled, amused at my surprise.

“You should see how confused people get when they meet us,” he said, his voice tinged with mischief. “It’s quite entertaining.”

Matt shot him another look. “Shut up, Chris,” he muttered, his tone more amused than irritated. “What?” Chris protested, his smirk widening. “It’s true, man.”

As they continued bantering, arguing like siblings often do, my ears picked up the faint sound of my phone buzzing, coming from my bag near the workbench.

I moved over to the bag, rummaging inside and fishing out my phone. It was a message from my friend.

As I read the message, my eyes widened in realization. The reminder about the essay due today sent a jolt of panic through me. I grabbed the phone and quickly stuffed the phone back into my bag.

Chris, who had been leaning on the workbench, caught the change in my demeanor. He raised an eyebrow as I began packing my tools up. “Everything okay?” he asked, a hint of curiosity in his tone.

I paused, turning to him for a moment. “Yeah, I just... I completely forgot I had an essay due today,” I explained, the urgency in my voice noticeable. “I have to get going.”

Matt's voice called out just as I was about to get into my car. “Let me pay you for fixing the—” he offered, but I cut him off, shaking my head. “No need,” I repeated, “I’ll see you guys around.”

As I was getting into the car, Chris suddenly cut in with a flirty grin, “See you around, darling.” He earned a swift smack to the head from Matt.

My cheeks heated up at Chris’s cheeky remark, but I tried to play it off with a scoff. I ducked into the car, hearing Chris’s laughter and Matt’s muttered curses.

“Don’t mind him,” Matt’s voice called out apologetically. “He doesn’t know how to keep his mouth shut.”

I pulled out of the driveway, still trying to ignore Chris’s comment from earlier. My mind was now fully on the essay assignment that I had forgotten about, and the race against time to get it done before the deadline.

The drive home was a blur as I mentally organized my thoughts and planned out how to approach the essay.

A/N: MY FIRST SERIES FINALLY OUT FOR THE NEW YEAR! HOPE YALL ENJOY IT & YES THIS IS A REMAKE OF MY OTHER STREET RACING STORY ON @cyberl6ve

THANK YOU FOR 1K!! I LOVE YOU ALL SO MUCH!! 🧡🥹

TAGS: @st6rify ✮⋆˙ @jetaimevous ✮⋆˙ @certifiedstarrr ✮⋆˙ @slvtf0rchr1s ✮⋆˙ @l3sbiancvnt ✮⋆˙ @wh0remikasas ✮⋆˙ @r0s3luvr. ✮⋆˙ @emely9274 ✮⋆˙ @mimiluvzpicklez ✮⋆˙ @courta13

── .✦ MASTER—LIST ⭑𓂃 | ── SERIES HERE ໑‧₊˚.ꪆ

[crythartic]

I have been staring and admiring your piece of the holiday/dreemurr kids at the piano, and it’s so beautiful. The rendering is honestly the nicest/ most appealing rendering that i’ve seen in my opinion, i was wondering if you would share your process or a tutorial of sorts? No pressure, your art is so lovely and i strive to achieve a similar look someday :)

oh my goodness thank you!! 😭😭😭😭 thats such high praise.. and of course i can share!

so basically how i went about this is, this drawing came second to the first one, it literally ocurred to me in the middle of rendering the dark world kris and a lot of the composition choices came from the contrast between them. the timelapse starts with an already-laid-out piano sketch cuz i had to correct the perspective on the first one so many times that i took this shortcut for more accuracy, afterwards i did a quick sketch of the poses i imagined and very loosely arranged the background... i shouldve honestly used perspective lines but im too stubborn about them. anyways speaking of perspective, in the first one not only did i want to give it depth but also incline it somewhat, you will see its not exactly on a horizontal axis but tilted slightly, this is because i wanted to evoke a sense of instability/of being pulled in. so with the second canvas you can see me tilting it as i go to be a proper mirror to the first one.

enough talk on perspective (esp considering u asked for rendering particularly)... lets talk colors! so particularly for this canvas ill say.... the holiday kitchen was a bit nightmareish in terms of color palette bro its SO WHITE. you will see i went back and forth a few times about what tone to make the piano, the background, etc, so as to not be too bright next to the characters. speaking of which, i colored them first under the sketch and immediately started shifting hues, values, trying to find the vibe i wanted, because of the way i render, which is by merging the lineart with the color layer, this is because i like rendering to feel like im "sculpting" out my drawing, its easier to control shapes and textures this way (for me), i do understand it's not the most efficient one tho! sometimes i do make separate layers for complicated details that i dont want compromising the whole layer. i primarily use lasso fill after merging the layers because it gives off a cleaner look, and its much faster to manipulate the shapes and silhouettes with it (this is a core thing in my recent art cuz,, i used to spend waaaaay too much time doing everything by brush and at some point it started not only limiting me but putting me off from rendering altogether). then i used some textured brushes here and there to blend some colors and to deliberately place lineart where i want.

this piece in particular had a looot of back and forth of switching the character's palettes and outfits so that they could bounce off of each other better and make the viewer's eye navigate through more than one focal point. i wasnt planning on anything more than a subtle shadow here and there but i felt like the characters lacked a bit of depth, so i added shadows and highlights appropriately (always playing off from the base color of the thing im rendering, be it skin, clothes, i work the colors individually so that it feels less predictable). afterwards you just have to adjust the lighting on the background, figure out which details you want to make stand out (as u can see im not too overly detailed on background elements, just enough to properly suggest the room), and .. you're done!!

[rivwritesiguess]

Lost and Found - Chapter 2: Hawk

Word Count: 11.5k Still just angst, gonna be like this for quite a bit Poly!141 x gn!omega!reader Summary: The mission must go on despite reunions. The 141 is realizing just how different you've become. Warnings: Killing, reader is a meanie, military inaccuracies, bad attempts at European accents Notes: The POV changes so much in the last part, I'm moving between Price, Gaz, and reader too often lol my bad. Reader is referred to with they/them pronouns and will continue to be throughout the series. I know reader is a bitch but I promise it's for a reason, bro went through it the past year. I've been spending so much time establishing exactly what happened to them and I still don't have it fully thought out so there might be some inconsistencies I have to fix in the future when I write future chapters but that's a future me type of thing to deal with so I'm just gonna keep having fun typing away on my laptop. Made the banner with Canva and the dividers with Photopea Navigation Series Masterlist Also on AO3 previous - next

  Johnny stared ahead. He couldn’t look away from you. You were here. You were standing in the same room as him. That was you. How the hell was that you? He knew you had died. He watched you close the window. He heard the bullets fire. He saw your blood on the ground. You were dead. You were supposed to be dead. And yet, here you were.

  You had your face covered. Why? Was it simply to hide from enemies? Something you got used to wearing on the field that you stopped taking it off? Or was it to hide from them? Had you known you’d be seeing them today? You had to have, you weren’t confused and lost like the rest of them. Maybe you were wearing the mask with the hope that they wouldn’t recognize you. But how could that ever happen? You were you, of course they’d recognize you. Or maybe there were other reasons that Johnny couldn’t think of. Johnny doesn’t know exactly what it might be, but he does know that he wants to storm over there and rip the mask off your face. He wants to see your face again. He wants you to smile at him. He wants to feet his heart skip a beat when you do, and he wants to watch you tell them that everything is fine. You were fine.

  Kyle’s jaw was slacked. There’s no way. This isn’t real. No way. It’s impossible. It didn’t make any sense. This couldn’t be happening. It’d been a whole year, if you’d been alive you would’ve come to see them. You would’ve. You definitely would’ve. Maybe it isn’t even you. Maybe their minds are just playing a horrible, evil trick on them.

  Your scent wasn’t in the air. You had always sucked at hiding your scent, the act of suppressing it giving you a strong headache. During missions, you needed full gear in order to hide your scent. Even with that full gear, your scent would seep through when your emotions were really high. But you didn’t seem to have any of that gear on right now. You were wearing normal clothes. No gear. He couldn’t see any patches covering the scent glands on your neck. There’s no way you would’ve been able to hide your scent from them without patches. This couldn’t be you. Right?

  Simon was unnaturally calm. He sat completely still, looking at you. His eyes dug into yours. He knew it was you. But it wasn’t his you. You weren’t the same. He could already tell. You were no longer their Ace, you were a Hawk. Whatever happened from when you walked away from them to now had changed you, and he could see that in your eyes. The playfulness that he had always found looking back at him was gone, replaced by something he saw in his own eyes when he looked in the mirror. Something that had started to fade away when you had come along, only to come back once you had died. 

  Seeing that look in your eyes made him angry. It made him enraged. He wanted to hunt down whoever caused you to have that look. Whoever took away the hope that you always had. Whoever made you think you had to wear a mask. Whoever made it so he couldn’t smell your scent. He wanted to make them pay. He needed to make them pay.

  “What… what’s going on? How- how…” Price couldn’t even think of anything to say. He looked between you and Laswell as he asked the question, not wanting to take his eyes fully off you. If he did, you might disappear. You might leave. Again. Just like last time. You would shut the door and leave them there. Alone. Without you. 

  What… what were you doing back? How were you back? How were you standing in the room with them? And why were you so… different?

  “It’s a complicated situation, John-”

  “That’s fer damn sure,” Johnny interrupted, looking at Laswell. His anger was seeping into the room. 

  A beta’s anger was never a good thing. It was infectious. Betas’ scents were meant to be used to calm, so when their scent gets more negatively intense, it can make others in the room start to feel that anger. Simon wasn’t arguing against it, his anger starting to seep into the air as well. Price was ignoring it, trying to understand the situation. And Kyle…

  Kyle was looking at you still. He thought back to before. You always hated it whenever one of them got angry. You’d project your scent, trying to get people to calm down. You’d end up tired, the process of projecting your scent taking a lot out of you. But you did it anyway. You’d want to help them. Now, you just sat there. You were simply looking at them. You hadn’t moved since you took down your hood. You hadn’t moved an inch.

  “This can all be explained-”

  “Like bloody hell it can!” Johnny shot up in his seat, hands slamming on the table. “What the actual fuck?!”

  “There’s no need to get aggressive. You need to calm down.” Kyle shook his head.

  “You can’t be telling him to calm down when you thought this would be a good idea.” He stood up next, leaning forward on the table. “What’s going on?”

  “It’s a long story and it would do you both better to calm down. Everyone in the room will benefit if you just-”

  “Oh, can it, Laswell, you knew damn well that wisnae how this would go, didnae start wi’ this bullshit!”

  “Johnny.” Price said. It was said in the way he’d normally use to scold one of his pack members, but his tone showed he wasn’t entirely feeling it. There was definitely a part of him that wanted to watch Johnny tear Laswell and this Colonel a new one. How long had they known? How long had Laswell known? How long did she keep their omega away from them? Had she known this past year? How did she allow them to nearly tear themselves apart? How could she put them into therapy knowing the real solution was alive and well?

  “Ye better tell us what the hell is gaun on before we-”

  “Johnny.” A bit more authoritative than before. Threatening wouldn’t get them anywhere. 

  The scents in the room were mixed. Hurt, anger, confusion. 

  And yet, with all these scents, all these high emotions, Simon noticed one that was still missing. Yours.

  “Look, Laswell, if this… if this is some kinda sick joke, it ain’t funny, alright? They’re scent- it- it’s not even here, you havin’ people who look like Ace showin’ up to mess with our heads?” Kyle said, sounding as if he was trying to convince himself more than trying to call this out as some trick even though he knew it wasn’t. Laswell wasn’t cruel. And he knew that was you, even without your scent. Your eyes were enough to tell him that.

  Laswell shook her head.

  “It isn’t a joke. That’s them. That’s Ace. I know you are all confused and angry, but if you don’t calm down-”

  “Quit telling us to calm doon, god dammit! How long have ye known?! How long have they been alive?! Did ye ever even think tae tell us this?!” The Colonel spoke up now, turning to Johnny.

  “Sergeant, you need to sit down and stop yelling. This isn’t-” 

  Price didn’t like that. This alpha that he didn’t know taking a tone with his pack member? His beta? After hiding one of their pack members from them? Who the hell does he think he is?

  “Don��t you start tellin’ one of my men what to do, not after this.”

  “Maybe if you’d control your Sergeant then it wouldn’t be needed.”

  That was something Kyle didn’t like. This other alpha was getting to be too much. His tone was not one Kyle liked hearing directed toward one of his alphas. This guy asked them for their help and then chose to reveal you to them this way. He can’t be mad at them for their reaction. He should be glad they have yet to tear him a new one. 

  “Oi, watch it. You don’t get to mouth off at us when you’re the one that asked for our help.”

  “I asked for your help as soldiers. I didn’t ask for you all to scream at us over something like this.”

  “Like this?! Like this?!”Johnny slammed his hands on the table once again. “There’s nothin’ fucking like this! This shouldnae even be a thing!”

  There wasn’t much that could stop it now. The screaming started, shouting back and forth. 

  You and Simon were the only ones who hadn’t said anything. You both stayed quiet and still. Simon kept his eyes on you while you had brought your gaze back to the ground. You didn’t seem to be affected by this situation. You weren’t reacting at all. 

  Simon stared at you, trying to get some idea of what you were feeling. You used to be so easy for him to read. One look and he could tell exactly how you were doing, what you wanted, what you needed. Now? He couldn’t pick up a single thing. You were a true soldier, not letting your emotions show. Not letting your scent show. Is that what you’ve been doing this past year? Training? Away from them? Without them? Why?

  Colonel Green seemed to know you. He’d called you ‘kid’ like the two of you were close. Why did he get the right to see you but Simon and the others didn’t? Why had you stayed away from them? Did you think they’d be mad? Were you scared? What had happened in that building after you left them? Did you get knocked out? Were you captured? Were you forced to run? Have you been recovering for the past year? Maybe you were in a coma?

  Or worse, did you leave them voluntarily? Had you stayed away from them for the past year all in your own will? Did you not want to see them?

  “Screaming isn’t fixing anything!”

  “Maybe if you’d actually bothered to think this through, there wouldn’t be screaming!”

  “Maybe if you’d be an actual professional, there wouldn’t be screaming!”

  “Professional?! Ye want us tae be professional?! A member o’ our pack died! They died! They were dead! We watched them die!”

  “No.”

  The room went silent. The attention was back to you in an instant when you spoke your first words. You looked back up once again, looking between everyone in the room. 

  Your voice was different. Painfully different. It was different in the same way your eyes were. This wasn’t the voice that traded playful remarks with Johnny over comms. This wasn’t the voice that asked Kyle genuine questions about the games he was watching, trying to engage in what he enjoyed. This wasn’t the voice that coaxed John out of his office to make him take a break. This wasn’t the voice that reassured Simon that he was safe and that you loved them. 

  And yet, they still found their hearts skipping a beat when you spoke. It’d been so long since they heard you in real life. Sure, they heard your voice when they watched back videos. Those stupid videos you always insisted on making to ‘capture the moment’. You laughed from behind the camera, explaining what was going on as you all ate dinner, or explaining what you had all decided to do for vacation, or talking about what it is that Johnny had made the group watch. 

  You always had a way of bringing them back to the moment. Even after being gone for a year, you could still do it without even trying to.

  “...what d’ye mean, ‘no’?” Johnny asked. He had nearly forgotten you were in the room. You were so quiet. You were never so quiet. 

  You sighed, uncrossing your arms and pushing yourself off the wall.

  “I mean ‘no’. You didn’t ‘watch me die’. You were locked in a room.”

  “That- That ain’t- We heard-”

  “Well, you heard wrong.” 

  Your tone was so flat. You still showed no true emotion. You’d interrupted Johnny. Interrupted him. You had never interrupted him. You always let him talk. You always let him get his thoughts out. 

  For only the second time in his life, Johnny was speechless. He didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know how to react. He couldn’t shout. Not at you. He wanted to shout. He wanted to scream. He wanted to break shit. But not around you. He couldn’t around you.

  “You heard wrong, and I didn’t die. I’m here, and there’s a job to do, a pretty damn important one. So, we could either sit around here and keep screaming at each other like a bunch of babbling idiots, or we could get our shit together and focus on the task at hand. It’s up to you.” 

  You’d walked forward, standing next to the Colonel on the other side of the table. Away from them. On the opposite side as them. You stood there stiff. You stared at them with nothing in your eyes. No adoration. No love. Just business. That’s what you were now. You were just business. Focused.

  Simon remembered a time when he was like that. Even after joining the pack, he was still like that. It wasn’t until you had come along that he finally felt like he could fully relax. He had an omega, and he could keep them safe. They were safe. He could let himself rest at night with you in his arms.

  Seeing a past version of him reflected on you hurt more than he could ever describe. How had this happened? Where did they go wrong? Who hurt you so badly that this was who you now were? Why didn’t you come to them to heal instead of closing yourself off? Had they ever done anything to make you think they couldn’t? He couldn’t think of anything they’d done. 

  He doesn’t understand you, and it kills him. He always understood you. He always knew you. He knew that you always crunched your face up when you didn’t like something but quickly stopped when you realized you were doing it because you didn’t want to insult anyone. He knew that when you were standing around doing nothing you would feel a need to move around somehow because you couldn’t be doing nothing for too long. He knew that you pulled them to bed at night not just to make them rest, but also because you hated sleeping unless at least one of them was next to you.

  He can’t see this ‘new you’ doing any of that. This you isn’t his, and he doesn’t know if you ever will be again. You might be alive, but you’re not back.

  “Ace… how could you-” Kyle had started, his heart currently shattered in two. This wasn’t you. You wouldn’t be focused on work right now, no, you’d be happy. You’d be smiling at them, enthusiastically pulling them into tight hugs and reassuring them that you’d never leave again. That’s what you always did when this happened in his dreams. That’s how this scene was supposed to play out. Not whatever this is. 

  “That’s enough.”

  John didn’t know what had happened to you. He didn’t know how you’d survived. He didn’t know when Laswell had known you were alive. He didn’t know how you managed to stay away from them for so long. 

  But he did know that you were right. There was a mission to do. You weren’t supposed to be the one reminding them that. He was supposed to. He was supposed to be telling you and the others to stop goofing off. To focus. And yet you had reminded them. 

  You were different. Price didn’t know why. But he knew that standing around here and screaming at each other wasn’t going to change whatever had happened. They needed to do this mission. Price needed to see you in action. See if you were as skilled as your file and the Colonel made you out to be. Maybe, just maybe, that could explain something.

  And then, maybe, you’d talk to them. Once this was all done. Maybe.

  John took a deep breath. He had to focus. Get back to the mission.

  “When we leavin’?”

  “You should be ready to leave by 2000. You will wait in the car until we get confirmation from Lieutenant Evans and his men that the man we are looking for is going to the safe house. Once we have it, you will leave. You should get there about thirty minutes after Stone does. Then, you will take the walk. By the time you get in, he should be sleeping.”

  “Understood. Is there anything else?”

  “Price, we cannae just-”

  “Not now, Johnny.” It wasn’t the time. John didn’t look back at Johnny as he shut him down, keeping his gaze on Colonel Green.

  “No, Captain. That is all. As of now, everyone in this room is dismissed.”

  There wasn’t even time to say anything before you started moving, heading straight for the door. No one made a move to stop you.

  You left the room without a glance back at them.

  The car ride to the safehouse was deadly silent. You could hear a pin drop. Soap had tried talking to you a few times, but you ignored him. You didn’t have time for this. There was a mission to focus on, and it needed your full attention. Catching up on past relationships wasn’t important right now. 

  Soap stopped when you had allowed your scent to seep into the air ever so slightly, allowing those in the car to sense your annoyance. They knew you’d done it on purpose, but it worked nonetheless. Soap stopped bothering you, and you ran over the plan in your head a few more times before the car was pulling to a stop.

  You double-checked your gear for the fifth time since leaving before getting out of the car. You checked that the radio was working, responding curtly to Green when he asked if you and the 141 had arrived.

  You took a few steps away from the car before looking back at the group. They were whispering something. You probably should’ve tried to pick up on it, but you didn’t want to. You didn’t want to hear their voices any more than you had to.

