#and to everyone else. sorry for just *gestures*

[gallusrostromegalus]

So it's national Recreational Explosives, Hand Loss and Wildfire day, and unlike 2023, there is nary a drop of rain in sight.

Despite being slapped upside the head by God, my put technically inclined neighbor has acquired TWO pallets of fireworks this year.

The state is of no help: my city police department has made it pretty clear they don't intend to respond to any fireworks calls this weekend. I've sent the pictures I took to the county tipline and received and automated email reply saying that it will take several weeks to process my case. Perhaps he will get jail time later, but this does not actually you know. Stop him from setting the neighborhood ablaze. Going up to his door the week prior and very politely asking him to move- not cancel, just relocate - his celebrations was met with calling me a "nosy bitch" and "I'll set one off in your ass!".

Sometimes God needs us to make our own miracles.

My miracle comes with several layers, and plenty of opportunities to back down without losing face. We'll see how many are needed.

The first wave has already been deployed: a psyop directed at the Visiting Mother In Law of the miscreant.

I got up at 8:30 AM this morning to make sure I'd be in the front yard of my house, casually doing yardwork with Herschel. His participation was essential.

For those of you who are new here, Herschel is the world's most charming Cardigan Welsh Crime Tube, who thinks everyone in the world is his best friend and that people come to the house to see him specifically. So at 9:04 AM when the visiting mother-in-law appeared around the corner on her daily power-walk around the block, Herschel employed his natural Corgi instinct to make friends with everyone and cheerfully tossed himself on the sidewalk in front of her, belly up for expected tummy rubs.

"OH AREN'T YOU DARLING!!" My target coos, kneeling down to pat him while he makes him like snuffling noises of glee. She is at least 70. I think her bright pink leg warmers and terrycloth headband might be original from her jazzercise days.

"I'm so sorry! Herschel you're going to trip people doing that!" I apologize, going up to greet the woman. "I'm [REDACTED], I don't think we've met..?"

"No, I'm just visiting my daughter and her family- my name is Barbara. And who is this?" She asks Herschel, whose whole back end is waggling with glee.

"This is my service dog Herschel." I explain while he rolls around on the pavement. "I just wanted him to get some time outside before the pyrotechnics start."

"Oh. Yes." Barbra grumbles and I know I've got her. "My son-in-law is planning something extravagant." She says with such disdain it practically comes out of her nose. This is a woman who loves her daughter and dearly wishes she married someone, anyone else.

"Yeah, he got rained out and sick the last two years, so I think he's compensating." I agree.

"Oh he's definitely overcompensating!" Barbra spits, then shakes her whole body like a dog. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't complain. You said he's a service dog?"

I go for it.

"Yeah! I have... Neurological problems." I say and that is technically true. "I've um. Lost a lot of things, like a sense of time, or appetite, and his job is to remind me to eat or take my meds or alerts that I'm having an episode. My personal dog-tor!" I say, patting his adorable little head, and he leans on me, equally adoring.

"Oh, is that why-?" Barbra starts to ask, gesturing at the top of her head, but stops herself.

I hadn't planned this, but yesterday I'd shaved my head to deal with the heat and now only have a quarter inch of hair, which doesn't really hide the scars from when I got run over by a minivan. They're bright red with the heat and exertion of yard work.

I decide I'm okay with lying to a stranger to prevent my house from being set ablaze.

I sort of... Crumple to the ground and drop the rake I was holding, and Herschel immediately climbs into my lap to comfort me as I start to cry.

"Oh my God." Says Barbra.

"I'm sorry!" I gasp, tears streaming down my face. I've been stressed and this is honestly very cathartic. "I'm sorry to dump on you, I'm just so scared-!"

"Oh my God. It's bad." Barbra realizes.

"D- do you know what-" a pause as Herschel tries to manually clear my nostrils like a good service dog. "-oh, Herschel... It's - do you know what an astrocytoma* is?"

*An astrocytoma is a type of brain tumor.

Barbra turns white and sits down next to me. "I'm so sorry... I- one of my friends from church had one, it was agony but she's alright now!" She tries to reassure me.

"It hurts! Everything hurts all the time!" I sob. "And- and I'm scared, so he's scared and I feel bad for hi which just makes it worse and then there's the-" I gesture at the sky. "I have surgery in a month to remove as much of it as they can and do biopsies to see if I need radiation too but..."

"-but all that noise must be Hell on you and your doggy." Barbra nods.

"It'd be fine if he went down to the lake of something but, that house's driveway is like, a hundred feet from my bedroom, I can't sleep and it TERRIFIES Herschel..." I whimper pathetically.

"Well. I may be able to do something about that." Barbra decides.

"Oh no, I don't want to intrude!" I mock-protest.

"No, we're the ones intruding dear. I'll have words with him." She growls. I get the impression she's been waiting for an excuse To Have Words With Him.

"Th-thank you. Um. It's getting hot and I'm a mess, we should probably go inside..." I mutter and Barbra very kindly helps me and Herschel to the front door and tells me she'll be by later with watermelon as we wave goodbye.

From the porch, I watch her furiously power-walk back to her daughter's house, wrench open the front door, and issue a battle cry of "HEN-RY!!!" before it slams behind her.

Now I realize that this may not have been the most honest or ethical thing to do, but I figured it's more polite and ethical than the next step, which is chemical warfare, courtesy of Bath & Body Works :)

[earlysunshines]

sunkissed

pham hanni x fem!reader ; fluff

synopsis: it took a day trip to the beach for you and hanni to confront what you two always felt for each other.

warnings: pining 3x ; idiots in love and in denial ; s*nb*rn for those who are very sensitive to that (this is a joke) (im so sorry for those who can’t tan without burning) (couldn't be me i fear) ; literally nothing else just fluff lol ; they’re down bad for each other ; anything else not mentioned; kinda proofread

a/n: smth sweet and shorter than usual and also based on this song AND my friend and i passing out tgt in the car otw back home from a day trip to the beach. we were OUUTT like a light omfg and we both woke up so disoriented ok enjoy

survive the day being around hanni—that was the goal.

it was just a day trip to the beach, nothing crazy. you’ve been to the beach more times than you can count on both hands. the only thing different about this trip is that hanni would be there. 

while brushing your teeth in the morning, you told (convinced) yourself that there would be nothing to worry about since the rest of your friends would be going too. even when an uneasy feeling crawls up your back, you tell yourself it’ll be fine.

the last time you went to the beach was when your best friend yunjin invited you to tag along with her friends from home that you’ve met with a few times prior. the day was easy and light. you all sang along to music on the way to the coast, struggled to find a spot to park and settle on the beach, tanned, played with the volleyball kazuha brought, swam and splashed each other until you were too tired to keep messing with each other, took at least a hundred pictures, and walked around until the sun set before you took turns driving home.

you figured today would be similar—fun and simple.

you pray that it’s simple, lighthearted, and relaxing once you’re out the door and on the way to meet up with minji and the rest.

(you shake your head once you find yourself thinking of hanni being part of 'the rest')

once you’ve reached a point where it’s too late to turn back home, you realize you forgot your sunscreen. one of the most important things you needed. you groan at the red light when the realization hits, and once the light turns green, you tell yourself that it’ll be fine—again. someone has to have some sunscreen at least. 

you park your car down the road, a secret spot minji knows where they won’t ticket or tow you. you grab your bags, walk over to minji’s place, and catch everyone outside the apartment she shares with hanni. everyone is already in light, summer clothing with their bags hanging on their shoulders looking tired and ready to go.

“there she is,” minji says, turning her head in your direction, everyone following her gaze as well. “took you long enough.”

“i’m two minutes late.” you roll your eyes, “you’ll live.”

“whatever. alright, we can put the bags in the trunk and then get going. the sun is about to rise.” minji adds, gesturing to the youngest of the group so she can help them out first.

you glance over at hanni once minji heads to the car. she has a tote bag hung on her shoulder, a white off-the-shoulder t-shirt on, and a nice flowy, long blue skirt too. her hair is flowing down her shoulders and there’s a hairtie she borrowed from you a few months ago (not that it's important or anything. you just happened to notice) on her wrist that you assume she’ll use later. 

hanni looks stunning in the light of dawn. she always looks stunning, and right now she looks especially stunning because you catch the small lines under her eyes and the slight squint that hint at the lack of sleep. she smiles when she greets you.

“hey,” her voice is soft, tired. 

“hi hanni.” you grin easily at her. “you look exhausted.”

“i couldn’t sleep,” she sighs, rubbing her eyes. “i tried sleeping at eight. it worked, but i woke up at twelve and couldn’t sleep until thirty minutes before we had to wake up.”

“maybe you’ll get some more sleep in the car?”

“i’d hope so.” 

“yeah.” you nod. you both stare at each other for a good two seconds. it spikes your heartbeat. then put your hand out. “let me help you with your bag.”

“what? no, it’s fine.” she tells you, “it’s not that heavy.”

you shake your head, already slipping your fingers underneath the straps of the bag and slipping it off her shoulder. she frowns playfully before you head over to where minji is, helping her load the trunk.

everyone is already situated in the car by the time you and minji are done loading. she closes the trunk and heads toward the drivers seat. danielle is sitting in the passengers seat, haerin and hyein are in the middle, and you’re—

left with hanni.

you blink.

there’s a bag taking up one of the seats on the side, so you’re left in the middle. you take a small breath before squeezing through the small space to get into the back, settling down next to the girl who makes your words fizzle in your throat. 

your legs brush against each other and your arms are mildly squished. the proximity screws up with your composure, making you momentarily flustered and unable to think straight.

“it’s a little cramped, isn’t it?” you joke. it’s lame, but hanni’s lips twitch into a small smile.

“dani was complaining about car sickness even though i called shotgun… and so did the other two. were shoved in the back for now.”

“ah,” you don’t know what else to say except for, “i hope you’re able to sleep comfortably.”

“oh definitely.” she laughs softly. “i hope i don’t take up much of your personal space while i’m out.”

you smile, shrugging. “i don’t mind.”

a soft flush graces hanni’s cheeks at your response. she smiles and rests her head against the seat, her blinking slowing down every few seconds.

minji fixes the rearview mirror, then turns up the sound of the music. something easy going and summer-like plays. you assume hyein is on aux.

“okay, everyone, sit tight. we’ll refill gas and grab breakfast in an hour or two.” minji says.

with that, hanni nods, then nudges your shoulder. you tilt your head and she moves her arm to link it with yours, muttering quietly, “so we’re less squished,” before closing her eyes and leaning her head against your shoulder.

you’re stiff at first, although very briefly. your whole body relaxes not so long after, and you find yourself drifting off into sleep as well.

hyein and haerin turn around thirty minutes into the car ride to find you two asleep together. your mouth is parted a bit and hanni is practically hugging your arm now. the two grin at each other, hyein snaps a picture, and when they show it to danielle everyone is content.

“it’ll work out.” minji grins to herself.

—

hanni wakes up feeling completely disoriented.

the car is moving slower than before. she glances out and finds that they’ve already taken an exit out into some small town, probably for gas and breakfast. she blinks a few times before rubbing her eyes with her free hand, trying to bring herself back to reality after her nap.

when she scans the area after gaining full consciousness, she notices that your arms are still linked. you’re asleep, loose and comfortable against her, your neck angled questionably. she links your arms tighter as she stares out the window, the filtered sunlight kissing her features softly.

minji turns into a gas station that looks a little run-down after a few minutes down a small road. the feeling of the car slowing down wakes you up. you mumble something incoherent and groan, lifting your head up and resting it against the headrest tiredly. 

haerin catches your groan and turns around to see you struggling to open your eyes. hyein follows, giggling at the sight of you two, but for the most part you, with an expression comparable to a newborn kitten.

“wakey wakey!” hyein beams, making you groan again—louder this time.

“are we here?” you ask in a drowsy voice.

“minji’s getting gas.” haerin says flatly. “bathroom break, snack splurge, and dani’s finding a cafe on the way for us to eat breakfast at. we have like, an hour and a half.”

your body goes limp again as it rests against the seat. “great. i’m going back to sleep.”

“you should probably go to the restroom.” haerin suggests.

“i might pass out on the toilet.” you joke. 

danielle pokes her head through the open door in the passengers, turning to you and almost ordering, “you guys should go to the restroom just in case! and grab some snacks.”

hanni yawns, then nudges you.

“well you’re going to have to get out regardless so i can go.”

you groan again. 

hanni’s teasing tone is evidence that the nap worked. she’s back to the hanni you’re used to, the hanni that’s relentless when it comes to poking at you and throwing snarky remarks.

you scramble out into the gas station and end up going to the restroom too, even buying a little protein bar to snack on once you’re back in the car. minji turns up the music as she drives out the small lot and danielle finds a place to grab a quick breakfast before the beach.

“thirty minutes away there’s a…” you catch danielle squinting just barely before she continues, “cafe! it’s close to the beach too. we can take pictures before we swim!”

hanni turns to face you, stifling a giggle at her energy. you bite the inside of your lip to keep yourself from smiling too hard—not necessarily because of danielle.

you and hanni aren’t linking arms the rest of the car ride. her arm still rests against yours, which is inevitable due to the bag taking up a whole seat, but you don’t mind. 

the sun splays out across hanni��s features gently as she stares out the window. your eyes trail down the slope of her nose that shines softly and lingers on the strands of hair brushing against her cheek. you stop yourself then, turning to face the road and the dangling charm hanging from the mirror of minji’s car.

—

you’re completely awake once you reach the cafe. the exterior of the building is modern looking, but it’s vintage aroma and cozy interior reflects the comfort and authenticity of the place. the employees are around your age, maybe a little older. their smiles light up the area even more. 

minji is the first to walk up to the counter and read off the menu. her eyes widen and a small smile graces her lips.

“everything sounds good—it smells good here. do you guys know what you want?”

you squint at the menu for a moment before nodding, “i’ll just share food with someone. get me an iced tea, though.” 

“we can share then y/n. i’ll get the classic breakfast with bacon and an iced latte with whole milk.” hanni says matter-of-factly.

danielle glances at minji and it’s weirdly mischievous. she turns on her heel to meet you and hanni face to face, grinning wider.

“since you two know what you want, why don’t you grab us some seats?”

“um, okay.” you say, shrugging.

now it’s just you and hanni walking around the area. it’s not too busy, but a handful of seats are already taken. hanni points at the table outside, something similar to a table you’ve seen at camping sites. the only thing different about it is that it’s really nice looking. the table is marbled and not decade-old wood with moss growing on it.

you stretch your arms out and a hint of your skin peeks out when your shirt lifts. hanni pretends she doesn't notice.

“it’s nice here.” hanni says as she settles down. she’s gazing out at the small town ahead, mixed with hues of green and birds soaring above it freely. “it’s beautiful.”

“yeah.” you agree. it’s not one of those cliche rom-com moments where you’re staring at her while you agree. it’s truly beautiful out there. “it’d be nicer if i had a meal…”

“oh my god,” hanni scoffs as you sit down in front of her. “you’re unbelievable.”

“yeah and i’m also the person who’s going to down half your breakfast.”

“of course you are.”

“...what’s that supposed to mean?”

hanni raises her brows, giving you that look. 

you roll your eyes, looking out the distance long enough for hanni to study the side of your face (and if there were a quiz for each feature memorized, she’d ace it). she takes in the view for a bit longer before speaking,

“you look cute by the way,” she says nervously, unable to look you in the eye. “fitting for the beach.”

you long to reach your hand out and simply rest it against her face, but you hold back. your lips lift up into a smile.

“i think that’s the nicest thing you’ve said to me this month.”

“hey!” 

you laugh, teeth showing and all. “you look beautiful too, hanni.” you say after a beat. 

before either of you can hang on to whatever stills in the air, the rest of the group finds you two together and situates themselves. minji hands you both your drinks and tells you that the food will take a few minutes before they serve it to you. hyein doesn’t stay in her seat for long, immediately standing up to take in the view. 

danielle grabs her camera and suggests taking pictures while the food is being prepared. none of you shut down the idea.

first it’s a few solo pictures of everyone, then duos and group pictures. minji and hanni pose together, making a stupid face when danielle takes the picture. hyein and haerin take a picture with you next, all of you smiling like it’s a family photo and it's as cute as it is ridiculous. then it’s danielle, minji, and hanni bunched up together cutely for the next photo.

the session is interrupted when one of the employees brings out the food, placing it on the table before offering to help take a picture of all of you. and after that, just when you think you can finally eat, minji pushes you to hanni, who’s being pushed by danielle.

“now a picture of you two!” minji suggests. it’s not really a suggestion, more of an order.

“okay, okay.” you respond, giving hanni a small grin.

your hand slips down to right above her waist, resting lightly as you nudge her just a bit closer. she tilts her head a bit, smiling softly. you do the same, then the flash on danielle’s camera goes off.

“cute,” danielle mumbles, glancing at the picture. “okay, let’s eat now.”

—

the drive to the beach isn’t long, but the journey to a spot that’s not taken up by families is. it's awfully crowded for a wednesday.

you have your totebag on one arm and hold a bag that minji forced you to carry with the other. it feels as if the bag you’re holding will slip from your fingers any second, or maybe that’ll be you with how much scorching sand sneaks into your slides and hinders your ability to walk. the sand burns your feet here and there, but you push through and end up finding a nice spot that had been a seven-minute walk from parking. 

the sun tickles your skin. it’s quite hot, obviously, but it heats you in a way that kind of burns you while also bringing you a feeling of peace. you feel alive.

everyone takes part in setting up their spot. hyein and haerin lay out the blankets with danielle and hanni while you and minji struggle to plant the big umbrellas. once you set up a spot for shade, hyein lies right in that spot and sighs like she’s just lugged a cart full of weights. 

“it’s so hot.” she groans, “i need to lie for a bit.”

“put on sunscreen at least.” you scold lightly. you tug on her arm, urging her to get up before squeezing sunscreen on your palms. you rub your hands together before applying the sunscreen on hyein’s arms, legs, and back. you also leave a very noticeable white cast on her face with how messily you’ve applied it. it makes her look stupidly adorable, so you snap a picture and chuckle at it. “the sun is scared of you now.”

“i look like a clown." she pouts, "of course it is."

“it’ll go away,” you assure, rubbing your thumb on her cheek to blend it in a bit nicer. “it’s only bad on your cheek and forehead.”

“your turn.” she says mischievously.

you huff.

hanni watches you slip off your tank top swiftly—in an oddly enticing manner—leaving you in swim shorts and a sports bra. hanni tries to look away but it’s impossible when the curve of your back meets the sun in such an alluring way. you’ve probably worked out a little extra in order to look like this for the beach trip. it’s safe to say that the work paid off.

“nice view, huh?” danielle’s words rip hanni’s gaze from the back of your arm. 

hanni meets danielle’s eyes, a glint in the way she’s looking at the older girl. hanni knows what she’s thinking, but she doesn’t want to face it.

“stop it.” hanni sighs. 

“i think today is the day for it.”

“for what?”

“oh han, you know.” danielle raises her eyebrows as she looks back over to you. you’re making a face while hyein puts sunscreen on your cheeks a little too aggressively. “you can’t hide your feelings forever.”

“no.” hanni replies almost immediately. she nearly laughs at the way you look with sunscreen smeared all over your face so unevenly. “today is supposed to be normal… relaxing and whatnot. i just want to have a good time—i want y/n to have a good time.”

“she’ll have a good time as long as you’re here hanni. please, trust me.”

“i just—i love her too much. i’m too scared.”

“i’m sure she feels just like you do, and one of you has to face that eventually.”

danielle doesn't give hanni a chance to process her words; she turns hanni into a flustered mess without warning her.

danielle calls you over and insists that you help out hanni with putting on sunscreen. it’s embarrassing how hanni can tell her cheeks are burning through the heat of the sun, amplifying the feeling. it’s even worse when you agree like it’s nothing. 

your hands spread sunscreen across her arms and legs with ease. when you tell her to turn around so you can apply it on her back, she finds herself nodding even when her heart is racing and telling her to run away.

the chill of the sunscreen clashes with the warmth on her skin. she instinctively moves away from your touch.

“sorry.” you mutter.

with a turn of her head, no further than where you can see the side of her face, she responds, “no, it’s fine. it just caught me off guard.” 

you nod before continuing. your hand is soft against the skin of her back, trailing up the back of her ribs to where her shoulders are. everything is awfully intimate and there’s a thrill in both of your guts that neither of you can suppress.

hanni feels your hand linger on her shoulder before you softly say, “done. did you want me to get your face?”

she wants to simultaneously dismiss and accept the offer. the thought of your hands caressing her face excites her, but the proximity and intimacy of it all makes her heart tumble in her chest.

“it’s fine, i—” she pauses, her brows furrowing when she catches something on your face. “hold on, you missed a spot.”

there’s a small area of sunscreen on your cheek that hanni wipes over with her thumb and it dissolves into your skin easily. she willfully ignores how the glow of your skin under the sun makes you so undeniably cute. 

“thanks.” is all you can say to keep you from doing something stupid.

both of you purse a forced smile at the same time before redirecting your attention to something else—anything that’s not each other. 

today is going to be a wonderful day, you both tell yourselves. everything will be fine.

—

all of you tan for an less than an hour before actually getting up. you nearly fall asleep and risk a sunburn, but hyein is there to snap you out of your drowsiness and flips you over like a sausage on a grill. you nearly fall asleep again.

minji had been sitting in one of the beach chairs you brought, her cap sitting on her head in a way that made her look like a father. danielle had fallen asleep with the book she was reading on her face. haerin was there next to her not far from passing out. hanni was laid next to you, reading a book, and it was odd that she had always been there. always nearby, always close. 

you didn’t mind. 

it isn’t long before you finally get up, dusting sand off your legs, and urge minji to play volleyball with you. the two of you share a soda before peppering and it brings enough energy to keep you two shouting at each other to keep the ball up in the air. the rest watch you two run around desperately—minus haerin, who’s still lying down and half-asleep—and are impressed that you’ve kept the ball up for so long. minji slips up and hits the ball too far off to your left, which reels a groan from you once it hits the sand.

hanni decides to get up and join, determined to do better than both of you. you try to keep your eyes off her figure and how great she looks in that two piece of hers. you try your very best not to daydream about kissing every inch of her that the sun touches, to have your hands trace the outline of her body.

you all start a triangle of peppering, but the spikes, bumps, and sets all fall out of pattern when it turns into a scramble to keep the ball up. 

it’s nice to spend time doing the most mundane, simple things with your friends on the beach. you can’t remember the last time you felt this relieved. the vitamin d from the sun seems to be working.

it’s even better when danielle decides to dip her foot in the water, letting the waves that hit the shore soak her feet. it’s even better when minji screams and runs into the water, falling in and wailing on about how cold it is.

the best part, however, is when hanni feels a surge of confidence to take your hand and lead you toward the water. both of you laugh the whole way down, you shiver when the water hits your abdomen, and hanni crosses her arms when the chill reaches her whole body.

when you manage to tackle her into the saltwater, soaking her completely and earning a playful jab to your shoulder, you can’t help but fall a little more in love with her. she pushes her wet hair back and looks at you like she’s going to kill you. before you know it, hanni lunges forward and takes you down with her.

maybe she did it because you did it to her first. maybe it’s because she likes the feeling of being close to you.

and maybe you don’t mind at all. 

maybe you swim over to the deep end and tease her for not being able to stand there without half her face being submerged, just to see the annoyed look on her face. maybe you like the way it makes your heart flutter. maybe you carry her through the water and keep her on your shoulders while playing chicken, staying skin to skin because you like it too. 

for the next few hours a cycle starts. it repeats three times.

you play around in the water, swimming and splashing each other like little kids before returning back to the towels to reapply sunscreen and tan while someone’s queued song plays on the speaker minji brought. after a good amount of time being slow-cooked by the sun, you all play with the volleyball again before returning back to the water. the day is filled with laughter, stupid inside jokes, sand finding shelter in your hair and ears, and hanni lingering closer and closer.

—

you and minji take the reigns when it comes to packing everything up. you take pity on the rest, more so the youngest of the group, who are all out of energy and gawking at their very noticeable tan lines.

hanni bumps your shoulder and tells you she can carry one of the two bags that you’re carrying. you tell her it’s fine. she shakes her head and does what you did that morning; she slips her fingers under the strap of the bag carrying the towels and gives you a shit eating grin that might just make you combust.

“i can hear the wedding bells already,” minji mutters from behind into your ear, “with all the flower girls and bridesmaids and—”

you elbow her shoulder and roll your eyes. “the water is right there, i could throw you back in.”

“whatever. go get her.” you can tell she’s winking at you when she says it with that snarky, knowing tone.

you miss when you try to elbow her again.

the sand had burned your feet the whole way back to the restroom area and the strap of the umbrella bags rubbed against your skin so much that you might mistake the red mark as a sunburn. everyone is exhausted by the time you’re back at the car. you and minji were the last ones to rinse yourselves off and change, so you two are extra tired. 

you and hanni find that the back seat has a little more space now. the bag that took up an extra seat somehow found shelter in the trunk. you can’t tell if this is a good thing or not.

hanni’s arm isn’t brushing against yours anymore until she goes limp and is leaning against you. maybe you didn’t need the tight space to be near her. 

—

all of you find a place to eat lunch in no time. everyone is hungry and severely dehydrated, so while everyone looks at the menu and finds a seat outside, minji asks you to help buy some water for the cooler you brought.

you’re not sure why minji wanted you to tag along to buy water, but you go regardless.

you find out why the moment you’re away from the group.

“so what are you going to do about hanni?” minji asks.

your head jerks to face her. “do what?” you question, acting stupid.

minji shakes her head. “you two are the most oblivious idiots i’ve ever met.”

she’s right, you know she’s right. 

minji’s been one of your closest friends since you started university. she’s seen you at your lowest when you had been fighting with your parents for a month straight for changing your major. she's been there at your best when you received that internship you had been fighting for. she’s even seen you when you were drunk, confessing that you had been in love with hanni the month after you met her. minji knows you like the back of her palm.

“you guys have been lingering near each other the whole day,” she remarks, kicking a pebble on the ground. “she’s been checking you out the whole time. you have been checking her out as well.”

a blush creeps up your neck and tightens up your throat.

“i’m just scared—”

“i know you’re scared, but there really isn’t anything to be scared of. the feeling is mutual, i promise.” she stops talking for a moment to gaze out at the scenery in front of you. the late afternoon sun is shifting into something a little more golden—slowly but surely—and the trees are practically sparkling because of how vibrant they are. “look at how beautiful today is. everyone is happy and tan and all that. today is the day.”

“i’ll think about it.” you say, staring out at the road and the two birds that fly past. “i will.”

—

lunch is filled with laughter, satisfied cravings, and more pictures. you spend an achingly large amount of time smiling at hanni, making eye contact with her, and forcing yourself not to stare at her longer than you should.

(long enough to the point where one of your friends would notice and call you out.)

haerin suggests walking along the boardwalk and you all follow. you all explore a few little shops and danielle spends a little money on a small trinket from one of them. hanni branches out and finds a little display with cute shell bracelets, all with different colors. you wind up following her.

“these are so cute,” she says, picking up a bracelet with pink charms. she finds another one, handing it to you and adds, “look, this one is your favorite color.”

she grabs your wrist and puts it on you, smiling at how nice it fits.

“this is really cute.” you bring your wrist closer to examine it. 

“maybe we should get matching ones.”

“do you want to?” you say, quiet and casual, but your eyes are warm, serious. 

“yeah, i really like these ones.” hanni decides, but she likes the idea of having something that connects her to you more than the bracelet itself. 

the rest of the group watches you both from outside the shop. through the window they catch you two giggling about something as the cashier checks your purchase, and when you’re back out to meet them, they all grin at the sight of your matching bracelets.

“when is the wedding?” minji questions, only half-joking.

hanni rolls her eyes. “it’s just a bracelet. i know you’re jealous.”

minji just laughs, then looks you in the eye and raises her brows, clearly amused.

—

you all end up back at the beach after walking around and talking about anything and everything because it’s been so long since you all were normal, real people and not prisoners to an academic institution.

danielle is taking a few more pictures of everyone, but mainly haerin because she’s been too timid to put herself out there. danielle is determined to curate an instagram post for haerin that will shake everyone to their core. 

hyein leans against your shoulder, using you as a pillar for support while she watches minji and hanni play around with the volleyball. your hands are planted behind you as you stare out at the ocean, finding comfort in the sound of the waves crashing and the occasional sound of hyein sipping on her soda.

“y/n?” hyein asks quietly.

“hm?”

“what’s with you and hanni?”

“what do you mean?”

“i can’t tell if you guys are dating or just oblivious.”

you can’t help but laugh. “you sound like minji.”

“ew, don’t say that.” she groans. “but seriously, what’s with you guys? minji said she had some sort of plan for you two but i never really got details…”

of course minji had a plan. danielle was probably a part of it too. 

you don’t know how to explain your feelings for hanni. she’s the type of person you look forward to seeing everyday. no one had ever made you feel all giddy like she has, not even your stupid crushes when you were a teenager. 

hanni has a smile that kind of steals your breath away. she’s the kind of girl that makes you grin and cackle like an idiot without trying. she laughs hard at your jokes and moments of stupidity and it almost makes you feel like you’re in an alternate universe where she loves you just as much. she’s real and raw with you, letting her voice crack when she’s upset and being that burst of unique energy when she’s on top of the world. you love her for who she is and whatever she feels.

there’s so much warmth that seeps out of her and so much you don’t understand. there’s a lot of things you don’t understand and it’s scary how badly you want to know every inch of her.

you don’t know how to explain the complexity of how your heart pounds in your chest when it comes to hanni. instead, you say, all so casually but genuine in the way your tone softens, “i love her a lot.”

hyein sips on her soda again, then hums. “does she know it?”

you sigh, biting your lip before saying, “i think she will soon.”

