#it’s a three year long thing. that’s so much time. and it’s so much work. it’s work I can do in theory and they’d help me but

[pochaccoups]

cw — a fluffy dad!cheol moment with his baby girl (ft. mom!reader)

“Appa, your hair is so long.”

Seungcheol’s daughter’s tiny fingers curl into the strands of his dark brown hair as he carries her from her bedroom to the bathroom. She’s right—it sweeps down the back of his neck, his bangs falling over his cheekbones. It’s the longest it’s been in years.

He sits her upon the counter facing the mirror and asks, “Yeah? Do you like it?” while batting his lashes. You’ve always told him he’s a princess raising a princess.

“I like it because it looks like mine!” she says, grabbing at her own hair. It doesn’t really, except maybe the colour, but she’s three and wants to look like her dad, so who is anyone to correct her?

He smiles fondly, his heart brimming with warmth as he grabs her toothbrush and hands it to her, squeezes a dot of toothpaste on it and watches her little hand make clumsy circles over her teeth. When she’s done, he rinses the sleep from her eyes and pats her delicate skin dry, and then it’s time to do her hair.

By now, Seungcheol has become an expert in hairstyling, probably more than even you are, having taken it on as one of his parental duties. He brushes it out, gathers half of it into one pigtail and secures it, then gathers the other half into another pigtail and secures it.

“What clips would you like, my love?” he asks, shaking the little box of her colourful hair clips.

“Uhhh, these!” she chirps, picking out a pair of pink ones with bunny faces on them.

His heart is doing spins and tumbles over his baby girl, and three years on he still can’t believe that something this cute is his creation. Although, he too can believe it because she’s also your creation. Still, every day he finds himself in awe that you had given him such a perfect little human. And she’s just sitting there, blinking at her reflection in the mirror as he slides the clips into the front of her hair and kisses the top of her head when he’s all done.

“So pretty,” he says, and he’s about to pick her up again until she makes a polite request.

“Appa, can I do your hair now?”

If she asked for the world, he would give it to her.

“Yes, baby, of course,” he says, and scoops her up into his arms. He grabs some of the storage boxes filled with hair bands and elastics, too. “Come on, we’ll go to the sitting room.”

Seungcheol places his daughter on the couch and settles himself on the floor in front of her so that she can reach his head. He’s not sure why he sits facing her, though it might be a subconscious inability to take his eyes off her, but she’s only three and she doesn’t question things too much, so she gets right to work.

Dainty fingers pull his fringe into one bunch at the top of his head and Seungcheol finds himself laughing already. He hands her an elastic and all she can really do is loosely loop his hair through it with intense concentration on her soft features that makes Seungcheol grin.

“Want me to tie it, my love?” he offers, reaching up when she nods to wrap it around his hair a few times. As he does that, she picks out a clip with a pink bow on it and slides it onto the front.

Her laughter bubbles through the room immediately, and Seungcheol’s chest flutters with affection.

“Appa, you look like Kkuma!” she exclaims, and he’s pulling his phone out of his pocket to open his camera, only to find that he, indeed, is a mirror image of his beloved Coton de Tulear. He snaps some selfies, makes sure to get his baby girl’s timid smile in them too.

“Should we go show mama?” he asks. She nods vigorously, so he plucks her into his arms, shuffling to the home office where you’ve been cooped up since 8 a.m. Bothering you is not an issue; you’d given him explicit permission to bother you unless you’re in a meeting, because otherwise your ‘job’ is you sitting there and playing mouse and keyboard.

Seungcheol lets his daughter be the one to knock on the door. In response, they hear a “yes?” in the form of your anticipatory voice. Seungcheol nudges the door open, heart warming at the sight of you in your comfiest attire, your hair pulled out of your face carelessly so that he can see every pretty feature that you graced your daughter with.

“Little princess did my hair,” he announces, pouting, winking, raising his eyebrows like he’s in a shoot. “What do you think?”

You can’t stop yourself from bursting into laughter immediately, nor can you stop yourself from leaving your chair and moving towards them so you can grab your husband’s cheeks.

“Oh, honey, you look so pretty,” you cry through giggles, watching as pink spreads over his cheeks. Affection boils inside you and you don’t resist the urge to kiss him, giving his lips a soft peck. “It suits you, appa.”

“I did it!” your baby squeals. She wants her credit, of course.

“Yes, you’re amazing, my love,” you gush, playing with the pigtails her father did. “Are you gonna do his hair like yours next?”

She gazes up at him with her big bug eyes, and you can only guess that she’s deciding that his current style is old news. “Yeah!”

“Alright then, go and do that and come back and show me, yeah?” you offer, smiling softly as she nods.

Seungcheol turns to leave, but before he can, you grab him by his shirt and bring your lips to his ear. “Don’t even think about cutting it, you hear me?”

He doesn’t have to say it for you to know when your husband has been contemplating a haircut. It’s a little longer, a little harder to manage, and you wonder how, after all the years you’ve spent gushing over his longer styles, he still hasn’t gotten it in his head to let it grow.

You free him, satisfied with image of (feigned) fear on his face. You catch him winking right before he closes the door.

[spidercatweb]

Your Embrace and My Collapse ★ Spencer Reid x reader

Warnings: fem!bau!reader, migraine!reid, angst, hurt/comfort, tiny bit of fluff at the end, established relationship, Spencer is snippy and a little mean but it's because of migraine, Spencer yells at reader, reader is sad for a bit, non-specific case details, mentions of women being murdered, a hint of misogyny from a suspect, one single swear word, umm nothing else I don't think? lmk if so. this is set in s6 :)

Description: Spencer has a migraine, he yells at r when it gets too overwhelming, he regrets this later, calling to apologize.

Word Count: 3.1k

Request: Hi! First off I loveee your blog!! Second off could I get a spencer reid x fem!reader where they r having an argument about literally anything and then a lot of spencer groveling? thanks for considering

A/n: thank you sm for the request, anon!! I am just now realizing that what happens in this isnt much of an argument 😬, but i quite like how it turned out. I hope you enjoy!! <3 Is it obvious i got carried away w this one?

After four years of working with Spencer, and nearly two years of dating him, it wasn't surprising that you were the first to notice that something was wrong. 

The past few days, Spencer hadn't gone on as many long rambles as usual. Maybe he was just tired this week, cases have been very time consuming lately. Not that they usually aren't.

You figured out what was wrong when you saw him squeeze his eyes shut and rub them with the base of his palms. Three times in an hour. Unusual. 

After the team finished delivering the profile for the current case, you took a moment to pull him aside. 

"Are you feeling okay?" Concern in your voice, you reached gently for his hand. 

He pulled away. "Yeah, I'm fine." His face scrunched up, he shut his eyes tightly and his nose crinkled up. You'd find it cute if it wasn't obvious he was in pain. He pressed into the bridge of his nose with two fingers,clearly trying to ease a headache.

"Okay," you gave him a small smile and nod, "let me know if you need anything, I've got Advil in my bag." 

"I know, thank you." He made an effort to return your smile.

"Reid, Y/l/n, we've got a lead. Garcia's about to fill everyone in." Hotch's commanding voice cut through the calm, quiet bubble around the two of you. 

The team filed into the briefing room of the BAU. Thankfully, the case was local. You were glad to be in a familiar place. 

Garcia was already seated at the small round table, tapping away on her laptop. You sat down next to Spencer, Prentiss sat on your other side.

"Lovelies, we have a small problem. I've found two men who almost exactly fit our profile."

"We'll bring both of them in for questioning, then. What do we know about them, Garcia?" Hotch directs the attention back to her.

"I was just about to tell you that, sir. First up, we've got Landon Adams, 27 years old. His childhood was... less than nice. Plenty of trips to the hospital, poor thing. Lots of injuries consistent with abuse. And I'm assuming everything going on at home was related to the multiple reports of violence towards his fellow students at school. Multiple suspensions, and he was expelled from his highschool." She takes a quick moment to switch the information on her screen.

"Second guy, Cole Parker, 29 years old. Similar childhood to Adams. Frequent hospital trips for supposed accidents, bad behaviour at school, suspensions, an expulsion. Oh and get this! They both work in construction! Different companies, though."

"Do we have home addresses and places of work?" Rossi chimes in.

"We do, sir, I've already sent them to you all." Garcia smiles proudly, always one step ahead.

"Thank you, Garcia. Alright, Prentiss, Morgan. You two go to Adams' home. Rossi and JJ, you go to his workplace. Seaver and I will go to Parker’s home. Y/l/n and Reid, you two go to his workplace." 

Everyone nods at Hotch as they receive their placements. The team splits up accordingly, each pair heading to a different SUV. Exiting the Quantico building, you see Spencer wince at the brightness of the sun. You sigh quietly. You don't like seeing him in pain, but you have a job to do. You'll talk more later.

The car ride is quiet. You drive, Spencer sits in the passenger seat. The silence isn't exactly comfortable, but it isn't awkward. You roll down his window just a little, to give him the fresh air he so obviously needs. You take the time to theorize about the suspect. Will he even be at work? Will he run? Put up a fight? You hope not.

As you pull into the small, gravel parking lot of the construction company, you sit for a moment to prepare yourself to talk to whoever is managing the place. In your experience, people in this line of work aren't often eager to talk to FBI agents. You look over at Spencer, he must have put on his sunglasses when you weren't paying attention. He now looks a little less irritated without the sun in his eyes. Good. 

You gently place a hand on Spencer’s knee, catching his attention. “You ready to go?” 

He brushes his hand over yours, giving it a light squeeze. “Yep.”

You both step out of the car into the bright sun. The sunlight reflects off of tiny, glistening specks in the gravel, and right into your eyes. You squint as you head to the front entrance of the building alongside Spencer, now wishing you’d also brought your sunglasses.

The inside of the building is similar to the outside. Concrete, dusty, smelling strongly of diesel. You noticed how Spencer scrunched up his nose at the pungent scent. 

The only other person inside is an older man who introduces himself as Mark, the manager of the building. 

“You two are FBI? Really? Well what are you two doin’ out here?”

You ignore the man’s questioning of your authority. “We’re here to ask you a few questions about one of your employees, Cole Parker?”

“Ah. Well, he called in sick today, and I’m not one to judge, but he didn’t sound very sick on the phone. If you ask me, he’s ditching work to be with that new girlfriend of his.”

“Girlfriend?” Spencer asks. He glances over to you, the unsub had been killing young women. If Cole Parker was your guy, this new girlfriend of his could be in danger.

“Yeah. He’s been yammerin’ on about her for the past week. Her name is Carol… or Christine? Somethin’ like that. Hard to keep up. He gets tired of em’ fast.”

Interesting.

“Have you noticed any shifts in his behavior lately? Short temper, violent outbursts, things like that?”

“Hm. Y’know I’m really not sure, I’m not around him long enough to notice. Might be better to ask some of the guys. I can give you the address of the site they’re workin’ if you’d like.” He offers.

Spencer pinches the bridge of his nose again, his vision beginning to blur. “We’ve already got two other agents headed there right now, but thank you.” 

The man notices Spencer’s clear discomfort, “You alright?”

“Yeah. Fine, thanks.” He runs his hands through his hair anxiously, further tousling his already messy curls.

“Thank you for your cooperation, sir.” You hand him a card with your work phone number, “Please call me if you remember any important details about Cole.”

He puts the card into his shirt pocket. “Of course. Have a nice day, you two.” 

As you both exit the building, Spencer stops right outside the door, running his hands over his face with a sigh.

You turn to look at him with concern. “Spence-”

“I just need a minute. I’m fine. I’ll meet you in the car.” His eyes are squeezed shut as he faces the ground, rubbing his temples.

You respond with a quiet “okay”, and silently head back to the car, where you wait for him. You put the air conditioning on blast as you pull out your phone to call Hotch.

“Hotchner.” He answers quickly.

“Did you and Seaver find Cole?”

“Yes, we’re just about to bring him in for questioning. How’s it going over there?”

“His boss told us that he can’t keep a girlfriend for too long, always switching between girls. He didn’t notice any other odd behaviors though. We’re just about to leave.” You spot Spencer walking over to the car.

“Alright, thanks. See you at the precinct.” He hangs up the call.

Spencer slides into the passenger’s seat, looking slightly calmer than before. “Who was that?” 

“Hotch. Him and Seaver are bringing Cole Parker in for questioning.” You turn the air conditioning down a little, so it’s still cool but not as loud, not as irritating for Spencer.

“Good.” 

***

Spencer leans his head back on his seat and closes his eyes. The drive back is just as silent as the drive there. By the time you get to the police precinct, Spencer is half asleep. He opens his eyes slowly. Squinting at the light coming through the windshield, he turns his head towards you.

“Hi.” You huff out a small laugh, earning a small quirk of his lips. “Feeling a little better?”

“Mm.” He sighs with a nod, “a little, I’ll be fine.”

You reach over and comb your fingers through his hair, he leans into your touch. You fix a few stray hairs that stick out, then give him a peck on his cheek. “Let’s go.”

***

The lights in the precinct are bright, filled with the chatter of nosy police officers. They flock around the team as you all enter with both suspects. Hotch and Rossi take on the task of interrogating, with the rest of the team on standby if needed. You stand behind the two-way mirror with Seaver and Reid. You listen intently to every word, you note mannerisms, you profile. That is your job after all.

Cole is becoming frustrated after only thirty minutes of interrogation. Hotch stays calm and collected as Cole’s volume rises. 

“I’m telling you! I was nowhere near there! I was out with some guys from work. Ask ‘em, they’ll tell you.”

“We did. They all had pretty different stories. We also got security camera feeds from the alley that night. Are you telling me that isn’t you?” Hotch slides a grainy photo across the table. The lighting is dark and the quality is less than ideal, but it’s clearly Cole in the photo.

He groans and mumbles something under his breath, “those bitches deserved it.”

“Pardon me?” Hotch prompts him to repeat himself.

“I said they deserved it! Every last one!” He yanks hard at the cuffs grounding him to the table, lunging at Hotch.

Hotch doesn’t move a muscle. “Alright, that’s enough.” He nods to the two officers standing at the back of the room. They move to restrain the man and bring him to a holding cell.

You look up at Spencer, who at first glance, seems fine, like he’s just thinking. But you notice his glassy eyes and flushed face. He tries to inconspicuously shield his eyes from the flickering fluorescent light above his head. Seaver notices this too, she gives you an “is he okay?” look, you give her a shrug and a worried look that says “I have no idea.” She exits the room to go check on Rossi and the others, leaving you and Reid alone.

You hover beside him, not wanting to worsen his pain any more. After a few moments of watching him silently suffer, you hear a sniffle. He’s crying. You get a sinking feeling in your chest, all you want is for him to be okay. 

“Spence,” you whisper. No response. “Do you want to sit down? I can get you some water,” you offer kindly. 

He shakes his head, massaging his temples again.

“Are you sure? The case is pretty much wrapped up. I’m sure Hotch wouldn’t mind.” Your voice stays soft, gentle.

He raises his voice “God, I’m fine! It’s fine! Nothing will help, just… Just stop trying to help me. I don’t need help.” You spot him wiping a tear from his face as he storms out of the room.

You don’t follow. Maybe he needs some time alone. You respect his wishes. You don’t help. Though you’d really, really like to. Instead, you follow Seaver’s trail to the second interrogation room where Rossi is still digging deep into the other suspect’s mind. You watch through the two-way mirror.

“Really, Landon? Were you really stopped on the side of that road for a nap? You were on your way home, weren’t you? Why not wait until you got back?”

“I was tired. I didn’t want to fall asleep at the wheel.”

“Alright. You’re sure you didn’t see anything suspicious? No … man lugging around a woman’s corpse? Burying her?”

“No, man! I was sleeping!” He throws his hands up in the air, as much as one can while cuffed to a table. He sighs defeatedly.

Hotch slides past you and into the interrogation room. He lets Rossi know that while he’d been interrogating, Cole Parker had fully confessed to the murders. He spared no detail, including  ones the police and FBI hadn’t yet shared with the public.

Rossi gives Landon a half-hearted apology and a pat on the back as the officers uncuff him.

***

You help Hotch to get a written confession from Cole, which takes longer than usual, because his handwriting skills aren’t exactly the best. But you sit in the room with him, waiting, as he drops the occasional rude comment directed towards you, his victims, or the police.

While sitting silently, you think about Spencer. You wonder if he’s okay. You think about what he said. He doesn’t need help from you. He doesn't want help from you. Leave him alone for once.

You shake the thought out of your head. He’s in pain. He didn’t mean it. This does little to ease the anxiety spinning in your mind.

“Hey, lady. I’m done writing.” He drops the pen down onto the metal table with just enough force to express his annoyance.

“Good. Did you sign it?” 

“Of course I did. What? Do you think I’m stupid or something?” He’s clearly looking for a fight.

Unamused, you respond. “No. I think you’re a serial killer with a severe lack of respect for women. I was just checking. A lot of people forget.” You slide the paper towards yourself and look it over before placing it into a file folder. You give a nod to the officers in the room and they take him away. You leave the room after them, meeting up with the rest of the team except Spencer, who’d reluctantly gone home per Hotch’s instruction. Thank goodness someone else noticed.

Hotch pulls you aside for a moment. “I wouldn’t mind if you left to help Reid. There’s not much left for us to do today anyway. You’re free to go.”

You hesitate. He doesn’t want help. He doesn’t need you. 

“Okay. Thanks Hotch.” You give him a faint smile as you go to grab your things.

***

Instead of heading to Spencer’s apartment, you go to yours. You want to check up on him, but don’t want to pain him with a blaring ringtone, and he was most likely staying away from screens, so he wouldn’t see a text. You keep him in your thoughts as you change out of your work clothes and settle down for the night. 

***

Spencer lies on his bed in complete darkness. At this point, the pain had brought him to tears. He hadn’t eaten anything due to the nausea looming in his stomach, which only made the headache worse.

He needed something. A distraction. Nothing loud. Nothing bright. Nothing that would irritate him further. He wanted you. He needed you.

He thinks back to what he said to you earlier. Why would I say that? Well, he knew why he said it. Scientifically. Higher sensitivity, more pain, more irritability, this leads to outbursts. He just wanted it to stop. He didn’t mean to yell at you.

He sighs, shifting to be face-down in his pillow. He just wants to feel okay. Why won’t it stop? What’s wrong with me? A pained whine escapes him as he decides to try to get some rest. 

***

Your phone’s ringtone pulls you out of your sleep. You grab it from your nightstand, checking the time first. Who’s calling me at 12:30am? Spencer. You answer with some hesitation, anxiety still whirrs in your mind, residue from hours ago. 

“Spence?”

“I really- I’m really sorry for what I said earlier. I didn’t mean it. And I know that’s not a good excuse but-” His voice is quieter than usual, strained.

“I know you didn’t mean it. You weren’t acting like… you. I was worried.”

“I said I didn’t need help but I’m um- really rethinking that right now. And I’d completely understand if you didn’t want to but um- could you maybe come over? I just really want someone here with me. I want you here with me.” 

You could tell from his voice that he was still hurting, he was scared. You get up without a second thought. 

“Of course, Spence. I’ll be right over.”

He sighs with relief. “Thank you.” 

***

Spencer hears the lock on his door click as you enter. He stays right where he is, in bed. 

You walk in as quietly as you can, leaving your shoes at the door and trying your best to navigate around in the dark. You nudge his bedroom door open and whisper a quiet “I’m here” as you spot the outline of him in his bed.

He sits up slowly with a small hum of acknowledgement. “Hi.” He reaches to turn on the lamp beside his bed.

“No, don’t, you don’t need to turn it on. It’s fine.” You reassure him. “Do you want me to get you anything? Water? Meds?”

“Both, please. Meds are on the kitchen counter.”

“Okay, I’ll be back in two seconds.” You head to the kitchen, spotting the meds once you turn on the lights. You fill a glass with ice, then water, grab the box of meds, then rush right back to Spencer’s room, turning off the kitchen lights as you leave.

You carefully hand him the glass of water, he thanks you, then takes a long sip. You hand him two tablets of his meds, and he swallows them with the water.

“You want to try to get some sleep?”

He nods, “Yeah, but these usually take about half an hour to kick in, hopefully they do kick in. I’ll probably be able to sleep then.” Your eyes have now adjusted to the dark, you can see him give you a small smile.

“You want me to stay?”

“I’d really like it if you did.”

“Alright, move over then.” You don’t wait to slide into bed next to him. It warms your heart to hear him giggle slightly from this.

***

Your next hour is spent with Spencer curled up to your chest, with your fingers carding through his hair. The room is silent, save for your breathing and the sighs he lets out every so often. You stay awake until you’re sure he’s asleep, then for a little while longer, just to make sure. Finally, you can’t keep your eyes open any longer, and you’re pulled into a calm sleep. You hope that when you wake up, everything will be okay. And it will be. Because it always is with Spencer.

Thank you for reading! <3

Feedback is very much appreciated!

My requests are open!

🪻

[manmuncher777]

Could you write something about roomates gojo and geto x reader??

Of course I can girl!!! Thank you for the request my love, I hope you enjoy <3

Two years ago, the idea of living with two boys would’ve made you laugh—no way would that ever work.

But Satoru and Suguru aren’t just anyone.

They’re your best friends.

Always have been. Always will b

At least, that’s what you tell yourself when you crawl onto the couch between them without a second thought, stealing the throw blanket from Suguru’s lap and draping it over yourself.

When Satoru laughs and tugs you sideways into his chest like it’s the most natural thing in the world, and Suguru doesn’t even blink when your thigh brushes against his under the blanket.

It’s easy.

It’s always been easy with them.

Suguru’s the steady one—the one who cooks most nights, always remembering exactly how you like your noodles, the one who makes sure you’ve had enough water after a night out.

And Satoru’s… well, he’s chaos. Loud, brilliant, exhausting. He keeps you laughing even when you want to scream, always two steps behind you with some ridiculous new scheme or prank.

You don’t know when easy started to feel like something else.

Something thicker. Heavier. A current buzzing under your skin whenever they touched you.

Maybe it was the way Suguru started letting his hand linger on the small of your back a little longer when he squeezed past you in the kitchen.

Maybe it was the way Satoru stopped teasing you about your tiny shorts in the morning—and started leaning back, lazily admiring you instead, a smirk tugging at his lips.

Maybe it was the nights you woke up half-sprawled over Suguru’s chest, Satoru’s arm thrown over your waist, like you were something they both shared.

Maybe it’s been building for a long time.

Tonight feels no different, at first.

You’re all piled on the couch, a movie playing half-forgotten in the background.

Satoru’s feet are hooked under yours, and Suguru’s hand is resting—innocently, you tell yourself—on the bare skin of your knee, thumb stroking slow, absentminded circles.

You don’t even realize you’re staring at them until Suguru catches your gaze and tilts his head slightly, a lazy smile curling at the corner of his mouth.

“Something on your mind, sweetheart?”

The pet name punches a hole straight through your chest.

You feel your face flush, heart thudding awkwardly, but you force a smile and shake your head, sinking lower into the cushions.

Satoru chuckles from your other side, leaning closer until his breath ghosts over your ear.

“You’re such a bad liar,” he murmurs, voice low and teasing.

The warmth of them, the weight of their attention—it’s too much.

It makes your skin feel hot and too tight, and you have to bite your lip to stop yourself from doing something stupid.

Something reckless.

You can feel it, thick and electric in the air between the three of you.

A question no one’s brave enough to ask yet.

Not yet.

But the lines you thought were so clear are starting to blur—and you’re not sure you want to put them back.

It was Suguru’s idea.

(Of course it was.)

Just a lazy Friday night, nothing planned, nothing to do but laze around the apartment—and maybe get a little high.

Satoru had lit up the joint with a dramatic flourish, passing it between the three of you with easy laughter.

At first, it was harmless.

Suguru sprawled lazily on one side of the couch, his hoodie slipping off one broad shoulder.

Satoru lounged across from him, legs spread wide, that stupid, infuriatingly pretty grin tugging at his mouth every time he made you giggle.

You were curled between them again, as always—close enough to feel the heat radiating from their bodies, to smell the faint musk of their cologne and smoke clinging to their clothes.

And then you started to feel it.

The familiar, slow-burning heat pooling low in your stomach.

The way your skin felt too sensitive, every brush of the blanket or accidental graze of a knee making your heart flutter.

The way your thighs kept squeezing together, desperate for even the tiniest bit of friction.

You tried to hide it.

You really did.

But Suguru’s sharp eyes caught the way you shifted uncomfortably in your seat, and Satoru’s grin widened when you ducked your head to hide your flushed cheeks.

“Hey,” Satoru drawled, voice sticky-sweet with amusement. “What’s the matter, baby? You getting shy on us?”

You shook your head quickly, too quickly, and Suguru chuckled low under his breath, deep and rumbling.

You felt it like a vibration under your skin.

“You’re blushing,” Suguru said, voice deceptively soft. “How cute.”

You whimpered—a tiny, humiliating sound—and immediately covered your face with your hands.

That only made them laugh harder.

“Aww, look at her,” Satoru cooed, reaching over to pry your hands away. His long fingers curled gently around your wrists, holding them captive.

“So sensitive. Bet you’re all worked up already, huh?”

You wanted to tell him to shut up.

You wanted to shove him away and pretend none of this was happening.

But you were too high.

Too warm.

Too needy.

And when Suguru’s hand slid casually up your thigh—slow, deliberate, teasing little circles just above your knee—you whimpered again, a soft, needy sound you couldn’t hold back.

“Ohhh, she is,” Satoru teased, laughter laced with something darker now.

“Fuck, that’s adorable. You get horny when you’re high, baby?”

You squeezed your eyes shut, wishing you could disappear into the couch.

But Suguru’s hand kept moving higher, slow and easy, until his fingers were ghosting just under the hem of your shorts.

You opened your mouth to protest, to say something, anything—but the only thing that came out was a soft, broken moan.

Both boys went very still.

The air in the room thickened, heavy with something dangerous.

Satoru leaned in, his voice dropping to a low, teasing whisper against your ear.

“Hey, sweetheart…”

His breath was hot on your skin.

“If you want us to play with you…”

His fingers brushed your jaw, tipping your face toward his.

“All you have to do is ask.”

Suguru’s hand pressed a little higher, thumb stroking the inside of your trembling thigh.

You could barely breathe.

You were trapped between them, pinned by their heavy, heated gazes, by the slow, deliberate way they touched you like they already owned you.

And god help you—

You didn’t want to say no.

“God, she’s shaking,” Suguru murmured, thumb teasing slow, lazy circles into the inside of your thigh.

His voice was pure amusement, laced with that dark heat he always wore so well.

“You that desperate for us already, baby?”

You whimpered, trying to clamp your thighs shut—but his hand was right there, sliding even higher, and Satoru only laughed when he saw your weak attempt at resistance.

“Thought you were tougher than that,” Satoru teased, his fingers feathering along the side of your neck, feather-light and maddening.

“You’re always mouthing off, always giving us that little attitude… and look at you now. Melting. Just ‘cause we’re being a little nice to you.”

Suguru’s fingers brushed against the damp crotch of your shorts and he hummed, like he’d just found something interesting.

“Fuck. You’re soaking through already.”

You made a tiny, desperate noise—half humiliated, half aching—and Satoru cooed at you mockingly.

“Aww, sweet girl,” he said, tapping your cheek playfully. “You want us that bad, huh? Just from a little touching?”

You buried your face against Satoru’s chest, burning with embarrassment, but he only laughed again, curling an arm around your shoulders to hold you there.

“You’re adorable when you’re like this,” he murmured against your temple.

“So sweet. So easy to break down.”

Suguru slid his hand higher, hooking a finger under the elastic of your shorts—so close to slipping inside, but not quite.

You whimpered against Satoru’s chest, hips bucking helplessly.

“Ohhh, look at her,” Suguru said, voice thick with laughter.

“She’s humping my hand now.”

You let out a high, broken little moan—and that’s when both of them stopped teasing for just a beat.

The air crackled between you, heavy and sharp with want.

Satoru pulled back slightly, cupping your chin to tilt your face up to his.

His blue eyes were blown wide with lust, but there was still that teasing, cruel little smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“You wanna say it, baby?” he asked, voice low and sing-song.

“You wanna tell us what a dirty little slut you are for your best friends?”

Your hips jerked helplessly—and you sobbed a soft, desperate, broken sound.

They both groaned at that, low and guttural.

“Oh, fuck,” Suguru murmured, finally slipping his fingers under your panties to stroke you properly.

“So fucking wet for us.”

You didn’t even realize you were crying until Satoru leaned down to kiss a tear off your flushed cheek.

“Poor thing,” he murmured, mock-sympathetic.

“Too needy to handle a little teasing, huh?”

You could barely breathe.

You needed it—you needed them—you needed everything they were offering, and you needed it now.

Your hands clutched helplessly at Satoru’s hoodie, your body arching into Suguru’s touch without even thinking.

“Please,” you gasped, voice wrecked and high.

“Please, I need—”

You couldn’t even finish the sentence before Satoru crushed his mouth to yours, devouring you hungrily, teeth dragging along your bottom lip.

Suguru pushed your shorts down, baring you completely, and the low, hungry growl he let out when he saw you made your head spin.

“You’re ours tonight,” he rasped, sliding two fingers into you in one slow, delicious push.

“Fucking ours.”

Satoru’s hands were everywhere, teasing, pulling, and owning every inch of you, while Suguru’s fingers dug deep inside you, curling with slow precision, each thrust hitting deeper than the last.

“Look at her,” Satoru chuckled, the sound dark, smug. He didn’t care that you were a mess, hips bucking helplessly, gasping for more. No—he was too focused on the way your body responded to him, to both of them.

Suguru’s fingers moved with a controlled rhythm, drawing out desperate, gasping breaths from you.

“She’s so fucking pretty like this,” Suguru murmured, his voice a gravelly whisper as he leaned over to press his lips against your ear. “So wet. So ready to just let us have you.”

