#i’ve been trying to figure it out for years

[jupiterpilgrim]

Personal Touch

word count: 11K

Park Jihyo x male reader

commissioned fic

You’re watching Jihyo from across the gym, her ponytail swinging as she fumbles her way through another set on the leg press. She’s got those tight black leggings on, the kind that hug every curve, and a cropped tank top that’s already clinging to her skin with a thin sheen of sweat. She’s been at it for, what, twenty minutes now? Maybe thirty? And it’s painfully clear she doesn’t have a damn clue what she’s doing. The weights clank awkwardly as she pushes them up, her form all over the place—knees wobbling, back arched in a way that’s gonna leave her sore as hell tomorrow. She lets out a frustrated little huff, loud enough for you to hear over the thumping bass of the gym’s playlist, and it’s almost cute how pissed she looks.

She’s only been coming here for a couple weeks, ever since her dance trainer—some tough professional with years of career in the industry—told her she needed to build stamina if she was gonna nail the choreography for her group’s next comeback. Jihyo’s not a quitter, you can tell that much. She’s got this stubborn streak, this fire in her eyes that flares up every time she stumbles and gets back at it anyway. But stubborn doesn’t mean she knows jack about working out. The first time you saw her, she was trying to figure out the rowing machine like it was some alien spaceship, yanking the handle all wrong and nearly toppling off the seat. She laughed it off then, but now? Now she just looks defeated, slumped against the leg press, staring at the ceiling like it’s personally betrayed her.

You’ve been keeping an eye on her—not in a creepy way, just the usual scan you do as a trainer, clocking who’s new, who’s struggling, who’s about to fuck up their spine. She’s definitely in the last category. You’ve seen her type before: idols, dancers, people who think their bodies can just magically adapt to anything because they’re used to grinding out rehearsals. But gym shit? That’s a whole different beast, and Jihyo’s floundering.

She catches you looking—those big, dark eyes locking onto yours for a split second—and her lips twist into this sheepish little grimace, like she knows she’s a mess and hates that you’ve noticed. Then she’s back at it, pushing the weights again, grunting through clenched teeth. Nope, still wrong. Her knees are caving in now, and you’re half a second from walking over there just to save her from herself when she finally throws her hands up and flops back, muttering something, probably a curse, under her breath. She’s got a mouth on her when she’s mad—you’ve heard her drop a few “fuck this” bombs already during her solo sessions.

That’s when she drags herself off the machine, grabs her water bottle, and stomps over to the front desk. You’re wiping down a bench nearby, close enough to catch the tail end of her conversation with the gym manager, a chill dude who’s always got a protein shake in hand. “I need help,” she says, voice low, like she’s admitting defeat but still pissed about it. “I don’t know what I’m doing, and I’m gonna break something if I keep going like this. You got anyone good?”

He glances over at you, smirking like he’s been waiting for this. “Best we’ve got is right there,” he says, jerking his chin your way. “He’ll sort you out.”

Jihyo turns, and you’re already standing there, towel slung over your shoulder, giving her a casual nod. Up close, she’s even prettier than you thought—flushed cheeks, a little mole on her forehead, lips glossy from whatever balm she’s got on. She smells like vanilla and sweat, and it’s doing something to your pulse that you shove down quick.

Professional, man. Keep it professional.

“You’re the trainer?” she asks, sizing you up. There’s this flicker in her eyes—surprise, maybe something else—but she covers it fast, crossing her arms like she’s daring you to prove you’re worth her time.

“Yeah,” you say before telling her your name. “I’ve seen you around. You’re working hard, but, uh… you’re gonna snap something if you keep going like that.”

She snorts, but there’s a tiny smirk tugging at her mouth. “Gee, thanks for the vote of confidence. I'm having trouble with my dance trainer—she’s been riding my ass about stamina. Said I need to stop gassing out halfway through practice. So here I am.”

“Here you are,” you echo, grinning a little. “Look, I can help. We’ll figure out what you need—strength, endurance, whatever—and I’ll make sure you don’t kill yourself doing it. Sound good?”

She hesitates, chewing her lip, then nods. “Fine. But don’t go easy on me just ‘cause I suck at this. I can handle it.”

You laugh—can’t help it. She’s got guts, you’ll give her that. “Oh, I won’t. You’ll hate me by the end of the week.”

“Good,” she fires back, and there’s this spark between you, sharp and electric, gone as quick as it came. She tosses her water bottle into her bag and slings it over her shoulder. “When do we start?”

“Tomorrow,” you say, already mapping out a plan in your head. “Come ready to sweat.”

She gives you one last look—half challenge, half something you can’t quite read—then heads for the door, her hips swaying just enough to make you wonder if she knows you’re still watching. You shake it off, grab the disinfectant spray, and get back to work. Tomorrow’s gonna be interesting.

—

The gym’s buzzing when Jihyo rolls in the next day, a little after noon. The second she steps through the door, your eyes snag on her. She’s got this energy today—bouncy, almost eager—like she’s actually hyped to be here. Her outfit’s a knockout: sleek gray leggings that cling to her thighs like a second skin, a neon pink sports bra peeking out from under a loose black tank that’s cropped just high enough to flash a sliver of toned stomach when she moves. It’s not like she’s trying to show off, but damn, she doesn’t have to try. The way the fabric stretches over her hips, the subtle flex of her calves as she shifts her weight—it’s distracting as hell. You catch yourself staring a beat too long and snap your focus back to the clipboard in your hand, scribbling some bullshit note about reps to look busy.

“Hey,” she says, striding up to you with this easy grin. “Ready to kick my ass?”

“Born ready,” you shoot back, matching her vibe. “You look like you’re in a good mood. Sleep well or something?”

She shrugs, tossing her gym bag down by the mats. “Guess I’m just tired of sucking at this. Figured I’d at least try to keep up with you today.”

You smirk, setting the clipboard aside. “Big talk. Let’s see if you can back it up. We’re focusing on stamina—low weight, high reps, keep you moving. Think you can handle it?”

“Psh, bring it on,” she says, cracking her knuckles like she’s about to step into a fight. It’s cute, honestly, how she’s hyping herself up.

You start her off easy—bodyweight squats, just to get her warmed up. She’s got decent form here, knees tracking over her toes, but her pace is all over the place, rushing through the first set like she’s racing the clock. “Slow it down,” you call out, circling around her. “Controlled, not sloppy. Feel it in your legs, not your ego.”

She rolls her eyes but adjusts, sinking into the next squat with a little more focus. You nod, satisfied, and move her to lunges. That’s where shit starts going sideways. Her back leg wobbles like a newborn foal, and she’s tilting forward so far she’s damn near kissing the floor. You stifle a laugh—she’s trying, you’ll give her that—but this is a mess.

“Hold up,” you say, stepping in. “You’re gonna faceplant if you keep that up. Here—” You move closer, close enough to catch the faint whiff of her shampoo, something sweet like coconut. “Back straight, chest up. Step forward, not down.”

She freezes mid-lunge, frowning. “What’s the difference?”

“Everything,” you say, and before you can overthink it, you’re right behind her, hands hovering near her hips. “Can I?” She nods, quick and sharp, and you settle your palms lightly on her waist, guiding her into the next step. Her body’s warm under your touch, solid but soft in all the right places, and you’re hyper-aware of how close you are—close enough to feel her shift her weight, to see the tiny goosebumps prickling up her arms. You nudge her forward, keeping her posture steady, and she follows your lead, sinking into a shaky but passable lunge.

“Better,” you murmur, stepping back before it gets weird. “Keep that up.”

She glances over her shoulder at you, smirking. “Bossy.”

“Part of the job,” you fire back, keeping your tone light. Professional. Always professional.

Next up’s the plank, and holy shit, it’s worse. She drops into it like she’s seen it on Instagram but never actually tried it—elbows wobbling, hips jacked up to the ceiling, looking more like a tent than a straight line.

You can’t help it; you snort.

“What?!” she snaps, glaring up at you, her face already pink from effort.

“You’re, uh… architecturally challenged,” you say, crouching down beside her. “Hips down, core tight. You’re not trying to moon me here.”

She mutters something—probably “asshole”—but lowers her hips, trembling as she holds it. Still not great. You sigh and slide a hand under her stomach, just enough to press up gently, showing her where her core should kick in. Her tank rides up a little, and you catch a glimpse of smooth skin, the dip of her waist. And then there’s her chest—fuck, it’s impossible not to notice now, the way her sports bra strains against her, the swell of her breasts right there as she shifts to adjust. You yank your eyes away fast, focusing on her shaky arms instead. Keep it together, man.

“Feel that?” you say, voice steady despite the heat creeping up your neck. “That’s where you brace. Hold it there.”

She grunts, nodding, and you pull back, letting her struggle through it. She lasts maybe ten seconds before collapsing onto the mat, laughing through a groan. “I’m so bad at this.”

“You’re not bad,” you lie, grinning. “Just… unpolished. We’ll get you there.”

The session rolls on like that—you calling out reps, her fumbling but pushing through, and you stepping in closer each time her form goes to shit. By the time you’ve got her on the rower, she’s panting, sweat dripping down her neck, soaking into the collar of her tank. You kneel beside her, one hand on her back, the other adjusting her grip on the handle. “Smooth pulls,” you say, your fingers brushing her spine as you straighten her out. “Don’t hunch—use your legs.”

She’s so close now, her breath hitching slightly as she follows your rhythm. You can feel the heat radiating off her, the flex of muscle under your palm. Her eyes flick to yours for a second—just a flash—and there’s something in them, a spark that’s not about the workout. But you let it go, keep your face neutral, and step back once she’s got it.

“See?” you say, wiping your hands on your shorts. “Not hopeless.”

She laughs, slumping over the rower, chest heaving. “Yeah, well, you’re doing all the work here. I’m just trying not to die.”

You grin, tossing her a towel. “You’re tougher than you look. We’ll keep at it tomorrow.”

She wipes her face, peeking at you over the edge of the towel, and there’s that look again—quick, sharp, gone before you can catch it. “Tomorrow, then,” she says, and heads for the locker room, leaving you wondering if you’re imagining the extra sway in her step.

—

Weeks slip by, and the gym becomes your little world with Jihyo. Same time, same routine—her showing up in those killer outfits, you barking orders, her swearing under her breath but pushing through. You’re hands-on, always right there fixing her stance, guiding her hips, pressing her shoulders back. Each session’s a dance of its own, her body brushing against yours just enough to make your pulse jump, but you keep it locked down.

Professional. You’re good at that.

Thing is, you’re not just spotting her anymore. Between sets, you’re talking—real shit, not just gym banter. She’s sprawled on the mat one day, catching her breath, and you ask, “So, what’s it like being up there? All those lights, screaming fans?” She laughs, this low, throaty sound, and spills about the chaos of it all—late nights, jet lag, the adrenaline high that crashes hard. You fire back with your own stories, nothing glamorous, just dumb stuff like the time you nearly dropped a dumbbell on your foot first day on the job. She snorts, calls you a klutz, and it’s easy like that.

Then it shifts. She starts digging too—casual at first. “You got a girlfriend stashed somewhere?” she asks one day, mid-squat, smirking up at you. You dodge it with a grin, “Nah, too busy fixing your form.” She lets it slide, but the questions keep coming. What’s your type? Ever dated someone famous? You toss it back—ask her about the wildest afterparty she’s been to, if she’s ever hooked up with a backup dancer. She winks, says, “Wouldn’t you like to know?” and you’re both laughing, but there’s this undercurrent now, something simmering.

The flirting creeps in slow. She’ll flex a little longer than necessary when you’re watching, catch your eye and hold it a beat too long. One day she shows up in this deep blue sports bra, all plunging lines and tight seams, and asks, “This look okay? Not too much?” You choke on your water, manage a “Looks fine,” but your throat’s dry as hell because it’s not fine—it’s fucking incredible. She clocks it, smirks, and goes about her workout like she didn’t just set your brain on fire.

It’s a Thursday when she drops the bomb. You’re wrapping up, wiping down the bench, when she leans against it, all casual. “Hey, wanna grab a drink tonight? Nothing big, just… unwind.” Her voice is light, but her eyes are steady, locked on yours. You freeze for a second—Jihyo, the Jihyo, K-pop royalty, asking you out? No way you’re saying no. “Yeah, sure,” you say, playing it cool. “Where?”

“My place,” she says, like it’s no big deal. “Less chance of someone snapping a pic. Eight work for you?” You nod, and she’s gone with a little wave, leaving you standing there, half-dazed.

Eight rolls around, and you’re at her door—some swanky high-rise with a view of the city skyline that’d make anyone jealous. She opens it in this oversized tee and shorts, barefoot, hair loose, looking like a goddess who doesn’t even have to try. “Hey, come in,” she says, and you follow her to this plush couch, a bottle of soju and two glasses already on the table. You’re sipping, talking, and it’s easy again—laughing about her tripping over a cable at practice, you admitting you once flexed too hard in the mirror and pulled something. Then she’s leaning in, her hand brushing your arm, and the air shifts.

Next thing you know, she’s kissing you—soft at first, testing, then deeper, hungrier. You’re kissing her back, hands sliding up her back, pulling her closer. She tastes like soju and something sweeter, and when she straddles your lap, her tee rides up, showing off that perfect waist. “Been wanting this,” she murmurs against your mouth, and you’re gone—brain short-circuiting as you tug the shirt over her head, revealing smooth skin and a black bra that’s barely containing her.

You’re at it for hours—her place, yours, doesn’t matter. She’s a fucking dream in bed, all confidence and heat. The way she moves, fluid and sure, like she’s still got that dancer’s rhythm even when she’s riding you, head thrown back, moaning your name. Her body’s unreal—curves that fit your hands like they were made for you, skin so soft it’s criminal. She’s loud too, doesn’t hold back, gasping and cursing in this raw, desperate way that drives you wild. You’re matching her, gripping her hips, thrusting up hard, both of you chasing that high. It’s messy, sweaty, perfect—her nails digging into your shoulders, your teeth grazing her neck, the couch creaking under you.