—

“oh my god, you’re sunburnt.” hanni says as she returns to the beach towel you’re sat on.

everyone else is god-knows-where and hanni always finds herself drawn back to you. she sits down and examines your cheek.

“no i’m not.” you defend, “i’m sunkissed.”

“sure,” she giggles. she absentmindedly plays with the end of her hair, a habit that stems from her being a nervous wreck. “i think the sun made out with your face.” 

a suggestive remark catches in your throat. you decide to have some decorum instead of opening your mouth.

you turn to her finally and the sight of her staring at you with so much care and intimacy makes you feel light and relieved. her cheeks are also a hue of red—like an apple—worse than you for sure.

“i would be more focused on your face. that’s a burn.” you snicker, reaching out to place your fingers on her skin. her cheek is warmer than it should be, not just because she’s burnt. “you look like rudolph if his nose were his cheeks instead.”

“you sound ridiculous.”

“you get what i mean.” you respond bashfully. 

hanni melts when you flash that lopsided grin at her. it’s golden hour, the light hits you so perfectly, and all hanni can think of is how nice it would be to kiss you right now. she makes the mistake of glancing down at your lips—for a second—and you catch it. she speaks before you can say anything.

“today has been fun.” she breaks eye contact and plays with her hair again. her knees move to her chest and she hugs them close as she watches the sky dim. “i haven’t had this much fun in a while.”

“not even during the movie night last month?” you giggle at the memory of minji and hanni crying while half-drunk to some romcom danielle put on. the video still lives in your favorites.

“okay, well—you know what i mean. the weather is perfect and everything is going well and, i, well,” her teeth trap her bottom lip and she looks at you shyly. “i’m just really happy to be around you. everytime we’ve been left alone i just—i don’t know. it feels right. it always does.”

your world stops for a moment. your world, usually equally as busy as it is overstimulating, goes silent. hanni has that effect on you, like when she came over to drop off something during finals season to find you freaking out and calmed you down with a soothing, warm hug. or when you had just gotten into a fight with your mother for the second time in the week during lunch with your friends, then brought you back to the ground with a simple hand only our shoulder and the look in her eyes. but now? everything goes still. it’s almost unsettling.

you can only laugh. hanni puts a hand on her forehead and cringes.

“sorry, that sounded so sentimental.”

“no, no. hanni, it’s fine.” you reassure.

a surge of confidence spreads through your body like a wildfire. maybe today is the day.

“i can’t believe the sun got to kiss you and not me.” you sound like a lead in a romcom. your words are corny and make you cringe, but the way you say it sounds awfully genuine and lovestruck. 

“what?” she almost chokes on nothing. 

“i– sorry. i’m not good with these things.” you pinch the bridge of your nose.

you gulp when she looks at you with those sun-soaked eyes, they’re gleaming like the ocean in front of you. 

“minji has been trying to get me to tell you how i feel for a while… and then this trip happened and i realized that i’m too deep into everything i feel for you to keep beating around the bush.”

“you like me?”

you shake your head.

“i love you, hanni.”

she gulps, opens her mouth to say something, but she can’t. it’s impossible after you’ve just said the words that hanni has been wanting to say since you carried her home after one too many drinks at a house party. or maybe it was when you two snuck out to go on a walk late at night, sharing stories that were simultaneously heart-warming and heart-clenching. or maybe it was when she first laid eyes on you. she can’t remember when she figured out she loved you because it feels like it's always just been... there.

“i love you too, y/n.” her words are nearly a whisper.

“oh, okay, i’m really glad.” you exhale heavily, closing your eyes from pure relief and clutching your chest like you’ve just had a heart-attack. this is pretty comparable though. “because you looked so good all day and i seriously felt like an idiot this whole time trying not to look at you too hard.” it spills out your lips like a ramble, but it’s jumbled up enough to convey everything hanni needs to hear.

hanni laughs at how cute you are with your hand still clutching your chest. 

“i’ve felt the same.”

“yeah?” you tilt your head, unknowingly shifting a little closer. “minji told me you were checking me out.”

“okay, don’t get ahead of yourself.”

“i worked out a lot for today. did you like the view?” 

“shut up before i kiss you.”

your lips relax and you swallow hard.

“i won’t shut up then.”

“then i’ll do it myself.”

it’s not until that moment that you realize that your lips are already a breath apart. hanni tilts her head a little to match you, and her lips search for yours, pressing eagerly once they meet.

you pull away first just to take a good look at her. she stares at your lips the whole time you stare at her face, lit up perfectly by golden hour. she practically launches herself back onto you, cupping your cheek and kissing you again. her mouth presses softly, firmly, warmly. you can feel her smiling into the kiss and she feels you doing the same.

your fingers rake into her hair, tugging gently as you deepen the kiss. you sigh into her like it’s a dream come true. 

and it is.

—

the rest of the group walks back to where you and hanni are to spot your hand on her jaw, her fingers twirling your hair, and lips locked from afar.

haerin laughs out of surprise and amusement. “it worked out.”

“finally,” danielle sighs.

“i told you it’d work out.” minji shrugs. she walks past the group and toward you two to purposefully break you apart—she likes embarassing both of you. 

—

everyone is completely dead once you’re back in the car. hyein is already asleep on haerin’s shoulder and minji hasn’t even left the parking lot (she’s downing an energy drink to prepare for the two and a half hour car ride).

danielle is looking through all of the photos and a few minutes later a notification pops up on your phone with all the photos danielle uploaded. before you open it up, hanni moves your arm so that it’s around her.

“wow, you’re bold. we just made out and now you’re—”

“i’d shut you up like before, but i’m not going to be an asshole and traumatize anyone today. and i’m tired, move over.” she almost sounds cranky. you find it adorable.

“okay, okay.” you extend yourself so that hanni can lay in your arms. the back of her head is on your chest and she’s holding onto your forearm. the position isn’t the most comfortable—you can feel your butt numbing from the weird angle you’re sitting at, and your legs don’t even extend fully across due to your height—but hanni is. you don’t complain.

hanni whines when you move the arm she had clung onto like a teddybear, but you feel her soften up as soon as it moves over so you can massage her scalp. 

“get some sleep.” you insist, pulling out your phone to check out the photos from danielle. they’re really great. you sort out the ones of hanni, then the ones of you and hanni, saving them all before looking over at the rest. 

fifteen minutes pass and by then you grow drowsier and drowsier. you place your phone in the cup holder and try to shift as unnoticeably you can to ease the numbing in half your limbs and ass. hanni groans when she feels you move, but you scratch her scalp again and she resumes her slumber.

a soft sigh—relieved, lovestruck, and content—leaves you as you settle down. your arms wrap around hanni, your eyes close, and everything feels perfect. you still wonder if you’re dreaming.

—

by the time minji’s back at her place, everyone is passed out. it’s jarring how full of energy minji is once she’s back home despite the ache in her upper body from repeatedly racing you in the ocean.

(she takes pride in the fact that she won, so it doesn’t matter if her limbs are burning from her freestyle.)

she shakes danielle awake and she murmurs something that’s most definitely a gibberish. but once danielle is awake, she turns to see the youngest of the group passed out cutely and haerin’s head completely covered by her hair. 

danielle snaps another picture.

“look here,” minji laughs lightly, turning on the light in the backseats. 

you and hanni are cuddled up, the dim light spread across every tangled limb and linked finger. minji and danielle wonder how you two are even comfortable like that, but they brush it off as soon as danielle pulls her phone out to take something candid.

minji laughs. low and soft. “we have to save that for the wedding.”

“for sure.” danielle agrees.

[tobesolnelyx]

Fratboy Shauna who is starts talking to reader and is genuinely concerned with readers protein intake 😭 and starts bringing her the most insane foods to eat because of it? Has a conversation with reader about how her eating simple carbs and her energy being low makes sense. Just the most insane nutrition nonsense 😭 fully tries to reinvent girl dinners to make them more balanced. Probably even convinced the other girls to help her sneak protein into your plate or whatever, for some reason i just think Shauna would be the one who’d be so intense about it and endearing maybe the more she goes out of her way the more she’s realizing she’s into reader

a/n: im sorry, but this made me giggle. I SEE THE VISION THO, so here it is

Shauna looked up from her phone just in time to see you sit down at the table. The spoonful of her protein oatmeal, stuffed with God knows what, froze midair. She frowned, watching as you heavily placed your bowl of cereal on the table beside her. She glanced around, as if to make sure everyone saw the crime against humanity you were committing, but Natalie was too busy devouring yesterday’s pizza. Jackie was sprawled out with her notes across from you, and Lottie was watching some dumb video on YouTube.

Shauna sighed in frustration.

“What are you doing?” she asked, grimacing slightly. No one even looked up. Only you frowned and responded with a snort.

“Eating breakfast,” you replied, not quite understanding what her problem was this time. You ate this almost every day like some kind of ritual before classes. You were probably in the frat house more than anyone else, steadily clearing out their fridge. No one can blame you though.

“You call that breakfast?” Shauna raised her eyebrows, nodding toward your bowl of cereal. Now Jackie looked up, scanning the scene in front of her, but apparently decided it wasn’t worth her attention.

“Shauna, I eat this almost every day, what’s your problem now…?” you began, sighing. Typical. Shauna finding problems where there aren’t any.

“Exactly,” she said, gesturing toward your bowl before shoveling another spoonful of oatmeal into her mouth. “That’s the problem. That doesn’t even look like breakfast.”

Silence fell. Broken only by sounds from Lottie’s phone and the crinkle of the pizza box. You turned around as if to check whether this was some kind of joke.

Shauna was dead serious. Ugh.

“Nat is literally eating pizza,” you said in your defense. Nat finally looked up, still chewing a piece in her mouth. Shauna let out a frustrated growl, quickly swallowing another mouthful of oatmeal.

“But it’s Nat,” she gestured, as if that explained anything. Nat looked at her like Shauna just insulted her.

“What do you mean ‘but it’s Nat’?” she grumbled, clearly displeased. Lottie snorted under her breath. Shauna rolled her eyes and pointed at you, speaking as if to an idiot.

“It means you’re not her,” she clarified. Very thoroughly.

Nat blinked. Once. Then again.

“I know I’m not her,” she raised her hands in a defensive gesture, her voice an octave higher. “So what, not being her means I don’t deserve your dietary advice?” she scoffed. More teasing Shauna than anything.

“Nothing’s gonna help you anyway,” Shauna shot back immediately, tired of the exchange. “Anyway, what I mean is…”

“Och, come on,” Nat swallowed the last bit of her pizza and stepped closer with her face still stuffed, smacking her lips. She looked at your cereal bowl, inspecting it. “Looks like breakfast to me. Yeah, Lot?”

Lottie glanced at the now kind of soggy cereal. Compared it to Shauna’s oatmeal, as Shauna was now leaning over you in frustration.

“Well, I mean… it could be better. I guess,” she finally said, looking around the table. Jackie shot a glance that said she was trying to figure out why a cereal debate was unfolding in front of her.

“Exactly!” Shauna immediately perked up again. “You’re not eating the way you should be.”

“Oh, please,” you scoffed, leaning back in your chair. Nat playfully poked your forehead. “Unlike you, I don’t go to the gym. I don’t have to eat… all that,” you muttered.

Shauna leaned in even closer. Her muscles showed through the tight, black T-shirt.

“The point is to eat healthy. More… protein, fiber, and shits. You always complain about being tired,” Shauna pressed again, now clearly deciding she was your personal dietitian. “It’s because you don’t eat right,” she muttered, frustrated.

“Since when do you care?” you sighed, starting to eat your cereal, but Shauna was already sliding her oatmeal bowl toward you.

“Since now,” she muttered like a sulky child.

“She’s got a point. Kind of,” Jackie admitted without even looking up.

“Seriously?” you groaned, looking around the group. Nat just shrugged and gave you a flick on the forehead before walking off. “Thanks, coach,” you murmured sarcastically and Lottie snorted.

Ochhh, imaginee. Shauna deciding, just because, that she was going to change your eating habits. She started packing you lunches for classes. High protein ones that looked way worse than they tasted. She got obsessed with making you protein shakes and prepping your dinners. And when one of the frats came home, the air would be filled with the smell of food though she usually only made portions for the two of you.

“Fucking asshole,” Lottie mumbled, smacking Shauna lightly on the back of the head. Shauna just adjusted the arm wrapped around you and pulled you closer to her chest. Her eyes stayed glued to the laptop screen where the two of you were watching a movie.

“Are you full?” she asked, and when you nodded, a kiss landed on your forehead.

“Good.”

And if anyone asked her why she cared so much? Just because. Definitely not because she cared about you. Definitely not.

[flowersforbucky]

practice

john walker x ex widow!reader

"Was that your first kiss since your divorce?"

"That bad, huh?"

"I didn't say that."

word count: 4.2k

author's note: imagine the conversation between steve and nat in the winter soldier but make it reader and walker 🤭

warnings/tags: 18+ only, kissing and suggestiveness, sensuality, tension, bickering, canon level violence, undercover couple trope, no use of y/n

“I swear to God, Walker. You're making this so obvious. Stop staring.”

You kick his shin beneath the table where you sit across him. The two of you are nestled in the corner of the overcrowded room full of party-goers, trying your best to remain inconspicuous.

You're trying your hardest to remain inconspicuous. Your partner, on the other hand, has been ogling the target from across the room for the last half hour.

He shoots daggers at you with his eyes. “Oh, I'm sorry,” he spits under his breath. “Is that not what I’m supposed to be doing? Keeping an eye on the target?”

“There’s a difference between keeping an eye on someone and eye-fucking them,” you hiss.

Walker scoffs, rolling his eyes. “I’m not eye-fucking him. Jesus. We don’t all have backgrounds as highly trained spies, you know.”

Maybe you’re being a little too harsh on him. This is his first true undercover operation since the formation of The New Avengers. He’s a soldier, after all – not a spy. It's no secret that he hadn’t exactly been jumping at the bits to put on a fancy suit and pretend to be your date tonight, but at least he’s kept his bitching and moaning to a minimum.

Despite his little staring problem, he’s otherwise played his part well. Touchy enough for it to be believable that you’re here as each other’s dates, but not too touchy. An arm around your shoulder here, a light hand on your waist there. Hesitant, and a little awkward, but you’re the only one who notices – everyone else here is too busy stroking each other’s dicks to read into your forced public displays of affection.

You lean over the small table, taking his hand in yours in an effort to play your part. “Just glance in his direction regularly,” you advise lowly. “We aren't here to analyze his every movement. Until he goes to meet the seller, we can relax.”

Which is exactly what you’ve been doing since you first arrived at the estate this evening. Mingling, sipping on mocktails to keep up appearances, just trying to blend in while keeping watch on the man that you’d been tasked to spy on.

This entire party is supposedly a cover for the owner of the estate to meet up with a vibranium arms dealer – based off of the limited information Valentina had provided, the owner of the estate, Alexander Sokolov, had arranged for a meeting with a vibranium arms dealer to take place here tonight. Your and Walker’s objective – wait for Sokolov to excuse himself from the party, follow him, and eavesdrop. Valentina wants you to find out who this dealer is and when this deal will go down.

To sum it up, you’re only here for intel. As long as things go according to plan, there should be no reason for either of you to get your hands dirty tonight.

“I’m just a little on edge. I’m not used to missions looking like… this.” He nods down at where your hand holds his, and then vaguely gestures with his free hand to your surroundings – the grand piano in the corner of the room, the full service bar, the extravagant décor and all of the ridiculously rich assholes in attendance.

His lack of experience in this area is exactly where you come in, you suppose. Undercover ops, taking on someone else’s identity – you’ve been there, done that more times than you can count. It’s second nature to you.

Normally, you’d be right in your element. But this – holding hands, soft touches, close whispers, exaggerated longing looks with a teammate, a partner, someone that you actually care about – is brand new territory.

You’re just a little better at hiding it than he is, is all.

“Just look at me more than you look at him,” you suggest lightly. “Like it or not, I am your date.”

He snorts a laugh, then lifts his drink to his face in an effort to conceal the light blush on his cheeks. “I’m a bit out of practice, I guess. I haven’t been on a date since—”

“He’s leaving,” you interrupt him, your eyes trailing after Sokolov as he struts to the opposite side of the room. You stand up, not dropping Walker’s hand. He follows your lead, rising from his seat.

He's been a little unsure of himself so far this evening, so it surprises you when he puts his hand on the small of your back and begins to guide you across the floor. No one seems to notice that Sokolov exits the room, except for a security guard that follows him when he exits.

“Remember,” you murmur as you make you way through the throng of people, “If anyone asks where we are going, we are just looking for the bathrooms.”

“The bathrooms are in the opposite direction. There’s only about a dozen signs for them,” he hisses under his breath.

“Well, we better not get caught, then,” you retort through gritted teeth as you poke him in the side with a saccharine smile, just in case anyone is looking your way.

He responds with an exaggerated laugh that earns glances from a group of older women congregated by the door that Sokolov had just walked through moments before.

“Smooth,” you grunt as soon as the two of you are out of ear shot of the other guests. Sokolov and the guard turn left as they reach the end of the long corridor, leaving it vacant except for you and Walker.

As silently as possible, you both follow them, unsure of exactly where they are headed within the mansion. You assume a private room; an office or a study – but then they exit the house completely through a door on the opposite side of the house from the party.

You peak out of a window as Walker stands obnoxiously close to your backside. You’re unsure if it’s due to nerves or general lack of spatial awareness, but you bite your tongue and focus on the scene at hand.

It's dark outside, but there’s enough flood and path lights to see that Sokolov and his guard are standing in the middle of an extravagant courtyard garden. A moment later, a third man appears from an entryway on the west side of the courtyard. You don’t recognize him as a guest of the party, but Sokolov obviously knows him well by the way he greets him with a chummy grin and enthusiastic handshake.

“Any idea who he is?” You whisper to Walker.

“Not a clue,” he grunts lowly, close enough that you feel the vibration of his chest against your back. “How should we proceed?”

It takes you by surprise that he asks for your direction. It goes against Walker’s nature to take orders from anyone, and being the shoot first, ask questions later kind of guy that he usually is, you halfway expected him to forget that you're only here for intel and charge at the guy on sight.

“Can you hear anything that they're saying? Read their lips?” You ask hopefully, glancing around dark room - an open floor kitchen and dining room – to brainstorm. Your regular human hearing and eyesight can’t make out the first word from inside the house, but you hold out hope knowing that the super soldier serum that courses through Walker’s veins heightens his senses.

“No,” he sighs. “They’re too far away, their voices are mumbled.”

If the two of you were to attempt to exit out of the same door they did, you’d be spotted right away. But to your right, on the other side of the dining room, there’s a sliding glass door. If you can ease it open, you'll be able to sneak outside and listen from behind the exterior wall of the house.

Walker follows your gaze, noticing the door and realizing what you’re thinking without you needing to say a word. You walk as quietly and quickly as you can manage in your heels, flipping the lock to the door and slowly easing it open until the there's a big enough opening for Walker’s large frame to squeeze through. It creaks a bit, but Sokolov and the seller keep talking, oblivious to your presence.

Right at the edge of the house, there’s a large potted plant that helps to conceal you both. You stand the closest to the plant, with Walker right behind you, still close enough for his chest to brush against your back. You listen in silence, waiting for Sokolov or the seller to mention anything of value. They talk lowly – still too quiet for you to make much out other than a random word here and there.

“Next weekend,” Walker whispers next to your ear. “Deal’s going down next Saturday night. Over two million in vibranium weapons.”

“Have they said where?” you whisper back. “What about a name? We need to get an ID on this guy.”

He shakes his head, exhaling in frustration.

Goddammit. They aren’t making your jobs easy.

You open your clutch, reaching inside to retrieve your cell phone. If you could just part the branches and leaves on this plant enough, you could zoom in to at least get a photograph of the seller’s face to run through facial recognition programs…

“Shit, shit, fuck—”

As you’re trying to zip the clutch closed so that nothing falls out of it, you lose your grip on your cell phone and it falls out of your hand, onto the cement pavement at your feet. It makes a loud enough noise to cause both you and Walker to freeze.

Sokolov and the seller both go silent. There’s no way they didn’t hear that.

“Let’s go—”

“No time to run,” Walker cuts you off.

“Who is there?” Sokolov’s voice booms from a few yards away. “Show yourselves!”

Their footsteps grow louder as they walk towards your and Walker’s hiding spot. You have maybe five seconds to think of a game plan that doesn’t involve shooting your way out of this –

“Don’t kick me in the dick for what I’m about to do,” Walker mumbles, shaking his head.

You open your mouth to ask him what he’s talking about when he maneuvers you up against the side of the house. Your back collides against the wall, and his large hands caress the sides of your stomach. You gasp in surprise, but the noise is muffled by his lips capturing yours.

Oh. So this is the game plan, then.

You run with it, knowing there’s no time to flee or think of any plausible explanation as to why the two of you are so far away from the party, in an off-limits part of the estate.

Your hands instinctively fly to his head, your fingers weaving through the short tufts of his blond hair. It’s rushed and messy, his tongue dancing with yours for dominance. For a split-second, you forget where you are and why this is happening. There’s no fear or worry at the fact that you’re seconds away from being caught – there’s only the scruff of his beard tickling your jaw, the musky scent of his cologne that infiltrates your senses, and an undeniable heat between your legs.

His movements are uncertain yet enthusiastic – you’re sure it’s due to the rather unusual predicament that you’ve found yourselves in, but there’s a part of you that wonders if the kiss would be the same under different circumstances.

You can hear voices yelling at you, masculine and angry, but you can’t make out what they are saying over the deafening rush of blood in your ears. Walker pulls away with a low groan that snaps you back to reality.

There’s a small voice in the back of your mind scolding you for actually enjoying that, but you’ll have to process that later. When you're far the fuck away from here and Walker isn’t still gripping your hips like a lifeline. Your eyes meet for the briefest of moments, just long enough for you to see his dilated pupils and then kiss swollen lips before the gravity of the situation sets in.

“Can you two not fucking hear?” Sokolov yells. “I said who the fuck are you and what are you doing here? This area is off-limits to guests!”

Sokolov and the seller both stand several feet behind Sokolov’s security guard, who has a Glock 17 pointed right at the two of you. You recognize the pistol right away – its little sister, Glock 19, is concealed in your clutch.

“Oh!” You exclaim, feigning shock and embarrassment. You smooth down your dress where Walker’s hold had bunched up the fabric, and then wrap your arms around his bicep as the two of you turn to face the three men. “We’re so sorry. We were on our way back to our car when we saw the garden and just couldn’t help ourselves—”

“Right,” Walker agrees, nodding a bit too enthusiastically. “We apologize. We just lost track of time. We’ll be going—”

“You’re not going anywhere,” Sokolov barks. “I asked you a question. Who the fuck are you?”

You feel him tense beneath your hold on his arm. You give him a reassuring squeeze as if to say don’t escalate. Before you can attempt to bullshit Sokolov further with your undercover names, the seller steps forward with a look of apprehension.

“I recognize you,” the older, paunchy looking man grunts at Walker. “I’ve seen you somewhere. What's your name?”

You glance up at your partner to see that he looks like a deer in the headlights. It takes you back to the time you had first met him – when you’d been tasked with killing him, only to join forces with him, Yelena, Ava, and Bob in an effort to escape the warehouse facility Valentina had sent you all to burn alive in. During the attempt to steal a Humvee while in disguise, you had been asked to identify yourselves.

Walker’s response to that demand had been “no”.

Perhaps lying under pressure isn’t his strong suit.

“My name is Isobel Callaway, and this is my date, Mason Aldridge,” you answer when Walker hesitates for an awkward amount of time. “I have our invitations right here, if you’d like to see—”

“He wasn't talking to you,” Sokolov snaps. It takes everything in you to not pull your pistol from your clutch and end this all right here and now, but if Walker can manage to keep a level head, then so can you.

“No, he’s right,” Sokolov muses, stepping forward to take a closer look at Walker. His lips contort into a sinister smile. “I know you. You’re that knock-off Captain America. Well, you were. What the fuck are you doing creeping around my property?”

Another brief moment of awkward silence, and then Walker lunges forward, wrapping his hand around the barrel of the security guard’s pistol. The guard fires a shot, but Walker easily overpowers him in strength and the bullet goes flying towards the night sky. Within seconds, Walker takes the gun and sends the guard flying backwards from a mere punch to the sternum.

Walker grabs you by the arm as Sokolov and the seller both start scrambling to retrieve their own firearms from the their coat pockets. You run as fast as you can to keep up with Walker as he all but hauls you across the courtyard, all while internally cursing the fact that you’d chosen to wear the pointiest stiletto heels that you own.

Both men fire a series of bullets in your general direction, but they only succeed in hitting Sokolov’s garden statues. Right as the parking lot comes into view, you see several more guards running towards you and Walker from the opposite direction. You scramble to retrieve the car keys from your clutch, tossing them to Walker as you dive into the passenger seat. He wastes no time throwing the car into reverse, speeding away from the estate as dozens of bullets bounce off the vehicle’s bulletproof windows.

“Damn it,” you breathe. Adrenaline courses through you as you try to catch your breath. The security guards and the estate grow smaller and smaller in the rearview mirror. “That was a bust. Val is gonna be so pissed at me. And I left my phone. That phone was brand new, too…”

“Who gives a shit about Val,” Walker grunts in what sounds like discomfort. “We’ll tell her that the seller never showed and Sokolov spent the evening getting shit-faced off of his expensive bourbon collection.”

His response takes you by surprise – you had been bracing yourself for him to bitch you out for dropping your cell phone and biffing the entire operation. You side-eye him, noticing that his face is contorted into a grimace.

“You good?” you ask, angling your body to get a better look at him. It’s too dark to see him very well, but judging by his facial expression, he’s in some sort of pain.

“Yeah,” he hisses, removing one hand from the steering wheel to turn the car’s interior light on. “I’ll be fine, just got graz—”

“Holy shit, John!”

He pulls back the right side of his coat, revealing his white button-up shirt to be dyed bright crimson across his abdomen. He yanks the fabric upwards, revealing a bloody gash where a bullet had skimmed his right side.

“We need to get somewhere safe,” you tell him, trying not to panic. It doesn’t appear to be too deep, but he’s already bled quite a bit. It needs to at least be cleaned and dressed, if nothing else. “You need to apply pressure to that. There’s a first aid kit in the trunk—”

“I’m fine,” he interrupts you. “The bleeding will slack off soon enough. Let’s just get back to the Watchtow—”

“No,” you shake your head with finality. “We’re three hours from Manhattan. We're stopping for the night. There’s a safe house twenty minutes from here.”

You put the address to the safe house in the GPS, and to your surprise, Walker doesn’t object any further. You consider offering to drive, but you know he'll insist that he’s fine – and he will be fine, thanks to the super soldier serum that causes him to heal quicker than most would. But he’s still human, so it's still important that he bandages a fucking gunshot wound.

That’s your rationale for insisting on stopping at the safe house for the night, anyway. It doesn’t have anything to do with the fact that him pushing you up against the wall and kissing you like your lives depended on it is clouding your judgment.

It was for the mission. He never would have kissed you otherwise. You know this, and yet you can't stop replaying it in your head. The scruff of his beard, his hold on your waist, the slightly awkward yet eager way his lips moved against yours…

You clench your thighs together where you sit in the passenger seat, internally cursing yourself for even thinking about Walker in the way that you are. He’s bleeding out beside you, and you're getting worked up over a fake kiss.

After what feels like an exceptionally long car ride, you arrive at the safe house – though it can hardly be called a house – it's barely bigger than a shed. You’ll be lucky if there's one bed, let alone two.

Walker goes inside while you retrieve the first aid kit from the trunk of the car. When you enter a few moments later, he's already shed both his jacket and button-up. He sits on the couch, blood caked across his abdomen.

No one should look that good covered in blood. It isn't right.

“See?” He sighs as you lock the door behind you. “It has already stopped bleeding.”

“Good,” you hum, breaking your stare on him. You glance around the small kitchen for some additional supplies to distract yourself from how warm your face feels. You manage to find a singular hand towel, which you run under warm water to use to clean the blood off of him.

When you walk over to him with the first aid kit and towel, he reaches out to take the supplies from you. You sit down beside him on the small couch’s limited amount of space, shaking your head.

“Let me,” you insist. “It’s my fault this happened, anyway.”

He stares at you for a moment, his expression indecipherable, and then nods. He raises his right arm to give you access to his side, resting it on the back of the couch.

You delicately swipe the damp cloth across his stomach, starting with the dried blood matted in the hair around his belly button. The intimacy of the situation isn’t loss on you, but you don’t let yourself dwell on it. He’s perfectly capable of cleaning himself up, but there’s something compelling you to be close to him.

You clear your throat after a minute of thick silence. “I have a question for you. Which you do not have to answer – I feel like if you don’t answer it though, you’re kind of answering it, you know?”

He exhales in annoyance, though his stare is curious. “What?”