  You had to focus on the mission. The mission is what is important. Growing close again would throw you off your groove, affect future missions. You couldn’t let that happen. 

  “I’ll stay with the car.” Ghost voice ended the small argument they seemed to be having. He didn’t wait for a response before he got back in the car. It probably wasn’t the best idea. You remembered his driving. He was… he could drive, with the basic meaning of the word. Best way to describe his driving was reckless. He would get from point A to point B, not being quite safe while doing it, but still getting it done.

  But that wasn’t for you to focus on. It was his job in the mission, he could do it how he seemed fit. 

  The other three turned to you. Price nodded, signaling for you to lead the way.

  You knew these woods better than all of them. You’d been surveying out here for the past five weeks, keeping track of everything that happened. You knew when the predators hunted, you knew when the prey scrounged for food. You knew when the animals slept. You knew when the birds sang, where the fish would swim. You knew everything about this area of the woods.

  You also knew everything about that damn house. It’d been your main target. Green had sent you out here after you figured out the organization was hiding out around here. You stalked, hiding high in the trees or low on the ground. You memorized the schedule of everyone in the building. You eavesdropped on as many conversations as you could. You kept them asleep by projecting a calming scent as you snuck through the house, gathering information. 

  You’d set up microphones in the walls the third time you managed to get into the house, which definitely made your job a bit easier. The only time you went in after that was mainly to see if they’d changed the layout or to move around the microphones. 

  The most recent time, however, you had broken the lock on a window in the back of the house. The hallway it was in led straight to the basement. You had lubricated the hinges of the door to make sure it wouldn’t creak. You’d hidden a lockpick so you’d be able to unlock the door in the basement that led outside next time you came around. You had prepared so much for this mission, and you weren’t planning on letting it fail.

  You’d hoped the walk to the halfway point would be silent. However, Soap and 15 minutes of silence could never possibly mix.

  “So, ‘Hawk’, what’s yer life like? Got a special pack?” There was a hint of venom in his voice, but you ignored it. You ignored him. You weren’t here for small talk or arguments. You were here for the mission.

  “Sergeant…” There was Price, that same warning tone as always. It always made you feel guilty before. When it was directed at you, it was normally because you and Soap were hogging comms with meaningless chatter. 

  There was no chatter now though, despite Soap’s ongoing attempt. You saw no need. Before, you had needed it to keep yourself calm. Hearing Soap’s voice helped you get through your part of the mission. Hearing any of their voices helped you get through your part of the mission. Now, however, you didn’t need that. You didn’t need to hear them. In fact, you didn’t even want to hear them. It would only distract. You didn’t need to be distracted.

  “What, Captain? Ah just want tae know more aboot this ‘Hawk’ fella we’re s’possed tae be workin’ wi’.” 

  Soap definitely wasn’t taking all this well. You had never met a beta like him before. Even in the past year away from them, no beta ever reminded you of Soap. For a beta, he was very hot-headed when the time came. Sure, he was soft and kind most of the time (or at least that’s how you remembered him), but when something really pissed him off, it pissed him off. He could probably even be mistaken for an alpha if his scent didn’t give him away. 

  “Especially since, by the looks o’ it, we’ve never met them before. Or at least that’s how they’re treatin’ us.”

  You noticed how Gaz stayed quiet. He hadn’t said anything to you. The last time you heard him talk was in the briefing when he was arguing with Laswell and Green. Ghost was silent as well, but Gaz’s silence was different. With Ghost, you couldn’t quite pinpoint where his silence was coming from. With Gaz, on the other hand, you sensed confusion. Hurt. Pain. He wanted answers, but you weren’t willing to give them.

  You had smelled their scents before they put their blockers on. Price was trying to stay professional, but you could sense the hurt underneath. Soap was just pissed off. Ghost was hiding his scent, suppressing it just like you’ve been doing. Gaz, on the other hand, was all hurt. So confused. You knew he wanted to hold you, but you didn’t let him. The mission needed your focus. 

  “Soap, knock it off.” Price demanded. Soap huffed. Before he could possibly argue, you recognized the marking on the top of the tree.

  “We’re halfway.” You stopped walking, turning back to the group. They froze for a moment. It was the first words they’d heard from you directed towards them since the briefing. “One of you stays here and goes over to watch the road. Stay on the lookout for any cars. There shouldn’t be anyone coming this way at this time.”

  “What about other cars from the organization?” Price asked. You shook your head.

  “No. Not unless something happens. They like their sleep.”

  “What aboot ye, Hawk, ye like yer sleep? How dae ye sleep? Yer bed comfortable? Mebbe a bit empty?” 

  Soap couldn’t come with. He was too upset to take the mission seriously.

  “Stop it, Mactavish, that’s enough.” Soap turned his head to Price, about to argue.

  “You should stay back.” Soap’s head whipped back to you, the confusion on his face evident. “If you can’t be professional, you shouldn’t come to the house. It’ll only slow us down.”

  “Ye think ah cannae remain professional? What’s professional aboot not talkin’ to yer team members? What's professional aboot projectin’ yer scent to shut ‘em up? Think it's professional tae-”

  “I said that’s enough, Sergeant.” Price was angry now, but not at you. His anger seemed to be directed at Soap. Maybe he thought Soap was doing too much. That he might hurt your feelings. Or maybe he wanted Soap to stop out of fear of ruining chances of reconciliation. That wouldn’t be happening, even if all four of them wanted it. You weren’t planning on building a bond again.

  Maybe he was trying to focus on the mission. That’s what needed to happen. You all needed to focus, and petty arguments weren’t going to help.

  “You’ll stay back, just like they said.” Soap seemed like he wanted to argue, similar to how that one Sergeant had been during the briefing after hearing what his team’s job was. However, just like the Sergeant, Soap didn’t argue. Soap wasn’t going to argue with Price. You could tell he wanted to keep being petty, but he knew they still had a mission to get through. 

  Soap gave a curt nod to Price, unsuccessfully trying to hide the small glare creeping onto his face before turning and walking in the direction of the road, preparing to do the job you had described. 

  With that, you turned and kept walking, not wanting to waste any more time. 

  Price and Gaz didn’t try to start conversation with you in the 15-minute walk. They didn’t even talk to each other. Before, you would’ve felt awkward about the silence. You would’ve filled it with your own talking, ranting about whatever you could think of. Now, however, you kept your mouth shut. Talking wasn’t needed to complete the mission right now. Even if it had felt awkward, you wouldn’t have talked. Not to them. You couldn’t. 

  It wasn’t allowed.

  Soon enough, you were at the treeline near the house. You looked ahead, seeing the window you were planning on sneaking in. You focused for a minute, trying to catch the scent in the air. 

  It was coming from the rooftop. You looked up to see two men quietly talking. They weren’t really paying attention, but you didn’t want to risk it. You didn’t make a move until you saw them move to the other side of the house. 

  You shook your head with a scoff under your breath. The organization was far too confident. They thought they had nothing to worry about, so they didn’t take their security seriously. Those two on the roof were meant to be lookouts, but they were just chatting away and not even actually checking when they were looking out. It was foolish, but it did make your job a bit easier. Not that you would treat it as if it were any easier.

  You took a deep breath before quietly moving and taking off your gun, handing it over to the closest person to you, which happened to be Price. He looked at you confused.

  “What are you doing?”

  “I need to be silent. Having that on won’t help me.”

  “You can’t go in there without a weapon. It’s not safe.”

  “Give it to me when I let you in.”

  “You need a weapon.”

  “I have one.” 

  You didn’t leave room for any more argument before you were quickly moving out into the open, forcing Price to stop his argument so he wouldn’t draw attention to you. There wasn’t time to argue about something so stupid. You’d done this tons of times, you weren’t going to stop just because Price was worried. This wasn’t the time to be worried, not when there was a mission to get through.

  You moved quickly and quietly to the side of the house. Once there, you pushed your back against the wall and squatted down, slowly moving over to the window. You lifted your hand only slightly, grabbing the very edge of the window to avoid your hand being seen from the inside. You listened intently for a moment before slowly opening the window ever so slightly. 

  You then focused on scent, trying to recognize if there was anyone in the hallway you were about to go into. You didn’t smell anyone, so you slowly opened the window a bit more. You heard a few footsteps on the roof and paused, glancing up. You were covered by the overhang of the roof, you’d be fine. However, you didn’t want to risk them hearing you climb in, so you waited until the footsteps stopped on a different side of the house before opening the window even wider and sliding in.

  John and Kyle watched you from the treeline. John held your gun, still not liking the idea of you going in there without it. Sure, you had your combat knife and a pistol, but the weapon he’s holding is the one that you can do the real damage with. The Colonel did mention you’d get them through without needing to fire a shot, but what if something went wrong? What if you got caught? What if you got cornered and a pistol wasn’t enough? Would he and Kyle be able to get there in time before you were hurt? He couldn’t let you get hurt. Not you.

  John knew you were different. He didn’t know why, but he knew you were. Even just from the briefing, he knew you’d changed drastically. And watching you sneak into the house right now further proved it. You never would’ve been able to do that before. 

  Or maybe you could’ve. Maybe the only reason he thought that was because he didn’t see you trying. He didn’t see you trying because he never let you do this kind of thing. Was that why you’d stayed away this past year? Did you think he and the others held you back? Did you stay away from them so you could build your skills? Did you leave them for the past year so you wouldn’t have to deal with them trying to protect you? Did you hate them for that?

  “They’re good,” Kyle whispered to John, snapping John from his thoughts.

  John nodded.

  “They definitely are.”

  He watched you pause and smell for scents before going in. You were so… professional. That was the best way to describe it. You knew what you were doing, and you moved with a purpose. You did everything with a purpose. You hadn’t spoken a word to them when it wasn’t needed. You didn’t fill the walk with pointless talk like you would’ve in the past. You spoke when you had to in order to complete the mission. 

   John knew Johnny wasn’t taking this well. In the few hours before leaving, the beta had been storming around the pack house before Kyle managed to calm him down. Johnny was not happy about all of this. He wasn’t happy with John either, not appreciating how his alpha refused to let him try and get answers. He didn’t seem happy with you. You had shot him down at every turn whenever he tried to bond with you. It was as if you didn’t care about the bond you and the pack ever had in the past.

  But John knew that wasn’t the case. And he knew that Johnny knew deep down it wasn’t the case as well. But Johnny was still going to be angry. The petty comments would continue, and John would have to keep shutting them down, or you’d end up projecting your scent again.

  That was definitely a new skill of yours. Sure, you’d projected your scent in the past, but only in private. And you were only ever able to do it very softly before it took too much out of you. You’d done it a few times to try and calm people down, and John had seen how it affected you. He shut it down, telling you not to do it anymore out of fear of what it was doing to your body. 

  Now, however, you did it so easily. You’d projected your annoyance to the group without breaking a sweat, and it definitely worked. Johnny was too uncomfortable with the feeling of making an omega annoyed, so he shut up, and if he hadn’t, the others would’ve shut him up in an attempt to get rid of the smell in the air. How many times have you used your scent like that in the past year? You had to get good at it somehow, and you’ve obviously been on a lot of missions in the past year. You had to have been in order to build up a file as good as yours. Had you used your scent to your advantage in those missions? Did it exhaust you in the beginning? Why’d you start doing it? How’d you start doing it? 

  You were an omega. Omegas were never seen as threats. They normally stayed away from the military. If they did join, they didn’t get far before leaving to join a pack or pursue a different career. When omegas left, it was no big deal. No one expected them to get very far in the first place. John had only met a few omegas who stuck with the military, and they normally were in the medical field. Nurses or medics. 

  You were different. The first time John met you was on a mission. He had smelled omega in the air before you put on your scent blockers. It was a mission where he was put in charge of about 10 other soldiers. He had thought you were just a medic tagging along, but when you got fully geared up, he realized he was wrong. You were great with a gun, it was the only thing you used throughout the mission. Not an expert like him or the other members of the Task Force, but still pretty great. You stayed at the back during fights, which some people saw as being cowardly. However, with the way you continuously popped up from behind your cover to try and help the unit, Price knew what the others thought wasn’t the case.

  You also didn’t let things get to you. Throughout that mission, John heard a few of the other soldiers shit-talking you in regards to you being an omega. You had simply ignored them. Then, later that day when it was time for dinner, you had shared some of your food with one of them as if nothing happened. You’d done it with a smile on your face.

  That was when John knew that he needed you on his team. Not because of your shooting, or your smarts, or your combat. It was your smile. The way you smiled at a man who said such rude things about you despite having heard every word. He couldn’t let you go. Not when you could be going to another team that would say things just as rude purely due to your designation. Not when he wanted you to stay near him, not so he could force you into his pack and get you to retire, but so he could give you an environment where you could thrive at your work and not be dealing with alphas and betas who refused to take you seriously.

  John started working on getting you on his team the second he got back. He couldn’t exactly tell command he wanted you on his team because you smiled, so he told them the team could use someone different. He also told them that you had potential, which was true. He spent about an hour or two trying to convince them. Someone accused him of just wanting you to be his pack’s omega and he shot that down. He didn’t want you because of that, it was your ability to face someone cruel and still choose to be good. He needed someone like that on the team.

  Of course, now, a few years after that, John realizes he did want you to join the team with hopes of you joining his pack. Then, he couldn’t admit that to himself. But now? He knows that was the case and wouldn’t be able to deny it if he tried.

  Laswell probably knew at the time, even if he didn’t realize it. When he was talking to her and explaining the situation, she was looking at him with a ‘do you think I’m stupid’ type of look. He had ignored it, telling her the same reasons he told everyone else. Despite probably knowing, Laswell didn’t say anything. She read over your file, commenting how she didn’t see anything that made you stand out for the Task Force. There was nothing that qualified you to be considered. However, she must’ve known John’s unconfessed intentions, because she pulled strings on her end to get you on the team.

  John remembers feeling so relieved. He didn’t know why he was relieved, but he was. He lied to himself, saying he was just relieved because another person would make missions easier to complete. But deep down, even then, a part of him knew it was more than that. A part of him was relieved to have an omega around him. His alpha was relieved at the thought that he’d be able to protect this omega. 

  But he’d failed at that. He failed at protecting you, and for the past year, he thought you were dead. You had to have gone through so much in the past year, and that was his fault. He was to blame. He didn’t keep you safe. The omega he pulled onto his team, let into his life, and swore to himself to protect. He failed you. And now… you were different. 

  “Open.” Your voice came over comms. When John looked up, he saw the cellar doors open ever so slightly before shutting. 

  “They in, doors’re unlocked,” Kyle said. 

  John could hear the relief they both felt in Kyle’s voice. Sure, John had read through your file. He saw how skilled you were, but it was still strange and confusing to him that the file was talking about you. 

  He remembered how your file looked when he first got you on the team. It didn’t have much on it aside from test scores and a few missions. Your current file, however, was filed with field experience and a long list of classified missions. How have you done all that in the past year?

  “Followin’ your lead, Captain,” Kyle said, his voice going back to his usual tone when they were on missions.   John nodded, carefully putting your weapon on his back. He glanced up, checking for the lookouts. When he didn’t see them, he nodded to Kyle and the two quickly moved forward to the cellar door. John opened it quietly as Kyle climbed in. John followed right behind, shutting the cellar doors behind him.

  You came up behind Price once they were both in and put the lock back around the handles. You didn’t actually lock it, but you made it look like it was locked, holding it still for a moment before slowly pulling away to make sure it didn’t fall off. 

  Price handed you your weapon and you swung it on your back, not giving it much mind. Instead, you pulled out your combat knife from the pocket on your chest. You couldn’t use the gun in this house. The second you did, your presence would be made known. The knife was your best bet to keep this mission going well. You pulled out your pistol, double-checking that it was still loaded in the case where you’d need to use it. After doing so, you put it back in its holster before nodding towards Gaz and Price, motioning for them to follow you as you walked forward.

  You saw the small moment where Price wanted to protest as you got to the basement door. He didn’t want to let you go first. You didn’t give him the chance to speak before you opened the door quietly and poked your head out. 

  You took in the smell of the air, trying to pinpoint where people were in the building. There seemed to be about three people in the living room, which was towards the front of the house. Luckily, the stairs that you needed to take to get to the Stone’s room were closer to the back. 

  You’d argued about doing the mission on your own with Colonel Green. You probably would’ve been able to. You would’ve been able to carry the Stone out and simply avoid the other people in the house, but Green had said he didn’t want to risk it. So, you begrudgingly agreed to being on a team with people.

  When Laswell called you and told you that she wanted you to work with the 141, you were not willing. You didn’t want to see them again. They’d distract you. And then there’d be all the questions, all the talking. All the feelings. It wasn’t something you wanted to do. You’d argued for about an hour before Laswell finally put her foot down.

  You were even more upset when Laswell and Green told you you’d have to show your face. That wasn’t something you’d agree to at all. You covered your face for a reason. The deep scar that stretched across the bottom half of your face was something you didn’t want to ever acknowledge again. You didn’t even look at your face. You avoided mirrors. You hated your reflection and what looked back at you whenever you weren’t wearing your stupid face mask. It was a reminder of your weakness, something you never planned on showing again.

  You didn’t want to show the task force your face. You didn’t want them to question. You didn’t want them to react. Would they pity you? Would they be angry? Would they be unable to look? Would they think you were ugly? Would their memory of you be scorned? Would they hate you?

  A part of you knew you shouldn’t care. They weren’t part of you anymore. Who cares if they hated you? That wasn’t your problem. It’s not like they’re still your pack or anything. You don’t need them anyway. You don’t need a pack. 

  And no one in the world got to see your face. Not anymore. And that includes your old pack.

  So you had stormed out of the room, never once agreeing with Laswell or Green to lower the mask. You didn’t want them to know it was you. They’d want to talk. To bond. However, when Laswell had used that tone, you knew she was done with you refusing. You didn’t want to get into any disciplinary trouble, so you had reluctantly taken off your hood.

  They recognized you. A part of you had hoped they wouldn’t. That would’ve made the mission much easier. You could get through, not say a word. The mission would be over and they’d be none the wiser, still under the impression that you were dead and buried. The way you wanted them to think. You obviously didn’t get what you wanted.

  A part of you, the part you’d been keeping buried for so long, thought about doing things differently. Thought about running up to them the minute they walked into the room. Their scents were overwhelming, so familiar and yet so unknown. You stood still and focused on them while Green had talked, taking in every little thing you’d spent the past year missing. 

  But you weren’t allowed to miss them. You were a soldier. You had to focus on the mission.

  Right. The mission.

  You took yourself out of your thoughts, realizing you were actively walking and leading Price and Gaz down the hallway. Taking a left, you ducked down as you guys crept through the kitchen, making sure you all wouldn’t be seen through the back door. 

  It was going well until you smelled a scent approaching. You quickly held up your hand, stopping the crawl through the kitchen on one side of the island. You’d contemplated going back the way you came, but you wouldn’t have gotten out of the kitchen in time. So, you stayed still, keeping your hand raised to tell the two to stay quiet. 

  Someone came down the stairs and walked into the room. An alpha. They smelled like tires and coal with a hint of gasoline. They were relaxed, casually walking on the other side of the island to get to the fridge with no knowledge of the three intruders in the kitchen, the scent suppressors that Price and Gaz were wearing working wonders.

  You didn’t have one. The control you had over your scent made it so you could suppress it automatically. If you did wear one, then you’d lose your advantage of projecting your scent to make your enemies vulnerable. Which is what you are doing right now.

  Very lightly, you let out the scent of fear. You heard the alpha freeze. Nobody liked the scent of an omega fear, especially an alpha. They’d want the scent gone. Some would comfort, others would try and stomp it out.

  This one wouldn’t live long enough for you to find out what type he was.

  The alpha started approaching the island slowly, now having a hint of curiosity and concern in his scent. You saw Price and Gaz tense up, ready for a fight. They raised their guns, not looking much at you as they started to move forward. 

  You rolled your eyes slightly. They fire those things and the whole operation is a bust. You shook your head at them, motioning for them to get back against the island. Price didn’t seem entirely willing to listen, but Gaz did when he saw the look on your face.

