#so you can see why my hair is so messed up...

[bi-writes]

Ex husband!Ghost that just shows back up in your house (no matter how many times you've moved without saying a word) anytime he's on leave.

"what the fuck are you doing here?" (18+)

he's standing outside your new flat. he's still wearing his gear and that god-awful mask that you hate so much. if his eyes could change color, they would be red—they're dark with something foul, something that is your fault, but you have no obligation to this man anymore.

that doesn't seem to register with him.

this is the fourth new flat you've moved into within the last year. you keep signing very short leases, picking up and leaving again, but he finds you—every time. he must have sewn a tracker into one of your things; maybe a beloved purse of yours or inside some valued heirloom that he knows you'd never part with. he's such a sick bastard, you don't know what you ever saw in him, you don't know what ever made you feel like you could stand in front of him and God and make factitious vows about a future that never would be.

he's disgusting. he smells like the desert, and his boots are caked with mud. his clothes smell like they've been worn for days, coated with dried sweat and grime, and he reeks like the cigarettes you see peeking out from his jacket pocket. he walks into your flat anyways, not bothering to take anything off, and he sits himself down on your couch and spreads his legs like he's been here before, numerous times, like this is where he lives.

you threw away all his things. you burned the papers that remained. you tossed the rest of his shit that didn't fit in trash bags out the window of the last place you lived, so why the fuck is he in your flat, and why does he seem so fine with it?

"get your dirty ass off my couch, and get out."

ghost is like a fixture there. he picks his head up from where it was laying against the cushions, and he glares at you as he lays his palms against his thighs. he clicks his tongue, sucking on his teeth, and he just stares at you.

the audacity.

but you can't help it. when he thinks you're not looking, he looks at that photo in his wallet—the one with people who aren't here anymore, the worn, scratchy picture that's fading with age and use, and you get that pit in your stomach all over again, the same one you got when you served him the papers for the first time.

ghost is all alone.

he's all alone.

that's why he's at your table. eating your food. that's why he's in your bathroom, having a hot shower, that's why his clothes are in your washing machine (the only ones he owns anymore), and that's why he's laying in your bed, on his side, masked face against a silk pillow as he pumps his cock lazily.

he has no shame. he groans audibly, he says your name, and he hums with delight when you shriek with anger at his cum on your fresh cotton sheets.

but he's all alone.

it feels like way when you hike your sleep shirt up and sit down on him. it feels that way when he pushes you to sit up on his lap, chin against his chest so he can watch your hips shift and your tits bounce as you hold it up with your teeth and whine. it feels like he's lonely when he thumbs at your clit and comes too fast, making a mess between your thighs as his thick cum coats his unkempt hair.

when you try to pull off, he digs his thick fingers into your ass and holds you there.

he's lonely. so he's not done yet.

it's a nasty sight. ghost keeps you there, fixed on his cock, and even when you whimper from overstimulation, he holds you down and tugs at your pebbled nipples as he mumbles about how warm it is here. ghost can't waste another minute, especially not with his name attached to you anymore—he needs to make every orgasm count, so he doesn't have time to hear you whine, he needs to keep you there, and he needs to keep you fat and pleasured and sticky.

he likes missionary the most. he likes feeling your thighs tense up around his hips, and he likes being able to pin you down and keep you underneath him. but most of all, he likes pressing against your tummy, and he likes closing his eyes and grunting, feeling the tip of his cock just underneath his palm. it gives him a sick sense of satisfaction knowing he's so deep inside of you, branding you like he knows only he can. there's a shape inside of your cunt that he fills better than anyone else, and your wobbly legs and curled toes and open-mouth moans only encourage his disgusting sense of ownership.

you can sign whatever fucking papers you want to sign, he's carved his name in your pussy, and that's for life.

[tiramissyoucake]

If you do write Mohawk mark can you do Mohawk mark with a girly reader like opposite attracts:D (you can take it any direction you want:3)

The only correct s/o for Mohawk Mark is a girly bimbo one. Ilysm.

Here's a quick one, MINORS + AGELESS BLOGS DNI

CW: dry humping, bimbo reader, Dirty talk? Mohawk Mark nuts in his pants lmfao

"Babyyy..." You whined while holding a the electric hair trimmer. "Do you have to? Your hair's gorgeous as is!"