“Was that your first kiss since your divorce?”

He chuckles, throwing his head back against the couch to stare up at the ceiling. “That bad, huh?”

You shake your head. “I didn’t say that.”

“Well, it kind of sounds like that’s what you’re saying.”

With his skin now clean, you move onto dressing the wound. Any normal person would have definitely needed stitches, but the gash already looks smaller than it did when he had first showed you in the car. Still, you proceed with applying an antibiotic ointment before bandaging it.

“It was,” he sighs. “My first kiss since the divorce. First kiss in almost two years. Guess I’m kind of out of practice.”

You pause, looking up at him. He meets your gaze again, his cheeks slightly pink in embarrassment.

“It wasn’t bad,” you assure him sincerely. A heavy ball of nerves settle in the pit of your stomach. “Really, I mean… despite the circumstances, I enjoyed it. I don’t exactly get a lot of time for practice myself,” you laugh awkwardly.

It's true. Maybe it hasn’t been almost two years like it has for him, but this line of work doesn’t exactly leave you much time for dating or even casual intimacy.

“That makes two of us, then,” he chuckles softly, and then leans in closer to you. The already too small safe house suddenly feels even smaller, and you have to remind yourself to breathe.

“I’m sorry, though,” you murmur with a small smile. You avoid his gaze, staring down at the bloodied towel in your hand. “I hate that your first kiss in years had to be wasted on a fake mission kiss.”

He snorts. “Sorry? Don’t be sorry. I’m the one who kissed you, and I’m definitely not sorry. Unless, of course, you didn’t enjoy it or it made you uncomfortable or my breath was bad or—”

“Jesus, Walker,” you groan, shutting up his rambling by leaning forward and pulling his face to yours for the second time tonight.

For a second, he’s still. Just when you fear that you’ve imagined the tension between you and wonder if you should pull away, his lips begin to move with yours. The same enthusiasm from earlier is still present, though there’s now less uncertainty in his movements. His hands once again settle on your sides, pulling you closer to him.

Now that the two of you are alone, and there’s no threat of dangerous men shooting you at any given moment, you quickly see that he had been holding back earlier. In the privacy of the secluded safe house, he doesn’t hesitate to pull you onto his lap. You straddle him, being careful not to brush against the wound on his side.

Your hands trail down the expanse of his bare chest and his do the same to your back. He groans into your mouth, deep and guttural, and the heat between your legs flares once more. Your dress is hiked around upper thighs, allowing you grind down against the growing bulge beneath the smooth material of his pants.

You break the kiss, feeling light-headed and hazy, and look down at him. “So…” you hesitate, sweeping the pad of your thumb over his kiss-swollen bottom lip. His eyes flicker between your eyes and lips, his hands planted firmly on your hips, keeping you rooted against him.

“Is there anything else you’d like to practice, while we’re at it?”

☆☆☆☆☆☆

thank you for reading!! as always, comments and reblogs are very appreciated 🥰💕

[callme-holly]

𝐮𝐧𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐟𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥 - 𝐃.𝐂

||۶ৎ part 3 of the unprofessional series !! a darry curtis x teacher!reader au

⊹₊⋆.˚୨୧⋆.˚₊ ⊹

You hadn't expected for the gossip to begin so early.

The staff room buzzed with its usual hum: the sputter of the busted coffee machine, the cackles of some of the more senior teachers. But beneath it all, there was a hush going around, a hush that would silence the second you walked by. 

You knew what it was about. You’d caught brief snippets of conversation occasionally, but right now, you were barely listening. 

You were grading a student’s essay, too deep in your work to pay any mind to the gossip, when one of the women leaned over, a smile on her face.

“So,” she began, and you barely glanced up. “You and that Curtis boy’s brother seem… close.” 

Your pen froze mid-mark. “I’m sorry.”

She shrugged, leaning back, and you tried not to pay attention to the way everyone seemed to zone in on what you had to say. “He comes by every now and then. More than he used to.” 

Another one piped up, looking almost dreamy as she spoke. “Big guy. Looks like he can take care of himself. And someone else.” 

The insinuation is clear, and you felt heat rising up the back of your neck. You shook your head. “He’s just being nice. It’s… human decency.” 

They all hummed, slightly humorous, as if they knew something you didn’t. 

The conversation lingered longer than you would like to admit. And soon, that was all I could think about. 

It rained three days later—a torrential storm nobody had been able to predict until the thunder clapped and the drops slammed against the windows. 

You hadn’t brought an umbrella; it hadn’t even crossed your mind. So instead, you stood just outside the school entrance, watching the rain like it might disappear out of sympathy for your hopelessness.

 The jacket you’d worn was thin and wouldn’t stand a chance, and just as you were about to brave it…the truck pulled up. 

His truck.

It rolled to a stop just in front of you, and Darry stepped out, already soaked through, hair plastered to his forehead. He jogged up the steps towards your frozen figure. 

“Pony said you didn’t have a car.” It was such a casual mention, but the fact he’d even remembered made your heart flutter. “Thought you might need a lift home.” 

You opened your mouth to say something, anything, that you might have managed. But your fingers were starting to freeze and the rain was picking up.

“Thank you.” 

He nodded like it was nothing, leading you back to the car and holding open the passenger door for you. The inside was warm, the heater running with a questionable buzz that should probably get checked out, but you were too cold to care. 

Neither of you spoke at first, letting the engine do most of the filling of silence. It wasn’t uncomfortable—it was just… peaceful. A silence you both eased into simply.

Then: “Do you like it here?” 

You turned, brows raised. “Tulsa?” 

Darry nodded, and you sighed, turning to gaze out the window at the trees that passed in a blur. 

“It’s fine. I mean—it's quiet here. Some days I don’t exactly feel like I belong.” 

He nodded like he understood, and that simple gesture seemed to ease your anxieties. Like someone was finally seeing you. 

The quiet settled once more, blanketing you both. Your eyes found him, the way he gripped the wheel, his whole focus solely on the road, on getting you home.

"Do you ever feel like you're always on the outside of things?" You aren't sure what possessed you to ask; maybe it was too much too fast.

His jaw ticked. "Every damn day." 

It was a simple answer, yet one that carried so much weight to it. Like he was being brutally honest and raw in a way you could only ever be around the people who you’re most comfortable with. 

And he chose you. 

You reached home faster than you'd expected. He parked. Neither of you moved to get out.

"Thank you." You whispered, reaching for the handle.

He nodded, swallowing heavily. "Anytime. I mean it."

The truck was still humming, rain pattering on the roof like you were in a tin can. And for a moment, it was just the two of you. Something shifted... Barely there but noticeable.

He leaned forward; you did too. Just an inch, enough for the air between you to thicken—and then you pulled back.

This wasn't right. You couldn't do this, not with your student's brother.

"I should go..."

His voice was quiet, rough. "Yeah. Okay."

You opened the door, stepping out into the rain, but not before casting one long, lingering glance behind you. 

||۶ৎ chapters

||۶ৎ tag list. @mrsdillonx , @goingdelux18 , @princesshailierawr , @r0seb100d , @groovydonutpost, @rizzraa , @sheepandlams , @marinefreaakk , @sugarrootwrites , @marilyn-girly , @itonlyhastobetruetoday , @dairyfairyy , @williamafton26 , @mystiqueonfleek007 , @atpeacee , @theoneandonly-vrg , @hge-cok , @warped-rabbithole , @muu-5uvii , @fatalloveanddevotion , @marianaissocool , @jamesdeanbby , @alula394 , @goldennviolet , @i3beingcuntyyyy

[sorrowsofsilence]

the bet 4 • bad omens

pairing: all bad omens members x fem!reader

words: 10.2k • masterlist

warnings: 18+ smut, ANGST (messssy, they be jealous and working through shit in this part ok) polyandrous relationship, orgasm denial, overstimulation, begging, gangbang, threesome, foursome, voyeurism, double penetration- pls wrap it b4 u tap it, male!masturbating, male!receiving, fem!receiving, creampies, "sloppy seconds" (oops), slight choking, swearing, nicknames: princess, pretty girl, good girl), jealousy, arguing, physical fighting (jolly be punched), drinking

summary: It wasn't really just a game after all, was it?

note: thank you for everyone's patience <3 I loved this series, way more than I thought I would when part 1 was a silly little fever dream I had, that now turned into PLOT lol. So thank you all again <3 enjoy!

+ Please read all the warnings before reading +

PS. THIS IS A FANFIC ABOUT REAL PEOPLE IN FICTIONAL SCENARIOS. I AM NOT IMPLYING THIS IS HOW THESE PEOPLE ARE IRL OR THAT THIS SITUATION WOULD HAPPEN. IT IS FOR FANFIC PURPOSES ONLY!

+ recap from part 3 +

"You want control over her-" Ruffilo gestured around, "over us."

"That's bullshit," Noah scoffed, eyes narrowing. "Don't twist this."

You pulled away from Jolly, your heart lerching forward anxiously, "Can you not think with your dicks for a second? That not what Noah is saying?"

"I- thank you!" He threw a hand out at you in agreement as he sucked in another breath, "I'm talking about boundaries. There are five of us here, all with the same level of responsibilities. And you guys decided to fuck before a show, and ignore everything else. For..."

He faltered, eyes locking with yours, "...for some pussy."

The silence that followed burned, his words feeling like a slap to your chest.

"Thats not- I didn't mean-" Noah stumbled, shame immediately flashing in his face.

You looked away, heart squeezing tight in shame.

"I'm sorry," you whispered. "I shouldn't have started anything before the show. That was...unprofessional."

A low, distorted voice echoed over the sound system: "Bad omens on stage in two. Meet backstage."

Nobody moved.

"We gotta go," Folio said, breaking the heavy silence.

Noah ran a hand down his face and nodded stiffly, his usually easy-going demeanour replaced with a hollow shell.

He turned to leave. "We'll talk about this later. Good luck tonight."

You felt a pang of regret that pinched your heart, a string of shame following as each member left the room.

Only Folio paused at the door, giving you an unreadable look that caused you to share a tight smile.

+++++

As soon as the show ended and you began packing up the soundboard, you shot Matt a look. He stiffened beside you.

“Is that all I am to you guys?” you whispered, shame burning behind your eyes. “Some pussy?”

Matt’s blond head snapped up, horror in his wide eyes, as if you’d struck him. “No—fuck no. That’s not what we meant—”

You cut him off, your voice trembling while you wound the cables more messily with each turn. “Then why did Noah say it? And why didn’t any of you say anything?”

He said nothing, jaw clenched, guilt spreading across his face. You kept your tone low- too many people still buzzing around the venue- but inside, you burned.

“I know I have no right to be upset…not when I was just a fucking bet from the start.”

Matt reached out, his hands settling on your shoulders in a pained kind of warmth, “No- God- we’re all fucked up about this. How is any of this normal?”

You stared at him for a moment, like maybe you could find the answer on his face. Yet, there was nothing.

Before you could speak again, someone called from behind you.

Noah appeared, his voice quiet but tinged with anger, "Can we talk?"

You instinctively narrowed your eyes at his tone, feeling both defensive yet understanding. Ahreeing, he guided you back to the green room and shut the door behind you. He turned swiftly once it was closed, towering over you with his arms crossed.

“What do you want?” You mumbled, despite knowing exactly what he was going to talk about.

“Look, yeah, I said it- ‘some pussy.’ Maybe I’m an asshole. But what was I supposed to do when I’m falling for you, and I watch you fall for everyone but me?”

You shook your head, glare sharp. “You know I want you, I need you- but you call me that?”

Noah scoffed bitterly, “Yeah? You didn’t look like you needed me earlier. I didn’t hear you calling my name. Just moaning for them.”

Your body went rigid as you read between his lines. “So that’s what this is about? You’re jealous?”

Noah’s voice turned sharp, acid-laced and raw. “No. I’m pissed I care. One night I’ve got your cum dripping on my fingers, and the next I’m just some guy ignored while you’re busy being devoured by three others.”

Silence pressed in as you replayed his words. Then he stepped forward, pressing you against the door, his face inches from yours. “Tell me, princess…are you upset I called you ‘some pussy,’ or that I wasn’t the one inside you when I said it?”

A breath hitched in your throat at his comment. The intensity in his eyes threatened to swallow you.

“Was it fun for you, letting Nick fuck you while I begged at the other side of the door?” he demanded, running a hand through his messy hair.

You met his gaze without flinching. “I didn’t ignore you because I didn’t care or because I didn’t want you. I just…got caught up. Maybe I liked it. Liked knowing you were listening. Liked how desperate you sounded.”

Noah laughed, a hollow, sad sound, then stepped back. “Maybe we never should’ve pretended this was more than a stupid bet to get into your pants.” His eyes hardened. “Which, by the way, Jolly would’ve won; he’s been inside you more than any of us.”

Tears pricked your eyes, your chest tightening with anger. “I’m not your toy, even if we all agreed to share.”

Silence swelled until Noah’s voice broke it, hoarse; “I never wanted to share you. I just agreed because I thought that was the only way I’d have you at all.”

You let out a sound between a laugh and a sob, “So now you’re punishing me for it?”

Anger crept into your chest as you took a step forward, tears streaming. “I’m sorry I didn’t stop Ruffilo from fucking me and answer the door when you needed help. That was wrong. But everything else? I’m not sorry. I’m not sorry you all chased me or that I caught feelings for all of you. It’s not even about the door, Noah. You’re blaming me for your jealousy, when you agreed to the rules.”

Noah watched as your body shook before him with fury and hurt- his stomach beginning to ache.

“You can’t take your anger out on me just because it was Ruffilo’s cum inside me instead of yours,” you spat.

His face heated as butterflies swirled anxiously in his stomach; but before he could respond, the door swung open.

Matt stood there, breathless and flushed, eyes darting between your tear-stained face and Noah’s rigid frame.

“You okay?” he asked you, too casual for the storm in the room.

Noah stiffened instantly, stepping aside as if trying to hide what you’d just shared. Turning your back to both of them, you wiped your cheeks quickly before tears could fall again.

“Did you follow us?” Noah snapped.

Matt’s eyes narrowed. “I noticed she hadn’t come back. Sorry for giving a shit.”

“Everything’s fine. I had it under control,” Noah answered.

“Oh yeah?” Matt scoffed, stepping further inside, voice rising. “Because making her cry in a locked room is totally ‘under control’?”

“Stop,” you said sharply, spinning to face them. “Stop turning this into a contest over who’s the better guy. You’re both losing me right now.”

Noah flinched as Matt’s mouth opened, then snapped shut. You drew in a ragged breath. “You all said you wanted me. So stop competing. Stop keeping score and see me as a person.”

It was quiet for a moment, before you spoke again, “Because I’m not sure I can keep doing this when there are five of you to love, and only one of me.”

Noah looked like he had something to say- but this time, he didn’t. Neither did Matt.

You stepped past them both, swallowing your tears like poison, and opened the door, “If this is still a game still, I’m done playing.”

You didn’t slam it.You just walked out.

You wandered until your legs ached, circling the streets, finally heading back to the bus. Their voices still echoed- especially his.

“Are you mad I wasn’t the one inside you?”

Noah didn’t know what he was saying.

Or maybe he did. Maybe they all did.

You had wanted to believe they saw you.

But maybe you really were never more than a body with a name.

++++ Inside the green room, the silence shattered like glass.

“You happy now?” Matt snapped, spinning on Noah.

“Don’t start with me,” Noah barked, brows furrowing in frustration. “You were there. You didn’t say anything.”

“And that’s a good thing because I didn’t fucking say what you said.”

Noah ran another hand through his hair, “Yeah? Well maybe I said what we were all thinking.”

“No, you didn’t.” Matt spat, “You tore her apart.”

The door opened again, Ruffilo, Jolly and Folio storming in.

“Why did our girl just leave the building crying?” Jolly snarled, immediately pushing against Noah’s chest in an accusative manor, “You good now, Noah? Get what you wanted?”

Noah’s jaw clenched, fists tight against his side, “Back the fuck off.”

“Oh, so you want me to back off? Not like when you were banging on the damn door like a dog in heat?” His thick accent rolled off his tongue as his silver eyes glared daggers at the singer.

“You still think I was just trying to fuck? I was asking for help. You assholes were all busy shoving your cocks in her every hole while I was backstage trying to fix the earpiece so we’d actually put on a decent show.” Noah’s finger pushed slightly against Jolly’s chest, his ears heating with anger.

Ruffilo’s voice was flat as he crossed his arms, “Oh, come on. Don’t pretend this is about the show. You were pissed you weren’t in the middle of it. Own it.”

Noah’s head snapped toward him. “That’s all you think it was? I would eat her out on the goddamn amp if you could’ve. But I was doing real work while you slacked off.”

Jolly laughed, cruel and low. “Sure, because you’d be so concerned about time if you were the one burying yourself in her pussy.”

Noah shoved him hard, and Jolly staggered back. His voice dropped to a measured hiss. “Say that again.”

“Maybe if you weren’t so busy feeling sorry for yourself-” Ruffilo began as Matt tried to step between Noah and Jolly, but it was too late.

Noah’s fist landed right in Jolly’s jaw.

A collective gasp filled the room. Jolly stumbled, then seized Noah’s shirt and yanked him down. They tumbled to the floor in a clash of limbs and harsh words, both ignoring the yells for them to stop.

"Cut it out!" Matt roared, diving onto the pair in an attempt to pry them apart. He clutched Jolly’s shirt, wrestling him off Noah, while Ruffilo joined in; enough to keep Noah from striking again.

Folio leaned against the wall, arms folded, eyes burning with frustration. “Grow the hell up,” he muttered.

Noah leveled a heated glare at Folio, struggling in Matt’s grip. “Oh now you've got something to say?” Noah spat bitterly.

“You damn right I do,” the drummer retorted, stepping forward. “You two suggested the gangbang, and you,” Folio pointed sharply at Jolly- “you started this entire bet by saying she’d suck your cock again; treating her like a prize none of us really respected.”

Jolly’s lip was bleeding now, crimson catching in the scruff of his beard as he sneered past Matt’s shoulder. “Yeah, and you stayed silent didn’t you?” he snapped at Folio. “Don’t act like some moral fucking compass now.”

Folio advanced, voice low. “I never saw her as a game. I didn’t turn her into a contest. I’ve wanted her from the start.”

“Oh, please,” Ruffilo scoffed, pacing. “You’re the ‘gentleman’ vulture, lurking until it’s convenient.”

“Better than the assholes who keep count,” Folio shot back.

“Enough,” Matt’s voice cracked through the room like thunder, raw and full of gravel. He shoved away from them both, chest heaving, eyes burning. “This isn’t about who touched her last or who made her scream louder. It’s that she walked out crying- because we treated her like a fucking trophy.Because our egos were bigger than her feelings. She never asked to be gambled for. ”

Silence swallowed the room. Noah’s shoulders shook; his breath came in shallow gasps. “I can’t believe I called her that name.”

Guilt hung heavy. Finally Folio whispered, “I can’t believe none of us defended her.”

“I wanted to apologize,” Noah continued, eyes fixed on the floor. “I wanted to bring her back here and kiss her and make things right. Instead I lashed out and blamed her for shit I can’t even understand.”

Ruffilo scrubbed a hand down his face, “She probably just feels like an object,” he muttered, the words tasting bitter.

Folio exhaled slowly, as though releasing a weight. “I love her.”

The words struck them all as though he spoke for each one. “I really do. I want dumb movie dates, flowers she pretends to hate, forehead kisses when she’s upset. I want her to meet my mom. I want to spoil her until she tells me to stop. I want to give her my life, not just an orgasm.” His voice cracked.

Ruffilo looked up, eyes bright. “I…I love her too.”

Their eyes met, but not as rivals. Maybe they finally realized it wasn’t supposed to be a competition… because you never gave them a reason to believe one was less important than the other.

Matt ran a hand through his hair. “Yeah, we’re jealous. But mostly we’re terrified of losing her, scared she’d choose one of us- or none. Christ, I wouldn’t blame her.” He leaned back against the wall. “We made her choose all of us.”

Jolly slid down beside Noah, hand trembling on his knee. “We can’t fix this with flowers and a half-assed sorry. She deserves more.”

“We want her. She wants us all,” he continued softly, “Isn’t that something to be grateful for; that she’d stretch herself thin for us, even after knowing about the bet?”

No one argued.

Ruffilo toyed with his sleeve. “If having a piece of her heart means fighting jealousy, I’ll learn. Because I can’t let her go- and I wouldn’t survive seeing her with someone else.”

Noah’s lips thinned in thought. It was going to be fucking hard, but he realized that he had to try. For you. And so would Folio, Ruffilo, Jolly, and Matt. It was an agreement to work through their possessive feelings and doubt- to give you the treatment you deserved.

Folio nodded slowly, his face softening. “We’ve just gotta stop making it about us. If we’re really in love with her, then we give her everything. Not just sex.”

Matt’s voice dropped to a gentle murmur. “Ok. Together, we say we’re sorry. And then we shut up and let her tell us what she wants. No guilt and no pressure. Just… honesty.”

“And if she tells us to fuck off,” Jolly added, “we walk.”

Noah nodded. “But if she lets us in- even just a little- we love her like she’s the only woman who’s ever mattered.”

“Because she is.” Ruffilo said.

The silence between them was no longer cold. It felt like an agreement, tentative but real.

And although it was still fractured and aching- they finally aligned.

++

The boys still did decide to buy flowers, when on their way back to the bus.

However, Not just any flowers- the ones you loved. Roses, lilies, tulips and a few others they didn't even recognize. They found them at an all-night grocery store, and from the cashier's perplexed look, she assumed they were either late for an anniversary party or very, very drunk. But not a single man spoke, each lost to their thoughts as they placed the abundance of flowers in the cart.

This was not about buying forgiveness; it was an offering, a promise to do better.

As soon as they stepped onto the bus, they spotted you huddled at the far end of the couch, arms wrapped around your knees. Your thumb paused on your phone’s screen, and you swallowed hard, turning away from them.

Folio was the first to move.

He stepped forward, holding the awkward bundle of flowers against his chest like a shield. “We know you probably don’t want to see us right now,” he said quietly. “And that’s fair. But we needed to say this.” You stayed silent, eyes down, though you didn’t leave.

He took a breath. “We fucked up. Not just tonight, but from the start. We treated you like a fantasy instead of a person. I know an apology isn’t enough, but I’m giving it anyway. I’m so sorry, Y/N.”

Matt came next, gaze heavy on your curled form. “We got jealous and turned something that could’ve been beautiful into a fucking mess. We forgot you weren’t a prize to fight over. You’re you, and that should’ve been enough.”

Ruffilo whispered, “I’m sorry, love.”

Your breathing caught but your lips stayed shut.

Jolly then knelt before the couch, bringing himself to eye level. “None of this would’ve happened if I hadn’t made it a competition for your attention. You deserve more than being treated like an object. I’m sorry.”

Noah approached last, almost cautiously, as if afraid you’d run. His voice cracked: “We talked. Really talked. And…we want to work on it. On ourselves with this. But only if you want to.”

Your head lifted, eyes red. “Why should I believe you?”

“Because we’re not asking you to take us back,” Noah said. “Not tonight. Not tomorrow. We just want to show you we can grow, that we can love you the way you deserve; without tearing each other apart. We know we’re jealous, but we want to grow, for you.”

You hugged your legs tighter and tossed your phone onto the couch. “And if I say I can’t do it? There are five of you with different kind’s of love. I know this is all new, but it’s important that you guys figure out what you need from me, without treating me like the problem.”

Silence hung in the room as they processed your words. Then Ruffilo let out a shaky breath, “We never wanted you to feel like a problem. You're right, we handled this like shit. But we want to fix it, not by making you choose between us but by learning to share and respect each other...and you."

Folio was the next to speak up, his calm voice filling the silent room, “What if we split our time with you individually, for a while? So that we can all figure out what we need and understand our feelings better. And when we’re comfortable...we can…try again.”

Jolly met your gaze from afar, looking for any sign of approval or disapproval in your eyes. “We want to be with you but not at the cost of your pain... if this isn’t right for you anymore, please tell us.”

“I’ll think about it,” you murmured, fingers threading through the blanket draped across your lap.

Folio’s tensed shoulders relaxed slightly at your words before he held out the bouquet toward you. “These are for you- from all of us.”

Taking the flowers from him, you skimmed your fingers across petals of roses, lightly inhaling their scent. “Thank you.”

Your heart did flutter at the gesture, despite your feelings. The fact you had all five of your boys, basically begging you to stay with them- that made your stomach swirl.

Matt piped up, “And Y/N? Noah is…” he breathed in deeply, letting it out slowly before continuing, “He was out of line earlier. I know he's sorry, we all are. You're not just some… you're not what he said.”

Noah nodded along with his words before clearing his throat and adding, “I’m so sorry. We never felt that way about you. You're not just a toy to us. You're...you're Y/N." His voice was barely a whisper as he confessed, sincerity laced with remorse in his tone. Your eyes landed on him, silently locking onto his gaze.

Suddenly, it was just you and him in the room. And you believed him, wholeheartedly.

++

Hours passed, the pile of flowers decorating the rickety bus table with their vibrant colors and fresh fragrance.

They all left you alone after the lengthy apology and confessions, understanding your need for solitude…or so you thought until there were soft thumps on the door.

Jolly entered quietly, cautiously, his eyes briefly flickering to the flowers before finding yours.

He slipped next to you on the couch without uttering a single word, offering a consoling silence that held a strange sense of comfort. You melted into his touch when his hands found yours, intertwining your fingers together as you both stared at the empty place before you.

“I mean it,” he whispered after a few minutes of silence, his voice barely above audible but weighty enough to hold your attention. “All those things I said. We need to make it right, for you.”

You turned your head to look at him, swallowing the lump in your throat. His eyes were soft as he watched you, filled with so much raw sincerity that your heart ached. You nodded, barely visible in the dim room but enough for him to sigh in relief.

“Don’t carry the guilt, Y/N,” he murmured, thumb stroking your hand gently. "This isn't your fault or responsibility to fix... it's ours."

A small smile tugged at your lips. “Thank you, Jolly.”

“You don’t need to thank me,” he said quietly, pressing a lingering kiss on the back of your hand.

His calming presence and sincere words brought you comfort while the kiss he placed on your hand lingered, not just on your skin, but as a warmth that spread through your chest.

When he slightly pulled back, he settled beside you, clearly intending to stay until you asked him to leave. His arm rested gently behind your back, not in a possessive manner, but as a quiet offer of support. You leaned your head against his shoulder, and he adjusted, wrapping an arm around you. His other hand remained entwined with yours, thumb tracing slow, steady circles.

Neither of you spoke because words weren't necessary. You felt at ease beside him, savoring his presence. You wouldn't trade this feeling for anything.

Jolly’s lips lightly touched your hair. “I know I shouldn’t ask for anything from you right now,” he murmured, his voice rough. “But I need you to know… I love you. I really, really do.”

Your heart skipped a beat at his confession, lifting your head to face him, meeting his gaze filled with such tenderness it made your chest ache.

“And I need to show you,” he added, his voice even softer. “What that means. What you mean to me.”

The guitarists hand moved to your cheek, thumb caressing your skin as if it were sacred. He leaned in slowly, giving you a chance to stop him, but you didn’t.

“Can I kiss you?”

His lips met yours in a kiss that felt more like a gentle exhale than a collision. As if he was kissing you to say thank you for still being there.

The blanket slipped from your shoulders as he gently guided you back, his body moving with yours, careful and unhurried. There was no urgency- just a need. Not to take, but to give. To honour.

He kissed down your neck, his lips barely brushing your skin.

Every hitch of your breath under his kiss made him more mindful. His hands traced the length of your arms, his own shuddering when he heard you moan. His lips against your skin felt soft and caring; a complete contrast to the hot, fervent kisses shared with him before.

You closed your eyes, fingers tangling in his long dark strands, tugging lightly until a soft groan vibrated against your skin. His lips traced lower, kissing a path down your chest, gentle and slow as if savoring each inch of your skin.

“I…” A shuddered breath interrupted your murmur. His hand came around to steady you, to stroke over the curve of your hip and remind you that he was there, loving you. “I want that too, Jolly,” you breathed out finally, meeting his gaze.

He paused, silver eyes locking with yours for a moment before they jumped to your lips and back up again. “You sure?”

A small smile lifted a corner of your mouth as you nodded. “Yes.”

His kiss was hotter this time, deeper, but still filled with the same reverence as before. You got lost in him as the bus fell silent around you, all the chaotic noise disappearing until there was only him.

Jolly’s kiss grew firmer, but the tenderness never wavered. Every press of his lips said, ‘You don’t owe me this, and yet I’m beyond grateful you’re here.’

His body settled against yours, solid and warm without ever crowding you–a stark contrast to before. He was here simply to cherish you.

He drew back just enough to catch your gaze, eyes bright and breathless. His thumb traced along your lower lip, then drifted to your cheek as if anchoring himself to the moment.

“You make me feel like I can be soft,” he whispered. “Like I don’t have to be anyone but me. And yours.” His voice cracked on that last word. Yours.

“You have no idea what you do to me,” he murmured. “How often I’ve thought about you… as if I matter to you.”

His hands slid down, one curling gently around your thigh while the other rested over your ribs, thumb tracing the steady beat of your heart.

“You’re so beautiful,” he breathed. “You always were, but like this… letting me touch you so freely… I just…”

He kissed you again, a trembling, tender kiss that sparkled with emotion until your eyes stung.