  Price started to stand up. You were running out of time before Price would give away your position. You stopped letting out your fear, worrying that it was messing with him and clouding his judgment. You could handle this. You knew what you were doing. You wouldn’t lure him over here if you thought a gunfight was going to need to happen. 

  You replaced the fear with a sort of pleading. This made Price pause. 

  Then, you were able to take your shot. 

  The alpha started to turn around the island and you quickly stood up, combat knife in hand as you threw your hand over his mouth and stabbed him in the neck. You moved too quickly for the alpha to react. His eyes widened as he tried to call out for help with his voice but your hand stopped him. 

  You pulled the knife out and quickly stabbed him on both sides of his neck where his scent glands were, stopping him from projecting his scent and alerting the others in the house about the danger. Then, life drained from his eyes and he started to slump forward. You allowed this, sitting down as you held his body, quickly taking the cover of the island to hide from the back door once again.

  You quickly pulled the alpha’s jacket off, wrapping it around his neck to try and stifle the heavy scent of blood in the air. You wiped your hands off on the jacket as well so the blood wouldn’t be smelled as the three of you kept going through the house. Now, you just had to hide the body for at least ten minutes.

  You glanced around and your eyes landed on the pantry. You nodded to yourself before looking over to the two next to you, motioning for Price to grab the alpha’s legs and for Gaz to open the pantry door.

  Kyle didn’t know if he was horrified or turned on. He’d seen death before, obviously. He’d been the cause of death before. And he’s seen you shoot people before, but that was always from afar. He had never before seen you with blood on your hands. On missions, you always stood back and fought with a gun. Sure, it was your best weapon, but Kyle knew there was more to it. He knew it was so you didn’t have to get anywhere near the actual person. So you didn’t have to feel their blood splattering onto you like blood typically did in close combat. He understood a part of you hated blood, never willing to touch any of the pack when they had blood on their clothes.

  And yet… here you were. You acted so… efficiently. Like you’d done this hundreds of times before. How many people have you done that to this past year? How many other alphas have you gotten rid of? It had to be a lot. You did it so effortlessly. The only thing you seemed to stress about was if he and John would act.

  A part of Kyle wishes he did. He wishes he had blown the mission. Then, he wouldn’t have had to see you do that. He wouldn’t have had to have the image of your innocence killed so brutally. You hit that alpha’s scent glands with the precision of an expert. You wrapped his jacket around his neck without any hesitation. You moved with a purpose, and everything you did had a reason. It was so different from how he once knew you. You’re an expert now, unlike before when Kyle had gotten used to having to help you learn.

  When you looked back at him and John, his heart stopped for a moment. You made solid, full eye contact with him. You hadn’t done that yet. Sure, your eyes would meet his in quick glances, but you looking at him for over a second? That hadn’t happened yet. He hadn’t seen that in a year.

  And sure, there was no look of care like there might’ve been before. There was no love in that look. Obviously there wouldn’t be, you’d just killed a guy and you were trying to get help with hiding the body. But you still looked at him. You looked at him.

  When John started moving, Kyle did as well. As John grabbed the man’s legs and helped you quietly carry the man to the pantry, Kyle opened it and moved things around to make some room. 

  You walked backward into the pantry, maneuvering the man so his back was against the wall before letting him sink to the ground. Then, you stepped over his legs to exit. You turned around, wiping your knife on his pants leg to get rid of some of the blood.

  Kyle and John squatted down again as you did, taking a quick glance at the backdoor and feeling lucky that the guard out back wasn’t really trying to actually guard. He hadn’t seen a thing.

  When you turned back, you had a bit of blood on your neck from when you’d stabbed his scent glands. Your mask hid the blood that had splattered there well due to its black color, but there were still small specks of blood on your face.

  Kyle wanted nothing more than to reach forward and wipe the blood off. However, you didn’t let him think on that thought twice before shutting the pantry and continuing to move through the house.

  Kyle and John followed behind you as you kept moving like you hadn’t just killed someone. In the past, you’d have needed a second before continuing. That’s why John didn’t let you come on missions where enemy interaction was unavoidable. He’d tell you to stay back while they went ahead. Help them out over comms by guiding them through the building they were in or letting them know if enemies were approaching.

  Kyle knew that was only part of the reason John had you stay back. He told command it was what you were best at. You’d do more once you had more training. 

  The main reason, however, was concern for your safety. It was always out of concern for your safety. After all, you were their omega, it was only natural for him to want to keep you safe. 

  Every other military pack whose omegas were also in the military did it. They’d give their omegas the safest job on a mission, even if their omega was better qualified for something else. Sure, it wasn’t ‘technically’ allowed, but no one said anything. Command accepted the excuses that were made, even though they knew the real reason. They wouldn’t tell a pack what to do with their omega. Most of command was fine with omegas staying back, still having the stereotypical belief that omegas were too weak for the more dangerous aspects of the job. 

  None of the team ever held this belief. They knew you were strong, but they still wanted to keep you safe. They didn’t want you to have to use your strength. Not when there were moments where you flinched at unexpected gunfire. Not when you always hesitated to pull the trigger till the last second. Making you use your strength didn’t keep you safe. They had to keep you safe. At least until you could handle yourself better on the field.

  What was hitting John was the fact that you truly didn’t need them to keep you safe right now. You were able to handle yourself perfectly fine. Better than fine. You had just taken that alpha down without any help. You’d been trying to stop them from helping, and you did. When he recognized the pleading scent in the air, he froze. That was vulnerability directed towards him. It wasn’t like the fake fear you were putting in the air to lure the alpha. It was meant for him. Even if it was fake, you still did it for him. He’d gone so long without having your scent being there for him, so when he finally had it again, he froze. An experienced military captain like him froze. Sure, it was only for a split second, but it still happened. No one had ever managed to make him do that. And yet you did. And you had meant to.

  The second he froze, you took action. You only needed that split second. You’d stopped him from attacking the alpha and giving away the position, so you had pulled back your scent entirely. And then you attacked. And John could only sit and watch as you did something he could never have seen you doing.

  And then you kept moving after it. And now you were all approaching the bedroom that you say the man is in. You turn back to them.

  “Stay out here. If you hear someone starting to come up, come in and do it silently.” 

  You didn’t elaborate before opening the door. The target was lying on the bed, passed out. His scent was in the air. It was similar to the earlier alpha, sharing that same scent of tire. He had a smell of gasoline as well, but it was much heavier. There was also smoke. He smelled… dangerous. And you knew he was.

  Christopher Stone. He had been responsible for several attacks on military personnel across the country. He wasn’t the head of this organization, but he was definitely an important part of it. Taking him back and questioning him could finally reveal the reason for everything the organization had been doing. What their true motive was. 

  Why they did everything they did to you.

  You projected a calming scent before taking another step towards him. It would keep him asleep. It was in an alpha’s nature to feel more relaxed when an omega was calm. So, if the floor were to creak, it’s less likely he’d wake up. 

  Of course, you watched your steps very carefully, so no creaks would be happening. Whenever you stepped on a floorboard that felt a bit too wrong, you moved to another. Soon enough, you were right next to the bed.

  Here’s where keeping him relaxed really helped. He didn’t wake up when he heard the quiet sound of something unzipping. He didn’t wake up when he felt the bed shift. He only woke up when you were on top of him, but by that point, it was too late. You already had the syringe going into his neck. You were already injecting the fast-acting paralyzing agent. You already had your hand covering his mouth and had a towel across his neck, covering his scent glands and stopping him from projecting his scent for help. 

  You injected the drug in less than half a second before tossing the syringe to the other side of the bed. You moved your free hand to his neck, pushing down to keep the towel there. He lifted his waist in an attempt to sit up, but you put all your strength into pushing him down. He tried kicking his legs and swinging his arms to get you off, but you took the hits without a flinch. He tried peeling your hand off his mouth, but you were stronger. He tried pulling off the towel, but you were still stronger.

  After about three seconds, the drug was already kicking in. His movements slowed rapidly, and after another five seconds, he was limp. His eyes stared up at you, a glare set on them as you lifted yourself slightly, removing your hand from his mouth. 

  His glare didn’t affect you. You kept moving, pulling out another syringe with a drug to knock him out. You saw his eyes widen before you pushed the new syringe into the other side of his neck. He couldn’t do anything but watch as you injected the drug and then got off of him, grabbing the other syringe and pulling the needle off of both of them. You put the needles inside a tiny plastic case, something they wouldn’t be able to stab through when you put them back into the small bag on your hip. You put the syringes in a plastic bag together before putting them back in the bag as well. 

  As Stone passed out, you quietly went back to the door, opening it and motioning for Price and Gaz to come in. 

  Kyle was surprised at how quickly you had managed to knock out the target. When he heard the door open, he was half expecting to see the target there and you in the background, dead on the ground. 

  Luckily, that didn’t happen. You opened the door and stepped aside so he and John could go inside. They quickly did so, looking to the bed. There was the target, passed out. You’d done it, and you hadn’t even needed their help. 

  Kyle was a bit confused as to why they were here in the first place. You’d gotten through the house without trouble. You’d killed that alpha downstairs without trouble. You knocked out the target without trouble. You didn’t need them. If anything, them coming along puts you at more risk of being caught. It was easier to notice three people sneaking around the house instead of one. 

  “One of you grab him and then follow a few seconds behind me. I’m going to make sure they still don’t know we’re here.”

  “I’m going to make sure they don’t stop thinking it’s only someone.”

  Kyle hated that. He hated hearing those words ‘I’m going to make sure’. Anytime anyone at the time had said it the past year he’d stop them from doing whatever they were doing, even if it was just something as simple as making sure the food wasn’t burning. It was an automatic response at this point. He had to stop them because he hadn’t been able to stop you.

  He quickly stepped out, grabbing your arm.

  “I got it, Ace, you don’t have to.”

  It was an accident. He hadn’t meant to let your old code name slip, but he did. When he’d thought of the sentence in his head, he used ‘Hawk’. But that felt so wrong. It felt beyond wrong. You weren’t a hawk. You weren’t some haunting predator. You were their Ace. Their lucky Ace, always getting them through their missions and making them come out on top. Not a hawk.

  But you didn’t like it. Kyle saw that from the flash of bitterness on your face when he said it. He didn’t understand why it was there. You never hated when they called you Ace before. You smiled when they called you the name outside of missions. You laughed when they’d tease you with it, and blush when they reminded you of the reasoning. 

  There was none of that now. You pulled your arm out of Kyle’s grip. You didn’t do it harshly, but just the action of pulling away from him made Kyle feel like someone had just stabbed him in the gut. His hand now felt empty, having held you for only a moment before you were ripped away from him.

  “No. One of you needs to watch the other’s back.” 

  Once again, you left no room for argument, moving out of the room before Kyle could say anything. He stared at the open doorway as you moved out of his sight, frozen. 

  You had pulled away from him. You hadn’t listened to him. You left him. 

  It was exactly what you did to the others the day he lost you.

  He couldn’t move, feeling as lost as he did that day. He felt such regret over that day, knowing he was the only one who didn’t say anything to you. He didn’t try to stop you. He didn’t get to say goodbye. He’d been frozen, just like he was now. He only talked when you were gone. How could he do that? How could he not say a thing to you? Did you leave thinking he didn’t care? How could he let you think that? How could he just sit there and not try anything? How could he only talk once you were gone? What kind of packmate was he?

  The only thing that unfroze him was the feeling of John’s hand on his shoulder. He was pulled back to the present as he looked over, feeling so hurt and confused.

  Kyle’s face showed his hurt and confusion. It made John want to hold him. Reassure him everything was alright. You’d come back around.

  But now wasn’t the time. There was still the mission, and you didn’t seem like you were willing to let them take a quick mental health break. They didn’t have time.

  “Pick him up, Gaz, I’ll watch your six,” John instructed, lightly pushing Kyle towards the bed. He watched as his beta stood still for a moment more before managing to get out of his own head, walking over to the bed, and throwing the target over his shoulders.

  A part of John wanted to be relieved that Kyle was moving. Kyle had been frozen like that lots of times in the past year, stuck in his head as he thought about the final moments they had with you. He brought up his self-doubt a few times in the most recent group therapy sessions. The group had fully accepted your death about four months ago. About a month after that, their group therapist suggested that they all talk about how they felt when it happened. Most of the talk had been about how they were feeling towards each other, but the therapist thought their acceptance would be a good time to change the talk and address other issues.

  John remembers the anger he felt when Kyle had first called himself a bad beta. How could he possibly think that? How could John have let Kyle think that for so long without realizing what was going through his head?

  He knew Simon was upset at himself as well. So was Johnny. They were all upset with themselves. How could any of them have been so selfish to not realize what the others were going through? To focus only on themselves while the others were suffering so greatly?

  John finally understood why Kyle was freezing up at times during that session. It was because he was playing the scene of you leaving them back in his head, imagining all the different things he could’ve done. John always did his best to snap him back to the present. Luckily, he’d done that pretty easily this time.

  Despite how easily he did it, he couldn’t feel the relief he wanted to. Not when he could tell that Kyle was still shaken. Not when he no longer had eyes on you.

  The second Kyle was by the door, John was ready to move. To get you in his sights again. However, when they stepped outside, you weren’t there.

  John and Kyle felt an intense sense of panic when they didn’t see you in the hallway waiting for them. They couldn’t smell you either. They didn’t hear anything. You hadn’t been killing another alpha. You hadn’t been in a fight. What if you were caught? Were you hurt? Were you dead? Not again, you couldn’t be dead again. That wouldn’t be fair, they just found you again. They still needed to work on winning you back.

  Their fears were put on hold when you poked your head around the corner, giving them a small gesture to tell them it was safe to move forward. They were pulled back to the mission and quickly listened to what you had said, moving forward and following behind you as you made sure the path was clear. 

  John kept looking behind, not wanting someone to sneak up on the group while Kyle was busy carrying the target. They’d be vulnerable, more vulnerable than they already were by being in enemy territory. It wouldn’t end well, especially since whoever it was would be able to alert everyone else in the base before Price or you would be able to take them down. 

  Luckily, they didn’t need to worry about any of that. You got them through the house with ease, using the scents in the air to tell when it would be safe to move forward and when it wouldn’t be. After about two minutes, the three of you, with the target on Kyle’s shoulders, got back to the basement.

  John knew you were planning on leaving first. He didn’t try to say anything to stop you this time. Instead, he quickly moved forward past you, getting to the exit before you and opening it quietly. He stuck his head out first, forcing you to fall back and wait for his signal that told you and Kyle it was good to move forward.

  John didn’t have as strong of a sense of smell as you. You were always more sensitive when it came to that thing, something the guys tried to accommodate for you. They’d spritz themselves with a bit of scent blocker, not fully blocking their scent but making it less intense so you weren’t constantly scrunching up your nose whenever one of them started to feel a bit more passionately. It was another reason John had you stay behind on missions, not wanting you to feel uncomfortable due to the intense smells that would be wherever they were going.

  Your sense of smell was why you’d been going first throughout all of this. You had the easiest way to check if the coast was clear, especially since no one in this building was holding their scent due to their guard being up. The people in this building thought they were safe. They’d been foolish.

  Due to not having a sense of smell like yours, John mainly relied on his hearing. He listened for the talking of the two men on the rooftop. He listened for their footsteps. When he heard their talking move further away along with their footsteps, he took it as the chance to act. He motioned to you and Kyle before quickly climbing out. 

  John stood by the door as you and Kyle pushed the target up to him. John took the target and picked him up, throwing him over one of his shoulders as he ushered you and Kyle out of the basement. You shut the doors behind the three of you before you all quickly moved for the cover of the trees. 

  Once back in the trees, John went to his radio. 

  “Ghost, start driving towards Soap.”

  With the mission being almost over, the pack could now redirect their focus to you. 

  Now came the hard part.

[withleeknow]

wishful thinking. (07)

chapter seven: built to break

summary: the instruction was plain and simple: no strings attached. but you should’ve known from the beginning that it could never apply to you and him.

pairing: minho x f!reader rating: 18+ (minors dni) genres/warnings: friends to lovers, friends with benefits au, college au; fluff, angst, smut; the gorlies are fighting...?, not much for warnings in this chapter ig word count: 4.3k note: i finally got off my ass and wt is finally back lol. i had a last minute change of plans and thought "oh! you know what would be pretty neat? if we prolong the angst so everyone can be sad for longer!" <3 and this is how i announce that the next chapter is not wt8 but wt7.5 and it's written from his pov <3 merry christmas

as always, i’d appreciate any thoughts or comments you may have, and please drop a like and/or reblog if you enjoy reading ♡

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I’ll hold my breath as I wait for your answer I’ll leave it up to you Tell me whether it’s yes or no Baby, love me or leave me tonight

Love Me or Leave Me - Day6

The warning signs, they're there. You can see them before they materialize. You know your own tells.

Your metaphorical bags are packed, your shoes are already on. You're about to run again, leave a half empty house before it has the chance to become a home. No one has to tell you that you're a flight risk; you're well aware of it yourself.

Wednesday Min: got plans tonight? You: booked and busy with ze old canvas Min: tomorrow? You: same thing probably. sorry Min: u're working hard lately You: yeah this one is just driving me crazy and i need it to turn out decent Min: it'll be perfect. it's u

Thursday Min: running errands at the store Min: want me to bring u anything? that caramel popcorn u like?

Friday Min: don't work too hard. remember to eat

That was three days ago, the last time you'd heard from him after you left him on read. It wasn't a complete lie; this project is driving you kinda crazy and you do need it to end up a decent piece, but you weren't exactly holed up in your apartment to slave over your painting. And you suppose Minho didn't find it all that suspicious because you tend to do this sometimes - disappear for a couple of days and force yourself to focus whenever you had a project to finish, before you come back to everybody again. You've come back to him before; it stands to reason that you'll do it again.

It's been about two weeks since you'd seen him, though the memories of that evening are still fresh in your mind - the evening of the group dinner, when he'd kissed you goodnight and left for his parents' house the following day. True to his words, he did send you pictures of the cats - ones of Soonie wearing a matching hoodie with him, a few of Doongie and Dori napping at the foot of his bed. There was an accompanying text - The kids miss you - along with a frowning emoji, and it made you wonder if what he really meant was I miss you.

You wanted him to miss you, because you missed him too.

The photos brought a smile to your face despite the predicament you found yourself in. A smile that was short lived, a smile that was soon wiped off when you realized your heart shouldn't be swelling with that much affection for him. It shouldn't, but the truth was that it did and you don't know how to live with it.

Love isn't something you've ever learned to hold.

It's beautiful yet full of thorns, and your hands are too clumsy to ever keep it from slipping from your fingers.

You remember when you first met Minho. Freshman year, at some popular senior's house party.

It feels like forever ago when you were just an awkward freshman at orientation who didn't have a single clue on how to make friends. Jess was your first friend in college, and you'll always be grateful that you got along well enough that she adopted you into the group with the rest of the guys.

You didn't cross paths with Minho until you were already acquainted with everyone else. On the night of the party, you remember being enamored with him for those couple of hours, and it wasn't the side effect of too many solo cups of cheap beer. Who in their right mind wouldn't be infatuated with him? He was beautiful, absolutely alluring, and you would always tell him as much.

Back then, he had brown hair, slighter shorter than now but it was tinted with the most gorgeous shade of red. You didn't know much about Minho, only been told that he was pretty quiet and might be off-putting to new people. It was sort of true; that night, you were intimidated by the aura he exuded. Mysterious, couldn't be bothered, didn't seem to give a shit. He looked like a scary little thing, while you were the new kid who was only trying to observe everyone's dynamics, not wanting to overstep any unspoken boundary.

To this day, you're still not sure what really happened, how you two immediately clicked and he's been one of the most important parts of your life ever since.

Maybe it was just him. Maybe it's always been him.

Minho, the one who makes you smile when all you want to do is curl up and cry. The one who makes you laugh when you look for joy but the search comes up empty. The one who grounds you every time you lose your way. Your anchor, the safe harbor you can always return to. The light at the end of a long, long tunnel.

You don't know where you stand, don't know where it goes from here now that everything is changing. He told you so himself, that nothing changed for him, but how could he possibly know that everything is changing for you? And it infuriates you to no end because you don't even have anyone to talk about this with. You're the only person whose world is being turned upside down after all.