Satoru was at your chest now, sliding the straps of your top down with slow, teasing movements, his hands gliding over your skin like a predator savoring every inch of you. His eyes sparkled with amusement, but there was something darker behind them—a hunger that matched the growing tension in your body.

“Fuck, look at her. She’s practically begging for us,” Satoru teased, rolling one of your nipples between his thumb and forefinger, making you gasp and squirm beneath him. “Tell me, baby—do you need me to fuck you, or is Suguru making you feel good enough?”

Your body trembled at the question, and Suguru’s fingers stilled for just a moment, savoring the way your walls clenched around him, desperate for more. He let out a low laugh, taking his time to pull out, only to slide back in again with an agonizing slowness.

“She’s dripping, Satoru,” Suguru groaned, grinning at the sight of your flushed, overwhelmed face. “Look at how fucking hard she’s trying to hold it together.”

Satoru chuckled darkly, bringing his face close to yours, lips brushing against your cheek as he muttered, “You’re so adorable when you’re fighting it. Look at you—so fucking close already, just from us touching you.”

Suguru’s thumb circled your clit slowly, just enough to make you squirm, but never enough to push you over the edge. He wanted you to beg. Wanted to see you fall apart for them.

You whimpered, fighting for air, desperate for release, but the way they were playing with you was making everything so much worse. So much better.

“I can see it in your eyes,” Satoru smirked, pushing himself up to tower over you. His cock twitched in his pants as he watched you squirm beneath Suguru’s touch. “You can’t stand it, can you? Want us so bad, but you can’t get what you want.”

Suguru leaned over, brushing his lips against yours in a kiss that was full of teasing sweetness, just enough to make your head spin, just enough to make you beg for more. He pulled away too soon, smirking at the way you panted, desperate for the release they were withholding.

“Say it,” Suguru murmured, pushing his fingers deeper, angling them just right. “Say you need us.”

Satoru leaned back, watching the scene with dark eyes, enjoying the way you squirmed and moaned beneath them. He was taking in every inch of your body, knowing he had you exactly where he wanted you.

“She needs us, Suguru,” he said, voice heavy with satisfaction. “She’s been craving this all night.”

Suguru pulled his fingers out slowly, teasing you by brushing his palm over your wetness. You whimpered, shuddering at the sudden emptiness.

“She’s ready,” he muttered, voice husky. “Ready for both of us.”

Satoru’s grin stretched wider, like a wolf circling its prey. “Yeah, she is. She’s been begging for it in her own way.”

Suguru let out a low, guttural laugh, his hand circling your clit again, slower this time, but with a certain purpose. “We’ll give it to her, but not yet. We’re not done enjoying the show.”

Satoru’s hand snaked down your side, gripping your waist as he lowered himself to meet your gaze again. “How does it feel, sweetheart?” he whispered, his voice syrupy sweet with mocking affection. “Being so fucking needy for us, huh? You like the way we’re making you beg?”

You let out a soft, broken moan, your entire body trembling with anticipation, your walls clenching around nothing as you fought to keep it together. You couldn’t take it anymore. Please.

Suguru’s fingers worked faster, pressing harder against you, and Satoru’s hands moved to cup your face gently, brushing his thumb over your bottom lip.

“You’re so fucking pretty when you’re like this,” he purred, kissing your forehead softly, contrasting the roughness of his words with his tenderness. “So fucking sweet. Letting us take control. Letting us play with you.”

You gasped, finally breaking, and they both knew it—both of them knew you were moments away from falling apart. And when you did, it would be all for them.

“You want it, don’t you?” Suguru asked, his voice low and sultry as his thumb flicked your clit once again, making you arch off the bed. “You want to cum for us, baby?”

“Say it,” Satoru urged, his voice practically a growl now. “Say it, and we’ll give it to you.”

And with that, everything inside you snapped. Your orgasm came crashing down on you, powerful and overwhelming, as you let out a strangled scream. The boys didn’t stop—if anything, they picked up the pace, pushing you through the waves of pleasure, making sure you came hard.

“Good girl,” Satoru muttered, watching you writhe beneath them, helpless in their control. “Such a good girl for us.”

Suguru pressed his lips against yours, swallowing your moans as he kissed you deeply, knowing that he’d just destroyed you and left you wanting more.

You’re barely coherent at this point, mind fogged from the weed, from the heavy petting, from their low voices and careful touches that have you crumbling. Your thighs clench together helplessly as Suguru’s fingers graze higher under the hem of your shorts, and Satoru’s hand cups the side of your neck, thumbing lazily at your fluttering pulse.

“She’s so desperate, huh?” Gojo says to Suguru, almost ignoring you entirely. “You’d think we never touch her.”

Suguru chuckles low and deep, sending shivers down your spine. His hand squeezes your thigh, spreading you open just a little bit more. “Can you blame her?” he says, tilting his head like he’s studying you. “We’ve been so mean tonight… teasing her like this.”

You whimper, hips shifting forward slightly like you’re chasing more, but it just earns you another amused laugh from them both. Satoru leans down to murmur right against your ear, voice a devastating purr.

“Poor baby. You need us that bad?”

You nod frantically, shame lost in the haze of need and want and their overwhelming closeness. Gojo hums and brushes his nose against your temple in mock sympathy.

“So greedy,” Suguru teases, letting his fingers trail just beneath the waistband of your panties now, feather-light, not nearly enough. “Maybe we should teach her some patience, Toru.”

Satoru grins, slow and sharp. “Or maybe we should give her exactly what she’s begging for. She’s being so cute about it.” His free hand slides over your stomach, thumb brushing lazily under the hem of your shirt. “Wouldn’t wanna be mean to our favorite girl.”

Your breath stutters when Suguru hooks his fingers under your panties and slides them down, slow and deliberate. Meanwhile, Satoru coaxes your shirt off, leaving you bare and shivering under their dark, hungry eyes.

They don’t rush. They savor.

Suguru kneels between your legs on the couch, kissing slow, wet paths up your inner thighs, while Satoru tips your chin up, capturing your mouth in a lazy, open-mouthed kiss, letting you taste how much they’re savoring your desperation.

When Suguru finally pushes two thick fingers into you, you keen into Satoru’s mouth, shuddering at how deep he curls them. Suguru just hums approvingly against your thigh.

“God, she’s so wet already,” Suguru says over his shoulder to Satoru, smirking. “Think she’ll break if we both have her?”

Satoru’s eyes light up with a dangerous glint.

“Only one way to find out, right?”

Your head spins at the implication, at the way they’re so casual about ruining you.

Within moments, they’ve manhandled you into position — Suguru behind you, pulling you into his lap with one hand at your hip, the other guiding himself against your entrance, while Satoru kneels in front of you, cupping your face in both hands with a grin that’s half-mocking, half-worshipful.

“Look at you,” Satoru murmurs, thumb stroking over your swollen bottom lip. “So fucking pretty like this.”

And then Suguru sinks into you from behind — slow, relentless — while Satoru watches every twitch of your face, every gasp, every needy whimper

“C’mon, angel,” Satoru coaxes, voice thick with arousal. “You can take us both, right? Our sweet girl.”

Your hips buck back into Suguru involuntarily, making him groan low and rough in your ear. He’s so deep you feel like you’re gonna lose your mind already — and then Satoru is fisting himself in front of you, eyes dark and hooded.

“Open that pretty mouth,” he demands, a teasing grin pulling at the corner of his lips. “Since you’re already being so good for us.”

You don’t even hesitate, whimpering around his cock as he pushes past your lips, letting you sink down onto him.

And just like that — Suguru grinding into you from behind, Satoru groaning low as you hollow your cheeks around him — they sandwich you perfectly between them, grinning at each other over your flushed, overwhelmed form like you’re their favorite little toy.

“Fuck, this is the best idea we’ve ever had,” Satoru groans, his hand tightening in your hair.

“She was made for us,” Suguru mutters against your shoulder, voice thick with lust. “Look at her… fuck, just look.”

Their hands are everywhere — gripping your hips, stroking your jaw, smoothing up your sides. They keep whispering to each other about you, like you’re not even there — admiring you, taunting you, worshipping you all at once.

And you can’t do anything but take it — the two of them working you apart and putting you back together at the same time.

They share a look above you — smug, wicked — before Suguru snaps his hips forward, grinding impossibly deeper inside you, and Satoru lets out a shaky breath as your mouth tightens around him.

“Fuck, she’s perfect,” Suguru grits out against the back of your neck, his hand winding into your hair to yank your head back, exposing your throat to his mouth, teeth scraping against your flushed skin. “Look at her, Toru. Fucking made for us.”

Satoru’s fingers tighten on your jaw, pulling you off his cock just enough for you to gasp a desperate breath before he thrusts back in, slow and deliberate, the tip hitting the back of your throat and making you choke just a little — just enough for him to groan, his hips stuttering forward.

“You love this, huh, angel?” Satoru rasps, voice wrecked, breath ragged. “Our messy little fucktoy.”

You can’t even answer — just a helpless noise as Suguru drives into you, every thick inch stretching you wide open, filling you so good you feel like you’re losing your mind. Your nails dig into Satoru’s thighs for balance, but he just laughs low, grabbing your hair and guiding your pace over his cock.

“That’s it,” he breathes, hips rolling lazily forward. “Be good for us.”

Suguru shifts his angle slightly, and when he grinds his hips against your ass again, you see stars — the fat head of his cock dragging perfectly against that spot inside you that has your legs trembling.

“Feel that?” Suguru growls against your ear, biting down just hard enough to make you whimper. “Feel how easy you give it up for us?”

You moan around Satoru’s cock, drool spilling from the corners of your mouth, eyes rolling back as your whole body shakes with pleasure. You’re so full you can barely process it — both of them using you like they’ve always meant to.

“Think she’s gonna cum just from getting stuffed full,” Satoru snickers, pulling out of your mouth just to watch you pant and sob for more, your lips swollen and messy. “You gonna cum, baby? Gonna soak Geto’s cock just from getting fucked like our dirty little roommate?”

“She’s close,” Suguru grunts, slamming into you harder now, his hand slipping between your thighs to rub furious little circles against your clit, sending sparks shooting through your veins. “Feel her fucking squeezing me.”

You’re babbling now — nonsense pleas, whimpering for them, chasing your orgasm blindly. You can’t hold it back — can’t even think — before it’s crashing down on you, your whole body seizing up as you cum with a choked sob, soaking Suguru’s cock, your thighs twitching.

“Fuck, fuck — good girl, that’s it, give it to us,” Suguru snarls, barely holding himself back, fucking you through it with merciless, punishing thrusts.

Satoru is pumping his cock lazily in front of your face, watching you fall apart with a dark, satisfied grin.

“Open up for me again, baby,” he purrs, and when you look up at him with glassy, fucked-out eyes, mouth dropping open obediently, he groans low and desperate.

“Fuck— look at you. Fucking ruined.”

You take him back into your mouth, moaning weakly as he thrusts shallowly over your tongue, chasing his own high while Suguru pounds into you with bruising force, his breath hot against your ear.

“Where you want it, princess?” Suguru pants, one hand squeezing your hips so tight you’re sure it’ll leave bruises. “Want me to cum inside you? Fill you up like a good little cumdump?”

You nod frantically around Satoru’s cock, sobbing with need, and it’s the last straw for both of them.

Suguru groans brokenly as he spills deep inside you, hips grinding hard against your ass, cock pulsing as he empties himself into your already messy pussy. The sensation of being so full, so claimed, has you moaning even louder, your body shaking violently.

Satoru pulls out of your mouth at the last second, jerking himself frantically before painting your fucked-out face with thick ropes of cum, groaning your name as his release coats your lips, your cheeks, even dripping down onto your tits.

They’re both panting, staring down at you like you’re the most beautiful thing they’ve ever seen — flushed, ruined, marked by both of them.

Suguru pulls out with a filthy wet sound, cum dribbling down your thighs, and Satoru immediately leans down, licking a stray drip from the corner of your mouth before pressing a filthy, claiming kiss against your swollen lips.

“God, you’re dangerous,” Satoru murmurs, grinning breathlessly.

Suguru laughs low, gathering you carefully into his arms like you’re something precious, despite how thoroughly they just used you.

“And you’re ours now, baby,” he says, kissing the side of your head. “Hope you know that.”

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Triumvirate 1

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, abuse by parental figure, kidnap, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Based on this.

Summary: Three men take you away from an unhappy life.

Characters: destroyer Chris, Captain Syverson, Curtis Everett.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t

The tearing in your roots makes you whine. Your mom twists until your scalp feels ready to split, dragging you down the hall as she snarls. He pushes open the screen door and hurls you out with every ounce of spite. You stumble down the crooked steps and land in the dirt. 

“You no good fucking bitch,” she spits beside you. “How many times I gotta tell you to get out!” 

You turn over and look up at her. She snarls and puffs like a rabid beast. Her glare scalds. She hates you so much. She always has. 

She slams the screen door, then the inside one. You sit up and fix the backless sneakers on your feet. You check the scrapes on your knees and sigh. It’s not the first time, it won’t be the last time. 

How could you know she had someone over? You didn’t hear them. You thought she’d be happy to see the dishes done but that chore only riled her. She broke three plates before she latched onto you. Scratches blaze on your head. 

You get up and look across the street. Leah watches from her front porch, shaking her head as she puffs on a menthol. No one does anything. They only judge. Around here, it’s not exactly unusual. 

Your purse is inside, your phone too. Shoot. You’ll have to wait her out. Whoever she’s got in her room probably gave her some pills. She’ll be out of it soon. 

You’re not proud of that thought. You should be concerned. You used to be. Now you just accept what she is. You rely on it. Her addiction keeps her weak; keeps her from hurting you worse. 

You turn and trod along the street. You could go down to the corner shop and ask Darren to spot you a gatorade. He’s usually pretty understanding. He knows your mom and that you always come to pay for whatever she wanders out with. 

Twenty-one years. It doesn’t feel that long, yet it’s still an eternity. Things never change, they only get worse. Your mom’s hair turns gray and the lines in her face get deeper and her speech more slurred. You only get weaker, more tired, more passive. It’s just the way is. Why fight? Fighting only gets you hurt. 

A truck rolls by and the tires dust up dirt. You cough at the tan paint above the silver bumper. You watch the exhaust chuff out down the street and veer around the corner, just past the corner shop. 

You approach the Penny Mart and shield your eyes against the sun. The truck idles further down the street. You shrug and continue inside. 

Darren pop gum between his teeth. You wave and head for the fridges. You take out a red gatorade and come back to the counter. 

“Can I come back later?” You ask. “Mom locked me out again.” 

He gnaws on the gum and shakes his head, “uh uh.” 

“Oh?” The door chimes as another customer enters. “You know I’m good for it.” 

“Manny says no,” he shrugs. “Your mom threw a box of cereal at him.” 

“She... did?” You’re overly aware of the man behind. He clears his throat. “Alright then, guess I’ll put this back.” 

“Well, you know... I could bend the rules,” he smirks and winks. “Come in the back...” 

You grimace. “I’ll put it back.” 

You turn and march away, skin crawling at his suggestion. It’s not the first time but for him to do it in front of someone else, that’s humiliating. You open the fridge as the man steps up to the counter. 

“I’ll take a pack of lites and twenty on the pump. Throw in a red gatorade,” he says. 

You shut the door and drag your feet across the unmopped tile. This place matches the neighbourhood. You’re sure the prices help distract from the expiry dates, too. 

Footsteps circle around the shelves. The fridge opens. A whistle keeps you from leaving. “Girl, come get your drink.” 

You stop and turn to face the man. His head is shaved close but he sports a thick goatee. He wears a sleeveless flannel, the peek of a chain shimmering around his neck. 

“Um, me?” 

“Come on,” he beckons you. “Hot day out.” 

You hesitate and cross the store. People aren’t all rotten around here. Mrs. Haggin fed you more times than you can count and Ted let you hang around his garage on the hotter days. Still, strangers aren’t common and aren’t often friendly. 

“Thanks, uh, you didn’t have to do that.” 

“Two bucks,” he clucks. 

“Right.” 

Two bucks you don’t have. Pathetic. He holds the door open and you retrieve the same bottle of Gatorade. 

“Thanks again,” you say. 

“Never know. One day, someone might help me out,” he sniffs. 

He lets the door fall shut. You turn and walk away. He follows. You have a bad feeling as he stays close. He pushes the door open above your shoulder before you can. 

Stupid. He probably expects the same thing Darren wanted. You step out and to the side. 

“I can’t pay you back,” you offer the bottle. 

“Keep it,” he waves you off and drops off the pavement ledge onto the tarmac. “Have a good one.” 

“Oh, uh...” 

He walks away. Not a look back at you. You watch him approach the truck by the pumps. Tan with a silver bumper. They must’ve needed the top-up. 

You kick off the curb and drag your feet away. You’ll go down to the park and find a table in the shade. It’s swelter. The sun beats down on you mercilessly. 

You peel away the wrapper and twist the nozzle on the bottle. You drink thirstily as you step on the cracks in the pavement. ‘Step on a crack, break your mother’s back...’ 

The truck rumbles back at the shop and you hear it rolling toward you. It passes slowly and you pretend to examine the label of the bottle. As nice as it was, you’re not stupid. It’s pity. Everyone feels bad for you, but they don’t really care. 

You follow the trail through the tall grasses behind the condemned donut shop down to Smith’s Park. It’s not much of one. Mosquitoes buzz over a pond not much bigger than a puddle, tadpoles swirling in the shallows, and the trees sway over splintering benches and rotting picnic tables. 

You sit and suck on the bottle. Couple of hours and you can go home. Home... not really where you belong, just always where you’ve been. 

The brush rustles but you don’t pay any mind to it. There are coyotes around here but they’re skittish. Squirrels too but you don’t have much for them to steal. 

You put your elbows on the table and peel off the label on the bottle as the condensation soaks through. You lay it out flat on the wood. The dingy smell of the neglected boards clings in the air. 

A twig snaps. You look up as a shadow passes between the bushes. Some kids will come down to catch tadpoles. You did when you were young. Your mom dumped the toads down the toilet once they grew.  

Another crack. You twitch and look over your shoulder. You grip the bottle and turn straight. Your voice catches as you’re face with an unexpected best. A man in a ski mask. 

It’s so absurd, you think it’s a joke. Some of the hunters like to mess around but this isn’t the area for them. It’s not thick enough. They go up north. 

He’s big. The epitome of burly. He wears a grey tee shirt damp with sweat and cargo pants. He stares at you through the slits of his mask. 

“Um,” you stand. “Sorry, I was just...” 

You step over the bench and turn to head back down the trail. There’s another man. He’s in all black. He must be melting in this heat. You reel back. 

“Oh...” the back of your knees hit the bench. “I think...” you sidle along. “I’ll just...” 

You turn and run towards the thicket of wiry bushes. Before you can reach them, another man in another mask pops out. He wears a sleeveless flannel... 

You throw the gatorade at him and spin back. You’re caught by the other two men. 

“Shhh,” the one behind you hushes. 

You struggle with them, kicking the dirty, writhing as they twist your arms behind you. The man at your back secures your wrists together as the peel of duct tape tears through the hum of insects. 

“Please, who are you? Stop!” You whine. This can’t be happening. What the hell is this? 

The man in black keeps hold of your upper arm and signals with his other hand. A cloth covers your eyes. You whimper as it’s knotted behind your head. Another is shoved into your mouth. You gag. You’re shushed again. 

“It’s alright, darlin’,” you think the bigger man says. It comes from his direction as the man behind you pets your hair. “We ain’t gonna hurt you.” 

“Quiet,” another warns. “Get her legs.” 

You fight to evade their grasp blindly. You kick out and your ankles are seized and forced together. The duct tape winds around your ankles. 

Your eyes water behind the cloth. It’s more than fear, it’s realisation. You’re not going to go home, but worse, you don’t think anyone will care. They won’t even notice. 

You babble around the fabric in your mouth. You choke as you’re taken off your feet, carried between two men like luggage. You’re just a thing. Why is this happening to you? 

You squirm and shake, trying to break away from the arms hooked around your torso and legs. A hinge creaks, a car door, then another metallic whine. No, it’s not a car.  

You’re loaded into the truck bed and strapped down to the ridge metal. You blink as your eyes burn. You quiver in horror as you sense a deep darkness cast over you and the truck lurches. The door of the bed snaps shut and closes you in. 

Weight shifts in the axel as the muffled noise of the doors opening seep through. You whimper as the engine rumbles to life. You try to roll one way or the other. You can’t. 

The way they worked, so methodical, it assures you that there is no escape. There’s no loophole for you to find. You’re stuck. That suffocating realisation constricts in your chest. No, no, no. It can’t be real. 

You shudder and replay the scene in your head. It happened so fast yet as you relive it, it feels like slow motion. The large man, the man in black, the third one in his...sleeveless flannel. 

The cloying flavour of sugary electrolytes stick to your tongue. You shudder. The man in the store. He followed you? Why? 

Think about it. What did he see? A woman with no money. A woman alone. A woman wandering off into the shadows. 

How stupid. You would never expect it. Never think that anyone would bother. You always just stay out of the way and no one bothers you. Only Darren and his gross leers. Only Rob next door when his wife’s not talking to him. 

The truck bounces over the road. You can hear the other cars around you as they head into the city. Right through the mid-afternoon rush. How many people are driving by completely unaware of you hidden in the back. 

The pit in your stomach deepens and you whine. You try to scream. You can’t. You try to kick. You can’t. 

These men are taking you who knows where to do things you can’t imagine and there’s no one coming to save you. Just like no one ever came to save you from your mom. 

[elaineiswithyou-blog]

Sugar baby reader x 141 (ghoap poly at the end)

TW: Age Gap, nsfw below the cut. Daddy kink/fauxcest, tracking/stalking

I also try to write gender neutral, any feedback would be much appreciated. 

Being an international student at the university of London was fun but also challenging. Being far away from family and not to mention the cost of attending and living in London. Finding work while already on a student visa had made you cry one too many times, so with your tail tucked between your legs, you decided to try being a sugar baby, though it’s not like you had much dignity to lose after being on tumblr for so long. Making the profile was easy, using a fake name and putting some photos of yourself in sexy outfits or nude but making sure your face was not in any of the photos. It took a few days, scrolling through messages that seemed too personal to stumble upon a basically blank account. He was older than you by about 10 years but didn’t say how old he was exactly. His profile picture was absent from any photos, even his profile picture was just a black circle. Ghost was the only name on the profile but he made it clear in his message that all he wanted was a few videos and photos, never wanting to meet up or do anything personal, which was a lot less intimidating than some of the other requests you received so you did as he asked. You’d send him photos, posed in various lewd positions, often wearing black or white and wearing chokers that he had requested. The money was nice but his communication was inconsistent, sometimes hearing from him a few times a day or waiting weeks in between messages so you decided it was time to get a second sugar daddy.

The second one you found interest in made you think he was a total catfish. He was young, not much older than you and a total smokeshow if his pictures were to be true. The only thing that made you a bit more nervous about Kyle (If that’s even your real name) was that he wanted to meet you in person and have physical contact and with all your uni assignments you hadn’t been intimate with anyone in a hot minute. You wondered if you should even go through with it but Kyle reassured you that he’d pay you before meeting and that you wouldn’t have to do anything at first. “Think of it as a date, a trial run,” he suggested so you agreed, dressing in your nicest casual first date outfit and meeting him at a cafe not far from the university campus. He was even hotter in person somehow and he was actually really sweet and paid you what he said he would, though it was less than Ghost but Kyle made up for it plenty with the sex. Going over to his flat when he requested. You soon learned he really liked eye contact during sex, putting you in a mating press, which you knew you were not getting out when you saw him shirtless for the first time. It was all exciting and made you eager for more, plus the money was great so why not?

The third man was much older, nearly twice your senior, but he was handsome and he was willing to pay more than Kyle and Ghost were offering. Despite the age gap, he was a true gentleman, taking you to a fancy restaurant for your first meet up, paying for your dinner. John, as you would come to learn, was much larger than Kyle but just as handsome with some spots of grey in his beard. He didn’t correct the waiter when he commented how sweet it was for your father to take you out to such a nice place and given that he was paying you, you just smiled and nodded, definitely making John eager. Once you left the restaurant though, he wouldn’t even respond to John anymore, simply stating that it was “no way to talk to your father.” which soon spilled over to you calling him dad or daddy in bed. He was rougher than Kyle but still made sure not to hurt you when you had sex.

The last man you took on was Johnny. Your confidence and time management skills had widely improved, still keeping track of your three clients before deciding to take on more of a challenge. Johnny was pushy, affectionate and wanted a lot of your time. This time you skipped the first date, meeting up with Johnny at his place and having a lot of sex. You thought Kyle and John had quite the stamina but apparently you had no frame of reference given Johnny’s eagerness to show off, putting you in a headlock and all kinds of positions he could hold you down in. But all good things don't last forever. Deciding to set up an early morning meeting with Johnny and a call in the afternoon with Ghost, something you had never done before because you usually wanted to give the boys their own time and space. Only problem, which you soon found out, was that Johnny promised and promised and promised to let you out on time but hearing him beg for one more in that hot scottish accent got you a bit too carried away and soon you missed Ghost’s call. Ghost was a patient man for a lot of things but when you had made such an effort to be on time for your previous calls, he decided something wasn’t right. Ghost had known who you were the moment you showed your face to him, quietly stalking your social media and friends to watch from afar, so he knew where you were immediately and he was grinning from ear to ear under his mask as soon as the familiar flat of his scottish friend showed up on the map.

Ghost entered the flat as you and Johnny were finishing up, Johnny having given him a key a long time ago, and with you two being so loud, you certainly didn’t hear him. It wasn’t til you felt a hand around your throat that you opened your eyes, finding a strange man above you. You nearly jumped, Johnny cumming as he looked up and smirked? “Hey Lt.” He said casually as ever. “Hello you naughty minx.” The familiar voice causes your eyes to widen. “Wondering when I’d get to meet you.”

[hazeljadie]

UNSAID WORDS | PARK SUNGHOON

bestfriend ! sunghoon x fem ! reader | wc. 3.3k synopsis: you instantly clicked with Sunghoon since you've started university, not realising when your adoration for your best friend turned into unrequited love genre: angst, fluff [SFW] a/n: tbh, this one has been collecting dust for months now - but hey, it was time for my first post ever!

Three years.

It has been three years, and yet every time I tried to say those simple three words to him, my voice got stuck in my throat. Why?

Why could I not confess my feelings to him? Say the most simple three words without overthinking my decision? Was I such a coward?

Yes, that was exactly what I was - a coward.

Watching and loving my best friend for the past three years just from the sidelines was the only thing I could do. I was too scared to find out that he didn't reciprocate my feelings for him. Hurting myself over and over in the process just because I couldn't stand losing him over my lousy greed for more. This had become my way of moving forward in life.

I should be happy with everything I already had in my life…right?

"Y/n, are you sleeping?"

I looked up. Sunghoon was towering over me, concern etched onto his tired face. His eyes took my breath away as they always did, but this time I couldn't stand to look into them.

My feelings for him were starting to suffocate me. My eyes teared up.

"Y- Y/n? Hey, are you okay?" Sunghoon crouched down while I sat back up in my desk chair. "Keep it down, silly. We're in the library." I tried to swallow the lump in my throat and smile at Sunghoon as he took a seat next to me, but judging from his intense stare, I knew he wouldn't let go.

"I yawned. You know how I always tear up when I yawn." The boy in front of me raised an eyebrow as if that was the most dumbest excuse one could come up with. But I lied through my teeth as if it couldn't be anything but the truth.

I squished his face with both my hands to break the awkward tension in the air. "Oi, the great and mighty Park Sunghoon, don't you know it's common sense for people to get tired when they pull an all-nighter?" I pinched his cheeks to distract him from getting any more suspicions about me.

Sunghoon swatted my hands away, smiling slightly at my annoying behaviour. He was convinced that I was indeed telling him the truth. "Cut it out, Y/n. Give me your car keys, I'll drop you off at your place. It's raining now and the streets are slippery since the temperatures have dropped too much."

No.

I didn't want to be confined with Sunghoon in a tight space like my car. Being in uni was different. What if I actually cried this time? Sunghoon would push me for answers. What if I finally gave in? He would leave me on the spot and never let me see him again-

"Don't even think about it, Y/n. You are definitely not driving".

Before I could even say anything to him, he snatched away my bag, fishing out my car key from the front pocket like he owned it. Protesting didn't do much - he simply stood up and left for the parking lot, my car key dangling between his fingers. I packed away my scattered study notes and pens on my table and ran after him.

❁

It didn't take us long and we were already on our way to my apartment, the rain sound was lulling me to sleep and I had a hard time keeping my eyes open. Sunghoon didn't mind and turned on the radio, softly humming to the songs that were being played. His voice worked its charm as if he were singing lullabies for me and I finally drifted off to a deep sleep.

"Hey, sleepyhead, wake up." Sunghoon nudged my cheek ever so lightly, I almost thought I was imagining things. "Y/n, wake up. We're here."

It took me a great effort to open my eyes, but I knew for sure that I wasn't imagining the light touches on my cheeks. Sunghoon was actually stroking my face as if I were the most delicate doll in the world.

Was my vision clouded again? Were my feelings for him messing with my mind?

I didn't trust myself to say anything to him. Not when my heart was acting up like this.

Without another word, Sunghoon took my bag from the backseat and looked through my bag until he found my house keys. Now holding both of our bags in his arms, he stepped out of the car and ran to my building on the opposite side to unlock the main door, only to be drenched by the heavy rain within seconds. He slammed it back and made sure the door wouldn't close and dropped both bags on the floor.

With long strides, he ran back to the car, opened the car door on my side. Out of nowhere, he swooped me up in his arms, careful enough so I didn't bump my head against the car.