After, she’s sprawled across your chest, panting, grinning like she’s won something. “We’re keeping this quiet, yeah?” she says, tracing lazy circles on your skin. You nod, still catching your breath. “Yeah, secret’s safe.”

And it is—for weeks, you’re sneaking around, hooking up whenever you can. Her place after a late-night workout, your apartment when her schedule’s clear. She’s insatiable, pulling you into her orbit again and again. Every time, she’s flawless—arching against you, whispering filthy shit in your ear, unraveling in ways that make you want to worship her. You’re addicted, and she knows it, playing you with those sly smiles and teasing touches. It’s your little world, hidden from everyone, and fuck if it isn’t the best thing you’ve ever had.

—

It’s been weeks since you’ve had Jihyo to yourself—her schedule’s been a nightmare, all rehearsals and promo bullshit, leaving you both stuck with quick texts and the occasional late-night call where her voice is all raspy and tired but still manages to get you hard. You’ve been pent up, restless, scrolling through old pics she’s sent—her in that tiny red dress, or that one mirror selfie with nothing but a towel—and it’s been hell. Today, though, she’s finally here, strutting into the gym like she owns it.

The first thing Jihyo does is head straight to the hallway to store her bag in one of the lockers where the showers are. She’s in this black two-piece set—sports bra tight enough to make you dizzy, leggings that hug her ass so perfectly it’s obscene. Her hair’s up in a messy bun, a few strands sticking to her neck, and she’s got this glint in her eye, like she knows exactly what she’s doing to you. You’re behind the counter when she walks up, leaning over it just enough to give you a peek down her top. “Miss me?” she says, voice low, lips curling into this wicked little smile.

“More than you know,” you mutter, gripping the edge of the counter to keep your hands off her right there. She laughs, soft and teasing, and you’re already counting the seconds until you can get her alone.

The workout starts normal enough—stretches, some light cardio, you playing it cool while she bounces on the treadmill, every step making her chest jiggle in ways that should be illegal. But she’s not letting it stay normal. She’s brushing past you too close when she grabs her water, her hip grazing your crotch just long enough to make you twitch. Then it’s the squats—she’s facing you, sinking low, holding your gaze like she’s daring you to break. “How’s my form?” she asks, all innocent, but her tongue flicks over her bottom lip, and you know she’s fucking with you.

“Good,” you manage, voice tight. “Real good.” She smirks, turns around, and bends just a little deeper, ass popping out like a neon sign screaming touch me. You’re horny as hell, and she’s matching it—every move she makes is deliberate, dripping with intent.

By the time you’ve got her on the leg press, you’re done playing. She’s pushing the weight up, thighs flexing, grunting these tiny, breathy sounds that shoot straight to your dick. You step in close—closer than you need to—hands on her knees, adjusting her angle. “Keep ‘em steady,” you say, but your fingers linger, sliding up her thighs a fraction, and she doesn’t push you away. Instead, she tilts her head, locks eyes with you, and lets out this slow, “You gonna keep teasing, or do something about it?”

That’s it. The gym’s quiet—late at night, hardly anyone around—and you’re buzzing with this reckless, aching need. “Fuck it,” you say, voice low. “There’s a spot out back—employee storage room. No one’s in there. Wanna sneak off?” Her eyes light up, pupils blown wide, and she’s off the machine in a heartbeat, wiping sweat off her forehead with this sly, “Lead the way.”

You’re quick about it—grabbing her wrist, weaving through the gym like you’re just showing her something routine. Past the lockers, down the hall, your heart’s hammering because this is dumb as hell, but the thrill’s got you stupid. The storage room’s tucked behind a staff-only sign, all dim lights and stacked equipment—mats, spare weights, a busted rowing machine in the corner. You shove the door open, pull her in, and lock it behind you, the click loud in the quiet.

She’s on you before you can even turn around—hands fisting your shirt, yanking you into a kiss that’s all teeth and heat. “Been thinking about this all day,” she breathes against your mouth, already tugging at your waistband. You groan, shoving her back against a stack of mats, her gasp sharp and dirty as you grind against her. Her leggings are peeled down fast—your fingers hook in, dragging them past her knees, and she’s kicking them off, desperate, the sneakers getting in the way, while you shove your shorts down just enough.

She’s soaked—you can feel it when your hand slips between her thighs, rubbing her through her panties before you push them aside. “Fuck, you’re wet,” you mutter, and she just moans, loud and shameless, arching into your touch. Then you turn her around and push her against the mats, leaving Jihyo with her back to you. You line up, push in slow at first, watching her face—eyes fluttering shut, lips parting with this soft, “Oh shit,” that makes your blood roar.

Then it’s on.

You’re fucking Jihyo from behind, her ass bouncing against your hips with every thrust, and she’s loud as hell—moaning like she’s trying to wake up the whole damn building. “Fuck, I missed this cock so much,” she gasps out, voice all shaky and wrecked, her hands braced against the stack of mats like they’re the only thing keeping her upright. You grin, gripping her hips tighter, feeling her clench around you. “Yeah? Well, I missed this pussy—been driving me fucking crazy thinking about it,” you growl back, picking up the pace just to hear her whimper.

Her top’s still clinging to her, soaked with sweat, and you can’t resist anymore. You reach around, yank it up over her chest, and those heavy, perfect tits spill out, jiggling with every slap of your hips. “Shit, missed these too,” you say, half-laughing, reaching down to grab a handful, squeezing just hard enough to make her groan. They’re soft, warm, and you’re losing your damn mind over how good she feels, inside and out.

You’re both going at it hard, the storage room echoing with the wet smack of skin and her breathy little curses, but it’s cramped as fuck against the mats. “Hold up,” you pant, slowing down, “we gotta get more comfortable or I’m gonna bust something.” You pull out—her little whine at the loss almost kills you—and spin around, snagging one of the thick gym mats from the pile. You toss it down with a slap on the concrete floor, kicking some random crap out of the way. Jihyo doesn’t waste a second—she’s on her back in a flash, taking off her panties and the top, legs now spread, looking up at you with those dark, needy eyes, chest still heaving.

You drop down over her, crashing your mouth against hers, kissing her sloppy and deep, tongues tangling like you’re starving for it. Her hands are all over you—nails digging into your shoulders, tugging at your hair—while you grind against her, letting her feel how hard you still are. You break the kiss, smirking, sliding down just enough to get between her thighs again. She’s soaked, glistening, and you’re lining up, ready to sink back in, when something shifts behind you—like a shadow or a vibe you can’t ignore.

Jihyo gasps, loud and sharp, and scrambles to cover her tits with her arms, eyes wide as saucers. You whip your head around, heart jumping into your throat, and there they are—your two buddies, Jihoon and Minho, standing in the doorway like they just walked into a goddamn porno. “What the fuck?!” you yelp, adrenaline spiking, dick still out and everything. You’re half-expecting a fistfight or some shit, but Jihoon’s holding up his hands, all chill, while Minho’s grinning like an idiot.

“Relax, man,” Jihoon says, voice low like he’s trying not to spook you. “We’re not here to fuck you up.”

“How the hell’d you get in here?” you snap, pulling your shorts up just enough to not feel totally exposed. Jihyo’s still curled up, clutching her chest, looking mortified.

Minho jingles a key between his fingers, smirking. “Spare, dude. Perks of being on shift rotation.”

“And, uh,” Jihoon cuts in, scratching the back of his neck, “we saw you two on the security cam. Figured you’d want a heads-up before the boss checks the tapes and you’re toast.”

You blink, brain catching up. “Wait, there’s a fucking camera in here? Since when?”

“Last week,” Minho says, shrugging. “You were off that day. They put it in ‘cause some asshole kept swiping protein bars from the stash. Didn’t think you’d be the first one caught with your pants down.”

Jihyo’s face goes pale, and she sits up, tugging her top back down over her tits. “Oh my God, the footage—if that gets out, my career’s fucking done. Dispatch’ll have my head, the fans’ll riot—”

“Whoa, whoa,” Jihoon interrupts, stepping closer. “Chill, princess. We’ve got access to the system. We’ll wipe it clean, no trace. You’re safe.”

She exhales hard, shoulders slumping, and mutters a shaky, “Thanks, you guys. Seriously.”

You’re still processing, adrenaline fading into this weird mix of relief and horniness that hasn’t fully died down. You glance at them, then at Jihyo sprawled on the mat, and back to them. “Alright, well, since you’re here… might as well let us finish what we started, yeah?”

Minho’s eyebrows shoot up, and Jihoon lets out a low whistle. “Dude, you’re still good to go after that? Balls of steel.”

You shrug, smirking despite the chaos. “Caught red-handed already—what’s the difference now? She’s hot, I’m hard, let’s roll.”

That’s when Jihyo’s eyes flick over to Minho, lingering on the obvious bulge straining against his gym shorts. She tilts her head, lips curling into something mischievous. “Wait a sec—were you two getting off on the show back there?”

Minho freezes, face going red, but Jihoon just laughs, scratching his jaw. “I mean… you’re fuckin’ hot, Jihyo. Hard not to notice.”

She looks at you, that spark back in her eyes, and you’re not sure what’s coming next until she says, “Well, where are your manners, babe? Why don’t you invite your friends to join us?”

You choke on your own spit, head snapping to her. “You’re serious?”

She leans back on her elbows, smirking like she’s got all the power in the room—and fuck, maybe she does. “Yeah, why not? They’re hot. You’re hot. I’m down if they are.”

Your brain’s short-circuiting, but you turn to Jihoon and Minho, who are staring at each other like they just won the lottery and don’t know how to cash the ticket. “Uh… you guys in?”

Jihoon’s grin spreads slow and wide. “Hell yeah, man.”

Minho nods fast, already tugging at his shirt. “Fuck it, let’s do this.”

Jihyo laughs. “Alright, boys, strip down and get over here. We’ve got some catching up to do.”

Jihoon and Minho step up, peeling off their shirts and shorts like they’re racing each other, tossing the sweaty gym gear into a pile by the busted rowing machine. You’re still on the mat, Jihyo sprawled beside you, and you’re all just staring for a second.

“Alright, so… how’s this gonna go down?” you ask, voice rough, trying to wrap your head around the fact this is actually happening. Your dick’s still throbbing, aching to get back inside her, but now there’s two extra players in the game.

Jihyo sits up, grinning like she’s already got it all figured out. “We’re switching it up. You’re on the bottom, babe, lie back. I’m riding you, but I’m gonna stick my ass out for these guys.” She pauses, catching Jihoon’s eye. “Never taken it in the ass before, though, so let’s start slow. Fingers first, yeah?”

Jihoon nods, licking his lips like he’s been handed a winning ticket. “Fuck yeah, I’ve got you. We’ll ease into it.”

You finally get rid of your shorts and Minho’s already shuffling forward, positioning himself in front of Jihyo, his cock bobbing heavy and thick right at her eye level. She doesn’t hesitate—wraps her fingers around it, light but firm, giving it a slow stroke that makes him groan low in his throat. “Damn, Minho,” she purrs, voice all husky and teasing, “this is a nice fucking cock. Thick, too—gonna feel so good in my mouth.”

You’re flat on your back now, the mat cool against your skin, and Jihyo swings a leg over you, straddling your hips. Her pussy’s still slick, dripping from earlier, and she lines herself up, sinking down onto your cock with this slow, deliberate roll of her hips that makes you curse under your breath. “Fuck, you’re so tight,” you mutter, hands clamping onto her thighs as she settles, her weight pressing you deeper inside her.

She leans forward just enough to stick her ass out, cheeks round and perfect, wiggling it a little like she’s daring Jihoon to make his move. He doesn’t fuck around—steps up behind her, hands spreading her ass wide, thumbs digging into the soft flesh. “Goddamn, look at this,” he says, voice low and gravelly, before he spits right on her hole, a thick glob that glistens in the dim light. Jihyo shivers, a little “mmh” slipping out as he rubs it in with his thumb, circling her tight entrance, teasing it open slow.

“Feel good?” Jihoon asks, smirking, and she nods, biting her lip hard.

“Yeah, keep going,” she breathes, already rocking on you a little, her pussy clenching around your dick like a vise.

Up front, Minho’s got his hands in her hair, guiding her down as she parts her lips and takes him in. She starts slow, tongue flicking over the tip, tasting him, before sliding deeper, hollowing her cheeks as she sucks. Minho groans loud, head tipping back. “Holy shit, Jihyo—fuck, that mouth.”

You’re thrusting up into her now, matching her rhythm, the wet slap of your hips against hers filling the room. She’s moaning around Minho’s cock, muffled and sloppy, spit dripping down her chin as she bobs her head. Jihoon’s working her ass with one finger now, pushing past the tight ring slow and careful, and you can feel her tense up, her pussy gripping you even harder. “Relax,” Jihoon murmurs, free hand rubbing her lower back, “I’ve got you, just breathe.”

She does, exhaling shakily through her nose, and you can tell she’s getting into it—her hips start moving faster, grinding down on you while Jihoon adds a second finger, stretching her out. “Fuck, that’s tight,” he grunts, scissoring his fingers a little, and Jihyo pulls off Minho for a second, gasping.

“Shit, Jihoon—feels weird but good,” she pants, before diving back onto Minho, sucking harder like she’s channeling it all into him.

You’re losing your mind under her, the heat of her pussy, the way she’s bouncing on you, tits swaying with every thrust. You slide your hands up, cupping them, thumbs flicking over her nipples—hard and pebbled—and she moans louder around Minho, the sound vibrating through him till he’s gripping her hair tighter, fucking her mouth shallow and quick.

Jihoon’s got a rhythm going now, fingers pumping steady, and Jihyo’s ass is loosening up, taking it like she’s been waiting for this. “Ready for more?” he asks, voice rough, and she pulls off Minho again, nodding fast, spit stringing from her lips to his cock.