Mark rolled his eyes at your cooing, feeling your nailed hand rake through his hair although your pout was adorable to look at through the mirror. "I said a mohawk so I'm expecting a mohawk." He insisted, sitting up as straight as he could in your stool as the plastic on the floor crinkled under your and his feet, placed there so the bathroom floor would be kept clean.

"... you sure I can't talk you out of it?" You pouted your lips, a shiny layer of pink gloss catching his eye, he had to be strong. "Stop it. Or I'll make sure your mouth's gonna be too full to talk me out of anything."

"Don't threaten me with a good time." You winked and he grinned, you always did match the gross aroused comments when others would be annoyed. "Fine, fine. Your hair, your choice."

"Thanks, baby." He stilled himself on the stool as he heard the hair trimmer activate, a light buzzing raking over the skin of his scalp, a cool feeling blew over his head with every line the machine traced, you sighed to yourself every now and then as those beautiful locks succumbed to their death at your hand.

You paused after finishing, assuring everything was lined up. "... Marky, I messed up, we have to shave you bald."

He tensed up, his hand coming up to his hair quickly. "WHAT?! What the fuck?! I told you to—"

"Kidding! You're done!" Your laugh eased him as you patted off his shoulders and head gently, lifting a handheld mirror and attempting to show him. "Here, all good?"

Mark hummed, smoothing back his new haircut you had to stop yourself from rolling your eyes, he looked like he was feeling it too much. "Watch me beat the girls off with a stick."

A slap landed onto his shoulder as you cleaned up, pouting. "What am I here for?!" He grinned, getting up. "I like when you get jealous, c'mere."

You yelped as he picked you up, hands on your thighs and shifting them down to your ass, the pink cloth clamping between his palms and your rump. "Pretty girl.." he murmured as his face was pressed to your chest, moving you to your bed he laid you on your back with a small bounce, his knees stopping the mattress from jostling too much.

Your bed was usually too cute for him to do anything on, cute plushies piled up at the headboard, incomprehensible adorable posters, figures of random girls with skimpy clothes (that he'd rather see you wear) on your shelves. Good thing he's on top this time.

"Stop iiit! Not infront of my babies!" You tried to reach over to cover your plushies, Mark caught your hand and laced his fingers with yours, kissing your neck and moving down to your cleavage, that tight tank top with the cute pattern and tiny bow at the chest made you look too appetising. "Oh I'll give you some babies alright~" He breathed while biting your skin, chuckling at your squeak.

Your cute giggles and squirming under him drove him wild, he could feel a boner forming already. "Stop iiit! You're so mean!"

"Yeah, I'm fuckin' awful.." he murmured, tugging your thigh up further around his waist, you gasped feeling his dick right up against you, he hissed through his teeth. "Shit, get tighter shorts, why don't you?" He licked his lips, watching your expression contort.

"You love it." You shot back, parting your lips just a bit out of habit when he leaned in to kiss you, your gloss easily stained his lips as he pressed them to yours, a groan vibrating through as he rolled his hips against yours, he almost came feeling an excited throb from your clothed pussy.

His tongue swirling around yours, his fingers laced with yours, Mark let out more groans than your moans even as they were mixed together amidst your affections, his hips were stuck to yours like a second skin as he desperately bucked his hips back and forth against you. "Baby— pants, off.."

He grunted, biting your bottom lip. "In a sec." He dismissed, keeping a firm hand on your thigh to keep your cunt pressed to him as close as possible. "God, I love this pussy.." he announced almost to himself. "Hugs my cock like it remembers it, even with 4 layers of clothes.."

You hummed, body lightly rocking under the movement of his hips. "4...? I don't have panties on." You responded assuming he meant 2 pairs of underwear and bottoms.

Mark let out a long groan, licking a stripe up your neck. "You're so hot, I love you." He always spoke from the heart when he was like this, his hips sped up desperately. "Wrap your legs around me— just a little more.. gimme a few more minutes.." he coaxed you as you let out a giggle that blended into a moan.

"Markyyyy! Come ooon!" You whined, trying to keep your tone stable as his hips pistoned against yours, cock painfully hard. "Just... mmh..! Gimme a sec— just a sec, I swear- lemme— mmf..!!"

He tightened his hold on you as his hips stuttered and pressed into you further, you looked down at him as he hid his face in your cleavage, you felt a certain warmth.

"... babe?" You called out, glittery gloss now messy, his groan was muffled. "Your pussy's too good, I feel like a chump."