"Sunghoon, I can walk!" I shivered when I clutched my body tighter to his, both were drenched to the bones at this point. But he didn't listen to me. He only put me down after we were already inside my apartment, pools of water formed under our feet in the entryway.

I looked dumbfounded at Sunghoon. What was going on in his head?

"Thank me later, Y/n. Can I crash here? Driving in this weather would be a foolproof way to see God, no kidding". He took off his wet coat, shoes, mismatched socks and stepped into the living room without even waiting for my answer.

"Sunghoon, what are you doing?" I followed his actions and trailed behind him to the living room, standing in front of him as he plopped down on my couch. "Whadd'ya mean 'what?'"

I don't know if it was my stance or the way I stared blankly at Sunghoon, but he understood that I was waiting for an explanation.

"Y/n, do you want me to drive back to my place in this rain? I've stayed awake for two days, too because of our uni project, Y/n, just like you've-"

"Sorry, I wasn't being considered towards you." I don't know why, but having Sunghoon in close proximity while I was sleep-deprived was not doing me any favours. I was tired, hurting, stupidly hopeful but irritated nonetheless. Sunghoon didn't do anything wrong for me to snap at him like that.

"You can stay here."

Without sparing him another glance, I dashed into my room and slammed the door close.

It hurt.

It hurt so much when the person I love was just a touch away, yet I couldn't reach out to him.

Love was never a necessity in Sunghoon's life. All his focus went towards his goal, making his dream turn into reality. Ever since he was a child, he knew exactly what he wanted from his life, and he was so close from reaching it. Following his passion made much more sense to him than being distracted by love and all the problems that came along with it.

My growing feelings were one of them.

And I had to put an end to it.

❁

I changed into comfortable clothes and laid awake in my bed as I watched the rain crash down against my window, turning the world outside into a blurry painting. I let my tears flow free and didn't even want to wipe them away. There was a void in me and it drained me of all my energy. My chain of thoughts were interrupted when I heard loud sneezes in the living room.

I stepped into the living room, the cold air nipping at my bare legs and arms that my pyjamas didn't cover, only to realise that Sunghoon fell asleep on the couch while his clothes were still wet. The rain didn't spare an inch of his body. And the couch turned dark from the wet material that clung to his body like a second skin.

"S- Sunghoon!" I was shaking his arms urgently, trying to wake him up. He didn't bother opening eyes, "Mmm, Y/n, stop-" "Sunghoon, please get up, you are drenched! You'll fall sick if you keep sleeping here!" Thankfully, I managed to make him sit up on the couch.

I went back to my room to pull out anything oversize Sunghoon could change into. 'These black joggers and t-shirt would have to do…both are size L, right?' I went back to Sunghoon to give him the clothes and pushed him towards the bathroom that was attached to my bedroom.

I walked back to the living room and headed to the kitchen to fetch myself a glass of water. I just really hoped that he didn't come down with the flu or something. What even was this bad luck of mine?

Sunghoon didn't come out from my room and I was feeling paranoid all of a sudden. 'He couldn't have fallen unconscious in the bathroom or something, right?', Not wasting another second, I took quick steps across the living room and reached for my bedroom. The only thing that came into my view, though, was Sunghoon lying peacefully in my bed.

I was taken back.

Obviously, Sunghoon couldn't sleep on the couch since his clothes made it wet, but I somehow didn't think through where else he might be sleeping - there was only my bed and the drenched couch in my apartment.

Where would I sleep now?

As if Sunghoon could read my mind, his groggy voice cut through the awkward silence in the room, "Y/n, could you bear with me for one night? Please? I…I swear, I won't do anything to you". His voice turned into a whisper in the end, as if it only dawned on him how ridiculous his plea sounded. "Trust me, please."

Would I trust him?

I trusted him.

More than I trusted myself in this situation.

So without batting in eye, I went over to my bed and climbed in, leaving enough space between us.

"Thank you, Y/n".

It wasn't a simple thank you between two best friends. It was a 'thank you' for the trust a woman was putting into a man's mere words.

I could've kicked Sunghoon out for even suggesting such an idea, because that was the obvious thing for me to do.

Or I could've even shouted at him - anything but laying next to the person I desperately tried to avoid in the first place. It seemed like the rained washed away every ounce of rationality I had in me.

❁

Soft snoring joined the sound of rain splattering against my windows. I couldn't fall asleep anymore, even though my eyelids felt heavy. It wasn't until I felt Sunghoon turn around and snake his arm around my waist that I became awfully aware of how close we were pushed against each other.

Sunghoon's breathing was tickling my neck, but I was stiff in my spot.

Was I supposed to wake him up? Did Sunghoon even have the faintest idea about what he was doing? What were his actions doing to my heart? Was he still asleep, not hearing how my heart was about to give up from beating too fast?

I waited.

I waited for him to stir, pull his arm away, or do anything. Something.

But he didn't.

I took a risk and slowly turned around under Sunghoon's arm. His face was void of any reaction, his breathing was steady and Sunghoon didn't seem to be awake.

A lump formed in my throat and it didn't want to go away, no matter how often I tried to swallow it down. My vision became blurry until the tears were flowing out and slowly turning my pillow case a shade darker.

My right hand hesitantly reached up and stopped mid-air. What was I doing? Sunghoon will hate me for this. He doesn't love me.

But my body had a mind of it's own: I was lightly caressing Sunghoon's cheek, unable to stop myself from doing so.

Will I ever be able to get over my love for this man?

Will I ever be as important to him as his ambitions in life?

Was falling in love supposed to be this painful?

I was so lost in my thoughts that I didn't see Sunghoon's open eyes staring right into mine.

I froze on the spot.

But he didn't do anything after that. He wasn't moving away.

Why?

The rain had no intention of slowing down and was splashing just as forcefully against the window behind us as it did a few hours ago. But I was damn sure that Sunghoon could hear my heart thumping loudly in my ribcage.

It felt like an eternity had passed, with neither of us pulling away from each other. My hand was still on Sunghoon's cheek, while his arm was resting on my waist as if it belonged there.

"Why aren't you saying anything, Sunghoon?" My voice was shakey and barely audible.

Sunghoon's voice also came out in a soft whisper, "Am I…supposed to say anything, Y/n?" His eyes were still void of any expression. I didn't have the faintest idea about what was going on in his mind.

"You don't hate-" I took a sharp intake of air before I continued, "You don't hate me for doing this to you?" I looked at my hand on his cheek and back into his eyes. I was nervous of his answer.

"It doesn't feel wrong, Y/n." His voice was shaking. "This…feels right, Y/n."

My heart stopped hearing those words. Did he not realise what he was saying?

We were still facing each other, not knowing what we should do - we were just lost in each others eyes, when Sunghoon spoke up. "I don't know what I should do, Y/n. I'm scared of this."

This sentence pierced through my already hurting heart. I removed my hand from his cheek and tried to pull back, but Sunghoon's grip on my waist tightened.

"I'm scared of hurting you, Y/n." Sunghoon was tearing up.

"Why would you even hurt me-"

"Because I'm falling in love with you, Y/n."

My whole world came to a stop. "What?"

The way Sunghoon's gaze changed made me question everything. I've never seen him look at me like that - the vulnerability in his eyes made my heart ache in a way I never had expected.

Sunghoon's tears were staining the side of his face now, before he pulled me into his chest and hugged me safely in his arms.

"I've never loved anyone in my life, Y/n. It was never meant for me. People come and go in my life and I never look back at them. But you…I'm scared of losing you. I started to make an effort of learning about the things you like and dislike, about the things you do and love. Unknowingly, you became an irreplaceable person in my life - you became my best friend."

Sunghoon was stroking my head so lightly as if I could break from a wrong touch. "Staying with you became as normal as filling my lungs with air to stay alive. But I started to become greedy - I wanted to have you for myself. Y/n, I was never jealous of anyone or anything in my life, because for me, working hard meant that I can achieve anything, get anything I want. But with you…"

I pulled back and looked into Sunghoon's dark eyes. His usually sharp gaze looked so vulnerable right now. His voice was breaking, "For the first time in my life, I felt a fear: why would you stay by my side if I don't know how to love? How to love you? You know what love is, but I don't…and I've never felt so lost in my life, Y/n. What if I can never love you the way I'm supposed to do it? The way you deserve to be loved? What if you start to hate me and-"

I stopped him. My hand was resting on his lips as both of us couldn't stop the tears from flowing.

"Do you mean it, Sunghoon?"

He cupped my hand with his, kissing the very palm that shushed him mere seconds ago.

"Yes."

I wiped away his tears and scooted closer to him. I had the sudden urge to feel his warmth on my skin. My voice was equally hoarse as Sunghoon's was before.

"Will you…Will you let me stay by your side, if I told you that I love you?"

I knew I was pushing my luck at this point, but Sunghoon had planted a seed of hope in my heart, and I couldn't stop it from sprouting.

"Y/n, do you really love me?" His soft hands were wiping away my tears now and delicately cradled my face between his palms, "Would you really stay with me? Even though I don't know how to love you…the way you truly deserve to be loved?"

Unsaid words that seemed like a far away dream were finally seeing the light of the world for the first time.

I smiled through my tears at him, with a flurry feeling in my chest that made me gasp for air, "I love you, Sunghoon. I always have."

Sunghoon mirrored my smile and bumped his forehead against my own. His breathing quickened, like he was having a hard time staying calm. He looked up and gazed lovingly into my eyes, not breaking eye contact even once. "Say that again, Y/n. Please."

"I love you, Sunghoon…I love you, I love you, I love-"

He didn't let me finish.

Sunghoon's plump lips covered mine in a long, warm kiss that left both of us short of breath.

All the feelings, love and desire we had for each other were poured into this kiss. The way he was still caressing my cheek while kissing me made me light-headed. My lungs were on fire, and I broke our kiss to catch air. The rain had finally slowed down and the sudden burst of moonlight escaping between the dark clouds made Sunghoon's face appear so magical as if this was all a dream.

"Do you…really love me, Sunghoon?" I had to make sure that this wasn't just another dream of mine. I had to make sure that Sunghoon felt the same for me as I did for him.

"I love you, Y/n. I love you so, so, so much." Sunghoon's whole face lit up with the brightest smile I've ever seen.

I've never witnessed him smile like this before - with so much adoration, love and want in his eyes, it almost made me choke up.

"And I will do anything in my might to show you just how much you mean to me."

Sunghoon kissed me. Again.

It felt like our lips were always meant to be this way. Like they belonged to each other. Like this was the only way we were supposed to exist.

Sunghoon smiled into the kiss. He placed a soft kiss on my forehead. Then one on my right eye. Another one on the left eye. On my right cheek. One on the left one too.

Sunghoon started to place a trail of kisses on my neck and collarbone while his fingers delicately feathered over every inch of me within his reach. His lips traced my skin while he was moving lower and lower…and lower.

I lifted both of my hands and reached for his hair, using my soft grip on his dark locks to tug him back up to me, his lips were playing with mine again.

"Y/n", Sunghoon's voice came out as a strained whisper, "…there's still a chance to stop me, you just have to tell me once".

That unwanted fear settled back in his eyes: he didn't want me to regret our actions later just because we were getting carried away with the mood.

But I knew exactly what I wanted, what I needed to do.

And I've never been so sure about anything in my life like right now in this moment.

"Love me all the way and make me yours, Park Sunghoon."

[lovesickchoi]

WHERE HE CAN'T REACH ❥ 강태현, 최수빈

⋆·˚ ༘ * taehyun knew what you were to soobin: off-limits. boundaries were supposed to protect what you all had. but when affection starts to feel like ownership, and longing begins to look a lot like love, taehyun’s desire becomes the loudest betrayal of all.

pairing: taehyun x reader x soobin ✮⋆˙✐ 9.3k

warnings: f!reader, smut with plot, jealousy, toxic best friend soobin, possessive soobin, taehyun's in love, reader favors taehyun, roommates, alcohol consumption, hidden feelings, no mxm, voyerism, dom!soobin, switch!taehyun, sub!reader, eiffel tower, oral (f & m rec.)

· ˚₊ · »-♡→ masterlist

Soobin saw it in the way your eyes followed Taehyun across the room. The way you sighed dreamily, drinking in every inch of him—it was unmistakable.

You thought you were being discreet with your longing stares, only to have Soobin force your attention back to him with a tug on your waist.

Soobin was your childhood best friend. Connected at the hip for as long as you could remember. Every major life event, every core memory, every milestone. Soobin was there, as you were for him.

He had always been quite... territorial about you. And he couldn't tell when the feeling crept up on him.

Maybe it was the first time you cuddled during a movie as adults. Maybe it was the first time you changed your clothes in front of him in college, not thinking much of it since you took baths together as children. Or was it that day he finally had the chance to taste you, drunk and sloppy after a night out?

Or maybe—just maybe—it was when Kang Taehyun stepped into the picture.

Soobin had known Taehyun first, of course. Their friendship formed almost instantly when they ended up sharing the same schedule in college. Naturally, it wasn’t long before Soobin introduced you, his childhood best friend, to the person who had quickly become his closest friend at school. How could he not?

Soobin didn't regret many things in his life. But watching the way your eyes locked with Taehyun's as you spoke each other's names for the first time? That made him wish he could go back in time.

It wasn’t always bad, though. The three of you had once been inseparable, a tight-knit trio that stayed together well beyond college. You even became roommates as you stepped into your busy adult lives. On paper, it was the kind of perfect setup anyone would envy.

Until the year stretched on, and lines began blurring more by the day.

First, it was Soobin coming home from work later than usual, only to find you and Taehyun cooking dinner together and laughing a bit too softly. Not to mention the abrupt end to the laughter once he closed the door behind him.

Then it was Taehyun waiting up for you when you were out late, pretending like it was a casual concern, nothing more.

The worst one to date was you falling asleep on the couch during your typical Friday movie nights. Except your head conveniently rested in Taehyun's lap, not Soobin's like you had done for years.

Soobin couldn’t help but crave your attention. It wasn’t because he wanted you. Not in any real, romantic way at least. It was just that you’d always been his to have around. His constant.

You were supposed to be his. You were supposed to go to him when things were hard. Go to him when you were needy late at night. Trust him with any and everything. Cuddle him, cherish him, love him. Only him.

Yet there went your fucking eyes scaling Taehyun as he walked past the TV and into the kitchen without a care in the world.

You knew exactly how Soobin felt when it came to you. You’d known for a while at this point. But part of you had hoped it would fade—that if you stayed close, stayed safe, you wouldn’t have to hurt him.

Across the room, Taehyun wasn’t stupid.

He felt your eyes on him. He wanted to look back, to match the desire in your stare. But he knew one glance at you would earn him a reprimanding glare from Soobin.

It was no secret how close you and Soobin were. One thing about Taehyun—he notices everything.

He saw how Soobin's hands always managed to find your waist. How your head tilts toward him during conversations. Even now, with your legs swung over Soobin's lap as you settled in for your movie night.

But of course you were close. You were childhood friends, for crying out loud. Your relationship was something sacred. Something off-limits to Taehyun.

It was never said out loud, but you were Soobin's. And Taehyun wasn't the type to steal.

Taehyun had become quite good at playing it cool with you. But his patience would easily wear thin when you laugh too hard at his jokes. When your hand lingers too long on his forearm. When you fall asleep next to him on the couch, Soobin nowhere in sight, and your breath brushing his neck.

And he couldn't do a single thing about it. Not when Soobin set his boundaries so clearly. So instead, he's gotten so used to burying it.

I can live like this, Taehyun would try to convince himself. Stay the third. The extra. It's better than risking the whole trio.

At least until tonight.

Taehyun found his way back to the living room after retrieving the half-empty bottle of wine from the kitchen. A movie night wasn't complete without a few shared drinks.

Topping off both yours and Soobin's glasses, he put the bottle down and settled back on the couch beside you, pretending not to look.

But now it's Soobin's stare that catches Taehyun's attention. He suddenly couldn't take his eyes off the younger boy beside you.

With some liquid courage, Soobin sucked in a breath. Fuck it.

"You want her, don't you?" Soobin muses, his grip on your shin tightening. Your body goes stiff under his touch.

Taehyun’s throat dries. Because he’s wanted you for so long, he forgot what not-wanting feels like.

He glances at you, still frozen, then back at Soobin. "Excuse me?" is all he manages.

A scoff emits from Soobin's throat. He watches you, but speaks to Taehyun. "Don't act dumb. I see the way you eye fuck each other across the room every chance you get."

Your heart drops into your stomach. You swallow hard, pulse ticking behind your ears. “Soobin… what are you doing?” you ask cautiously.

"Giving you what you both want."

Taehyun doesn’t answer, but he doesn’t leave either. His silence screams.

That’s when Soobin smiles. Not cruel or mocking, just curious. Possessive. "Maybe I should see what happens when I share. Just once."

You blink as if trying to reset what you just heard. Your brain floods with static, but underneath it… there’s intrigue. You hate how your breath hitches. Hate that he’s not wrong.

For a moment, you don’t speak. Not because you don’t want this, but because you do. Because this is the kind of thing that changes everything.

Slowly, you turn your head. Taehyun won’t even look at you. His jaw is locked, throat bobbing, fists clenched in his lap. His silence is louder than any yes.

“This feels like a game to you,” you finally say.

"Maybe it is." He nods his chin over at Taehyun. "But he's the one who's losing."

Taehyun's jaw tightens, the first time he's moved since Soobin's outburst. What was he to do? He's been in love with you for years. But he didn't want you like this. Not as some power play. And certainly not as Soobin’s dare.

"Taehyun?" You whisper, exchanging silent words that Soobin can't decipher, and he hates the secret language you two share.

Taehyun felt like he was being set up. Like Soobin was daring him to cross a line. To see how much pride he’d swallow.

If this was the only way he could have you, even for one night, then so be it. He’d give Soobin a fucking show.

“Don’t think this is about you,” Taehyun breaks his silence, eyes never leaving you. “She’s the only reason I’m still sitting here.”

Soobin hums in content. The words sting, but Taehyun is still submitting. That’s a win in his eyes.

Your name lingers in your ears. Then you feel Soobin’s large hand gripping your chin, guiding your gaze back to him. "If you want this," his voice is calm yet commanding. "I need you to stand up. Right now."

You want so badly to look back at Taehyun, to check if his eyes still burn for you. But Soobin's grip keeps you locked on him. He raises an eyebrow, waiting for your decision.

Before fear can catch up with you, you're straightening your shoulders and swinging your legs off Soobin's lap. Now you're standing directly in front of the two men on the couch. Just waiting.

After watching you for a moment, Soobin slowly stands with you. To your surprise, he laces his fingers with Taehyun's, who is still sitting on the couch, pulling him to his feet.

Soobin bends down to pick up both yours and Taehyun's wine glasses. You take yours from his hands without question. After an intense exchange of eye contact, Taehyun finally takes his glass—a reluctant agreement.

Eventually, Soobin picks up his own. "Finish it," he commands, tilting his head back first, downing the dry red liquid. He sets his glass down, staring back at Taehyun. "Hope you can take direction as well as you talk back."

The gravity of the situation was beginning to strike you. You could only hear the sound of your own heartbeat, all the nerves and excitement beginning to pile up. Staring down at the red wine in your glass, you debate whether it's too late to turn back.

It's the second thud of glass hitting the table that brings you back. Taehyun had finished his drink. He was in. Your chest tightens as you lift your eyes to find him already looking at you, steady and unflinching.

Here's goes nothing. Finishing your wine, Soobin is quick to set your glass down for you. He takes your hand in his.

You glance back at Taehyun before Soobin pulls you away, leading you all the way to his bedroom. The two of you follow him closely behind, unspoken consent hanging in the air.

Taehyun rolls his eyes once Soobin turns his back. Of course he picked his own bedroom. It was a deliberate move. A silent dig at Taehyun that he was meant to swallow.

Now the door is shut behind all three of you. The room is buzzing with a new energy, and you almost don't know what to do with yourself. Nobody speaks right away.

Soobin moves first. His large hand presses firmly against Taehyun's chest, guiding him toward the bed. You couldn't quite grasp the dark look they exchanged, but it made your breath catch. "Sit down," he gently commands.

With slight hesitation, Taehyun takes a comfortable seat on the edge of Soobin's bed. Excitement bubbles inside Taehyun, watching you stand so helplessly in the middle of the room. He notices the way you bite the inside of your cheek, a common nervous habit of yours.

The excitement is quick to fade, though, as Soobin slowly circles you, stopping directly behind your body.

"Stand still for me," he directs you this time, pulling your shirt over your head and discarding it onto the floor. "Let him see you like this."

Your lips part in a quiet gasp when Soobin presses himself against your back. He gathers your hair in a ponytail, craning your neck to the side. Suddenly, he begins pressing soft kisses to the warm flesh.

Your eyes flutter closed. The feeling of Soobin's lips was too good not to bask in. Especially as his hands began searching your body. Light grips of your hips and thighs became overwhelming. Soobin had always been greedy when it came to you, and this was no different.

A gentle moan escaped your lips as Soobin's hand settled between your legs. He cups you over your pajama shorts, firm and in just the right place.

Taehyun wonders what he did in his past life to deserve such torture.

It pained him to see you crumpling in Soobin's hands. But watching the way your needy hips leaned in the touch, almost begging for more, had Taehyun tightening in his pants more than he'd like to admit.

Your eyes flutter open, Soobin still moving behind you. “He’s j-just watching us,” you stutter. Across from you, Taehyun’s hands grip his knees, knuckles gone white.

"Good. That means he's learning." Soobin simply responds.

His assault against your skin continues, biting down on the junction of your shoulder and neck. His eyes stayed trained on Taehyun as he did so, predatory and teasing.

Taehyun can't stay silent for much longer. "What do you want me to do?" He's desperate at this point, dying for Soobin to instruct him.

The question delights Soobin. He smiles against your skin at Taehyun's obedience. "You'll know when I tell you." Soobin removes his hand from between your legs, and you whine at the loss of contact. The noise alone has Taehyun twitching where he sits. "See? He can follow directions."

"And what if I want to direct him instead?"

"Then I'll listen," Taehyun answers you quickly, round boba eyes filled with need as he stares at you. His eyes are fixed on your lacy bra, trying hard to ignore the way Soobin's long fingers trace circles over your nipples through the undergarment. The action pulls more whimpers from you.

God, Soobin had you right under his fingertips. Literally. It's all he's wanted to experience again for a while. And having Taehyun as his witness? He felt as if he'd already won.

"Not yet. He only gets what I give him." Soobin is firm in his stance, keeping his focus on your pleasure. "And right now, I want him to see what it looks like when you start to fall apart.

You don’t get a second to brace yourself before Soobin’s hand slips into your shorts, a finger pushing inside you without warning. “Damn, you’re already soaked for us,” he mutters, emphasizing the word us.

Your legs nearly give out, and your arm shoots back, hooking around Soobin’s neck just to stay upright.

But it’s not him you’re thinking about.

You can’t stop your eyes from drifting to Taehyun, guilt blooming in your chest. Every curl of Soobin’s fingers threatens to drag a name from your lips, and it’s not his. You bite your tongue, swallowing Taehyun’s name like a secret, praying he knows these moans are meant for him.

Cursing silently at the situation he could no longer escape, Taehyun gave in—pulling off his shirt and running a hand down over the front of his sweats, desperate for any kind of relief.

It was the most he could do right now, closing his eyes and pretending those moans were coming from beneath him instead. “Fuck,” he groaned, voice shaky. The effect you had on Taehyun bordered on inhuman.

Your eyes ogled over Taehyun's bare torso. You traced every mole, every dip and curve of his abs with your gaze like you’d been starved of him. Soobin noticed your reaction before Taehyun did. His fingers slipped out of you without warning.

"Go on," Soobin says, almost too kindly, peeling off your shorts. He hooks a finger into your underwear, pulling and snapping the fabric against your skin. You yelp, and he’s already hard just seeing you like this, in almost nothing, in front of them both. Taehyun hates how easily Soobin plays with you.

"Give him some attention. He’s earned it. Right, pretty girl?" You nod, breathless.

Although Soobin hates how eagerly you stride toward Taehyun, he lets you. He wants to see how you act when he allows the other boy access to you. This is exactly what he wanted.

Soobin follows close behind you, ridding himself of his own shirt in the process. The wine had made him bold and dizzy. Without thinking, Soobin presses his hand against the small of your back, almost guiding you into Taehyun's lap.

A low groan leaves Taehyun's throat at the mere sight of you on top of him. When you fully settle into his lap, he's already hissing, grappling with the chains of his own self-control.

For fuck's sake, Taehyun didn't know what to look at or where to touch you. He'd imagined this scenario more times than he could count. But seeing how perfect you were on top of him, it was incomparable to any made-up fantasy. His hands skimmed your sides with uncertainty.

If he let himself fully touch you how he wanted, he worried he would never be able to let go.

Taehyun was keenly aware of Soobin's eyes on you both. The older boy had made his way to bed as well, settling in right behind Taehyun.

The filthy grind of your hips pulls Taehyun's attention back to you. His hands fly to your sides, steadying you, slowing you down.

You understand—he wants this to start slow. He wants to savor you, in case this is the last time. Your eyes lock, the silent language between you growing louder than words.

Your head spins watching Taehyun all fucked out from such simple movements. You hope he knows how long you've been wanting this, too. "You look so perfect," Taehyun sighs longingly.

Taehyun’s arms wrap around your waist, subtle but defiant, as he stares up at you. He starts moving with you, his hips syncing to your rhythm.

His eyes stay on yours, mouth parted, already imagining the way you’d feel wrapped tight around him in this position—how you’d sound moaning his name.

What an unfortunate situation this was.

Without thinking, you lean in, ready to finally press the tender kiss to Taehyun’s lips. The one thing you’ve been aching to give him for what feels like forever.

But before your mouths can meet, your eyes fly open. A large hand grips your face, squeezing your cheeks tightly.

It’s Soobin.

He’s reached around Taehyun’s body, fingers firm on your jaw, his chin resting casually on Taehyun’s shoulder like it’s nothing. Like this isn’t the most intimate moment of your life.

Soobin wasn’t content with how effortlessly in sync you and Taehyun were. It unsettled him more than he thought it would. The quiet intimacy, something he’d never shared with you, was too much to ignore.

So he did the only thing he could think of to stop it. He forced space between you, a silent command to hold off.

"You don't get that part until I say so." Soobin chastises you both.

"Soobin, please," you beg. He hates how he could rarely say no to you. Not when you look at him like that. But he needed to retain his control.

A short sigh leaves his chest. "Taehyun, would you like to feel her lips somewhere else?"

Taehyun doesn't speak. He looks to you first, like he always has and will, for any sort of consent. Of course he wants that. He would be a fool to say no. But he can't give in too willingly. Not when this was Soobin's game.

Carefully, he nods, side-eyeing Soobin, whose face was inches from his own.

Soobin hums beside him, chin still resting on Taehyun’s shoulder as his hand slips from your face. “Alright. He’s been good enough. Go ahead, baby. Show him how sweet you can be.”

Your stomach twists with anticipation, heat pooling between your legs. You don’t need to be told twice. Crawling down Taehyun's body feels natural, like instinct.

You don’t dare look at Soobin as you move, but you feel the heat of his palm pressed on your shoulder, guiding you down, allowing you.

Taehyun’s whole body tightens watching you. His hands fist into the sheets. He doesn’t move—he can’t. Not with you between his legs and definitely not with Soobin's admittedly distracting breath against his neck.

You’ve both waited for this moment, dreamed about it in secret. But now that it’s real, his throat feels tight, like breathing too deeply might ruin everything.

When you kiss just above the waistband of his sweats, he exhales a curse. “Shit…”

He doesn’t touch you when you're like this. He wouldn’t dare, not without Soobin’s permission. But every fiber of his being aches to cup your face, to thread his fingers through your hair, to keep you there.

You tug his waistband down slowly, your hands trembling just slightly. He’s already so hard and leaking. He’s beautiful. How long have I wanted this? For a second, you worry that you’re both toeing the line of something you might not come back from.

“Look at him,” Soobin says from the bed, voice low and amused. “He’s barely holding it together.”

You glance up through your lashes. Taehyun’s head is thrown back against Soobin's shoulder, lip bitten and brows drawn in tight concentration. But then his gaze drops to meet yours, and suddenly he looks wrecked. There’s so much raw emotion layered into that look. So when you finally wrap your mouth around him, you feel him break.

His back arches, his hips twitch, but he still doesn’t thrust. He moans loudly and unfiltered, like the sound was dragged from his chest against his will.

You never thought giving a man head could be so pleasurable until now. You felt almost determined to take all that you could, hand wrapping around the base. Your cheeks hollowed, and your tongue slowly worked against him, dragging over every curve and vein.

He sounded so pretty above you, and all you wanted was for him to touch you. Your hair, your face, your neck, anything to prove he was really here with you.

But one glance at Soobin’s watchful expression told you everything. Taehyun was doing the most he could, trapped by the rules of this game.

He was holding himself back so much that if Soobin gave him even the slightest permission, he’d have you pressed into the mattress in no time.

Lost in thought and mindless pleasure, Taehyun accidentally thrusts up into your mouth, forcing a heavy gag from your throat.

“Oh my god…” his breath shudders, followed by your name. As if it were the only word he remembers.

The sound of his voice sends something sharp through you. You realize, deep in your gut, that you need him to say your name like that again. Over and over like it means something.

Soobin moves fast.

His hand snaps out, gripping Taehyun’s jaw tightly, jerking his head towards him. You stop your movements.

“Aht, aht,” Soobin snaps, his voice low and reprimanding. “You don’t get to claim her like that.”

Taehyun blinks, startled. “I'm sorry. I—I didn’t mean—”

“You will be sorry,” Soobin mutters, releasing him with a final squeeze before turning his attention to you. “Up. Come here.”

You hesitate, lips still tingling, Taehyun’s taste on your tongue. Part of you doesn’t want to leave. But Soobin’s voice is commanding, firm, and you’ve never quite been able to disobey him.