“Yeah, keep going—want it,” she says, all breathy and wrecked, before swallowing Minho down again, deeper this time, gagging a little but not stopping.

Finally, he pulls his fingers out, and Jihyo lets out this shaky, needy sound around Minho’s dick that makes your pulse jump. Jihoon spits into his palm, a thick wad, and slicks it over his cock—already hard as steel, veins bulging, tip flushed dark. He spits again, right onto her gaping hole, watching it clench and unclench like it’s begging for him. “Alright, baby,” he says, low and gritty, “time to open you up for real.”

He lines up, pressing the head against her ass, and even with all the prep, it’s a fucking fight—her rim’s so tight it barely budges. Jihyo tenses, pulling off Minho with a wet pop, gasping, “Slow, slow—fuck, go slow.” Jihoon nods, one hand gripping her hip, the other guiding his dick, and he pushes—just the tip at first, breaching her with this agonizing, deliberate pressure. She yelps, sharp and raw, her whole body locking up, and you feel it—her pussy clamps down on you like a vise, making you hiss through your teeth.

“Relax, Ji,” you murmur, sliding your hands up her sides, thumbs brushing the undersides of her tits, trying to ground her. “You’ve got this.”

She nods, quick and jerky, sucking in a breath as Jihoon inches deeper, his cock disappearing bit by bit into her ass. “Holy shit,” he groans, head tipping back, sweat beading on his forehead. “Like a fuckin’ vice grip—Jesus.” He’s going slow like she asked, but you can see the strain in his jaw, the way his fingers dig into her flesh—he’s dying to just ram it home.

Jihyo’s got her eyes squeezed shut, lips parted, panting hard as her body adjusts. You start moving again, shallow thrusts up into her pussy, keeping her full from below while Jihoon works her from behind. Minho’s not waiting around—he taps his cock against her cheek, smearing pre-cum and spit across her skin. “Open up, gorgeous,” he says, and she does, tongue flicking out to taste him before he slides back in, filling her mouth again.

Now she’s stuffed—all three holes, proper fucked like some kind of porn fantasy come to life. You’re pounding up into her pussy, feeling the heat of her walls ripple every time Jihoon shifts in her ass. It’s a tight fit—too tight, almost—like her body’s not sure it can handle this much, but she’s taking it anyway, rocking between you, her moans turning into these desperate, throaty cries that Minho’s dick only half-smothers.

Jihoon’s picking up the pace now, still careful but deeper, his balls brushing your thighs as he sinks halfway into her ass. “Fuck, she’s loosening up,” he grunts, spitting again where they’re joined, making it slicker. You can see it—his cock stretching her rim, the skin pulled taut, pink and shiny with spit and friction. Jihyo’s trembling, her tits bouncing with every thrust, nipples hard and dark, begging to be touched. You grab one, pinching it between your fingers, and she arches, a high whine breaking free around Minho’s shaft.

And he is losing his damn mind up there—his hips twitch, fucking her face in short, sloppy thrusts, his cockhead hitting the back of her throat till she’s gagging, tears prickling her eyes. “Goddamn, this mouth—fuck, Jihyo, you’re killing me,” he rasps, pulling out just long enough to let her cough, spit stringing from her lips to his tip, before he’s back in, chasing that wet heat.

You’re synced up now, you and Jihoon—when he pushes in, you pull back, then switch, keeping her full, keeping her guessing. Her pussy’s dripping, soaking your hips, the mat, everything—slick and hot, squelching loud with every thrust. You can feel Jihoon through the thin wall between you, his cock rubbing against yours inside her, and it’s fucking wild—intense, dirty, like you’re sharing her in ways you never imagined.

Jihyo pulls off Minho again, gasping for air, her face a mess—cheeks flushed, mascara smudged, spit glistening on her chin. “Oh my God—fuck, you guys—it’s so much,” she chokes out, voice hoarse but dripping with lust. She’s shaking, thighs quivering, but she doesn’t tell you to stop—just leans forward, kissing you hard, all teeth and tongue, while Jihoon keeps grinding into her ass.

“Too much?” you ask against her mouth, smirking, thrusting harder to test her.

“No,” she fires back, fierce, nipping your lip. “More—fucking give me more.”

Jihoon laughs, low and dark, smacking her ass lightly—red blooms under his palm, and she yelps, clenching around you both. “Greedy little thing,” he says, then slides deeper, almost all the way in now, his hips flush against her. She screams, muffled quick as Minho shoves his cock back in her mouth, holding her head steady while he fucks her throat.

The room’s a furnace—sweat’s dripping off you, off her, off them, the mat slick under your back. Your hands roam her body—tits, hips, the soft curve of her belly—feeling every shudder, every tense. Her ass is bouncing now, Jihoon’s fully in, his thrusts long and slow, stretching her out while you hammer up into her pussy, fast and rough.

You’re all going at Jihyo like she’s some kind of dirty dream come to life, this K-pop diva turned full-on slut in your hands. She’s moaning like a goddamn porn star, muffled around Minho’s shaft, her tits bouncing wild with every thrust, nipples brushing your chest as she rocks between you. Jihoon’s got her ass in a death grip, slamming in deep, his hips smacking her cheeks so hard the sound bounces off the cinderblock walls. “Fuck, this tight little hole—Park Jihyo, man, who’d have thought?” he pants, voice all gravel and awe, like he’s still processing that he’s balls-deep in a K-pop goddess. His thrusts are steady, relentless, splitting her open while you pound up into her pussy, feeling her walls flutter and squeeze like she’s trying to crush you. Minho’s up front, one hand tangled in her messy bun, the other braced against the stack of mats as he fucks her face, spit bubbling at the corners of her mouth, her eyes watering.

“Bro, this is insane,” Minho grunts, pulling out just enough to let her gasp, her lips swollen and glossy, before sliding back in. “Fucking Jihyo—Twice’s Jihyo—like she’s some cheap whore. I’ve been stanning her since ‘Cheer Up,’ and now she’s gagging on my dick.”

You smirk, hands digging into her hips as you thrust harder, making her whole body jolt. “Yeah, well, I’ve been hitting this for weeks, dude. Secret’s been worth it—her pussy’s fucking unreal.”

Jihoon laughs, a dark, filthy sound, smacking her ass again—red handprints layering over her skin. “You lucky bastard! Keeping this goddess under wraps? I’d have been bragging day one.”

Jihyo pulls off Minho with a wet pop, coughing, voice hoarse but dripping with sass. “Keep talking like I’m not here, assholes—I’m the one taking all your cocks.” She grins, then dives back onto Minho, sucking him down like she’s proving a point. You feel her clench around you, loving the dirty praise, the way you’re all losing your minds over her.

“Let’s switch it up,” you say, voice rough, pulling out of her pussy with a slick, obscene sound that makes her whimper. “New holes, new vibes—let’s keep this shit fresh.”

She nods, eager, wiping spit off her chin as you all shuffle around on the mat. You lie back, pulling her on top of you again, but this time you’re aiming for her ass—Jihoon’s already stretched it good, and you want in. She straddles you reverse, facing Minho, her ass hovering over your cock as you spit on your hand, slicking yourself up. Jihoon steps up front, claiming her pussy, while Minho stands close to her face, ready to stuff her mouth again.

You grip her cheeks, spreading them wide, and guide her down slow—her ass is still tight as fuck, even after Jihoon’s work, and the way it grips you as you sink in has your head spinning. “Holy shit, Ji,” you groan, watching her rim stretch around you, pink and shiny, “this ass is something else.” She hisses at the burn, but keeps going, sinking lower till you’re buried to the hilt, her body shaking against you.

Jihoon’s already sliding into her pussy, his cock pushing through her soaked folds, and she moans loud, head tipping back. “Fuck—two at once again, you guys don’t play,” she gasps, voice cracking as Jihoon starts thrusting, shallow and fast, stretching her cunt while you rock up into her ass, slow and deep to counter him. Minho grabs her jaw, tilting her head forward, and she opens wide, letting him fill her mouth again, his tip hitting her throat with a wet gurgle.

Now it’s a whole new beast—her ass is tighter than her pussy, hotter, the pressure unreal as you fuck up into it, feeling Jihoon’s cock rubbing through the thin wall separating you. He’s grunting with every thrust, her pussy dripping down his balls, smearing onto your thighs. “Man, this angle—her cunt’s hugging me so damn good,” he mutters, eyes locked on where he’s disappearing inside her, her lips puffy and slick around him.

Minho’s got her face in a vice, hips snapping forward, his cock sliding past her tonsils till she’s drooling all over him, spit dripping down her chest, coating her tits in this glossy mess. “Look at her, dude,” he says, voice shaky with lust, “fucking Park Jihyo—queen of K-pop—taking it like a street girl. I’ve jerked off to her fancams a hundred times, and now I’m wrecking her throat.”

You thrust harder, making her bounce, her ass cheeks jiggling against your hips. “Yeah, and I’ve been railing her on the DL this whole time,” you fire back, smirking. “You don’t even know—her stamina’s insane. She’s a freak behind closed doors.”

Jihyo pulls off Minho, laughing through a moan. “You’re all obsessed—fuck, keep going, don’t stop.” She dives back onto him, sucking harder, her tongue swirling around his shaft like she’s starving for it. Her ass clenches around you, tighter every time Jihoon slams into her pussy, and you can feel every twitch, every pulse.

The new position’s got her body on full display—tits swaying, sweat streaking down her spine, her thighs flexing as she balances on you. You grab her hips, guiding her up and down your cock, loving the way her ass swallows you whole, the slide slick and hot. Jihoon’s hands are all over her front, pinching her nipples, making her yelp into Minho’s crotch, her cries vibrating through him till he’s gripping her hair tighter, fucking her face with zero restraint.

“Shit, this is a fucking masterclass,” Jihoon says, voice low, almost reverent, as he pounds her pussy, the wet smack of his hips against hers loud and lewd. “Never thought I’d be learning how to fuck from Jihyo herself—K-pop royalty turned cockslut.”

Minho nods, dazed, his hands trembling as he holds her head. “Yeah, man, she’s the dream—those vocals, that face, and now this? Bro, you’ve been living the goddamn fantasy.”

You grin, thrusting deeper, making her scream around Minho’s dick. “What can I say? She picked me first—guess I’ve got the magic touch.” You smack her ass, hard, leaving a fresh red mark, and she bucks against you, driving you even deeper.

“Yo, let’s flip it,” Minho says, pulling out of her mouth with a sloppy, wet sound, his cock glistening with her spit, veins popping like he’s barely holding it together. “I want a piece of that pussy—Jihoon, you take her mouth.”

Jihoon grins, wiping sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand. “Fuck yeah, been dying to feel that tongue on me.” He slides out of her cunt, leaving it dripping and pulsing, a slick trail of her juices stringing from his tip to her lips as he steps back. Jihyo gasps, catching her breath, her chest heaving—those heavy tits rising and falling fast, nipples dark and stiff. She licks her lips, smirking, like she’s ready for whatever’s next.

You keep her steady, hands clamped on her ass cheeks, spreading them wide as you thrust up into her, slow and deep, savoring the way her hole stretches around you. Minho’s already moving, stepping up between her legs, his cock bobbing heavy and thick, shiny with her spit and his own pre-cum.

Minho grabs her thighs, yanking them apart like he’s claiming territory, his fingers digging into her soft flesh. “Fuck, look at this—pussy’s begging for it,” he says, voice low and hungry, rubbing his tip against her folds, teasing her clit till she squirms. She’s soaked, dripping down onto your hips, and he doesn’t wait—just plunges in, hard and fast, filling her cunt with one brutal thrust. Jihyo cries out, sharp and loud, her body jolting against you, making your cock twitch inside her ass.

“Shit, Minho—easy,” she gasps, but her hips roll forward to meet him, contradicting her words. He’s already moving, slamming into her pussy with these wet, nasty smacks, his balls slapping her skin, her juices splattering every time he bottoms out. Jihoon’s up by her head now, his dick hovering over her face—hard, flushed, dripping a little from the tip. “Open wide, babe,” he says, smirking, tapping her cheek with it like he’s marking her. She doesn’t hesitate—parts her lips, sticking her tongue out flat, letting him drag his cock across it before he shoves in. She moans around him, muffled and desperate, her hands reaching up to grip his thighs as he starts fucking her mouth, slow at first, letting her adjust.

“Goddamn, that’s it,” Jihoon groans, head tipping back, his toned arm flexing as he holds her head steady. “Suck it good, Jihyo—fuck, your lips look unreal wrapped around me.” Her tongue’s working him hard, swirling around the head every time he pulls back, spit bubbling at the corners of her mouth, dripping down her chin onto her tits. She’s sloppy with it, gagging a little when he hits her throat, but she doesn’t stop—just takes him deeper, eyes watering, loving the mess.

You pick up your pace, thrusting up into her ass harder now, matching Minho’s rhythm. Her body’s bouncing between you, caught in this brutal push-pull—your cock splitting her ass, Minho’s stretching her pussy, Jihoon’s filling her throat. She’s shaking, thighs quivering, tits jiggling with every slam, her skin slick with sweat and spit and her own slick. The mat’s a disaster under you—wet patches spreading, the air heavy with that raw, musky scent of bodies colliding.

“Man, this pussy’s insane,” Minho grunts, his hands sliding up to her waist, pulling her down onto him harder. “Tight as fuck, wet as hell—Jihyo, you’re killing me here.” He’s going deep, his hips snapping fast, her cunt squelching loud every time he drives in, her walls pulsing around him like she’s trying to squeeze him dry.

You laugh, rough and breathless, smacking her ass so it jiggles against your hips. “You’re just figuring that out? Been tapping this for weeks, bro—she’s a fucking goldmine.”