“Let me love you,” he pleaded softly.

You nodded again, words caught in your throat.

He took his time; pausing as if to memorize every second, and then eased himself between your legs. His mouth moved slowly and deliberately, drawing soft moans from you. Each gentle flick of his tongue against your folds made you gasp his name; and with every gasp, his fingers brushed down your thigh, grounding you while your body teetered on the edge.

With each shake of your hips Jolly sighed heavily, relishing in giving you pleasure that focused solely on you- like getting you off was the only reward he craved. He lingered until your legs shook, tasting you through your orgasm as your hands gripped the faux leather couch.

When he finally rose, he looked spent. His hair was tousled, eyes shining, and lips still glistening from your arousal. He leaned down again, pressing a long, deep kiss full of everything he couldn’t say out loud.

++

The final week of tour went by quickly.

Despite the tension that still lingered between you all, it had become a bit less pointed and more bearable as the days passed. The shows were flawless, your heart lightening when you saw them meshing seamlessly on stage every night. There were no arguments or heated spats backstage. But there was also an unusual distance between you all.

You spent most of your time alone, busying yourself with technical stuff until you were far too exhausted to think. Matt would still accompany you silently, his subtle presence at your side oddly comforting even in the heavy silence. Ruffilo was unusually quiet during the last few shows, his eyes always lingering on you when he thought you weren't looking. Noah had kept his distance ever since that talk, though he did attempt a conversation every now and then.

It was Jolly who tried to bridge the gap between you guys, his efforts evident in the little gestures he offered: small notes left for you with words of encouragement, coffee brewed just the way you like it, random compliments; all subtle attempts to soften the tension. On the other hand, Folio was relatively silent, observing from a distance but his gaze always held an unwavering warmth.

All the boys had been giving you space to think things through while dealing with their own feelings individually.

The last day of tour arrived sooner than any of you had anticipated. The show ended with a standing ovation, the crowd cheering for an encore that left everyone breathless and drenched in sweat.

Backstage, amidst the laughter and congratulatory hugs for a successful tour, you found yourself locking eyes with Noah- heavy with resolution and sincerity.

His gaze softened when you offered a small smile, mirroring his own.

As the rest of the band began to pack up their gear, he approached you quietly, uncertainty tugging at his brows. "Hey," he said gently when he was close enough.

"Hey," you replied, your heart fluttering slightly at his presence. He nodded, fidgeting with his shirt as he looked around for a moment before meeting your gaze again.

"I just wanted to say…” His voice was low, almost apprehensive, “That I miss you. And thank you for working so hard on this tour with us. I appreciate you.”

His words washed over you, and the tension you'd been carrying for weeks seemed to uncoil, little by little. You blinked at him, taken aback but genuinely touched. “I… thanks, Noah.”

He scratched the back of his neck with a sheepish grin. “It’s…” He paused, shaking his head slightly. “It’s too quiet without your company.”

Your lips twitched upwards in a soft smile, and you stepped closer, resting your hand lightly on his arm. “You weren’t exactly that big of a chatterbox before.”

His gaze fell to your hand on his arm, and then travelled back up to meet yours.

"I miss us all actually talking," he admitted quietly. "I miss how we used to be around each other in comfortable, casual...fun." The word lingered in the air, intwined with a heavy dose of regret.

“I miss that too,” you confessed, offering him a small yet sincere smile.

His gaze softened at your confession, the remnants of tension disappearing from his form.

Silence fell over the two of you as the reality of the tour ending sunk in, melancholic and bittersweet. But there was also an inkling of hope, painting your hearts with delicate hues.

Another voice then broke the quiet. Folio approached both of you, carrying a water bottle and what appeared to be a small piece of lightly toasted bread spread with jam.

“I noticed you didn't eat earlier,” he explained upon seeing your surprised expression.

Your heart fluttered at his attention to detail, and at the caring gesture. Noah’s gaze darted between you and Folio, though he remained silent.

“Thank you, Nick,” you smiled warmly, taking it from him.

Folio gave you a small smile, his gaze lingering longer than expected. “You’re welcome,” he responded, the tightness in his chest easing your words.

Noah watched as Folio moved away, nodding his approval before turning back to you. “Eat,” he urged, and you couldn’t help but chuckle.

“I will, mom.”

He chuckled at the tease, watching as you took a small bite.

Averting your eyes, you noticed Ruffilo and Matt conversing lightly while packing up the equipment. Ruffilo looked up, meeting your gaze. He sent you a small nod and a smile your way which made your heart flutter. In his own silent way, he was still apologizing- acknowledging what had been done and promising to make it right.

“Come join us for some drinks at the pool?” Jolly asked, interrupting your thoughts. He padded towards you with an inviting smile on his face. The offer was casual yet laden with hope– hope that you might finally be able to break free of this uncomfortable silence that had dominated the past week.

“You sure?” You asked, taking a sip of water. Jolly nodded, patting Noah’s shoulder.

“An evening swim at the Karlsson-Sebastian manor? Wouldn’t be worth it without you.”

After a moment hesitation, you accepted, “Alright.”

A soft smile stretched across Jolly’s face as he clapped a firm hand onto Noah’s back. “Great! Let’s get packed and then ditch this place. We deserve a beer.”

Once everyone made it back to Noah and Jolly’s place, you sighed. Despite years of memories at this house, things felt different now.

After changing and grabbing a towel from the bathroom closet, you found your way to the backyard. The soft fairy lights around the pool illuminated the sprawling space, lending it a tranquil vibe. Noah was already in the pool, his form illuminated by the underwater lights, casting an ethereal glow onto his skin. Matt and Ruffilo were lounging on the pool chairs, beers in their hands and engaged in light conversation. Folio was starting a fire to prepare hot dogs, while Jolly was busy setting up a portable stereo.

As you stepped closer, they fell silent- every pair of eyes on you. It physically pained you to see them all looking so repentant and unsure, as if one wrong move would send you running.

You cleared your throat, feeling more than a little awkward under their gaze. "Hey," was all you managed, offering them a small smile.

Sitting on the edge of the pool, you dipped your legs in, grateful the water was heated.

"Could you pass one of those over?" you asked, pointing to the beers in Matt's hand.

"Course," he replied, reaching for a bottle and tossing it to you with a soft smile. Catching it, you took comfort in the familiar action.

Noah watched you from the corner of the pool, his eyes shyly darting away every now and then.

"Just come here,” You said between sips of the drink, fighting back a laugh.

Noah huffed out a laugh, before nodding and swimming over to join you by the edge. He kept just enough distance to respect your personal space while still making his presence known. This close, you could make out the faint freckles splashed across his shoulders, illuminated by the pool lights.

“I like your swimsuit,” he commented suddenly, eyes flicking briefly over your figure.

Your cheeks heated up with a faint warmth. “You picked it out, remember?”

His lips curled up in a sheepish grin. “Right.”

Ruffilo walked over slowly, taking a seat next to you. Placing his legs in the water next to yours, he swayed them gently, focusing on the small waves that formed.

"Mind if I join you?" His voice was soft, almost inaudible over the soft lullaby of the wind.

You glanced over at him, scanning his bare torso briefly.

"Not at all," you shrugged, a small smile playing on your lips.

He braced himself by placing an arm on the cement behind your back, closing the proximity gently.

You didn’t move away.

“You looked like you needed a buffer,” Ruffilo said quietly, gaze fixed ahead on the shimmering surface of the pool. “Or maybe just… someone who wasn’t afraid to sit close.”

You exhaled, the beer bottle cool between your fingers. “Is it that obvious?”

He tilted his head toward you. “Only to someone who’s been feeling the same thing.”

You leaned back on your palms, glancing at him from the corner of your eye. “And what are you feeling, Nicky?”

His mouth quirked up, more wistful than playful. “Like I miss you.”

You leaned into his side, agreeing, “I miss you. I miss all of you.” Your gaze flickered from him back to Noah wading in front of you.

And then the singer’s voice broke through, like he couldn’t hold it in any longer.

“Can I come closer?”

You blinked, looking down to see him treading water just below your feet. His eyes were wide. Hopeful.

You nodded. “Yeah.”

With a quiet splash, he moved between your legs and rested his arms on your knees, the position causing your stomach to swirl.

“I’m glad we are home,” he murmured. “And that you’re here.”

Jolly appeared near the fire, adjusting the volume of the music, but you felt his eyes flicker toward the three of you-watching, waiting, like he didn’t want to intrude but didn’t want to be left behind either, now that you were finally opening up.

Matt tossed another log onto the fire and leaned back on his chair. “So,” he called casually, breaking the tension with ease, “do we want a hot dog now or after we pretend we’re all fine?”

Everyone snorted—even you—and just like that, the tension cracked a little.

You glanced at Noah. “What do you think? Hot dog first, or bonding in chlorinated water?”

He let out a genuine laugh, leaning his head against your knee now, the contact grounding. “Why not both?”

Ruffilo slid into the water, and reached out a hand toward you.

“Coming in?”

You looked at Noah. Then up at Jolly, who met your gaze with a question in his eyes but a warm smile on his lips.

You placed your beer next to you with a nod, allowing both Noah and Ruffilo lead you into the pool.

The water was warm as it closed around you, taking the edge off the cool night air. Noah’s arm slid around your waist, holding you steady as Ruffilo backed off a little, creating room for you to join him while keeping a respectful distance.

“Everything feels better in water,” He said while effortlessly floating onto his back. He winked at you, and you burst into laughter.

Your laugh seemed to brighten the entire poolside, and even Folio glanced over from his spot by the fire to give you a wide smile.

It wasn’t long before you sucked in a shaky breath, ready to speak your truth about what you wanted.

“I’m sorry for being so distant the last week- but thank you for giving me space.”

Ruffilo and Noah watched you warmly, nodding.

Noah rubbed his thumb gently over your hip beneath the water. “You don’t need to apologize. We just wanted you to come back when you were ready.”

“And you did,” Ruffilo added, eyes soft but intense. “That’s all that matters to me.”

You looked between them, and your next words swam up before you could swallow them. “I want all of us to work. I want you all to be mine, and I will be all of yours. You’ve already shown me you’re willing to work on the jealousy- and I want to grow with all of you.”

Ruffilo’s expression cracked, something fierce and vulnerable shining through. His hand slid up to cradle the back of your neck, water dripping down his forearm as he leaned in, forehead resting gently against yours.

“I’ve wanted to hear you say that since the night we all fell apart,” he whispered, voice rough with emotion. “Thank you for giving us the chance to prove we can be what you need.”

Noah pressed closer against your back, arms around you like he couldn’t bear to let go now that he finally had permission to hold you like this. “You have no idea how hard it was… watching you from afar this week.”

You let your hands float up, resting one against Ruffilo’s chest and the other curled behind Noah’s head. “Trust me…It wasn’t easy for me either.”

Then Ruffilo kissed you. Not a careful kiss-a kiss full of hunger, weeks of restraint melting into one needy, heated moment. His mouth opened against yours, tongue teasing, while his hand sliding down your back beneath the water, gripping your hip like he didn’t want to let go.

Noah groaned softly behind you. His hands tightened around your waist, as they slid slowly up your ribs, under your top. His lips kissed your shoulder, then your jaw, while Ruffilo kissed your mouth greedier.

You let yourself be held between them, hands skimming along wet skin in the pool, bodies pressed against you from front and back like they needed to memorize you. Every touch felt like a plea- stay, choose us, let this be real.

Ruffilo broke the kiss just long enough to pant, “Can I touch you more? Tell me if you want me to stop.”

You shook your head, eyes heavy with lust. “Please don’t stop.”

Noah’s voice dropped low. “Let us show you how much we missed you.”

The water rippled around you as Ruffilo’s hands slid lower, over the curve of your ass, his forehead pressed to your temple now. Noah’s mouth was on your shoulder again, teeth grazing lightly.

You were shaking—not from fear, but from the feeling of finally, finally being seen.

“I-I know I said I didn’t just want to be seen as a toy,” you murmured against Ruffilo’s lips, voice trembling with need. Then you pulled back just enough to spin toward Noah, crashing your mouth onto his like you couldn’t stand one more second apart.“But I really need you to use me right now.”

Noah kissed you like he was starving, his tongue claiming yours, hand sliding up your thigh underwater to the place you ached most. “I’ve been thinking about this pussy every goddamn night,” he growled against your lips. “Dreaming about how it feels around my fingers… my cock…”

Behind you, Ruffilo’s breath hitched. He pulled you tighter against his chest, his arms wrapped strong around your middle. “You think we didn’t smell how fucking sweet you were when you walked away?” His fingers drifted lower under the water, brushing your ass with a possessive squeeze. “You left us hard, baby. Hurting.”

Noah’s teeth caught your jaw, voice rough and wrecked. “No one touches you like we do. No one knows this body like we do.” His tattooed fingers finally found your core, slick and eager. “You’re so fucking wet for us.”

“For us,” Ruffilo echoed, reverent and raw. “God, you missed us too, didn’t you?”

Your head fell back against his shoulder, the confession pulled from your lips like a prayer. “Yes-fuck, yes. I missed you. All of you.”

Noah’s mouth dragged down your neck, every kiss a brand. “Say it again. Say you missed our cocks. Say you missed being full.”

Your thighs clenched on instinct, but Ruffilo held your hips firm, keeping you open for Noah.

“That’s it,” he coaxed, hot breath at your ear. “Let us in, baby. Let us show you why you don’t have to choose.”

Noah’s finger finally slid between your folds, sinking into your body like it belonged there. “We’re gonna take our time with you tonight. Stretch you open slow. Remind this pretty pussy exactly who gets to fuck it.”

His voice dropped lower. “All five of us.”

You whimpered, body trembling between them, completely theirs.

Ruffilo nuzzled your temple, whispering like a vow, “You belong to us, pretty girl. And we’re so fucking lucky to have you.”

Jolly and Folio now stood by the edge, watching with hungry eyes.

“There’s our girl,” Jolly mumbled, unable to take his eyes off Noah and Ruffilo. The two had pulled your swimsuit off, leaving you naked within their grasp.

You wrapped your legs around Ruffilo’s body, facing him now. The boys switched hands, Ruffilo quickly sinking his fingers into your body to replace where Noah once was.

“You’re fucking perfect,” Noah whispered, chewing on your neck while his hand wrapped around to circle your clit. The water around you rippled as Ruffilo pumped his fingers in and out, and your back arched into Noah in attempt to rut your hips forward, against his strokes.

Your eyes squeezed shut as your orgasm built- but you couldn’t let yourself cum without another one of your boys.

“Matt?” You croaked, voice strained in pleasure. The blonde slid into the pool without hesitation, swimming up to the three of you.

"Yes?”

Your lidded eyes yearned for him, “Kiss me.”

He smiled, radiant, before grabbing your jaw firmly. With his lips latched onto yours, deliciously desperate, you moaned between the three of them.

Ruffilo flashed you a slutty smile as he continued to fuck you with his fingers, a string of curses leaving his lips when he felt you clench around him, “God- I can’t wait till it’s my cock you’re cumming around.”

You laughed lowly, brows furrowing as you attempted to move with Ruffilo’s pace- but Noah and Matt held you firmly.

“You wanna cum?” Matt murmured against your throat, voice thick with dominance.

You could only whimper, nodding helplessly.

“Then tell us,” Noah purred, dragging his hand away from your core, leaving you empty, aching. “Tell us how bad you want our cocks.”

A sharp cry escaped you, hips twitching, desperate from the denial. The slow fade of your orgasm was agonizing-and perfect.

“Please-fuck-I need to cum. Please, please,” you gasped, every word a desperate prayer.

Ruffilo pulled his fingers out, slow and wet, and Matt’s hand came up to wrap around your throat, claiming. “What did Noah ask you, princess?”

Your eyes fluttered open, landing on Folio and Jolly now perched at the edge of the pool, fists working over their cocks through soaked swim shorts; their eyes devouring the show in front of them.

You licked your lips, voice cracking but honest. “I want your fucking cocks so bad. All of you. I need to be filled in every fucking hole. Please.”

Noah's teeth grazed your ear, breath hot and cruel. Ruffilo's fingers slid back into you with purpose, while Matt’s grip tightened around your throat just enough to send stars dancing across your vision.

You came instantly; unraveling with a strangled moan, held tightly in their arms as waves of pleasure were earned.

Strong hands gripped your waist, and before you could fully recover, Noah was lifting you effortlessly out of the water, your skin slick and shimmering in the moonlight. You gasped as the cool air hit your heated body, legs instinctively wrapping around his waist.

“You think we’re done with you?” he muttered, voice husky, walking toward the patio door like you weighed nothing. “You begged for all our cocks. That means you’re not cumming alone again.”

The sliding door slammed open, and the rest of them followed, silent except for the wet shuffle of footsteps and low, ragged breathing.

They didn’t take you to the bedroom.

Noah dropped you onto the cold granite countertop of the kitchen island, the contrast sending a jolt through your spine. You barely had time to steady yourself before Ruffilo was between your thighs again, pushing them open with no finesse, no patience.

Matt pulled a barstool up, sitting back and stroking himself slowly, watching you fall apart. “Look at her,” he murmured, voice low. “She’s already ruined.”

“She’s not even close to ruined,” Noah said darkly, dragging his towel over his head and tossing it aside. “But she will be.”

Folio took Ruffilo’s place, pushing your stomach gently so you laid back against the counter, while pressing your legs open he his face between your legs with a groan so guttural you felt hot.

Your moan echoed off the kitchen tile; and Folio licked a long, slow stripe up your slit, savoring it, letting his tongue dip into you before curling up to flick your clit. A rhythm so patient and deliberate it drove you wild.

“F-fuck, Nick—” You gasped, knuckles white on the counter’s edge.

He didn’t stop, and didn’t even lift his eyes. Just ate you like he needed to, like tasting your arousal was oxygen. The drummers fingers dug into your ass to keep you spread wide while he devoured you relentlessly.

Ruffilo groaned behind you. “I swear he could make someone cum just by breathing on them.”

“I think he’s trying,” Noah said, walking past to get a drink from the fridge, like you weren’t moaning and trembling on his countertop. “She’s shaking already.”

Matt came up beside you, sliding your hair off your face and pressing a kiss to your temple. “How’s it feel, princess?”

“Good-fuck-it’s so good….”

Folio added two fingers, curling them expertly into your sweet spot while his mouth sucked your clit. You sobbed, legs almost giving out. Only his grip kept you upright.

“He’s gonna make her cum,” Jolly said, eyes gleaming.

“She deserves to,” Ruffilo added, stepping behind Matt.

Folio sucked harder, curling his fingers and your whole body seized.

You moaned loudly, legs trembling as another orgasm tore through you like lightning. He didn’t stop until you were completely still, a withering mess on the marble.

And only then did he stand; chin glistening, lips wet, eyes dark with lust.

“Now,” he said softly, “we fuck her.” Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, Jolly pulled you off the counter, carrying you into the living room.

“Couch,” he whispered against your ear. “Let me and Matt take you properly.”

They guided you through the open concept space, the low lighting casting a warm glow over the soft throw blankets and deep cushions. You barely touched the floor, passed between their hands like a treasure they weren’t ready to share with the world. Only each other.

Matt flopped down first, already naked, cock resting heavy against his stomach. “Right here, baby,” he said, patting his lap. “Come sit and let us all see you.”

You climbed onto him slowly, straddling his thighs. He gripped your hips with both hands, firm but loving, guiding your body like it was sacred. The others circled; Ruffilo beside you, Noah dropping to his knees in front again, Jolly behind you.

“You still want us?” Noah asked, his hand running up your calf, your knee, your thigh.

“Every single one of you,” you breathed.

That was all it took.

Jolly moved to the side, kissing up your shoulder while Ruffilo leaned in to clasp your lips on his. Noah stayed in front, letting Matt hold you open while he licked at your clit again, slower this time, just teasing.

You were already so sensitive you whimpered, hips jerking involuntarily.

“Look at you,” Matt cooed, brushing your hair back as Jolly slid a hand up your spine. “Fucked-out and still greedy.”

You nodded eagerly, relishing in the feeling of their worship. This was everything you ever wanted and more- your boys.

Matt nodded at Noah to pull away from your core, helping him spin you around so you sat on Matt’s lap, facing him.

Without hesitation, you sunk onto his cock, the feeling euphoric.

The blonde’s face contorted as he chewed on his lip, drunk on the feeling of you wrapped around him once again.

“It’s been so long,” He groaned, hand grabbing your neck again, “You want a cock inside your other hole?”

Ruffilo didn’t waste time. “Get her ready,” he told Noah, who was already between your legs again, kissing the inside of your thigh like he’d missed it.

Jolly shifted behind you, helping you lean forward, draping your arms around Matt’s shoulders while he kissed you slow, tongue curling over yours, messy and unhurried.

“Relax, baby,” Noah whispered, brushing his thumb over your other hole. “Let me stretch you.”

You nodded against Matt’s lips, heart racing as Noah spat onto his fingers, spreading the wetness, and began working you open gently. One finger, then two, his touch was precise but soft, knowing exactly how to make you squirm.

“She’s taking it so well,” Jolly murmured behind you, palms roaming your waist and thighs.

“Yeah, she is,” Folio said, voice awed. “So fucking good for us.”

Matt groaned beneath you as your body rocked between their touches, the press of Noah’s fingers inside your ass while Matt’s cock pulsed deep in your pussy. You clenched around both, crying out into the crook of his neck.

“Fuck, you’re perfect,” he rasped, rutting up into you while Noah slid another finger in. “You’re gonna take us both, aren’t you?”

“Please,” you gasped, eyes glossy. “I want to feel full.”

Jolly ran his hands down your back, eyes locked on the way Noah’s fingers disappeared into your ass, the way Matt’s cock stretched your soaked cunt.

“You’re so fucking beautiful like this,” he said lowly, voice like gravel against your spine. “Stuffed full. Fucking helpless for us.”

“I want you Jolly,” you whimpered, barely able to form words as Noah twisted his fingers just right, making your whole body jolt.

He grinned at that. “Yeah?” he murmured, brushing his cock against your thigh. “Think you can handle me, sweetheart? You already look like you’re on the edge.”

“I can,” you breathed, eyes glassy. “Please.”

“Of course you can,” he cooed, “You were made for this. For us.”

Noah slowly pulled his fingers free, slick and careful. “She’s ready.”

Jolly kissed the corner of your mouth, then guided you forward, urging you to lean more into Matt’s chest. Matt wrapped his arms around you, holding you steady, murmuring encouragement against your cheek as Jolly pressed the blunt head of his cock against your ass, slick and open from Noah’s fingers.

And when he started pushing in, slow and deliberate, you cried out- a sound caught between pain and absolute pleasure.

“Fuck, baby,” Jolly growled, hands digging into your hips, “God, you feel insane. So tight.”

Matt was already panting, knuckles white on your thighs. “Tightest thing I’ve ever felt,” he groaned. “She’s fucking squeezing us—”

Folio knelt beside you, kissing your neck, brushing hair from your face, whispering, “That’s our girl. Look at you-so fucking full, and still not satisfied, huh?”

You shook your head, “N-no. Please let me taste you.”

He let out a ragged breath, his hand cupping your cheek as he met your eyes- blown wide, pupils dark with want. “You’re fucking unbelievable,” he whispered, voice cracking with need. “Still begging, even like this?”

You nodded, lips parted, breath shallow. “Need you, Nick. Wanna taste you while they fuck me.”

That was all it took.

He stood up just enough to free himself, his cock flushed and leaking, already painfully hard from watching the others take you apart. He guided himself to your lips, groaning when you opened eagerly, tongue out.

“Good girl,” he hissed, hand sliding into your hair as he fed himself into your mouth, slow at first. “So eager.”

You moaned around him, the weight of his cock on your tongue making your eyes roll back. Matt thrust up into you with a growl, while Jolly gave a brutal snap of his hips that made your whole body lurch.

Folio held your head steady, fucking your mouth with shallow rolls of his hips. “That’s it,” he gasped. “Take me like you’re made for it-like that.”

You were lost in it, surrounded by them, used and praised and filled from every angle. Jolly’s pace quickened behind you, his grip bruising, and Matt’s thighs were trembling under you, his face buried in your neck.

“Fuck,” Matt choked, “You’re gonna make me cum, you’re so tight, so wet.”

You moaned in response, mouth full of Folio’s cock, your throat vibrating around him.

Jolly leaned in close, voice guttural. “Gonna fill that pretty ass, baby. Can you take it? Can you come like this?”

Your muffled whimper was all the answer he needed.

Folio pulled out for a moment, letting you gasp for air, then pressed a messy kiss to your lips. “You taste so fucking good like this,” he murmured. “Ruined and needy.”

“Don’t stop,” you whispered. “Please—don’t stop.”

And they didn’t.

Matt filled your pussy with ropes of his release, but he continued to fuck his cum back into you while waiting for Jolly. The swede was seconds later, pulling out to coat your ass in strings of his own while Folio released down your throat, holding you still to swallow all of him.

Matt, Jolly, and Folio slowly eased back, panting and spent, their hands still tracing every inch of your skin as they let Noah and Ruffilo take over.

You moaned into Noah’s lips as he carried you up the stairs, relishing in the taste of your tongue.

“Should we take you in the shower?” He asked and your stomach burned, legs shaky.

You shook your head, breath catching. “Not yet… I need a moment.”

Ruffilo’s fingers trailed lightly down your spine as Noah set you down gently on the bed. They both hovered close, watching you with hungry eyes.

“No rush,” Noah said softly. “Right now, we want you-wanna taste you.”

Your lips curved into a slow, sultry smile. “Then let me return the favor.”

You crawled between them, knees sinking into the soft sheets, fingers tracing the contours of their bodies as they lay back, offering themselves to you.

Your lips found Noah first, pressing kisses along his collarbone, down his chest, teasing over the hard planes of his stomach, tasting every inch you’d been craving.

Ruffilo’s hand tangled in your hair, guiding you toward his own body.

You took your time, savoring the taste of them once your lips wrapped around each of their arousals in turn. The heat rose between your mouth and hands, fingers kneading and stroking.

Noah’s breath hitched as you traced slow, teasing circles with your tongue, his hips shifting slightly to meet your mouth.

Ruffilo groaned low, fingers tightening in your hair when your tongue dragged across Noah’s length onto his own.

“You’re so good to us,” Noah murmured, voice thick with want as he watched Ruffilo fill your mouth.

“And you deserve every bit,” you whispered back between strokes, looking up at their flushed faces.

Sucking them for a couple minutes longer, both boys a whimpering mess, you then motioned for them to take you to the shower.

Noah immediately held you against the cool tile, back pressed firmly against it as he positioned himself between your legs in no time.

His fingers dug into your hips as his thrusts were relentless, his cock filling you up, just as Matt’s had prior. Ruffilo took the detachable shower head, flicking the setting to the jet stream before aiming it against your clit.

"No-oh!" You cried out, thighs squeezing around Noah as you held onto his shoulders, fingers digging into the muscles.

Ruffilo’s free hand traced circles around one of your nipples, thumb tweaking the sensitive bud before leaning in to latch his mouth onto your breast. His skilled tongue swirled around the hardened peak, sucking and nipping while he showered your clit with constant stimulation.

Each thrust Noah made had you gasping for air, your climax already building at an intense pace.

“You can’t cum until it’s around Nicks cock, you hear me?”

You whined, shaking your head, “Please Noah-”

“No.” He said firmly, arms shaking as his body tightened. You held on as much as you could, limbs shaking so fiercely you thought you would break in half.

Noah then stopped, burying himself deeper into you as his own release painted your walls. He held onto you, a chant of curses tumbling from his lips before he dropped his forehead against your shoulder, spent.

Ruffilo instantly took over, passing the shower head to Noah.

His cock slid into you easily, pulling a surprised whimper from your lips as he stretched you all over again.

"Tight- despite four others," He growled, burying himself to the hilt. His rough voice raspier due to steam fogging the bathroom quickly. Ruffilo’s pace was frantic, matching the chaos of the water that splashed rapidly against your desire.

Your body thrashed against the cool tile, and in no time, thanks to Ruffilo and the shower head, orgasmic cries rolled off your lips as both boys pushed you into another powerful climax.

“That’s our good fucking girl,” Noah praised, eyes bright with a slutty smile as he watched you come undone. Ruffilo followed shortly, filling you again.

Neither Ruffilo nor Noah let you slide to the floor as exhaustion took over, holding you against the tiled wall. They gave you a minute to catch your breath before they started to wash away the remnants of the evening. The delicate touch of Ruffilo’s soapy hands along each crevice and curve contrasted with the firm strokes of Noah’s hands as he lathered up your hair.

After drying off, they brought you back to the room where Matt and Jolly were waiting on the bed. It was cozy, inviting- their easy intermingling making your heart flutter as brightly as it had when you all had first started.

Folio snuck up from behind and scooped you into his arms, carrying you to the bed as you laughed gently. He laid you down in between Matt and Jolly, who both moved to accommodate everyone else.

Everyone was quiet as the sound of heavy breathing cascaded around the bedroom, the five of them enveloping you in a comforting cuddle puddle.

As Folio’s warm hand traced the dip of your hip, he began to move closer. "Can I?" he asked, eyes meeting yours for permission, his bare chest pressed softly against your side. You nodded, shivering as he leaned down to capture your lips in a searing kiss; that was kinder than before.