You can't tell your friends because they can't know about you and Minho. You can't tell Minho because what would you even say? That you think you're in love with him? That the implications of what it means are devastating to you?

For the first time, you regret everything. Kissing him that night, sleeping with him, becoming whatever this is with him. Letting down your guard and falling for him somewhere along the way and you didn't even stop to notice it. You regret all of the decisions you've made up until now, because they've only led you to the point of no return, the point of losing him. You made bad decision after bad decision after bad decision, until you couldn't anymore. All along, there's been no one else to blame but you.

Maybe it hasn't happened yet, but it's inevitable. You will lose him. You are going to lose him.

There's no other ending, no other alternative that you can imagine. You're going to leave because you're a coward and it's what you do best. You ruin things before they get a chance to hurt you. You leave because if you don't leave then you'll be left behind, and you'd rather not bear the brunt of it.

Now, when you think of Minho, the thought is always accompanied by a painful reminder - Nothing changed for him.

When you get to the cafe, Hyunjin and Seungmin are already seated in a corner booth, three drinks in front of them, one of which they'd ordered for you before you arrived.

You slide into the seat next to Hyunjin, smiling at him appreciatively for the drink. There's still over half an hour before you have to walk to your shared class, over half an hour before Seungmin parts ways with you two to do whatever or whoever it is that Seungmin does on his off days.

"I still think it's Nara," Hyunjin says, casually sipping his iced coffee.

"Nara from your Lit class last semester?"

"Yup."

"Why?"

"I saw them talking at a party once."

"Okay. And?"

"And what? That's it."

"That's... all the evidence you have to back up your claim?"

"Pretty much, yeah."

You wave your hands in front of them. "What are you bozos talking about?"

"He’s still trying to figure out who Minho is hooking up with," Seungmin is the one who answers you without missing a beat, then he turns back to Hyunjin. "Anyway, it can't be Nara. She's dating Jaehyun on the basketball team."

The friend next to you flails his arms like a petulant child, like he couldn't have possibly seen this coming, like he was so sure that he had finally solved the mystery. "Great. I'm back to square one again."

You straighten your back and reach for your drink, tentatively gulping down the beverage as if it'll hide the fact that you've gone stiff the second this topic is brought up. You feel bad about it, sure. These are your friends that you're lying to after all. They don't have to look anywhere far; the answer to the secret is right in front of them.

"We're still on about that?" you ask in the calmest, most nonchalant voice you can muster. You usually consider yourself a believable liar (which, to be honest, isn't really a flex at all), but whenever someone mentions this little arrangement between you and Minho that shouldn't be common knowledge for anyone else, you feel like you're been put under a spotlight for the whole world to scrutinize.

"Duh," Hyunjin says. "You know, I'm kinda surprised that you don't know. You two are like, attached at the hip sometimes."

You give him a thoughtless shrug, your hands fiddling with the sticker on the plastic cup as you avoid looking at either of your friends. "Maybe he just wants to keep private things private, y'know? You wouldn't like either if all of us is suddenly all up in your business. And besides, what if it's just casual?"

Hyunjin scoffs. "Please, I'm an open book. I tell you guys everything. I tell you every time I hook up with someone."

"Yeah, but you see, literally no one needs to know that," Seungmin says.

The taller one only scoffs, waving his hands around dismissively in Seungmin's direction before he turns to you. "If it was just casual, would he save her name as - oh my God, I forgot what her contact name is. Freaking bird person or something."

You make a face. "What?"

"Dude, seriously?" Seungmin rolls his eyes. "You forgot one word? Dove? What is the matter with you?"

Perhaps it's the half-hearted teasing judgment in Seungmin's voice that makes Hyunjin take offense and drop the topic. The conversation veers off course when they start bickering like children in the busy cafe. You suppose it works in your favor, but you can't focus. You drown it all out.

Your hand is still on the cup but the sticker has been left alone and forgotten, half peeled off, half still clinging to the plastic underneath the condensation.

The single word repeats itself in your mind, over and over and over again.

The entire time you're in class, you don't really focus on anything. You can't bring yourself to listen to whatever your professor is saying, not after what Hyunjin and Seungmin told you earlier. At some point, your friend has to nudge your shoulder to bring you back down to earth when usually, you're the one who has to remind Hyunjin to pay attention. Class ends soon enough though; time tends to fly by when your mind is lost elsewhere.

"What's wrong with you today?" he asks with his bag slung over his shoulder, slowing down his steps to match your speed as you walk out of the lecture hall together.

You scratch the back of your neck sheepishly. "Nothing's wrong. I was just tired."

"You wanna grab dinner with me and Felix?"

Any other day, you would've agreed in a heartbeat. But today, you want to be alone. Sometimes, you'd rather wallow in your own misery than settle for a temporary distraction.

You're still stuck on the conversation from earlier, on the small detail that Hyunjin and Seungmin had let slip in the cafe.

Dove.

His dove.

Maybe it doesn't mean anything. Perhaps it's only a nickname that he's assigned to you out of mere platonic fondness, but it makes you conscious about the dove on your own wrist nonetheless, the one that you feel compelled to hide from your friends underneath your long sleeve.

"No, it's okay," you tell Hyunjin. "I'll just go home and sleep it off."

"Okay. I can walk you for a bit," he says. "Just wait with me here. Minho's coming to give me back something he borrowed."

"Minho's coming?" you ask too quickly for it to sound casual. There's a panicked edge that you can hear in your own voice, though you don't think Hyunjin picks it up as he unlocks his phone and types something on the screen.

"Yeah, he was at the library. He's coming over right now, should only be a couple minutes. Then I'll walk back with you."

You shift on your feet uneasily, but you cover it up by rubbing your hands on your arms to pretend like you're just cold. There's no excuse that you could think of that would justify why you can't stand here with Hyunjin for just two more minutes, without giving it away the fact that you're avoiding Minho.

You take in a quiet breath, put on your best brave face. Casual, nonchalant. It's just Minho. Just Minho...

He comes up from behind, where you can't see him. A warm hand gently lands on your shoulder, and it takes everything not to shy away from his touch. It takes even more not to lean into his side.

You've missed it. You've missed him.

"Hey." He smiles at you while Hyunjin only gets a nod in acknowledgment.

"Hey." You return the smile, though you're sure you look a little rigid. You can tell there's an inkling of confusion in his eyes when he senses that your energy is off, but you're thankful he doesn't comment on it, at least not in front of Hyunjin anyway.

You don't notice the paper bag in his other hand until he hands it to your other friend with a simple Thanks, to which Hyunjin just nods along in a silent You're welcome.

"I was going to walk with Y/N for a bit and then meet Felix for food," he tells Minho. "You wanna get burgers with me and Lix?"

"No, thanks. I'm not hungry, I had a late lunch. I'll take the walk though."

You didn't plan on being alone with Minho today, even though you knew you had to talk to him eventually. You just thought you had a little more time, at least until you got your shit together and face him with a brave façade.

Minho's hand brushes yours the entire time you walk, and it's nothing if not confusing. It's unbearable, the way your fingers twitch with the urge to intertwine them with his.

It persists even after Hyunjin has waved you goodbye to you two and turned to head wherever he and Felix agreed to meet. You think Minho would hold your hand now that it's just you and him, but he doesn't. He lets your skin continue to brush, lets you suffer alone and wanting in your sunken disappointment.

It has very little to do with him and everything to do with you, the conflicting thoughts inside your head piling up one by one the more time you spend in his presence.

Dove, the brief display of jealousy at Yeonjun's party, the way he looks at you sometimes that you can't really decipher the meaning behind, how he kisses you so tenderly that it can't possibly be strictly platonic. You want these things to all mean something, and yet...

You want him to hold your hand, but you know you'd wave it off if he tries to reach for your fingers. You want him to stop you right then and there to kiss you breathless, just as he had that night two weeks ago, even though you're sure you'd only dodge his lips and push him away. You want to stay, you want to leave. You're terrified of things changing, but you wish that something, anything, would be different for him; that you aren't the only one who's spinning out of control. You love him, but you wish you didn't.

Eventually, Minho asks, "You okay?"

It's not until now that you realize this is the first time you've ever been this quiet around him. You purse your lips, glancing down briefly at your feet as you keep on treading the rest of the way home. "Yeah, all good. I'm just tired," you tell him, visibly unenthusiastic despite the smile you try to fake. "I just need to sleep it off."

"The project stressing you out?"

"I guess, yeah."

"And here I thought maybe you were avoiding me," he says, half a joke, half inquisitive. "Were you?"

"Was I what?"

"Were you avoiding me?"

You give him a weird look, one that's meant to be dismissive and call his question ridiculous even though you know you've been caught. And maybe it's the over-the-top glance that you throw his way and the way your pitch goes higher when you reply, "Why would I be avoiding you?" that makes him stop walking.

On the other side of the street, there's a couple of kids in high school uniforms, exchanging shy glances and sharing fond giggles.

Minho calls your name softly, and it's like you're just waiting for the ball to drop. You don't want to turn back and look at him, but what other option do you have? What else is there to do?

You can't decipher the expression on his face. He's still calm, but the air has turned serious, the silence of the mostly empty streets surrounding you only serves as the soundtrack of your impending heartbreak. The tender and innocent laughter fades away when young love moves further and further from where you stand. "What?" you ask with faux nonchalance as you look at him, another attempt at stalling. Biding your time even though a few more minutes aren't going to do any good for your case.

Anyone with half a braincell could tell that clearly it's not the truth, let alone someone who has learned to read you better than the back of his hand. He doesn't look like he believes you, though he doesn't push it, much to your surprise.

"Okay," he says after a moment of studying you, and this should be the part where you heave a sigh of relief because he's letting you off the hook for now, but your chest doesn't feel lighter at all. Your head is clouded with dread, with the anticipation that you're only delaying the inevitable.

You walk the rest of the way in awful silence, because you know that he knows something is wrong. You try your best to appear composed, but he sees right through you. You know he does.

You must look like a frightened animal, one that's about to take off running any second now.

When you reach your building, Minho is quick to keep you with him before you can make up a lame excuse and bolt.

"Hey," he starts, his voice so impossibly gentle that it hurts. "You know you can tell me anything, right?"

Heavier and heavier, it weighs you down until you feel like your chest is going to collapse. The nerves gnaw on you, clawing into you until you feel your heartbeat quicken, the overwhelming dread simmering low in your belly.

"I know," you say, but deep down, what you're really thinking is, Not this. This is the one thing I can't tell you.

"Is everything okay?"

It's the way that Minho's got his gaze set on you with those deep brown irises, the concern so apparent in them that it hurts you. It's the way he looks like he wants to reach out and touch you - a comforting hand on your shoulder or your back like you're so familiar with - but he has to hold himself back or you might slip away.

It's him, how he always puts you first, how he cares about you in ways that you've never been cared about before. He understands you, he sees you. It feels like it could be love if you let the lines blur just enough.

Is love supposed to hurt? Like this?

Maybe it's not that you don't know how to hold love. Maybe it's because you're not meant to hold it at all. Insignificant, unlovable.

And... it's the reminder that cuts through the dread like the sharpest knife.

You leave his question unanswered, because nothing is okay and you can't tell him any of it. You can't lie to him either, because it's the last thing that you want to do to him.

Instead, you ask, "We're good... right? We're okay?"

"What do you mean?"

You gesture between the two of you, though you're not sure what that's supposed to signify. "Just...," you trail off for a second, hesitant. "Nothing's changed, right?"

Minho doesn't answer right away. He looks at you for a moment, searching for something in your eyes that you can't tell if he's able to find.

He nods, seemingly wistful as he says, "Nothing's changed."

He seems unsure about it, at least more than he was just a few weeks ago when he told you the same thing in your apartment with his fingers wrapped around your wrist. The tug between his brows - though barely noticeable - tells you as much.

Is it because something is different now? Or does he only sound uncertain out of concern, because of you and how you're acting?

Then he continues, "For me, at least."

And there it is.

It's the confirmation this time around that turns you inside out so his simple words could cut into you.

You swallow thickly, put on a smile like you're pleased with his answer even though you're trying your hardest to stop yourself from shaking. Whatever energy you had left is instantly drained from you just because of a few words.

Your sentences get smashed together, tangled up like barbed wire and they only make you bleed when you try to pull them apart. All your nervous tics coming out to play despite your best efforts to keep them at bay. A frustrated hand running through your hair, gripping at the roots a little harshly. Your bottom lip pulled between your teeth and your eyes turning glassy for a split second before you blink the moisture away, because you can't let Minho see you like this. See you trying to keep your pathetic heart intact while he's none the wiser.

He's fine. And unlike you, he's going to be okay when this is over.

Unavoidable and inevitable, the end will come whether you like it or not. You're the only one who won't make it out unscathed, and it will only shatter you into more pieces the longer you drag this out.

Just rip the bandaid off. Salvage whatever you can. Stop digging the grave even deeper for yourself.

One second, then two, then three. You don't speak until you have enough faith that your voice is even enough to carry out a few sentences.

"Okay, uhm... I think I need some time for myself. We should..." But it isn't, and you crack halfway through. The sound is deafening to your own ears. "We should take a break. We should stop this."

Minho doesn't question if you mean the secret between the two of you, or your friendship entirely. Instead, he asks, "Why?"

"I told you." You clear your throat. "I need time for myself."

You can't tell what he's thinking, but the knife twists inside of you nonetheless.

He takes a step closer, you take a step back.

You watch as his face falls, and the same feeling mirrors itself within the confines of your ribcage. Your heart drops at the sight of his eyes, deep brown irises stained with a little confusion, then a little hurt though it lasts for only a few seconds. The slight slump of his shoulders, the absence of the familiar playfulness he always sports when he's with you.

He blinks.

"Time for yourself, or time away from me?"

You say nothing.

You don't address his question directly, and your reluctance to do so is a loud enough answer in and of itself. "Why does that matter? What's the difference?"

"It matters if I did something to upset you."

"You didn't."

"Okay. So?"

This is confusing, because he's not letting you rip the bandaid clean off and you don't know why. "Nothing's changed, right? If it didn't mean anything to you, why can't you just drop this?"

Minho is quiet for a beat. His eyes are searching again, but this time, you think he finds something.

Everything is still and you hate it - the silence of the streets, the scrutinizing orange glow of the streetlights as if they're watching the scene unfold, even the innocent cat that's sitting by itself on the balcony on one of the floors higher up. You hate all of it.

"I never said it didn't mean anything," he tells you.

It makes you a little angry for some reason, and there's enough red to cloud your vision because his words are contradicting and you're tired, you're so exhausted that you can't focus on what it is that he's really saying.

"So you lied to me?"

"I've never lied to you."

"I asked you before and you said nothing's changed. Now you're saying whatever this is didn't not mean anything. Make up your mind."

It gets redder when he keeps his eyes fixed on you, still so calm despite the frown that has returned to its place between his brows. Still so collected, while you're being pulled apart at the seams.

The ball doesn't drop the way you expect it to. It keeps falling so insufferably slowly, hanging over you like it's mocking you for being stupid, like it's milking every second of suspense to make you implode.

Until Minho speaks next and suddenly, it feels like the air has been sucked out of your lungs. His voice, still so soft and tender. His eyes, reading something in yours that you can't bear to admit out loud.

"You really don't see it, do you?"

all rights reserved © withleeknow. reposting, translating and/or modifying is not permitted by any means. [posted 24.06.2024]

[jackethockey]

Taste

Warnings: smut, sex scene, explicit language

Word count: 8917

Summary: In summary, this fic tells the tale of two childhood friends, you and Jack Hughes, whose lives diverge post-high school when you pursue sports management at Rutgers University while Jack stays in Michigan. Despite your promise to stay in touch, the distance and the arrival of Jack's girlfriend, Lily, cause your communication to fade. Years later, after graduating and beginning your career, you serendipitously reconnect when you become an intern for the New Jersey Devils, where Jack is a new recruit. The bond you once had is rekindled, growing stronger than ever as you navigate the challenges of his NHL career and your own aspirations. As you both grow closer with each other again, the unthinkable happens between you for the better.

this fic takes a bit to get into the good stuff but its all part of lore i swear

“He pins you down on the carpet, makes paintings with his tongue.”

One sun-kissed afternoon in the final weeks of high school, you and Jack sat cross-legged on the lush grass of your backyard, surrounded by the comforting hum of the nearby lake and the whispers of the swaying trees. You had known Jack since kindergarten, his mischievous grin and boundless energy an ever-present force in your life. His brothers, Quinn and Luke, were like additional siblings, their bond with you strong but distinctly different from the one you shared with Jack. As you both gazed into the horizon, the future loomed large, a canvas of unexplored possibilities. You spoke of your dream to study sports management at Rutgers University in New Jersey, your voice filled with excitement and a touch of apprehension. Jack, ever the free spirit, shrugged off the notion of college, his eyes gleaming with plans of adventure and self-discovery. You knew the distance would test your friendship, but you also knew that pursuing your passion was essential. With a bittersweet smile, you promised to stay in touch, no matter how far apart life would take you.

As the day of your departure approached, the air grew thick with the weight of unspoken words and the sweet nostalgia of shared memories. You gathered Jack, Quinn, and Luke in your living room, the space that had hosted countless laughs and heart-to-hearts over the years. Your eyes searched theirs, trying to capture every detail, to hold onto the essence of your friendship in the amber of your mind. You hugged Quinn and Luke tightly, feeling the warmth of their embraces and the reassurance that they would always be there, even if physically apart. Then, you turned to Jack, the one who knew you best, who had seen you at your highest highs and lowest lows. His eyes mirrored your own, a silent understanding passing between you. With a tremble in your voice, you promised to call, to email, to visit, to never let the miles come between you. He nodded solemnly, a gentle squeeze of your hand speaking louder than any words could. As you pulled away, the gravity of goodbye settled heavily on your heart.

The early days at Rutgers were filled with the comforting rhythm of your daily calls with Jack. His voice remained a constant through the cacophony of new experiences, a thread of home weaving through the fabric of your new life. You shared tales of your rigorous classes, the excitement of living in a dorm, and the thrill of exploring the East Coast. In return, he regaled you with stories of his new job at the local sports store, the weekend adventures with Quinn and Luke, and the occasional mischief that still found its way to him. The conversations grew longer, the laughter louder, and the connection between you remained unshaken.

Then, one fateful spring, Jack's voice grew distant. His calls grew less frequent, his texts more sporadic. You chalked it up to his busy work schedule and the natural ebb and flow of life, but as the months rolled by, the silence grew deafening. You had heard whispers of a girl, a new spark in his life, but you didn't let it bother you, not at first. You understood the need for space and the excitement of a burgeoning relationship. However, the gaps grew wider, the conversations shorter, and the ease you once shared became strained.

Her name was Lily, a girl with a laugh that could light up a room, according to Jack. He spoke of her in hushed tones, a secret joy that you felt you had no part in. Initially, you were happy for him, eager to meet the person who had captured his heart. But as the days turned into weeks, and the weeks into months, the realization sank in. The calls grew less about you and more about her, and soon, it seemed like Jack had forgotten the promise you had made to each other under the shade of the old oak tree back in Michigan. His stories shifted from tales of the three musketeers to tales of two, and you felt like a forgotten piece of the puzzle that no longer fit.

One day, without warning, the calls stopped altogether. Your messages went unanswered, your voice mails unreturned. The silence grew heavier than the books piled on your desk. You tried not to let it consume you, but the ache of his absence grew with each unanswered ring. The friendship that had been your compass now felt like a fading star, lost in the vast sky of change.

As you graduated from college, the memory of Jack's laughter and the warmth of his friendship had dimmed like an old photograph left in the sun. The promise of staying in touch had become a distant echo of a past that seemed so much simpler. You had moved on, grown stronger, found new friends, and chased your dreams, but the thought of Jack, of what could have been, remained a silent companion in the quiet corners of your heart.