Jihoon’s got her hair fisted now, guiding her head as he fucks her face, his voice all gravel and awe. “Weeks, huh? You’re a legend. Fucking Park Jihyo in secret? I’d have lost my mind day one—her sucking me off like this, now I get why you kept it quiet. She’s a goddamn dream.”

Jihyo pulls off him for a second, gasping, spit stringing from her lips to his cock, her voice wrecked but dripping with fire. “You guys—fuck—talking about me like I’m some trophy. Keep fucking me, I love it.” She dives back onto Jihoon, sucking him down hard, her cheeks hollowing, tongue flicking wild against his shaft.

Minho smirks, thrusting deeper, making her moan around Jihoon’s dick. “Oh, she’s a trophy alright—K-pop’s finest, taking all our cocks like a pro.”

You feel her ass tighten at that, like the dirty talk’s lighting her up, and you ram up harder, making her whole body shudder. “She’s been my slut for a while,” you say, grinning, “loves it nasty—can’t get enough. Right, Ji?” You smack her again, and she whimpers, the sound vibrating through Jihoon’s cock till he’s groaning loud.

“Fuck yeah, she does,” Jihoon says, his hand slipping down to cup her jaw, guiding her deeper. “Look at her—those big eyes, that voice, and now she’s choking on me like it’s nothing. Been replaying her ‘Fancy’ fancams in my head forever, and this is a million times better.”

Minho’s hands roam up her sides, brushing her tits, thumbs flicking her nipples as he fucks her pussy raw. “Better? Dude, this is the ultimate—her body’s unreal, pussy’s so tight I can feel him through her. We’re living the fantasy right now.”

The three of you are synced up, a filthy machine—your cock plunging into her ass, thick and slow, stretching her wide; Minho’s hammering her pussy, fast and greedy, her slick coating his shaft; Jihoon’s fucking her mouth, his tip hitting her throat with every thrust, her gags and moans blending into this raw, desperate soundtrack. Her body’s on fire—sweat streaks down her spine, pooling at the small of her back, her thighs trembling against you, her hands clawing at Jihoon’s legs for balance.

She’s close—you can tell by the way her body’s starting to shake, her rhythm getting messy, her moans turning into these high, broken cries that Jihoon’s dick can’t fully muffle. You pick up your pace, slamming up into her ass, your hands gripping her cheeks, spreading them wide so you can watch your cock vanish inside her. “C’mon, Ji,” you mutter, voice rough, “let go—fucking cum for us.”

Minho feels it too, her pussy fluttering around him, and he leans forward, one hand sliding up to her tit, pinching her nipple hard. “Yeah, baby—cum on my cock, let me feel it,” he growls, hammering her faster, his balls slapping her skin, wet and loud.

Jihoon pulls out just enough to let her breathe, her face a wreck—cheeks flushed, mascara streaking, mouth open and panting. “Do it, Jihyo—fucking cum,” he says, voice low and urgent, stroking himself fast as he watches her unravel.

She’s teetering, her whole body tensing—then it hits. “Oh fuck—fuck, I’m—” Her words cut off into a scream, sharp and wild, her pussy clamping down on Minho so hard he hisses, his thrusts faltering for a second. Her ass locks around you, tighter than ever, pulsing like it’s trying to crush your cock, and you groan loud, hands digging into her flesh as you keep pounding through it. Her eyes roll back, mouth hanging open, spit dripping free as her whole body bucks and shakes, caught between you all.

“Shit, there it is,” Minho grunts, his hands sliding to her waist, holding her steady as he fucks her through it, her pussy gushing, soaking him, dripping down onto you. “Fuck—feels like she’s breaking me.”

You feel it too, the way her ass spasms, milking you with every clench, her body a live wire. “Told you—fucking unreal,” you say, voice strained, thrusting harder to chase her high, her cheeks rippling against your hips, the sound wet and obscene.

Jihoon’s watching, stroking himself, his cock twitching as she gasps and moans, her throat exposed, raw from his pounding. “Goddamn, look at her—cumming like a fucking slut on all of us,” he says, then he slides back into her mouth mid-moan, cutting her off, her lips closing around him as she sucks through the aftershocks, her tongue sloppy but eager.

Her orgasm’s ripping through her, relentless—her pussy’s flooding Minho, her ass gripping you so tight you can barely move, her cries vibrating through Jihoon’s cock. She’s thrashing now, caught in this wild, shuddering rhythm, her tits bouncing hard, sweat streaking down her spine, pooling at her lower back. You reach up, grab her shoulders, pull her down onto you harder, making her scream louder around Jak.

You keep your cock buried in Jihyo’s ass, her tight heat pulsing around you after her orgasm, her body slick with sweat and trembling like she’s barely holding it together. She’s sprawled over you, her ass cheeks jiggling with every slow, deep thrust you give her, while Minho’s pounding her pussy like a goddamn jackhammer, his cock slick with her juices, leaving a wet trail down his thighs. Jihoon is fucking her throat with these lazy, sloppy thrusts, her lips stretched wide.

Her climax has left her shaky, but you’re all too far gone to slow down—her pussy’s still spasming around Minho, her ass gripping you like it’s begging you to stay, and her moans are vibrating through Jihoon’s cock, raw and wrecked. You’re thrusting harder, excitement buzzing through you, your hands digging into her hips, feeling the heat build in your gut.

Minho’s grunting, his rhythm getting jagged, his hands leaving red welts on her waist. “Fuck, she’s still so tight—gonna lose it soon,” he pants, his cock plunging deep, her slick gushing out with every hit, soaking the mat. Jihoon’s not far behind, his jaw tight, sweat streaking down his neck as he pumps into her mouth, her throat bulging with every thrust. “Shit, man—her tongue’s working me over, I’m close,” he groans, his grip on her hair tightening, pulling her deeper.

you are close too, that electric rush creeping up, your cock throbbing in her ass, her walls clenching like they’re trying to milk you dry. “Ji,” you rasp, voice rough and ragged, “where you want it? Where you want our cum?” You slam up into her hard, making her yelp around Jihoon, her body jolting, ass rippling against you.

She pulls off Jihoon with a wet, gasping pop. “My face,” she chokes out, voice hoarse but dripping with need, “all of you—fucking blast it on my face.” Her eyes are wild, dark and desperate, locked on you like she’s starving for it.

You nod, pulling out of her ass with a slick, nasty sound, her hole gaping for a second before she scrambles off you, dropping to her knees on the mat between you, Minho, and Jihoon. She’s on the ground now, thighs spread, her pussy dripping onto the floor, tits heaving as she catches her breath. You’re all towering over her, cocks in hand, stroking fast, the air thick with tension and that musky, primal stench of sex. She looks up, smirking through the mess, her sweat-streaked hair sticking to her neck, and it’s like she’s daring you to ruin her.

You step up first, gripping your cock tight, the tip still slick from her ass. “Open up, Ji,” you say, and she does—parts her lips, sticks her tongue out flat, ready for you. She grabs your shaft with both hands, guiding you in, and fuck, she sucks you like it’s her last mission on earth. Her mouth’s hot, wet, sliding over you deep and slow, tongue swirling around the head, flicking at the slit till you’re hissing. Then she goes lower, popping off your cock to lick at your balls, sucking one into her mouth, rolling it with her tongue till it’s drooling with her spit. “Fuck—Jihyo, that’s it,” you groan, stroking the base as she works you, her dedication pushing you right to the edge.

Minho and Jihoon are stroking themselves hard, watching her with you, their breaths short and sharp. “Goddamn, she’s a fucking pro,” Minho mutters, his hand a blur on his thick cock, pre-cum beading at the tip. Jihoon’s grinning, his shaft twitching in his grip. “Look at her go—fucking Twice’s Jihyo, sucking him like she’s thirsty for it.”

She pulls off you, leaving your cock and balls dripping, spit stringing from her lips as she looks up at all three of you, her voice raw and filthy. “C’mon, boys—gimme your cum, fucking cover me, I want it all,” she begs, her tone pure cumslut, hands cupping her tits, pushing them up like a canvas. It’s obscene, the way she’s pleading, this K-pop queen on her knees, and it’s got you all buzzing, cocks throbbing, ready to explode.

Minho’s the first to break—he steps in, grunting like an animal, his hand flying over his shaft. “Fuck—here it comes, Ji,” he growls, aiming right at her face. His load hits hard, a thick, white rope blasting across her cheek, streaking up to her nose, dripping down to her parted lips. She moans, low and dirty, tongue darting out to catch what she can as another shot lands, splattering her forehead, sliding down to her eyebrow. It’s massive, heavy, coating her skin, some splashing onto her tits, streaking across her chest in messy, glistening trails.

Jihoon’s right on his heels, moving in close, his breath ragged. “Shit, Jihyo—open up,” he gasps, and she tilts her head, tongue out, catching his first shot as it arcs over her lips, pooling in her mouth. Another hits her other cheek, thick and hot, smearing across her chin, dripping down her neck in fat globs. She swallows what she caught, moaning soft, her eyes fluttering as it drips off her jaw onto her tits, mixing with Minho’s load, turning her chest into a sticky, white mess.

You’re last, your hand a blur, the sight of her—begging, drenched—pushing you over. “Here it is, Ji—fucking take it,” you say, voice tight, aiming at her face. It hits like a fucking firehose—a fat, pulsing shot right across her nose, bridging over her tongue, then another, coating her lips and chin, dripping thick and slow. It’s endless, heavy, splattering off her jaw onto her tits, blending with the others till she’s a goddamn cum-soaked masterpiece, skin shining, chest heaving.

She sighs, this deep, satisfied sound, her face a canvas of chaos—cheeks plastered, forehead dripping, lips smeared, all of it pooling and sliding down her neck, her tits a slick, cum-streaked mess. She smiles, slow and smug, like she’s just conquered the world, her tongue flicking out to lick her lips, savoring the taste. “Fuck, you guys—look at this,” she murmurs, hands sliding up to her chest, smearing the cum across her tits, rubbing it into her nipples, making them glisten. It’s insane, the way she’s basking in it, this idol turned cum-drenched fantasy, and you’re all just staring, panting, cocks still twitching.

She’s not done—she leans in, grabbing your cock first, licking the sensitive tip slow and deliberate, sucking off the last drops, making you shudder hard. “Mmm,” she hums, moving to Minho, her tongue flicking over his head, tasting what’s left, leaving it slick with her spit. Jihoon’s next, and she gives him the same, lapping at him like a cat, her eyes half-lidded, drunk on the filth. “So fucking good,” she whispers, sitting back on her heels, her hands scooping the cum off her face—thick, gooey strands—spreading it over her cheeks, her chin, her tits, till she’s coated, glistening, a total fucking wreck.

You’re all wrecked too, chests heaving, the mat a disaster—sweat, cum, her juices everywhere, the air heavy with it. She looks up, grinning, her face a work of art, painted white and dripping, and you can’t believe this is Jihyo—Twice’s leader, now your cum-soaked secret, kneeling there, satisfied as hell. “Fucking perfect,” she says, wiping a finger through the mess on her chest and sucking it clean, her smile wicked, like she’s just won the dirtiest game imaginable. You’re all just standing there, exhausted, awestruck, watching her revel in it, this moment burned into your brains forever.

The storage room’s now a fucking crime scene—sweat, cum, and the echoes of pure filth still hanging in the air as you all come down from the high. You glance at each other—Minho wiping his forehead, Jihoon running a hand through his damp hair—and there’s this unspoken agreement that you can’t just walk out like this.

“Shower time,” you say, voice rough but casual, pushing yourself up off the mat. Your shorts are halfway across the room, crumpled in a heap, and you grab them, not bothering to put them on yet. Jihyo sits up, stretching, her tits jiggling as she moves, cum still dripping down her chest in slow, sticky trails. “Yeah, I need to wash this off,” she laughs, wiping her face with the back of her hand, smearing it more than cleaning it, then she starts to pick up her clothes scattered on the floor. Minho and Jihoon nod, grabbing their own gear, and you all head for the gym’s locker room, a quiet buzz of exhaustion and satisfaction trailing you.

The showers are down the hall, past the empty weight racks and cardio machines, the gym eerily quiet now that it’s late. You each peel off what’s left of your clothes—your shorts, their gym tanks—and pile them on a bench. The water kicks on with a hiss, steam rising fast as you step under separate showerheads, the cold tile a shock against your feet. The hot spray hits you first, pounding your shoulders, washing away the sweat and grime, the faint ache in your muscles melting under the heat.

Jihyo’s in the next stall over, her silhouette visible through the frosted glass divider, water cascading down her curves, sluicing the cum off her skin. You hear her hum, soft and low, some Twice melody she’s probably sung a thousand times, and it’s almost surreal—minutes ago she was begging for your loads, now she’s showering like it’s just another day. Minho’s scrubbing his arms, soap suds bubbling up, muttering, “Fuck, I needed this.” Jihoon’s across from him, water pounding his back, grinning like an idiot. “Best shower of my life.”

You soap up, lathering your chest, your junk, feeling the grime slip away, the hot water working miracles. Your legs are still buzzing from holding Jihyo up, your arms sore from gripping her tight, but you’re refreshed, lighter, like the shower’s washing away more than just the sweat. You rinse off, the water turning cloudy for a sec as the last of it swirls down the drain, and step out, grabbing a towel from the stack by the wall. It’s rough, gym-issued, but it does the job—drying your hair, your back, your balls—till you’re dripping less and feeling human again.

Jihyo steps out next, towel wrapped loose around her, water still beading on her shoulders, her hair slicked back dark and wet, the sneakers already on. She looks fucking radiant, cheeks flushed from the heat, skin glowing like she didn’t just get railed by three guys in a storage closet. Minho and Jihoon follow, towels slung over their shoulders, shorts back on, hair damp and messy. You all linger for a minute, the steam curling around you, the vibe easy but charged, like you’ve all shared something monumental—and you have.