He helps you up, pulling you onto the bed and into his lap, your bare back settling against his warm chest as he rests against the headboard. His arms wrap tightly around your waist, grounding you.

But your eyes are still on Taehyun.

He’s panting, undone, watching the way Soobin holds you like you belong to him. And it hurts. More than it should. More than he expected.

Soobin kisses your temple, his lips soft against your sweat-damp skin. “You’re too generous, pretty girl,” he murmurs, a smile in his voice. “Let’s see what he does now that he can’t have you. Not yet.”

And even though his tone is teasing, you hear the edge of something else underneath.

Because even Soobin knows. The way Taehyun said your name just now…

That wasn’t lust. That was love.

Taehyun’s gaze flickers between your parted lips and the curve of your hips as Soobin draws idle circles into your skin. He can’t breathe, can’t think. You’re right there, so close, yet you were still somehow out of his reach.

He’d give anything to feel you against him. But he knows the rules. He knows who’s in charge.

Soobin studies him like a scientist, intrigued by every inch of restraint. “You're holding back,” he says, almost curious. “You want her bad, don’t you?”

Taehyun doesn’t answer right away. Then, through gritted teeth, he speaks barely above a whisper, “Only an idiot wouldn't want her."

Your heart flutters at Taehyun's words. Soobin hums in discontent. His lips graze the shell of your ear as his voice drops. “But you don’t get her just yet.”

You suck in a breath, your body already responding, heart racing. Taehyun doesn’t look away from you. It's an impossible task.

Soobin’s hand trails slowly down your abdomen. “You want to claim her?” he murmurs. “Then you can start where she needs it most.”

And just like that, he's spreading your legs wide apart for Taehyun. A sight he thought he'd never get to see.

“Keep them open, pretty girl,” Soobin purrs, eyes fixed on Taehyun now. “Let him taste what he’s been dreaming of.”

"Anything you want, Soobin," you whimper, voice cracking. "Just... please let him touch me."

Taehyun, being the gentleman he was, wouldn’t make you wait. Not when you looked at him all desperate, chest heaving, hips arching up to meet him.

Even with you squirming beneath Soobin’s mouth on your neck, his fingers drawing lazy paths across your stomach, Taehyun stayed good and obedient.

If it meant giving you the pleasure you so clearly ached for, he’d wait his turn—but not a second longer than necessary.

Two fingers hooked around the waistband of your underwear, slowly tugging the fabric down your thighs and discarding it somewhere in the room.

A shiver raced down your spine at the exposure, your legs spreading wider until they draped over Soobin’s thighs.

Taehyun’s kisses against your inner thighs were soft. His movements are stiff and unsure at first, afraid to cross that invisible line.

That’s when you felt Soobin’s breath against your ear, his voice low with a command. “Taste her.”

Taehyun is quick to oblige. The moment his lips come in contact with your dripping cunt, it's like he's lost in you.

A starving man is the only thing you could compare him to. It was quite a beautiful sight, watching him split you apart.

A hard drag of his tongue on your clit makes you call out for him. Your nails sink into the meat of Soobin’s thighs.

“Fuck T-Tae,” you whine lowly. Taehyun groans against your folds. He swears he hasn’t been this hard in his entire life.

Soobin is watching over your shoulder. Even he could see the way Taehyun devoured you, deriving pleasure from the act alone.

Soobin took note of everything—from the way Taehyun’s hands splayed over your stomach, to the way he looked up at you through his tousled hair, eyeing your reactions to ensure he did everything right.

In a quiet act of defiance, Taehyun held Soobin’s gaze as he deepened his mouth between your legs. The eye contact made Soobin clench his jaw behind you, but he didn’t look away.

You felt the pressure of Soobin’s arousal pressing firm against your lower back, your body flush against his. Every twitch of your hips, every breath you took—he felt it all. He always loved seeing you like this, teetering on the edge.

But he couldn’t stand how your body naturally responded to Taehyun’s movements. His heart secretly panged, wanting to take back some control. Even just a little. Just enough.

Soobin’s hand moved sensually down your arm. Goosebumps rose in the wake of his touch, and Taehyun noticed.

There he goes again, owning you, Taehyun thought.

Soobin’s fingers curl over yours where your hand rests on his thigh. Slowly, he lifts it, bringing your fingertips to his lips. Without breaking eye contact, he parts them and takes your middle and pointer fingers into his mouth, sucking with a lewd, deliberate moan.

The feeling of Soobin’s tongue swirling around your fingers—paired with Taehyun’s tongue flicking over your clit—was almost too much to comprehend. Your eyes roll back as your head drops against Soobin’s chest. The dual attention was overwhelming in the most sinful way.

He pulls your fingers out of his mouth with a wet pop, moving his lips to decorate your neck and chest with kisses.

But not before guiding your hand down into Taehyun’s hair, forcing you to thread your fingers through the soft strands. You tugged lightly without thinking, drawing a desperate groan from the boy between your thighs.

“So good for us,” Soobin chuckles. “Show him where you need him most. Gotta get that pretty hole nice and ready, don’t we?”

If Soobin let him, Taehyun would’ve stayed between your legs forever. He would’ve had you fucking his face until you were trembling and out of breath—just one of the many obscene fantasies he kept hidden away.

The taste of you was intoxicating, the only thing grounding him to reality. His hips rutted helplessly into the mattress, probably staining the sheets with pre-cum, desperate for a friction he could never satisfy on his own.

“So pathetic,” Soobin breathes against your ear, fingers rolling your nipples between his fingers now that your bra lay forgotten on the floor. He watches Taehyun unravel between your legs, lips slick and eyes wild with want. A cruel smile tugs at his lips.

“That’s your type, huh?” he coos. “Men who beg with their mouths full?” His teeth sink gently into the shell of your ear, and you shiver at the sting.

You're so close to the cruel edge of release now. Soobin’s sharp words only twisted the coil tighter inside you, but it wasn’t his voice your heart clung to.

It was Taehyun. He pulled at something deeper and tender, even in the filth of it all.

You should’ve left the room before it got to this point. Should’ve said no. Should’ve stopped this before it got any further.

But you don’t. Because this is insane, yes. Reckless and dangerous.

In your mind, you’ve already made your choice. You fell in love with Taehyun before you even realized it, before you ever meant to.

It was in the little moments—the way he always waited up for you. The softness in his voice when he said your name. The ache in your chest when he would smile at someone else.

Emotionally, you chose him a long time ago. This? This is just confirmation.

Soobin sees your mind churning and your breath increasing. He couldn't lose this game.

Soobin’s fingers grip your jaw hard, forcing your head down. “Look at him,” he spits harshly.

Taehyun’s face is buried in your pussy, eyes shut tight as his tongue flicks fast and firm over your clit. He groans like he’s addicted to the taste, hands locked around your thighs to keep you open and still. His head moves with desperate rhythm, like he’s trying to fuck you with his mouth alone.

“Fucking starving for you,” Soobin growls. “You see that? He’s shaking like he’s gonna cum just from eating you.”

You whimper, your breath stalling. Your hips twitch up against Taehyun’s mouth, and he moans louder, grinding his tongue into you harder.

“Don’t look away,” Soobin says. “You wanted this. Now fucking watch him lose it.”

You obey, but you're only focused on the boy below you. "Taehyun, I'm so close. You feel so fucking good."

If you took any longer to cum, Taehyun might’ve made a mess in the bed just from the way you praised him. But it hits you fast—your legs shaking, clenching around nothing, his tongue relentless as it drags over your folds.

Your hips try to jerk up, chasing more, but Soobin’s strong arm pins you to the bed, holding you down like you’re nothing but his.

A scream builds in your throat, Taehyun’s name right there on your tongue—ready to give him everything.

But Soobin doesn’t let you. He collides his mouth with yours, swallowing it, taking the name meant for someone else and replacing it with his own brutal kiss. He owns the sound, owns the moment, and refuses to let you come undone for anyone but him.

Even though the sight of Soobin’s lips on yours makes Taehyun’s blood boil, he doesn’t stop. He coaxes you through every tremble of your orgasm, mouth tracing soft kisses along your thighs and hips. Anywhere he can reach.

This was for you. Always for you. He’d grit his teeth and endure it if it meant getting to have you, really have you, in the end.

Your body shakes, the aftershocks of release leaving you dizzy and pliant against Soobin’s chest. His fingers trace your skin, proud and possessive. You can barely think, but then you feel it.

Taehyun’s hand, tentative yet deliberate, sliding up your thigh.

It’s gentle, a stark contrast to the way Soobin handles you. Taehyun's touch is lighter against your oversensitive skin, filled with care and longing.

You blink down at him. For a moment, the world shrinks down to the softness in his eyes. A small, shaky smile tilts the corner of his mouth.

Not for Soobin, and not for the game they’re playing. For you.

Soobin doesn’t miss the exchange. His hand fists in your hair, tugging just enough to make you whimper, reclaiming your attention.

"Sweet, isn’t he?" Soobin murmurs into your hair, amused. "Thinks he can fuck you better if he touches you softer."

Taehyun's jaw tightens, but he doesn't let go of your thigh. His thumb rubs soothing circles on your skin, a silent promise that even if he’s not allowed to have you, he still feels for you.

"On your knees," Soobin commands, pushing you forward slightly. You’re quick to listen to him.

A contrast to Soobin forcing you forward, Taehyun quickly helps you shift onto your knees. "She's so good for you," Taehyun whispers, surprising himself, admiring your obedience. But he wishes it were for him, not Soobin.

"Isn't she?" Soobin muses. He observes you on your hands and knees as he stands from the bed. In one motion, he slides down his sweat pants and boxers, cock pressed hard and heavy against his stomach.

Taehyun is sitting, waiting beside you on the bed. His hand strokes your back lovingly. Too tender for Soobin's liking. "Did I say you could touch her yet?" The boy snaps.

Taehyun sucks in a frustrated breath, standing from the bed. "What the hell am I supposed to do then?"

Soobin doesn’t answer, just tilts his chin toward you. That was all Taehyun needed. Their eyes lock over your body, an unspoken exchange passing between them. For the first time all night, they weren’t at each other’s throats. They were united in this moment, in what they both wanted. You.

You knew what was going on, and a shiver runs down your spine at the thought of taking them both.

The bed dips behind you. Soobin grips your hips in a bruising hold, positioning himself just right.

Taehyun is more careful when he gets onto the bed, kneeling in front of you. You’re perfectly trapped between the two of them now. His eyes find yours instantly, that same hunger reflected back at you.

The sight of you, on all fours, waiting for him, was something Taehyun could hardly believe. It was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen—your body laid bare, ready for both of them.

A harsh slap to your ass draws your attention, once again, away from Taehyun. You yelp, retreating slightly, only for Soobin to tug you back against him. “Don't make him wait," he chuckles, enjoying every bit of this. "He's been so patient.”

When you look up at Taehyun again, he gives you a subtle nod in confirmation. His hand wraps around himself as you part your lips, taking him into your mouth for the second time tonight. This time slower, deeper, and more intentional.

Taehyun’s breath shudders out of him, eyes fluttering closed as he tries not to lose control too early. He groans, completely undone by the feeling of you.

Behind you, Soobin doesn’t wait. He takes the moment you’re distracted, and bottoms out inside you with a single, ruthless thrust.

Having been so empty for so long, you can't help but whimper around Taehyun.

"Shit baby," Soobin groans loudly above you, throwing his head back. “If I knew you'd be this tight, I would've had Taehyun stretch you more."

You knew Soobin was getting off on this power play. Every thrust, every word, every command—it was all a show of dominance.

The way he gripped your hips, the way he bent your body to his will. He wanted Taehyun to see it. To watch as he fucked you like he created you.

And god, did he know what he was doing. Each ruthless slam of his hips had your mind short-circuiting, your body jerking with every sharp roll. You could feel how deeply he wanted to leave a mark, to make sure neither of you ever forgot this.

You barely had time to process it, given the way Taehyun filled your throat. Your hands gripped at his thighs for stability as Soobin’s thrusts shoved you forward, pushing Taehyun deeper every time. The gagging sounds only made him groan.

And yet, somehow, it all made your stomach twist deliciously. Being used by one and worshipped by the other.

Neither of the boys was small, either, might you add. Tears prickled at the corners of your eyes, your throat stretched around Taehyun while your cunt was relentlessly pounded from behind. It was overwhelming—in the best way.

Soobin grunted behind you, digging his fingers into your hips hard enough to bruise, clearly enjoying the way you struggled to take it all. “Look at you,” he growled, watching your body bounce between them. “So full, so fucking messy.”

Taehyun’s hand came up to cradle your jaw, his touch softer, wiping a tear away with his thumb as you blinked up at him. His brows were drawn, his lips parted, like he was barely holding himself together. “You’re doing so good,” he breathed, voice strained.

The praise only made the pressure in your core worse—like you could cum from the stimulation alone.

More than the tears in your eyes, guilt continues to spread through your veins when you peer up at Taehyun. He was so intently focused on you, trying to distract himself from the way Soobin used your body.

Taehyun wanted to show you there was nothing to feel guilty about. You’d both agreed to this, to surrender to something bigger than yourselves. He would never hold you accountable for the situation Soobin orchestrated, for the role you were forced to play in a dynamic you never asked for.

Taehyun saw it clearly now—how Soobin had drawn thick, confining lines around you, ones you couldn’t cross without bleeding. But even as you writhed beneath Soobin, Taehyun didn’t see betrayal. He saw the ache you carried. He saw himself in your eyes.

The fire burning in his chest was undeniable. Hot and all consuming. And he knew you felt it too. Because even with Soobin buried deep inside you, Taehyun could feel your heart racing for him.

Your mind wasn’t where your body was. It was with him.

Taehyun wants to touch you even more. He reaches a careful hand up, ready to grip your head for some connection. But he stops himself, looking up at Soobin.

Soobin is already watching his movements. He gives Taehyun a sly smile. “Pull her hair if you’d like. But watch me fuck her while you do it.”

Taehyun’s fingers tangle in your hair gently. The intention isn’t to tug and pull, its to reclaim even just a small part of you.

Even while locked in that silent war with Soobin, eye to eye, neither willing to back down, Taehyun felt his orgasm creeping up fast.

The way you gagged around him, the sight of you being fucked so roughly, it was too much. And Soobin, ever the showman, only fucked you harder under the pressure, like it was a challenge.

You are breathless and dazed from Soobin’s thrusts and grips at your body, keenly aware of Taehyun’s jaw tightening, nearing his climax.

Taehyun moans, watching the say Soobin slid himself in and out of you with ease. Your ass and thighs recoil with Soobin’s every action, slapping of skin filling his ears.

His senses are fully overwhelmed with you. And it’s about to make him spill his load into your mouth while Soobin gets to take you.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, Taehyun is panicking. He doesn’t want to finish like this. He won’t finish like this.

Without letting another second pass, Taehyun cups a soft hand under your jaw, sliding his length out of your mouth and dropping onto the edge of the bed.

"I- I can't," he pants. "Not like this.”

It didn’t matter how carefully Taehyun stepped aside. The second he did, Soobin grabbed a fistful of your hair, forcing your face down into the mattress, your cheek flush against the sheets as he fucked into you harder than before.

He didn’t flinch at Taehyun’s absence—he welcomed it. This was his chance to remind him, to show him what he could never have. What had always been his. You.

Soobin’s large frame looms over your own, chest pressed against your back. “Fuck you look so good like this,” he moans against your ear.

Both of Soobin’s arms locked tight around your hips like a seatbelt—no, more like a cage. There was nothing protective about his grip. Every thrust was a claim, every shift of his body a reminder that he owned this moment.

His hips slammed into you with brutal precision, his cock dragging along every sensitive spot that had you biting into the sheets. You weren’t going anywhere, not with the way he held you down like a prize he refused to share.

“Shit,” he gritted through his teeth, eyes flicking down to watch where your bodies met. “You feel that? I'm in your fucking stomach.”

He grinds in deeper, making your body jolt with each stroke. It’s not soft. It’s not sweet. It’s raw, filthy, Soobin fully unraveling inside you, and all you can do is take it—and enjoy every second.

Your throaty whines and whimpers go straight to Soobin’s core. It was the perfect circumstance for him. Taehyun sitting beside you both, forced to watch. You, face down in the bed letting Soobin claim your cunt.

Soobin pulled out and came loud and hard on your thighs, painting your skin with ropes of his cum. He held you in place with one hand as the other finished himself off proudly.

His hands roam your body slowly, palming your ass, dragging down your spine. He wanted to commit every inch of you to memory, to hold it over Taehyun later.

Soobin glances sideways, expecting to catch a twitch of jealousy, a clenched fist, anything from Taehyun. But the other man’s face is maddeningly blank, too composed for Soobin’s liking.

“Tsk,” Soobin scoffs, voice low. “Not even gonna put up a fight? Guess you don’t want her bad enough.”

Taehyun’s look darkens at that, his tongue poking at the inside of his cheek. His eyes don’t leave yours for a second. “I want her so bad I’m not about to ruin it by acting like you.”

Instead of feeling jealous, Taehyun is simply fixated on you. Your hair falling around your face as your body dropped down onto the white sheets, glowing and smiling up at him.

He could feel the strangling hold that Soobin had on him for years when it came to you slowly unraveling. He was beginning not to care about the repruciations.

He couldn't keep letting these invisible lines delay what he could have right now. Not when he was this close to heaven.

Soobin's hands still possessively gripped your waist as he basked in the aftermath. You were wrecked beneath him, trembling, used, and somehow still desperate for more.

With an annoyed look, he glanced over at Taehyun, who hadn't torn his eyes off you for a second.

"Whatever," Soobin says, helping you move onto your back. His next words are blunt and vulgar. "Your turn to fuck her."

He said it like a joke, like a gift thrown carelessly into the air.

But for Taehyun, it wasn't casual. Not at all.

Soobin lifts himself from you, pressing a final kiss to the base of your throat. He removes himself from the situation entirely, sitting in his gaming chair in the corner of the room.

In Soobin's mind, he'd already succeeded. He put all his cards on the table and showed Taehyun what those boundaries look like up close.

He felt comfortable enough to leave you each to your own devices under his watch, especially with how Taehyun sat frozen. There was no need for him to stake another claim. He already made his point clear.

Soobin would let Taehyun have his last hurrah with you. Let him pretend, for a moment, that any of this was his.

But even as he stepped back, there was a smug glint in his eye. Because no matter how tender Taehyun touched you, no matter how deep his feelings ran, Soobin knew you’d still be aching from him. Still dripping with him. Still ruined by him.

Taehyun hesitates, fists balled at his sides. His instincts warred inside him—to obey, to fall in line, to pretend this was still just a game.

But then you looked at him. Your eyes pleading and trusting.

Taehyun reached for you, hands shaking, and finally touched you. His palms smoothed over your sides, cradling you as though you were something breakable.

Your heart stops once he climbs on top of you. His hand is holding your face lovingly. The other is on his cock, gliding it up and down your folds, covering himself in your slick.

You're already arching into him, wanting him to devour you. He hovers above you now, lips inches from yours.

Taehyun's eyes soften. "Can I kiss her now?"

Soobin opens his mouth to speak, but Taehyun barely waits for instruction. He’s already kissing you breathless, full of all the reserved energy he’s bottled up since the moment he met you.

His lips were softer than you ever imagined, plush and warm against yours. Tilting his head to the side, he deepened the kiss, tongue slipping past your parted lips to tangle with yours. It was messy and sweet, needy and slow. So perfect it almost hurt.

His heart thudded painfully behind his ribs. He should’ve just played along. Should’ve been grateful for scraps. Grateful for Soobin even letting him touch you.

And yet the second your arms reach around his neck, a whine escaping your lips, something inside him snapped again.

This wasn't Soobin’s anymore. There was no more pretending

You were his. And you always had been.

When he finally slides into you, it’s like the gates of heaven open just for him. The warmth, the tightness elicited a guttural moan he didn’t even try to hold back.

His hands grip your hips with a desperation he’s been holding in for far too long, and for a moment, he’s completely lost in the feeling of you.

The way Taehyun fucks you is at an entirely different rhythm than Soobin. It's slow, focused, and intimate.

Each roll of his hips feels like worship. Like an apology for every second he spent pretending you weren't everything he ever wanted.

Soobin leans back in his chair, arms crossed behind his head. He watches, expecting Taehyun to fall in line—to treat you like a toy the way he had.

But the longer he watches, the more his smirk fades.

Taehyun’s attention is entirely on you. Soobin might as well not exist. His obedience has completely vanished.

Taehyun leans down, his lips brushing your ear as he rocks into you. His voice is just a whisper, too soft for Soobin to catch.

"Please let me have you," he breathes with his head in your neck. "Let me keep you. I don’t want to keep playing this game."

His words make you clench around him, and Taehyun shudders from the feeling. He cradles your waist, pressing his forehead against yours.

Another slow thrust is followed by a broken whimper from your throat that he captures with a kiss. You’re trembling underneath him, legs spread and nails dragging down his back. It’s driving him insane.

"Taehyun," you're gasping. "More. I need more of you."

The way you whisper his name, all broken and needy, undoes him.

At first, Taehyun tried to be careful. Tried to savor the feeling of finally having you underneath him, your body clinging to his with every movement.

But he couldn't do it. Not when you were gasping his name like that. Not when your hands fisted his hair, trying to pull him even closer.

Taehyun groans low in his chest. His hips start snapping harder into you, the bedframe creaking beneath the force.

"Holy shit," you whimper, your voice wrecked. "Please. Don't stop, don't stop."

Taehyun knows Soobin’s still in the room. He knows this isn't how it was supposed to go. But he doesn’t give a fuck anymore.

He kisses you more, claiming every little moan and sob that spills out of you. His hands are everywhere—your hips, your ass, your thighs, holding you down so he can fuck you properly.

"Mine," he rasps against your lips. "You're fucking mine. Say it."

You nod frantically, too overwhelmed to form words. Tears prick at your eyes from how deep he’s hitting, from the way he’s using you like you belong to him—and you do.

"Yours," you gasp, nails digging into his shoulders. "I'm yours, Taehyun. Just yours."

He promised he would burn Soobin's control to the fucking ground.

Taehyun thinks he hears Soobin say something, but he’s not even listening anymore.

It’s your eyes. Your lips. Your voice when you moan his name. Taehyun doesn't know how he lasted this long without you.

Taehyun suddenly slides one hand between your bodies, rubbing slow, tight circles over your clit intimately, right in front of Soobin. Claiming you in a way that wasn’t about performance or obedience.

It was about you and him and nothing else.

Soobin keeps watching from his chair. Arms still folded behind his head, trying to look relaxed. Trying to look like this was all still his game.

But his eyes narrow, because he finally see it.

The way you cling to Taehyun like he's oxygen. The way Taehyun fucks you like he owns every inch of your body, and you let him.

Not because you were told to, but because you wanted to.

Soobin shifts in his seat, adjusting the growing tightness in his pants, but says nothing.

You make a brief, subtle eye contact with Soobin over Taehyun's shoulder. Taehyun's head is buried in your neck, running his tongue over your skin.

The eye contact lasts for only a second before Taehyun kisses you again. Soobin looks down, defeated.

It wasn’t just that he’d lost you. It’s that he’d created the space for you to be found.

In truth, he wasn’t sad about losing control. He felt like an asshole. All this time he’d acted like you belonged to him, without ever really seeing you. And by doing so, he’d left the door wide open for someone else to treat you like you deserved.

He sees it now—the emotional aftermath of his actions. How all his possessiveness didn’t protect anything. It only pushed you further into someone else’s arms.

And Taehyun, he wasn’t some rival. He was the one who waited. The one who loved you gently. Respectfully. Quietly. The one who never needed to control you because he always believed you deserved to choose.

It hits Soobin like a punch to the gut.

Taehyun isn't fucking you. He's making love to you.

It felt like he was watching you fall for each other right in front of him—slow, inevitable, and completely out of his hands.

Unaware of Soobin’s shift in demeanor, you’re too busy with your legs pressed into your chest, Taehyun focused on every inch of you.

You're gripping his shoulders, never wanting to let him go. "You feel so good wrapped around my cock. Always knew you would," Taehyun whines out between heavy breaths.

He reached out to close his hand around your throat. Not squeezing, he just wants to feel your blood pulse beneath his fingertips. See if your heart raced the way his did. He's close, and you are too.

"I'm s-so close Tae, please keep going." You're drowning in him. Moans loud and unconcealed at this point.

"That's it," he's whispering again, savoring the moment for you both. His hips are sputtering against you, about to release. "Let go for me."

A few more thrusts and you're orgasming even harder than you did on his tongue. Taehyun's name echoes on your lips, and Soobin isn't there to swallow it this time.

Taehyun is almost disappointed. He wants to fuck you until the end of time. But your cunt clenching around him like a glove has him spilling his seed on the spot. He pulls out just in time, releasing onto your stomach and chest.

You smile up at him through your pretty eyelashes like you were waiting for an order. But not from Soobin, from him. His heart swells with pride.

Taehyun would hate to put you in a box the way Soobin has forever. But in this moment, he felt you belonged to him.

He collapses next to you on the bed, the hesitation in his mind completely eradicated as he pulls you against his side, pressing a kiss to your temple. "Been wanting this forever."

Soobin abruptly stands from his chair. Your heart jumps, and you're afraid of how he might react. He just watched Taehyun make love to you, and he's the one who let it happen in his own bed.

Both yours and Taehyun’s heads snap in his direction. Instinctively, Taehyun’s hand tightens around your hip, keeping you against him. Soobin’s gaze roams your body until he tears them away to meet Taehyun’s.

Soobin’s eyes soften. It’s a complete 180 from the beginning of the night. He offers Taehyun a faint, sad smile, and for once, Taehyun lets his guard down. They share a quiet nod—a moment just between them, one you don’t try to understand.

Soobin looks at you one last time. “You guys stay here, I’m gonna go get a towel.” His tone is different now, less commanding and more concerned.

Stepping away, he knew what his role was now. Not to possess you, but to care for you. To make sure you felt safe and seen. His earlier attempts at control felt hollow compared to the connection you shared with Taehyun.

As Soobin moved toward the door, he caught a glimpse of you two tangled in bed—noses brushing, lips exchanging words too soft for him to hear.

It hits him again when he closes the door.

He wasn't watching the two of you fall. You already have.

This whole time, the game was over before it had even begun.

tags: @taebatu @yyeonbinn @binniesblep @beomgyusluver @feet4liferss @vvjolyneee @chubichubs @soo-blue @bakugosbottombitch @thegalaxyisunfolding

reblogs/comments/feedback are always appreciated <3

[goldenbrowns]

somebody else || bucky barnes x reader || part one

proofread and edited by @d4nshyp3r ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

summary: on his 54th birthday, tony stark goes all out and chooses to take all of the avengers to one of his ridiculously many vacation houses, this one in hawaii. given that you're now seeing a guy, you choose to extend an invitation to him so you can spend these two weeks together, enjoying paradise. the only issue is how much bucky randomly despises this new guy, he considers him impossibly annoying, as well as your odd idea to take him on the vacation. after a few days, you notice buckys made it his mission to shoo the guy away...

authors note: im aware how much of a bully I made bucky out to be, but idc. also pls beware of cringy drunk bucky. idk if its obvious but "somebody else" by the 1975 was what loomed up this whole fic into existence.

ʚ "so I heard you found somebody else, and at first, I thought it was a lie." ʚ "but I hate to think about you with somebody else, our love has gone cold, you're intertwining your soul with somebody else"

word count: 10k (yeah...)

pairings: bucky barnes x afab!reader, reader x random guy.

warnings: making out, dirty talking, dry humping, drunk!bucky, cheating, alcohol consumption, bucky is a huge bully, swearing, implied sexual encounters, sexual themes discussed

part one — part two (unreleased)

If you've known Tony Stark for a while, you wouldn't be shocked to receive an invitation to his fifty-fourth birthday celebration. For you, regular birthdays are like Christmas for him; he goes all out. For context, last year he invited you —and maybe another 300 people— to the tower's rooftop, where he had Prefab Sprout and Hall & Oates perform. He still insists that wasn't even his best work. As if it were nothing, this year Tony is taking everyone out to his vacation house in Hawaii. Private jet, casual tickets, a beach house bigger than your entire block, and a DJ flown in from Europe —you know, casual.

The rest of the crew will also be there. Pretty much everyone who's ever saved the world at least once: Steve, Natasha, Sam, Bucky, and the list goes on. Honestly, it's like you're automatically on the guest list if you've ever been punched by an alien, a Hydra agent, or if you're just someone's plus one. And since Tony said you could bring whoever you wanted —his exact words being, "the more the merrier, as long as they’re not boring"— you figured… why not invite Mark? It’s a free trip to Hawaii, he’s cool, and honestly, it’ll be nice to have someone around who doesn’t treat saving the world like it's just another Tuesday.

You met Mark a while back, maybe two or three months ago, at a dive bar in Manhattan. You two clicked pretty quickly. You vividly remember dancing to at least three cheesy 90’s songs with him. Some of the night is a blur, sure, but you remember staying until maybe two in the morning before the bar closed. After that, disgustingly drunk, you shared a cigarette outside, and he asked for your number before walking away. Of course, the only thing you're a little nervous about now is not just the fact that you're bringing a goddamn accountant to casually meet the Avengers, but you also worry because your friends could be a little nosy; especially Sam and Steve who saw you as a little sister. Not to mention Wanda will probably hog him to know everything about how you met. Either way, it’s nothing serious between you and Mark. You haven't made anything official; you still don't even know what to call it... whatever it is you two have.

Anyways, you’re definitely not in any kind of panic. Nope, of course not. It's simply Hawaii. Ocean, sun, and, if Tony’s bartenders aren't paying close attention, maybe a few too many drinks to distract you from the chaos you willingly signed up for. Just a good time with old friends who also happen to be, you know, the most powerful heroes on Earth. Like you always say: casual.