The sound of soft laughter from the others made you break away from the kiss. Noah, who had gone through all the trouble of making his way into bed beside Matt, was extended out on his belly, reaching forward like a child eager for a toy.

"Wanna hold your hand," he mumbled sheepishly while stretching across Matt's body to reach for you. Ruffilo playfully swatted at him but relinquished your hand anyway.

While Noah was content with just threading his fingers between yours, the satisfied hum from his chest making you smile softly, Jolly had other ideas. Wrapping an arm around your waist, he hauled you on top of him. His nimble fingers drew invisible lines against your spine, lulling you into a peaceful daze.

“We love you,” Ruffilo whispered, staring at you with admiration. You slowly locked eyes with each of your lovers, giving them a smile.

“I love you. Every, single, one of you.”

Matt, feeling left out, with an amused glint in his eyes, suggested, "We should get under the covers." Everyone hummed in agreement, and without any further preamble they fitted themselves around you like living, breathing puzzle pieces.

Each had their unique way of holding you, but every touch conveyed the same message; reassurance that they were there for you and only you. The entwined limbs beneath the duvet were a testament to their promise to make things work for your sake. Because you were more than worth it.

Despite the relationship being unconventional and tangled, it didn't diminish its perfection for the six of you. The dynamics were complex, like an intricate dance with unexpected steps, yet it felt just right. There would be challenges ahead, sure; but each was committed to overcoming them together.

And, in the end- you were glad that all of this was more than just the bet.

thank you all again so much for reading this mini-series; and I'm so sorry again that it took so long to get this part out, especially since part 3 was a cliff hanger. I appreciate you all <3 (also will be going through and editing better- I rushed the smut since I wanted to get this out today!)

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@renegadebirch

[mingiatz]

Y/N thinks Kang Yeosang is cold and arrogant. He’s actually just shy—and secretly been crushing on her for years. A group project, late-night study sessions, and a little chaos from his friends slowly pull them closer.

Pairing: Kang Yeosang (ATEEZ) × Female Reader (Y/N)

Trope(s): Slow Burn, Academic Rivals-to-Lovers, Found Family

Genre: College AU, Romance, Fluff, Light Angst, Comedy

Featuring: All ATEEZ members as Yeosang’s friends + Y/N’s best friend

Masterlist

Part 1 | Part 2

If Y/N had to hear the name Kang Yeosang one more time this week, she was going to throw her iced coffee across the quad. She took a deep, calming sip of said coffee instead.

“Okay, but be real,” her best friend said, twirling her pen between her fingers, “he is hot.”

“That’s exactly the problem,” Y/N muttered, adjusting her laptop screen as she pulled up the lecture notes. “Everyone falls for his pretty face and acts like he’s some misunderstood genius. Meanwhile, he’s just—quiet. And smug. And—ugh.” She scowled at the screen. “Why does he always have to get top marks?” Across the table, her friend raised a skeptical eyebrow. “So you’re mad because he’s… good at school?”

“No, I’m mad because he’s good at school and acts like he’s above everyone else,” Y/N snapped. “He never talks to anyone unless it’s for class. He just sits there looking all…” She gestured vaguely. “Yeosang-y.”

“You mean hot and intimidatingly smart?”

“I mean annoying and full of himself.”

Her friend laughed, clearly enjoying herself. “I’m just saying, it sounds a lot like someone’s been paying attention.”

“I pay attention to all my classmates,” Y/N retorted, though her ears betrayed her with the faintest warmth. “Especially the ones who are apparently trying to set a new standard for academic perfection.”

The name Kang Yeosang had been stamped across the top of every “Best Submission” slide the professor had shown this semester. His projects were pristine, his writing clean and incisive, and worst of all—he never said a damn word unless he absolutely had to. He just sat in the back of the lecture hall, hood up, eyes sharp, like he was watching a movie everyone else was acting in.

She hated that she noticed him. She hated it more that she couldn’t figure him out.

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

Meanwhile, three blocks away, Yeosang was mentally rehearsing a “hi.”

Just hi. Not “hi, Y/N, I’ve secretly liked you for three semesters and think the way you analyze literary theory is beautiful.” Not “hi, sorry if I seem cold, I’m actually just a socially anxious mess who memorized your favorite café order and knows exactly which bookshelf you always stand in front of at the library.”

Just “hi.”

And he still couldn’t say it.

He passed the student café window and glanced inside on instinct. There she was, as always, talking animatedly to her friend, a hand wrapped around her drink. Yeosang slowed—then kept walking, heart thudding like he’d just run a lap.

Back at the shared house, Wooyoung caught him the moment he walked through the door.

“Did you say anything this time?” Wooyoung asked, not even looking up from his phone.

Yeosang dropped his bag by the shoe rack with a sigh. “No.”

San, sprawled on the living room floor with his headphones half-on, looked over. “Dude. You walked past the café again?”

“I wasn’t going for the café,” Yeosang mumbled.

“Oh my god,” Wooyoung groaned. “At this rate, your ghost will be haunting her before you ever get the courage to say hi.”

“She probably thinks I’m weird,” Yeosang said quietly.

“Because you are weird,” Jongho called from the kitchen.

“Lovably weird,” Yunho added helpfully. “Sensitive. Mysterious.”

“She probably thinks I’m arrogant,” Yeosang muttered, sitting on the couch and pulling his hood up.

“She thinks you’re hot, trust me,” San said.

“Did she say that?” Yeosang asked way too quickly.

The silence that followed was brutal.

“…No,” San admitted. “But like, who wouldn’t?”

“Anyway,” Hongjoong said, walking in with a folder in hand, “you might want to mentally prepare yourself.”

Yeosang blinked at him. “For what?”

Hongjoong tossed a paper onto the table. “Dr. Lee posted partner assignments for the semester project.”

Yeosang leaned forward slowly, flipping the sheet over. His name was there. And next to it—

Y/N L/N

His breath caught in his throat.

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Y/N stared at the same sheet posted outside the professor’s office, her best friend peeking over her shoulder.

“Well, well, well,” her friend hummed. “The academic rivals meet at last.”

“It’s not a rivalry,” Y/N snapped. “It’s—ugh, this is so unfair. Why me?”

Her friend grinned. “Maybe the professor thinks you’re the only one who can match his brain.”

“Or maybe he wants me to suffer.”

Y/N rubbed her temples. Just her luck. The one person she could barely stand was now going to be her research partner for the biggest assignment of the semester. She could already imagine the awkward silences, the unbothered stares, the way he’d probably correct her citations without even speaking. How do you work with someone who never talks?

“I’m going to drop out,” she said flatly.

Her friend patted her shoulder. “At least he’s nice to look at while you’re suffering.”

Y/N didn’t respond. But for a second, just a second, she thought about the way Yeosang’s eyes always looked focused, almost soft, when he was reading.

She shook the thought away like an Etch-a-Sketch.

“Let’s just hope he has a personality under all that perfection,” she muttered.

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

Yeosang stared at his phone later that night, thumb hovering over the keyboard in his notes app.

> Things I could maybe say to Y/N:

• “Hi.”

• “Want to meet this week to plan the project?”

• “I like your analysis from last class.” (Too weird?)

• Don’t say anything weird. Don’t stare too much. Just be normal.

“Why do you look like you're drafting a breakup text?” Wooyoung asked from across the room.

“I’m just… planning,” Yeosang mumbled.

“Planning your downfall?”

Yeosang sighed, burying his face in his hoodie.

Somehow, being paired with her for this project felt like the best and worst thing that had ever happened to him.

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

Y/N regretted arriving early the moment she stepped into the study lounge.

The room was mostly empty—soft light, rows of long wooden tables, and the faint sound of a cappuccino machine hissing in the distance. It was the kind of peaceful, academic atmosphere she usually loved.

Except he was already there.

Kang Yeosang. Perfect posture, silent as a statue, fingers flying over his laptop keyboard like he was composing the next academic manifesto.

Of course he was early. Of course he looked like he walked out of a campaign for luxury pens.

Y/N paused in the doorway, considering her options. Walk in and face the music—or walk away and pretend she got the time wrong.

Yeosang glanced up just then, eyes meeting hers briefly before darting away like he’d been caught doing something wrong. His fingers froze mid-keystroke.

Too late to escape.

Y/N walked in and set her bag down across from him, offering the bare minimum of a polite nod. “Hey.”

He gave her a tiny bow of his head. “Hi.”

Silence.

She opened her laptop. Typed in her password. Checked the Wi-Fi. Anything to avoid having to look at him again.

He didn’t say a word.

Typical.

“So…” she started, forcing her voice to sound casual, “I figured we should divide the project into sections. It’ll save us from having to edit each other’s writing later.”

Yeosang nodded once. “That makes sense.”

“Cool.” Another pause. “I can take the theoretical framework and the intro. You can do the methodology and conclusion?”

“Okay.”

That was it. No questions. No input. Just okay.

Y/N leaned back in her chair, folding her arms. “You don’t have any suggestions?”

Yeosang looked up at her slowly. “Do you want me to?”

“I want this to be a collaboration,” she said, biting back the urge to sound sharper. “Not… whatever this is.”

He blinked, startled. “Okay. Then maybe… we outline the structure together first?”

Y/N stared. That was—surprisingly reasonable.

“Fine,” she muttered, pulling up a blank document. “Let’s outline.”

Yeosang hesitated. Then leaned forward slightly, close enough that she could smell his clean cologne and see the faint pink creeping into his ears.

She tried not to notice either.

They worked for a full hour, going back and forth over structure, sources, and argument flow. To her surprise, Yeosang offered thoughtful input—short sentences, quiet voice, but insightful. Still, it was like pulling teeth. He never elaborated unless asked. Never volunteered a single word more than necessary.

“Do you always work like this?” she finally asked, half-exasperated, half-curious.

Yeosang glanced at her, brows furrowed. “Like what?”

“Like a robot,” she said flatly. “Efficient. Quiet. Zero personality.”

There was a flicker of something behind his eyes. A wince? Hurt? No—it disappeared too quickly.

“I’m just not very talkative,” he said simply.

Y/N didn’t know what to say to that.

“Besides,” he added softly, “I thought you didn’t like talking to me.”

Her breath caught.

“What?”

Yeosang busied himself adjusting his notes, not meeting her gaze. “You always look annoyed when I’m around. I assumed you’d prefer to just get the work done.”

Y/N felt the sting of guilt for a brief, uncomfortable second—then pushed it down. She wasn’t about to feel bad for someone who’d barely spoken to her in two years.

“I’m not annoyed,” she lied. “Just… confused.”

“About what?”

She hesitated. “You. You never talk to anyone in class, but people act like you’re the nicest guy alive. I don’t get it.”

Yeosang looked genuinely surprised. “I didn’t realize people thought that.”

“Are you saying you’re not nice?” she asked.

He shook his head slowly. “I don’t know what I am. I just… keep to myself.”

Y/N watched him for a second. He didn’t fidget. Didn’t squirm. Just stared down at his notes like they were safer than any eye contact.

“People assume things about you,” she said, more to herself than to him. “Because you’re quiet.”

Yeosang didn’t answer.

That silence told her more than words might have.

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

Later that night, Yeosang sat on the couch in the dorm, legs folded, hoodie sleeves tugged over his hands. His laptop rested on the coffee table, the shared document open—but he hadn’t typed a word in fifteen minutes.

“You okay, lover boy?” Wooyoung asked from the kitchen, tossing popcorn in the air and catching it with his mouth.

“She talked to me,” Yeosang said quietly.

“She always talks about you. Usually to complain.”

“No. Like… really talked.”

Wooyoung flopped down beside him, grinning. “Did you confess your undying admiration?”

Yeosang glared at him. “No.”

“Did she realize you’re not weird?”

“…No.”

Wooyoung patted his shoulder dramatically. “Then we’ll count today as a ‘slow progress’ day.”

Yeosang returned his gaze to the document, replaying her words in his head.

„I’m not annoyed. Just confused.“

„People assume things about you because you’re quiet.“

Maybe she didn’t hate him as much as he thought.

But she still didn’t like him either.

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

The second study session started better than the first—barely.

Yeosang was already seated when Y/N arrived, but this time, instead of silently typing away, he gave her a small nod and said, “Hey.”

She blinked, caught off guard. “…Hi.”

He hesitated. “Did… did you have a good day?”

She blinked again.

“Uh,” she said, dropping into her seat. “Yeah. Fine. You?”

He nodded once, awkwardly. “Also fine.”

Then silence.

Painful, drawn-out silence.

Y/N tapped on her keyboard to fill the void. Yeosang reached for his iced americano and took a long sip, staring at his screen like it held the answers to the universe. She caught his reflection in the dark window and watched as his jaw flexed with tension.

He was trying. That much was obvious.

It shouldn’t have been funny. But it kind of was.

“Small talk isn’t your thing, huh?” she said, trying not to smile.

Yeosang’s lips twitched like he wasn’t sure if he was being teased. “Not really.”

“I could tell.”

They settled into work after that, building slides and sorting through journal articles. Yeosang seemed a little more relaxed now, making the occasional suggestion or asking short but thoughtful questions. The rhythm wasn’t perfect, but it was a start.

Then it happened.

A group of girls from their department walked by their table—loud, laughing, clearly not in any rush to study. One of them did a double-take when she spotted Yeosang.

“Oh my God, Kang Yeosang?”

He looked up, surprised.

The girls hovered around their table like moths to a flame. One leaned over slightly, all faux-casual charm. “Didn’t expect to see you here. Working hard or hardly working?”

Y/N raised an eyebrow. Seriously? That line?

Yeosang blinked. “I’m… working.”

Another girl giggled. “You’re always so serious. You should come sit with us sometime.”

Y/N glanced at him, expecting to see that usual blank expression he wore in class.

But his ears.

His ears were red.

Bright, telltale red.

Her eyes narrowed.

Yeosang didn’t flirt back. He didn’t even smile. He just nodded politely and said, “Maybe some other time.”

The girls lingered for a moment longer before giving up and moving on.

Y/N watched him out of the corner of her eye. He stared at his laptop screen like it was his only lifeline. His fingers were rigid on the keyboard. He wasn’t cool. He wasn’t unaffected.

He was nervous. Shy. Her gaze dropped to his hands, which were now trembling ever so slightly over the trackpad. The realization hit her slow, quiet, and undeniable.

Maybe he wasn’t arrogant. Maybe he wasn’t cold.

Maybe he was just anxious.

And maybe she’d been wrong.

They worked until the lights in the library flickered overhead—closing time.

Y/N groaned, stretching her arms. “I swear this place closes earlier every semester.”

Yeosang stood and started packing his things. “Did we get through everything?”

“Almost. Just one more slide, but I can do it at home.”

She zipped her bag, checked her phone—and froze.

Then checked again.

No. No. No.

“Shit,” she muttered, rifling through her bag again. “Where are my keys?”

Yeosang glanced up, concerned. “Did you lose them?”

“No, I—” she paused, heart sinking. “I think I left them at home. My roommate locked up early, and I’m screwed unless she answers her phone.”

Yeosang shifted awkwardly. “You can call her?”

So I did. “Straight to voicemail.”

A beat of silence passed.

Y/N let out a slow breath and looked at the dark, empty campus around them.

“Well, guess I’ll go sit in the dorm lobby and wait for her to magically remember I exist.”

Yeosang hesitated.

And then he said, quietly but firmly:

“You could… sleep in the spare room at our place.”

Y/N looked up sharply.

He didn’t meet her eyes.

Just stood there with his hands in his hoodie sleeves, ears burning again.

“…What?” she asked.

He cleared his throat. “I mean—it’s clean. And it locks. You don’t have to, I just—thought I’d offer.”

The silence between them felt suddenly louder than anything else in the room.

Y/N stared at him.

The walk to Yeosang’s house was… weird.

Not because he said much—he didn’t—but because he kept stealing glances at her like he couldn’t believe she was actually walking beside him. And honestly? Y/N couldn’t believe it either.

She had not expected to end up crashing at the Hot Guy House ( like her best friend liked to call it) tonight.

And yes, she had called it that—ironically, at first. But with eight of the most unreasonably attractive, campus-famous boys sharing a single house, the nickname had stuck.

Now she was about to walk into it. Hoodie-clad, holding a laptop bag, heart pounding in confusion.

This was so not in her Thursday night plan.

The house was bigger than she’d expected—a rented two-story off-campus place tucked behind the student dorms. The lights glowed warmly through the windows, and she could already hear laughter inside.

Yeosang paused at the front door. “They’re probably all home.”

“Oh,” she said, unsure how to respond.

He unlocked the door. “Don’t worry. They’re… loud, but they’re nice.”

The moment the door opened:

“WHO DIDN’T RINSE OUT THEIR CUP?!”

“I DIDN’T KNOW IT WAS A CRIME, HONGJOONG.”

“I almost drank paint water, MINGI—”

“Guys,” a voice said calmly from the living room, “we have a guest.”

Everyone went quiet.

Y/N found herself standing in the entryway like a deer in the headlights as seven pairs of eyes turned to look at her.

Yeosang stepped in front of her slightly. “This is Y/N. She’s just staying the night. Spare room.”

There was a beat of silence—then all hell broke loose.

“Ohhhh!” Wooyoung said, bounding over with a grin. “So this is the girl from the project. The one you never shut up about—”

Yeosang elbowed him, hard.

“I’m San,” another said, waving brightly. “He didn’t actually say your name out loud, but he definitely said you were cool.”

“I never said that,” Yeosang muttered, clearly mortified.

Seonghwa appeared behind them, effortlessly elegant despite wearing a clay face mask. “Ignore them. Welcome. You want tea? Water? Food? Emotional support?”

Mingi popped his head out from the kitchen. “We have leftover curry! Not poisoned, I swear.”

Jongho stayed seated, eyes narrowed. “If she ends up running away screaming, I’m blaming Wooyoung.”

Yunho offered her a kind smile from the couch. “Nice to meet you. Spare room’s upstairs. You want me to grab blankets?”

Y/N blinked at all of them. The Hot Guy House was… overwhelming.

“I’m good,” she said faintly.

Yeosang cleared his throat. “She’s just staying one night. She got locked out.”

“Oh no,” Yunho said with genuine concern. “That sucks.”

“Sorry that happened,” San added.

Yeosang gestured for her to follow. “Come on.”

As she followed him up the stairs, she caught snippets of whispered chaos behind them:

“Bro, why are you sweating?”

“Shut up, Wooyoung.”

“Did she smile at him?”

“She definitely smiled.”

She sat on the bed and rubbed her hands down her jeans, gaze flicking around the room. It was tidy—no posters or personality, just neutral furniture and that faint detergent smell that came with freshly washed sheets.

Yeosang had been… strange tonight.

Not in a bad way. But in a way that didn’t quite match the version of him she’d built in her head.

She thought he’d be arrogant, standoffish—too good for anyone who wasn’t top of the class. But instead of a smug prince, she got a guy who blushed when girls talked to him. Who barely spoke above a whisper. Who stood in front of her like a shield when his friends got nosy.

Still, she wasn’t ready to let go of her assumptions just yet.

Maybe he was just polite. Maybe he was weird. Maybe this whole thing was some elaborate act and he’d go back to ignoring her the moment the project ended.

Y/N laid back against the pillow, exhaling slowly.

She didn’t get it.

Kang Yeosang made no sense. And the more she saw, the more confusing he became.

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

Yeosang regretted everything.

He regretted offering the spare room.

He regretted walking Y/N to the room.

He regretted breathing in front of his friends.

Because the moment he stepped back downstairs, every single one of them was waiting.

Wooyoung clapped the loudest. “Look at him! Mr. ‘I’ll die single’ finally grew a backbone.”

“I didn’t grow anything,” Yeosang muttered, face already hot.

“Tell that to your ears,” San grinned, throwing an arm around his shoulders.

Mingi flopped back on the couch dramatically. “He brought a girl home and it wasn’t even for a party. What does it mean?!”

“Nothing,” Yeosang groaned.

“It means,” Seonghwa said calmly from the kitchen, “he’s evolving.”

“I’m not evolving.”

“Then why are you smiling like a man who just got noticed by his crush?” Jongho asked without looking up from his phone.

“I’m not smiling.”

“You are,” Yunho added cheerfully. “It’s okay. She’s cute.”

Yeosang’s head snapped toward him. “Don’t say that.”

Wooyoung’s jaw dropped. “Don’t say she’s cute? What—are we not allowed to acknowledge that your academic nemesis is lowkey stunning?”

“She’s not my nemesis,” Yeosang muttered, sitting down and pulling his hood over his head.

“Oh my god, he’s in denial and in love,” San laughed.

“I’m not—!”

“Does she know she’s sleeping just ten feet away from the guy who’s been in love with her since freshman year?” Wooyoung asked the group, eyes gleaming.

“Shut up!”

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

Upstairs, Y/N was staring at the inside of her backpack like it might magically produce pajamas or a toothbrush if she just looked hard enough.

It didn’t.

She sighed and flopped back onto the bed, rubbing her face. Of course she’d left everything at home—she hadn’t exactly planned to be crashing in enemy territory tonight. Her phone showed no new messages. Still no word from her roommate.

Grea.No clothes. No hygiene stuff. No backup plan. She rolled onto her side, groaning. What was she supposed to do—sleep in jeans and cry?

No.

Absolutely not.

Her pride wasn’t that fragile.

…Okay, it was. But so was her skin if she didn’t at least wash her face.

She sighed again, pushed herself up, and cracked the door open.

Soft noise drifted up the stairs—laughter, overlapping voices, someone singing off-key. The house was alive, in the most chaotic way.

Y/N hesitated for a moment.

Then padded quietly down the stairs.

The living room looked like a sitcom exploded.

San was dancing to something on TV. Wooyoung was tossing popcorn into Mingi’s mouth and missing every other throw. Yunho was trying to build a pyramid out of soda cans. Jongho was playing some kind of mobile game with deadly focus. Hongjoong was editing something on his laptop, earbuds in and only half listening. Seonghwa was trying to clean, muttering curses at an abandoned sock on the coffee table.

And right in the middle of it, on the couch, sat Yeosang—hood up, arms crossed, looking done with all of them.

Until he saw her.

His eyes widened slightly. He sat up straighter.

And just like that, every head turned.

Y/N blinked.

Eight guys stared back at her.

“Uh,” she started, suddenly very aware she was wearing jeans and no makeup and probably looked like a sleep-deprived raccoon. “Sorry to interrupt the… chaos.”

Yeosang stood. “Is something wrong?”

“I just—um. I didn’t bring anything. Clothes. Toiletries. That kind of stuff.”

“Ohhh,” Wooyoung said, grinning like it was his birthday. “You’re staying staying.”

San elbowed him. “Yeosang, do the gentleman thing.”

Yeosang was already moving. “I have clothes you can borrow. Toothbrush too. Uh—not used. New. Obviously.”

Y/N nodded, trying not to feel like she was the main character in a weird college drama. “Thanks.”

Wooyoung leaned in toward San and stage-whispered, “Bet she’ll look cute in his hoodie.”

“I can hear you,” Y/N said.

“Worth it,” Wooyoung replied.

Yeosang handed her the folded clothes without looking at her directly. “They might be big, but they’re clean.”

She took them, grateful despite the heat in her cheeks. “That’s fine. Better than sleeping in jeans.”

He nodded once, like he couldn’t trust himself to speak.

The others had thankfully gone back to their chaos.

But Y/N couldn’t shake the feeling that something was shifting.

And she still didn’t know what to make of it.

The hoodie Yeosang had given her was soft and massive, the sleeves swallowing her hands completely. The sweatpants dragged a bit on the floor, but she didn’t care—they were warm, and honestly? Kind of comforting.

She tugged her hair into a messy bun in the spare room mirror, splashed some cold water on her face with a borrowed washcloth, and then sat on the edge of the bed.

Only then did it hit her.

Her stomach grumbled. Loudly.

Right. She hadn’t eaten since that sad granola bar between classes. She’d been so focused on school, then locked out, then—well, this.

She glanced at her phone. Still no answer from her roommate.

Y/N sighed.

As if summoned by her stomach, a knock came at the door.

She opened it to find Seonghwa standing there with his arms crossed and a kind smile on his face.

“Hey,” he said softly. “We’re heating up leftovers. You want to come down and eat with us?”

She blinked, surprised. “Are you sure?”

Seonghwa laughed gently. “We’re eight guys with six stomachs each. Leftovers don’t last long. Come quick before San eats the curry straight from the pot again.”

She smiled. “Okay. Thanks.”

The kitchen table was full of mismatched chairs, bowls of reheated curry, and eight grown men arguing over who left rice in the microwave “for science.” Y/N slid into an open seat between Yunho and Yeosang, who looked like he was trying to fold into himself out of sheer discomfort.

„Relax,“ she whispered. „I’m not going to bite.“

He didn’t answer, but the corner of his mouth twitched like he wanted to smile.

Mingi passed her a bowl and chopsticks with a wink. “You’re officially initiated now.”

“Into what?”

“The Chaos Club,” Wooyoung declared.

“She’s in when she survives breakfast,” Jongho corrected.

As they ate, the conversation turned—predictably—to Yeosang.

“Remember when he tried to impress that girl in ninth grade by doing backflips on the soccer field and broke his wrist?” Yunho said through laughter.

Yeosang groaned, burying his face in one hand.

“That wasn’t for a girl,” he mumbled.

“It was,” San said. “You even asked if your cast color made you look ‘mysterious.’”

Y/N stared. “Wait—you’ve all known each other since middle school?”

“Yep,” Mingi said proudly. “A bunch of us went to the same high school too.”

“He’s always been like this,” Wooyoung added, gesturing to Yeosang. “Quiet. Super smart. Blushes when someone says his name.”

“Shy,” Seonghwa said. “But he listens more than anyone.”

“Also,” Jongho chimed in, “he once got dragged into a student council meeting just because someone told him it would be ‚low commitment.‘ He ended up treasurer.”

Y/N blinked. This was not what she expected.

Her gaze shifted to Yeosang, who was focused on his rice like it had personally betrayed him.

The realization hit her like a slap.

He wasn’t a ladykiller. He wasn’t arrogant. He was just—shy. Painfully shy.

It escaped her before she could stop it:

“I thought you were a ladykiller.”

Silence.

Eight heads turned toward her.

Yeosang looked like he might die.

“You what?” San asked, grinning ear to ear.

“I just—” Y/N froze. “I thought you were, like… cold. And full of yourself. And probably secretly dating three girls at once.”

Yeosang made a sound that could only be described as a strangled choke.

And then the room erupted in laughter.

“You thought this guy was a player?” Wooyoung howled, pointing at Yeosang.

Yunho was nearly doubled over. “He barely has the nerve to order his own coffee!”

“Did you think he just silently seduced people with his cheekbones?” Mingi cackled.

“I didn’t know!” Y/N protested, cheeks on fire. “He always walks around like he’s in a drama. He never talks!”

“He’s too busy panicking internally,” Jongho deadpanned.

Seonghwa smiled, eyes soft. “That’s what happens when you assume people are only what they show.”

Y/N risked a glance at Yeosang.

He wasn’t laughing—but his shoulders were shaking like he was trying not to.

And… yeah. His ears were completely red.

He looked at her, just once, and said quietly, “I’m not dating anyone.”

That shouldn’t have made her stomach do a thing.

But it did.

Y/N looked away, heart confused, mind loud, mouth dry.

The curry was really good. That’s what she’d blame it on.

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

Y/N woke up to the smell of something warm—spiced, soft, and oddly comforting.

For a moment, she forgot where she was. The unfamiliar blanket, the slightly-too-firm mattress, the oversized hoodie tangled around her—it all came back in a slow wave.

Right.

She was still in the spare room.

In Yeosang’s house.

With seven of his ridiculously loud best friends somewhere downstairs.

And last night, she had publicly blurted out that she thought he was a ladykiller.

She groaned and flopped face-first into the pillow.

Smooth. Truly.

Rolling onto her back, she checked her phone. Still no message from her roommate. The home screen glared back at her like a cosmic joke.

With a sigh, she pushed herself up, padded toward the door, and cracked it open. The hallway was quiet. No yelling. No laughter. No flying socks.

She tiptoed down the stairs, unsure what to expect.

The kitchen was softly lit with morning sun, casting pale gold shadows across the floor. It smelled like cinnamon and something toasty.

Yeosang stood at the stove, back to her, sleeves rolled halfway up his forearms, hair a bit messy. He looked calm. Focused. Like he belonged there.

Seonghwa sat at the table sipping tea, scrolling on his phone. He looked up and smiled when he saw her.

“Morning,” he said warmly. “Sleep okay?”

“Yeah,” she mumbled. “Thanks again for the room.”

Yeosang turned slightly at the sound of her voice. Their eyes met for half a second before he looked away.

“I made toast,” he said. “And eggs. If you’re hungry.”

Y/N blinked. He sounded so normal. So quiet and careful.

“Thanks,” she said, sliding into a chair across from Seonghwa. “Where’s everyone else?”

“Still asleep,” Seonghwa said, amused. “Except Jongho. He went for a run. He’s not human.”

“I heard that,” came Jongho’s voice faintly from somewhere outside.

Yeosang placed a plate in front of her with quiet precision. Toast, two scrambled eggs, a little side of jam, and even cut-up fruit. Neat and thoughtful. Like everything he did.

“You didn’t have to—” she started.