Minho and Jihoon glance at each other, then at Jihyo. “Be right back,” Minho says, jerking his chin toward the staff room down the hall. “Gotta handle something.” They duck out, leaving you and Jihyo alone for a sec. She’s drying her arms, smirking at you, and you lean against the locker, watching her. “You good?” you ask, casual but real.

She nods, grinning. “Better than good. That was fucking wild.” Her towel slips a little, showing the curve of her tit, and you catch it but don’t stare—professional, sort of. “You guys are something else.”

Before you can reply, Minho and Jihoon are back, stepping in with this chill energy. Minho’s got his hands in his pockets, Jihoon’s rubbing the back of his neck. “All clear,” Minho says, looking at Jihyo. “Security footage—wiped it clean. No trace of anything. You’re safe.”

Her shoulders relax, a little breath slipping out. “Fuck, thank you—seriously. If that got out…” She trails off, shaking her head, but then smiles, big and bright. “You guys are lifesavers.”

Jihoon laughs, leaning against the wall. “Nah, you’re the legend here. That was unreal—like, thank you. Never thought I’d be saying that to Park Jihyo after… well, that.”

Minho nods, smirking. “Yeah, hands down the craziest shit I’ve ever been part of. You’re fucking incredible.”

“Well, good news—we can do it again sometime. I’m down if you guys are.”

Your eyebrows shoot up, a grin tugging at your lips. “Oh, hell yeah, I’m in. No question.” Minho and Jihoon are quick to agree—Minho with a “Fuck yes,” Jihoon with a “Count me in, any day.”

“It was unforgettable,” Jihyo says, her voice softer now, reflective. “Like, I’m still buzzing from it. By far one of my best experiences.” Then she removes the towel, not caring about the presence of either of you and begins to get dressed, she opens one of the lockers to take out the bag she stored there earlier and takes out a hoodie, putting it on over her gym clothes. After finishing, she adjusts her bag on her shoulder, ready to head out, but there’s this glow about her—exhausted but alive.

You sling your own bag over your shoulder, stepping closer. “You know, Ji, this is a hell of a way to boost your stamina. You were a fucking beast today—killed it. I’m telling you, a few more rounds like this, and you’ll be unstoppable on stage. Choreo won’t stand a chance.”

She laughs, loud and bright, the sound bouncing off the lockers. “Oh, you think this is my new training regimen? Fuck cardio—give me three cocks and a storage room, right?” She’s joking, but there’s a spark in her eye like she’s half-serious. “Honestly, though—if this is what it takes to get tireless, sign me up. I felt like I could go all night.”

Minho smirks, grabbing his keys off the bench. “Shit, you basically did. Your dance trainer gonna wonder why you’re suddenly out-dancing everyone.”

Jihoon’s already at the door, turning back with a grin. “Yeah, tell her you’ve got a secret weapon—three trainers putting you through the ultimate workout.”

You all crack up, the vibe loose and easy now. Jihyo adjusts her hoodie, pulling the hood up, ready to slip out unnoticed. “For real, though,” she says, looking at you, then Minho, then Jihoon, “you guys are the best. Let’s make it a thing—whenever the schedule’s clear, we’re back here.”

“Deal,” you say, fist-bumping her, the others following suit. “Next time, we’ll push you even harder—stamina training, level two.”

She winks, stepping out into the hall, her voice echoing back. “Can’t wait, boys. See you in the next session.” You watch her go, that sway in her hips still lethal, then head out yourselves, the night air cool against your skin, a fresh contrast to the heat you’ve just left behind. You’re all grinning, buzzing, already counting the days till round two with the goddess Jihyo—your dirty little secret, and the best damn workout of your lives.

[scoupsakakitty]

heyy, can you do a Chan x 14thmember where she’s a 97’ liner and he’s always been in love with her but she didn’t want anything romantic with him cause she was afraid of the small age difference.

Idk, he’s kinda jealous that DK is her best friend and when they’re arguing he calls her by her name and she gets angry he’s not using honorifics.with a lot of angst but with a happy ending

♡

Say My Name | idol!Dino x 14thMember | angst, fluff

"Yah, you should've seen your face!" Seokmin wheezed, barely able to stand from laughing so hard.

Y/N groaned, pushing his shoulder. "It wasn't that funny."

"Oh, it was," he countered, wiping at his eyes. "Come on, Chan, back me up!"

Chan sat across the room, arms crossed, jaw tight. He was watching them—always watching them. Seokmin's arm slung around Y/N's shoulder like it belonged there, the way she laughed at everything he said, the way her eyes softened whenever he pulled one of his ridiculous antics.

He hated it.

"Dino?" Seokmin called out, his voice teasing. "Are you sulking again?"

"I'm not sulking," Chan muttered, standing up abruptly. "I just don't find it funny."

Y/N frowned. "Are you okay?"

"Why do you care, Y/N?" he snapped, shocking them both.

The room tensed. Seokmin blinked between them, before muttering, "Uh, I'm just gonna… go." He slipped out, leaving only silence behind.

Y/N sighed. "What’s wrong with you lately? You’re always so tense."

"I should be asking you that," he shot back. "Why do you act like I don’t exist unless Seokmin’s not around?"

She folded her arms. "Don’t be ridiculous."

"Ridiculous? Y/N, do you even realize how long I’ve—" He stopped himself, shaking his head. "Never mind."

She frowned. "Say it."

"I’ve been in love with you for years!" he finally burst out, his voice breaking with frustration. "And you—you act like it’s impossible! Like I’m a kid to you or something. But I’m not, Y/N."

Silence. Thick. Unmovable.

Her mouth opened, then closed again, hesitation flickering across her face. Chan scoffed, stepping back. "See? There it is. You won’t even acknowledge it."

"Chan, it’s not—"

"Oh, now I’m just Chan? Not 'Dino'? Not 'maknae'?" he interrupted bitterly. "You never say my name like that unless you’re mad."

Her breath hitched, eyes widening. "You didn’t use honorifics."

"So what?" he shot back. "You’re not just my sunbae. You’re Y/N. And I’m Chan. Why do we have to act like there’s some huge gap between us when there isn’t?"

She swallowed hard, looking away. "It’s not just that."

"Then tell me what it is! Because I’ve spent years trying to figure it out, and all you do is push me away!"

"Because I’m scared!" she snapped, her voice finally breaking. "Scared that if we cross this line, everything will change! That it’ll be different and—"

"And what?" he demanded. "You’ll actually have to admit you feel the same way?"

Silence again.

Chan stepped closer, his voice quieter now, but still firm. "I know you do. Maybe it scares you, but you don’t get to pretend like I’m imagining things."

Y/N swallowed hard, eyes darting to the floor.

"I just—" she exhaled shakily. "I didn’t want to lose you."

His shoulders relaxed slightly. "You won’t."

She finally met his gaze, and for the first time, she didn’t look away.

It was terrifying. And exhilarating.

Chan smiled—just a little, just enough. "Say my name, Y/N."

A pause.

Then, soft as a whisper: "Chan."

And just like that, the wall between them crumbled.

He smirked slightly, stepping even closer, his voice low. "You’re mine now."

Y/N felt her heart skip a beat, but for once, she didn’t run. She just smiled back. "Yeah… I guess I am."

[fuck-customers]

I wonder if there’s a professional way to tell my manager to stop playing mentor. I can’t tell if he truly wants to teach me skills that I can use on the long run or if he’s just too lazy to provide real training because he’s so bad at being a mentor. He doesn’t check my work even when I tell him to and then gets frustrated when I make a mistake and tells me to go find out what the mistake is. If I’m unable to figure it out and the deadline is quickly approaching, he’ll step in and take over, all while calling himself a genius for being able to save the day. Meanwhile I’ve learned nothing other than the fact that he has an inflated ego. He thinks that by telling me to figure it out without any formal training, I’ll be able to understand what I’m doing better, but that’s not been the case and he has no intention of changing his tactics despite us having a one on one discussion about this. If he truly is trying to be a mentor but he’s just really bad at it then I wish he’d stop because at this point I’m just here to clock in, work, and clock out. I was grateful that he said he wanted to pass on his expertise at first but it’s been years and I’ve learned nothing so I’ve given up on learning here altogether. This isn’t a school so there’s no point in continuing this charade. And if it’s because he’s too lazy to take the time to train me, then all the more reason to just tell me what to do so I can get the work done. He keeps complaining about how there’s so much that hasn’t been completed yet but he hasn’t properly trained anyone so we’re all just figuring things out as we go and that means there’s going to be mistakes and people are going to work slowly. I don’t understand what he has to gain from this situation other than an inflated ego but the cons outweigh the pros because if the department isn’t getting work done in a timely manner and the work is incorrect, that’s only going to make him look bad so I don’t get it.

Posted by admin Rodney

[cherryblossomcowgirl]

The Bolter

Jake Seresin x reader

Inspired by Taylor Swift’s ‘The Bolter’

WC: 1.4k

Warnings: abuse; alcoholism; death; overall bad childhood; abandonment issues; allusions to smut; swearing; toxicity; FLUFF

.

.

I have been running for as long as I can remember. When I was 10, I ran away from home to the comfort of my grandparents. My Daddy always drank too much, but that night he started swinging on Momma. Memaw and Pawpaw begged her to leave. You both could live with them. Momma refused. Not long after that, Momma and Daddy were gone. A few years later, Pawpaw passed away. Memaw followed quickly and I am convinced she died of a broken heart. I ran to my brother after that, the only family I had left. Then I joined the Navy on the morning of my 18th birthday. Shipped out a month later. My brother teared up when he dropped me off. He told me that I run like life is a race. I told him every time I leave, I feel like I can breathe again. He hugged me and told me to visit soon. That was 10 years ago.

.

.

Military life turned out to be perfect for me. Never in one place for long. Constantly being sent around the world on a moments notice. I got my degree. Graduated flight schools. Had my first deployment. Then graduated TOPGUN. I send Robbie emails and letters when I can. He’s married now, moved far away from our little Texas hometown. I recently got stationed in Coronado with a good friend of mine, Phoenix. She walks with me to the hanger, “So, any updates on the old love life?” I roll my eyes, “Haven’t been looking. Too busy moving in.” Her laugh rings through the ocean air, “Moving in what? All two of your boxes?” I throw my bag on the floor of the locker room, “Be quiet. First day celebratory beers after work?” She smirks, “Of course. I bet Penny has missed us.” We zip up our flight suits and find the conference room.

.

.

Captain Mitchell is standing in front of the group, smiling at us when we walk in. “Hey ladies! Find a seat.” I glance around, only recognizing a couple aviators. Rooster and I had a deployment together. Bob Floyd was part of my TOPGUN class. They smile at me and Maverick clears his throat, “Okay everyone welcome our new squad mates, Phoenix and Bolter. Both TOPGUN grads with impressive records. Ladies, we are happy to have you here.” There’s some applause and Rooster whistles, making me chuckle. My eyes scan the squad, meeting the green eyes of a very attractive man. He winks at me, so I wink right back. I’ve been called a lot of things in my day, but shy has never been one of them. Phoenix elbows me, “That’s Hangman. He’s worse than you.” A smirk spreads across my face, “We’ll see about that.”

.

.

Rooster motions for me to join the group as I hop out of my jet. I take off my helmet and unzip the top of my suit, this California heat is getting to me. He throws an arm around me, “Everyone hit the showers and regroup at the Hard Deck. Let’s welcome these ladies back to Coronado the right way.” They all nod in agreement. The blonde one, Hangman, looks between Rooster and I. He raises an eyebrow, “So Bradshaw, is this your girl?” Rooster laughs, “No, Hangman. Bolter here is a friend of mine. We deployed together a few years back.” Hangman nods, “Good to know.” He turns on his heel and heads to the locker room. I watch as he walks away, drinking up his tall and toned figure. Rooster sighs, “This won’t be good.”

.

.

The Hard Deck is packed like it always is on Fridays. I grab beers for me and Phe, heading over to the pool table. Hangman walks up with a cocktail smile, “So, Bolter… where’d that name come from?” Phe and Rooster giggle. I take a swig of my beer, “I’m assuming Hangman has to do with how you fly, right?” He nods and I shrug, “Mine is more about my home life. I’m a runner.” Hangman’s eyes narrow, as if he’s trying to decide if I’m joking. Rooster smacks my back, “You should’ve seen this one on our last deployment. She’d give you a run for your money, Seresin.” His brow furrows, “I highly doubt that.” Phe chuckles, “She’s got a pretty face, southern charm… but she’ll break a man’s heart and run away every single time. The Bolter.” I take a long sip and shrug, “Guilty as charged.” Phoenix and Rooster return to their game of pool with Bob and Coyote, but Hangman stays behind. His southern accent comes out a little bit more with each drink. He leans in, “Where are you from, darling?” I try to ignore the fact that the pet name has my heart beating faster, “East Texas. You?” “Austin.” I roll my eyes, “Dear Lord, don’t tell me you’re a Longhorn.” He throws his horns up and I pretended to gag. Hangman raises an eyebrow, “Let me guess… East Texas… Red Raider?” I put my guns up and he laughs, “Well darling, I’ll forgive you. We’ll have you in burnt orange in no time.” He playfully pats my back and I focus on anything but him touching me. The night continues for a couple more hours and then I wrap Rooster in a hug, “I’m gonna head out.” Phe kisses my cheek, “Need a ride?” I shake my head, “Don’t head home on my account. I’ll order an uber.” Hangman pulls his keys out of his pocket, “I need to head out anyway, let me drop you off?” I playfully loop my arm in his, “Why not, Cowboy.” Rooster and Phoenix shake their heads and laugh.

.

.