At this point, you're just praying Mark doesn’t get overwhelmed and start asking for autographs. Or worse, that Bucky doesn’t pick this exact moment to be weird and broody about everything, and Thor decides to bring up your deepest, most humble moments, which he tends to do while drinking. Either way, you’re sticking to the plan: drink something fruity, sit somewhere sunny, swim a little, and... take a deep breath.

₊‧ʚ・︵︵ ₊˚๑ ᕱᕱ ꒱✦ ₊ ︵︵・₊﹆ɞ‧₊

The flight to Hawaii is just another part of the whole Tony Stark experience — private jet, full amenities, and absolutely no lines at the airport. It's hard to care about the fact that you're flying in a plane big enough to fit a small city when you're sprawled out in a leather chair with a cocktail in hand. The crew’s doing their usual thing: Steve's reading a first edition of The Great Gatsby (not even trying to fit in anymore), Sam — although you can barely see him sitting at the back — is scrolling through his phone, watching memes at full volume, Peter has about three books spread out on his table while he hunches over his MacBook, cramming for a test he has tomorrow (because even though Tony sent a note to excuse him from high school, he still has to do online work), Thor is knocked out in his seat, jaw basically unhinged, drooling all over his blanket, and the birthday boy himself is up in the cockpit, already tipsy and arguing with the pilot to let him fly the plane.

"I bought the plane, slackjaw! And you're really not gonna let me fly it, you twerp?" he yells.

Bucky and a bunch of others are sitting at the back of the plane, so you can't exactly tell what he's up to, but somehow, you can feel his gaze boring into poor Mark’s head. You remember a few hours ago, when you and Mark were making your way to the access gateway, you could feel Bucky’s eyes following you from a few feet away. He was standing at the base of the stairs, arms crossed, looking... off. Not exactly angry, but definitely too focused. It's the kind of look he gets when he's calculating something in his head — probably sizing Mark up like he's some kind of threat, even though Mark was too busy clumsily adjusting his carry-on, kicking it down the runway like a stray soccer ball.

Bucky was staring at Mark, and you felt the weight of it. It wasn’t just a glance; it was a lingering look, one that didn’t quite settle, like he was trying to figure out what exactly was going on between you two. You don’t know if it was jealousy or something else, but it was heavy enough to make the air feel tighter than it should have. You could almost hear his thoughts: Who’s this guy? What’s his angle? What hole did this jerk crawl out of?

Whatever. You’re not about to let him get in the way of something new. You’d be pretty damn stupid if you did. That night in the tower so many months ago was just a drunken mistake and you didn’t give it much thought, so neither would he, right? You glance to your right and see Mark leaning against the window, sound asleep. You press a soft kiss to his cheek and run your fingers gently through his hair.

Unfortunately, the two cocktails you had earlier are starting to catch up with you. With a groan, you get up, looking for a bathroom. You approach Tony — who is very clearly drunk at this point — and ask, "Hey Tony, sorry, where's the bathroom?" He peeks at you from under his tinted glasses, swishes one finger around lazily in the air, and points toward the cockpit.

"Try the cockpit, there's a piece of shit flying the plane anyway," he slurs, running a hand through his hair.

Pepper, sitting right beside him, swats his hand away and gives you an apologetic look.

"Right down there, sweetie," she says kindly. "Just walk down the aisle."

As you head down the aisle, you finally get a full view of everyone — those at the front, and those tucked into the back. You near the bathrooms and you spot Bucky. He’s sitting with his arms crossed, headphones on, and his eyes closed. But you can tell he’s not really asleep; a second ago he was scratching at his beard and scrunching up his nose. Sam, sitting next to him, is still cracking up at memes on his phone.

When Sam catches a glimpse of you, he calls out, "Y/n, please look at this!"

You bend toward him to check it out — it’s a ridiculous cat compilation on Instagram reels, of course — and you laugh, telling him it’s funny. But as you go to straighten back up, you notice Bucky has cracked one eye open, squinting at you and tilting his head like he’s still trying to figure you out.

You probably linger there a second longer than you should, because he lifts an arm from his chest and points behind you.

"Bathrooms are back there, pretty sure," he says casually.

₊‧ʚ・︵︵ ₊˚๑ ᕱᕱ ꒱✦ ₊ ︵︵・₊﹆ɞ‧₊

It feels like entering a dream when you finally touch down in Hawaii and get off the plane. The first thing that hits you is the warm air, not too hot, just the ideal tropical wind. Tony's massive, stunning summer home, which looks like it belongs on a magazine cover, towers over you. The entire compound, perched on a cliff on the side of a mountain with amazing views of the ocean for miles in all directions, is more than just a beach house. The main living area has a pool that spills over into an oceanfront view, the kind of pool that looks like it belongs in a resort. Cushioned lounge chairs dot the edge of the deck, and there’s a bar tucked in the corner, ready for whatever drink anyone might need. It’s calm, almost serene, except for the occasional burst of laughter or someone screaming.

You drop your bags in your rooms, each of you claiming your space in the massive house. Bucky’s room is tucked away at the far end, quiet and away from the chaos. He’s quick to throw his stuff down and head out, as always.

Once you and Mark are all set, you meet up in the main area. Tony’s already got a drink in hand, cracking jokes. Steve is adjusting his bathing suit by the hem, and Natasha is looking through her beach bag, trying to find her sunglasses. Bucky, who is standing right behind Steve with Sam, also has a drink in hand, something unbelievably fruity for the incredibly macho man holding it. Bucky, Sam, and Steve are all belly laughing about something. Sam arched, holding on to his belly with one hand and with the other grabbing onto his knee, trying to catch his breath.

Either Steve or Tony says something about hurrying up, and everybody starts making their way to the buggies, which fit four people each. You all hurry to get in and speed off excited to see the beach, getting there in about five minutes.

The second you hit the beach, you drop into a lounge chair without thinking, sinking into it like you’ve been waiting your whole life for this. The sun’s still clinging to everything, warm and lazy. Natasha drops into the chair next to you, all cool indifference.

Without saying a word, she pulls a bottle of wine from under her beach bag and sets it between you with a grin. "Borrowed it from the bar," she says, way too proud of herself. She pulls two glasses from a bag like it’s the most natural thing in the world. You take one, and you toast silently, stretching your legs out toward the ocean, watching the waves roll in. Vision is somewhere in the sand, reading a book with Wanda in his arms. Peter, poor guy, is still spread out in the sand studying with a calculator in hand. And finally, Pepper is rubbing sunscreen on Tony's back so that he can take a dip.

Down near the water, Steve’s hurling a flying disc across the sand, Sam and Thor laughing while Bruce struggles to keep up, poor guy is basically tripping on his own feet every few throws. It’s chaotic, loud, familiar. Steve calls Mark over, waving him into the game, and you know that if there was someone who was going to make Mark feel at home, it was going to be him. Mark glances at you for permission, but you just lift your glass in a lazy cheers. 

"Go ahead. I’ll survive," you tell him, smiling into your drink.

As he jogs off, almost instantly the lounge chair beside you dips under the weight of someone new. Bucky drops into it with a grunt, lounging back. He glances sideways at you, the corner of his mouth twitching up. Without looking at his face, you can make out the smugness in it. "Settling in real nice, huh?" he says, voice low and a little too close, like he’s in on some joke you haven’t caught yet. Clearly poking fun at poor Mark.

"Sorry?" you say, holding back a laugh. He bends his elbows and places both of his hands behind his head as he straightens his back and looks at the game in front of him.

"Oh, just you know... Uhm—" he points forward with one finger and swishes it around in the air, and snaps his fingers like he's looking for an answer.

"Mark?" you say, answering his unvoiced question.

"Yeah! That guy... Where did you find him? Was he on clearance or...?" he answers back with genuine confusion on his face, almost like he's worried.

"No, Bucky, I didn't find my boyfriend on clearance," you answer back to him with a smirk, obviously amused at his humor, but deep down feeling bad that those things are being said about him.

Bucky flips his head for a second to look over at you with squinting eyes from the sun. "Oh, boyfriend?! You guys made it official, did you? Looks like that's the first time you do that, last time you were pretty scared to do so..." he snarks back at you as he turns his head back to look at the game, clearly meaning to be as sassy as that sounded.

"Well, no, not yet... But that doesn't mean anything, I can see it happening any day now. He's just busy with work, and I believe him... I get it." you mutter, knowing how stupid that sounded and how much of a red flag he'd find that to be. But it's true, he's told you he hasn't asked you to be his girlfriend yet because of work and the things he has going on in his life. And that's okay, you guess... right?

Bucky scoffs and quickly snarks, "Oh yeah, real busy. Saving the world one spreadsheet at a time... I was really hoping he was better at relationships than he is at standing around awkwardly, and it really, really seems like he isn't, doll." As he says that, you can see him analyzing Mark's playing technique and standing position. Now, as you see this happening, you realize how clumsy he really is while grabbing the disc, how his knees buckle when landing back down after jumping, and how, after playing for 5 minutes, he's already sweating like a beast, as red as a man can be.

"I believe him, Buck, no need to make fun of him. I wouldn't wish for him to feel left out on this vacation. Besides, he's clearly having a good time, look at him playing with Steve and Sam." Your eyes flick back to him running around, which honestly just looks like he's throwing his limbs around in a circle...

"Yeah, he’s having the time of his life... bless his heart. Probably thinks he’s one of the Avengers now." He shoots you a sideways look, that tiny smirk tugging at his mouth. "Might have to get him a little cape or something. Make it official."

This finally makes you burst out in a belly laugh, even Nat, beside you, is holding in a laugh with her index finger pressed on her lips. You look back at Bucky, he's smirking while doing the exact same thing he was doing earlier, ogling and sizing up Mark.

Finally, obviously not being able to keep up with the stamina of a super soldier and the god of thunder, Mark comes back panting like a dog. He stands in front of Bucky and you, covering up the sun. 

"Did you see that? I just played flying disc with Captain America, my coworker is not going to believe this." Bucky tilts his head, eyes narrowing playfully as he watches Mark catch his breath. He lets the silence stretch for a moment, clearly enjoying the opportunity to poke fun.

Finally, he smirks, leaning back in his chair like he’s about to deliver the knockout punch. "Oh, yeah? Played frisbee with Cap and survived? That’s a pretty big deal, huh?" he says, voice dripping with sarcasm. "Bet your coworker’s gonna love hearing about that. 'Hey, I spent the afternoon with a super soldier and a god, and still couldn’t catch a damn frisbee to save my life.'" Bucky glances over at you, raising an eyebrow like he's silently asking for permission to keep poking fun. Obviously, your mouth had fallen agape since Bucky started talking. Then, looking back at Mark, he shrugs with exaggerated nonchalance. "Maybe grab a souvenir, yeah? You know, something to really capture the ‘I’m just a regular guy in over his head’ vibe. Maybe a ‘Survived being a Civilian' t-shirt."

"Alright, Bucky, stand up, I'm pretty sure Sam's calling you. They're short for a teammate. Come on, get out of here," you say to him, pushing him off the lounge chair.

For a moment, Bucky and Mark come face to face, well, face to chest... Mark shifts uncomfortably, looking up, like he’s not sure if he should be awkward about it or just roll with it. Bucky, of course, notices immediately and shoots him a smirk.

"Didn’t know they were stacking ‘em so tall these days," he quips, immediately looking back at you to see your reaction, glancing down at Mark with that sly grin of his. He gives Mark a quick once-over, almost like he's sizing him up, before he glances back at you, voice low and almost amused, "Don’t miss me too much, I’ll be back before you can finish that drink."

You scoff, and Mark sits back down on the chair. He says something about how rude Bucky was, or was he asking what's up with him? To be honest, you don't really know; it's not like you were paying attention. You were shamefully watching Bucky run and bounce back over to the team at the beach. Almost like the scene was in slow motion, you saw him dap up Sam and send a teasing kiss to Steve. His muscles shifting like gears, shiny with sweat under the tropical sun, you heard him say from afar, "Alright, buckle up! Y/n sent the heavy cavalry this time, someone is gonna need a stretcher." 

After this, still feeling like the whole scene was in slow motion, you caught him looking back at you while bunching up his swimming shorts at the top of his thighs, dangerously close to flashing everyone at the beach.

You try to act as though you missed that by rolling your eyes. Mark gives you an expression of confusion. He asks, half-laughing as if he believes you're going to reveal some secret about Bucky,"Is he always like that?"

You try to be casual about it, though, and just shrug. Clearly, you're not gonna tell him that the man who was absolutely ridiculing him was the guy last guy you fucked before meeting him; and who, for reasons unknown to you, was acting unusually jealous. Something completely out of the ordinary, considering he never had you. So there’s no reason for him to be. 

You tap your fingers against the chair's armrest and respond, "Yeah, unfortunately," not really listening to what is being said. As if he were the star of some absurd show, Bucky has already returned with Sam and Steve. He jokes that he could have saved the world in less time than it takes Steve to toss a frisbee, and you can hear him laughing and being snarky.

Mark notices you watching, and you quickly glance away, but it’s too late. He catches on. "You know, it seems like he’s... trying to get a reaction out of you." He grins, but you just shake your head.

"Trust me, it’s just Bucky being Bucky. He does that with everyone," you explain, though you’re not entirely sure it’s a lie. The way he keeps looking over here — you’re not sure. It feels different, you're familiar with it, you’ve seen that look before, a long time ago. You recall seeing it that one night you guys spent together, but somehow he's found a way to make you question that which you were so certain about, but you’re not about to get into it now. Not in front of Mark.

₊‧ʚ・︵︵ ₊˚๑ ᕱᕱ ꒱✦ ₊ ︵︵・₊﹆ɞ‧₊

As you start gathering your things, the atmosphere shifts, a mix of exhaustion and excitement hanging in the air. Sam’s tossing his frisbee one last time with Steve, Thor’s trying (and failing) to teach Bruce how to actually throw it properly, and Natasha’s already scanning her phone, probably getting all the security details ready for tonight. You and Mark grab your stuff and start heading toward the buggies, but the moment you turn, you see Bucky leaning casually against one of the lounge chairs, his eyes flickering between the group and you.

He smirks, slow and deliberate, clearly savoring the moment. "You guys really gonna leave me to clean up all this mess? C'mon, I'm tired, too," he says, his voice low enough that it feels like he’s only speaking to you. There’s something about the way he stands there; his gaze stays locked on you. It’s like he’s waiting for you to make the next move.

You force yourself to look away, grabbing your bag and trying to look casual, but his presence is enough to make your pulse pick up. Every time he says something, it feels like he’s leaning in just a little closer. "You look like you’re about to fall asleep standing up," you say.

He chuckles, his grin widening when he notices you’re the one answering back to him, as he pushes himself off the chair and walks toward you with his hands on his hips, his movements slow and controlled. "Only if you promise to catch me when I do, angel," he replies, his voice a little too smooth, sending a shiver down your spine. There’s that underlying something again...

Mark nudges you, a little too eager, clearly oblivious to the tension. "You coming, babe?" he asks, his voice casual, but his eyes wide, glancing between you and Bucky, waiting for a response.

Before you can even answer, Bucky cuts in, his voice dripping with a passive-aggressive sweetness that makes your skin prickle. "Oh, sure, let’s all wait for Mark to lead the way," he says, looking over at him with a raised eyebrow. "I’m sure he’s the perfect choice. You wanna drive my buggie, buddy?" He pauses just long enough to look you over, his eyes taking their time with you before he smirks. He gets closer to you so that Mark, all the way back at the lounge chair, doesn't hear him. "I’m sure it’s charming... if you’re into that whole ‘average guy’ vibe. Just don't expect him to keep up with us." He glances back at Mark, then back to you, his voice lowering, teasing. "No offense, buddy," he adds, lifting a palm up in the air while keeping the other at his hips, as if asking for forgiveness, but it’s so loaded, you feel bad for Mark. You should've never invited him; you knew this was gonna happen.

He shrugs lazily, his tone soft and too damn confident. "Hey, I’m just saying. You can’t really compare... You know?" He glances at Mark again, but this time, his attention lingers just a little too long on you, his gaze shifting down to your bikini top, and he's obviously not admiring the stripes and designs on it. His voice dips into something more intimate. "But, whatever, if you’re cool with settling. Tell him not to trip over his own feet on the way there, yeah?"

You try not to react; he knows exactly what he’s doing. His words aren’t just mean and teasing—they’re digging at something deeper. Bucky’s always like this, pushing at the edges, pulling at invisible strings, and you can’t figure out if he’s just playing or if he really means every word.

Mark gives you a quick glance, a little uncomfortable, and you can’t blame him. You shake your head to clear the tension that Bucky’s left hanging in the air. "Yeah, I'm coming, I'm coming. Just give me a second," you say.

Bucky watches you, his smirk growing like he just got some grand idea, like he knows he’s got the upper hand. "Take all the time you need, doll," he calls out with a wink as you turn toward the buggies. His voice is a whisper now, so damn close, like it’s meant for only you. "Just don’t take too long, yeah?"

₊‧ʚ・︵︵ ₊˚๑ ᕱᕱ ꒱✦ ₊ ︵︵・₊﹆ɞ‧₊

By the time you make it back to the compound, the whole place feels completely different from when you left. Earlier, it was this easy, lazy beach vibe — now, it’s chaos in motion, the sunrays dissipating, the smell of sea salt lingering in the air. Everything seems almost nostalgic, like this could be the rest of your life, just beach hopping and endless tan lines. All around, there are staff that Tony must have flown in from who-knows-where who are rushing around, clipping up strings of lights, adjusting floral arrangements, setting up a red carpet on the entrance, and testing sound systems. It smells faintly of washed clothes, cologne, and faint stress. And champagne. Always champagne.

Mark wanders off almost immediately, following one of the staff members who's gesturing him toward his room, where someone probably left suits hanging neatly pressed and ready. He gives you a quick, wide-eyed smile — a silent help — before disappearing down the hall. You can't help but chuckle a little to yourself. He’s trying. He really is, it's so cute that he is, he's not meant for all of this.

You hang back for a second, pretending to check your phone, when really, you’re just... delaying. Taking it in. The night ahead feels electric in a way. And probably just mentally preparing yourself for the cosmic hangover you're gonna wake up with tomorrow, already deactivating any kind of alarm on your phone.

That’s when Bucky falls into step beside you with his beachbag in hand, so quietly you don’t even notice until he’s matching your pace. You were too distracted watching poor Pepper orchestrate the whole thing from afar, telling all the staff how to hang the decorations and which setting for the lights to use.

“You better not keep him waiting too long,” he says casually, nodding down the hallway where Mark disappeared. There’s a slyness to his voice that makes your skin prickle. “Wouldn’t want poor lover boy getting lost before the big night,” he says with a small pout and scrunched eyebrows, clearly trying to be as sarcastic as he can.

You toss him a glare over your shoulder. “He’s not lost. He’s probably just... figuring out where everything is. Just like any normal person here, I don't blame him.”

Bucky chuckles under his breath, a low, rough sound. “Mm. Cute. Hope he’s got a map. Or a damn survival guide.” He leans in a little, close enough that you catch the mint he's chewing and whatever soap he uses, all warm and clean and unfair. His voice drops, low and teasing, “Poor guy’s about to get eaten alive tonight." As much as you hate hearing that, it might be true.

You pass through the archway leading to the guest rooms, and he slows, letting his knuckles casually brush against your hand for half a second — like it’s an accident. You feel it more than anything. Sparks running up your arm.

"You sure you're up for babysitting him all night?" Bucky says, voice like a dare now. "Could always come swim with the big sharks instead, maybe get a drink, a shot or two. You know how much Sam loves those. Tell me that doesn't sound like your kind of fun, angel."

You turn sharply, about to shoot something back at him, but just then Sam’s voice echoes down the hall, yelling something about how everyone needed to be ready in twenty minutes or Tony was gonna start sending search-and-rescue teams after us. You chuckle.

Bucky smirks like he planned the interruption, like he knows he’s in your head now. He nudges you lightly with his shoulder before peeling off toward his room, sending an index finger into the air and calling over his shoulder without turning around:

“Don’t be late, doll.”

And then he’s gone, leaving you standing alone in the hallway, still feeling the ghost of his knuckles against your skin, heart beating a little too fast for someone who’s supposed to be cool and unbothered.

You finally make it into your own room, closing the door behind you and letting out a long, shaky breath. You have twenty minutes to pull yourself together, look like you belong at a billionaire’s party, and — apparently — survive whatever game Bucky Barnes thinks he’s playing tonight. You hear Mark scrambling in the bathroom, clearly having trouble doing something, god knows what...

"You need help in there, Mark?" you say genuinely trying to help him, and well, trying to empty that bathroom to get ready. "Nope! I'm fine, I'm just peachy!" he says as he comes out of the bathroom, slamming the door. He looks surprisingly put together for someone who started getting ready ten minutes ago.

"They hung your dress right there, babe," he says, pointing over at the huge dresser on the far right wall of the room. Your dress was hanging with a layer of clear plastic over it to protect it. You reach for it and peel the plastic off. Right after taking it, you set it on the bed and headed for the bathroom to put on makeup. About ten minutes later, after you finished, you were quick to put it on and look in the mirror. As you looked in the mirror, you could see Mark struggling in the background to put on his shoes, feet up in the bed, kicking them up relentlessly.

The dress cascaded in a river of red silk, clinging to your figure with a natural grace. Thin, delicate straps rested almost imperceptibly on your shoulders, while a soft draped neckline revealed your neck and collarbones, just covering your torso over the beginning of your breasts. Ethereal panels of sheer fabric floated from your arms. The fabric caught the light with a liquid sheen, making you look pulled straight out from a vampire tale.

Mark finally looks up from lacing his shoes, his eyes dragging up and down the dress. He chuckles under his breath, shaking his head a little. "Wow," he says, almost like he can't help himself. "You look like... I don’t know, like you walked straight out of, like, the Middle Ages or something."

You blink at him through the mirror.

He catches your expression and rushes to tack on, "I mean, it’s cool. Dramatic, y’know? Not what I expected, but hey, if you’re feeling it..." He shrugs, like it’s no big deal, like it didn’t just sit weirdly heavy in the room.

You smooth your hands down the silk of the dress, letting the fabric shimmer under the lights, trying to find the beauty in the dress while also trying not to let his words cling to you the way his voice did. Did you really look that odd? You started considering asking the team or the staff for a new dress.

Behind you, Mark grins, completely oblivious. "I should’ve dressed up more, huh?" he jokes half-heartedly, plucking at the collar of his wrinkled shirt. "You're gonna make me look like I picked you up from a Ren fair." What the fuck?

At that moment, as you were about to text Nat for a spare dress or something, a sharp knock sounds at the door — and Bucky’s familiar voice cuts in, rough and teasing: "You two lovebirds dead in there, or is Mark still fixing his hair?"

A real smile breaks across your face for the first time in minutes. Thank god. Hearing yourself think this was absolutely disheartening, but sadly, you were right. You both pick up the rest of your things, you grab your bag, and take a final look at your hair. You hear Mark walking out of the door, and the second he did that you were expecting some comment out of Bucky's mouth, and just like clockwork: "Look who it is, Mark! The lady of the hour..."

Bucky pokes his head in the room and his gaze falls on you the moment Mark steps out, and a slow, appreciative smirk tugs at the corner of his lips. "Well, well," he drawls, his voice warm with that signature charm that always sends a shiver down your spine. His eyes trail over you, not in a rush, but with a deliberate, almost possessive pace. "Doll, you’re going to need a spotlight to match that look."

Mark’s shoulders stiffen, but Bucky doesn’t even acknowledge him as he steps closer, his gaze now fully on you. "You look... stunning," Bucky adds softly, his tone almost too intimate for the moment. “Like you just walked out of some dream." His eyes linger on the way the dress hugs your body, before he lets out a low whistle, clearly impressed. "Did you make that choice for tonight? Because, believe me, it’s working." Maybe the dress isn't so bad, maybe Mark was wrong and you look very pretty.

Mark shifts uncomfortably beside you, but Bucky doesn’t break his gaze. His smile widens just a little, and he raises a brow, enjoying the effect he's having.

You can see the muscle in Mark’s jaw twitch as he tries to keep his cool. "You really need to stop making everything about you, Bucky," Mark snaps, his words laced with frustration, though it's clear he's trying to hold it back. "And you, y/n, not everything has to be a damn show, dress down for once. You look like they pulled you out of Nosferatu."

Bucky shifts and focuses back on Mark, and his smirk turns into something sharper, more dangerous. "No offense, buddy, but I don’t think you’re gonna impress anyone in that sad excuse for a suit. But, hey, at least you’re trying."

Mark’s fists clench, and he visibly seethes, trying to stay composed. But Bucky just looks at him, unbothered, watching with almost cruel amusement.

Mark spits back, "Yeah, well, I’m not into the whole ‘look at me’ thing, I'm not the one looking like a clown."

Bucky steps even closer, his voice dropping low, his tone almost dangerously smooth. "Look at you, pretending to be something you’re not," he says, letting the words cut deep. "Neither she nor I need to prove anything to anyone. But you, on the other hand… you’re still playing catch-up."

Mark starts breathing faster and clutching at his suit, and it seems like at some point he wasn't able to resist it anymore and decides to storm off, like a child who didn't get a toy.

Bucky decides to take advantage of this time you have alone and he starts grazing the side of your arm as he steps even closer, his presence overwhelming. His fingers linger, tracing over the fabric of your dress as though he can’t resist the temptation. You can see in his face some kind of expression. It's weird, but it's like the sole reason he touches the dress is to feel the curve of your waist, like proving to himself that he can't really penetrate the dress with his hands and finally touch you. He’s slow, and you feel the heat rising in you, your breath catching. It’s like he’s savoring the closeness, like he’s enjoying every second of this.

“You’re not like him, you know,” Bucky murmurs, his voice almost a whisper now, his lips close enough that you can feel the warmth of his breath on your skin. “You don’t have to prove anything to anyone. But,” his eyes darken as they flicker down your body, and his voice turns a little lower, more sensual, “you’re still the only one in the room I’m interested in proving something to. You've always been that person. I know we don’t acknowledge what happened between us last year, but still, every time I see you, I try to prove to you I'm as funny as when you left me, exactly as gentle as you wanted me to be back then, and obviously, just as disposed to lift that little satin dress, getting on my knees and letting you use me right here in this corridor, doll I'm just as willing to give myself up as I was when you left..." he says, so close to your ear, rubbing impossibly small circles on the back of your neck. You've never heard him breathing so heavily, never in your life have you seen that look in his eyes, he's so needy.

"Buck- no, I can't do that. Me and Mark fought, that doesn't mean we're over. It would still be cheating, and you know how against that I am..." you say to him, pushing him off gently.

The tension still lingers in the air, but you can’t afford to stay in this headspace any longer. The party’s starting, and you can’t just sit here, lost in the chaos of your own thoughts. The guests are starting to trickle in, the bass from the music outside beginning to thrum through the walls, and the sound of laughter and conversation fills the hallway.

You take a steadying breath, but before you can convince yourself to leave, Bucky stands there, still watching you, his gaze lingering just a little too long.

“James,” you murmur, your tone more firm now, trying to break through the haze of what just happened. “We’re going. You’re coming with me. Now.”

He looks almost surprised, like he hadn’t expected you to snap out of it this quickly, but then the smirk returns, that familiar mischievous glint in his eyes. “You sure you can handle me at this party, doll?” he teases, stepping closer again, but not crossing the line, as if he’s giving you the chance to take charge.

You can’t help but roll your eyes, though there’s a smirk on your face now too. “Oh please, it’s Tony Stark’s birthday. We both know I can handle whatever’s coming.”

As you make your way into the party, Bucky’s not exactly helping you focus. He's got a hand resting on your hip, but he's not letting it rest there proudly; he's got it hidden almost like he knows now what's wrong and what's right. He’s too close, too confident, and his words come with that familiar teasing edge.

“You know,” he starts, voice low enough that only you can hear, “this is the part where you let me steal the spotlight. I mean, come on, gorgeous. Not when I’m dressed like this.” He flashes you a grin, giving a mock twirl in the middle of the room, clearly enjoying the attention as people turn their heads to look.

You roll your eyes but can’t suppress the smile creeping up. “You’re insufferable,” you mutter, though you’re finding it hard to be mad at him. He’s right. He does look like he just stepped out of a magazine.

“Insufferable? Maybe.” His eyes flicker over to Mark, who’s still trying to seem calm, but you can practically see the tension in his shoulders. He's talking up some chick you recognize, she's a writer for some newspaper, you really can’t recall.

You try not to react, but Bucky’s got this way of making you aware of everything, especially him.

“Hey, don’t get mad at me,” he continues, his grin turning a little sly, “you chose this guy, not me. But if you ever want a real upgrade, you know where to find me.”

The comment stings in that way that makes your heart race. You shouldn’t even let it affect you, but every time he opens his mouth, it’s like he knows exactly what to say.

You glance over at Mark, who’s now talking to Tony, obviously trying to make connections, but his eyes flicker back to you. And Bucky—of course—catches it, smirking again.

“Look at that,” he murmurs, barely louder than a whisper. “Mark’s probably wishing he could just vanish into thin air right now. Poor guy’s probably wondering if I’m going to make a move on you in front of everyone.”

You shoot him a sharp look, but Bucky just leans in closer, his breath warm against your ear as he lowers his voice even more.

He then leans into your ear and whispers, “But I’m not like that, doll. I play my cards right.” His words are teasing, but there’s something deeper behind them, something that makes it hard for you to breathe. “I’ll wait until it’s just us. No one needs to see how much I want you, at least not yet. Maybe a couple of shots deep into the night and I’ll lose all the composure you made me conjure up in that damn corridor.”

And just like that, he pulls away, walking confidently into the crowd, like he knows exactly what effect he’s had on you. You watch him for a second, heart pounding, before you force yourself to refocus. Obviously, after this, you start looking for Natasha and the girls.