And so, you stepped into the world beyond Rutgers, armed with your degree and the lessons of friendship, distance, and change. The story of you and Jack remained unfinished, a chapter that you hoped might one day be revisited, but for now, you had to accept that life had taken you on different paths, paths that no longer intersected as they once had. The future you had so eagerly discussed in your high school days had unfolded in ways you couldn't have imagined, leaving you with a bittersweet taste of nostalgia and a hope that the tapestry of fate had not yet been fully woven.

Following graduation, you threw yourself into job hunting with a fervor that mirrored your determination to keep Jack's memory at bay. After weeks of applications and interviews, a golden opportunity arose. The New Jersey Devils were looking for a new Sports Management intern. Although you did not know much about hockey, you still wanted to give it a chance which you would not regret.

The day of the interview was a whirlwind of nerves and excitement. You arrived at the Prudential Center dressed to impress, ready to tackle any challenge thrown your way. The interview went smoother than you could have hoped, your passion for sports resonating with the team's management. Before you knew it, you were being offered the position, and you eagerly accepted, eager to start your career in the bustling world of professional hockey.

On your first day, you were given a tour of the grand arena. The smell of fresh ice filled the air as you walked down the gleaming corridors, each step bringing you closer to the heart of the sport you started to love. As you approached the rink, the faint sound of skates slicing through the stillness grew louder, a rhythmic symphony that sent a thrill down your spine. The tour guide led you to the benches, explaining the layout of the area and the routines of the players during games. Your eyes widened as you looked out onto the ice, where a figure skated with a grace and familiarity that seemed almost surreal.

It was Jack. His eyes, once filled with the mirth of youth, now bore the focused intensity of a professional athlete. He was one of the new recruits for the Devils, his dreams of adventure and success intertwining with the sport you now cherished. As your gaze met his across the ice, the years of silence melted away, replaced with a mix of shock and elation. You watched as he skated towards you, his eyes lighting up with the same warmth you remembered from your childhood. The universe had played a cruel trick, but as Jack's hand reached out to give you a firm shake, you realized that perhaps it had also delivered a chance at redemption for the friendship that had once meant everything to you both.

The moment Jack's hand enveloped yours in a firm shake, the years of separation melted away like spring ice. His eyes searched yours for any trace of the hurt or anger that the silence had left behind. "I can't believe it's you," he exclaimed, the awe in his voice a balm to your bruised heart. "What are you doing here?" he asked, a hint of hope and confusion weaving through his words. You stumbled over your own, trying to explain your journey to Rutgers, your love for sports management, and the serendipity that had led you to the Devils. The tour guide looked on with a mix of curiosity and amusement, clearly not expecting this emotional reunion. As the reality of your shared destination sank in, Jack's smile grew wider, crinkling the corners of his eyes in a way that was as familiar as the warmth of a childhood summer. "Fate has a strange sense of humor, huh?" he said, his voice laced with wonder. With the sound of skates echoing around you, you both knew that the universe had thrown you a lifeline, a chance to bridge the gap that had grown between you. This unexpected reunion was more than just a coincidence; it was a testament to the unbreakable bond that had endured through the seasons of life. As you stood there, the rink a silent witness to your rekindled friendship, you couldn't help but feel that perhaps, just perhaps, the pages of your story had not been torn apart but merely folded over, waiting for the right moment to unfold once again.

The rest of that day at the Prudential Center passed in a blur of handshakes and introductions, Jack acting as your guide through the unfamiliar world of professional hockey. The players, coaches, and staff greeted you with curiosity and welcomed you into the fold, the buzz of the reunion reverberating through the hallowed halls. You watched in amazement as Jack moved with the confidence of a seasoned player, the grace of his movements on the ice a stark contrast to the nervousness you felt in your own skin. After the initial shock had worn off, you found your voice and shared your experiences at Rutgers, the internships you'd completed, and your hopes for the future. Jack listened intently, his eyes never leaving yours, as if trying to absorb every word, every memory you had missed sharing. You talked about his own journey, the sacrifices he'd made, the endless hours of practice, the scouts that had come and gone, until finally, the Devils had seen something in him that no one else had. His voice was filled with the same passion you had heard in your daily calls, but now it was for a sport, not just for adventure. The conversation flowed as easily as it had back in Michigan, the bond between you as strong as ever, despite the years that had tried to erode it.

As the arena emptied, Jack led you to the locker room, the sacred space where he now called home. The scent of sweat and victory hung heavy in the air, a testament to the battles waged on the ice. He pulled out his phone, thumb hovering over the screen, hesitating. "Do you... do you want to grab dinner?" he asked, the question tentative but hopeful. You nodded, unable to hide the smile that spread across your face. As you stepped out into the New Jersey night, the neon lights of the city reflecting off the puddles from a recent rain, it was as if you had been transported back to your teenage years. The distance between you had shrunk to nothing more than a heartbeat. You walked to a nearby diner, the same one you had dreamt about in the quiet dorm room nights when homesickness had hit the hardest. The comfort food and the familiar banter washed away the years, leaving only the warmth of friendship and the promise of a new chapter.

Over milkshakes and burgers, you delved deeper into each other's lives, sharing the stories that had shaped you both since that fateful goodbye. You spoke of the late-night study sessions, the friends that had come and gone, and the moments when you had doubted your path. Jack, in turn, regaled you with tales of the rinks he had played in, the coaches who had pushed him to his limits, and the quiet moments of triumph when he had scored the winning goal. Lily, the girl who had once felt like a wedge between you, was now a cherished memory, a stepping stone that had led him to the NHL. As you sat there, the chatter of the diner fading into the background, you realized that your friendship had not disappeared; it had merely evolved. It had grown stronger in the face of distance and change, ready to stand tall once more.

The hours melted away, and before you knew it, the diner's lights began to dim, signaling closing time. You exchanged numbers, promising to stay in touch this time without the need for daily reminders. As you stood outside the diner, the cool evening air a stark reminder of the real world waiting for you, Jack pulled you into a warm embrace, the kind that only a best friend can give. "Thank you for coming here," he murmured against your hair. "Thank you for not giving up on me."

You stepped back, smiling up at him, your eyes shining with unshed tears. "Thank you for being exactly where I needed you to be," you replied, the weight of his absence in your life lifting like a fog dispersing in the morning sun. With a final squeeze of his hand, you turned to walk away, the promise of a new dawn in your heart. The future stretched out before you, a thrilling unknown filled with the potential of reviving a friendship that had stood the test of time and distance. As you disappeared into the night, the echo of your laughter dancing in the air, you knew that no matter where life took you, the bond between you and Jack Hughes would never truly fade away.

The days that followed were a whirlwind of adjustments and rekindled camaraderie. Your internship with the Devils became a tapestry of long work hours and stolen moments with Jack. You found yourself drawn to the rhythm of the team, the roar of the crowd, and the thrill of each victory. Your friendship grew stronger with each shared meal and stolen glance, the threads of your past intertwining with the bright fibers of your newfound future. Jack introduced you to the players, who welcomed you into their tight-knit circle with the ease of old friends. You watched him practice, his dedication to the sport leaving you in awe, and in return, he sat through countless hours of your work, asking questions about contracts and marketing strategies with genuine interest. The dynamics of your relationship shifted, morphing from high school confidants to professional peers, each supporting the other's dreams. You saw him grow not just as a player but as a person, his maturity and perseverance inspiring you in ways you could never have imagined. And as the first game of the season approached, the excitement in the air was palpable, the anticipation of a new adventure you would navigate together, side by side.

The first game of the season was a whirlwind of emotions for you. From the electric energy in the locker room to the deafening roar of the crowd as Jack took the ice, you felt as though you were living a dream. You sat in the stands, your heart racing as the players skated out for the national anthem. The spotlight found Jack, and the camera zoomed in on his face, a mix of focus and exhilaration. You couldn't help but beam with pride, knowing that the boy who once shot pucks at your garage door was now living his dream before thousands of people. Throughout the game, you watched him glide across the rink with an ease that belied the complexity of the sport. Every pass, every shot, every strategic move was a testament to his talent and hard work. As the Devils scored their first goal, Jack's name echoed through the arena, and you felt your heart swell. This was more than just a job; it was a chance to be part of something greater, a chance to share in Jack's success.

During the intermissions, you found yourself pacing the corridors, a strange mix of nerves and excitement coursing through you. The air was thick with anticipation, and you could feel the pulse of the game resonating in every corner of the building. You watched as Jack's teammates slapped him on the back, sharing words of encouragement and strategy. The camaraderie was infectious, and you found yourself longing to be a part of it. You had always loved sports, but being behind the scenes of professional hockey was an experience you never could have imagined. The smell of the locker room, the sound of skates cutting through the ice, and the thunderous applause of the fans were now part of your new reality.

As the final buzzer sounded and the Devils secured their victory, you could feel the vibrations of the cheers in your chest. You rushed down to the locker room, eager to congratulate Jack. The moment you saw him, sweaty and exhausted, the grin on his face was worth every mile that had once separated you. He pulled you into a fierce hug, his eyes gleaming with happiness. "We did it," he said, and in that moment, you knew that the years of silence had not been wasted. Your friendship had weathered the storm of time and change, emerging stronger, ready to face whatever the future held.

The celebration was a blur of handshakes and congratulations, the air thick with the scent of victory and the promise of new beginnings. As the players filtered out, Jack grabbed your hand and led you back onto the ice. The lights had dimmed, and the rink was quiet, a stark contrast to the frenetic energy of the game. You looked around in wonder, feeling the cold bite of the ice beneath your feet as Jack skated around you, spinning in circles with the grace of a figure skater. "This is what it's all about," he said, his breath coming out in little puffs of mist. "The love of the game, the rush of the crowd, and knowing that no matter what happens out there, you've got someone cheering for you."

You nodded, feeling the weight of his words. In that moment, you realized that your paths had not diverged as much as you had feared. You were both chasing your dreams, just in different arenas. The bond between you had not been lost; it had merely transformed into something new, something that could withstand the tests of time and the challenges of adulthood. As you watched Jack pirouette on the ice, you knew that no matter where life took you, you would always be part of each other's stories, forever connected by the unbreakable thread of friendship that had been woven into the fabric of your lives.

With the echo of the final buzzer still ringing in your ears, you and Jack found yourselves back in the quiet of the now-deserted rink. The ice glistened under the soft glow of the arena lights, a serene stage where moments of triumph and defeat had unfolded just hours before. The air was cool and crisp, a stark contrast to the sticky warmth of the summer afternoons you'd spent together in Michigan. As you laced up your own skates, the leather a familiar comfort from your college days, you felt a surge of excitement. You had never been on the ice during a professional game, let alone had the chance to skate with a player of Jack's caliber. He offered his hand, and with a gentle pull, you found your balance on the unforgiving surface. The cold bit at your cheeks as you pushed off, the sound of your blades slicing through the ice a sweet symphony that resonated deep within. For a moment, you felt like you were back in time, two friends chasing each other around a local rink, laughter echoing off the walls. 

But the reality was far grander than any childhood memory could ever be. Jack's movements were fluid, a dance of power and precision that spoke of the countless hours he had dedicated to this sport. As you clumsily attempted to keep up, you couldn't help but feel a sense of wonder at the journey that had led you both here. The friendship that had once been the cornerstone of your youth now stood tall and unshaken amidst the glitz and grind of professional hockey. Each stroke, each turn, brought back memories of shared dreams and whispered promises. And as you skated alongside him, you knew that no matter how different your paths had become, the heart of your friendship remained unchanged. This was more than a reunion; it was the start of a new chapter, one where you could both cheer each other on, no matter which side of the rink you stood.

Jack's eyes flickered to the clock on the wall, signaling that it was time to wrap up the night. "Why don't you come back to my place?" he suggested casually, his voice a low rumble that sent a shiver down your spine. The warmth of his hand still lingered from your earlier handshake, and as he led you off the ice, you found yourself nodding in agreement, curiosity and an undeniable attraction tugging at you. The ride to his apartment was filled with comfortable banter, the kind that comes from years of shared history. As you stepped into his space, the scent of his cologne mixed with the faint aroma of victory from the game still clinging to him, you couldn't help but notice how the atmosphere had shifted. The air grew thick with unspoken desire as you both removed your coats, your bodies now just a whisper apart. You turned to face him, and the intensity in his gaze was unmistakable. His eyes raked over you, the hunger in them making your pulse race. You felt your own attraction mirroring his, a magnetic pull that had been building unnoticed beneath the surface of your friendship.

You sat down on the couch, the leather cool against your skin, and Jack followed suit, his leg brushing yours. The TV flickered in the background, but the only thing you could focus on was the heat between you. You began to speak, but the words got caught in your throat as he leaned closer, his breath warm against your cheek. The silence stretched, your eyes locked onto his, and the world around you seemed to fade away. You could feel the tension coil tighter with each passing second until it was almost unbearable. The sudden realization that this moment was more than just a friendship hangout hit you like a slap of cold water. You licked your lips, and Jack's gaze dropped to your mouth, his own parting slightly. It was as if you were both poised on the edge of a cliff, the anticipation of what could happen next making your heart race. Without a word, you reached up, your hand cupping his cheek, and he leaned into your touch, his eyes never leaving yours. The space between you closed, and when your lips finally met, it was with a fierce intensity that stole your breath away. The years of friendship had transformed into something new, something thrillingly intimate and overwhelming.

The kiss deepened, and you felt the heat of his hands as they wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer. The fabric of your clothes seemed too restrictive, the layers too many. You tangled your fingers in his hair, the softness of it sending a jolt of electricity through your fingertips. You had no idea how long you stayed like that, lost in the kiss, but when you finally broke away, panting and flushed, you knew that there was no turning back. The line had been crossed, and you were both ready to explore the uncharted territory of your relationship. The rest of the night was a blur of passion and whispers, of discovering each other's bodies and souls in a way you never had before. And as you lay in his arms, the echoes of your love-making still resonating in the quiet apartment, you knew that this was just the beginning of a love story that had been written in the stars all along.

Jack's hands slid from your waist to your thighs, his grip firm as he effortlessly lifted you, making you straddle him. The sudden shift in position brought his hard, throbbing cock pressed against your pussy, the fabric of your clothes the only barrier to the intimate connection your bodies craved. You gasped into the kiss, the pressure of his arousal sending waves of heat through your core, making your pussy ache for more. You could feel your own wetness seeping through your panties, your body's response to the raw passion in his touch. His hands roamed up to cup your breasts, his thumbs teasing your nipples through your shirt, and you moaned, grinding down onto him. The friction was exquisite, the promise of what was to come a tantalizing whisper in the air. As you rocked your hips against him, you felt the urgency build, a desperate need to be closer, to feel every inch of him inside you. The world outside of Jack's embrace ceased to exist, and all you could focus on was the delicious pressure of his cock and the wetness that was pooling between your legs. The anticipation was unbearable, a sweet agony that made you whimper with need. You broke the kiss, panting, your eyes locked onto his, and you knew that this was the moment you had both been waiting for, the moment when the unspoken desires of your hearts would finally be laid bare.

Jack gently broke the kiss, his eyes never leaving yours as he wrapped his arms around your waist. With a smooth motion, he lifted you off the couch, setting you down on the plush carpet. You could feel the heat of his desire in the way he handled you, the gentle yet firm touch that sent shivers down your spine. He knelt before you, his hands moving to the button of your jeans. He undid them slowly, the sound of the zipper echoing in the quiet room. With trembling hands, he slid the denim down your legs, leaving you in just your shirt and panties. You stepped out of the puddle of fabric, feeling exposed but incredibly aroused under his hungry gaze. He paused for a moment, taking in the sight of you before his eyes dropped to your underwear, the fabric now damp from your arousal. With a wolfish grin, he hooked his fingers in the waistband and yanked them down, revealing your wet pussy to the cool air. The sight of your wetness made his cock twitch with excitement, and he couldn't resist leaning in to inhale the intoxicating scent of your desire.

As he took in the sight of you, sprawled before him, Jack's eyes shone with a mix of love and unbridled lust. He gently parted your legs, his gaze never leaving your face as he took in the pink, swollen flesh that was begging for his touch. He traced a finger along your slit, watching as your body shuddered in response. He teased your entrance, the pad of his thumb brushing over your clit, making you gasp. The anticipation was exquisite, your body begging for more. And then, without warning, he stopped, his eyes locked onto the sensitive bundle of nerves at the apex of your thighs. With a wicked smile, he brought his face closer, his hot breath sending shivers across your skin. He flicked his tongue out, making paintings with his tongue and tasting the sweetness of your arousal, and you moaned, the sensation of his tongue on your clit sending waves of pleasure crashing through your body. He took his time, savoring every moment, licking and sucking with a passion that was both tender and fierce. His hands gripped your thighs, holding you in place as you writhed under his ministrations, your body a symphony of sensation as he brought you closer and closer to the edge of ecstasy.

With each stroke of Jack's tongue, you felt yourself spiraling closer to the precipice of orgasm. Your hips began to buck, your moans growing louder as he sucked and flicked with masterful precision. You threaded your fingers through his hair, gripping tightly, your body trembling with the effort to hold back the impending release. But Jack was relentless, his mouth working in tandem with his hands, which had moved to your ass, gripping and lifting you closer to him, angling you just right to hit that perfect spot. The pressure built, a delicious ache that grew more intense with each passing moment until it was all you could think about, all you could feel. And then, with a final, forceful flick of his tongue, you shattered, your climax crashing over you like a wave, leaving you trembling and gasping for air. You collapsed against him, his arms wrapping around you to hold you up as the aftershocks of pleasure rippled through your body. His lips moved to your inner thighs, placing gentle kisses along your skin as you came down from your high, your heart racing and your breathing uneven. 

"Jack," you murmured, your voice hoarse with passion, "That was..." Words failed you as he looked up, a smug smile on his face, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction. He stood, his own need palpable in the tension of his body, his erection pressing against the fabric of his shorts. "My turn," he said, his voice low and filled with desire. You nodded, unable to resist the urge to reach out and touch him, to reciprocate the pleasure he had just given you. The night was still young, and the fire between you had only just been stoked. This was the beginning of a passionate exploration, a dance of love and lust that would rewrite the very essence of your friendship, binding you in a way you never thought possible.

Jack's strong hands reached for the hem of his shirt, pulling it over his head, revealing the sculpted abs and defined muscles of his athlete's physique. You couldn't help but admire the way the light danced across his chest, highlighting every ridge and dip. He stepped closer, his eyes never leaving yours as he unbuttoned his shorts. The fabric slid down his hips, and his cock sprang free, thick and hard, a testament to his desire for you. You reached out to touch him, the heat of his skin burning against your fingertips. He groaned as you wrapped your hand around his length, stroking him gently, exploring the velvety head with the pad of your thumb. His breath hitched, and his eyes fluttered shut, his body visibly responding to your touch. You felt a thrill of power, knowing that you could affect him so profoundly. He took your hand away and guided you to the bedroom, his own need for more pressing against your hand as he led you. The room was dimly lit, the shadows playing across the walls, creating an intimate sanctuary for the two of you. He laid you down on the bed, his body following, his weight pressing you into the mattress. 

His kisses grew more urgent, his tongue delving into your mouth as if he were trying to devour you whole. His hands roamed over your body, setting your skin alight with every caress. You felt the head of his cock nudge against your entrance, and you spread your legs wider, inviting him in. With a groan, he pushed into you, filling you completely. The feeling was unlike anything you had ever experienced, the years of longing and friendship coalescing into a moment of pure, raw passion. Each thrust was a declaration of love and desire, a promise that you were his, and he was yours. The friction between your bodies grew more intense as he picked up the pace, his hips moving in a rhythm that had you clinging to him, your nails digging into his back as you matched his movements with your own. Your breath mingled with his, your moans a sweet symphony of pleasure that seemed to echo through the room. 

The connection between you was palpable, a force that seemed to transcend the physical, weaving your souls together as tightly as your bodies were entwined. As the tension grew, Jack leaned down to whisper sweet nothings in your ear, his breath hot against your neck, sending shivers down your spine. You wrapped your legs around him, pulling him closer, feeling his cock hit that perfect spot deep within you that had you seeing stars. The world outside the bedroom ceased to exist as you climbed higher, your bodies moving in perfect harmony. And when you finally fell over the edge, your orgasm crashing into you like a tidal wave, Jack followed, his warmth spilling into you, the intensity of his release mirroring the depth of your own. You lay there, panting and sated, your hearts beating as one, forever changed by the love you had just shared.