You sat up further as he insisted to keep his face in your breasts. "What're you talking about?"

"I came."

"What?"

"I busted in my pants! Okay?!" He admitted as he glared up at you, confusion on your face slowly turning to surprise and then giggling. "Whaaa? Really? That's not chumpy! That's actually kinda hot!"

God, he was so glad you were as much of a pervert as he is. He groaned once more, still embarrassed. "It is chump behaviour... I gotta put a chastity belt on you now? Fuck..."

You hummed as you ran your hand through his freshly cut hair, chest rising and falling. "... does this chump have enough energy for a shower?"

It was quiet, you were convinced he died in your boobs, his arms snaked around you before he lifted you, a yelp escaping you. "Marky?! It's a miracle! You're alive!"

"Second wind, baby. I'm invincible." Moved you to your bathroom, kicking the door shut behind him.

[chiara8104]

max x reader and they’re new parents and he has to leave reader for a triple header and when he gets back reader is real stressed and is on edge around him from the lack of sleep and he tries to comfort her and keep her at ease since she’s so reactive to everything.

Kinda hurt comfort fic☺️

sleep deprived - max verstappen x fem!reader

a/n: omg I love this idea!! it is so good!! anyway, my first ever fic!! I really hope u guys enjoy!! if u want to be on my tag list lmk!! requests are always open!!

summary: you hadn’t gotten sleep in a while, until your husband Max comes to help you out.

warnings: use of pet names, angst (turns into fluff in the end), some swearing (maybe like once) , NOT PROOFREAD, poorly translated Dutch (don’t come for me!)

———————————————————————————

3:02am. You stare at your alarm clock, groaning when you hear the cries of your baby. You haven’t gotten a wink of sleep since you had your little girl, Violette. It’s been even more difficult when your husband, Max had a triple header this week. You slowly get out of bed, rubbing your tired eyes. Your body was tired, your eyes hurt from the sleep you haven’t gotten, closing desperately to get at least an hour of sleep.

You slump your way to your daughter’s room. She was getting louder, desperate for some type of connection from you. You grab her slowly and carefully, putting her in your arms. You pat her back slowly, shushing her from her screaming. “Why can’t you stay asleep,” you weep softly, you were drained. Your daughter had somewhat calmed down, her breathes becoming softer signalling she had fallen asleep. You breath out a sigh, putting her back into her crib and quickly going back to your bed. You finally had some time to yourself. You prayed Violette would stay asleep this time.

When you sat back on your bed, you hear the same cries you heard moments earlier. You let out a heavy sigh and swiftly went back to her room. Grabbing her and taking her to the rocking chair in the corner of her room. You shush her, but she wouldn’t budge, still screaming. You try everything you can but Violette wouldn’t stop crying. “Max please come home sooner,” you mumble. Slowly your eyes start to close, the rocking of the chair must’ve made you more tired than Violette.

This horrible routine continued throughout the week. You would wake up to Violette crying and screaming as she always would. You had given up on even getting a wink of sleep. You stressed about being a bad mother, not being able to get your daughter to sleep. You tried everything. At this point, it was rare for Violette not to cry.

———————————————————————————

When Max arrived home from the triple header, he was excited to finally see his wife and daughter. He fiddled with his keys and opened the front door. “I’m home!” He yelled excitedly. He couldn’t wait for his wife to jump in his arms, give him a kiss and prepare him for a night full of cuddles. But you were nowhere to be found. Max looked around the whole house until he found you cooped up in Violette’s room, hair a frizzled mess, it looked like it wasn’t washed in days and eye bags dark and defined.

You looked at Max, smiling. “Max, baby, you’re home. Why didn’t you say anything.” Max looked at you contently and sat down next to you. He noticed you were reading a book on parenting. “Baby, why do you need to read this? You’re the best mother a kid could ask for.” He held your shoulder contently. You flinched at his touch and shooed him away, “Max, I haven’t slept in days. Violette has been crying every night.” You look up at him. Your eyes welling up with tears. “No, no, don’t cry. It’s okay I promise.” He wiped your tears from your cheeks. “No, it’s not okay. I’m so fucking tired Max. I need to sleep.” You stand up abruptly and leave the room.