He shook his head. “It’s fine. You didn’t eat much last night.”

Her fingers froze on the fork.

So he noticed.

“Thanks,” she said again, quieter this time.

He sat down across from her with his own plate and picked at his toast. Not awkward—just silent.

But the silence didn’t feel as heavy anymore.

Maybe it never was.

Y/N found herself watching him again. The way he held his fork like he was trying not to drop it. The way his eyes flicked to her and away again in under a second. How he always looked like he was halfway to retreating but never actually ran.

“You know,” she said suddenly, “you’re kind of confusing.”

Yeosang blinked at her.

“I mean—” she stabbed her eggs. “You don’t say much. But when you do, it’s always… specific. Thoughtful. Like you’ve been thinking about it for a while.”

He tilted his head slightly. “I usually have.”

She snorted. “That tracks.”

They ate in silence for a few more minutes.

Then, just as she reached for a napkin, she heard it—faint footsteps, then the creak of stairs.

“Oh no,” Seonghwa muttered. “They’re awake.”

Sure enough, chaos spilled into the kitchen like clockwork.

Mingi wandered in first, hair flat on one side, rubbing his eyes. “Do I smell cinnamon?”

Wooyoung appeared next, still wrapped in a blanket like a burrito. “Is the ladykiller making breakfast for his girl again?”

Yeosang’s fork clattered against his plate.

Y/N groaned. “Can we not start the day like this?”

San followed with a sleepy grin. “Too late. Damage is done.”

“She’s not—” Yeosang tried.

“She thought you were,” Jongho said, finally coming inside and grabbing a water. “And honestly, it’s the funniest thing I’ve heard all month.”

“I didn’t mean it like—” Y/N tried to explain, cheeks burning.

Hongjoong walked in mid-yawn. “Wait, are we roasting Yeosang again?”

“It’s a daily ritual now,” Seonghwa sighed.

Yeosang stood abruptly and started clearing his plate. “I’m going to shower.”

“Yeah, go rinse the shame,” Wooyoung called after him.

Y/N watched him go, his shoulders tense, ears pink again.

But something inside her tugged differently this time.

He wasn’t running away.

He was just nervous.

And somehow…

She didn’t want him to feel like he had to hide from her.

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

“Okay,” Y/N said, dropping her bag on the table at the campus café. “So. You know how I said I wasn’t going to talk about Yeosang anymore?”

Her best friend looked up slowly from her iced latte. “…What did you do.”

Y/N slid into the seat across from her, hoodie sleeves pushed over her palms, eyes wide with disbelief. “I think I accidentally spent the night at his house.”

Her friend blinked. “…Sorry, what?”

“Not like that!” Y/N hissed. “I got locked out of my dorm, and he offered their spare room.”

Her friend’s face did not look less scandalized. “You slept at the Hot Guy House? With Yeosang?”

Y/N put her head in her hands. “It wasn’t supposed to be like that!”

“What was it supposed to be?”

“I don’t know!” she groaned. “I just—he offered. And I didn’t want to sleep in the campus lobby. And now my whole worldview is cracked in half.”

Her friend sipped her drink like she was watching a K-drama. “Tell me everything.”

So she did.

From walking in on the guys being absolutely feral, to Seonghwa offering her curry like a TV mom, to the actual revelation that Kang Yeosang wasn’t the stone-cold heartbreaker she’d assumed he was.

“I thought he was some mysterious, emotionally detached, probably-has-a-secret-girlfriend guy,” she said, poking at her muffin wrapper. “But he’s just… painfully shy.”

Her friend narrowed her eyes. “Like, genuinely shy? Or ‘fake shy’ to lure people in?”

“No,” Y/N said seriously. “Like… blushes when someone says hi, panics when people flirt, barely makes eye contact shy.”

There was a pause.

Then: Her best friend snorted. “You thought that guy was a ladykiller?”

Y/N groaned. “Everyone needs to stop saying that!”

“But you did say it.”

“Out loud. In front of all his friends.”

“God, I wish I was there.”

“I wanted to disappear. I wanted to implode.”

Her friend was grinning now. “But… you don’t think he’s arrogant anymore?”

Y/N picked at the edge of her napkin. “No. I think… he’s just really quiet. And nervous. And probably overthinks every interaction with people.”

Her friend gave her a knowing look. “So he’s nothing like what you thought.”

“No,” Y/N admitted. “He’s not.”

She paused. Fidgeted.

Her friend leaned in. “And?”

Y/N looked down at her drink. Her voice was small. “He made me breakfast.”

“Oh no,” her friend said, eyes wide.

“What?”

“You’re doomed.”

“I am not—!”

“Y/N.”

“Okay, maybe a little doomed.”

They both fell into a fit of laughter that made the barista glance over with mild concern.

Later, as they walked out of the café, her friend bumped her shoulder playfully.

“You gonna tell him you don’t hate him anymore?”

Y/N snorted. “Please. I barely understand what I think about him. I’m still processing the fact that he talks.”

“Well,” her friend said, nudging her again. “For what it’s worth? I think he likes you. Like, likes you likes you.”

Y/N stopped walking.

She didn’t respond.

Because her heart had already skipped ahead of her brain.

Y/N didn’t respond.

She was still standing frozen on the sidewalk outside the café, her friend’s words echoing through her brain like someone had dropped a stone in a very still pond.

“I think he likes you. Like, likes you likes you.”

She blinked, mind racing. Because if that were true—if Yeosang liked her—then her entire interpretation of the last few years would need to be rewritten. From the awkward silences to the quiet glances to the hoodie he lent her that still smelled like citrus and clean laundry…

Her heart thudded stupidly hard.

Then, as if the universe wanted to remind her that she would never be allowed to have a peaceful, introspective moment ever again—

“Y/N!”

She turned, and her stomach immediately dropped.

Wooyoung, San, Yunho, and Mingi were walking toward them from across the quad, drinks in hand and energy levels already at “wild toddler with a sugar high.”

And judging by the way Wooyoung’s eyes lit up when he spotted her best friend?

Oh no.

Y/N could only whisper, “Run.”

Too late.

“Ladies!” Wooyoung said, spreading his arms like he was arriving at a red carpet. “What a beautiful day to run into two equally beautiful women!”

Her best friend blinked. “Do you talk like that on purpose?”

“Oh, absolutely,” Wooyoung grinned. “Charm is a full-time job.”

San fist-bumped her. “You survived us. I’m impressed.”

“She thrived,” Mingi added. “Yeosang hasn’t shut up since you left.”

Y/N nearly choked. “What?”

Yunho stepped in smoothly. “Ignore them. They’re exaggerating.”

“I’m not,” Mingi said, sipping his drink. “He literally asked if the hoodie was too big. He was stressed about it. Like, genuinely.”

Her best friend raised an eyebrow at Y/N. “You didn’t tell me that part.”

“I didn’t know!” Y/N hissed.

Wooyoung turned his attention fully to the best friend now, leaning one elbow on the table. “Anyway. Hi. I’m Wooyoung. Your eyes are like—”

“Finish that line,” she said, deadpan.

Wooyoung blinked. “Like… stars?”

She stared at him flatly. “Wow. Original. You come up with that all by yourself?”

San cackled behind his drink. “She got you there.”

Wooyoung put a hand over his heart, wounded. “She’s mean. I like her.”

“She’s smart. She doesn’t like you,” Y/N muttered.

Her friend shrugged. “You’re not my type.”

“Too pretty?” Wooyoung asked with a smirk.

“Too loud,” she replied. “And you talk like a rejected K-Drama second lead.”

Yunho lost it.

Mingi nearly dropped his cup.

Even San wheezed. “Bro, you just got obliterated.”

“I’m not even mad,” Wooyoung said, hands up in surrender. “Respect.”

“Don’t flirt with my friends,” Y/N grumbled.

“Too late,” Wooyoung whispered.

Y/N turned to Yunho in desperation. “Please tell me you’re the normal one.”

“I try,” he said gently. “It doesn’t always work.”

San nudged her. “You going to the study hall later?”

“Yeah. I’ve got a project session with—” she hesitated. “Yeosang.”

“Oooooh,” all four of them said in unison.

“I hate you all,” Y/N mumbled.

Her best friend looked at the group of them, then back at Y/N. “You weren’t kidding. They really are a lot.”

“You have no idea.”

Y/N had never felt this weird about walking into the library before.

It was just a study session. They’d done this twice already. Yeosang would be there, laptop open, posture too perfect, probably already ten slides ahead of where she was.

No big deal.

Except… it felt like a big deal.

Because this time, she knew things. Or thought she did.

She knew about the broken wrist in ninth grade.

The backflip.

The hoodie concern.

The way he blushed when girls flirted—not because he was a player but because he didn’t know what to do.

And worst of all… she knew what his friends thought.

> “He hasn’t shut up since you left.”

Her cheeks warmed at the memory.

Still, she told herself to walk in like it was just another day. Just another project.

She found him at their usual spot in the quiet corner by the windows. He looked up when she approached, and for a second—just a flicker—his expression shifted.

Relieved.

Maybe even… glad?

He cleared his throat. “Hey.”

“Hey,” she replied, sitting down across from him.

They both opened their laptops. The air between them buzzed—not quite awkward, but definitely not neutral either.

“Did you sleep okay last night?” Yeosang asked, eyes still on his screen.

She glanced at him. “Yeah. Thanks again. That hoodie is ridiculously soft, by the way.”

His ears turned a little pink. “I like that one.”

Y/N smiled, then quickly looked down before he noticed.

They worked in relative silence for the first twenty minutes—notes, citations, shared slides. The usual rhythm.

But Y/N kept sneaking glances at him. Noticed the way he tapped his pen when he was thinking. The way he never interrupted. The way he waited a beat after she spoke, like he was giving her time to say more if she wanted.

It was different now. He hadn’t changed. But she had.

Finally, she closed her laptop halfway and leaned forward.

“Can I ask you something?”

Yeosang paused. “Okay.”

“Why don’t you talk in class?” she asked gently. “You always have the best notes, and you clearly know what you’re doing. But you never speak up.”

He stared at her for a long moment.

Then shrugged lightly. “I guess… I don’t like being looked at. I get nervous when people expect me to say something smart. It’s easier to just stay quiet.”

Y/N nodded slowly. “But don’t you ever want to correct the professor when they get something wrong? Or jump into a debate?”

He smiled faintly. “I think it’s more useful to let other people talk. I learn more that way.”

That surprised her. She thought she’d hear something self-conscious. Not… that.

“You’re not what I expected,” she said.

Yeosang tilted his head. “Expected how?”

“I thought you were cold. Distant. Arrogant, maybe.”

He winced. “You’ve said that before.”

“Yeah, sorry about that.”

“It’s okay,” he said softly. “You’re not that easy to figure out either.”

Y/N blinked. “Me?”

“You’re sharp,” he said. “You don’t let people in easily. But you care more than you admit.”

She opened her mouth—and realized she didn’t have a response.

He turned back to his screen like he hadn’t just cracked her wide open.

Silence settled again—but it was warmer now. Familiar.

And for the first time, Y/N wondered if Yeosang had always seen her more clearly than she ever saw him.

Y/N didn’t mean to notice him.

But she did.

All the time, now.

It started small—like how Yeosang always carried an extra pen, and how he’d hand it to her wordlessly the moment hers stopped working. Or how he’d open the library door for her and act like he hadn’t. Or how he always saved her a seat before she arrived—never said it was for her, just sat beside it like it was obvious.

Then there were the weirder, softer things.

Like how he read his notes out loud when he thought no one could hear.

How he always fed the stray cat outside the café without ever taking credit.

How his notes weren’t just detailed—they were color-coded and full of tiny doodles in the margins.

And how he always wrote her name in neat little capital letters at the top of their shared documents.

She didn’t mean to notice any of that.

But she did.

Her best friend noticed her noticing.

“Okay,” she said one afternoon as they walked across campus. “You’re doing that thing again.”

“What thing.”

“That thing where you go completely quiet when someone mentions Yeosang and then look off into the distance like you’re in a coming-of-age film.”

Y/N sighed. “I’m not in a film. I’m in emotional limbo.”

Her friend laughed. “Do you like him?”

“No,” Y/N said automatically.

Her friend tilted her head.

“…I don’t think I like him,” Y/N corrected.

“You’ve been defending him a lot lately.”

“He’s not what I thought.”

Her friend grinned. “So you like that he’s sweet and awkward and probably writes your name in cursive hearts when no one’s looking?”

Y/N groaned. “You are the worst.”

“But I’m not the one catching feelings.”

“I am not—”

“Babe. You watched him eat a muffin like it was a character study.”

Y/N shoved her lightly. “I’m just… confused, okay?”

“Or you’re into him.”

Y/N didn’t answer.

Because maybe she was.

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

That weekend, the guys invited both Y/N and her best friend to a casual backyard hangout. Someone said “bonfire” and “food,” and somehow it turned into “group chaos with mismatched lawn chairs and San bringing his Bluetooth speaker like he was DJing a music festival.”

Yeosang didn’t invite her directly.

But when Yunho texted her, she caught Yeosang glancing at her from across the library—and then quickly looking away.

So she went.

And she brought her best friend with her.

Wooyoung spotted them the moment they stepped into the yard.

“Oh look who’s back,” he sang. “Hot Girl and her Ice Princess. Welcome, welcome.”

“Are those our code names?” Y/N asked.

“They are now.”

Her best friend crossed her arms. “Still doing the flirty thing?”

“Still pretending you don’t like it?” he shot back with a wink.

“I don’t,” she said. “But I do admire the consistency. You flirt like it’s your full-time job.”

“It is,” he grinned proudly.

She raised a brow. “Does it come with denial?”

Mingi choked on his drink from the grill. “She got you again, man.”

“Why are you so mean to me?” Wooyoung asked her, clutching his chest in faux pain.

“I believe in recycling,” she replied. “No point in wasting comebacks on someone who already used the same pick-up line twice.”

“I’m in love with her,” Wooyoung whispered loudly to San.

“Don’t drag me into this,” San said, laughing.

Y/N snorted and wandered off before Wooyoung could recover.

She found Yeosang crouched in the yard next to Mingi and Jongho, skewering vegetables onto sticks for the grill. He looked up when he saw her—eyes wide, then soft.

“You came,” he said.

“Yunho said you guys needed help keeping Wooyoung from dying.”

“He’s already tried to grill his own shoe.”

Y/N smiled. “Sounds about right.”

She sat beside him, and they worked in companionable silence—hands brushing once, then twice, over skewers. Neither of them mentioned it.

He didn’t say much.

But every time she spoke, he listened.

Fully. Closely. Like every word she said mattered.

At one point, he handed her a skewer already finished with her favorite veggies and said quietly, “You can take this one.”

She stared at it.

Then at him.

Then back at the skewer.

“It’s not a big deal,” he added, but his ears were already turning pink.

She took it carefully. “Thanks.”

It was a big deal. She just didn’t know why.

Later, as the fire crackled and the others told embarrassing stories and Mingi nearly dropped a marshmallow in his lap, Y/N sat on the edge of the patio with a blanket draped around her shoulders.

Yeosang joined her with a cup of cider.

They didn’t speak for a while.

He just sat beside her, arms close but not touching, gaze fixed on the fire.

“Why are you nice to me?” she asked suddenly.

He blinked. “What?”

“You used to avoid me. Barely spoke. But now… you go out of your way to be kind.”

Yeosang hesitated. Then shrugged. “I was always nice to you. You just didn’t notice.”

That… made something twist in her chest.

“Oh,” she said.

“I didn’t think you liked me,” he added, eyes still on the flames.

“I didn’t,” she said softly. “But maybe I was wrong.”

Yeosang turned his head just slightly.

She didn’t look at him.

Didn’t need to.

The moment had already said too much.

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

Yeosang stared at the ceiling.

It was 1:42 a.m.

The backyard hangout had ended hours ago, but his mind was still playing it all back like a broken reel.

The way she sat beside him at the fire.

The way her shoulder brushed his and neither of them moved.

The way her voice softened when she said, “Maybe I was wrong.”

He didn’t know what she meant. Not really.

But his heart had jumped anyway.

He came downstairs the next morning wearing the same hoodie he’d lent her the week before — not intentionally. He’d just been cold. That was it.

Jongho was already at the table, sipping coffee like a grumpy old man.

“You were out there with her for a long time last night,” he said without looking up.

Yeosang blinked. “I didn’t think you noticed.”

“I notice everything.”

“I wasn’t—”

“Bro,” Jongho cut in flatly, “you were practically vibrating with emotions.”

“I wasn’t.”

“You were.”

Yeosang poured himself a cup of tea and sat down without arguing.

A minute later, Wooyoung stormed into the kitchen dramatically, draping himself over Yeosang like a fainting Victorian heroine.

“Tell me everything,” he said. “What did she say? What did you say? Did you finally confess your eternal admiration and give her a pressed flower?”

Yeosang shoved him off.

“I said, nothing.”

Wooyoung gasped. “Oh my God. That’s worse.”

“She sat next to him at the fire,” Jongho offered.

Wooyoung’s eyes widened. “That’s practically marriage.”

Yeosang sighed. “She just said she might’ve been wrong about me.”

Wooyoung nearly dropped his toast. “WHAT?! That’s huge. That’s massive. That’s practically her getting down on one knee.”

“She didn’t mean it like that,” Yeosang muttered.

San poked his head in from the hallway, eyes half-lidded with sleep. “Who’s proposing now?”

“Y/N told Yeosang she might’ve been wrong about him,” Wooyoung said, bouncing.

“Shit,” San said. “You’re in.”

“I’m not in anything,” Yeosang protested.

Mingi wandered in, stretching. “Is this about the fire vibes?”

Yeosang groaned. “Nothing happened.”

Seonghwa finally entered the room with his tea, raised an eyebrow, and said calmly, “That’s not what I heard.”

Yeosang’s shoulders slumped. “Why does everyone know everything?”

“Because you have the emotional subtlety of a deer in traffic,” Wooyoung said, patting his head.

Seonghwa sat across from him. “You like her.”

“I know I like her,” Yeosang said quietly. “That’s not the problem.”

“What is?”

Yeosang stared down into his tea.

“I don’t know how to be enough for her,” he said finally. “She’s smart. She’s confident. She knows what she wants. I don’t… talk right. I don’t know how to flirt or be funny or—”

“Okay, stop,” San said, pointing a spoon at him. “You are enough. You’ve always been enough. You’re just not loud about it.”

Wooyoung leaned on the counter. “And maybe she’s just starting to see that.”

Jongho nodded. “You don’t have to be someone else. You just have to be real.”

Yeosang looked at each of them.

All of them, chaos incarnate, showing up for him in their own weird ways.

“Thanks,” he said softly.

Then Wooyoung ruined the moment.

“But also—if you do confess, let us hide in the bushes and watch.”

“Absolutely not.”

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

The library was quiet—too quiet.

Y/N sat at their usual table, finishing the last edits on their presentation slides. She was typing up the project summary, but her mind kept wandering… specifically to the guy sitting across from her.

Yeosang.

Same focused expression. Same organized notes. Same annoying ability to make silence feel intentional instead of awkward.

Except now, instead of being annoyed by that, she found herself watching for the smallest expressions. The twitch of his mouth when something made him laugh silently. The way he tilted his head when he was thinking. The way his fingers tapped a rhythm only he could hear.

She shook herself out of it.

This was not the time to be distracted by his jawline.

“Final slide’s done,” she said, forcing her voice to sound breezy. “You happy with the formatting?”

Yeosang glanced over, read through the slide quickly, then nodded. “It looks good.”

She closed her laptop with a little sigh of relief. “Thank God. I don’t think I’ve ever spent this much time fine-tuning a project.”

“You did most of the visual design,” he said. “I just… wrote stuff.”

“You wrote stuff brilliantly,” she corrected. “I think our professor’s gonna love it.”

Yeosang didn’t respond.

Instead, he shifted uncomfortably in his seat, fingers tugging at the edge of his hoodie sleeve.

Y/N narrowed her eyes. “What?”

He hesitated. Then: “I’m not good at presenting.”

She blinked. “Wait, really?”

He nodded, eyes fixed on the table. “I get anxious. My brain goes quiet and I forget words. I hate standing in front of a group. I always mess it up.”

Y/N stared at him.

Kang Yeosang—top of the class, always prepared, unnervingly smart—was nervous about presenting?

“That doesn’t make sense,” she said softly. “You’re the most put-together person I know.”

He shook his head. “I’m only good when I don’t have to speak.”

She could see the embarrassment in his posture—shoulders slightly hunched, gaze lowered, like he was bracing for judgment.

But instead, something warm unfurled in her chest.

Not pity. Not even surprise.

Just… something softer.

“You know,” she said, “you don’t have to be loud to be heard.”

He looked up slowly.

She offered a smile. “We still have a few days before the presentation. We could practice together. I’ll help you with the talking part.”

“You don’t have to—”

“I want to,” she cut in. “Besides, I’ve heard your voice. It’s not as terrifying as you think.”

Yeosang’s lips parted like he wanted to say something—but the words didn’t come. Instead, his gaze softened, almost vulnerable, and his voice came out quieter than usual.

“Okay,” he said. “Thank you.”

They didn’t speak for a while after that.

But the silence between them had changed again.

It wasn’t tense. It wasn’t awkward.

It was something like… trust.

“Okay,” her best friend said, popping a fry in her mouth. “Start from the beginning. Again. And no editing for drama. I want raw emotion.”

Y/N dropped her face into her hands and groaned into the table. “I think I’m losing my mind.”

“I’m gonna need something more specific.”

“Yeosang.”

Her friend perked up immediately. “Oho. Continue.”

Y/N sat up slowly, like she was coming back from war. “He told me he’s bad at presentations.”

Her friend blinked. “…And?”

“And he looked so genuinely ashamed about it,” Y/N said, voice climbing in pitch. “Like he thought I’d judge him. Like he thought I’d laugh. And all I could think was, ‘Oh my god, you poor beautiful anxious thing, let me wrap you in a blanket and defend your honor.’”

There was a pause.

“…So you’re in love.”

“I am not in love,” Y/N hissed.

Her friend nodded solemnly. “Sure. Continue denying it. It’s cute.”

“I’m just—soft, okay? He makes me feel soft. Like every time he talks, my heart sits down and shuts up.”

“Wow,” her friend said, popping another fry in her mouth. “You are so far gone.”

“I’m not,” Y/N insisted. “I’m just… confused.”

Her friend gave her a look.

Y/N slumped in her seat. “Okay. I notice everything about him now. It’s disgusting.”

“Examples?”

“His hair does this little swoopy thing when he’s concentrating. He taps his pen exactly four times before writing anything. He double-checks his spelling like he’s afraid the keyboard might judge him. And when he’s nervous, he tugs on his hoodie sleeves like a baby fox.”

Her friend stared. “A baby fox.”

“I don’t know! He’s just—soft.”

A beat of silence passed. Then:

Her friend leaned forward. “So when are you going to tell him you’re halfway to naming your future cats together?”

“I’m not going to tell him anything.”

“Why not?”

“Because he’s Yeosang! And I’m… me. And we’re project partners. And what if I made this entire connection up in my head and he’s just being nice because he thinks I’m a functional human being and not someone who is currently spiraling over his sleeves?!”

Her friend blinked slowly. “Are you done?”

“No.”

“Okay, now?”

Y/N exhaled. “Now.”

Her friend grinned. “Listen, I say this with all the love in the world: you’ve got it bad.”

Y/N groaned again. “God, I know.”

“On the bright side,” her friend said, nudging her drink closer, “you’re very cute when you’re emotionally wrecked.”

“Shut up.”

“Tell him how you feel.”

“I would rather set my own eyebrows on fire.”

“Suit yourself,” she said with a shrug. “But if you don’t, I swear Wooyoung is going to do it for you. That man lives for this.”

Y/N paused. Then: “…He would, wouldn’t he.”

“Oh, one hundred percent.”

“God help me.”

Masterlist

Part 1 | Part 2

[laughhardrunfastbekindsblog]

Three Little Words

Summer of Bad Batch 2025 | Week 3 | Prompt: Pabu Culture

Summary: Omega starts a new trend with her brothers. POV: Omega, Crosshair, Echo, Rex Rating: G (Word Count: 2689)

Read on Ao3

Note: I saw the prompt "Pabu culture." I had an idea. I started writing out the idea. By the second scene, the idea completely ran away from me. But I still liked it, so I'm sharing it. Behold the result!

Omega rapped at the door of the Hazard's residence, grinning when Lyana answered.

"Hunter says I can come!" she announced excitedly.

Lyana cheered. "Yes! Give me a minute, I just need to grab some things."

Omega waited in the doorway for her friend to return. She didn't have to wait long - within one minute, Lyana was back, toting a pail and two small shovels. "Okay, let's go!" Lyana said, opening the door again so the two of them could leave.

"Stay safe, Lyana," Shep called out from one of the back rooms. "Love you!"

"Love you too, Dad!" Lyana casually called back over her shoulder before closing the door behind her and gesturing to Omega. "This way. We have lots of time, we should be able to get plenty of clams. Dad makes the best soup with them, you're going to love it!"

"However much I love it, I think Wrecker will love it even more," Omega giggled as she followed her friend down toward the beach.

The two of them talked and laughed together as Lyana went into more detail about how they would find the clams; but Omega couldn't stop thinking over something else that had been said, and when they reached the beach and Lyana handed her one of the shovels, Omega finally decided to ask about it.

"Lyana, how often do you say that to your dad, that you love him?"

Lyana tilted her head, frowning a little as she thought. "Oh, uh... I don't know... We always say it at night before I go to bed, and I definitely always say it when I leave to go somewhere... But I think Dad says it a little more often than I do, he'll just say it at random times, you know?" She shrugged. "Why? What do you and your brothers do?"

"I've never told my brothers that I love them," Omega admitted.

"Oh," Lyana replied, clearly surprised. “Sorry... I guess, well, growing up here on Pabu, it’s like everyone says it, so I thought…” she trailed off, looking as if she was worried her reaction had offended Omega. Omega, not offended in the slightest, simply shrugged.

"I've never really... thought about doing it," Omega explained. It wasn't like she or any of the other clones had been raised to openly express such feelings, after all; but now Omega was wondering if, maybe, they should. "I think... I think I just always assumed they know."

“Have they ever told you that they love you?”

Omega smiled as she shook her head, thinking of her brothers. “They don’t have to say it. They show it. All the time.”

Lyana nodded thoughtfully at this. “Yeah, they really do. And I’m sure you’re right, I think they know you love them too. Still,” she added kindly, “you should tell them. Before Mom died, she always used to say we should tell the people we love how we feel about them. And I think she was right. Besides, it really does feel nice to say it.”

Omega nodded, slowly at first, then with more resolve. "Yes, I think I will."

***

Omega ran up the ramp into the Marauder, excitement and anticipation and a little bit of nervousness over what she planned to do lending increased speed to her steps.

She found her brothers all sitting on the flight deck, Hunter turning toward her upon hearing her approach.

“You’re back,” he greeted her warmly as she stopped, a little breathless, in the threshold. “How did the clam hunt go?”

She blurted it out.

"Hunter, Wrecker, Tech: I love you."

Oh. Lyana was right, as usual. It really was nice to just say it.

Hunter, looking a little taken aback now, smiled at her, albeit somewhat bemusedly; Wrecker, as she could have predicted, instantly grinned and opened his mouth; but it was Tech who spoke first, looking up from his datapad to say solemnly, "I love you too, Omega."

Omega beamed at Tech's response. Already feeling what could only be described as “warm and fuzzy” over saying the three words out loud, she now felt a new level of elation. She hadn't even thought about what it would be like if her brothers said it themselves - she had really only been thinking about saying it to them, letting them know how much she appreciated their love and care for her - but it was really nice to hear it said to her, too.

Hunter and Wrecker, meanwhile, were now both staring at Tech in surprise.

Tech, catching their looks, was clearly puzzled by their reaction.

“Is something the matter?” he asked them.

“You've never said that before,” Wrecker said.

Tech shrugged nonchalantly. “None of us have. Given our rigid upbringing and strict training as soldiers, I doubt any of us ever thought to say it. But "love" is one term that accurately describes the brotherly affection most clones, including this squad, feel for each other...”

“Aw, so you do love us,” Wrecker interjected teasingly, his grin taking on a noticeably cheeky air.

Tech straightened his goggles. “Of course I do. We are brothers, after all. And since Omega verbally shared a similar sentiment, I see no reason why I shouldn’t respond in a like manner.”

Hunter, now slightly shaking his head in amusement, leaned back in his chair and glanced heavenward while mouthing “Brotherly affection” to himself; but Wrecker apparently was struck most by Tech’s last sentence – and its implications.

“I love you, Tech,” Wrecker announced.

Tech narrowed his eyes as he stared silently at his larger brother, likely calculating the odds that Wrecker’s statement was innocently genuine versus a ploy to lure him into a verbal trap; then, with a small sigh, Tech reciprocated in the most deadpan tone Omega had ever heard him use. “Yes, Wrecker, I love you too.”

“AH YOU SAID IT AGAIN!” Wrecker beamed, punching Tech on the shoulder with such unbridled delight he almost knocked the relatively smaller brother completely over. “Thanks, Tech! Now say it to Hunter!”

Tech, straightening his askew goggles again and glowering at Wrecker, opened his mouth to respond; but Omega was distracted from the interaction as Hunter turned to her now, still smiling but with a hint of worry in his eyes.