You clung to Jack, your bodies slick with sweat and entangled in the aftermath of your passionate union. His breath was hot against your ear, whispering sweet nothings that sent shivers down your spine. You felt the rapid thud of his heart, the pulse of his life force resonating with your own. Your legs remained locked around his waist, unwilling to let go of the connection that had just been forged between you. As the intensity of the moment began to wane, Jack slowly pulled out of you, the sensation making you gasp. He rolled over onto his side, taking you with him, and cradled you in his arms, your heads resting on the same pillow, your breaths mingling in the stillness. He kissed the top of your forehead, the gesture tender and filled with a love that went beyond the physical. The warmth of his embrace was a balm to your soul, and you knew that nothing could ever break the bond that had been formed that night. The future was uncertain, but one thing was clear: the path you were on now was one of love, passion, and a friendship that had transformed into something much more profound. As you drifted off to sleep, your bodies tangled together like the roots of the old oak tree back in Michigan, you realized that sometimes, the universe had a way of bringing people together in the most unexpected of ways, and for that, you were eternally grateful.

The following days were a whirlwind of stolen moments and passionate nights, as you both balanced the demands of your new roles within the Devils' organization and the burgeoning relationship that had caught fire between you. You found yourself sneaking glances at Jack during team meetings, your thoughts straying to the way his muscles had felt under your fingertips, the taste of his skin on your lips. Every time you were together, the chemistry was palpable, your bodies seemingly drawn together by an invisible force that neither of you could resist. The nights grew longer, filled with whispered confessions and gentle explorations that deepened the connection you shared. As you lay in each other's arms, the quiet murmur of the city outside Jack's apartment windows serving as a soothing lullaby, you talked about the future, about how this newfound love could fit into the lives you had so carefully constructed apart. The excitement of the unknown was thrilling, but it was also tinged with a hint of fear—what if the flame that burned so brightly now was just a fleeting spark that would eventually die out? 

Yet, as you listened to the steady beat of his heart and felt the warmth of his body, you pushed those thoughts aside. For now, all that mattered was the here and now, the feeling of Jack's love surrounding you like a warm blanket, keeping the chill of doubt and fear at bay. Each day was a new adventure, a chance to learn more about the person who had been your confidant, your rock, and now, your lover. The love story of you and Jack Hughes was no longer just a distant memory, but a living, breathing entity that grew stronger with every shared kiss and whispered "I love you." And as the days turned into weeks, and the weeks into months, you began to believe that perhaps, just perhaps, the universe had always had a grander plan for the two of you—a plan that had led you both to the very heart of the sport you adored, to find not just success, but the kind of love that could conquer any distance.

Jack took you by surprise when he suggested a date under the stars, a nostalgic nod to the countless nights you had spent together as children, lying on the hood of his old car and making wishes on shooting stars. The air was crisp with the promise of fall, the leaves whispering secrets as they danced in the gentle breeze. He led you to a quiet spot by the lake, a place that had been your sanctuary in the days before the world had grown so large. He spread out a blanket, and you lay down side by side, the soft fabric a cocoon of warmth against the cool grass. The stars winked at you from the velvet sky, a silent audience to the love that had blossomed between you.

As you lay there, Jack reached over, his hand finding yours, lacing your fingers together in a gesture that felt both familiar and brand new. His thumb traced gentle circles on your palm, sending waves of warmth up your arm and into your chest. He turned to you, his eyes filled with the light of a thousand stars. "You know," he began, his voice a soft rumble, "I've loved you since we were kids. And now that we're here, together, I want to make it official." His heart was racing, you could feel it through his touch. "Will you be my girlfriend?" The words hung in the air, suspended like the stars above, filled with hope and naked vulnerability.

You searched his eyes, finding the love and friendship that had been the foundation of your lives. The moment felt like a perfect circle, a culmination of all the moments that had led you to this very spot. You felt your own heart swell with emotion, your voice a whisper. "Yes," you breathed, your eyes shining with unshed tears. "Yes, Jack Hughes, I'll be your girlfriend."

The weight of the word 'girlfriend' settled over you both, a warm embrace that seemed to seal the bond you had rekindled. He leaned in, capturing your lips in a kiss that was sweet and full of promise. As you pulled away, smiling through your tears, you cuddled closer to him, feeling his strong arms wrap around you. Together, you stared up at the sky, the stars a testament to the endless possibilities that lay before you. The future was uncertain, but as long as you had each other, you knew it would be bright.

Jack's arms tightened around you, his embrace a silent declaration of his own love and commitment. The stars above seemed to shine brighter in celebration, their light dancing on the lake's surface and casting a soft glow on your entwined bodies. As the night grew colder, you both moved closer, sharing warmth and whispers of future plans. The feeling of his heart against yours was a constant reminder of the unspoken promises you had made—to support each other, to cherish every moment, and to never let the distance come between you again. The sound of the lake's gentle waves served as a soothing backdrop to your newfound love, a rhythmic reminder of the life that flowed around you, just as your love for each other had grown and evolved over the years. With every shared breath and tender touch, you felt the weight of the past lift away, making room for a future filled with excitement and love. And as you lay there, wrapped in the warmth of his love and the promise of forever, you knew that the journey ahead, no matter how challenging it might be, would be worth every step if it led you back to Jack's arms, to the place where you truly belonged.

The following weekend, Jack had a game, and you watched from the stands, feeling a sense of pride and love swell within you as he glided across the ice. The crowd roared as he scored the winning goal, and as he skated over to the bench, he searched the sea of faces until his eyes found yours. With a grin that could light up the entire arena, he blew you a kiss, his eyes alight with the fire of victory. After the game, you met him in the locker room, the air thick with the scent of sweat and camaraderie. He pulled you into a crushing hug, his damp hair sticking to your forehead as he whispered, "I did it for you," his breath warm against your ear. The other players cheered and clapped, some teasing him good-naturedly about his newfound fan club. As you walked back to his apartment, hand in hand, the excitement of the game still pulsing through your veins, you knew that the path you were on was the one you were meant to follow. That night, you made love in the glow of the setting sun, the warmth of his body and the passion in his kisses echoing the victory of the day. It was a celebration of your love, a declaration that no matter where life took you, you would always find your way back to each other. And as you drifted off to sleep, lulled by the steady beat of his heart, you knew that together, you could conquer any challenge the universe threw your way.

As the days grew shorter and the chill of winter seeped into New Jersey, Jack and you grew closer, finding warmth in each other's embrace amidst the frosty air. The holidays approached, bringing with them a flurry of team events and the anticipation of time apart as the hockey season went into full swing. You cherished the moments you had together, making every second count. One night, as the first snowflakes of the season began to dance outside the windows, Jack took you ice skating under the glow of the arena's lights. The smoothness of the ice mirrored the ease with which you had fallen into your relationship, and as he held your hand, guiding you through the twirls and turns, you felt your heart flutter in your chest. He was more than just your lover, more than the best friend you had ever known—he was the person who had captured your soul and made it sing. As you leaned against the boards to catch your breath, laughing at your wobbly attempts at a figure eight, Jack turned to you, the snowflakes dusting his eyelashes. He looked into your eyes, his own filled with a love so intense it was almost painful to behold. "I don't know what I did to deserve you," he murmured, his voice hoarse with emotion. "But I know I'll do everything in my power to keep you by my side."

The words hung in the cold air, a vow that seemed to warm the very ice beneath your skates. You knew that the road ahead would be fraught with challenges—his games, your career, the inevitable separations—but as you looked into his eyes, you also knew that together, you could weather any storm. With a smile that could melt the coldest of hearts, you leaned in and kissed him, the world around you fading into the background as the magic of the moment wrapped you in a warm embrace. It was a kiss filled with promise, with hope, with the unspoken understanding that no matter where the winds of fate might blow, you would always find your way back to each other. And as you skated hand in hand into the night, the stars winking at you from above, you felt the universe itself nod in approval, whispering that sometimes, love was just meant to be.

The months turned into years, and your relationship with Jack grew stronger, a testament to the unyielding bond that had formed between you. Through the highs of victories and the lows of defeats, you were each other's constant, a beacon of support and love that never wavered. As the summer sun kissed the horizon, signaling the end of another season, Jack suggested a trip back to Michigan to visit your old stomping grounds. The idea filled you with excitement, not only to see the place that had shaped you both but also to reconnect with Quinn and Luke.

The journey home was a blend of nostalgia and newfound appreciation. The familiar landmarks grew closer with each passing mile, the anticipation of seeing your childhood friends a thrumming beat in your heart. As you pulled up to the house that held so many memories, the sight of Quinn and Luke waiting on the porch sent waves of joy crashing over you. The moment you stepped out of the car, a chorus of laughter and cheers filled the air as you were enveloped in their warm embraces. The years had brought their own changes—Quinn had settled down with a lovely wife and a baby on the way, while Luke was thriving in his own adventures—but the essence of their friendship remained untouched by time.

You spent the weekend reminiscing about old times, sharing stories of your new lives, and reconnecting over the simple pleasure of each other's company. As the days grew long and the nights grew warm, you found yourself nestled between Jack and the Hughes brothers, the fireflies flickering in the darkness like stars that had descended to earth. The conversations flowed freely, the laughter echoing through the quiet neighborhood streets, and it was as if the years had never come between you. You watched Jack with a soft smile, his eyes alight with the joy of being home, with being surrounded by those who had known him before the NHL, before the glitz and the glamour. It was a gentle reminder of the boy he had been, the friend who had held your hand through the storms of adolescence.

The visit was a balm to your soul, a chance to recharge and remember the roots of your friendship. As the weekend drew to a close, you felt a pang of sadness, but also a renewed sense of purpose. Life had led you back to each other, and as you held Jack's hand and said your goodbyes, you knew that no matter how much the seasons of life changed, the core of your bond would remain unshaken. With a promise to visit more often, you climbed into the car, ready to face the future together, hand in hand. The road ahead was long, but with the warmth of Jack's love and the comfort of your shared past, you had no doubt that you would conquer every challenge with grace and emerge even stronger, ready to face whatever the universe had in store.

Jack had planned the perfect adventure for the both of you and the Hughes family. He had picked a serene spot, a hidden gem nestled in the heart of the Michigan wilderness. As you all piled into the car, the anticipation grew with every mile that passed. The destination was a secret, known only to him, and the excitement of the unknown thrummed through the air. When you finally arrived, you found yourselves in a clearing surrounded by towering pines and a tranquil lake that shimmered under the warm embrace of the setting sun. The serenity of the place was almost tangible, the only sound the soft rustle of leaves whispering secrets to the wind.

As the family set up camp, Jack took you aside, his hand firm and warm in yours. He led you to a secluded spot at the water's edge, a small dock that jutted out into the lake. The wooden planks creaked gently underfoot as you made your way to the end, the water lapping gently against the posts. He turned to face you, his eyes shining with a love that seemed to have grown with every shared moment. "This place," he began, his voice low and earnest, "has always been special to me. It's where I came to think, to dream, and to escape." He took a deep breath, his chest rising and falling with the weight of what he was about to say. "And it's here, where I want to tell you that I've been in love with you since the day you moved in next door."

The words hung in the air, a confession that seemed to resonate with every fiber of your being. You searched his eyes, the depth of his feelings reflected in the pools of emotion that had gathered there. He dropped to one knee, pulling out a small velvet box, and your heart skipped a beat. "I know we've been through a lot," he continued, his voice trembling slightly, "but I can't imagine a future without you. You're the one I want to share every victory with, every heartache, every moment of joy." He opened the box to reveal a ring that sparkled like the stars you had wished upon so many times together. "Will you marry me?"

The world seemed to stop as you stared down at the ring, the sunset casting a warm glow on everything around you. You felt the tears well up in your eyes, the weight of his love too much to bear. "Jack," you managed to whisper, your voice thick with emotion, "I love you more than words can say." You nodded, unable to form coherent words. "Yes," you breathed, "yes, I'll marry you."

He slid the ring onto your finger, the cool metal feeling like it was sealing a promise that had been in the making for a lifetime. He stood up and took you in his arms, the kiss that followed a declaration of forever. As you wrapped your arms around him, the world around you faded away, leaving only the two of you, the lake, and the promise of a future filled with love and happiness.

The proposal had been a perfect culmination of your journey, a testament to the love that had grown between you despite the distance and the years apart. The rest of the night was a blur of excitement and joy as you shared the news with Quinn and Luke, their faces lighting up with happiness for the two of you. The fire crackled in the campfire, casting a warm glow on the faces of your loved ones as you reveled in the warmth of their congratulations. The stars above twinkled down on you, as if in approval of Jack's heartfelt declaration.

In the quiet moments, you found yourself lost in thought, the reality of your engagement sinking in. You had come so far from the days of playing street hockey and sharing secrets under the old oak tree. Now, as you gazed into the flames, Jack's hand in yours, you knew that the adventure ahead would be the most exciting one yet—the adventure of building a life together, forever entwined by love and friendship. And as the night grew late, and the laughter of your friends and future in-laws grew softer, you curled up beside Jack, feeling the warmth of his love and the weight of the ring on your finger. You closed your eyes, your heart full to bursting, and whispered a silent thank you to the universe for bringing you back to the place you truly belonged—in Jack's arms, ready to face whatever the future had in store.

[mikaylathenerd5]

Fourth & Forever - Chapter 1

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Author Note: I am only writing for the character Roman Reigns and NOT the person Joe Anoa'i, please refer to this post about addressing this.

Due to recent events, please let me know if you would like to be added or removed from the taglist. I want to make sure I am respecting everyone's wishes, as I know that due to recent events, it can be triggering for some.

Pairing: Juno Davis (black oc) x AU Roman Reigns

Summary: In the vibrant heart of Miami, Juno, a guarded single mother and graphic designer, attends a lively backyard barbecue at the insistence of her best friend, Rhea. Accompanied by her three-year-old daughter, Luna, Juno navigates the unfamiliar warmth of a tight-knit community, where music, food, and laughter create an intoxicating atmosphere. Struggling to balance her protective instincts with a longing for connection, Juno is caught off guard by Roman, a stoic and enigmatic football star whose quiet intensity and genuine kindness challenge her carefully built walls.

Word Count: 5k

"Sometimes, it’s not the fire that burns you. It’s the warmth you thought was safe."

The Miami afternoon clung to Juno like a second skin, the air thick with humidity and the faint promise of an evening breeze. She stood in her cramped apartment, the living room a mosaic of Luna’s toys and half-finished design projects. Her laptop glowed on the coffee table, displaying a client’s logo she’d been tweaking for hours, but her focus was elsewhere. Rhea’s text from earlier looped in her mind: Barbecue at the twins’ place. You’re coming. No excuses.

Juno sighed, running a hand through her curls. She wasn’t one for crowds, not anymore. Not since Luna had become her world, her anchor, her reason to keep moving through a life that often felt like it was holding its breath. But Rhea was relentless, a force of nature wrapped in a leather jacket and a smirk, and Juno knew resistance was futile.

“Mama, where we goin’?” Luna asked, toddling in from her bedroom, a stuffed giraffe clutched in her arms. Her brown eyes, wide and curious, mirrored Juno’s own, though Luna’s held a spark of wonder Juno had long buried.

“To a party, baby,” Juno said, kneeling to adjust Luna’s sundress. The yellow fabric was dotted with tiny sunflowers, a thrift-store find that Luna adored. “There’ll be music and food. Maybe even bubbles.”

Luna’s face lit up. “Bubbles?”

Juno smiled, her heart softening. “Yeah, bubbles. But you gotta promise to stay close, okay?”

Luna nodded solemnly, her curls bouncing. “Pwomise.”

Juno pressed a kiss to her daughter’s forehead, grounding herself in the familiar ritual. At three, Luna was a whirlwind of energy and stubbornness, but she was also Juno’s compass, guiding her through the chaos of single motherhood. Every choice, every late night at her graphic design job, every skipped meal to pay for daycare—it was all for Luna.

The apartment was quiet, save for the hum of the AC and the distant salsa music drifting from a neighbor’s window. Juno’s gaze fell to her sketchbook on the couch, its pages untouched for weeks. Once, drawing had been her refuge, a way to pour her dreams onto paper. Now, it felt like a luxury she couldn’t afford, like so many other things she’d left behind.

“Get it together,” she muttered, grabbing her canvas tote. She packed Luna’s essentials—snacks, a sippy cup, a spare dress—then hesitated at her own reflection in the hallway mirror. Her denim shorts and white tank top were practical, but the faint circles under her eyes betrayed her exhaustion. She swiped on lip gloss and tucked a curl behind her ear, a small act of defiance against the weight of the day.

Her phone buzzed. Rhea.

Rhea (Mami) 🖤😈😜: You better be on your way. Jimmy’s already grilling, and I’m not saving you ribs.

Juno rolled her eyes, typing a quick reply.

Juno ✨👑🧿: Chill, we’re leaving now.

She scooped Luna up, the toddler’s giggles filling the air, and headed out into the Miami heat.

The drive to the twins’ place was a blur of palm trees and neon signs, the city pulsing with life. Luna sang to herself in the backseat, her voice a soft counterpoint to the reggaeton blasting from the radio. Juno’s hands gripped the wheel, her mind wrestling with the unease of stepping into unfamiliar territory. She’d grown up in Miami, but her world had shrunk since Luna’s birth—work, home, daycare, repeat. Socializing felt like a foreign language, one she’d forgotten how to speak.

The twins’ house was a sprawling bungalow in a vibrant neighborhood, its front yard dotted with cars and scooters. Music spilled from the backyard, a mix of reggaeton and old-school hip-hop that made the air vibrate. Juno parked her weathered Honda and stepped out, the scent of grilled ribs and jerk chicken hitting her like a wave. Smoke curled skyward from a massive black grill, weaving through the humid air, mingling with the tang of salt from the nearby ocean.

She shifted Luna on her hip, the toddler’s wide eyes scanning the chaos. Luna’s tiny hand reached up to touch Juno’s cheek, a silent reassurance that grounded her. Juno kissed her forehead, drawing strength from her daughter’s quiet trust.

“I don’t know these people,” Juno muttered, adjusting her tote’s strap.

Rhea appeared from the crowd, her grin as chaotic as the scene. She wore a cropped tank and ripped jeans, her hair swinging as she sauntered over. “Yeah, but I do. You’ll be fine. Just don’t let Solo challenge you to arm wrestling. Man’s got no mercy.”

Juno followed Rhea’s gaze to a towering figure in the corner of the yard. Solo was hoisting a cooler packed with ice and drinks with one arm, his biceps straining against a sleeveless black tee. His face was impassive, but the twins—Jimmy and Jey—were hyping him up, their voices carrying over the music.

“Oh,” Juno said, her tone dry.

“Yeah,” Rhea replied, her smirk deepening. “You’re welcome.”

Juno shot her a flat look, but her lips twitched. Rhea’s chaos was a constant, but so was her loyalty. In a life where trust was a rare currency, Rhea was Juno’s vault—wild, unpredictable, but always there when it mattered.

The backyard was a kaleidoscope of movement and sound. Fairy lights crisscrossed above, casting a warm glow over folding chairs and picnic tables laden with platters—golden cornbread, glistening ribs, bowls of mango salsa. A group of aunties danced barefoot in the grass, their hips swaying to a soulful hook, solo cups raised like offerings to the night. Kids darted across the lawn, their shrieks rising above the music. Bottles of rum and tequila passed from hand to hand, and the air buzzed with a joy that felt both fleeting and eternal.

Juno set Luna down, keeping a hand on her shoulder as they navigated the crowd. The twins were a whirlwind of charm and noise, just as Rhea had warned. Jimmy greeted Rhea with a spinning hug that nearly toppled them into a table, his laughter bright and contagious. Jey, his mirror image, offered Juno a plate piled with ribs and macaroni salad, his grin a mix of mischief and warmth.