Max followed your body as it left the room looking puzzled. You’ve never been like this ever. The concern of your state was filling Max completely. Until it was interrupted by Violette’s sobbing. Max hears your loud groan and walking back into the room. Grabbing her and leaving. Max followed you out and noticed how you were crying again. “Why won’t you sleep?!” You weep in between tears. Max slowly approached you. “Y/n.” He was ignored. “Y/n!” “What Max? What do you need?” You snap at him. Max paused, breathing slowly. “Baby, you need sleep. Let me take Violette-“ “-no, I need to look after her.” You take a step back. “Y/n, please.” Max took a step forward. Max pauses. He slowly grabs Violette out of your grasp. You rub your now, red, tired eyes. “Y/n, please get some sleep. You need it.” Max says sternly.

You slowly meet his gaze, smiling when your eyes connect. “Thank you.” You slowly walk to your shared room and close the door. Max stares at Violette, “well, I guess it’s just you and me now, huh.” He tickles her stomach, earning a giggle out of the baby. Max slowly walks back to Violette’s room and grabs her little lion plushie. Violette makes grabby hands at the animal and smiles when she receives the small plushie. Max and Violette continue to play with her toys.

———————————————————————————

A few hours later, you wake up. Feeling… well rested? You let out a sigh of relief. You hadn’t slept that well since a few weeks ago. You hear silence. Something you had craved, it was rare when you heard the sound of your own footsteps. You walk to the bathroom, having a slower. Once you are done, you walk to Violette’s room to see Max and Violette sleeping together on the rocking chair. Their breaths slow, content. You smile at them and slowly walk over, shaking Max softly until his eyes flutter open, meeting yours. “Hey you, how are you feeling.” He croaks, voice hoarse from sleep. “So amazing,” you kiss him softly. “I love you so much Max” you pull back softly. He smiles against your lips “I love you too, liebe”

———————————————————————————

authors note: this is my first ever fic! I hope you guys enjoyed!! my requests are always open!

[kittyhowlett]

tags: professor! logan, unprotected piv, oral sex (m and f receiving), virgin reader, pussy pronouns, creampie, daddy kink, professor kink, logan might have a innocence kink, praise, slight degradation??? (idk logan calls reader a cumslut) taboo themes, sub!reader, dom!logan, mention of sub space, logan is a little mean, reader is a babbling mess at times but she knows what she wants, LOGAN WEARING GLASSES MEOW, and think that’s it?? pls lmk know if i missed anything- also! this is not proofread these are just my unfiltered horny thoughts

word count: 2.9k+

the cool air of the evening hit you as you were waking down the busy streets of manhattan. reminding you that you also opted for a thin top with no bra underneath. the reason why you’re not really sure, maybe some part of your conscious that really hopes something more than just a tutor session happens tonight. a few hours after class ended you emailed your professor, hoping you could get some help on the subject considering you had a D minus. at first when writing the email you were certain that your intentions were to really raise your grade, then after your professor told you to meet him at his house, as his work day had ended and surely gone home, you’re mind started spinning. you’ve always had the hots for your professor, logan. always staring a little too long at his big hands as he grades papers, or the way his glasses sit on the bridge of his nose, his huge biceps and the way they flex when he’s writing something on the chalkboard that you were surely too entranced to remember what it was. but now, as youre walking up the stairs to his apartment and gently knocking on the door. you realized that this was just you trying to see him and be close to him. you knock two times at the door before the door is swung open. and my god, does he look delicious. i mean, you saw him in class before, but right now he looks different, his hair a little tussled and messy, his glasses sitting a little lower on his nose and his white button up, two buttons undone at the top. “hey, you’re here early.” he motions for you to come inside. his apartment was cozy, a lot of wood accents, dim warm lighting, and the faint smell of cigar smoke. he walks over to his couch where he has his laptop open and some books on the coffee table. “please, sit.” you sheepishly sit on the little loveseat. “so, uh i know this last semester has been a little tough on you” he starts. “you’re grade went from a C plus to a D minus, i’m sure you’re aware of course, but i wanted to let you know that i’m always eager to help my students, and you don’t have to wait to let it get bad if it can be helped” you let out a soft sigh. “yeah i- i know i’m sorry that i’ve been distracted lately i just kind of have a lot going on in my life” you really don’t you’re just toobusy staring at his biceps in class to focus on the material he’s teaching.