₊‧ʚ・︵︵ ₊˚๑ ᕱᕱ ꒱✦ ₊ ︵︵・₊﹆ɞ‧₊

The night has dragged on, the air thick with laughter, the dim glow of party lights painting everything in a hazy, intoxicating glow, all the lights becoming blurry from what you've drank. Everything seems to be moving slower; the strobing lights a watercolor blur in your eyes.

You find yourself nestled with Natasha, Maria Hill, Wanda, and a few others, a bottle of vodka flowing dangerously freely as you all chat and laugh like old friends. The atmosphere is light and carefree, and somehow, you manage to avoid talking about anything too deep, instead just poking fun at each other. It's the kind of fun that only happens when everyone’s tipsy enough to let go of their usual barriers.

At some point, the conversation shifts, and the girls get curious, their eyes glinting with mischief as they turn to you.

“So,” Natasha smirks, tilting her glass with a teasing expression as she changes her sitting position completely to tilt in your direction, “what’s going on with you and Mark? And, well — Bucky... I mean, this is a whole situation, huh?”

Maria raises an eyebrow, leaning in with a grin. “Is it just me, or do they seem like they’re both trying to outdo each other? You’ve got the perfect little love triangle brewing over here. Me, personally, I've dreamed about this.”

Wanda laughs softly, clearly amused. “No one’s ever been this conflicted over a guy before, right? You’re so calm about it, though. I don’t know if I could handle that.”

You roll your eyes, trying to brush off the playful teasing, but it’s getting harder with each round of laughter from the girls. The truth is, you don’t know how you feel about any of it—between Mark’s constant need for reassurance and Bucky’s complicated way of showing interest, you’re caught in a whirlwind of confusion.

Before you can answer, the conversation naturally shifts as the girls move on to something else, but they leave you with a lingering feeling of being caught. You need a break from all of it.

You find yourself wandering back over to Steve, Thor, and Sam’s group, who are now deep in their own state of tipsy camaraderie. Steve and Thor are practically slurring, which is a very rare sight, but since Thor brought his very own Asgardian mead, you’re about to see things you'll never unsee. Their laughter is loud and infectious, as Sam watches with an amused expression. He’s more sober than the other two, but it’s clear he’s starting to feel the effects.

As you settle into the conversation, Sam leans in, clearly eager to share some gossip.

“You know,” Sam says with a sly grin, his eyes shifting toward where Bucky was last seen, “Bucky’s tipsy as hell tonight. Earlier, he was going off about you, y/n—talking about how no one can hold a candle to you.” Sam laughs, his voice dropping a little lower. “Said you were the only one that could actually handle him.”

You glance around, half-expecting Bucky to pop up and say something, but Sam’s right. Bucky had disappeared a few minutes ago, and you haven’t seen him since.

Steve, grinning widely, throws his arm around Thor. “You know, Bucky can’t even try to hide that kind of thing when he’s drunk. And as for Mark,” Steve pauses dramatically, “he’s too busy trying to talk up some chick from the newspaper to even notice what’s going on. I saw them worryingly close a few minutes ago, sitting on that very couch. I'm pretty sure they stood up, I haven't seen them since. Maybe worry a little about that, y/n.”

Thor lets out a booming laugh, clearly having no concept of personal volume as he sloshes his mead around, completely unaffected by the alcohol. “Ah! Yes! Mark! So focused on trying to impress some small insipid human woman while Bucky... well, Bucky is a mighty warrior who knows what’s really important!” Thor gestures wildly, spilling some of his drink, but not caring in the slightest. “Mark has the charm of a goat! Bucky, though—ah, Bucky has the power of a storm!”

You barely suppress a laugh at that, wondering if Thor realizes he just made Bucky sound like a romantic hero in some cheesy novel.

Sam chuckles, shaking his head at Thor’s drunken rambling. “Yeah, man, I get it. Thor’s a little extra, but he’s not wrong. Honestly, Bucky’s got more of that raw attraction than anyone else. He was really going on about you, though.” Sam looks over at you with a knowing smile. “He was all like, ‘I don’t know why she’s wasting her time with him, she deserves someone who knows what’s worth fighting for.’”

You bite your lip, a mix of feelings surging in you. Part of you feels a weird rush of warmth hearing that, but the other part feels tangled up in confusion.

“Mark’s not like that, and that chick he's trying to get with is gonna realize that any second now,” Steve adds, giggling at his own remark, still grinning. “But you know what? He can’t even see what’s in front of him.” He pats your back. “Don’t let him hold you back. You’re not stuck with anyone.”

Before you can answer, Thor slurs out another line, “Ah! No one will ever be as strong as Bucky! Not even me! I am only strong at fighting battles! But Bucky, he is strong at heart, yes?” He takes a long swig of mead, clearly enjoying the sound of his own voice.

Just as you're trying to sort through all the messy thoughts running through your head, the music shifts, and the lights dim just a little. Suddenly, the unmistakable sound of a microphone crackling cuts through the air. Your head turns instinctively toward the source, and there, standing in front of the makeshift stage set up near the far corner of the compound’s great hall, is none other than Bucky Barnes.

Oh. my. God.

Bucky steps up to the mic, his stance a little unsteady, clearly very drunk, but his confidence unwavering. You can't look at this. This is so bad. He looks out into the crowd, a mischievous smile tugging at his lips as he taps the microphone twice, testing it. The room quiets for a second, and he takes a deep breath, his eyes landing on you as the opening chords of “Jessie’s Girl” begin to play.

You can't help but think how absolutely cringy and cheesy this all is. He's going to regret this so much tomorrow. Whatever he's doing now is not something regular Bucky would do. But just for the fun of it you shut up and enjoy this one in a lifetime show.

And with that, he launches into the first verse, and you already feel the weight of the room shift. “Jessie is a friend,” he sings, his voice deep, lingering over each word. You can hear people in the crowd start to whistle and cheer. His gaze doesn’t leave you for a second, making the song feel too personal, too intimate. “Yeah, I know he’s been a good friend of mine…”

He mouths a very exaggerated "no" and shakes his head from side to side, stupidly drunk. He had to have drunk from Thor’s mead, cause you've never seen him so drunk... Everyone seems to be having fun. They're all cheering and clapping on beat with him.

The chorus hits, and Bucky leans into the mic, his voice a little rougher, the voice of a man who's been screaming all night and had the grandiose idea of doing karaoke. “I wish that I had Jessie’s girl,” he sings, his voice low and dripping with desire as he holds your gaze. “Where can I find a woman like that?” At this point, everyone seems to be okay with the song of choice. Even Thor, with his drink still in hand, is swaying his arms from side to side. Sam, on the other hand, has this knowing glint in his eyes, like he's saying " told ya."

Bucky moves a little closer to the mic with half-hooded eyes, his body swaying lazily with the beat, and his words come out with an almost teasing sensuality, slurred but sensual, sure. “I play along with the charade, there doesn’t seem to be a reason to change,” he croons, lowering his voice even more, every word like a caress. “'Cause she's watching him with those eyes, and she's loving him with that body, I just know it, and he's holding her in his arms late, late at night.” He says this with a face of genuine disgust in an attempt of being theatrical, throwing his hand around like he’s mocking you or Mark.

He keeps singing and embarrassing himself onstage for a few moments more till the song ends. He bows clumsily to the public and steps off the stage with a confident swagger, making his way toward you, not bothering to stop as he gets right into your personal space. Everyone claps and cheers at him, and a few pictures of him are taken standing off the stage. You could already see the headlines tomorrow...

“Don’t act like you didn’t love that,” he says out of breath, voice low and sultry. He places a hand just barely on your lower back, just enough to send heat rushing through you. “I told you earlier that a few shots and apparently a drink of Thor’s mead would make me lose all my composure.”

"Actually, that little show you decided to throw was disgustingly cheesy. Promise me you'll never do that again, yeah?" Bucky just snorts at your comment and ignores it completely, “Don’t worry, sweetheart. That was just a warm-up.” He leans in even closer, his breath warm against your skin. “You’re gonna want to hear the rest of what I’ve got planned for you tonight.”

The music resumes in the background, and everyone goes back to dancing. Bucky grabs your hand and starts leading you somewhere. Somewhere you can hear Thor scream like a damn air raid siren, “Strong like a storm, Bucky! Yes!” Right after him, you hear Steve and Sam woohooing and whistling.

As you walk down the corridor beside Bucky, the weight of your decision starts to settle in, and despite the butterflies in your stomach, you can’t help but feel a sense of clarity. Everyone’s been right — Mark’s off with some random girl from the newspaper, and you’ve spent too long pretending this was something it wasn’t. Your chest tightens as you finally let yourself admit that you deserve more than the half-hearted games you’ve been playing.

You glance at Bucky, who’s smirking, his eyes gleaming with something between amusement and triumph, like he’s been waiting for this moment. You try not to let him get under your skin, but it's getting harder.

“Well, look at that,” Bucky’s voice cuts through your thoughts, dripping with mock sweetness. “Finally figured it out, huh? Took you long enough.”

You roll your eyes, the faintest smile tugging at your lips despite yourself. “Don’t start.”

“Oh, I’m just getting started, doll.” His voice drops lower, teasing and dangerous, as he leans in slightly. “I mean, come on. You really thought that he was your guy? That little puppy act? Please.” Bucky lets out a dry laugh, clearly enjoying himself. “You deserve better than that. You’ve always deserved better.”

You shake your head, walking a little faster to distance yourself from his teasing, but it doesn’t work. Bucky’s stride matches yours effortlessly.

“Maybe you’re right.”

“Sure am, Doll,” he replies, his voice lowering again, almost a whisper now. “You think you’re fooling anyone? I’ve seen the way you look at me when you think I’m not watching. How you flutter your little lashes somewhere else when you notice I'm looking right back at you. You think I can't tell what you're thinking about, but to be real, most of the time you're such a nasty girl! Shame on you... Don’t think for one second I haven’t noticed.”

You stop walking, my hand gripping the doorframe of the room we’re passing. His words hit harder than they should, but you keep your voice steady. “That doesn’t change anything.”

Bucky steps closer, his breath warm against your skin. “You keep saying that, but you know it’s not true. You and me? We were always gonna happen.” He pauses, letting the weight of his words hang in the air, his eyes flickering over your body with a slow, deliberate gaze. “Always.”

You feel your pulse quicken, but before you can respond, you pass your room. The noises coming from inside are unmistakable—low moans, muffled laughter, the sound of shifting sheets. You freeze, a sickening realization hitting you like a ton of bricks.

It’s Mark. And the girl.

Bucky notices you stop, and for a moment, he tilts his head curiously. “What’s wrong?” His voice is softer now, though the teasing tone never fully disappears. You don’t respond, your mind reeling as you hear the sounds getting louder. Mark and some random girl... Right behind that door.

Bucky’s face shifts, and for a second, he can't believe that's really happening. When he catches the look on your face. “Oh,” he murmurs, his voice more compassionate now. “Didn’t expect that, huh?” He leans closer to me. “I told you he wasn’t worth it. What man in their right mind would pass up on you, huh?”

You shake your head, feeling frustrated. “I—” You don’t even know what to say. Bucky watches you, almost like he sobered up in half a second. “See? You’re so much better than this; you don't need to endure this sort of thing. Why waste your time on someone like him?”

And at this moment, you realized how right everyone is. You remember when you ended your fling with Bucky, you thought to yourself, how you'd never find someone like him ever again. You were never used to attention or feeling loved your whole life, but Bucky was the first to ever make you feel that way. And the moment you stopped feeling that sweet, tender embrace, you went out looking for it again, somewhere, anywhere. And when you found something minimally similar, you went with it. Mark and you have nothing in common. You don't know why you convinced yourself to think that. Bucky's right, he and you were always meant to happen.

“We don’t have to do this tonight,” he says, his voice shifting from teasing to something more commanding. “Come on. Let’s get out of here. There's a whole party waiting outside, remember?”

You freak out the moment you process his words, "What? No! It's fine, I'm fine. I want to do this, please!" You grab his hand to stop him from walking back, completely sure of what you just said.

"Are you sure? I've been a pain in the ass about this the entire night, but that was just me being a jerk. I want to know you genuinely want this," He whispers so gently, as he holds your face in between his hands, almost encompassing your entire head. "I wouldn't like to mess this up," he said, punctuating the sentence with a drunken hiccup.

"Yes, Bucky. I want it so bad..." You say.

His whole demeanor changes, "Mhm? So bad? I have no other choice but to comply, do I? Let's get you to bed. I have a few things planned for you. Been thinking the whole night what I would do with you if I ever got my hands on you again, " He begins as he leads you to his room, a little far from the rest.

While still leading you by the hand, he continues, he clumsily trips over for a second but continues to walk forward. "Had a hard on the entire night, doll. Fuck- just before the karaoke I went into the bathroom and rubbed one off, like some teenager with a crush. Came all over the sink thinking about you, baby." As he finishes saying this with a low grunt, you notice you make one final lazy turn, and you get to his room. You're breathing faster than ever, almost like you're gonna be sick. This only ever happened to you when you were with him; You never went out of breath like this with anyone else.

Bucky opens the door, and not even a second after, he leads you through, and he's already kissing you. Slamming himself against your body and keeping balance as best as he can, holding your head between his hands, like he's almost leading you into the kiss, showing you exactly how he wanted it, like he was the one in need. It was sloppy and messy, his tongue licking its way into your mouth like he was in heat. After a while, he starts kissing the right corner of your mouth and starts making his way to your jawline, near the ear. Every peck accompanied with its own little whiny "Hmm fuck", and "Baby..." As he licks and kisses your neck, clearly making sure to leave a mark, he snakes his hands down to the back of your dress, getting a handful of your ass. With his hands almost tearing at the dress with the force he's holding on to you, he starts grinding you against his hard-on. "Can you feel me, baby? Hm? Can ya' feel how hard I am for you? You have me wrapped around your finger, doll. It's so dangerous."

As much as you're enjoying this, you can't help but think about what Mark did to you; you're not even sad because you lost him. You're just seething with anger. How dare he? Bucky, as he pulled back to look at your face once again, caught something in your face that made his stomach twist. You were still smiling, still reaching for him, but your eyes were glassy in a way that had nothing to do with the alcohol.

Bucky froze, reaching over to you, cupping your cheek gently. "Hey," he murmured, voice low and careful. "Talk to me, doll."

She tried to wave it off, but the crack in her voice gave her away. "I'm fine, Bucky. Really."

He shook his head, pressing his forehead to yours, grounding them both. "No, you're not. I know that look. I’ve worn that look. I know what you're thinking, and you know what? It's fine, angel."

"I just… I thought I could get it right with this one guy," you whisper, voice trembling despite your best efforts. "I've never even dared to stay before. I finally let myself believe it could work, and the second I do, this happens?"

"Listen to me, doll," he says softly against your hair. "You didn’t mess anything up. You gave someone a chance because you’ve got a good heart, and that's never a mistake. Him messing it up? That’s on him. Not you."

You tried to shake your head, tried to smile like it was nothing, but Bucky just shushed you gently, cradling your face in his hands like you were something precious, something about to break. "You’re allowed to hurt. Hell, after what that asshole pulled, I'd be surprised if you didn’t. You don’t gotta rush it just 'cause I’m here," he said, his voice slurring a little but still clear in meaning. "I’m not going anywhere, alright? I’m gonna take care of you. Even if it’s just holding you tonight." He gently lays the bunched-up fabric at your thighs back down to your ankles.

Bucky kissed the top of her head and chuckled softly. "Besides," he murmured, "kinda bein’ nice for once. Don’t tell anyone, though, ruins my whole tough guy rep."

He finally laid you down softly on the mattress, making sure to place enough pillows under your head. "You're my favorite girl, you know that?" he slurred slightly, brushing his nose against your forehead. Trying to grab the edge of the blanket from under the pillows, "No one else even comes close." He says. Finally, you felt his whole weight bounce on the mattress. And just before you could answer back to him, you felt him go slack.

"Bucky?" you whispered, nudging his shoulder. Nothing. Not even a grunt. You couldn’t help but laugh quietly, half exasperated, half endeared.

"What a menace."

[peerlesschrysanthemum73011]

Sooo, a random au elaboration nobody asked for!! Go Mirror AU!! (cause i suck at giving names)

So, how would this work? The original concept was that Sy was a broken shard fragment that had been flowing along a river for who knows how long. He has barely any consciousness, and somehow barely just makes it into land. He is in a forest and is unable to do jack shit, and he has no system available to help him.

He hears a rustle from the bushes, and out comes a three-horned centaur, basically the regular centaur, but with an extra horn. These species in particular are fond of nature but unfortunately are mute. Sadly, Airplane wasted another opportunity for lore in favor of porn, so he doesn't know the exact reason they are mute. (and because of this, he realizes he's in PIDW) Anyways, this kind centaur picks Sy up and takes him to his studio Ghibli cottage.

Shen Yuan is then brought into a sort of blacksmithing room, and he slowly freaks out because?? He's going to be melted or something!! The room becomes hot from the heat of the furnace, and oh no, Shen Yuan is gonna die!!!! Slowly but surely, he loses consciousness...

When he wakes up, he feels...refined? He wouldn't know how to explain it, but he feels fancier somehow. He manages to somehow look at himself, and holy cow, he had a massive glow up! He was carved into an exquisite hand mirror!! Shen Yuan is picked up by the centaur and is held out to another centaur.

And oh! the male centaur is gifting the other hand mirror Shen yuan as a courting gift!!! How cute and romantic!! The other is happy, and despite both being mute, the other centaur envelops the other in a hug. She(??) accepted!! They spend their days together, being flirty and romantic that makes shen yuan feel like a third wheel.

Out of boredom, Shen Yuan decides to give them names. For the male centaur, he chose the name Bluebell, since they can represent gratitude and everlasting love. For the female(?), named them Columbine, because he simply felt like it was right.

Shen Yuan stays with them awhile, peacefully living each day to the fullest. Although he can't do much, just being around them brought Shen Yuan peace, and a bit of nostalgia. One day, Bluebell and Columbine leave for what felt like weeks. Shen Yuan gets a little worried, but he's simply a mirror. He can't do anything. Just as his anxiety spikes, the couple return, and oh, in their hands lies a baby.

Shen Yuan feels so, so happy for them.

And of course, their daily lives continue, with an adorable addition. Shen Yuan makes sure Columbine looks as pretty as usual, reflects the baby's appearance to entertain it sometimes, watches as the family gathers around the table to eat. And he thinks a year has passed.

Of course, good things aren't made to last forever.

It's the middle of the night, and Shen Yuan is about to doze off, but a sudden boom jerks him awake. The hazy blue night has turned into a blaze of flames, and he hears explosions going off. The couple is gone-and the baby is beginning to cry. He hears the shouts of people- cultivator's? Columbine bursts into the house, running to grab the baby, and Shen Yuan realizes he's going to be left behind and die. But Columbine also grabs him, and they rush out of the house.

Where is Bluebell? Shen Yuan wonders, but taking a look at Columbine's state, her(?) hair dirtied and matted, body covered with scars, and one of their antlers are broken. After running for some time, they reach some sort of cave, hidden by vines and bushes, he places the baby there, along with Shen Yuan. She gives her baby a final kiss, and places what looks to be a qiankun pouch? And then she leaves.

Shen Yuan wants to help, is desperate to help, but he hears the steps of people and fear instantly envelops him into a hug. Somehow, a rush of adrenaline and the need to protect the child gives Sy the ability to temporary hide the child (basically reflecting the empty cave). A slash from a sword cuts the vines that were hiding them and in comes a cultivator, disappointed that the only thing hiding in this cave is a hand mirror.

Beside him, Shen Yuan sees it. Columbine's dead body, lying on the ground. In the cultivator's left hand is Bluebell's head.

[tracksuitponytail]

This month brought so many wonderful new fics! I've not read half as much as I wanted to but these are the ones I enjoyed in April 2025. You can find my other fic recs here. Happy reading! <3

🐇 Roll Like Thunder by croisblue / @forwhatiam [M, 9k, sexual surrogacy]

When quadriplegic Louis Tomlinson's therapist recommends he see a surrogate partner, he panics, thinking this is yet another way he's being belittled for his disability. When said surrogate partner turns out to be Harry Styles, a nearly inhumanly beautiful man who's gone back to school for a certificate in Disability Studies, Louis finds he doesn't mind so much.

🐇 Oblivious Hearts by FelintoGirl / @felinto-girl [GA, 5k, university au]

Attempt number seventy three was pasta night.

Louis almost had a breakdown while trying to cook sauce from scratch, but Harry licked his thumb clean and smiled like Louis had handed him the moon. Louis had to leave the room and scream silently into a pillow.

But still… just friends.

🐇 Set the Scene by @mandylynn4 [E, 11k, queer awakening]

Louis Tomlinson is ready to write his next bestselling book - a rockstar rom-com called Stage Dive, but his agent thinks it would be better with queer characters. With no knowledge of how gay sex works and petrified at the porn he'd tried to watch, he enlists the help of his friend's boyfriend and roommate as figure models. As Zayn and Harry act out spicier scenes for him to reference in his story, he soon starts finding himself thinking about how it would feel to be the one touching Harry instead. Enter gay panic...

🐇 The Referral by @disgruntledkittenface [E, 5k, established relationship, threesome]

Louis has noticed that since he turned fifty, his sex drive has started to slow down. Unfortunately, that’s not the case for his younger boyfriend Harry. A problem solver by nature, Louis wants to do something special for Harry, to show him how much he appreciates him even after ten years together. When he suggests getting a referral for a sex worker to give Harry what he hasn’t been lately, it doesn’t take long for Harry to agree.

And then they meet Tom.

🐇 Running Through The Garden by juniperlightning / @juniperlightningwrites [E, 11k, strangers to lovers]

Based on the prompt:

Character A buys a house with a big garden to have the opportunity to relax while gardening. Turns out character B is a loud, football loving person, who loves to play in his garden. When the ball ends up on the wrong side of the fence more than once, there is not only irritation between the neighbours.

* podfics available *

🐇 In Dreams by dolce_piccante [M, 23k, neighbors au]

🎧 podfic read by frecklebombfic

When Harry moves to a new city, his new flat come with a number of sweet, anonymous gifts and surprises that brighten his days. Could it be a friendly ghost? Another friendly presence in his new building is his tattooed neighbor, Louis, who seems determined to put a smile back on his face.

🐇 Torn On The Platform by Conscious_ramblings [M, 27k, tube au]

🎧 podfic read by frecklebombfic

AU where harry and louis are strangers but they always get the same train to work in the morning and one day harry falls asleep on louis' shoulder. louis wants to be annoyed because harry just broke at least seven rules of tube conduct but he looks so soft and peaceful that he just lets him sleep and wakes him ever so carefully when it’s his stop. it happens again and again until it becomes a regular thing where louis will let harry snooze and then gently nudge him awake, hand him the cup of coffee he took from him so it wouldn't slip and spill everywhere and send him off with a “have fun at work, love” and after the tenth time harry isn't even embarrassed any more.

🐇 Thought The Song Was Sung by @100percentsassy [E, 12k, famous/non-famous]

🎧 podfic read by frecklebombfic

AU, Louis never auditioned for the X-Factor. Years later, Harry's just another gay ex-boybander who lives alone with his cat... until Niall decides to take matters into his own hands and set up a profile for Harry on a dating website.

🐇 leave it to the breeze by @hattalove [E, 81k, reality tv]

🎧 podfic read by frecklebombfic

 A great british bake off au in which louis cares about winning and winning only, harry is made of sunshine and rainbow sprinkles, and niall sticks his nose into other people's business. also featuring liam as louis's best friend-slash-concerned mother, and zayn as a macaron connoisseur.

Be sure to check the tags if there are any topics or tropes you prefer to avoid, and if you enjoy a fic, consider leaving kudos or a comment to show the author some love 🩵

[crappymixtape]

among the stars • part three

PART I • PART II • PART III • PART IV • PART V • PART VI ❝ summer ended and everyone went back to school or to indianapolis for ‘real’ jobs – steve’s friends practically begged him to come to the city with them at the end of the summer, couch surf in their apartment until he finds work, but he decides to stay until one rainy night in october something happens – someone happens – and it changes the course of his life forever • 18+ | ( 3k, strangers to lovers, angst, fluff, smut, extraterrestrials, steve x reader )

H O P E L E S S F U L 🎶 earthing, vanbur

“I don’t know? Something about light years or–no, dumbass. Does it look like I watch Star Trek? Okay, okay. Sorry.”

Steve Harrington leaned against the wall of the room he’d deemed ‘the kitchen’, talking into a long, corded, communication device. There was a friend of his that might be able to help, one Dustin Henderson, but the way he was talking to him now didn’t sound very friendly at all.

The sun had risen and set twice since you’d crashed, the days here much shorter than home, and a sinking feeling had grown in the pit of your stomach.

At first you’d been encouraged by Steve’s blinding optimism, hopeful that maybe he’d be able to help you repair your comm link or at least sort through the crash to find something useful, but all your things had turned to ash and he barely knew how to adjust the settings on his own rudimentary time piece. Over the course of two short days your hope had dwindled.

Maybe you would never go home.

Glancing up at Steve, you caught him looking at the same time, and his cheeks flushed as he dropped his gaze, his voice lowering. Quiet.

“No, no. It’s fine. We’ll meet you over at Robin’s. Alright.” Hanging the corded device on its base, he gave you a flicker of a smile, his hand rubbing at the back of his neck, “Dustin says he might be able to help.”

You watched with wide, expectant eyes and his cheeks grew pink again.

“So–uh–we’re gonna meet up with him. See what we can figure out.”

“And who is Robin?” you asked, legs neatly tucked under you, sat with perfect posture in an old armchair.

“Oh, well–Robin’s my best friend.”

“Best friend?” your brow furrowed as you considered his words. “Is this like a life partner? One you procreate with?”

If Steve’s cheeks had looked red before, they were positively scarlet now.

“No–oh, Christ. No, I don’t have a–a life partner. Or kids–er–at least not my own kids,” he stumbled over his words, eyes glued to the floor as he walked toward the front entry. “C’mon, we should go.”

You stood from the chair, watching as he grew increasingly uncomfortable, your head tilted, considering him. “Have I offended you, Steve Harrington?”

He paused, hand on the door knob, and looked over his shoulder at you, a rough chuckle falling from his lips, “No, you haven’t offended me.” The expression on his face softened, warm amber eyes meeting yours, “You don’t have to use my full name. Just call me, Steve.”

“But isn’t that your name? Steve Harrington?”

Another laugh rumbled in his chest and your skin warmed at the sound.

“Well, yeah, but–“ his words melted into a hum of thought, and his hand fell away from the door as he turned to face you. “Here, why don’t you tell me your name?”

“I am Aerus-4,” pulling at the neck of your flight suit, you tugged it down to show the markings tattooed along your collarbone. Steve’s lips parted, but nothing came out. “Our titles are given at birth,” you explained, watching as slowly Steve closed his mouth, “The first is our planet and the second is our sector.”

“What do your friends call you?” he wondered and it was your turn to give him a look of confusion.

“Aerus-4,” you repeated.

Steve chuckled again and warmth bloomed in your chest, “We give each other nicknames here. Like shorter, better versions of the stupid names our parents give us.”

“Nicknames?”

“Yeah. Like, my full name is Steven Michael Harrington, but my friends call me Steve.”

“Just Steve,” you echoed, and he beamed, but it hit you quickly that you didn’t have a nickname because this place wasn’t home and you didn’t fit here. You didn’t want to be here.

The brilliant turquoise of your hair faded to a washed out grey.

“Oh,” Steve breathed, hand outstretched as he took a step forward.

“I am Aerus-4 and you are Steve. Just Steve,” you said, stepping around him toward the door, “And it would be disrespectful to keep your ‘best friend’ waiting.”

OH MY LIGHT TRIPS IS IT ON FIRE, IS IT COLD?

The method of transportation on Earth was archaic, you thought, as Steve navigated the way to Robin Buckley’s. There were no teleport stations and everything moved on wheels and required constant refueling. Basic public hovertram systems weren’t even available and it took forever to get from one side of Hawkins to the other.

Steve messed with a set of dials on his control panel the entire drive, making the sound coming from the comm system scratch and change between different people’s voices. You didn’t like any of it at first, but then he started singing along to the one he finally settled on, and it grew on you, soft and slow like a seed planted between your ribs.

“All my instincts, they return, and the grand facade, so soon will burn. Without a noise, without my pride, I reach out from the insiiide,” Steve sang softly under his breath along with the man on the other end. The sound was low and warm, settled in your ears and sent a zip of electricity through your limbs.

Clearing your throat, you shook your head as if to shake his voice from where it’d curled up at the back of your mind.

“Is this some kind of simultaneous comms transmission?” you asked, and it pulled Steve’s eyes from the road, brows pinched together in confusion.

“What, the radio?” he asked.

“Yes, the man on the other end is saying exactly what you’re saying.”

The corner of Steve’s mouth tugged up in a lopsided grin, “No, this is music. One of my favorites, actually. His name is Peter Gabriel.”

“This is music?” you asked incredulously, “This is nothing like music on Aesa.”

That made Steve laugh and you couldn’t help but smile, the sight squeezing dimples into Steve’s cheeks, and your skin grew warm again.

“To each their own,” Steve parried, then softened, “Smiling looks nice on you, should do it more.”

You dropped your gaze to your lap at the sudden attention, hair flushing a soft pink color as Steve bumped off the road and into the driveway of a small residence.

It was made of brick, moss clinging to the north side of the roof, and surrounded by a waist high, white, wooden fence. You weren’t sure what the point of it was, as it certainly wouldn’t do anything for protection, but a beep from the control panel pulled your attention back to the present.

“We’re here,” Steve nodded toward the small building and the door opened to reveal not only Best Friend Robin, but four others as well.

Your pulse quickened in your neck, your flight suit pinging a warning and sending red currents pulsing through the fabric.