“I’m Jimmy. That’s Jey,” he said, jerking a thumb at his brother. “Don’t get us confused, unless you’re buying us both dinner.”

“Y’all are a mess,” Rhea laughed, snatching a rib from Jey’s plate.

Juno raised a brow but smiled, the vibe rowdy yet welcoming. She’d grown up in Miami, but this kind of warmth—loud, unapologetic, familial—felt foreign after years of guarding her heart and her daughter. Luna tugged at her hand, pointing to a group of toddlers chasing bubbles near the grill. Her eyes sparkled with excitement, and Juno’s heart unclenched.

“Go on, baby,” Juno said, releasing her. “Stay where I can see you.”

Luna scampered off, her yellow dress a bright spot in the crowd. Juno’s eyes tracked her every move, a habit born of love and vigilance. Luna was her anchor, her reason for every sacrifice. At three, she was a force—curious, stubborn, with a smile that could melt the hardest hearts.

Juno adjusted her tote, feeling the weight of her sketchbook inside. She hadn’t drawn in weeks, her creativity stifled by late nights at work and the demands of motherhood. But tonight, the energy of the barbecue stirred something in her—a flicker of inspiration, like a spark waiting to catch.

“Stop overthinking,” Rhea said, nudging her. “Luna’s good. You’re good. Just breathe.”

Juno exhaled, forcing herself to relax. “Easier said than done.”

Rhea grinned, her eyes glinting. “That’s why I brought you. Time to live a little, Juno.”

Before Juno could retort, a new voice cut through the chatter. “Rhea, you bringin’ strangers to our party now?”

The woman approaching was petite but commanding, her locs swept into a high bun, her smile sharp and assessing. She wore a vibrant yellow sundress that glowed against her dark skin, and her eyes flicked from Rhea to Juno with curiosity and skepticism.

“Marisol, chill,” Rhea said, rolling her eyes. “This is Juno. She’s family.”

Marisol raised a brow, her gaze lingering on Juno. “Family, huh? You don’t look like you’re from around here.”

Juno bristled but kept her tone even. “Born and raised in Miami. Just don’t get out much.”

Marisol’s smile softened, but her eyes remained wary. “Fair enough. Welcome, then. Grab a drink, but don’t let these fools rope you into their nonsense.”

“She means the twins,” Rhea whispered, leaning close. “Marisol’s their cousin. She’s protective but cool.”

Juno nodded, filing away the information. Marisol’s skepticism mirrored her own—a reminder that trust was earned, not given. She glanced at Luna, who was blowing bubbles with a little girl in pigtails, and felt a pang of gratitude for Rhea’s insistence on dragging her here. Maybe, just for tonight, she could let her guard down.

Juno found a spot near the edge of the yard, a folding chair tucked under a palm tree. She sipped a mango mojito, the tart sweetness a small comfort as she watched Luna play. The barbecue was a living thing, its energy pulsing through the crowd. An older man with a graying beard strummed a guitar, his voice weaving through the music. A group of teens battled over a card game, their laughter sharp and infectious. The aunties had moved on to a line dance, their movements precise yet joyful.

Juno’s fingers itched for her sketchbook. The scene was a canvas—vibrant, chaotic, alive. She could almost see the lines she’d draw: the curve of an auntie’s hip, the blur of a child’s run, the glow of fairy lights against the dusk. But she pushed the urge aside. Drawing was a dream from another life, before Luna, before the weight of bills and broken promises.

“You good over here?” Rhea plopped into the chair beside her, a plate of ribs balanced on her knee.

Juno nodded, though her eyes were still on Luna. “Yeah. Just… taking it in.”

Rhea followed her gaze, her expression softening. “She’s a star, you know. Got your fire.”

Juno’s lips curved, but her voice was quiet. “Sometimes I worry it’s too much. This world… it’s not kind to girls like her.”

Rhea set her plate down, her tone serious for once. “That’s why she’s got you. And me. And all these crazy folks.” She gestured to the crowd. “You’re not alone, Juno, even when you try to be.”

The words hit harder than Juno expected, stirring a lump in her throat. She’d spent years building walls, convinced solitude was safer than trust. But Rhea had a way of slipping through the cracks, her loyalty a light in the dark.

“Thanks,” Juno said, her voice barely above a whisper.

Rhea nudged her shoulder. “Don’t get sappy on me. Eat something before Jimmy hogs all the ribs.”

Juno laughed, the sound easing the tension in her chest. She took a rib from Rhea’s plate, the smoky flavor grounding her in the moment. For the first time in a long while, she felt a flicker of belonging, like maybe she could be part of this world without losing herself.

That was when she saw him.

Roman.

He sat at the edge of the wooden deck, a half-empty plate balanced on his knee, his golden skin kissed by the fading sun. His hair was pulled back in a loose bun, a few rogue strands framing his face. Tattoos coiled up his arms, their intricate patterns disappearing beneath the sleeves of his black t-shirt. Even seated, he exuded a quiet power, like a storm held in check. He was still water, deep and dangerous, the kind that could pull you under without warning.

And he was staring at her.

Not in the leering way she’d learned to deflect. No, this was different—curious, surprised, almost reverent. His dark eyes held hers, and for a moment, the world narrowed to the space between them. The music, the laughter, the clink of cups—it all faded, leaving only the steady thrum of her pulse and the weight of his gaze.

Juno blinked, her breath catching.

Roman blinked back, and then, to her shock, he stood.

Rhea nudged her, her voice low and teasing. “Oh damn. He never gets up for anyone.”

“What do you mean?” Juno asked, her eyes still on Roman.

“That’s Roman,” Rhea said, as if it explained everything. “Defensive tackle for the Dolphins. Local legend. Big, broody, and emotionally unavailable. Right up your alley.”

Juno rolled her eyes, forcing herself to look away. “I don’t even watch football.”

“Exactly why he’s lookin’ at you like that. You’re not impressed. That’s new for him.”

And then he was there, standing before her, all six-foot-something of him, his presence filling the air like the smoke from the grill. Up close, he was even more imposing—broad shoulders, a jawline sharp enough to cut, and eyes that seemed to see straight through her carefully constructed walls.

“Hey,” he said, his voice low and husky, the kind that lingered in your ears and curled into the hollows of your chest.

“Hi,” Juno replied, her arms folding instinctively, a shield against the warmth in his gaze.

“I’m Roman.”

“Juno. And that’s my daughter, Luna.”

Luna turned at the sound of her name, her curls sticking to her sweaty forehead. She gave Roman a shy smile before ducking behind Juno’s leg, her tiny hand clutching the hem of her mother’s jeans.

Roman’s expression softened, and he crouched down, bringing himself closer to Luna’s level. “Hey there, sweetheart. You havin’ fun?”

Luna nodded slowly, then pointed to the bubbles drifting near the grill, their rainbow surfaces catching the light. Roman followed her gaze and chuckled, the sound warm and unguarded.

“You got good taste. Bubbles are undefeated.”

Juno watched, her breath catching. There was something disarming about how he shifted his entire presence to meet Luna where she was, his massive frame folding into something gentle. It wasn’t a performance. He wasn’t trying to impress her. He was just… being.

And that was dangerous.

She’d met men like this before—charismatic, attentive, with smiles that promised the world. But promises were fragile, and Juno had learned the hard way that they often shattered, leaving her to pick up the pieces alone. Luna was proof of that—a beautiful, stubborn reminder of a love that had burned bright and then burned out.

“Nice kid,” Roman said, standing but keeping his voice soft, as if he sensed the weight of her thoughts.

“Thanks,” Juno replied, her tone guarded. “She’s my everything.”

He nodded, his eyes flicking to Luna and back to her. “I can see that.”

The sincerity in his voice caught her off guard, and for a moment, she didn’t know how to respond. Before she could, Jimmy called out from across the yard, waving a spatula like a conductor’s baton.

“Yo, Roman! You eatin’ or what? These ribs ain’t gonna grill themselves!”

Roman’s lips twitched, but he didn’t move. “I’m good,” he called back, his eyes still on Juno.

Jimmy groaned, but Jey laughed, slinging an arm around his brother. “Leave him alone, man. He’s busy.”

The twins’ teasing broke the tension, and Juno felt herself relax, if only slightly. Roman gestured to a nearby table. “You want a drink? They got mango mojitos, or I can grab you something else.”

She hesitated, then nodded. “Mojito’s fine.”

He moved with a quiet grace, weaving through the crowd to the drink table. Juno watched him go, her mind a tangle of curiosity and caution. Rhea leaned close, her voice a conspiratorial whisper.

“Told you. Right up your alley.”

“Shut up,” Juno muttered, but she couldn’t hide the smile tugging at her lips.

As Roman returned with her drink, the ice clinking softly in the cup, Juno found herself drawn into a conversation that felt both foreign and familiar. He asked about her work, his curiosity genuine as she described her graphic design projects—logos for local businesses, posters for community events. She mentioned her love for jazz, a passion sparked by her father’s old vinyls, and Roman’s eyes lit up.

“Miles Davis or Coltrane?” he asked, leaning against the deck railing.

“Coltrane,” she said without hesitation. “A Love Supreme hits different.”

He nodded, a small smile playing on his lips. “Good choice. I’m more of a Kind of Blue guy, but I respect it.”

The exchange was easy, unforced, and Juno felt a flicker of surprise. She wasn’t used to men listening, really listening, without an agenda. But Roman’s attention was steady, his questions thoughtful, his responses measured yet warm.

They talked about Miami, too—the way the city felt like a dream and a hustle all at once. Roman shared a story about sneaking into a jazz club as a teenager, his voice softening with nostalgia. Juno countered with a memory of painting murals in her high school art room, the walls her only escape from a chaotic home.

“You still paint?” he asked, his gaze flicking to her hands, as if he could see the ghost of a brush there.

She shook her head, her throat tightening. “Not much. Life got in the way.”

He nodded, his expression unreadable but not judgmental. “Life does that. But it’s never too late to pick it back up.”

The words were simple, but they landed like a stone in still water, rippling through her. She wanted to argue, to say that dreams were luxuries for people who didn’t have bills to pay or a child to raise. But something in his eyes—quiet, knowing—stopped her.

Luna’s laughter broke the moment, pulling Juno’s attention. Her daughter was now playing tag with a group of kids, her yellow dress a blur of motion. Roman followed her gaze, his expression softening again.

“She’s fearless,” he said.

Juno’s lips curved, but her voice was tinged with worry. “Sometimes too much.”

He nodded, as if he understood more than she’d said. “She’s got a good mom. That’s more than most.”

The compliment was quiet, but it hit Juno like a wave, stirring a warmth she wasn’t ready to feel. She sipped her mojito, using the moment to steady herself.

As the afternoon melted into a golden dusk, the shadows stretching long across the yard, Roman stayed close. Not hovering, but present, like a planet exerting its own gravity. He brought her a second mojito before she realized her cup was empty, the ice clinking softly as he handed it to her. He checked on Luna without being asked, his eyes tracking her as she played, ensuring she was safe. His presence was a quiet anchor, steadying Juno in a way she hadn’t expected.

The barbecue pulsed with life. An older woman with silver braids led a toast, her voice carrying over the crowd. “To family, to summer, to nights like this!” The crowd cheered, cups raised, and Juno found herself clapping along, caught up in the moment. Luna scampered back to her, her cheeks flushed, and Juno scooped her up, kissing her sweaty forehead.

“Having fun, baby?” she asked.

Luna nodded, her eyes bright. “Bubbles, Mama! And cake!”

Juno laughed, glancing at Naomi, who was cutting slices of a towering chocolate cake. “Cake later, okay? Let’s get you some water first.”

Roman appeared with a sippy cup, handing it to Luna with a smile. “Heard you were thirsty, little one.”

Luna took the cup, her shyness melting as she grinned at him. “Fank you!”

Juno’s heart did a strange flip, a mix of gratitude and unease. Roman’s ease with Luna was disarming, but it also raised her guard. Men who were good with kids often knew the power it held, and she’d fallen for that charm once before.

“Thanks,” she said, her tone cautious.

He nodded, sensing the shift. “Anytime.”

The evening deepened, the fire pit crackling to life, its embers glowing against the indigo sky. The kids were winding down, their laughter softening into yawns. Luna was curled up on a blanket with a few other toddlers, her eyes heavy but content. Rhea and Naomi had taken over auntie duties, waving Juno off when she hesitated.

“We got Luna,” Rhea said, her tone firm. “Go live a little.”

“Don’t overthink it,” Naomi added, her smile knowing.

Juno’s gaze drifted to Roman, who was leaning against the deck, his eyes on the fire. Marisol’s voice cut through her thoughts, sharp and insistent.

“Juno, come here a sec.”

Marisol stood by the fire pit, a drink in her hand, her eyes narrowed. Juno excused herself, leaving Roman with a small smile. Marisol pulled her aside, her expression a mix of concern and suspicion.

“What’s with you and Roman?” she asked, her voice low.

Juno frowned. “Nothing’s with us. We just met.”

Marisol raised a brow. “Didn’t look like nothing. He’s been glued to you all night.”

“He’s just being nice,” Juno said, but the words felt hollow.

Marisol sighed, her gaze softening. “Look, I’m not trying to be a buzzkill. Roman’s a good guy—better than most. But he’s… complicated. Got a lot of eyes on him, a lot of baggage. You got a kid, Juno. You sure you wanna get mixed up with someone like that?”

The words hit like a punch, echoing Juno’s own doubts. She glanced at Roman, who was now talking to Jey, his posture relaxed but his eyes flicking toward her. Marisol’s warning was a mirror to her fears—that letting someone in, even someone who seemed kind, was a risk she couldn’t afford.

“I’m not getting mixed up with anyone,” Juno said, her voice firm. “I’m here for Luna, not for… whatever this is.”

Marisol studied her, then nodded. “Alright. Just watch yourself, okay? You seem like good people.”

Juno forced a smile, but Marisol’s words lingered, a shadow over the warmth of the evening.

Later, as the fire pit cast flickering shadows across the yard, Roman approached Juno again. Luna was dozing on Naomi’s lap, her tiny snores a soft counterpoint to the music. The crowd had thinned slightly, but the energy remained, a low hum of laughter and conversation.

“Wanna take a walk?” Roman asked, tilting his head toward the edge of the backyard, where a wooden path led to the beach.

Juno’s heart climbed into her throat. She glanced at Luna, then back at Roman, his expression open but not pressuring. Marisol’s warning echoed, but so did the memory of Roman crouching to talk to Luna, his voice gentle and genuine. She nodded, her voice caught somewhere between courage and caution.

They walked in silence, the sand cool beneath their feet, the ocean stretching out under a sky studded with stars. The moon hung low, its silver light painting the waves in shimmering strokes. The air carried the scent of salt and summer, each breeze a whisper against Juno’s skin.

“Beautiful,” she murmured, her eyes on the horizon.

Roman’s gaze never left her. “Yeah. It is.”

Heat crept up her neck, and she pretended not to notice, focusing on the soft crunch of sand beneath her sneakers.

“You don’t talk much, do you?” she asked after a while, the silence between them both heavy and light.

“I used to,” he said, his voice quieter now, almost lost to the waves. “Then I learned it was easier not to.”

“Easier or safer?”

He looked at her, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Both.”

She understood more than she wanted to. That kind of silence wasn’t born; it was forged in the fires of betrayal, grief, and the slow realization that words could be weapons in the wrong hands. She’d built her own walls for the same reasons, each brick laid with the memory of a promise broken.

They stopped near the water’s edge, the tide kissing their toes. Roman bent down and picked up a smooth, moonlit shell, brushing the sand from its surface with careful fingers.

“You’ve been hurt,” he said, not a question but a truth.

“So have you,” she countered, her voice steady despite the tremor in her chest.

He nodded, his jaw tight. “I don’t do relationships. Don’t bring women around my people. Don’t… open up.”

“Then why are you doing all those things now?”

The question hung between them, fragile and sharp. Roman didn’t answer right away. He turned the shell over in his hand, its pearlescent surface catching the moonlight.

“Because something about you makes it feel like maybe I could.”

The wind picked up, lifting Juno’s curls and sending a shiver down her spine. Something inside her cracked open—a door she’d bolted shut years ago, rusted with fear and mistrust. She wanted to lean into the warmth of his words, to let them wrap around her like a blanket. But Marisol’s warning, her own scars, and the weight of Luna’s future held her back.

“I should get back to Luna,” she whispered, her voice barely audible over the waves.

“Yeah,” he said, but he didn’t move, his eyes searching hers for something she wasn’t sure she could give.

They walked back in silence, the night wrapping around them like a secret. At the car, Roman held the door open, his hand lingering on the handle as she slid inside. Luna was already buckled in, her head lolling against the car seat, her tiny snores a soft counterpoint to the distant music.

Juno paused, looking up at him under the glow of the porch light. His face was a study in contrasts—hard lines softened by something vulnerable, something that mirrored the ache in her own chest.

“I don’t know what this is,” she admitted, her voice raw.

“I don’t either,” he said, his tone matching hers. “But I don’t want to regret it.”

Her breath caught. For a fleeting moment, she thought he might kiss her. His eyes dropped to her lips, his jaw flexing as if he were fighting himself. But he stepped back, nodding once, like he was sealing the moment in his memory.

She drove off, her hands gripping the wheel too tightly, her heart a tangled mess of hope and fear. In the rearview mirror, Roman stood in the driveway, watching her taillights fade into the night.

“I’m fucked,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. “Completely fucking done for.”

The drive home was quiet, the city’s neon lights blurring into streaks of color. Luna slept in the backseat, her stuffed giraffe clutched tightly. Juno’s mind churned, replaying the night—the barbecue’s warmth, Roman’s gaze, Marisol’s warning. She felt like she’d stepped onto a tightrope, one wrong move away from falling.

Back at the apartment, Juno carried Luna inside, the toddler’s weight a familiar comfort. She tucked her into bed, the room a haven of color—walls painted with murals of stars and moons, a project from Juno’s sleepless nights after Luna’s birth. She brushed a curl from Luna’s forehead, her heart swelling with a love so fierce it sometimes scared her.

“Night, baby,” she whispered, kissing Luna’s cheek.

Luna stirred, her voice sleepy. “Bubbles, Mama?”

Juno smiled, her chest aching. “Tomorrow, sweetheart. Promise.”

She closed the door softly and leaned against it, the events of the night crashing over her like waves. Roman’s face, his words, the way he’d looked at Luna—it was too much, too fast. She’d spent years building walls to keep men like him out, men who seemed too good to be true, who promised warmth only to leave her burned.

Her phone buzzed on the kitchen counter. A text from Rhea.

Rhea (Mami) 🖤😈😜: Yo, Roman asked about you. Wants your number. What do I say?

Juno’s heart stuttered. She stared at the screen, her thumb hovering over the keyboard. Part of her wanted to say yes, to let herself fall into whatever this was. But the other part—the part that remembered empty promises and sleepless nights—screamed for caution.

Juno ✨👑🧿: Tell him I’m not ready.

Rhea’s reply came almost instantly.

Rhea (Mami) 🖤😈😜: Girl, you sure? He’s not the type to chase. You might be passing up something real.

Juno set the phone down, her hands trembling. She wasn’t sure of anything anymore.

She moved to lock the car, her steps heavy with exhaustion. As she reached the Honda, she froze. Tucked under the windshield wiper was a small, pearlescent shell, identical to the one Roman had picked up on the beach. A tiny note was folded beneath it, written in a careful, slanted script.

For Luna. —R

Juno’s breath caught, her fingers tracing the shell’s smooth surface. She looked out into the dark, half-expecting to see Roman standing there, but the street was empty. She must of not noticed it on the way home. The shell felt like a promise, a question, a challenge.

She clutched it tightly, her heart a wild thing in her chest, and wondered what she’d just set in motion.

The next morning, Juno woke to the warmth of the sunlight and Luna’s off-key singing from the living room. Sunlight streamed through the blinds, painting stripes across the hardwood floor. She lay in bed for a moment, the shell on her nightstand catching the light. It was a small thing, but it felt heavy with meaning, a reminder of the night that had shifted something inside her.