“that’s alright sweetheart we can sort it out” you blush at the nickname. he starts to open up a book, flipping through the pages. “alright so why don’t you tell me specifically what’s troubling you the most, you seem to be having trouble with my economics exams, is it okay with you if we start there?”

a few hours go by and you’ve been on your best behavior, trying to focus on the material your professor is re-teaching you. “you seem to be catching up so far, however there are only two exams left in this semester, and even if you pass both of those you’ll be back at your original grade which was C plus, there’s not much else i can do, we can do more sessions to make sure you grasped the material if you’re still not feeling confident enough”

you stutter over your words a bit. “ i- uh- listen professor, my parents are not all that happy that they’re paying a bunch of money for me to study in this university, and im failing two of my classes. is there anything i can do for at least a B minus?”

he seems a bit upset at first but they’re a glint behind his eyes you can’t quite catch.

“honey, i understand okay? but you can’t waltz in here with a small top and even smaller skirt hoping it gets you a better grade, you have to put the work in if you wanna see good results, i would suggest trying to focus during class instead of going off to dreamland”

you scoff, completely offended- because how dare he read you like that .

“im sorry? i- what are you even talking about?”

“sweetie, it’s not hard to see what you’re trying to do, to say it isn’t working wouldn’t be entirely true- but i can’t let you get off that easy, tell you what, come here.” he pats the spot next to him, motioning you get closer to him. you scoot over until you’re really close. and i mean too close, his smokey woodsy scent is invading your brain and you can feel his hot breath on your face. he brings his hand up to stroke your hair and play with it. your eyes start glossing over at the little bit of affection he’s giving you, it’s driving you insane. you look up at him, very doe eyed and glossy pout.

“you have no idea what yer doin to me sweetheart”

he strokes the front strand of your hair and kisses your cheek. noticing your tearing up, he gets concerned.

“what’s wrong princess?”

you’re words come out in a babble, feeling to overwhelmed to even let out a coherent thought.

“i- uh- just wan- ta- make u feel good”

he curses under his breath.

“i know, you’ve always been eager to please right?”

“mmhm” you let out a soft moan.

suddenly he’s bringing his hand to your thigh and stroking it softly, he gives you a soft peck to your plump lips.

“you wanna tell me what you want, pretty girl?”

“mm- uh- ijust-“

“what was that honey? you gotta be speak up”

“i wan t- mm- i-“

suddenly he grabs the back of your hair and yanks it a little. not too hard, but enough to make a statement.

“mmuh i want you to touch me please-“

“that easy, sweetheart.”

he brings his hand from your thigh up your skirt and cups your pussy. feeling its warmth and wetness. he begins to kiss you again, rougher this time and weaving his other hand through your hair. slowly rubbing at the little wet spot on your panties.

“is this okay, baby?”

“ye-yes mm please- need more”

he stops suddenly but before you can protest he’s stand up and picks you, wrapping your legs around him as he carries you to the his bedroom. gently laying you down on the edge of his bed. he takes your little boots off and throws them to side. spreading your legs he, gently caresses your damp panties with the back of his fingers.

“you’ve been waiting for this for a while yeah?”

“mmhm”

he tuts.

bringing his nose up to inhale your scent through your panties, he curses again. making your face turn red with embarrassment and arousal

“fuck, can i take these off baby?”

“yes, professor”

although he’s heard you say those words countless times, hearing you say it in this setting makes the tent in his pants start to throb with the primal urge to fill you up and make you his.

he slowly takes your light blue panties off, looking at you through his glasses and pocketing the thin material for later purposes.

“look at that, she’s fucking dripping for me”

before he can do anything your sitting up and grabbing his face.

“wait, professor- i uh- ive never-”

you don’t have to finish what you’re saying for him to understand.

his face is a little shocked at first but then it’s reassuring.

“are you sure you want to? i don’t wanna-“

“yes, yes professor i just wanted to tell you because maybe you wouldn’t want to”

“oh no baby, that’s never stopped me before, what makes you think i wouldn’t”

“i dont kn- know, i’m a little nervous”

he sighs, cursing under his breath again over how innocent you are.

“look at me honey, i’m gon’ make u feel good i promise yea? lay back down for me.”

you do as instructed and try to hide your face from his view from how embarrassed you are.

he focuses his attention back to your aching hole, licking from bottom to the top, and then suckling on your little bud.

“mm tastes s’fucking good”

the ache in your core begins to worsen as he continues to tease your cunt, pressing little kisses and sucking on ur clit for way too little time.