“We all love you, Omega,” he said quietly. “You know that, right?”

She nodded fervently. Of course she knew – her brothers accepted her and protected her and taught her and played with her and provided for her and cared for her without fail. There was no way she couldn’t know, beyond any doubt, that they loved her. “Yes, I do,” she assured him. “I just wanted to let you all know how I feel, too. Lyana and her dad say it out loud, so I thought I’d try it.”

Hunter nodded, the worry fading from his eyes and being replaced by a distinct twinkle. “Is this going to become a regular thing?”

Omega considered for a moment, before nodding. “Yes.” She grinned. “I want you all to know how glad I am that we’re family.”

Wrecker, having apparently settled things with Tech in time to catch the last part of this conversation, stepped forward and scooped her up into a bear hug. “I like this idea. I love you, Omega!”

She giggled as he swung her around. “Hope you love me as much as you’re gonna love the clam soup Shep’s making.”

Wrecker gently set her down, making sure she was steady before letting her go completely. “Shep’s making soup?” he queried eagerly.

Omega nodded. “Yep, and he’s invited us all over for dinner.”

Wrecker laughed. “I think I love Shep too.”

“Since this is the fourth time he has offered us sustenance this week, perhaps we should offer our services to help prepare the meal,” Tech pointed out.

“Good idea,” Wrecker nodded; and without further ado, Wrecker proceeded to exit the ship, Tech following close behind.

Omega, still unable to wipe the pleased grin from her face, started after them before noticing that one of her brothers had stood but hadn’t moved any further. She turned back and looked quizzically at him.

“Hunter? Are you coming?”

He looked down at her with a rueful grin. “If this is going to be a regular thing, I think I’m going to need some practice.”

She raised a puzzled eyebrow at him as he kneeled down to be more on her level and put a hand on her shoulder. He was very slightly hesitant, as if he wasn’t sure what to do, how to form the words; but he finally got them out. “I love you.”

Smiling broadly, her heart having progressively grown too full for her to speak, she stepped forward and gave him a warm embrace in response.

***

Crosshair sat on the flight deck of the Marauder, still chewing one of the toothpicks Wrecker had found for him. He should be trying to get some sleep - apparently it would be a few hours before they reached Pabu, the remote planet Omega had described as an "island sanctuary" - but he wasn't the least bit tired, despite all the excitement over the last… he didn’t even know for sure how many hours he had been awake by this point.

Besides, there were other… reasons… why he wanted to avoid going anywhere near the rear computer consoles where the racks were…

He didn't know why he was here. Well, he did know - he didn't want to disappoint Omega, and Wrecker and Hunter had actually allowed him on the ship, and he certainly didn’t want to get caught by the Empire again. But everything was so... different... And he knew Hunter still had some hard feelings… And he wasn’t sure how Omega would act around him now that she had her other brothers back, the ones who had actually cared about her all this time and hadn’t treated her harshly like he had… And...

Omega, having just cleaned up from the mishaps on Tantiss and Lau, interrupted his thoughts when she stepped onto the flight deck. He had thought she was about to go to bed; why was she...

"Love you, Hunter," Omega said softly.

Hunter turned around in the pilot's seat and gave her a small smile that very nearly masked the sudden moisture that had sprung up in his eyes. "Love you, Omega."

"Love you, Wrecker," Omega continued.

"Love ya, Omega," Wrecker said back.

"Love you, Crosshair."

Crosshair just nodded slightly, not willing to give any further indication that he was, perhaps, a little relieved to not have been excluded in this exchange. Omega had started saying those words to him just a few weeks ago on Tantiss, every time she had to leave after visiting him in his cell; and it was still kinda weird to hear it, even if he did have to admit he was warming up to the kid. He hadn't had the faintest idea what had possessed her to start saying it, but he had been too tired that first night to try to convince her she was wrong, and then it was too late to correct her. Now he was starting to understand where it had come from...

Suddenly he noticed Hunter and Wrecker staring at him, almost as if they expected something; and he froze, unsure why they were looking at him like that...

"You're supposed to say it back," Wrecker said helpfully in a loud whisper.

Kriff, of all the ridiculous...

They were both still staring at him. He looked away, only to discover that Omega was watching him too with a hopeful look on her face. He turned away quickly in the other direction.

Kriff.

He was stuck here with them, on a ship currently traveling through hyperspace, a ship that wouldn’t reach its destination for another few hours, and Hunter and Wrecker were taking up both the pilot and copilot seats.

There was no way to get out of this.

Awkwardly, he cleared his throat and said in an undertone, "Love you too, Omega."

Omega beamed at him before departing for the gunner’s-mount-turned-bedroom. Wrecker leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes. Hunter stared at Crosshair a moment longer, his expression inscrutable, before turning back to the controls without a word.

No longer openly observed, Crosshair let out a shaky breath. He was never going to do that again.

Except… saying it actually wasn’t that bad.

And he might even be willing to admit that it was nice to hear it, too.

***

“… So it will probably be another day or two before Hunter and Wrecker get back,” Omega finished.

Since Omega couldn’t see him, Echo allowed himself to frown at the commlink. Of course Omega’s safety was a top priority, and they needed to know why the Empire was hunting her if they wanted to keep her safe; but did that really necessitate Hunter and Wrecker going off with Fennec Shand, of all people?

“You’re safe, though?” he asked, hoping he was successfully keeping his voice level. “Crosshair’s still with you?”

He could hear the smile in Omega’s voice now. “Yes. And you know how it is on Pabu. No one here will let anything happen to us.”

Echo took a deep breath. “If anything does come up, you know you can contact me or Rex anytime.”

“I know. Thank you, Echo. Love you.”

“Love you too, Omega.”

The transmission ended, and Echo took a full ten seconds to collect his thoughts before comming Rex, jumping straight to the point once the captain accepted the transmission and greeted him.

“Omega is still safe, though they don’t know exactly why the Empire wants her so badly,” Echo reported. “Hunter is… working on it, though.”

“Doesn’t sound like you approve,” Rex said astutely. Apparently Echo hadn’t managed to keep his voice level enough this time.

“Oh, they’re capable enough, I’m not worried about that,” Echo replied, “I just wish…”

“Wish they didn’t have to be,” Rex finished for him.

He sighed. “Yeah.” The clones, including those of Clone Force 99, had all been through so much already. When would they finally be allowed to be at peace?

“Well, if they don’t need your help right now,” Rex was saying now, “Gregor and I sure could use you on Portavis. You know where to find us.”

Echo nodded to himself, already entering the coordinates while prepping to close out the transmission. “Copy that,” he said. “See you soon. Love you.”

***

Rex stared at his commlink for a moment before blankly saying, “What.”

Gregor leaned over; Rex didn’t even have to look to know the commander had a gigantic grin on his face. “Did he say what I think he said?”

Rex nodded, still staring at the commlink. “Sounded like it.”

They sat in silence for a moment, both of them now staring at the commlink, before Gregor spoke up again. “So, are you…”

“Wait for it.”

Right on cue, the commlink pinged again, and Rex accepted the transmission.

Echo’s voice was deeper and gruffer than usual, a telltale sign that he was trying to hide his embarrassment. "Uh, Rex... Captain... Did I just..."

"Yes."

A pause, then - "Omega started it,” Echo blurted.

Rex nodded at his comms. "Makes sense."

"Just like a friend... family... thing, you know? I think one of her friends on Pabu gave her the idea. She says it all the time to Hunter and Wrecker and Crosshair, and she even started saying it to me when I went there for the first time, and..."

"Echo..."

"Now we say it anytime I have to leave or whenever we end a transmission with each other, and I just talked to her, and..."

"Echo."

Echo abruptly cut himself off, then cleared his throat. "Yes, Captain."

Rex knew Echo, sadly, couldn’t see his wide, amused grin, as they weren’t speaking via holo; and he couldn’t decide if he was more relieved or disappointed that Echo also couldn’t see the sheen of tears in his eyes that all too plainly revealed just how touched Rex was by the sentiment. “Love you too, brother.”

@summer-of-bad-batch

[toppamplemousse]

The first dream happened at some point in 2018. Charles doesn’t remember the exact details of when, now, but he remembers the dream taking place so vividly, the first dream. A nightmare, actually. He had thought it was an omen. In French, it’s almost a near translation, the word nightmare. Cauchemar. To be trampled on, suffocated, by the evil spirit, the horse. The evil spirit, the mare. The horse. Un cauchemar.

charles leclerc/enzo ferrari, explicit, on ao3

based on this post by @formulahs

[halflifebutawesome]

I am a good person. I am a powerful person, I don't believe in evil. I think that evil is an idea created by others to avoid dealing with their own nature. I understand my own nature, good and evil have nothing to do with it.

[kellystar321]

.

[unproduciblesmackdown]

also quite the illustration in wags being like "'not asking permission' - wags" and plowing through someone expressing a physical boundary but he was already intending to use physical violence & violation & assumed corresponding distress as a tool to get his way....amidst the typicality, "correctness," permissibility of all that around here like five times an hour

[buckysleftbicep]

who did this to you? 𐙚 b.b

pairing: new avenger!bucky barnes x abused!fem!reader

warnings: mentions of abuse, domestic violence (not committed by bucky!) mentions of trauma, themes of fear and recovery (please read the warnings)

summary: bucky notices the bruises before you ever say a word. as the truth unravels, he steps in—not just to protect you, he makes sure you're never hurt again.

word count: 5.3k (i went a little overboard)

author's note: i have been wanting to write this for quite a while, and i'm glad i did. enjoy my loves, your feedback and thoughts are always appreciated!

It started small.

A shift in the way you smiled—no longer bright and easy, but tight-lipped and fleeting, like you were trying to convince yourself it still came naturally. A hesitation in your laughter, once the sweetest sound in the Watchtower’s echoing corridors, now muffled, forced, or absent altogether.

The others chalked it up to stress. Missions have been tense lately. The team didn’t exactly operate in peacetime.

But Bucky…Bucky saw more.

You were the team’s secretary. The one constant in a whirlwind of chaos. Efficient, organised, always one step ahead of everyone else. You had memorised every operative’s dietary needs before the kitchen staff had.

You knew how to read between lines of mission reports, handle fallouts with the media, and you were the only person Yelena trusted to refill her coffee exactly right. Your desk, tucked near the central hub, was where people came to decompress, vent, even smile.

You made things work. You made the team work.

You were the light that steadied them all.

But lately… that light had gone out.

Bucky noticed first. He always did. Watching people wasn’t just habit—it was an instinct. A soldier’s reflex, sharpened by a lifetime of reading danger in the twitch of a hand or the flicker of a glance.

He noticed how your shoulders curled inward like you were trying to disappear into yourself, or how your arms folded across your stomach, elbows tucked in tight as if they were armour.

You flinched when anyone passed too closely behind your chair. You stopped walking through the halls with your usual spring—started hugging the walls, choosing longer routes that avoided high-traffic zones.

When Yelena clapped a hand to your shoulder in greeting, a simple, affectionate gesture—your entire body jolted like you’d been hit. Not just startled. 

Terrified.

The room had gone quiet at that moment. Even Alexei paused, a half-eaten sandwich frozen in his hand. Ava had gone still beside the mission board, her eyes narrowing slightly.

You recovered too quickly. Smiled too fast. “Sorry, nerves,” you’d said, brushing it off, grabbing the nearest file and practically sprinting from the room. But Bucky had already seen too much.

And then the bruises.

They started subtly. Shadows beneath the cuff of your blouse that could be passed off as bad sleep, maybe a knock against a desk corner.

You were clumsy sometimes—everyone knew that. A walking hurricane in heels, Yelena liked to tease. You once tripped over your own shoelaces in front of Val, and no one had let you live it down for a week.

But these weren’t accidents.

There was a splotch of purple just visible beneath your collarbone, dark and irregular. Faint, yellowing fingerprints on your wrist that looked like they were trying to fade, but kept stubbornly coming back.

A raw, angry mark that peeked out from your hairline one morning, like someone had gripped your jaw too hard—someone tall enough, big enough to loom over you, strong enough to leave a handprint in their wake.

Bucky saw that one when you bent down to pick up a report you’d dropped. Your blouse’s collar dipped slightly, just enough to reveal a line of bruising that trailed from your neck toward your shoulder like a hand had wrapped around you and squeezed.

His hand clenched into a fist on instinct.

He didn’t say anything right away. He knew better. But he watched. Quietly, intensely. Not just because he cared, but because something inside him roared with the need to protect you, something deep and territorial and dangerous.

The same thing that made him stare holes into the security cameras when you left the compound for lunch, or that made him scan every incoming message with a new, sharpened edge.

He began checking your schedule.

Not overtly. Just… looking. Noting when you left the compound. Who signed you out. When you came back, and what your face looked like afterward.

You used to return from errands with little smiles and tiny stories—“The deli guy gave me an extra pickle today,” or “Some lady on the street said I had pretty earrings.” But lately, you came back quieter. Shoulders tighter. And you always avoided his eyes.

One afternoon, he asked you if you were okay.

You smiled—again, that damn smile. So polite, so practiced. 

“Yeah. Just tired. Thanks for asking Bucky”

But being tired didn’t leave marks on someone’s throat.

And when you walked away, Bucky watched you disappear down the hallway and felt something cold curl in his gut. Something he hadn’t felt in years.

He knew pain. He’d lived it. Breathed it. Worn it like a second skin. But there was something worse about watching you endure it.

Something far more dangerous.

And whoever had hurt you?

They’d just reminded him exactly what he was willing to protect.

Still, Bucky didn’t act rashly. He waited. Watched. Gathered more than just bruises and broken glances. He needed to be sure—of what you were dealing with, of who was doing this to you, of how to approach without sending you further into yourself.

The wrong move could make you shut down entirely. He knew trauma didn’t unravel with questions—it needed patience. 

Stillness. Safety.

So he waited until the Watchtower cleared out for the evening.

The others had trickled out one by one—Yelena dragging Alexei into a sparring match he didn’t ask for, Ava and John disappearing into the training room, Val locked in her office for a late-night debrief.

The corridors fell quiet, fluorescent lights humming low overhead. Bucky lingered near your office, watching the shadows stretch along the floor, the door slightly ajar with the warm glow of your desk lamp spilling out into the hall.

You were still there. Of course you were.

You always stay late now.

“Hey,” he said softly, stepping into your office once the others had gone.

You didn’t jump—but he saw the way your shoulders stiffened. How your fingers paused on the keyboard, curling slightly as if preparing for something.

Your eyes stayed locked on the screen for a moment too long, and when you did glance up, they were wide and glassy with that familiar, haunted look.

The one he recognised too well.

The one he used to see in the mirror.

“Can I talk to you?” His voice stayed quiet, gentle—like coaxing a wounded animal out of hiding. He stood just inside the door, hands in the pockets of his black jacket, posture non-threatening but steady. He wouldn’t crowd you. He wouldn’t touch you. But the one thing he wouldn’t do is walk away.

You swallowed, throat tight, and gave a small nod.

“Sure.”

But the word was fragile. Like it had been stitched together with effort.

He crossed the room slowly, pulling the door shut behind him—not all the way, just enough to give the illusion of privacy without making you feel trapped. Then he moved to the chair across from your desk and sat, leaving space between you. Letting you decide what came next.

You glanced back at your screen, like you were searching for a reason to stay distracted. Like if you just kept typing, none of this would be real. But your hands didn’t move.

He waited a beat, then spoke, low and careful. “I’ve been noticing some things.”

You didn’t answer.

“I don’t mean to scare you,” he added. “I just… I’m worried about you doll”

Your shoulders tensed again. That flinch. That tell. He saw it before you could mask it. And when your arms folded across your stomach, hiding your bruised wrist, he knew.

You were protecting yourself from more than just a conversation.

“I know something’s going on,” he said. “And I don’t need the details if you’re not ready. But I need you to know that… you don’t have to do this alone.”

Still, silence. But your eyes were starting to shine, tears gathering at the corners as you stared down at your keyboard like it held all the answers.

“You’ve been flinching at every touch,” he went on, his voice nearly breaking. “You don’t smile anymore. You avoid everyone like they’re gonna hurt you. And those bruises—”

“Don’t.” Your voice cracked as the word came out, sharp and desperate.

Bucky’s breath caught. But he didn’t move. “Okay,” he said immediately. “I won’t push. I swear.”

The silence that followed was thick—trembling between confession and collapse.

And then your lip quivered. You shook your head once. “I didn’t mean for anyone to notice,” you whispered, voice so soft it almost didn’t reach him. 

“I thought I could handle it.”

Bucky leaned forward, slowly, carefully. “You shouldn’t have to handle it.”

Your chin trembled. “I didn’t want to be a burden. Everyone’s got their shit. Missions. Scars. Who wants to hear about the secretary who made the mistake of falling for the wrong guy?”

His jaw clenched so tightly he thought he might crack a molar. “Who did this to you?”

You didn’t answer.

But your silence was answer enough.

His tone darkened, low and steady like steel cooled in ice. “Tell me who put their hands on you.”

You shook your head again, fast this time, panic blooming across your features. “Bucky—don’t. Please. It’ll just make it worse.”

He stood up, jaw rigid, fists clenched at his sides. The chair scraped quietly behind him, but he didn’t move toward you. Didn’t crowd. Just stood there, vibrating with barely contained rage.

But it wasn’t at you.

“I would never let anyone hurt you again,” he said, his voice rough now, fighting to stay gentle. “But you have to let me help.”

Your eyes met his cerulean irises then. And something inside you cracked.

Because he didn’t look at you with pity.

He looked at you like you mattered. Like your pain mattered. Like he saw you—really saw you—and it didn’t make him walk away.

And something about the way he said it, like a lifeline broke you.

You told him everything.

From the first time it happened, when your ex shoved you against a wall during an argument over a text message. To the second time, when he slapped you so hard your lip split open. The cycle became normal. You had started covering up bruises like second nature, lying to your friends, flinching at shadows.

Two nights ago, he’d come home drunk, angry. He dragged you by your hair into the bedroom, wrapped a hand too tight around your neck, and left purple thumbprints beneath your jaw.

You had to call in sick the next day. Told Val it was the flu. She didn’t question it.

Tears streamed silently down your cheeks, but Bucky never looked away. His face was tight with rage, his jaw clenched so hard you thought he might break a tooth. His metal hand had curled into a fist again, knuckles whitening where they met synthetic plating.

“I'm gonna kill him,” he said, barely above a whisper.

“No,” you croaked, your hand reaching to grip his wrist. “Just… just get me out of there.”

“You don’t have to ask,” he said.

He helped you out of the office, holding your arm with such care, like you might shatter if he used too much strength. He led you to his motorcycle, the matte black vehicle parked beside the Watchtower’s bay doors.

You hesitated. “I don’t—”

He handed you his helmet and said, “You’re safe with me.”

And you believed him.

The wind was sharp against your face, your arms clinging around his waist as he drove through the dusky streets toward your apartment. Your heart thundered the entire ride—not from fear of falling, but from the feeling of escape.

At your place, you let Bucky in and stood frozen in the doorway. Your keys shaking in your hands.

“Tell me what you need,” he said.

You walked numbly toward your bedroom and began pulling a small duffel from the closet. Bucky followed, surveying the apartment with quiet calculation.

The broken picture frame on the floor. The hole punched in the hallway drywall. The cracked phone screen beside your bed.

You gathered clothes, toiletries, your journal, a worn copy of Pride and Prejudice. Bucky packed in silence, folding your shirts neatly, rolling your socks with care.

When you turned to get your toothbrush, your hands were trembling too badly to hold it.

“I can’t…” you whispered, finally falling apart.

Bucky was there in an instant, arms wrapping around you, pulling you into the solid warmth of his chest.

“It’s over,” he murmured into your hair. “You’re not going back there. I won’t let you.”

You sobbed into his shoulder, your body wracked with grief and relief all at once. For the first time in years, you believed it. 

You were leaving.

Bucky had decided to take you to his apartment, given how late it was—and how you didn’t want the rest of the team knowing about any of this. You couldn’t bear their questions or the way they might look at you differently if they knew the truth. What you needed right now wasn’t a spotlight—it was safety.

And Bucky, somehow, had understood that without you ever having to say a word.

Tucked away in a quiet corner of Brooklyn, it felt like a sanctuary: minimalistic but lived-in, with dark wood furniture, shelves lined with old books, framed black-and-white photos, a few of them being Steve's, and soft lighting that bathed the space in warm, golden hues.

There were blankets folded over the back of his couch, plants that looked surprisingly healthy, and a record player in the corner with a small stack of vinyls beside it. The scent of sandalwood lingered in the air—warm, masculine, grounding.

“Bathroom’s through there,” Bucky said gently, “and the guest room’s yours for as long as you want it.”

You nodded, wiping your face with your sleeve.

He handed you a folded pile of clothes—one of his blue Henley shirts and a pair of grey boxer briefs that would sit loosely on your frame.

“You can sleep in these,” he said. “I’ll set up fresh towels, and if you need anything—anything—you come get me.”

You changed in the bathroom, staring at yourself in the mirror. The bruises on your neck looked even more vibrant in the soft light. You touched them lightly, then pulled Bucky’s shirt over your head. It was warm from his hands, and it smelled like cedar and something unmistakably him.

You sank into the bed that night with clean sheets, the window cracked open just enough to let in the cool night air. Bucky’s home felt quiet in a way yours never had. Not silent from tension—but peaceful. The kind of quiet that comes with safety.

You curled into the soft mattress, wrapped in a blanket that smelled faintly like him, and for the first time in two years, you slept without fear.

Safe. Protected. Free.

You woke up with a gasp.

The remnants of the nightmare clung to you like cobwebs—suffocating and sticky. Flashes of fists in the dark. That voice slithering in your ear, venomous and cruel. The oppressive weight on your chest, the cold dread of being trapped with no way out.

Your heart thundered, breath tearing in and out of your lungs like you were still running, still being chased. Your skin was damp with sweat, your hands shaking uncontrollably as you pushed the covers away and bolted upright in bed.

The room swam around you—familiar and unfamiliar all at once. Dimly lit by the glow of a streetlamp outside, walls painted in shadow. The silence rang too loud.

You couldn’t stay.

Before you even registered the movement, your bare feet found the cool hardwood floor, each step down the hallway echoing softly. You didn’t knock. You didn’t need to.

Bucky’s door was cracked open.

He was awake. Sitting at the edge of his bed, elbows braced on his knees, his metal hand cradling the back of his neck like it ached. He looked like he hadn’t slept at all. The soft light from the city cast silver lines across the sharp angles of his face, tracing the tension in his jaw, the furrow of his brow.

Your voice trembled, more breath than sound. “I had a nightmare.”

His head snapped up immediately, eyes locking onto yours. The shift was instant—soldier to protector. In two strides, he was in front of you.

“Hey,” he murmured, voice low and soothing. “You’re okay. I’m right here.”

His hands came to your shoulders—not forceful, just present. Anchoring. His touch was warm and steady, and it sent a tremor through you that wasn’t from fear this time, but release. Like your body finally allowed itself to feel how shaken you were.

Your lip quivered. “Can I stay?”

He nodded before you even finished the question. “Always.”

You didn’t hesitate. The bed welcomed you like a long-lost memory—soft sheets, a comforting dip in the mattress, the faint scent of his soap clinging to the pillow.

You curled into the center of it, small and tentative, feeling like a ghost of yourself. Like you might disappear if the shadows swallowed you up again.

Bucky moved with care. He didn’t rush. He pulled the blanket up over your trembling frame, tucking it gently around your shoulders. Then he slid into the bed behind you, close but not suffocating, the heat of him already beginning to thaw something frozen inside you.

His arm hovered behind you for a moment. He didn’t assume. Didn’t take. Just waited.

When you shifted ever so slightly—just enough for your back to press lightly against his chest, his arm came around you. A quiet, protective barrier. His metal fingers splayed carefully against your stomach, grounding you in the here and now.

You exhaled a shaky breath, your eyes slipping shut for the first time all night. The tension in your body began to unwind, thread by thread. His scent, clean and faintly earthy filled your nose, mingling with the sound of his heartbeat against your spine and the steady rhythm of his breathing.

And then he whispered it, his voice barely brushing your ear, soft and sure and steady.

“I’ve got you.”

The words sank into your skin like warmth, like truth. No promises he couldn’t keep. No hollow reassurances. Just a vow, solid and unspoken, in the way he held you like you were something worth protecting.

You blinked slowly, a tear slipping free and soaking silently into the pillow.

For the first time in as long as you could remember, you believed it.

You were safe.

Not because the nightmares were gone—but because Bucky was here when they came.

The morning sun filtered gently through the blinds of Bucky’s apartment, casting warm strips of gold across the hardwood floors.

For the first time in over a year, you hadn’t woken up with your heart pounding in fear. No yelling, no slamming doors. Just the subtle hum of city life beyond the window, and the distant sizzle of bacon in a skillet.

You padded out of the bedroom in Bucky’s oversized shirt and boxers, clutching the sleeves around your palms. The faint scent of him lingered in the fabric—cedar-wood, leather, and something warm, like late summer.

Bucky stood by the stove, his hair damp from a quick shower, grey T-shirt clinging to the breadth of his shoulders. When he heard your footsteps, he turned slightly and gave you a soft smile.

“Hey, sweetheart” he murmured, voice low and scratchy from sleep. “Hope you’re hungry.”

You nodded, grateful, eyes stinging. It was in the little things—the way he slid a cup of coffee toward you without asking how you liked it, because he already remembered. 

Later that day, the team found out.

Yelena had noticed first. She cornered Bucky in the Watchtower’s armoury after morning briefings. “What’s going on with (y/n)?” she demanded, arms crossed, eyes sharp. “She barely said five words. She jumped when Alexei dropped his water bottle. I know bruises when I see them.”

Bucky hesitated, jaw tightening. But when Yelena added, softer this time, “I care about her too,” he gave her the truth.

Word spread in a ripple. Quiet, but powerful. By the end of the day, the team was different.

It started with your phone. You were sorting through mission reports in the comms room when it buzzed beside you, and you flinched hard enough to drop a pen because without looking, you already knew who it was. Him.

John, usually, cocky caught the look on your face and immediately picked the phone up himself.

“Give me your passcode,” he said steadily.

You hesitated. “Why?”

“Because if this asshole’s still texting you, I’m blocking him. And if he’s tracking you, we’re disabling it right now.”

You blinked at him, lip trembling. John just held your gaze, patient. Protective.

“Okay,” you whispered.

Ten minutes later, your ex was blocked. His number, email—gone. John handed the phone back like it weighed nothing, but you knew it had been a thousand-pound chain.

Bob, quiet and sweet, began programming something on the side—a digital firewall. One you didn't even ask for, but he gave it to you anyway.

“If he tries anything online, you’ll be notified. But he won’t get through. I made sure of it.”

You could’ve cried.

Ava began walking with you more often. No words. Just always there—on your way to the labs, when you stopped by the kitchen, even when you headed out to grab lunch across the street.

“I know what it’s like,” she said one day while the two of you sat on a park bench eating sandwiches. “To feel hunted.”

You looked at her, stunned. Her face was unreadable, but her hand brushed yours for a moment, just enough to remind you that you weren’t alone.

Then there was Alexei. Loud, boisterous, intimidating. He walked into the common area one afternoon with three grocery bags in hand and plopped them dramatically onto the table.

“You like those little orange cracker fish?” he boomed showing you the goldfish crackers he had gotten. “I bought five bags. And some juice. Juice is important.”

You stared at him, stunned.

“I don’t—”

“Shush little one,” he said, winking. “You part of us. Thunderbolts always feed Thunderbolts.”

Your laugh broke out before you could stop it. It felt foreign. Strange. 

But real.

Alexei beamed like he’d won a medal.

Slowly but surely, the team wrapped you in something new. Something stronger than fear. Stronger than pain.

When you needed to go to the mall for more clothes—things that weren’t tainted with memories—Yelena and Bob went with you.

Yelena stuck close to your side, pretending to be indifferent but always scanning the crowd. Bob carried all the bags with a goofy grin. He even helped pick out a new hoodie. It was soft and warm and maroon.

“You should feel safe in your skin,” Yelena said simply, handing you a matching beanie. “Even if you’re still growing into it.”

Back at the Watchtower, life began to feel... lighter.

You started laughing again. At Alexei's terrible jokes, at Yelena’s savage sarcasm, at Bob’s quiet mutterings when tech didn’t work. Even John, in all his arrogance, could make you smile.

There was a movie night every Friday now and Bucky always sat next to you, sometimes with a pillow between you both to give space, other times with his shoulder a solid warmth at your side. You’d found yourself leaning into him more. Not because you had to. But because it felt right.

And he never pushed. Never demanded. Just let you exist next to him. Sometimes he’d hand you a blanket without saying a word. Sometimes he’d offer half his popcorn. Sometimes, his fingers would brush yours, warm and careful, and linger just a second longer than necessary.

You slept more. Ate more. Laughed more.

One day, Ava caught you humming in the hallway, arms full of supplies. She stopped in her tracks.

“What?” you asked.

“You’re glowing,” she said quietly.

You blinked. “I—I am?”

She gave a rare, small smile. “Like someone who remembers what sunlight feels like.”

One night, after Yelena dropped you off, you returned to the apartment Bucky always insisted was open to you. You let yourself in with the spare key. It was late, and he was half-asleep on the couch with a book in his lap. He stirred when you closed the door.