Hangman starts up his truck and I chuckle. He looks over at me, “What’s so funny?” I motion to the truck, “You can take the boy out of Texas…” “Well what do you drive?” A smirk spreads over my face, “A truck.” We laugh and I type my address into his phone. He leaves the windows down. The smell of the ocean surrounds us and it almost drowns out the smell of his cologne. He turns down the radio, “Do I get to know your real name?” I tap my chin, “Hmmm… only if you tell me yours.” His green eyes sparkle, “My name’s Jake. Jake Seresin.” “I’m Y/n.” He looks at me for a moment. Not a passing glance. He looks at me and he sees me. His southern drawl is thick, “Pretty name for a pretty girl.” Then I do something that I never do, a blush spreads across my cheeks. It’s so foreign to me that I have no idea what to do. I turn towards the window, hoping the wind helps the red fade. Jake definitely notices but just smirks. He pulls into the parking lot of my apartment complex and turns off the engine. I look at him and he puts his hands up, “I’m just walking you to the door.” I chuckle and think about my past romantic encounters, chivalry isn’t very common nowadays. Jake walks around the truck and opens my door, following me up the steps. I stop in front of my door, “This is me.” He flashes one of his bright white smiles, “I had a good time with you tonight, Y/n.” My gaze falls to my feet, “Me too, Jake.” He runs his hand through his golden locks, “I’ll see you at work?” I nod as he turns to walk away. Maybe I was a little disappointed. He’s one of the hottest men I have ever seen and he didn’t hint for an invite to join me for another drink. Maybe he’s a trophy hunter, likes the buildup and the chase. My brain flickers back to the moment a blush colored my cheeks. The way my heart was beating out of my chest when he called me darling. I’m not a romantic, probably the furthest from it, so this is beyond confusing for me. Jake looks back at me, probably wondering why I haven’t opened my door and retreated into my apartment. “You okay, darling?” There goes my heart again. I close the distance between us and get on my tiptoes so our noses touch. “I’m not used to southern gentleman. You’re acting a little too honorable right now.” A darkness falls over his green eyes as his lips crash into mine. It’s messy. It’s needy. It takes my breath away. He pulls back and smirks, “Goodnight, darling.”

[evesfate]

IT’S NOT MY FAULT YOU’RE LIKE IN LOVE WITH ME!

LINI. NINI + LEO. a retired crashout transfer student that hates fakers, especially when they look that good (ugh!) & a theater kid turned singer/songwriter who’s been struck with writer’s block. gladly, it won’t be long until she finds something to write about. takes place in s2.

i glow pink in the night

— TROPES

LOSER!GF x PRINCESS!GF

SINGER!GF x ACTRESS!GF

RIVALS TO LOVERS

been blossoming alone over you.

nini hasn’t written a song in months. not since she came out, really. she figured that songs would be much easier to write now that she knows she likes girls—and it is, when you have actual experience. but since she doesn’t, inspiration doesn’t come so easy.

so she gives her all to the new musical instead. the stage is familiar, the drama department a second home. it feels like she might actually have a shot to be the leading lady this time. her life revolves around lines and ensemble harmonies until a new girl shows up. and something in the air shifts. she can’t put her finger on it at first—she can sense that there’s an effortlessness to her, like she fits right in.

she expected it’d be fun to have a new person around. what she didn’t expect though, was to find out that they’re auditioning for the same role. despite being destabilized, she had long decided that this year was hers, and that she wouldn’t let anything get in her way.

it’s then that, the words come back. first, it’s just to get the feeling out, scattered thoughts adorning nini’s homework. then it’s because she can’t help it, full on lyrics are typed at full speed in her notes app, before she can forget them.

leo is not…fond of nini. the way she sees it, she tries too hard. she’s all smiles, sweetness and drama, like she’s the main character in a disney channel original movie (ironic, i know). it’s too perfect. too rehearsed. it’s exhausting. and above all, it sounds so fake. the worst part? everyone seems to fall for it. and that’s what annoys her most.

always the observant, nini doesn’t fail to notice how they didn’t exactly hit it off. initially, she brushes it off and decides to move forward with the production. but no matter how hard she tries, she can’t stop looking. and even as leo pointedly looks away, her eyes often betray her—as they drift back to nini when she thinks nobody’s watching.

she just can’t get past the kiss ass girl-next-door act. however, the more time she spends time around them the more she realizes, every theater kid is dramatic. every one of them acts as if the world is their stage. there’s no such thing as "normal" in the drama department. so why does it only bother her when it’s nini?

why does her laugh ring in her ears long after she’s gone? why does she notice her tilting her head when listening to someone? why does she find herself watching, listening—like i care, like it matters?

she’s angry at herself for it. she should be enjoying being on her first musical. she hates how everytime their paths cross, she can’t get her out of her head for the whole day. she hates how her breathing halts when nini sings, hates the way she hesitates now and bites back the sarcasm that once would’ve come without thinking.

all of it feels like a push to put a name on something—something she’snot ready to face, or at least recognize.

leo is not fond of nini. but what she really hates is the way that statement feels less true every day.

i know i’ve kissed you before but, i didn’t do it right

to make things even better, it’s only fitting that we end up being casted as gabriella and sharpay.

can i try again, and again, and again?

ps. this is my first time writing in MONTHS help. also everyone thank @briiverse for giving me the courage to post this otherwise it would have not seen the light of day 💌

[twisted-dork]

Jason Meets May Parker (AKA The Woman of His Dreams Because She Beat Up the Joker)

Jason Todd wasn’t a romantic.

He wasn’t the type to believe in love at first sight or fate or any of that Hallmark crap. (He may read romance books but that’s fiction therefore it has different rules so it doesn’t count!)

But standing in front of May Parker for the first time—the woman who had, without hesitation, beaten the absolute hell out of the Joker—he thought, Yeah, I’m in love.

He hadn’t planned to meet her like this.

After all, he had questions.

Who the hell was she? How did she take down the Joker with nothing but a baseball bat and sheer rage? Why did the kid she was protecting act like this was just another Tuesday?

So, naturally, he did what he did best.

He followed her.

Which, in hindsight, might not have been his best idea, because when she caught him lingering outside the library where she worked, she hit him in the chest with a hardcover book.

Hard.

May: “You gonna tell me why you’re lurking like a creep, or do I need to hit you again?”

Jason, stunned, looked down at the book she had just used as a blunt weapon.

Jason: “…Did you just hit me with ‘War and Peace’?”

May: “It was the closest thing I had. Want me to try ‘Moby Dick’ next?”

Jason, for reasons he couldn’t explain, grinned.

Jason: “Well I would appreciate it if you didn’t, you pack quite the heat.”

Jason didn’t lie that hit actually hurt which only made him more curious on just how strong she is.

May: “Well from what I’ve seen here in Gotham I think that’s a good thing?”

She smirked putting her hand on her hip.

Once Jason convinced her he wasn’t a threat (and after she made him hold out his hands so she could check them for clown makeup because she wouldn’t be surprised if The Joker sent people after her), May allowed him to sit with her inside the library.

She watched him warily over the rim of her coffee cup, the same way one might watch a stray dog that had wandered in off the street—curious, but not quite trusting.

Jason, on the other hand, was watching her.

Because she was different.

She wasn’t scared of him. Wasn’t intimidated by the leather jacket, the scars, the general air of menace that usually made people keep their distance.

No.

She just looked… tired.

Tired, but not weak.

And damn if that didn’t make his brain short-circuit a little. He had only planned to feel her out. Figure out what kind of person she was.

But then (the boy who was kidnapped,) Peter ran up to her, tugging at her sleeve.

Peter: “Aunt May! I finished my book! Can I get another one?”

May smiled, ruffling the kid’s hair in a way that spoke of effortless familiarity.

May: “Sure thing, sweetheart. You want another science book?”

Peter: “Mmhmm! I wanna learn about quantum physics!”

Jason blinked.

Jason: “…You’re like, five?”

Peter (scowling): “I’m sevente—!”

May m: “Careful. He’ll start monologuing about multiversal theory if you’re not careful.”

May cut Peter off handing him a book and smoothing down his curls.

And that was it.

That was the moment Jason knew he was completely and utterly screwed.

Because the kid was hilarious, and May Parker was somehow both the most terrifying and most comforting person he had ever met.

And Jason Todd?

Well.

Jason Todd had always had a thing for dangerous women with big hearts. He didn’t say it aloud, but he knew then and there that he wasn’t going anywhere.

Not just because May had wrecked the Joker like it was personal (which by the way he sees how much she loves the kid it’s unsurprising).

Not just because Peter was the most sarcastic seven-year-old he had ever met (at least he’s not trying to stab him like Damian would).

But because she reminded him of the kind of person he wished he had when he was a kid.

Fierce. Protective.

Unyielding in the face of cruelty.

And even if she didn’t know it yet, she had just gained an unofficial bodyguard in him.

Because Jason Todd wasn’t about to let someone like her face Gotham alone.

Not now.

Not ever.

——————————————————————————————————————

I’ll be making a taglist soon so if you want to be tagged then just comment or ask

[moniquesha]

exfil

part two: to hell with that!

18+

Pairing: Congressman!Bucky x Reader

Summary: Reluctantly stepping back into old territory, you find yourself surrounded by familiar faces. Just when you think you can walk away, Yelena reminds you that some fights never really end.

Warnings: Strong language. Mentions of trauma. Panic attack. Unresolved tension.

You rode with Sam on the way to HQ.

He was driving—one hand on the wheel, the other drumming idly against the dashboard. The hum of the engine filled the silence between you, neither of you rushing to break it.

Eventually, though, Sam glanced over at you, his expression unreadable. “So…” he started, keeping his voice casual. “What have you been up to?”

It would’ve been easy to deflect, to throw out some snarky comment and change the subject. That’s what you used to do. That’s what you had done for years.

But for some reason, tonight didn’t feel like the time for that.

So you told him the truth.

“I’ve been… existing,” you admitted. “Not really living. Just—getting by.”

Sam didn’t react right away. He just let the words sit there, taking them in.

“No work?” he asked.

You shook your head. “Not the kind you’d expect. Just whatever keeps me afloat. Security gigs. Side jobs. I don’t stick around anywhere too long.”

He hummed in acknowledgment. “So, you are working. Just not… living.”

You huffed, staring out the window. “Yeah. Pretty much.”

Sam was quiet for a moment, then sighed. “I get it,” he said finally. “After everything, it’s hard to figure out what comes next.”

You glanced at him. “You seem to have figured it out just fine.”

He let out a short laugh. “Yeah? Took me a while, though. After Steve left, I wasn’t exactly jumping at the chance to take up the shield.” His fingers tightened slightly around the wheel. “But at some point, I had to stop waiting for an answer and just… try. Even if I didn’t know what I was doing.”

You swallowed, looking away. “That easy, huh?”

Sam snorted. “Hell no. It sucked. Still does sometimes.”

You exhaled, shaking your head. “At least you had something to work toward.”

“Yeah.” He glanced at you again. “But you don’t have to figure it all out at once. No one’s asking you to put the suit back on or jump back into the fight. Just… maybe don’t keep running from everything, y’know?”

You didn’t respond. Because, deep down, you knew he was right.

You weren’t hiding anymore. But you weren’t moving forward either.

Maybe it was time to start.

Sam must’ve sensed your thoughts because he didn’t push any further. Instead, he smirked slightly and nudged your arm.

“Besides,” he added. “You’re about to see Tony Stark hosting a wake. That’s a once-in-a-lifetime event. No way you’re skipping out on that.”

You let out a dry chuckle. “Guess I have to stick around, then.”

“Damn right.”

And with that, Sam turned onto the familiar road leading to Avengers HQ, the past still lingering behind you—closer than ever, but maybe, just maybe, not as heavy as before.

By the time you and Sam arrived, most of the others were already there.

Fury wasn’t—he had other things to do, or at least that’s what Tony had muttered under his breath when someone asked. Typical. It was just like him to disappear when emotions ran too high.

But almost everyone else was here.

Tony. Already pouring himself a drink at the bar.

Clint. Sitting on the couch, looking more exhausted than usual.

Bruce. Standing by the window, lost in thought.

Thor. As out of place as ever, but still present.

Rhodey. Arms crossed, listening to something Tony was saying.

Pepper. Holding things together, like always.

Wanda. Quiet, distant, lingering near the back.

Vision. Watching over her, ever patient.

Bucky. Sitting alone, a glass in his hand but untouched.

It was strange, seeing them all here again. The last time you had been in a room like this, everything had been different. There had been purpose. A mission. A team.

Now, it just felt like a reunion of ghosts.

“Ah, finally,” Tony called out when he spotted you and Sam. “The prodigal son—and his plus one.”

You shot him a look, but he only smirked, raising his glass in a half-toast. “Welcome to Stark Tower—oh, wait, that’s gone. Welcome to the sad, crumbling remains of a dream.”

“Tony,” Pepper warned.

“What? It’s true.” He waved a hand, turning back to you. “Anyway, drinks are over there. The brooding corner is occupied, but I’m sure Barnes wouldn’t mind sharing.”

You glanced over at Bucky, who rolled his eyes but didn’t argue.

“Thanks,” you muttered, stepping further inside.

Sam clapped your shoulder before moving to join Rhodes and Clint, leaving you to navigate the room on your own. It wasn’t easy. Every face in here was a reminder of something you had lost—or something you had walked away from.

And then there was Wanda.

She was standing by the fireplace, her arms wrapped around herself, eyes distant.

You hadn’t spoken to her since… well, since everything.

You hesitated, then finally walked over. “Hey.”

She blinked, as if snapping out of a thought. When she turned to you, her expression softened just slightly. “I didn’t think you’d come.”

You exhaled, nodding. “Yeah. Well… I did.”

She studied you for a moment, then offered the faintest hint of a smile. “Good.”

It was such a simple word, but it meant more than it should have.

Before you could say anything else, Thor suddenly clapped his hands together, loud enough to shake the room. “Let us drink to Maria Hill!” he announced. “A fierce warrior, a trusted ally, and a woman who, I believe, would have hated us standing around like this!”

A few chuckles rippled through the room. Even you found yourself smiling—just a little.

Maybe this wasn’t so bad after all.

You made your way over to the bar, needing something to ground you. The room was too loud, too familiar, too full of people you used to know.