“Are you–is something wrong?” Steve leaned in toward you, hand hovering at your forearm, expression curved in worry, and you shook your head.

“No. My suit needs to be serviced,” you lied, but he bought it and murmured a small sound of acknowledgement before climbing out and leaving you to panic.

“Oh my, god,” a taller girl with short, blonde hair gushed, hands clasped over her mouth. A shorter boy with twists of brown curls shoved her aside to get a better look and revealed another girl with brilliant orange hair, arms wrapped around a tall boy with rich, deep brown skin.

They were all talking over each other in an instant.

“…hair so pretty…”

“…they’re purple?”

“…not from here.”

Their words sent your hair racing through a shimmering rainbow of colors, unable to pinpoint what emotion squeezed tightly around you and freezing you to your seat until Steve appeared at your window.

“Hey,” he tapped at the glass and opened your door slowly, “It’s okay. They’re my friends. They’re here to help.”

You swallowed the uncertainty crawling up your throat, thoughts drifting to darker stories you’d heard back home. Stories of people from Tyr-9 being abducted and imprisoned on other planets. Subjected to experiments, research, torture…or worse.

A hand pressed into yours and you gasped at the sudden physical contact, eyes flicking down to find Steve’s thumb smoothing gently over the bump of your knuckles.

“Hey,” he said again, softer, and it pulled your eyes up to look into his. Bright, brilliant pools of amber, warm and gold like sunsets back home and the color of your hair melted into a deep gold. Calm. Ease.

Trust.

“I promise I won’t let anyone hurt you,” he said, and in that moment you didn’t know why, you had absolutely no reason to, but you believed him. Despite his lack of weapons and poorly made clothing, you knew he meant what he’d said.

“Okay,” you whispered, and let him lead you from the car and into the house.

OH MY HEART SLIPS DO I NEED YOU, LOVE?

Robin Buckley’s home was furnished much the same as Steve’s, she even had what looked like was a matching arm chair, just as old as his. It was modest, cozy and simple, and not threatening, but your instincts had your hand ready at your side, one quick reach away from your dagger.

Steve led to you a larger sofa and sat down next to you, recounting the storm and the crash to everyone while they lingered in front of you both, sitting or standing, andstaring. There was, of course, Robin Buckley, Dustin Henderson, the one who would help, Max Mayfield and her boyfriend Lucas Sinclair.

“–shoulder was injured. It looked really bad yesterday, but it seems to be healing fast. Like really fast.”

You turned to see Steve gesturing at the exposed swatch of skin at your shoulder where your suit had ripped, the gash nearly closed, and you quickly pulled your hair over it.

“Er-sorry,” Steve stuttered, and you let your gaze drop to your lap.

“Is there something wrong?” you asked quietly, and Steve quickly shook his head.

“No! No, you just…that cut on your shoulder looks like a scratch now and it’s only been a couple of days. It should’ve needed stitches.”

You looked up at the four sets of eyes studying you, your thigh pressed to Steve’s.

“We just mean you’re healing very fast. Faster than we do here on Earth,” Dustin added gently and you glanced over at Steve who gave you a small reassuring smile.

“And you don’t need to sit around in those old clothes,” Robin chimed in, the smile on her face warm and kind, “You can totally borrow a hoodie and some jeans or whatever you need. We look like we’re close to the same size.”

“Why didn’t I think of that?” Steve muttered and Dustin snorted.

“Because you have a one-track mind.”

“Watch it, Henderson.”

“What? You do.”

“He’s not wrong,” Max agreed with a shrug.

Steve folded his arms over his chest with a grumble, “Can we please just tell us what the hell we’re gonna do?”

“Right,” Dustin clapped his hands, and you jumped at the sudden sound, but Steve took your hand again.

It’s okay.

“Let’s start with what we know,” the boy pulled a large pad of paper into the room on an easel. “The ship isn’t functional anymore, so getting in and flying back isn’t an option,” he scratched a black mark over a line of writing and it made your stomach twist. “We also can’t repair it, I don’t even know where we’d get parts,” he added, scratching over the next line and it made your hair flicker between dark purple and navy blue. “But!” he added, pointing at the third line of writing, “Comms are definitely an option.”

“Comms?” Robin asked skeptically, hands planted on her hips.

“Yes. I’m sure your technology is more advanced than ours,” Dustin said looking at you, and the nod and eye roll you gave him back earned you a laugh. “Okay, much more advanced than ours,” he amended, and you couldn’t help a small smile, “But the basics still apply.”

Turning to the pad of paper he flipped to the next page to reveal a poorly drawn spire with discs and antenna's and a small control panel.

“I’m almost positive Cerebro II can get a signal out past the thermosphere, if not right into the exosphere.”

“In English, dickhead,” Steve grumbled and Dustin kept going, completely unbothered.

“It can send radio waves into space, which is the best chance we have of someone picking up our signal. It’d have to be rudimentary. You know, like, single words or phrases? But it’d be enough to get anyone within range’s attention.”

Your heart hammered against your ribcage at the thought of reaching the others from your party. Even if it was just coordinates they would be close enough to pinpoint your location and–

Bring you home.

“Can we go now?” you cut in, startling everyone and pulling their eyes to you, and your hair flushed pink again.

Dustin gave you a big, toothy smile, “If the sky’s are clear, we’ll go tonight.”

Steve’s fingers squeezed at yours before quickly letting go, tucking his hands into his lap and scooting away from you, taking his warmth with him.

“That’s perfect. Great–really great–we’ll be ready,” he said with a flicker of a smile, but you detected dishonesty from him. Why would he lie? But before you could give it another thought, the couch sunk down next to you when Robin filled his spot.

“C’mon, let’s get this gross thing off you,” she said, nose crinkling up at how dirty your flight suit was, covered in ash and burns and tears.

You immediately looked to Steve, help, and it pulled him out of his thoughts.

“Oh–yeah,” he added, standing with Robin, “I’ll be right outside the door, hm?”

Robin held a hand out to you and you gave Steve one more look, Is it safe? And he nodded gently, encouraging, and you took her hand as she eagerly pulled you down the hallway to her room, Steve hurrying to catch up.

YOU WERE BORN EARTHING, EARTHING.

She’d been right. You and Robin were almost the exact same size, just a touch shorter than she was. She and Steve had waited out in the hallway, giving your privacy to change, and as you stood looking at yourself in the mirror, you wondered how anyone did anything here with clothes like this.

Robin had given you a dark green hoodie and it fit well, as did her black pants and shoes, but you felt weird, uncomfortable, vulnerable to the elements. Your locks of hair had faded back to their usual turquoise, your purple skin in stark contrast with the green fabric running down your arms. When your eyes trailed down your legs, you shook your head – pants full of holes? What was the point?

Knock, knock, knock.

“Hey, you okay in there?” Steve’s voice came through the door and you opened it with a scowl on your lips, startling them both.

“Robin Buckley, your pants are full of holes,” you stated very seriously and she gave you a just as serious look back.

“That’s how they’re supposed to be.”

You both stared at each other for a long second, neither breaking face, and Steve’s eyes flicked back and forth between you.

“Oookay. Looks great! Thanks, Robs,” he said, slicing the awkward silence in half. Then, taking your hand, he tugged you back out to the front room only for you to find it empty.

“Has Dustin Henderson left already?” you asked, panic crawling up your throat. What if you missed it?

“No, no,” Steve assured you, “He took Max and Lucas up to Weathertop so they can run a few tests.”

“What is a Weathertop?”

“Oh, it’s the hill where he keeps Cerebro II.”

Your brain swirled, fuzzy, hazy.

Cerebro II. Weathertop. Robin Buckley. Earth. Dustin Henderson. Flying isn’t an option. Healed too fast. Purple skin and turquoise hair and not from here and–

“Whoa, hey, it’s okay–”

“No! It’s not, Steve Harrington!” you cut his words in two and he recoiled as your hair bled into a deep, bruising violet, “It’s not okay!” Your chest constricted, too tight as you struggled to pull air into your lungs. “I’m not okay, this is not okay. I’m never going to get home and I’m stuck on this planet where–where nothing makes sense and–”

“But–”

“–and I don’t have a–a nickname! And I’m not like you! Or your friends! It’s hopeless,” your voice cracked, tears stinging at the corners of your eyes.

“It’s not hopeless,” Steve said quietly, gently taking your chin between his fingers and tilting it up so that your eyes met his. “At least not yet,” he added earnestly.

Your tears welled against the line of your lashes and despite your efforts, you blinked and they spilled over, tracing slow tracks through the freckles chasing across your cheeks. You were determined, stoic, silent, unwavering and still and he was…everything you weren’t. Soft, but strong, brave, but vulnerable, steady, but willing to shift.

Sweeping your tears away with the pad of his thumb, Steve wiped them on his sleeve. “Can I give you a nickname?” he asked, and it pulled your gaze up again. Amber eyes. Pools of gold. Warm. Safe.

“But we’re not friends, Steve Harrington.”

“Sure we are,” he countered, then added softly, “How about Ru? Is it okay if I call you that?”

“Ru?” you echoed and he smiled.

“Yeah. Ru, short for Aerus.”

The corner of your mouth flickered and tugged up, the vice squeezing at your chest slowly spinning loose.

“Ru,” you said again, smiling, and Steve grinned.

“Nice to meet you, Ru. Friends?” he stuck his hand out to you and you took it.

“Friends.”

[ NOTE: THIS IS PART TWO OF A ??? PART SERIES – MORE TO COME SOON ]

crappymixtape™ • steve harrington masterlist // stranger things masterlist♥️ reblogs and comments keep me going, friends! ily! ♥️

[peach-tree-writing]

'One Year of Challengers' Fic Recs! Pt.1

I've had so much fun creating this list!! Ty to everyone who sent me links to fics they love, ty to everyone who has written anything for this fandom, and ty to Challengers!! Movie of all time :)

We're going by categories, starting out with:

AUs

With A Racket

Tashi, My Beloved

Innocent Bystanders

Stanford and its Diversions

They Go Back to the Hotel

Patrick Takes the Guest House

Okay, buckle up! It's going to be a long one!

Category #1: AUs 

Near canon and far flung, this is Challengers with a twist.

down on one knee by benhargroveisdead Rated: M Word Count: 16,863 Summary: Someone else gets injured, someone else gets married, or no one does. It doesn't fix much. 5 2019 US Opens that never happened (+1 that did)

Rec: Challengers run through a kaleidoscope.

you're in my blood like holy wine by goddesspharo Rated: T Word Count: 3,714 Summary: "Don't," Tashi warns him with a hard edge that makes her decidedly her. It's almost a comfort to hear it – her leg might be broken, but she's not shattered. That feels like an important distinction to make. "Don't say it unless you mean it." Patrick doesn't miss a beat this time. His voice is steady when he promises that it's going to be okay. "We're going to make it okay."

Rec: A Practical Magic AU that keeps things messy.

not your savior by sundermount Rated: T Word Count: 2,370 Summary: Art and Patrick don’t meet Tashi. They’re worse off for it.

Rec: The summary says it all. Art is 31 and doesn’t play tennis and has a best friend he’s never kissed. Patrick can’t afford his motel room. Life has never been worse.

it's getting better by spqr Rated: T Word Count: 9,025 Summary: “Okay,” Patrick says, looking away from Art and clearing his throat – whatever discussion they were having with just their eyes, it’s resolved. “You remember back at the Junior Open? That night in our hotel room?” Tashi almost chokes on her drink, but she saves it. “Yeah,” she says. “I remember.” Patrick glances at Art, like he’s checking in one last time, then says, “You remember when you asked us if we ever…” he trails off significantly, holding her eyes. Abruptly, Tashi gets it. “Oh,” she says, then, “oh. The two of you? So you’re roommates-roommates.” ## Or: Tashi goes pro.

Rec: One of the only ‘Tashi doesn't get injured AUs on the market’ which is a damn shame.

Freaky Friday by mr_ghostpanther Rated: T Word Count: 58,903 (wip) Summary: On Friday March 2nd, 2007, the world turns upside down for Tashi, Patrick, and Art when Tashi is severely injured during a match. The next morning, Art wakes up to a startling discovery that threatens to change all of their relationships for good unless they can find a way to work together again. Or, a Freaky Friday AU. Basically. It's body swapping. It's fun!

Rec: Literally “spend a day in each other’s shoes” that these three desperately need.

turning me over by vokdas Rated: E Word Count: 6,010 Summary: Art dies at twenty. Patrick and Tashi deal.

Rec: It’s the best kind of hurt. A real shock to the system.

+++++++++++++++++

Category #2: With a Racket 

Remember when Patrick said “I’d let her fuck me with a racket”? Well-

reset/replay by radialarch Rated: E Word Count: 3,934 Summary: “So you, uh. You ever done this before?” Patrick scoffs. “Have I ever gotten fucked with a racket during a threeway?”

Rec: Patrick’s words come to bite him in the ass.

Determined by blindvigilante Rated: E Word Count: 1,441 Summary: “He can take it.” Art’s skin glistens over the hotel sheets, milky white under the artificial lighting as legs get spread as far as they can go. He’s always been flexible. Tashi’s look is determined, like most times.

Rec: Art isn’t left out.

i'd let her fuck me with a racket by serenfire Rated: E Word Count: 6,801 Summary: Tashi says, soft as an apology, “I have to go.” A line of spit snaps between Art and Patrick, and Patrick is staring at her and looking like he’s given up, like he’ll just let the blood-thumping moment of glorious, untold possibility pass them by. Art swallows the first plea that eternally lives in his chest, and instead says, “But Patrick told me he’d let you fuck him with a racket.”

Rec: Nuclear level threat to the “they hook up in Flushing” economy. No survivors!

+++++++++++++++++

Category #3: Tashi, My Beloved

I love Tashi so much. These are Tashi centric fics that ask “What the fuck is wrong with this woman?” and the answer is soooo many things. She’s so fucking awesome.

capacity and purpose by Anonymous Rated: E Word Count: 12,301 Summary: True love blooms. OR, A dog is housetrained. OR, An execution is commuted to a life sentence.

Rec: YOUCH!!! There’s so much wrong with Tashi. She’s never been better.

playback by hydrochaeris Rated: M Word Count: 7,541 Summary: Love was about breathing with someone, about hitting something between the two of you and refusing to give it up. Refusing to take a bad shot, refusing to let your guard down. Volleying it back, giving as good as you got.

Rec: Tashi builds herself up, gets torn down, and reassembles as best she can.

only see by agletbaby Rated: T Word Count: 5,048 Summary: Instead of everything beginning, Tashi retreats to her childhood bedroom.

Rec: A really wonderful character study in the immediate wake of her injury.

back to the baseline by thejourneys Rated: M Word Count: 9,584 Summary: “I wish it had been my fucking— my arm,” she murmurs, brain still foggy from the anesthesia and unsure of whether she’s addressing her mother or Art, both of whom have been in and out of her hospital room the whole morning. “They could just fucking— chop it off— and I’d still—“ “Hey,” comes her mom’s voice, so soft it makes Tashi’s chest ache, “let’s focus on something else, okay?” There is nothing else, she wants to say— nineteen and a mouth full of cotton, nineteen and a has-been before she’d really been anything— nothing else that matters. -- OR: Tashi Duncan, and a now-impossible dream.

Rec: A foundational text!

wicked games by seekrest Rated: M Word Count: 4,010 Summary: It’s a game for him, this teasing back and forth. “I will.” “Okay.” “I mean it.” She looks up, his hair still askew from when her fingers had run through it. “Okay,” she replies then turns to leave. She’ll always be the better player.

Rec: Tashi through her life. She breaks my heart <3

+++++++++++++++++

Category #3: Innocent Bystanders

Outsider POVs that are a fully raised eyebrow. As it should be :)

Homemakers by californianNostalgia Rated: T Word Count: 4,262 Summary: Nicki is unfortunate enough to be present when the Donaldsons show up as an allied pair of blindingly hot jilted exes laser-focused on her depressing mess of a tennis instructor. Alternate title: My ‘Patrick Zweig wins a Grand Slam’ Agenda. (Outsiders POV.)

Rec: Shows off what strange and dependent creators ATP are with some really cool OCs along the way.

let's just say there's a vibe by waltztangocache Rated: G Word Count: 2,141 Summary: becca🌻 @rebeccangel Thu 11:28 AM hey is anybody else watching this new rochelle challenger final right now? its kind of ummmmm | becca🌻 @rebeccangel Thu 11:28 AM let’s just say there’s a vibe (The Challengers post-canon, as told by tennis twitter.)

Rec: A very silly and fun outsider social media POV. #throuple

grownups do brunch by bigwigs Rated: T Word Count: 1,718 Summary: Every week, Helen and her sister catch up over Facetime. This week, Helen's life has been a bit more exciting than usual. (Or: Helen tells her sister about the tennis player who's moved in to her apartment.)

Rec: Helen gets the main character treatment she deserves. Thank god!

bizarre love triangle by tsukkiluvr11 Rated: M Word Count: 5,900 Summary: So, there’s his answer. Art and Tashi are fucking and Patrick knows. Patrick’s okay with it, even. Then, his face crumples as he considers the thought that Patrick messaged them that day and asked them to fuck so he could listen in on the phone. Well, to each their own, he forces himself to think or five times Art's roommate doesn't understand Art, Tashi and Patrick's relationship, and one time he gets it.

Rec: RIP Art’s roommate. Poor guy.

you can watch from your window by rib14 Rated: T Word Count: 3,580 Summary: zara donaldson @federerererer has anyone else seen patrick zweig’s latest insta post??? i swear to god he’s in front of the same wall that’s in tashi’s pic from a few weeks ago That time in 2020 when we all went a little bit crazy about these three tennis players’ personal lives. Does anyone else remember that? What a weird time.

Rec: Speculation is going wild, as it would and as it should.

+++++++++++++++++

Category #3: Stanford and its Diversions

The Stanford!Era is so special. Tashi and Art and Patrick are so young and hopeful :) near and dear 2 me 

unavailability is the only thing that turns you on by wizardempire Rated: T Word Count: 3,351 Summary: Art moves to sit on the edge of the bed. He presses the back of his hand to Patrick’s forehead the way his grandma always did when he was sick. Admittedly, he doesn’t really know what he’s looking for, but he definitely feels warm. “I don’t think you’ve just got a cold, man.” “Doctor fucking Donaldson…” Patrick grumbles, swatting his hand away. “Are you still pissed?”

Rec: Art stuck in the middle once again! Applaud wizardempire doubly so for giving Patrick a cold. Someone had to.

dear circle story by mostreverent Rated: T Word Count: 6,619 Summary: Art didn’t have a bag, just a dark blue towel thrown over his shoulder and clashing with the red swim trunks that Tashi vaguely remembered seeing in the Stanford bookstore when she first toured the school. Patrick slowed to a stop and rolled down the window. “Get in the back, bitch.” Art’s eyes rolled, a dramatic, oversized motion that overtook his entire body. “God, fuck you.” He glanced past Patrick, and Tashi could tell the exact moment that Art’s eyes found her. His entire body stiffened up and he went pink up to the tips of his ears just peeking out of golden hair. “Oh. Hi.” Laughter was light as a salt filled breeze on her voice. “Hi.” The moment lingered a second too long, and Patrick leaned back in his seat with a groan. “Oh my god, stop staring and get in the car.” - Art, Patrick, and Tashi have a beach day.

Rec: This is so like, ‘everything is beautiful and nothing hurts’ but it already hurts a lot.

tell me what you'll do, please by snoopyarchie Rated: E Word Count: 5,422 Summary: It had slipped out of Tashi's mouth, surprising herself. She was on top of him, draping herself across his body as they made out. He was being extra pliant today, letting himself be pushed down with ease. "I wish I could fuck you," she's saying before she even realises. Or: Stanford era patashi pegging fic

Rec: Didn’t you hear. It’s a Stanford era Patashi pegging fic!

if you've got leavin' on your mind by cloudninetynine Rated: E Word Count: 24,093 Summary: tashi presses a bit harder as she watches, tosses her hair over her shoulders. “y’know,” she says, her grip firm. “i’ve kissed you. and i’ve kissed him.” art doesn’t need to hear her finish the sentence to know where this is going. “i think the two of you are a bit behind here.” “you think-” he gasps, delirious. “you think the two of us should kiss?” a sardonic laugh, and patrick's fingers are back, carding through his hair. “yeah, she’s not exactly subtle about that one.” or: 5 times patrick visits art and tashi at stanford + 1 time art visits tashi and patrick.

Rec: Had me shaking my head with a wild grin, muttering what the fuck is wrong with them.

+++++++++++++++++

Category #6: They Go Back to the Hotel Room

Post-Canon fics where they fuck it out and/or fuck it up.

cut back down to my knees by hollowcene Rated: E Word Count: 4,354 Summary: It's not like Tashi hasn’t fucked Patrick while he’s looked worse. Except this time it’s not just Tashi that’ll be there, and Patrick hasn’t waited and wanted to get into bed with Art for this long to let the opportunity go to waste.

Rec: A situationship from hell.

On the Brink by tevinterimperium Rated: E Word Count: 7,840 Summary: Patrick hadn’t minded all of the time it took, all of the media attention, all of the microphones pressed into his face to ask him about the challenger and his performance, and hadn’t even minded that he had lost, for once in his life. “It was a beautiful game,” one woman had said, a gorgeous blonde with an endearing European accent that could’ve been from anywhere, “how do you feel now?” On top of the fucking world, Patrick had wanted to say. A phantom utterance: Code violation. Audible obscenity. Point penalty, Zweig—On top of the whole damn world, he would correct. Instead, with a distinct ringing in his ears, he had said, “Great,” and felt the fresh trickle of sweat fall down his nose and drop to the cement where they were huddled, “Really, really great."

Rec: When a Challengers fic has a ‘voyeurism’ tag you know it goes hard.

in the company of ghosts by addandsubtract Rated: E Word Count: 6,584 Summary: After the challenger, what they should do is talk, but what they actually do is fuck. If it was supposed to fix anything, it doesn’t.

Rec: A torturous holding pattern! But they’re working it out.

Where the fingers forgive each other by theaa Rated: E Word Count: 52,971 Summary: There are hardly any spare seats at all, collective body heat pushing up the temperature in the stadium even further. Except, of course, the seat next to Tashi.

Rec: A very expansive look at the trio's lives over the years. The POVs are excellent, and the tennis even better.

In the Middle by buries Rated: E Word Count: 6,006 Summary: She liked it better when he allowed them to be them, as they were. Her with her scarred knee, Art with his nervous tic of playing with his wedding ring, and Patrick… Patrick stayed the same. He rubbed his hands against his thighs, scratched the back of his neck, and laughed too much. His laughter was too loud, but it fit in their room, littered with wedding photos. Nothing in this room was his, but he fit. He was theirs.

Rec: Tashi and Art make some room :)

+++++++++++++++++

Category #7: Patrick Takes the Guest House

Fics where Patrick inhabits a Guest House - literal and figurative (sometimes a guest house is a state of mind etc etc). Also known as: The Donaldsons bring home a stray

Playing House by somerdaye Rated: M Word Count: 4,238 Summary: "You're staying with us for the lockdown thing?" Art checks, and he's so good at tone regulation, at not sounding like he's pissed off even though Tashi knows he must be, somewhere under that cool exterior. "I wasn't really given a choice," Patrick says, shoulders hunching up closer to his ears. "Is that a problem?"

Rec: A Covid fic. The three of them have forced proximity and they don’t know what to do with each other.

my longings stay unspoken by dharmainitiative Rated: M Word Count: 23,023 Summary: “You can stay in our guesthouse,” Tashi says finally. Patrick stares. “Your guesthouse?” “Yes. Temporarily, yes.” “Why do you have a guesthouse?” “Because my parents use it when they visit, and because we’re rich as fuck, Patrick.” “But — ” He doesn’t want to ask. But he’s kind of a glutton for punishment, and besides, he needs to know. “Is Art going to be okay with that?” For a long moment, Tashi’s narrowed gaze flickers across Patrick’s face. Then she lets out a disbelieving snort and shakes her head. “I’ll send you the address.” And before Patrick can protest, she turns and walks away from him.

Rec: Patrick gets domesticated, but in the way you slowly boil a frog.

giving up the gun by quentintarrantino Rated: M Word Count: 4,543 Summary: Art was always something he had considered a constant in his life, even when the years dragged on without contact he knew that it would come back around sometime. It had to.

Rec: They just can’t help themselves dude!

can't be trusted around you by r_holland Rated: E Word Count: 23,610 Summary: And look: this whole thing could probably be resolved with a single honest conversation. He’s sure that with a little communication they could all manage to come to some arrangement. In fact, Patrick is pretty certain that he could fix their marriage himself by finally getting them both into bed at the same time. But Art is extremely reticent to voice what he actually wants, and Tashi can’t do anything without making it into a game, so here they are, each sneaking into Patrick’s bed and pretending that they’re mad about it. Patrick has no problem voicing what he wants or being direct. He wants Art. And he wants Tashi. If they could get their shit together and realize that they both want him, too, he’d probably be the happiest man in the goddamn world.

Rec: Patrick doesn’t understand how he ends up in the guesthouse. But also he 1000% does.

+++++++++++++++++

Part 2

[yuurei20]

Is it okay to ask for the second half of this translation now that 7-8 released in EN?

https://www.tumblr.com/yuurei20/755749918978752512/will-you-write-an-in-depth-detail-or-summary-of?source=share

Hello hello, thank you for this question! 🐉🦇

What a wonderful idea, thank you so much! The second half has been prepared 🥳

(For reference: there was a "spoilers-ok talk" between Malleus' Va Kato Kazuki (🐉) and Lilia's VA Midorikawa Hikaru (🦇) back in July 2024 (YouTube Link), and as this account pretends that Main-Story content not released to EN does not exist, the summary provided here only went up to Book 7-4, as that is where EN was at the time.)

*Note: text below is just paraphrasing/summarizing and not literal quotes except for one place where the original Japanese has also been included just in case. No Main Story spoilers, has all content has been released on EN as of this post :>

7-5

Malleus’ egg is at Wildrose Castle, with his mom.

🦇: Egg-sama 🐉：Sebek was funny. 🦇：I’d never heard someone add “-sama” to "egg" before. And he is so serious.  🐉：That seriousness is what is so funny about Sebek. And they continue to the castle, with Lilia and Baul’s bond deepening.

Maleanor appears

🦇：Voiced by Fukami Rica, voice of Maleficent. I did not expect her in this role. I thought she would have been Maleficia. 🐉：Maleanor and Lilia’s relationship… 🦇：From long ago. I’d like to hear their story, from the past. The time when the three of them were together. 🐉：I think there are a lot of people who would enjoy that. Lilia proposed to Maleanor. 🦇：I want to stay here a little while longer. 🐉：Want to go deeper into that, please.

🦇：Lilia really improved in his child-rearing. 🐉：He was just suddenly put in charge of Malleus. Picked up the lullaby from Maleanor, Maleanor singing it to Malleus when he was an egg. 🦇：That’s really the only connection they have, Malleus and Maleanor.

🦇：Doing the voice of Lilia searching for Silver was difficult. I did an older man voice because of how much time had past from his younger days and I was told “he isn’t that old yet!” But thinking about the Lilia that comes after it, the hazy point in the middle…that was difficult. If you don’t separate recordings into “this era,” “that era,” etc., it is difficult to perform. That was hard.

7-6

🐉：Even just remembering this part I feel like I might start to cry. I think that might be true of a lot of the players. 🦇：I didn’t really know their…Lilia’s position, I didn’t really understand it, but he is different from the dragons, so that revelation…if you were to say it then I would think “yes I can see that,” but…he worked so hard! 🐉：Lilia worked so hard to hatch Malleus! And everything in the past—and the senate had nothing to do with any of it! 🦇：What did they even do? 🐉：They didn’t have anything to do with anything. Seriously. Everything was left up to Lilia. “What is this? Explain this! Malleus will die!”  🦇：It had been a few hundred years before but there was the promise he made, and Baul…but he really worked so hard for so long. 🐉：I’ve thought about it. And things are happening over hundreds of years. It’s different than for humans, but still, hundreds of years—that is intense. That will break a person. 🦇：And it was his own child, too. There is love there. He might not have realized for himself it yet, but... 🐉：Maleanor-sama said as much. “Our child--it is impossible for you to not love him.”

🦇：What surprised me was how he started rejecting Maleficia’s energy. I wondered about that. 🐉：I didn’t realize that Malleus would be so picky. 🦇：And this is where Lilia’s love of travel came from, going from here to there. That hits pretty hard. After that, you’ll be happy to receive a pennant and you’ll display it, for sure. Usually you’d be like “…a pennant?”

🐉：I cried when Malleus was born. Just remembering Lilia’s weeping…I am the voice of Malleus, and if it hadn’t been for that Malleus wouldn’t have been born, so I felt a lot of gratitude towards Lilia here. 🦇：He tried so hard, and he did it (he starts speaking in Lilia’s voice here and it is so great) 🐉：And baby Malleus is so cute. 🦇：So cute.

🐉：And this is where Malleus learn the secret of his origin. Malleus’ rage—this was the first time I’d done a voice like that for Malleus. The loudest I have ever been for Malleus. And he got so angry so suddenly. I realized that even Malleus has that degree of emotion inside of him. And his grandmother hid it from him, too. That loneliness, that sadness…

🦇：We don’t know if Maleficia-sama shared the views of the others about “bat energy,” but it’s possible that that resulting in Malleus’ birth is one of the reasons why she thought it would be better to hide it. And Lilia overused his magic, connecting back to his health. That was a rough scene.

🐉：I heard that, for this chapter, you and 🐊 recorded together. 

🦇：Shared recordings are increasing recently. And there was so much pressure with this one. We have been doing this together for so long by now, both as rivals and as members of the same team, so coming together again after so long…I was worried that he would think “Ah, so this is what 🦇 has become these days.” Just my own, entirely my own thought. So there was a lot of pressure, but I think it was a good atmosphere.  🐉：That section was amazing.