She rose, pulling on a worn hoodie, and found Luna in the living room, surrounded by crayons and construction paper. “Morning, baby,” Juno said, kissing her head.

“Mornin’, Mama!” Luna held up a drawing—a chaotic swirl of colors with a yellow blob in the center. “It’s bubbles!”

Juno laughed, the sound easing the knot in her chest. “It’s perfect. You’re an artist, just like me.”

Luna beamed, and Juno’s heart swelled. She wanted to protect that light, that fearless joy, from a world that could be so cruel. But last night had stirred something else—a longing for connection, for a life beyond survival.

Juno programmed the Keurig to prepare her morning coffee. The machine instantly presented the coffee, waiting for Juno to consume. As she prepared the coffee to her liking, her phone buzzed again. Another text from Rhea.

Rhea (Mami) 🖤😈😜: You change your mind about Roman yet? He’s not gonna wait forever.

Juno sighed, setting the phone down. She wasn’t ready to answer, not yet. But the shell on her nightstand seemed to pulse with possibility, a quiet challenge to her carefully guarded heart.

She sipped her coffee, watching Luna draw, and felt the weight of a choice she wasn’t sure she could make.

Hey loves! 💖 If Juno, Roman, and Luna’s slow-burn spark in Fourth & Forever had you feeling all the Miami heat, let me know what you think! Drop a like, slide into the comments with your fave moments (that shell tho 👀), and reblog to share the love with your crew. Your vibes keep this story burning bright! 🔥 Want more of my worlds? Dive into my masterlist for fics like Spice & Surrender and Everything I Wanted—there’s a little something for every mood. Hit me up to join my taglist for updates, and let’s keep the convo going! Who’s ready for Chapter 2? 😘

[misshoneybee]

— 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐆𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐑𝐨𝐨𝐦 —

Pairing: Staffer!Reader x Congressman!James Buchanan 'Bucky' Barnes Content Warnings: Workplace romance/sex, oral sex, vaginal fingering Word Count: 3.8k Rating: Explicit A/N: I got some feelings when I heard the bass line to Knee Socks and thought about Congressman James Barnes...so, this little brainchild was born and brought me back from a three-year hiatus from writing fics. 🤪 As always, I do my best to keep my reader as inclusive as possible but please let me know if there’s anything I can do to improve upon it! There’s no use of Y/N or anything else where you need to insert information to read just because that’s my personal preference! Please enjoy and I’d adore any reblogs or feedback, if anyone feels so inclined! Navigation: Masterpost | Divider Credit | AO3 Summary: When you overhear Bucky talking to Mel and think he's suddenly looking for a new assistant, he'll go to any lengths to make sure that you know that you're the only one he needs (or wants.)

You couldn’t stop turning the words over and over in your mind, picturing the softness behind Bucky’s eyes as he’d slipped his business card to Mel. The business card that you’d meticulously designed and sent to print. The one you’d agonized over for hours. You knew they’d be used for networking but you’d never though they’d be used to find a replacement for you.

‘You can choose who you work for.’

He wasn’t wrong, but fuck—those words cut deeper than you thought they could. There was an empty pit in your stomach as the late spring air swept through the city, making it feel cooler than it was as you stood tensely beside the congressman with crossed arms, waiting for the limousine to pull closer to the curb where you were both waiting. You’d loved the dress when you’d chosen it last week—the slinky, sleeveless black silk gown with the high neck and low back—but now you just couldn’t wait to get home and shed the second skin so you could scroll through LinkedIn or some shit.

Or maybe you would take some time and lick your wounds first before exploring your other options; you’d been by Bucky’s side for years. You’d been on his campaign since he’d launched it. It was easy to recall the day that you’d walked into the makeshift office in Brooklyn and offered to canvas for his campaign since you were sick of the congressman who’d represented your district for too many years. Since then, you didn’t think there’d been a day that you hadn’t been in some kind of contact with James Buchanan Barnes. The pair of you had fallen into an easy camaraderie.

As the long car rolled to a stop before you both and he opened the door for you, waving off the valet, you realized that everything he’d been saying for the past several minutes that you’d been waiting had fallen on your deaf ears. Carefully keeping your knees pressed together—even if you weren’t going to be working for Bucky much longer, you still didn’t need any upskirt pictures out in the tabloids—you murmured your thanks and slid into the backseat. The partition between the backseat and the driver was already up; Bucky always insisted on it for privacy. He unbuttoned his coat and ducked in after you were settled, maintaining the middle seat’s distance from you.

It was quite a feat being able to fit three phones into the tiny bag that was your clutch. You handed Bucky’s over to him on autopilot as you grabbed your work phone, leaving your personal one safely tucked away. Opening your email app, you steeled yourself and carefully left the address blank as you quickly typed Letter of Resignation into the subject line. Finally, some of his words finally bled through your endless stream of thoughts.

“Do you know what Gary was talking about?”

Finally, you glanced over at him. You were annoyed but fuck. It’s like you forgot how attractive he was every time you looked away for too long; the tux you’d picked up for him was perfectly tailored, tight on his biceps and across his broad chest. Finally, you met his light blue eyes as he continued, “He mentioned some packets that I should look at.”

The aggravation from his words overrode your momentary attraction and you let out a short exhale of an almost laugh before returning to typing your email as you pointed out, “You mean the packets that I add to your briefing folder every morning that you ignore?” Biting your tongue from including some more choice words, you gave a delicate shrug and finished nonchalantly, fingers still flying over your keyboard, “I think he was talking about those.”

You could feel the light gray-blue eyes boring into your cheek as you kept your attention directed at the little screen in your hands. The need to flinch under his scrutinizing gaze was overpowered by your attitude.

“Is there something wrong?” From the corner of your eye, you saw his brows draw together as he hesitantly tried to piece together what had happened. In all your time of knowing him, you’d always had a quick wit, but your ire had never been directed at him.

Schooling your features, you added sugar to your tone as you finally met his eyes and played dumb, wanting him to draw his own conclusion, “Why would anything be wrong, Congressman Barnes?”

“Oh, so, I’m Congressman Barnes now?”

Although it was dark and the passing headlights and streetlamps only provided flickers of illumination, you could see there was a glint of amusement in his eye, and it lit a fire where the empty pit in your stomach had just been moments before. Was this a fucking joke to him? Taking a slow breath, you corrected, “Fine, James,” before continuing your typing.

“Cut the shit.”

Your fingers faltered on your keyboard as you sat up straighter at the abrupt change to his tone. While he’d never been on your bad side, you’d also never been on his. Bucky had always been exceedingly kind. Even in his silent ways—ordering your favorite dinner when you guys spent too long at the office, holding an umbrella over you as you both canvassed the neighborhood in the rain, riding past his subway stop at the end of the day to get off at yours and make sure you got home safely before backtracking eight blocks to his own apartment when you guys were in the city and not in the capitol.

“Excuse me?”

The muscle twitched in his sculpted jaw before he continued frankly, “Come on. You’ve been giving me the cold shoulder for half the night, doll.” You cut your eyes at him as the nickname rolled off his tongue and replayed in your head. Doll. It made your heart beat a little faster, but you attributed it to your annoyance—nothing else.

He huffed a half-laugh of exasperation at your continued silence, running a hand over the short scruff of his beard, “Look, you gonna make me drag it out of you? Or can you just tell me?”

Biting the inside of your cheek, you schooled your features into something calm and finally gave him your undivided attention. Letting your eyes rove over his earnest expression, you hesitated. Did he really not fucking know? Or was he just an asshole and didn’t think you’d care? Sitting up a little straighter, your voice was even as you ignored the hurt and cooly acknowledged the elephant in the limousine, “It just would have been nice to know that you were looking for a new assistant. That’s all.”

Even he couldn’t feign the confusion that crossed his face as he pushed back, “What the hell are you talkin’ about?”

“What do you mean?” Exasperation colored your tone as your eyes carefully searched his. His silent confusion only served to aggravate the tension that wrapped around you, as the words finally spilled out, “I have basically been on your campaign since you announced your bid for congress! I know what you look like when you’re charming people for donations and you don’t think I can’t tell when you’re working someone?”

“It wasn’t—”

“I was five feet away, James!” You cut him off, your knuckles blanching as you gripped your phone tightly. The blinking cursor waited for more of your (admittedly, kind of rude) words of resignation. Feigning thoughtfulness, you carried on as if attempting to job his memory, “What was it you said? Oh! Yeah. You can choose who you work for.”

Shaking your head, both wounded and pissed off, you glanced out the window to see you were still half an hour from the building that housed both of your apartments. This was going to be a fun ride. You’d barely pulled away from the museum’s curb. As you sat back against the leather of the seat, you returned your attention to the email, continued typing with too much force, and attempted to ignore Bucky’s presence. Surely, you’d have to edit out some of the notes of ‘fuck you’ and ‘asshole’ before you sent it Monday morning.

“Can you stop fuckin’ typing?” He grumbled frustratedly. The dark metal and gold of his vibranium hand glinted under the flicker of the streetlight as he easily plucked it from your hands and tried to diffuse the situation. “Baby, listen—”

You reached for your phone as he quickly locked it and gave you a chastising glare as you tried to reason, “Look, I’m just trying to draft my letter of resignation. So, I’d really appreciate that back.”

Holding it out of your reach, he snorted a laugh. His tongue ran over his teeth, and he shook his head, almost as if he was entertained by your reaction, murmuring lowly, “I’m not gonna accept your goddamn resignation.”

A bolt of something shot through your stomach at the almost growl and you felt a shiver roll through your body, goosebumps rising on your bare arms. You shoved that aside and continued to argue, “You don’t have a choice!” Giving up, you crossed your arms and sank back into the seat, “It’s a resignation, not a request. I’m not asking if I can quit, I’m—”

“You’re not doing shit!” His voice was raised and that was the first time you’d ever seen the cords of his patience finally snap and you were momentarily stunned into silence. Taking your hand in his, and taking advantage of your sudden lack of talking, he was almost imploring as he hurriedly explained and held your gaze, “I wasn’t looking for a new assistant; I just needed Mel to know that she could work for someone aside from Valentina so maybe she’d testify at the impeachment. That’s all.”

Biting the inside of your cheek, you hesitated as his words finally computed in your brain. Well, fuck.

Maybe you’d jumped the gun because…that made sense. For the past two weeks, you both had been discussing strategies to try and ensure an impeachment for Valentina was within the realm of possibility and Mel’s name may or may not have come up a handful of times. So, maybe—just maybe—you’d gotten ahead of yourself.

You knew it was a toxic trait, but you were already in the thick of this argument and completely relenting wasn’t an option no matter how reasonable he was. So, you rolled your eyes, ignoring the way his thumb brushed over the back of your hand as you looked past him, out the window, and mumbled without any real heat, “Okay. Sure.”

His chin dropped to his chest as he huffed out a short, dry laugh and shook his head, “You think I’d ever want anyone else by my side?” His vibranium fingers laced with yours and the corner of his lips ticked up in a half-smile at your attitude. Your eyes flicked down to your hands as he gave a gentle squeeze, and continued quietly, “Baby, I couldn’t do anything without you. We wouldn’t even be here if it wasn’t for you.”

His eyes were soft as you disbelievingly shook your head with a small smile that matched his and looked out your own window, “Shut up…”

“I guess I do a pretty shitty job of letting you know how valuable you are to me.”

Turning your head, your breath caught in your throat as you realized how close he was. The familiar spiced cologne that reminded you of whiskey and citrus clung to his chest; it invaded your senses, and you felt your face go warm. Your teeth dug into your bottom lip as a shaky breath threatened to pass from you. The blue of his eyes was just a ring around his pupil, dilated with want; you knew yours had to look the same. The fire in your stomach had dropped lower and you shifted under his wanting gaze.

This had been almost two years in the making and maybe there wasn’t a point in trying to fight it anymore. Your eyes flickered to his lips before returning to his eyes and you whispered shakily, “Bucky, we…”

Like you saying his nickname pulled some trigger, he shook his head with a crooked smile, “Fuck it.”

Bucky’s hand cupped your cheek, and, with a surprising amount of gentleness, he crashed his lips into yours and the pieces fell into place. Every feeling that had been behind some secret dam you didn’t know that you’d built rushed out. Your hand drifted over his chest and around his neck as you pulled him closer and sighed softly against his lips.

“I didn’t know you were so jealous, baby…” He teased, pulling you into his lap and you couldn’t help the way it made you smile into the kiss.

“Not jealous,” You murmured before your teeth grazed over his bottom lip and he groaned, his hand tracing down your spine before landing on your ass and giving a gentle squeeze. Giggling, you continued and pressed your body closer to his, “Just wanted some job security…”

“Trust me, baby. The job is always yours.” His words were muffled as his lips moved down your jaw and against your neck, trailing up and down, never staying in one spot long enough to leave a mark as one of his hands trailed down to the slit in your dress. “Tell me what you need.”

“Touch me.”

“I am.” He teased and you gave a soft whine, the fingers of one of your hands tangling in his hair as the other tried to urge his hand higher up the soft skin of your thigh. Feigning surprise, his lips finally moved away from your neck as he sat back and grinned wide, “Oh, you want my fingers?” Feeling the way his chest rose and fell while pressed against your own made you shiver as your legs spread slightly.

“Fuck…” He groaned, his thumb grazing the inside of your thigh before it easily zeroed in on your clit that was still hidden behind the silky material of your panties. The muscles in your stomach clenched as he pressed gently against your bundle of nerves.

“Bucky—" His name was a soft whimper as it was pulled from your lips at the pressure you needed more of.

Bucky’s fingers grazed your cheekbone as he traced your face reverently before pressing his thumb to your lips as he murmured lowly, “Get it wet for me, baby.” Your tongue swirled around his digit, sucking as you hollowed out your cheeks and watched his eyes darken. “Fuck…that’s my good girl.”

Slipping his finger from your mouth, he glazed it over your bottom lip, tugging on it gently before shifting to his knees in the spacious floorboard. You whined softly as the dress restricted your thighs from spreading any further. The ripping of fabric pulled a gasp from your lips as he tore the pre-sewn slit in your silky skirt higher.

“I’ll get you a new one.” His wolfish grin stopped you from chastising him as he tugged the gusset of your underwear aside and let out a low groan as the wetness that glistened on your folds. Digging your fingers into the leather of the seat, you shifted shyly under his gaze.

“Bucky…” You begged with a whisper, “I need you. Please.”

With a breath caught in your chest, you watched as he bit his lower lip and traced his thumb up and down your slit before letting out a low growl, “Gotta fucking taste you.”

You couldn’t stop the yelp as he easily grabbed your hips and tugged you further down the seat, slipping your panties off you and shoving them in his back pocket before hooking your legs over his broad shoulders as his big hands held your thighs wide. His thumbs spread your folds apart as his tongue licked a broad, languid strip from your weeping entrance to your swollen clit as a keening moan was pulled from your lips at the pleasure that coursed through your veins.

With a playful click of his tongue, his tone feigned disappointment, “Made such a mess of this sweet little cunt. You sensitive, baby?” He barely brushed a finger down your soaked slit again, and you couldn’t stop the way your hips bucked at the stimulation, a sob pulled from your chest. Clamping a hand over your mouth, you tried to stifle the noises that wanted to spill from you. Nipping at the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, you could feel the way he smiled as you shifted restlessly and he cooed teasingly, “Look at this perfect fucking pussy, all spread out for me.”

Without adieu, Bucky returned his lips to your clit, his tongue tracing a circle around the bud before sucking it between his lips. Your fingers tangled in his hair, and you felt the way he groaned against your center as you tugged gently. No matter how badly you needed to clench your thighs closed, whether to keep him close or push him away because the pleasure was too much, it wasn’t possible. “So sweet for me, baby…”

The vibration of his words made you whimper as he sucked an erratic pattern that made you writhe on the leather seat as your fingers gripped his hair even tighter; he was ravenous as he licked and sucked and nipped, driving you wild and pushing you closer to the edge. Slipping his middle finger into your tight channel, he pumped it in and out with lewd noises from your wetness. After a moment, he slipped a second one in with the first and crooked them up against the ridged spot that made you see flares of light. You felt your face grow warm at the sound as you begged, “Buck—”

A warmth pooled low in your stomach, and you couldn’t stop the breathy “oh’s” that were pulled from your chest. Squeezing your eyes closed, you rocked your hips up into his mouth as he sucked at your labia and dipped his tongue into your clenching core like a man starved. Just as you were about to fall over the edge, he pulled back with a lecherous grin. A needy whine fell from your lips as you gripped his hair tighter, trying and failing to keep his mouth pressed where you needed him most as he held you firmly by the hips, pressing you into the seat.

“So greedy, baby…” Pressing his lips to your mound, his thumbs brushed over your hips as he asked teasingly, “What? Did you wanna come?”

With a shuddering breath, you dropped your head back against the pillows as your fingers tightened in his hair, pleading, “God—fuck, yes.”

“Where are your manners, baby?” His words were low as a gentle nip to your clit made your back arch off the seat at the surprising cocktail of pleasurable pain. Rubbing over your button with a thumb, soothing the barely-there sting, he cautioned with a teasing smile, “If you come, I’m not letting you stop ‘til you’re begging.”

“Don’t care—please, Bucky.” Shaking your head as you looked down at him worshipping between your thighs, you weren’t even certain that your words were intelligible as you begged and babbled with hooded eyes, “Please, let me come. Please, fuck—”

Without a verbal response, he ducked his head back down and returned to his lingual assault, pulling a loud, ‘Fuck!’ from deep in your chest as you rocked your hips against the two fingers that were thrusting deep inside of you at a punishing pace, working you open. It wasn’t long before your thighs were clenching as he crooked his fingers just right and sent you over the edge.

“That’s it. Fuck…” He hummed against your center.

Your back bowed off the seat as a pleasant warmth spread through your body, radiating out through your fingers and curled toes as his tongue laved over your sensitive skin, graduating from flat broad strokes to little kitten licks that made you twitch with aftershocks of your climax. Trying to close your thighs and shy away from his touch, you whined before he sat up, blushing as you spotted his lips and chin shiny from your wetness. With the back of his hand, he wiped away some of it with a smug wink.

Pressing a hand over your chest, grounding yourself with the feeling of your skin, you tried to catch your breath as a soft laugh huffed past your lips. Sinking back into the warm leather of the seat, you watched as Bucky’s eyes trailed after his hands that worshipfully grazed up your still shaky thighs before trying to fix the skirt of your dress, gently trailing his lips over your skin as he tugged it back down to cover you. However, that did nothing to help the torn fabric that had been ripped too high.

You’d barely remembered he’d ripped the silk it until the cool air from the vent brushed over your thighs chest and you felt your face go warm, suddenly feeling overexposed as you sat up, “Bucky!” Fruitlessly attempting to tuck or adjust the fabric to maintain some kind of modesty, you couldn’t help but whine about his (slightly hot) barbarism, “I just bought this!”

“I told you I’d get you a new one.” He grinned from where he was still on his knees and slid off the black suit jacket, leaving him in his dress shirt and undone bowtie. “Here, baby.”

Sliding back into the seat beside you, he held the jacket for you as you slid your arms into the too-big sleeves, grateful it was long enough to fall to your mid-thighs. Fixing your hair for you so it wasn’t tucked into the collar, he pressed a soft kiss to your neck as the limousine began to slow. You quickly buttoned the coat as he groaned and adjusted himself where his slacks had grown tighter.

Shooting him a coy smile, you questioned innocently, “Problem?” He huffed a laugh with a shake of his head as your grin widened.

He couldn’t stop himself from pulling you back in for another searing kiss, murmuring against your mouth, “You gonna take care of it when we get inside, baby?”

Pulling away with a soft moan, you teased breathlessly, “You mean when you come inside, baby?”

His eyes darkened as you opened the door with a sly smile, stepping on to the bustling sidewalk. Your knees were still weak from the orgasm that had wracked your body, and you were quickly regretting the heels you’d decided to wear earlier. But, in a flash, Bucky was beside you with his hand on the small of your back, guiding you inside as his lips brushed against your ear and made you shiver as he murmured, “Remember when I said I wasn’t gonna stop until you were begging? That’s exactly what I mean, sweetheart.”