The bartender barely looked up as you sat down. “What’ll it be?”

“Old Fashioned.”

He nodded and got to work, and you exhaled, pressing your palms against the bar top. You shouldn’t have come. That much was obvious. But now that you were here, you couldn’t just leave. Not yet.

“Didn’t take you for a whiskey type,” a voice said from your right.

You sighed before you even turned your head.

Bucky.

Sitting a few stools away, watching you like he wasn’t sure whether to acknowledge you or let you sit in silence.

You stared at him for a second, then scoffed. “Didn’t take you for a politician.”

Bucky’s expression didn’t change. “Guess we both ended up somewhere we didn’t expect.”

You hummed, accepting your drink from the bartender. “Yeah. Life’s funny like that.”

The whiskey burned on the way down, but it was a good kind of burn. A reminder that you were still here, still breathing, still able to feel something other than the dull ache in your chest.

Bucky shifted, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. “It’s been a while.”

You didn’t respond.

He glanced around, exhaling. “Didn’t think I’d see you here.”

You let out a humorless laugh. “You and everyone else.”

Another stretch of silence. Not uncomfortable, but not easy either. Just two people sitting side by side, both carrying too much history and not enough words.

Bucky tapped his fingers against his glass. “You staying long?”

You clenched your jaw, staring down at your drink. “No idea.”

He nodded, like that made sense. Maybe it did. Maybe you were the only one who didn’t have a damn clue what you were doing anymore.

You let out a slow breath, shaking your head. “You ever think about it?” you muttered. “How some of us got to move forward and some of us just… didn’t?”

Bucky didn’t answer right away. He just watched you, something knowing in his expression.

“…Yeah,” he said finally. “I think about it.”

You scoffed. “Must be nice.”

Bucky’s brow furrowed slightly. “What?”

You downed the rest of your drink and set the glass down a little too hard. “Having people fight for you. Having a way out.” You met his gaze, bitterness creeping into your tone. “Not all of us got that.”

Bucky’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t argue. Maybe because he knew you were right. Maybe because he knew that anything he said wouldn’t change a damn thing.

After a long moment, he just nodded. “Yeah,” he muttered. “I know.”

You exhaled sharply, looking away. The air felt heavy, the walls pressing in again.

You needed another drink. Or maybe just an excuse to leave.

You signaled for another drink, fingers tapping against the bar as the silence between you and Bucky settled into something almost suffocating. You weren’t sure if you wanted to keep talking or walk out the door.

Before you could decide, another voice cut through the tension.

“Well, if it isn’t my two favorite sad, brooding people.”

You didn’t have to turn to know who it was.

Yelena. Again.

She slid onto the stool next to you, placing her arms on the counter. “What are we drinking?” she asked, looking between you and Bucky.

Bucky glanced at his still-full glass. “Whiskey.”

You lifted your Old Fashioned slightly. “Something to make me regret coming here.”

Yelena smirked. “Ah. The usual, then.” She nodded at the bartender. “Vodka. Straight.”

The bartender gave her a look, but she just raised an eyebrow, daring him to argue. He didn’t. Smart man.

She turned back to you. “I thought you would have run away by now.”

You let out a dry laugh. “Yeah, well. Sam guilt-tripped me into staying.”

“Good,” she said simply. “You need it.”

You shot her a look. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

She shrugged, reaching for her vodka when it arrived. “It means I know you. And I know that you are probably already planning your escape.”

You didn’t answer, just took another sip of your drink.

Yelena sighed, shaking her head. “You know, at some point, you have to stop being so miserable.”

Bucky let out a short breath—almost a laugh. “Good luck with that.”

You shot him a glare, but Yelena only smirked, clinking her glass against yours. “We all have our ways of dealing with things,” she mused. “Me? I work. You? You disappear. But for once, maybe just… try to be here.”

You stared at her for a long moment, but she didn’t flinch. Just waited.

Finally, you sighed, rolling your shoulders. “I am here.”

“For now.”

You didn’t respond. Because she was right.

And you hated that.

Yelena turned her attention to Bucky, her tone shifting slightly—less teasing, more business.

“So?” she asked, swirling the vodka in her glass. “The Fontaine situation. What’s the update?”

Bucky exhaled, rubbing his jaw. “You really wanna talk about that here?”

She raised an eyebrow. “Why not? We’re among friends. And Tony Stark’s overpriced bartender.”

The bartender scoffed but wisely said nothing.

You frowned, glancing between them. 

Bucky hesitated for a second before answering. “Still pulling strings behind the scenes. No one knows exactly what her next move is, but whatever it is, it’s big. She’s been gathering assets—ex-agents, enhanced operatives, mercenaries. Some of them from our side of the board.”

Yelena huffed, clearly unimpressed. “Of course she is. She loves playing puppet master.”

You set your glass down with a little more force than necessary. “Please don’t do this here.”

Bucky and Yelena gave you a look. 

“I think if we don’t do anything, we’re gonna regret it,” Yelena muttered.

Bucky nodded in agreement. “She’s up to something. We need to figure out what.”

Bucky leaned back slightly, his fingers tapping against the bar. “I’ve been keeping an eye on it. So has Sam. It’s on the radar, but no one’s ready to act yet.”

You scoffed.

Are they seriously ignoring you right now?

“Yeah, well. Last time people ignored warning signs, we ended up with Hydra running SHIELD.” Yelena reminds.

Bucky sighed, clearly tired of the conversation already. “No one’s ignoring it. We’re just being careful.”

Yelena rolled her eyes, throwing back the rest of her vodka. “Careful gets you dead.”

Bucky’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t argue.

You drummed your fingers against the bar, thinking. This wasn’t your problem. Not anymore. You weren’t part of any team, weren’t under anyone’s orders. You were just a civilian now.

And yet, something about Fontaine’s name made your skin crawl.

“Fucking assholes.”

Bucky and Yelena exchanged glances, neither of them responding.

The second Yelena brought up Fontaine, you regretted staying.

Of course they were talking about work. Of course this was just another mission for them. What else would it be? God forbid any of them just exist without some war lurking in the background.

You clenched your jaw, fingers tightening around your glass.

Bucky was saying something about assets and operatives, but you barely heard him. The words blurred together, drowned out by the familiar pull of something you had spent years trying to shake.

You had come here for Maria. To pay your respects. Maybe even to get a little closure.

Not to get dragged back into another mess.

You exhaled sharply, setting your glass down with a clink.

“Yeah, okay. I’m done.”

Yelena blinked at you. “What?”

You shook your head, already pushing back your chair. “I knew it. I knew you two couldn’t go one night without turning this into another op. Or even talking about this shit in front of me. Jesus.”

Bucky frowned. “It’s not like that.”

“The hell it isn’t,” you snapped. “You think I came here for a briefing? You think I give a damn what Fontaine’s doing? I left that life behind.”

Yelena sighed, tilting her head. “Come on. You don’t have to—”

“No,” you cut in. “I do have to. Because if I sit here and listen to another second of this, I might actually let myself care again.” You scoffed, shaking your head. “And to hell with that.”

Bucky and Yelena exchanged a look, something unspoken passing between them.

You turned to leave.

Then Bucky said something that made your blood boil.

“She’s not giving us a choice.”

You stopped dead in your tracks. Slowly, you turned back to face him. “You don’t get to say that.”

Bucky’s expression hardened. “It’s the truth.”

You let out a sharp, bitter laugh. “You wanna talk about choices? Fine. Let’s talk about yours.” You took a step closer, voice dropping to something sharp and cutting. “You sit in those fancy offices now. Shake hands with the same people who would’ve put a bullet in your head ten years ago. You play the reformed soldier, the good man making good choices. A congressman.” You spat the word like it was a joke. “And yet, here you are. Still tangled up in this shit. So which is it, Barnes?” You scoffed, eyes burning. “Are you the man who wants peace, or the one who just doesn’t know how to function without war?”

Bucky’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t look away.

“You can’t have it both ways,” you continued, voice steady despite the storm brewing inside you. “You don’t get to sit behind a desk and pretend you’re better than the rest of us, then come running back the second it gets messy.”

Bucky’s voice was low when he finally spoke. “I never said I was better than anyone.”

You exhaled sharply, shaking your head. “You didn’t have to.”

The room felt smaller. The walls pressing in.

You swallowed hard, glancing at Yelena. She was watching quietly, expression unreadable.

You turned back to Bucky. “I left for a reason. And I’m not going to let you two pull me back.”

Bucky studied you for a long moment, then nodded once. “Alright.”

Yelena stepped forward, her voice softer. “Just… take this file.”

You eyed the folder in her hands.

Your fingers twitched.

For a moment, you almost reached for it.

Then you exhaled and turned on your heel, walking away.

If they wanted a fight, they could have it without you.

You pushed through the crowd, the weight of the night pressing down on you. The air inside Avengers HQ felt suffocating, too full of ghosts, too full of memories you had spent years trying to bury.

You should’ve known better. You should’ve known that even now, even here, they wouldn’t let you just exist without dragging you back into the fight.

“Hey—wait.”

Bucky’s voice. Footsteps behind you.

You ignored him.

Then Yelena was suddenly beside you, keeping pace with ease. “Oh, so what? You run away now? That’s your grand exit?”

You clenched your jaw. “It’s not running. It’s leaving.”

“Same thing,” she shot back.

You stopped walking, turning sharply to face them. Bucky had caught up too, arms crossed, watching you like he was trying to figure out just how far you were willing to go.

You exhaled sharply. “You don’t get it.”

Bucky’s brow furrowed. “Then explain it to us.”

You scoffed, shaking your head. “I did this already. I fought, I bled, I lost everything for this damn job. And for what? So I could wake up one day and realize it never actually ends?” You shook your head. “I left for a reason.”

Yelena’s expression hardened. “And what about the people who can’t leave?”

You clenched your fists. “Not my problem.”

She let out a sharp breath, stepping closer. “That’s bullshit.”

You flinched slightly, but she wasn’t done.

“Look, I get it,” she said, voice low but firm. “I know what it’s like to want to disappear. To want to just… stop. But some things are bigger than what we want.”

Bucky nodded, stepping beside her. “Fontaine’s not just recruiting. She’s building something. Something dangerous.” His voice was calm, even, but there was an edge to it. “You think you can ignore it, but you won’t. Because if she wins? You’ll wish you had done something.”

You swallowed hard, looking between them.

You wanted to argue. Wanted to tell them they were wrong. That you didn’t owe anyone anything anymore.

But the worst part?

Somewhere, deep down, you knew they were right.

And you hated them for it. Loathe even.

You stared at Yelena, then down at the file in her hands.

Your stomach twisted.

Of course, she had a file. Of course, they had planned this. Maybe not down to the second, but they knew you wouldn’t just sit there and let this go.

“You’re kidding,” you muttered, not reaching for it.

“I know I’m asking a lot,” Yelena said, tone softer now. “But you were in Fontaine’s detail once. You know how she works.” She took a step closer, pressing the file against your chest. “Just try, Y/N.”

You clenched your jaw. The words you were in Fontaine’s detail made your skin crawl.

She wasn’t wrong.

For a while, back before everything fell apart, before SHIELD crumbled and Hydra’s infection was exposed, you had worked with Fontaine. She had been different back then—at least, that’s what they all told themselves. Not a saint, not a hero, but not this.

You had been good at your job. One of the best. That’s why they trusted you with her detail in the first place.

And then you found out what she really was.

You had tried to forget all of it, bury it like you buried everything else.

But Yelena was looking at you now, waiting. And Bucky… Bucky wasn’t saying anything, just watching like he already knew what you were going to do.

You hated that.

You exhaled sharply and snatched the file from Yelena’s hands.

“This is it,” you said, glaring at them both. “I’ll read it. I’ll tell you what I know. But that’s it.”

Yelena nodded, but there was something knowing in her eyes.

“Sure,” she said. “That’s it.”

You didn’t believe her for a second.

The moment you stepped outside, turning your backs on them, the cold air hit you like a punch to the gut.

Your hands were shaking.

Your chest felt tight.

The walls of Avengers HQ had been suffocating, but out here, under the weight of everything, you felt like you couldn’t breathe at all.

Your mind was racing. Too loud. Too much.

Fontaine. The past. The war that never really ended. Bucky’s words still rang in your ears—his stupid, self-righteous Congressman voice, pretending like he wasn’t exactly what he claimed he wasn’t.

It was all coming back.

You staggered to the side, trying to pull in a breath, but your body wasn’t listening. Your legs felt weak, your vision swimming at the edges.

You hadn’t even noticed Sam followed everyone else the moment he noticed the three of you shouting as you all exit the main area. His voice cut through the chaos.

“Hey—hey. Y/N.”

You flinched, whipping around. Sam held up his hands, a step away, concern in his eyes.

“You alright?”

You opened your mouth to say yes.

But nothing came out.

Your breath hitched.

Your chest burned.

Then your knees buckled.

“Shit—”

You barely registered the sound of Sam catching you before you hit the ground. Your head spun, ears ringing, hands gripping at nothing.

Then—footsteps. More voices.

“What the hell happened?” Yelena.

“I don’t know, she just—” Sam’s voice was steady, but there was a thread of urgency in it. “She’s panicking. Can’t breathe.”

“Y/N.” Bucky now. His voice closer. Grounding. “Look at me.”

You squeezed your eyes shut.

No.

No, no, no, you weren’t doing this here. Not in front of them. Not now.

“Hey—hey, you’re okay,” Sam said, voice calm. “You just gotta breathe, alright? Just focus on me.”

You shook your head. Your body was too tight, too frozen, too stuck.

Yelena knelt down beside you. “Shit. Their hands are ice.”

You felt something—someone—grabbing one of your hands. You flinched, trying to pull away.

“It’s just me,” Bucky murmured. “Just breathe. You can do this.”

You could feel Sam’s steady grip on your shoulders, keeping you from completely collapsing. Yelena was rubbing circles into your palm, trying to ground you.