🦇 Quote: 「『マレウスが孵化した際のリリアの泣き演技でスタブースで号泣していたそうです』と書いてあるんですけど、号泣は行き過ぎじゃないんですか？ 🦇：It says here that during the performance of Lilia crying after having hatched Malleus, people were sobbing in the sound booth. Is “sobbing” not going a little far? 

🐉：If I’d been there, I would have sobbed. It wouldn’t have been just tears. Hearing that scene raw, during a recording—it was hard enough for me just playing through on my phone. But that is the peak emotional moment. I am kind of envious, actually.  🦇：They got to hear it before anyone. 🐉：I wish that could’ve been me. 🦇：I’ve done a lot of crying scenes. The pressure is intense. People go in assuming it will make them cry, and I want to make them cry even harder than they’re expecting. I am glad if that is what they took away from it. 🐉：Everyone clap. I cried in another place as well, when Maleanor, as a dragon, and the Knight of Dawn…I was so sad. 🦇：Didn’t want to fight. 🐉：He had his own things, too, but thought he had to do it, and while he was fighting Maleanor I couldn’t do it. I put the phone down. I knew that if I continued…this isn’t good.

🦇：It is such a serious thing, but the battles are done with chibis. They’re cute. But you have to perform in a way that keeps up the feeling of the scene. 🐉：If someone asked me to play through the part again I wouldn’t be able to do it. 🦇：She's mom, after all. 

7-7

🐉：It was pretty fun how everything suddenly shifted gears. I enjoyed the game of tag with Ortho.  🦇：Ortho taunts people more than I’d expected.  🐉：I was surprised that he was like that. 🦇：And Malleus doesn’t pick up on subtlety, so their interaction was funny. Until now Malleus had never really been taunted like that.  🐉：But eventually he turned it back on Ortho. Kind of like “oh, he’s actually mad, then.”

🦇：The newest technology against the world’s strongest magic—that is interesting. 🐉：It was very Shroud for them to approach from the new angle, the unforeseen perspective that they did.

🦇：Ortho was very busy—so many Orthos. The humanoid Ortho, the RSA Ortho, the phantom Ortho…and they all speak slightly different. That was amazing. The red-haired Idia came up in the story for the first time. I was surprised by that, seeing him move. That’s when I realized that it has only ever existed in that one groovy. That was neat. And Idia and Ortho’s battle… 🐉：It gets you worked up, makes you cry…Phantom Ortho, saying goodbye, that he’s waiting… 🦇：That was great. And his resentment over his mother seeing inside his computer was great.  Mama didn’t say anything, though. Just kind of, “Mm…” 🐉：A child at that age, having their parents look inside their computer… 🦇：And despite all the locks that he put on it. 🐉：Don’t know what she saw, though.

🦇：”That” in part 8 was great. 🐉：For a moment I thought it had become an entirely different game. Just as a video it was funny. I watched it three times. It makes you want Idia to just regularly do streaming.

Then goes into talk about Chapter 8’s release, SSR Savanaclaw Rook, looking forward to who else is coming and what they will look like, the upcoming Chapter 9, etc. 

🦇：It’d be great if they could do more recordings like this right after a new release when we are bursting with things we want to talk about. Over time we start forgetting smaller details. It would be nice to be able to be able to do something like this again, a bit lighter, having snacks and chatting about this and that within the game. I’d like that. We never have any opportunities to get everyone together.

🐉：And maybe being able to interact with players in real time, being able to hear people’s opinions. There are definitely perspectives out there that we’ve never considered, and it would be interesting to have an opportunity for that kind of communication. 

[literary-illuminati]

2025 Book Review #18 – Vita Nostra by Marina and Sergey Dyachenko (trans. Julia Meitov Hersey)

This was, I think, recommended to me when I asked for good and relatively approachable genre-fic in translation – but it’s been long enough that that’s really more of a guess on my part than any sort of real memory. Going in with only vague expectations, this book was a very pleasant surprise. An incredibly weird, surreal, meandering and oddly structured one, to be sure – but overall it worked far more often than it didn’t.

While on an increasingly surreal beach vacation, 16 year old Sasha Samokhina meets the mysterious (and incredibly suspicious) Farit Kozhennikov. After living through the same day several times, she finally speaks to him – and finds herself given a strict and bizarre series of daily exercises to ‘build her self-discipline’, vomiting up strange golden coins after each one. And finding horrible things befalling people she cares about whenever she fails to keep her schedule. Soon enough she finds herself on the train to the bleak, surreal university in the dreary provincial town of Torpa, where she will major in a vague and undefined ‘Specialty’ that her mind and conception of reality are not yet prepared to understand.

I’ve never been entirely clear on what exactly the label means, but if anything deserves to be called ‘Dark Academia’, it’s definitely this book. The large majority of its page count is spent with Sascha as she tortures herself struggling through mind-bending mental exercises and enduring strange and horrifying transformations (both mental and physical) over the course of her studies in cramped, poorly insulated and barely-heated rooms. The explicit purpose (explained only after the fact) of the first two years of lessons are to break you down completely as both a person and a human so that you can start becoming something else instead. The reward for showing real talent and aptitude at the occult and migraine-inducing exercises that make up most of your education is to have your tutors excitedly congratulate you and talk about what a fascinating and difficult career of more of the same you have ahead of you. Your faculty advisor only barely pretends to be human some days, but makes it very clear that if you fail an exam or receive a negative report from a professor some horrible freak tragedy will befall your loved ones. The causality rate across the first three years approaches 50%. It’s really one of the most accurate depictions of serious higher education in fiction.

In terms of mood and aesthetic, the book is a masterpiece. It consistently gets across exactly the vibe it wants to, and uses really wonderfully vivid prose and imagery to do so – in preserving it, Meitov Hersey’s translation is easily the best I’ve read so far this year. The way Sascha’s brain begins to break as she transcends her own image of herself if, I think, quite well-realized. Similarly, I’m not sure the vaguely gnostic metaphysics exactly cohere, but they hold together well enough to give a convincing impression of secret occult and poorly glimpsed knowledge the students are being initiated into.

On the level of plot and pacing the story holds together...less well. The book is very roughly divided into three parts of very uneven length, but beyond that there’s not really any kind of chapter or section break – which intensely exacerbates the feeling that the story is kind of just a long series of things happening to Sascha (or her doing them) without real rhyme or reason. The lack of any real consistent antagonist and the very opaque and limited characterization of most of the supporting cast doesn’t much help, either. Neither do the extended sequences where it’s incredibly unclear whether you’re reading some sort of dream or metaphor or a very literal description of Sascha sprouting wings or whatever. The whole finale sequence in particular was surreal enough that I’m only about 65% sure I actually understood what happened (and was absolutely weighed down by several absolutely pivotal revelations one after the other in far too few pages, if I did).

This is a Ukrainian book I read in translation. So it’s interesting how this having become something of a period piece (cellphones are expensive luxuries, schoolwork and research is universally done analog – I’m not sure a computer is mentioned once?) makes it feel more strange and foreign than any of the actual cultural differences between myself and the assumed audience. Not that those weren’t there as well – mostly things like diet and the stereotypes associated with different sorts of fashion and presentation, along with the levels of material privation and personal work on maintaining their lodgings a class of university students is expected to do (‘melting some butter in a mug of hot broth and drinking it on a cold night’ was much, much stranger an idea to me than it really should have been). The translation work was excellently done - or maybe so much of the narrative being intentionally obscure and only partially comprehensible made it easier to hide the seams. Whatever the case, the dialogue all ready pretty naturally (if still obvious in translation at points) and the idioms and levels of formality of various speakers came across very well.

It’s hard to know quite where to classify this book when recommending it – closest to Cosmic Horror, I suppose? But that label won’t be particularly helpful for deciding if you like it. Give this a try if you’re a fan of bleak magical university stories, narratives of alienating enlightenment and transcendence, and books where ‘the system’ is cruel and heartless but the protagonist retains a very ambiguous relationship to it throughout. Or just if you really love dark academy horror-tinged gritty urban fantasy vibes and don’t mind a meandering plot.

[sa1ntn3k0]

Strawberries, Cherries, and an Angel’s Kiss ≽^•⩊•^≼ nsfw!

Warnings: Stepdad Gojo x stepdaughter reader (of age)

Satoru didn’t know he’d be married, let alone settled down, or, scratch that, have a girlfriend. Life for him was simple: work, work, work some more, then finally sleep for three hours and do it again until he had the rare Sunday off. He loved teaching; his students, Megumi, Yuji, and Nobara, were his kids, he was practically their dad, though he’d never admit it aloud. Their chaotic energy mirrored his own, a confetti bomb of mischief and grit he’d grown fond of. But having said all that… he hasn’t a clue on how he ended up here: sat in a cozy, sunlit, dark wood home in Setagaya at 7 p.m., a time where he’d usually be balls-deep in exorcising curses or doing paperwork, not breathing in the comforting aroma of veggie gyoza and lemongrass-infused rice noodles wafting from the kitchen. The warmth of the room seeped into his bones, softer than any mission’s aftermath, and the faint hum of a jazz playlist playing Colette by Piero Piccioni wrapped around him like a hug.  

How? He takes a look to his right and sees a beautiful woman, all elegance and poise, her laughter like slightly weathered wind chimes as she adjusts the pearl clip in her chestnut hair. Just the way he likes them, confident, sharp, hot. Like… milf hot, cougar hot, not that he’d ever say it to her face (again). He looks ahead and sees you, a wisp of a girl, all tiny limbs and soft edges, nibbling shyly at your dinner. You look just like her, same cute nose, same cupid’s bow lips, but where your mother radiates bold magnetism, you’re… sparkling. Like a firefly in a glass jar, glowing even when you think no one’s watching.  

Ah, this was his life, of course. He should know who’s who! 

The girl being you, just a little thing, well, to him you’re little, being a mere child (19 years old), and he being all old and stuff (33 years old, yet he feels so much more). He’s seen a lot: he’s seen Sukuna carve him up like a holiday roast (survived, so, lol, Sukuna sucked majorrr balls), he’s seen curses gnarlier than a week-old sushi platter, and especially teenagers with more angst than a Shakespearean tragedy. So why does this little thing make him feel so… paternal? It was like the flicker he’d felt when he first met Megumi, a scrawny kid with a death glare and a family name heavier than a curse, but even then, he’d seen the little sea urchin as a little brother, not a son. Time had nudged that dynamic into something fatherly, sure, but Megumi was still his brat.  

All Satoru knew was- oh, he zoned out. The beautiful woman beside him, your mother, nudged his ribs with her elbow, her burgundy almond-shaped nails glinting under the pendant light, the rock of a diamond sat on her ring finger, glimmered too. “Earth to Satoru,” she teased, her voice syrup-smooth. “You’ve been staring at your gyoza like it’s a cursed object. Everything alright?”  

Satoru grinned, that trademark lopsided smirk that made your mother roll her eyes even as her red lips twitched upward. “Just wondering how I ended up here,” he said, gesturing grandly at the spread of home-cooked dishes. His voice softened, almost shy. “Feels like I stole someone else’s winning ticket.”  

You, ever the quiet observer, peeked up at him through your lashes, cheeks stuffed with gyoza like a chipmunk hoarding treasure (your greed sickens even you, lol). Your doe eyes, so pretty, wide and guileless, framed by those unfairly long, thick lashes, locked onto his, and he swore he felt Infinity stutter. Dare he say… dumb? Not dumb, no. Just… silly. Clumsy? Absolutely. The way you tripped over air, spilled chamomile tea on your textbooks, and somehow turned even misplacing your overly charm-filled keys into a five-minute comedy routine, it was nice. Refreshing, even. A life spent in the shadows of jujutsu and clan politics made him crave your kind of softness. Your innocence.

A flashback flickered before he could attempt to stop: the three of you in Shibuya, your mother tugging him toward a boutique while begging for a Chanel bag that matched her favorite red lipstick, the same shade he’d caught you swiping across your lips one evening, pouting at your reflection like it’d betrayed you. “Too grown-up,” you’d mumbled, wiping it off with a tissue until your rosebud lips were raw and puffy. Satoru had tossed a tube of gloss you left in his hoodie pocket (yes, you wore his clothes, yes, they were so comfy) your way the next day, all casual nonchalance. “Dark shades wash you out,” he’d lied (you looked ethereal, but his heart couldn’t handle the sight). “Stick to this. Matches your… uh… vibe.” You nodded, always so dumbly-no, cutely. Right.

Off topic again, pay attention, Satoru! Back in the memory, he’d been holding your mother’s hand, his other tucked in his pocket, but his azure eyes never strayed far from you, a few steps behind, wobbling in baby pink ballet flats as if they were stilts. You’d looked like a fawn navigating ice, all wobbly knees and nervous giggles. He knew the issue, the freshly rained cement with the shitty grip of the flats called for a disaster, and hell, you were the queen of disaster. He wasn’t a total dick, so he’d snagged your hand too, ignoring your squeak of surprise. And then, his chest did this thing. A squeeze, a flutter, a warmth that had nothing to do with his cursed energy. He’d glanced down, taking in your lacy dress fluttering in the breeze, your hair catching sunlight like spun honey, and your fingers, so small, tucked trustingly against his big, warm palm. Infinity was off, but he hadn’t even noticed until you’d squeezed back.  

The memory dissolved as you swallowed your gyoza, cheeks still dusted pink, and pointed at his buzzing phone. “Satoru,” you mumbled, voice feather-light, “your phone’s ringing.”  

He waved it off, not missing the way your nose scrunched at his casual dismissal. “Nah, it’s just Yuji asking how to defrost a microwave meal. Priorities, kiddo!” (not true, that boy was a chef, rivaling the best in his opinion). He winked, and your resulting giggle, a tiny, hiccuping sound, nearly made him drop his chopsticks. God, you were cute. Cuter than the cartoon pajamas you wore: Hello Kitty one night, Miffy the next, as if you’d raided a kindergarten’s lost-and-found. He’d bought you a Rilakkuma bathing suit last month, just to see you swim in it. (You’d hugged it to your chest, eyes shining, and he’d had to flee to the roof to recompose himself, and don't get him started on you trying it on for him.)  

The conversation drifted to your academics, top of your class, because, of course, you were, and your mother’s question about finals had Satoru puffing up like a cocky peacock. “She’s a genius!” he declared, reaching over to ruffle your hair. You ducked, but not fast enough, and he relished the way your pout rivaled Megumi’s. “Bet she’s got the whole psych department wrapped around her little finger. Right, kiddo?”  

You mumbled something about “research papers” and “case studies,” but Satoru was too busy plotting his next surprise, maybe those strawberry mochi you loved from Family Mart, or that kitten plushie from the crane game you’d eyed last week in Akihabara. The first time he’d brought you treats, you’d teared up, clutching the pastel packaging like it was a lifeline. Your mother had explained later in bed that night, her voice hushed over midnight tea, that your father had been a ghost long before Satoru arrived, and how he should be careful about you, not overwhelming you with something as new as a “daddy” so soon. After your mom was asleep, he’d crept into your room, perching at the foot of your bed like an overgrown guardian spirit. You’d been curled around a chubby Totoro plushie, breaths even, moonlight painting you in silver. He’d sat there for an hour, wondering how the universe had handed him this, domesticity, family, without him even noticing.  

Ah, spaced out again. Your mother slid the strawberry cake he’d bought onto the table, its sweetness mixing with the scent of your lavender body wash, a scent that clung to the couch cushions, his shirts that fit you like baggy dresses, everything. You lit up, clapping softly, and Satoru’s chest tightened as you scooped a bite. You ate like a storybook creature: nibbling at the frosting, eyes fluttering closed in bliss ever so slightly, a tiny smear of pink on your chin. He itched to wipe it away, but your mother beat him to it, tutting fondly. 

He’d do it next time, for sure.

“Satoru,” your mother sighed, though her smile betrayed her, “stop staring. You’ll make her even more shy.”  

“What? I’m appreciating the view!” he protested, leaning back with a grin. But his gaze lingered on the delicate lace of your nightgown, the way the sweetheart neckline fell just enough to highlight collarbones he’d once compared to “angel wings” (a comment that’d made you flee the living room, scarlet-faced). Appreciation, of course. The kind a father would have. Totally.  

As you launched into a story about your study group, hands animated as you sighed about people half-assing even a voluntary thing, Satoru let himself sink into the moment, the clink of porcelain plates, your mother’s melodic laughter, the way your socks had tiny bows perched near your baby pink painted toenails, a little visible under the sheer cotton fabric. He didn’t understand this luck, this grace, but he’d fight heaven and hell to keep it. 

He deserves this, all of it.

He deserves you.

Satoru wasn’t expecting the night to go the way it did. But before he could untangle the messy knot of feelings clawing at his chest, he took in the present: the quiet hum of the night, the faint glow of your strawberry-shaped nightlight casting blushing shadows across the room. He was lying in your bed, no, not next to his wife, but curled awkwardly under your baby-pink duvet, its frilly edges tickling his chin. He turned his head slightly, stealing a glance at you, cheeks still rosy from earlier, now warm with sleep, your nose adorably scrunched, and your hair a wild halo against the pillow. A strand clung to your parted lips, and he reached over instinctively to tuck it behind your ear, fingers brushing the delicate shell. Your lacy pajama collar had twisted sideways, revealing your pretty skin, so soft-looking. He adjusted it gently, careful not to wake you, then sighed up at the ceiling.  

Hating how the night went.  

Rewind to a few hours earlier: Satoru had returned home at 8 p.m., expecting the usual symphony of your mother’s jazz records and your muffled giggles as you scribbled notes for some impossible-sounding lecture. Instead, he’d been met with silence, then the crack of your mother’s voice, sharp as shattered glass, and your choked sobs. His blood had gone cold.  

He’d found you in the hallway, your Miffy tote still dangling from your shoulder, your daisy-patterned dress wrinkled from the day. You looked smaller somehow, like a doll dropped mid-play, your face slick with tears that caught the lamplight like diamond dust. Your mother stood rigid, arms crossed, her fury a storm contained.  

“What happened?” Satoru had asked, tone casual, though his fingers twitched at his sides. He wanted to bundle you into his arms, tuck your head under his chin, and vanish into the night.  

Your mother gestured to your neck, her voice clipped. “She came home late. Smelled like cologne, cheap, at that.”  

Satoru’s gaze flicked to the marks, faint, pinkish imprints scattered like careless constellations across your skin. His Six Eyes cataloged every detail: the uneven pressure (clumsy), the placement (too high, too obvious), the way your fingers trembled as you tried to hide them. He crouched a little to your level, his voice dropping to a rumble. “Who’d you let paw at you, kiddo?”  

You’d hiccuped, doe eyes swimming, and his chest ached. “I-I didn’t let him-!”  

“Enough,” your mother snapped, storming off. “You’re old enough to know better.” The bedroom door slamming left you to flinch like a spooked bunny, and fall to your knees, obviously overwhelmed from everything, leaving him to feel all kinds of things… Some he would rather not acknowledge.

Satoru knew hypocrisy when he smelled it, hell, at your age, he’d been sneaking into hostess bars just to swipe champagne flutes, but the thought of you, his sweet, clueless bunny, tangled up with some greasy college kid who didn’t know how to treat a girl, how to pleasure one… Infinity flickered at his fingertips.  

He’d scooped you up, ignoring your squeak, and carried you to your room. “We’ll talk,” he’d said, depositing you on the bed. You’d curled into a ball, your sobs muffled by Totoro’s plush belly.  

The ice-cold shower that followed was less about cooling off and more about freezing the image out of his head, your bitten lips, the way your dress had ridden up when you’d crumpled to the floor, showing your pretty thighs… No. Not his business. Except it was, because you were his.  

When he returned, you were in your pajamas, pale pink, lace-trimmed, the collar crooked, and staring at your lap like it held the secrets of the universe. He sat beside you, the mattress dipping under his weight.  

“Listen,” he began, voice softer than he intended. “It’s normal to… experiment. But you gotta be smart. Boys that age? They’re idiots. All hands, no heart.”  

In reality, he wanted to say much more. He wanted to say how you should find someone like him, someone who’d cherish you the way he did (though he doubted anyone else could), to be rational and not impulsive, and to just-no. Scrap everything. He wanted you to be with him, always his.

You’d sniffled, still avoiding his glued gaze. “You don’t understand.”  

“Oh, I understand.” He’d forced a laugh. “I was that idiot.”  

Your phone buzzed then, lighting up with a name he didn’t recognize. You reached for it, but Satoru snatched it first, his gut churning at the god awful texts. Disgusting. The kid’s vocabulary seemed limited to late-night nude demands (though you never sent, that's his baby) and more for “proof” you’d “missed him.”  

“This is the genius you’re starting fights over?” Satoru hissed, waving the phone, your charms jingling like high-pitched death bells. “He’s not worth the lint in your Miffy bag!”  

You’d argued, cheeks flushing, babbling nonsense about him being “sweet,” and something in him snapped. Before he knew it, you were over his lap, your tiny tummy rested against his thighs, his big hand coming down in a swift, measured spank. Not too hard, never hard, but enough to make you yelp and leave a little sting. “You’re better than this!” he’d growled, each word punctuated by a tap that left your pajama-clad bottom tingling. “You’re my good girl! Act like it!”  

By the tenth, you’d melted into hiccuping apologies, whispering “Sorry, Daddy” into his shirt as he cradled you. His anger dissolved, replaced by a guilt so thick he could taste it. He wished he had a beautiful platter of kikufuku infront of him, it’d drown the shitty feeling. 

Now, lying beside you, he traced the curve of your spine through the thin fabric, marveling at how fragile you felt, like blown glass. You stirred, nuzzling into his chest with a sleepy murmur, and he pressed a kiss to your forehead, lingering in the scent of your strawberry shampoo.  

“Love you, my girl,” he whispered, knowing you couldn’t hear. “Daddy’s got you.”  

Tomorrow, he’d buy those cherries you loved, the fat, dark, glossy ones you’d suck on until they gleamed like jewels. He’d let you drag him to that absurd cat café downtown, even though the siamese there hated him (so what if he teased them, they should be able to handle it, they’re cats!). And if that sleazeball ever texted again? Well. Satoru knew a few curses that’d make him regret breathing the same air as his angel.  

For now, he let your steady breaths lull him, your warmth seeping into bones he hadn’t realized were so cold.  

As soon as the weather turned warm, the beach called to Satoru, but not as loudly as it did to you. You were a mess of a girl in the heat, complaining about the slightest rise in temperature, flopping around the house like a disgruntled kitten, and blowing up over trivial things like ice cubes melting too fast. What triggered the final straw was a calm Sunday evening. The windows were cracked open, letting in a breeze that carried the scent of blooming hydrangeas and distant barbecue. Satoru was sprawled on the couch, deep into Haruki Murakami’s Dance Dance Dance, a rare moment of peace after ducking out of a mission early. Your mother was out with friends, leaving the two of you alone, a fact that had you perched by the living room window, dressed in a baby-blue cami and cotton shorts so short they might as well be napkins, panting like you’d run a marathon.

“It’s boiling,” you whined, fanning yourself with a math textbook. “I’m melting, Satoru!”

He peered over his book, smirking at the way your hair stuck to your slightly damp neck. “Kiddo, it’s 75 degrees. You’d explode in July.”

You shot him a glare that could’ve curdled milk, cheeks puffing like an offended chipmunk. Satoru laughed, loud and unrepentant, before relenting. He shut the windows, cranked the AC to arctic levels, and flopped back down just as Clint Eastwood’s drawl filled the room. You hovered nearby, eyes darting between the TV and him, then the TV and him, until-

“Ugh,” you groaned, collapsing onto the couch like a deflated balloon. “I’m bored.”

“Read a book,” he suggested, knowing full well you’d rather eat chalk.

You responded by becoming a human worm, wriggling across the cushions with dramatic sighs until Satoru caved. “Fine, fine,” he grumbled, snatching your hand. “But if you complain about the heat again, I’m leaving you in a snowbank.”

The walk to the park was a parade of your hyperactivity, skipping, humming, pausing to gawk at every butterfly like it was an alien. Satoru trailed behind, hands in his pockets, secretly cataloging the way your sundress fluttered (you changed, taking every opportunity to dress up), the way your sandals slapped the pavement in a rhythm only you understood. Life was absurd: one hour, he’s exorcising curses in a moldy warehouse; the next, he’s listening to you rant about how snow should be a year-round accessory.

At the park, you dragged him to a patch of sunlit grass, spreading his jacket like a picnic blanket. “For your old knees,” you declared, plopping down.

He joined you, stretching his legs as you babbled about your latest psych lecture. A fat cottontail hopped nearby, and you squealed, clutching his arm like it was a lifeline. “Look! It’s so fluffy-!”

Satoru didn’t see the bunny. He saw you, the way golden hour gilded your skin, the way your eyes sparkled brighter than the pond beside you. His phone buzzed, breaking the spell: your mother was staying out late. Drinks with the girls, her text read. Don’t wait up!

Dinner was all sugar. You tied on a bunny-print apron, he donned Shoko’s gag gift, a “Kiss the Cook” apron, and together you weaponized flour and syrup into a tower of pancakes that’d give a dentist nightmares. You were a disaster, blueberry compote smeared on your cheek, batter on your apron, but Satoru couldn’t stop grinning.

“You’re like a rabid bunny,” he said, flicking powdered sugar at your nose.

“You’re the one who added chocolate chips to the third batch!”

Post-feast, you curled up on the couch, a shared Hello Kitty blanket tented over your laps as some forgettable comedy played. Your tiny knee brushed his, and Satoru froze, hyperaware of the way your giggles vibrated through the cushions.

Then- the question.

“Satoru…” You fiddled with the blanket’s fringe, suddenly shy. “Is kissing really all… icky? Like, with too much spit?”

He nearly choked on his hot chocolate. “Uh. Depends?”

“My first kiss was gross,” you mumbled, nose scrunching. “But the show said it’s s’posed to be nice. Is that… true?”

Satoru’s brain short-circuited. Fatherly. This is fatherly. “It can be. If it’s… gentle. Like this.”

Before he could stop himself, he’d cupped your face, rough thumbs brushing the apples of your soft, warm cheeks. You leaned in, eyes wide and trusting, plush lips parted just so-

The first kiss was a featherlight press, strawberry gloss, and mint toothpaste. Innocent. Brief.

But then you whimpered, little fingers fisting his shirt, and Satoru’s resolve crumbled. The second kiss was deeper, sweeter, his big hand sliding to the nape of your neck as you melted against him. He told himself it was a lesson, a way to erase the memory of that sleazebag’s sloppy mouth. But the way you sighed his name-

“Daddy-”

-nearly undid him.

He pulled back, heart hammering, and found you flushed, lips glistening, doe eyes dazed. “See?” he rasped, voice uneven. “No ick.”

You nodded, forehead resting against his collarbone. “...Can we… practice more?”

Satoru swallowed a groan. Hell was a corporate office with fluorescent lighting, and he was already drafting his resignation letter.

Instead, he tucked your head under his chin, fingers carding through your hair. “Later, kiddo,” he lied. “Daddy’s feeling tired.”

You fell asleep like that, curled into his side, tummy full of pancakes and hot chocolate, while Satoru stared at the ceiling and wondered when exactly he’d signed up for this particular brand of torture.

But he’d be lying if he said it wasn’t heavenly, feeling his lips on yours. It was angelic, a little angel’s kiss all for him.

End.

So uh… what's up? Disappeared for a hot sec (entire month) for good reason lol. UC decisions dropped for transfer students, and well, I got into my 2nd top school! Waitlisted from UCLA but into UCD for psych! Anyways, that being said and done, I can finally focus on writing more since April was me dying over checking my emails like a madwoman. Daddy Gojo supremacy, cause why not? I love this far too much so expect more soon. Obvi, put a warning up top, so do keep that in mind when I post, they are there for a reason!

[0viraptoraskblog]

How about you are Ren's partner when he goes in heats? Just assuming somehow you both have a healthy relationship (with his younger version)

And how long and how often does the heat cycle go? Is it like a period kind of thing? That happens every month for a week? Or is it more like... a seasonal thing? i'm sorry now this shit got me curious.

This ask refers to the Fox ask you had earlier...

I think Ren's heat happens every three months. There’s no canon pattern, but we do know he went into heat multiple times while living with Strade, who he was with for just under a year. Three months is a common schedule in many a/b/o fics, so that’s what I go with.

I think it lasts about 5-7 days (the first days might be more like build-up to the more intense days). During this time, his hormones are just raging and basically screaming at him to have sex. So he’s constantly horny and worked up.

He would explain it to you beforehand, more thoroughly than Fox. He does care about you, but he can’t exactly stop this from happening, it’s natural. So it’s like a gentle warning of sorts.

Like I said with Fox, he’ll barely leave you alone. You won’t last long without him on top of you.

His animal side comes out during his heats too, so expect a lot of scratches and bite marks. I think this might be even worse with younger Ren, since his libido is higher in general.

You might be forced to sleep in his room, just so he has access to you whenever he needs. Ren’s sleep schedule is very messed up over this week. He basically stays up, all over you in every possible way, until he finally gets so exhausted he passes out for a few hours— only to wake up early and resume where he left off.

He does care about you, but he’s not thinking straight while in heat. It’s pretty exhausting for you. You’ll have little time alone, if any, and barely any time to recover between sessions.

You’ll need to manage your own food as well, because Ren won’t be doing the cooking. (I think Ren tends to forget/disregard his own needs while in heat, meaning he doesn’t eat as much as he should or get enough sleep since he’s so wrapped up in lust). You will probably have to convince him to eat when you can. He’ll insist on doing other things instead, but he can be convinced.

When it’s finally over he’s exhausted too, and will spend a lot of time cuddling you and making sure any cuts you got are bandaged and taken care of. It’s much more peaceful in the house once it’s done.