“You okay sweetheart?” he mumbled.

“Yeah,” you said.

He nodded, eyes drifting shut again.

You sat beside him, curling your legs up, and rested your head against his shoulder.

He didn’t move. Didn’t ask. Just reached for the blanket draped over the armrest and pulled it gently over you both.

It was the safest you’d ever felt.

It had started out as a good night.

One of those rare moments where the city lights felt warm rather than harsh, where laughter didn’t feel like something you had to fake.

The team had dragged you out—gently, persistently, lovingly.

“C’mon,” Yelena had said, slinging her arm over your shoulder. “Burgers, milkshakes, greasy fries. We deserve it. You deserve it.”

You hesitated. It had been a while since you went to any public diner. Too many memories. Too many shadows. Too much risk of seeing him.

But tonight? You nodded. Just once. Just enough.

The diner was loud with neon buzz and the clatter of plates, the kind of classic joint with red booths and checkered floors. Bucky slid into the booth beside you while Yelena and John sat across. Bob and Ava took the seats at the edge, Alexei immediately requesting the biggest burger they had.

Jokes flew easily. John was ranting about ketchup crimes. Yelena argued that mayonnaise was the superior condiment. Bob kept trying to order fries but the waitress only seemed to hear Alexei’s booming voice.

You were laughing. Honest, soft laughter that made your chest ache.

Then the door jingled. And just like that, the warmth bled from the room. Laughter dimmed. The sizzle of the grill and clatter of dishes became distant, muffled by the sudden roar of blood in your ears.

Bucky stilled beside you.

Your ex stood in the doorway, flanked by two men you didn’t recognise—thick-necked, sneering types with clenched fists and hooded eyes. But it was him you saw. Him, with that awful smirk, like nothing had changed.

Like he still owned the air you breathed.

Bucky noticed the way your body tensed, your fingers gripping the edge of the table. “Hey—”

Your ex’s eyes landed on you, and he stepped forward, raising his voice.

“Well, look who it is. Didn’t think you’d crawl this far downtown. Guess word spreads when you’re spreading your legs for every man in New York now, huh?”

The sound of the booth creaking was the only warning before Bucky stood.

Yelena’s fork clattered onto her plate.

John was on his feet in seconds, positioning himself directly between you and your ex.

“Take that back,” Bucky growled.

Your ex only sneered, moving closer. “What, you gonna fight me in front of your new playgroup? Cute. Didn’t think the Winter Soldier was into charity cases.”

You flinched.

Bucky didn’t.

“I know what you did to her,” Bucky said, low and lethal.

Your ex chuckled, but there was unease in his posture now. “What? You mean the bruises? Bitch liked it rough. Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed.”

Yelena stood up behind John, her face carved in steel. “The next time you touch her,” she said flatly, “will be the last time you have hands.”

Your ex stepped forward as if to challenge, but John didn’t move an inch. “Try it,” he warned. “Give me a reason.”

You saw it—the twitch in your ex’s jaw, the way he coiled his fist. He swung at Bucky.

But Bucky didn’t just dodge. He caught the punch mid-air.

With his metal hand.

The crunch of bone was audible and a gasp ran through the diner.

Before anyone could react, Bucky gripped your ex by the front of his jacket, lifting him clean off the floor. The metal arm locked around his throat with frightening precision. The air stilled. Your ex's feet dangled.

“If you ever look at her again,” Bucky snarled, voice sharp and shaking with rage, “if you so much as breathe in her goddamn direction—I will rip your spine out and hang it from the Watchtower gates.”

His voice didn’t rise. It didn’t need to. It was full of restrained fury. Of violence barely held back. His eyes had darkened, steel-gray and burning.

Your ex gurgled, his hands clawing at Bucky’s grip.

“Do you understand me?”

A choked nod.

Bucky dropped him like trash.

Alexei stepped forward then, looming over the two henchmen. “You want to try luck?” he asked them casually. “I haven’t punch anything in weeks.”

The men looked at each other, then down at your ex, now coughing on the floor. They backed away.

“You’re not worth it,” one muttered, and the other practically dragged your ex toward the exit.

Your heart was thundering. Your breath short.

Bob slipped into the seat beside you. Ava stood near the door, eyes scanning the street for any lingering threat.

Bucky turned to you, jaw tight, shoulders still trembling with adrenaline. But when he looked at you, his expression softened immediately.

He crouched in front of you, hands open. “You okay?”

You nodded shakily, tears welling.

Yelena handed you a napkin. “He’s gone,” she said quietly. “He’s never coming near you again.”

John was still standing like a human shield, arms crossed.

And Bucky... Bucky cupped your cheek with his hand. It was warm, comforting, his thumb brushing away the tear that escaped.

“He doesn’t get to touch you. Not now. Not ever again.”

You leaned into him, trembling.

“I was so scared,” you whispered, barely audible.

Bucky pressed his forehead to yours. “I know, sweetheart. But it’s over. He can’t hurt you anymore. Not while I’m breathing.”

And for a moment, even in the shattered remains of what should have been a peaceful night, you were wrapped in a shield stronger than steel.

You had them.

You had him.

You were safe.

You didn’t speak on the way home.

No one made you.

Bucky drove, one hand on the wheel, the other occasionally brushing against your thigh—anchoring, grounding. The rest of the team took a second vehicle, giving you space. After what happened, you needed it.

You stared out the window, watching the neon blur into streaks of yellow and red, feeling like you were floating somewhere outside yourself. Somewhere between fear and relief.

The silence between you and Bucky wasn’t heavy—it was steady. Like the calm after a storm. Like quiet waves still curling back from the shore.

When he parked outside the compound, he turned to you slowly.

“Do you want to be alone?”

You shook your head.

He didn’t ask again. Just took your hand gently, led you through the compound, through the hallways, up the stairs. When you reached your room, he hesitated at the door.

“Can I stay?”

You nodded.

Inside, the room felt untouched by the chaos of earlier. Soft lamplight, a rumpled blanket on your bed. Familiar, safe.

You kicked your shoes off and sat on the edge of the bed, fingers twisting in your lap. Bucky crouched in front of you again, like at the diner, his hands resting on your knees.

“You’re not weak for being scared,” he said. “You know that, right?”

Your throat tightened. You nodded.

“But he’s never going to get to you again. I won’t let him. None of us will.”

You looked at him. The way his eyes held yours, soft but strong. The way his presence wrapped around you like armor. The way his touch was always careful, like you were something breakable but worth protecting.

And then you whispered, “I don’t know how to stop being afraid.”

Bucky leaned forward. Pressed his forehead gently to yours.

“You don’t have to. Not right away. But you’re not alone anymore. We’ll fight it together.”

You closed your eyes.

And when he climbed into bed beside you, when his arms wrapped around you and pulled you against the steady thump of his heart, you believed him.

Not because the fear was gone.

But because for the first time in so long, you weren’t carrying it alone.

He pressed a kiss to your temple. Whispered something you didn’t catch—but it didn’t matter.

It sounded like safety.

It felt like home.

a/n: this fic is one i hold close, because i have experienced abuse/dv in my previous relationship, and i had no idea how to leave, and writing this helped, a lot. i do hope that every person that is trapped in this cycle will find their bucky—someone who makes them feel safe and loved. i am grateful i found mine. if you're a victim or know someone who is struggling, please don't be afraid to seek for help. i promise it does get better once you leave. (google dv helpline, your country's hotline should appear)

[corkinavoid]

Hey, @confused-they, this is for you and for everyone else who wanted more of this AU. Merry Christmas.

DPxDC Ring of Rage? More Like Ring of Engage [pt. 4]

[<- part 3 | additional notes ->]

[Written to 'Tantrum' by Ashnikko]

TW: mentioned mild gore (some inside parts become outside ones, nothing graphic)

Tim can't breathe.

Joker's mad laughter is ringing through the darkness of the warehouse, echoing in his head, the screeching sound straight out of nightmares. Hood should be nearby - as in, somewhere in this darkness along with him - but Tim can't think about that, his own maniacal giggles bubbling in the back of his throat, a grin tugging at his lips.

He has to get up. He has to stand, he has to fight, and it really shouldn't be this hard.

But he can't breathe.

Tim clutches his fingers on the fabric of his suit on the chest, distantly wondering if this is how Danny feels when he is more human than ghost. Probably not, he mentioned that breathing is only optional.

He really wants his boyfriend right now. His fiance. Whatever, he wants Danny, he wants his cold hands on his cheeks and the faint, humming purr of his core that Tim finds nice to fall asleep to, and-

Maybe later. He can't exactly summon him now, not in the middle of a fight, especially not in the middle of a fight with Joker of all people.

There's an angry growl somewhere to Tim's left, staticky through the voice-modulator. Then several sounds of gunshots and a gleeful, taunting yell of the madman.

Hold on.

Tim snaps his eyes open - not that anything changes, everything is still pitch-black around him - and blinks.

Why not?..

It's not like Danny is a civilian. Tim tends to pay little attention to the fact since the King of Infinite Realms doesn't hang out with the whole superhero convention on principle. But Tim is pretty sure he won't mind it this once.

Besides, Tim is so done with Joker that it's not even funny.

A few breathy chuckles escape his throat as he lets his body fully slump back on the floor and brings his left hand to his face, placing a quick kiss on the Ring through his glove. He doesn't need to do that, not really, but it's kind of a ritual at this point, and the gesture somehow makes him feel better.

"Danny," he whispers.

For a long moment, nothing happens.

Then, there's a soft, popping sound, and his beautiful boyfriend is floating right over him, faintly glowing and a little sleepy. Tim is momentarily distracted by his bare feet and pj pants with tiny rockets on them.

Danny yawns and tugs the hem of his t-shirt down as it starts to float. "Whas'sup," he mutters, rubbing his eyes and clearly not fully awake, and Tim's heart melts instantly. He loves Danny. He just... He loves him, okay? He loves that Danny didn't question his summons for a moment, he loves that he came even though he was obviously sleeping, and he loves that Danny is wearing a tee he stole from Tim.

Unfortunately, before he is able to get his shit back together, another sound of gunshot ripples through the air, and Danny startles, blinking himself awake and looking in the direction of it. Then, his eyebrows shoot up, and his mouth makes a soft 'O' shape before he turns back to Tim and tilts his head in question.

"You want me to deal with him? The clown, I mean, not your brother," he asks, and it's so casual and off-handed that Tim actually huffs a laugh.

"Sorry, I was just- I'm really tired of his ass," Tim should probably sit up, this is not a talk they should have while he is lying on the ground. On the other hand, Jason is somewhere out there, and he has guns and doesn't have a clear visual around him, so maybe Tim shouldn't sit up.

Danny hums, "Is that a yes?"

Tim just nods. He is pretty sure Danny can see him despite the darkness. "I promise it's a one-time thing, I don't plan on calling you every time one of local lunatics acts up. I just... I fucking can't with him," he admits with a defeated sigh. But, before he can spiral any further into the abyss of unworthiness, Danny's cold hands are cupping his cheeks, and his icy eyes are looking right into Tim's sky blue.

"Love, I don't mind getting rid of each and every one of your Rogues. Granted, it would probably fuck up the timeline, and Clocky would be mad, but I'd do it if you want me to, no questions asked." His voice is quiet, and Tim has never been more grateful for his domino mask, because he can feel his cheeks heating up and he doesn't want Danny to see the exact effect his words are causing.

"I- Okay," he quietly agrees, and then blinks, backtracking, "Wait, no, don't fuck up the timeline. Just deal with the laughing bitch this once, and that's it. We can handle the rest."

Danny is smiling at him in that adoring way Tim recognizes as 'I really want to kiss you, but it's not the time or place'. Then, he nods and lets go of Tim's cheeks, straightening up in the air, and his clothes shift all at once, like a magic trick.

Gone are the stretched out t-shirt and the pants with rocket ships. In their place, Danny's body is head to toe covered in stars and galaxies that hold the vague shape of armor, and there's a slightly shimmering, blueish-green translucent cape over one of his shoulders.

The Crown over his head, the sentient artifact much like the Ring on Tim's finger, appears from nowhere, and, after a brief pause - Tim swears it was debating on whether or not the situation is worth the effort - promptly sets itself on fire. Blue flames cast long shadows on Danny's, no, King's face, making him look older and his cheekbones sharper.

Before, the boy was only faintly glowing, and, evidently, the others present in the warehouse were too distracted to notice him.

But now, with the flaming Crown casting dancing shadows on the walls of the warehouse, it's really hard not to see the otherworldly being making an appearance.

"Holy fuck," Tim hears Hood's quiet, astonished voice, and almost cracks a grin.

Yeah, he wants to say, that's my boyfriend. Although he suspects he and Jason are having vastly different reactions to Danny's presence. Because Tim kind of wants to take all his words about dealing with Joker back and take Danny home, straight to bed.

...He is going to have to strangle Jason in his sleep if his reaction is similar. No, that's a wrong thought, this is so not the time for it.

"Who are you, flying glowstick?" Joker sounds rightfully pissed off by the interruption, "Does Batsy employ alien kids now?"

Danny chuckles, the starry freckles on his cheeks glowing brighter, "Okay, just because you compared me to an alien, I'm not going to completely erase you from this plane of existence."

Tim snaps his head up.

"Wait, no killing," he reminds, not because he actually cares but because B would throw a fit. Danny brushes him off with a wave of his hand.

"No worries, he'll stay alive," he smiles at Tim, and to everyone else, it probably looks like stuff of nightmares, sharp, pointy teeth and lips stretched out far beyond human capabilities. But Tim sees it for what it is: a face of mischief.

"Do I get a vote in this?" Jason's deadpan voice comes from somewhere on the other side of the warehouse at the same moment as Joker screeches in rage, "Who the fuck do you think-"

"Nope," Danny pops the 'p', and Tim is not sure if he is answering to Hood or refusing to listen to the clown's monolog by it. Maybe it's both. It's probably both.

The next moment, Danny is gone, disappeared from the place he was floating at, and Tim hears a wet, very unpleasant sound followed by Joker's scream of pain.

"You see this?" He hears Danny's nonchalant, unfazed voice above the clown's pained cries, "This is your rib, bitch- Hey, quit whining and listen to me, it's important."

There's a slap, a rustle, and a sound of ripping fabric, and Joker's voice becomes muffled, like someone put a gag in his mouth.

"You're like Adam now, you know, lacking one rib," Danny continues, "Only I'm not making you a girl out of this one, I'm pretty sure you don't deserve to reproduce. Anyway, going further down that metaphor, I'm the God almighty in this situation, so if you want to keep the rest of your ribs - and the rest of other things that are supposed to stay inside of you - to yourself, you gotta do a thing for me, okay?"

There's some muffled groans that Joker makes in response, then an enraged growl, a sound of a struggle, another slap, and then that same wet, disgusting squelch.

"Two ribs, wow, okay, you're really being difficult about this!" Danny sounds so innocently dumbstruck about it that Tim suppresses a laugh. "Are you listening now?" There's a quiet, choking wheeze that answers him, and Danny sounds quite pleased when he says, "Great."

Tim debates if he should look. He doesn't exactly want to since the sounds provide enough context, but it might be somewhat cathartic for him.

And then the air around him inexplicably shifts, becoming cold and oppressive, weighting Tim down like a heavy blanket and pushing him into the floor. The dancing shadows and the blue light of flames on the walls twist and churn, like taking aim, and Tim doesn't know what Danny looks like right now but he knows he is as far from human as possible, his voice coming with a staticky, echoing whisper, a threatening hiss slithering inside Tim's ears.

"Play your little games all you want, Fallen Jester, but know that you can not win. The punchline to your joke is long overdue, and your soul has belonged to me for quite some time now," his words are cold and uncaring, and in all the time Tim has known his boyfriend, he has never heard him speak like this: with a sense of lazy power, like he is only humoring the people around him.

Like they mean nothing to him.

"I will not kill you, or at least not here and now. My Guiding Star doesn't want to see my hands dirty with your filthy remains. Besides, death is only a moment, and you don't deserve only a moment of suffering," he huffs a short, humorless chuckle, "But, luckily, I am the Eyes of the Universe, the Titan's Bane, the King of the Dead, and everyone will meet me once their eyes fall shut for the last time," there's a smile in his voice now, full of cold and merciless anticipation. Tim feels a shiver run down his spine.

"So just you wait, Jester, and I will meet you on the other side. Then we'll see how whatever is left of your soul is going to spend an eternity."

Tim's ears are ringing with the pure, somehow gleeful hatred that laces those last words. He didn't know he could literally taste the disgust and the promise of pain, and yet, here he is, with a hint of something sour on his tongue.

And then, the heavy, weighted air that has been charged with power is lifted, the shadows and bright blue lights are all gone, and Danny, wearing his pj's and smiling, is standing over him. His feet are planted on the ground for once, and the Crown is gone without a trace, but his t-shirt is still trying to float up. The boy tugs it down again, offering a hand to Tim.

"Wanna go out for a burger since I'm already here in Gotham?"

Tim had never breathed easier in his life. He laughs a little and reaches up, taking his beautifully unhinged boyfriend's hand and standing up.

"I thought you'd never ask."

[harrysfolklore]

future wife thirsting over landos muscles

OH YOU'VE GOT IT

You're curled up on the couch with Fernando, half-watching Lando's stream on your phone while he sits at his setup across the room. He's wearing that sleeveless shirt that makes his arms look particularly good, and you're finding it increasingly difficult to focus on anything else.

"And this," Lando's saying to his chat, picking up Fernando who has wandered over to him, "is our son, Fernando Russell-Norris. Say hi to chat, Fernando."

The golden retriever gives the camera a thoroughly unimpressed look before trying to lick Lando's face.

"He's camera shy," Lando explains seriously. "Gets it from his uncle George."

Fernando responds by trying to climb fully into Lando's lap, making him laugh as he adjusts his position. The movement makes his arm muscles flex and you bite your lip, heat pooling in your stomach.

"Yes, this is the Fernando that my darling future wife wouldn't let me name Fernando Junior," Lando continues, and you can hear the smile in his voice. "But she did let me pick his bed papaya orange, so I think that's a fair compromise."

You snort at that - you'd only agreed to the orange dog bed because he'd looked at you with those puppy eyes that rival Fernando's.

"What's that, chat?" Lando leans closer to read. "Yes, YN is here. She's pretending not to watch the stream but I know she is. Aren't you, darling?"

You flip him off without looking up from your phone.

"See? She loves me," he grins. "Been loving me since we were teenagers, right darling? Even when she was pretending she didn't."

This time you do look up, ready to protest, but the words die in your throat. He's reaching up to adjust his headset, arm muscles on full display, and your mouth goes dry.

"Chat's asking how I finally got you to admit your feelings," he continues, oblivious to your staring. "Should I tell them about how you couldn't resist my charm any longer? Or about how you finally realized no other man could compare to— darling, why are you looking at me like that?"

You quickly school your expression. "Like what?"

"Like..." he trails off as understanding dawns on his face. A slow smirk spreads across his features. "Oh. Are you thirsting over my arms again?"

"No," you say quickly. Too quickly.

His smirk widens. "Really? Because you've got that look you get when—"

"Lando," you warn, gesturing at his active stream.

"Right, sorry chat," he grins. "Can't tell those stories on stream. But let's just say my darling has a thing for—"

You throw a pillow at him, making Fernando bark excitedly.

"See what I have to put up with?" Lando tells his chat, but he's grinning. "The disrespect in my own home."

"That's it," you stand up. "I'm leaving."

"No!" he says quickly. "Stay. I'll behave. Look, I'm even putting Fernando down."

The dog immediately trots back to you, traitor that he is.

"Betrayed by my own son," Lando sighs dramatically. "He's a mama's boy."

You settle back on the couch, Fernando curling up at your feet. "He just has good taste."

"Unlike his dad?" Lando raises an eyebrow, then flexes deliberately as he reaches for his water bottle.

Your sharp intake of breath must be audible because his smirk returns.

"Everything okay over there, darling?" he asks innocently.

"Fine," you say through gritted teeth. "Perfect. Just wondering how much longer your stream is going to be."

"Why?" he grins. "Got plans for me?"

You stand up again, walking slowly toward him. His eyes track your movement as you lean down to whisper in his ear, careful to stay off camera.

"Keep flexing those arms like that," you murmur, "and you'll find out exactly what plans I have."

You hear his breath hitch.

"Right!" he says quickly to his chat, voice slightly higher than usual. "Think that's enough streaming for today. Fernando needs a walk and I need to... um... help with that. Thanks for watching everyone!"

He ends the stream in record time, turning to you with darkened eyes. "You're evil."

"Am I?" you ask innocently, running your fingers over his exposed bicep. "I'm not the one showing off my arms to thousands of viewers."

"Showing off?" he pulls you into his lap. "I was just wearing a shirt."

"A sleeveless shirt," you correct, tracing the muscle definition. "You know what that does to me."

"Maybe," he admits, then grins. "But in my defense, you're very cute when you get all hot and bothered over my arms."

"I don't get hot and bothered over your arms."

He raises an eyebrow. "No? So you didn't just end my stream early because—"

You cut him off with a kiss, feeling him smile against your lips.

"Still not hot and bothered?" he murmurs when you pull back.

"Shut up," you say fondly. "Or I'll make you sleep in Fernando's papaya orange bed."

"Worth it," he declares, standing up with you still in his arms, making you squeal. "Now, about those plans you mentioned..."

And as he carries you to the bedroom, arms flexing deliberately, you think about how sometimes the best streams are the ones that end early.

Even if your dog judges you for it from his papaya orange bed.

[deadtired-highkeyenergetic]

Secret No More

Summary: The rest of the Thunderbolts* find out that you and Bucky are married.

"So…are they?"

"It definitely seems that way."

"But they could just be really good friends."

"They're far too close to be just really good friends."

You quietly laugh to yourself from the corner where you're hiding, slipping into the kitchen to grab a cup of coffee. All your morning blues have been lifted by the conversation you've accidentally stumbled on, and you couldn't be more grateful to the duo for it.

"They're definitely together. There's no way they aren't." A new voice sounds from the dining room where the conversation is happening. "Have you seen the way Bucky looks at them?"

"I'm sorry I don't stare at the Winter Soldier all day 24/7." You're pretty sure Ava rolled her eyes after that because John lets out a snort of annoyance.

"Careful." A low voice murmurs softly next to you, followed by the warmth of a familiar hand. "Wouldn't want them to find out you're eavesdropping just because you spilled hot coffee all over yourself, would we?"

"Hey Buck." You lean in to press a quick kiss to his cheek after checking that the coast is clear. "Want some?"

"Can't say no to good coffee this early in the morning." He takes a carton of milk from the fridge, pouring in just the right amount in your cup. You pour some coffee in his cup, pushing the packet containing today's beans at him so that he can read what flavours are in the dark liquid before adding sugar to his cup. Two teaspoons, like always. It used to be more but you've been trying to curb his sweet tooth so he's been sulking lately. You would pity the villains he's been fighting but he has been far more effective in bringing them down ever since you cut down his sugar intake so you're not complaining. However, because of that, Bucky has been more picky about what flavour of coffee he drinks, which has made your coffee bean shopping harder.

His arm gently brushes against yours as he takes his cup from you, giving you a soft smile before heading to the dining room , presumably to scare the living daylights out of the group gathered there. You decide to hang around the kitchen first and take stock of what supplies need to be bought, a good move judging from the commotion that's happening in the dining room right now.

"I wasn't informed about any team meeting today." You detect a hint of amusement in Bucky's voice.

"Bucky?!" John exclaims followed by incoherent shouts from the others. "We were uh —"

"Are you and Y/N together?" Bob casually asks, eliciting more exclamations from everyone else. You're pretty sure Yelena just covered Bob's mouth in an attempt to stop him from asking any more questions since his voice becomes muffled but Alexei just continues asking on his behalf, clearly curious.

"Comrade, it is a beautiful relationship, you and Y/N. Why so shy? They are strong, kind, and very hard to replace."

"Alexei! You can't just say someone is hard to replace!"

"But they are! There is no one like comrade Y/N, even if you go to the ends of the world!"

Bucky can't help but chuckle, then he calls for you. "Babe, do we tell them?"

"I don't know, do we?" You step out of the kitchen, trying not to laugh as everyone dissolves into more hysterical screaming. "They don't seem ready for it."

"How long has it been?" Yelena asks. John groans in the background, muttering something about how he should have noticed it earlier with how defensive you were over Bucky back when you first met.

"I think it's been a good few months since we got married?" You frown, pretending to be deep in thought. Bucky bursts out laughing as the rest of the team erupts into even more chaos somehow, with Ava screeching at the top of her lungs, Bob exclaiming about rings, Alexei shouting about how marriage is a beautiful thing, and John face plants the nearest wall. Yelena looks stoned for a while, and then gives up.

"Wait, then why have we never seen your wedding rings?" Bob asks, gesturing wildly at the both of you.

"I can turn things invisible, remember?" You touch Bucky's neck and a gold chain shimmers into view. Bucky lifts the hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to your knuckles before untucking the chain from underneath his shirt, revealing the ring that hangs from it.

"That is such a boring ring," Yelena deadpans. "Couldn't get anything fancier with your Avengers paycheck? How much does Tony Stark pay the Avengers anyways?"

"We decided to keep things simple, or it might get in the way during a fight." You take yours out, letting out a yelp as Bucky yanks you down onto his lap.

"We're going to be here for a long time, might as well get comfortable," he sighs, nuzzling into your hair. You lean against his chest and feel his arms automatically wrap around your waist, securing you to your new spot. "I hope you have more of those coffee beans because I'm going to need more coffee after this interrogation session."

"You don't want to try the other beans?"

"I like the lavender taste," he hums, the sound vibrating in his chest.

"They're so cute together, how did we not notice?" Ava hisses. Yelena shrugs in response. Alexei forces John into a chair and Bob happily takes a seat, clearly excited about the gossip that's to come and your interrogation begins.

"So, when did the two of you first meet?" Bob asks the first question.

"It was when Steve brought me to the safe house you were hiding in during the UN bombing, right?" You turn to face your husband.

"Mmhm." He fiddles with your ring, clearly not paying attention to the interrogation going on.

"Hey, you're not allowed to leave me alone to face all their questions!" You give his cheek a poke and he gives a dramatic groan.

"I signed up for this when I married you, didn't I?" He sighs.

"Yes you did." Your cheeky grin causes the corners of his lips to curve upwards and he pokes you back.

"I suppose there's no escaping this."

The team eagerly lean closer as you detail your first encounter with Bucky, followed by your first date with him and the wedding itself. It was tiring, answering every single question, but fortunately Bucky stepped in every now and then, helping to answer some of them. His ice blue eyes would crinkle in amusement whenever he recounted a funny incident, followed by a teasing poke to your ribs which would cause you to squirm but you can tell he's enjoying himself, remembering all the little moments of light in his life.

You would give anything to make him smile like this more often.

Once the interrogation is over, the team split up, mulling over the new cascade of information they've just received. You, meanwhile, remain in your spot on Bucky's lap, feeling his hand run through your hair.

"I can't believe we managed to hide our marriage from a Widow, a Walmart Captain America, the Russian Captain America and a spy who can phase through walls." You laugh, snuggling against his chest. His steady heartbeat reassures you, reminding you that he's right here, by your side.

"I can. After all, we're the world's greatest assassin and a spy who can turn anything they touch invisible." He smiles softly, turning you around to face him. His hands cup your cheeks, cradling your face and he leans in to kiss you on the lips. "I can finally do this without having to worry about anyone catching us."

"I like that." You pull him into another kiss, savouring the taste of his lips. "Makes mornings less stressful."

"It also means I can constantly hold your hand now." He presses his forehead against yours, closing his eyes. "And tell you how insanely perfect you are."

"Does this mean I can tell you how extremely handsome you are?" You whisper teasingly, unable to contain the smile on your face.

"Always, love. I'll never grow tired of hearing that."

"Get a room!" Bob yells from his hiding spot around the corner. Ava anxiously shushes him but it's too late. You and Bucky turn to see three heads disappear behind the wall, and you scramble to smack said heads but Bucky tugs you back down onto his lap.

"We're claiming the dining room!" He hollers, then gives you a peck on the cheek. "Go find another room!"

"Buck!"

Your husband only laughs in response, hugging you close. "I'm not letting this opportunity go. I already have you here, I'm not moving anywhere."

"Just admit you're too lazy to move back to one of our rooms."

"And risk spilling coffee on the sheets? Never!"

"Oh, but it's fine to spill coffee on your metal arm?"

"That only happened once! And there's always the dishwasher —"

"No! If I ever see your arm in the dishwasher again, I will personally slap you with it!"

"Fineeeeeee." Bucky sighs. "No more metal arm in the dishwasher."

You let yourself flop back onto his chest, basking in his secure embrace as he finishes his cup of coffee and picks up his book to continue reading.

"I like this coffee." He presses his cheek against yours, purposely rubbing the stubble on your skin because he knows he can irritate you like that and get away with it.

"More than me?" You're not sure why you're feeling so playful today, maybe it's because of the weight that has been lifted after telling the rest of the team about your marriage to Bucky.

"Nothing will ever come close to stealing your spot as my number one favourite." He boops you on the nose, dodging your return attempt with his super soldier reflexes and a wide grin. "Try harder, love."

"You're asking for it, James Buchanan Barnes! Now take it like a man!"