But Bucky’s touch was the one that stood out the most for you.

You gasped, barely pulling in air.

Bucky spoke again, voice even. “Four seconds in. Hold for four. Then out for four.”

You forced yourself to listen.

In. One, two, three, four.

Hold. One, two, three, four.

Out. One, two, three, four.

Again.

And again.

And again.

Minutes passed, but it felt like hours.

Eventually, the ringing dulled. Your chest didn’t feel like it was going to explode. Your hands weren’t shaking as badly.

Your body still felt heavy, like you’d just crawled out of a wreck. But you weren’t drowning anymore.

You opened your eyes.

Bucky. Yelena. Sam. All of them watching, not saying anything, just waiting.

You exhaled shakily, letting your head drop forward.

“Fuck.”

Sam let out a breath of relief. “Yeah. No kidding.”

Yelena squeezed your hand once before letting go. “You back with us?”

You swallowed hard, nodding.

Bucky was still holding onto your other hand. He didn’t say anything, just gave the slightest squeeze before finally letting go.

For a long time, none of you spoke.

Then, Sam sighed, shaking his head. “You wanna tell me what the hell that was?”

You closed your eyes, resting your head against your knees.

“..No.”

“Figured.”

Another pause.

Then, Yelena’s voice—calm, but firm.

“Maybe it’s time to stop pretending you can do this alone.”

You didn’t have an answer for that.

“You guys okay—oh, for fuck’s sake.”

You barely registered Tony’s voice over the sound of your own ragged breathing.

“Did she have a panic attack?” he snapped. “What did you idiots do?”

Bucky tensed beside you. “We didn’t do anything.”

“She walked out, and we followed,” Yelena added. “We were just talking, and then this happened.”

Tony scoffed. “Yeah? Just talking?” He crouched in front of you, eyeing your hunched-over form. “Because unless you were casually discussing nuclear war or the end of the world, I don’t see how a conversation could’ve led to—”

“Tony,” Sam interrupted. “Not the time.”

Tony rolled his eyes, then turned his attention back to you.

“You still in there, kid?”

You swallowed hard. Your chest still felt tight, but at least you could breathe now. Sort of.

“Y-Yeah.”

Tony sighed, like that one word alone had drained the rest of his patience.

“Great. Fantastic. So, you’re not dying.” He stood up, dusting off his suit jacket. “Which means I don’t have to call an ambulance. But I am allowed to ask—” He gestured vaguely. “—what the hell is going on?”

Silence.

No one answered.

You squeezed your eyes shut, pressing your forehead against your knees. The last thing you needed was an audience.

“Right,” Tony said after a beat. “So, that bad, huh?”

You exhaled shakily. “Just… drop it, Tony.”

“Oh, yeah, sure, absolutely. Let’s all just ignore the fact that you almost passed out on the pavement outside Avengers HQ.” He crossed his arms. “You know, if you wanted attention, you could’ve just crashed my car. Worked for Steve.”

Bucky shot him a look. “Not helping.”

“Not trying to.”

Sam rubbed a hand down his face. “Look, maybe we should just—”

“No,” Tony cut in. “You don’t get to ‘maybe’ this, Wilson. Not when this one—” He jabbed a finger in your direction. “—is clearly about three seconds away from vanishing into the night like some shitty action movie cliché.”

Yelena crossed her arms. “You don’t know that.”

Tony turned on her. “Oh, don’t I? What, you think this is my first time dealing with a stubborn, self-destructive ex-agent who refuses to acknowledge they need help?” He scoffed. “Please. I practically have a PhD in this crap at this point.”

Another silence.

You sighed, finally lifting your head. Your hands were still unsteady, but at least you weren’t gasping for air anymore.

“Tony.” Your voice was hoarse, tired. “I’m fine.”

He gave you an unimpressed look. “Oh, yeah. You look fine.”

You closed your eyes.

He wasn’t going to let this go.

None of them were.

“…I just needed air,” you muttered. “That’s all.”

Tony hummed, unconvinced. “Sure. Air.” He glanced at the others. “And what exactly were you three saying that made her nearly keel over?”

Yelena hesitated. Bucky shifted uncomfortably. Sam sighed.

You answered before any of them could.

“They want me back in.”

Tony didn’t react immediately. Just stared at you, expression unreadable.

Then, finally—

“Ah.”

That was all he said.

No sarcasm. No snark. Just ah.

And somehow, that made it worse.

You rubbed a hand over your face. Your whole body still felt wrecked, like you had just gone ten rounds with something you had no chance of beating.

You were so tired.

Tony exhaled, running a hand through his hair.

“Alright, here’s what’s gonna happen,” he said, tone shifting. “You’re coming back inside, you’re sitting your ass down, and you’re drinking some goddamn water. And then? We’re gonna figure out what the hell we’re actually doing.”

You frowned. “Tony—”

“Nope. No arguments.” He pointed at you. “Because clearly, you’re not making great choices right now. So, until further notice, I’m making them for you.”

You wanted to fight it.

You really, really did.

But you were exhausted. And truth be told… you didn’t know what else to do.

So, with a tired sigh, you muttered, “Fine.”

Tony smirked. “Good choice, kid. Now either carry her Wilson or drag her.”

Sam offered you a hand. You took it.

And with that, you let them pull you back inside.

incase you missed part one.

divider from: daylight !

[dcwildwestfest]

Missing

By FriendofCarlotta | @friendofcarlotta Art by morokolli | @morokollisyo

Coming to Ao3 on 04-30-25

Rated Explicit | 16,800 words | No Archive Warnings Apply

Arizona Territory, the 1870s: Krissy Chambers is a rancher’s daughter trying to prove herself as a reporter. Her chance comes when the local paper’s editor assigns her to cover the mysterious disappearance of Dean Winchester. How did he vanish into thin air at Garth Fitzgerald’s photography studio? And who is the solemn stranger captured beside him in Garth’s photograph? Krissy’s investigation leads her to Mr. Winchester’s cabin — and to a journal that tells an incredible story of demons, angels and the end of the world. 

[Keep reading for a sneak preview!]

Pulling back the quilt and covers revealed nothing, and neither did lifting the pillow. But when Krissy slipped her hands underneath the straw mattress, she felt a small, solid shape that had been tucked away out of sight. She gripped it tight and pulled it out from under the mattress.

It was a journal — handsome and leatherbound, but scuffed in the way of things that saw frequent use. Krissy hesitated. What if the writings inside the journal were of a personal nature? Mr. Winchester surely wouldn’t appreciate having his innermost thoughts exposed to scrutiny. 

Yet what alternative did she have? There were no other clues to be found, and if she were to return the journal unread to its hiding place, she would always be wondering what she might have learned from its pages. 

Having made up her mind, she settled into a chair at the cabin’s small table and undid the leather strings that kept the journal closed. She opened it to the first page and found it covered in hectic, cramped writing. 

It’s been a month. Holy shit, a month. I figure if anyone was coming to get me back right away, they would’ve done it by now. So I’m doing the “Dear Diary” thing and keeping a record of what’s happened to me, in case I never make it out of here at all. Sammy and Cas, this is for you. Just gotta figure out a way to get it to where you’ll find it, a hundred years and change down the line. 

Fuck. 

Anyway. I meant to tell you how I’ve been since I got here. Where do I even start?

[kaunis-sielu]

Small Town, Big City: 2

As you and Nat drive back to the town you text Maria to let her know that you’ve decided to stop. Your older sister is less an older sister and more a mom figure, to you and your younger siblings. When your phone starts to ring and her picture pops up you groan and don’t answer it, letting it continue to ring.

“Who are you avoiding?” Nat asks and you huff a laugh.

“My older sister. She’s always been more a mother figure to me, Pietro and Wanda. My dad took off when I was a kid and mom went to prison my freshman year. Maria was a senior, thankfully, and we were able to keep our family together. It wasn’t easy but we made it work.”

“I’m sorry.” She says and you shrug, “I get it though, Clint and I got married when I turned 18 and his father did not approve. He died last year, never forgave Clint or me but fuck ‘em.”

“Damn.”

“Yea, he’s a real asshole.” She says with a laugh, “sometimes I wonder how Clint is so great when his dad was such a piece of shit.” She says pulling off of the freeway behind Steve. “Welcome to Knowhere.” She says as a few houses start to appear along the roadside.

“That’s how you pronounce it?”

“Yea, what did you think?”

“Know here.” She chuckles,

“Yea makes sense.” She agrees, “so this is old downtown, while I’m working on your car you could go to the cafe or the diner. If you go to the cafe you should try the scones. They’re awesome.”

“Good to know.” You note out the window that there’s a small pet store called Stan’s pets. There’s a dentist, a doctors office, a few clothing stores, a hardware store, and an old white church.

“Alright, I’ll get right to work on this so we can get you back on the road. Can you fill out some paperwork with Happy at the front?”

“Oh, yea of course. Thanks for the ride.” You tell her climbing out of the truck and making your way to the enclosed part of the shop where a dark haired man is waiting for you behind a counter.

“Hi, uh Nat said there was some paperwork for me?”

“Yup, just this.” He says sliding the paper and a pen toward you. You fill out the paperwork, your address, phone number, insurance information and what details you know about your car. Things like mileage, when was the last time you got an oil change, how long it’s been since you rotated your tires, the little things that you probably should’ve paid more attention to.

Once you’re done you head out to start exploring the small town of Knowhere. You visit a few of the little shops before wandering into the cafe. It’s called Bucky Bakes and the inside looks like the inside of a log cabin and it’s adorable. The man behind the counter has shoulder length brown hair, a sleeve up his arm and an easy smile.

“Hi there, how can I help you?”

“Hi, what would you recommend drink wise? I don’t like tasting my coffee but I like the caffeine.” He laughs softly and leans forward on the counter.

“How do you feel about caramel?”

“Big fan.”

“What about whipped cream?”

“Even bigger fan.”

“Alright give me a couple minutes and I’ll have something whipped up for you. Is there anything I can get you while you wait?”

“Um, a scone? The chocolate raspberry sounds amazing.” To your surprise the man scowls at you.

“Did someone tell you to ask for a scone?”

“Uh, Nat told me that they were really good but she didn’t say I should. Why?”

“We have a bet going and she keeps telling people to try the scones to sway the bet in her favor.”

“What’s the bet?”

“She thinks that scones will sell better than the muffins.”

“So if I order a muffin too will that keep you even?” A smile lights his face and he grins over at you.

“It will! I like the way you think. Bucky Barnes.” He says reaching across the counter and shaking your hand as you introduce yourself.

“You’re welcome to call me T though. My friends and family all do.”

“T?”

“For Tornado, I’ve always been kind of all over the place. My sister says I’m a bit of a walking disaster and I think this week has been a perfect example.”

“Are you the girl Steve found on the side of the road?”

“Yep.”

“Coffee’s on me then T.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I know.”

“What do I owe you for the scone and muffin then?”

“$4.28.” You pass him a five and watch as he makes change then when he passes it back to you you dump it into the tips jar. “Thank you, what did you want for your muffin? You said the chocolate raspberry for your scone.”

“I’ll let you pick.” You tell him with a smile and he plucks a muffin from the display case.

“Blueberry lemon. It’s Steve’s favorite so if you hate it you can give it to him.” Bucky says jerking his chin toward the door. Sure enough Sheriff Rogers comes into the coffee shop, he’s still in his uniform when he sees you he gives you a smile.

“Hello, glad you survived Nat’s driving.”

“Yea, and I wandered a little bit. I’m still waiting to hear the damage.”

“Fingers crossed then.”

“No kidding.” You tell him taking the small plate with your scone and muffin from Bucky. “If you’d like you’re welcome to join me. I’ve got more snacks here than I need but was guilted into getting both.”

“You heard about the bet?”

“I heard about the bet.” He chuckles as a cup is passed to him from Bucky.

“I’d love to join you. Did you get something to drink too?”

“I’ll bring it out to you T.”

“Thank you.”

“T?” Sheriff Rogers asks as he follows you to one of the tables. You explain the nickname to him and he frowns. “Seems like a mean nickname to me.”

“It’s not wrong though.” You say with a shrug as Bucky brings your drink over.

“It’s hot.” He warns and you nod, “let me know what you think.” He says and you pretend you don’t see the knowing grin on his face.

Tag list:

@foxyjwls007 @andahugaroundtheneck @also-fangirlinsweden @pagina16ps @princesssterek @valsworldofcreativity @dumblani @inkedaztec @loving-life-my-way @animegirlgeeky @shinycupcakebaker @eralen @sophham @gh0stgurl @wonderlandfandomkingdom @patzammit @abschaffer2 @capsiclesdoll @killcomet @sass-masterkittenmama

[katchleeifyoucan]

there’s just something about ticklish men that makes me so fucking feral and i genuinely do not know what it is

[starfall-isle]

the broski 12/28/23

[mumblesplash]

heartbreaking: this viral post is saying things you completely agree with in the most irritating way possible

[doransoran]

She’s my favorite holiday <3

Additional sketches of Noelle (and kris…and ralsei) below the cut.

[retroautomaton]

Ko-Fi Commissions! ✨🍒👗

Here’s the latest and up-to-date ko-fi commission types & prices! ✨

Bringing back the Character Cards for just a SHORT time- they’ll be closing on the 20th, so get ‘em while you can!

And for January’s Creature Feature exclusive, is the 2-Outfit type! Your character in two outfits of your choosing for just $15- members only!

You can join anytime to grab one, AND a number of procreate palettes and color guides from last year!✨

Ko-Fi Shop ☕️✨

[danandfuckingjonlmao]

i love showing my partner the way phannies react to dnp doing anything because it’s endlessly funny to get an outside perspective. like yes it’s weird that we react to dnp doing anything with rage and terror but we’re having a good time i promise. the majority of us being mentally ill is completely unrelated i swear.

[wazzappp]

Jaime doodle dump!