“p-please daddy- i need more”

it’s not that he’s never been called that by another woman, it’s just the way your sweet voice says it that has him losing all sanity and giving you the best head you will ever receive in your life.

his beard burning the edge of your thighs as he eats you out like you’re his last meal on earth. his tongue fucking your hole while his nose bumps at your clit, literally has you moaning high pitched whines and incoherent words. it’s all too much and suddenly your feel a hot flush through your belly and your cumming all over his face. getting you slick all over his beard.

he stands up, and brings hand to the back of your head pulling you in for a wet, sloppy kiss, that has you moaning into his mouth. he pulls back and as he’s about to take off your top, you push him back.

“w-wait, i - professor i wanna try something.”

he looks at you a little confused but then you get off the bed and drop to your knees in front of him.

“oh sweetie, you don’t have to do that-“

“please, professor, i really always wanted to try it.”

and how can he say no to his favorite student.

he gives you a nod and tangles his fingers in your hair, letting you unbuckles his black trousers, and bring them down to his thighs. oh the little look on your face when you see his thick bulge through his boxers, he’s never seen anyone cuter in his life.

you pull his boxers down letting his cock spring out and almost hit you in the face.

the look on your face tell him all he needs to know, you’re wondering how that’s gonna fit inside you.

you lightly grip his shaft stroking it a bit, bringing your hand to the top to spread his precum all over his cock. you stick your tongue out and give lick from the bottom to top, making him shudder.

you start to suck on the tip hollowing out your cheeks, trying to mimick what you’ve seen in–uh….videos. you take him down to the middle of it thinking there no possible way you could take him all the way. that is until he grabs a tuft of your hair, and forces his length all the way down your throat. making you choke and pulling off with a spit string attached his cock. you look up at him and he grunts, “look at me, breathe through your nose, and relax, yeah?” you try again, taking him all the way down so that your nose is touching the curls at his base. “good girl, just stay still.”

he starts fucking your throat at a fast pace, you try your hardest to breathe through your nose but the way he’s fucking the back of your throat raw is making you gag and choke. “fuuuck, yea that’s a good girl, your doing s’good for me baby.”

the praise is making your cunt leak on the floor and getting you lightheaded. lost in a space that makes you feel like you’re floating. he pulls you off his cock and you make lewd pop sound making him grunt.

he picks you up off the ground, laying you on his bed again. taking off your top, and playing with your perky nipples. he’s kissing you rough and deep and fighting for dominance with his tongue. his cock is red and swollen as he rubs up against your glistening cunt. getting your slick all over him before he pushes in. and when he does, it’s the most beautiful feeling ever, it’s slightly painful but the stretch is too delicious for it to not be pleasurable.

“mm fuck, daddy!”

you bury your face in his neck, tears already rolling down your face.

“i know baby, i got you”

he lets out a deep growl as he bottoms out.

slowly thrusting in and out. his pace remains slow until it becomes too much and not enough and you’re begging him to go faster. he picks up the pace, faster, and then ever faster, the lewd sounds of skin slapping against skin and your whines and his groans fill the room. and you’re sure all his neighbors hate you guys right now.

it’s all too much, you’re lost in this state of ecstasy and his hot breath in your ear, cooing sweet things and suddenly your somewhere else, in a deep space of submissiveness. where all you can think about is how you’re being absolutely dominated and taken over by your professor, then you hear his voice. “you look so fucking pretty like this baby, all fucked out hm?”

you can’t even saying anything just whine and moan until he stops suddenly . making you whine in protest. “come here princess-” he sits down with his back against the headboard. “you want a B minus? show me that you’ve earned it.” he pats his thigh signaling for you to get on top of him.

you’re already fucked out and you don’t know how you’re gonna be able to ride him, but god, if there’s one thing that you want more than anything it’s to earn it.

not even the grades, you don’t care about that anymore, you just wanna earn that praise, you wanna be good for him and most of all, you want him to fill you to the brink with his cum.

so with that giving you the energy, you climb on top of him, unbuttoning his shirt and throwing off to the side, you pull him in for a deep and passionate kiss and sink down on to his cock. you break the kiss and place both your hands on his shoulders. you start to bounce as fast as you can. his hands fly down to your waist helping you move and your tits are incredibly close to his face. it’s taking all of him not to fill you up right now- he just wants to enjoy this for a just little bit longer, the way your tits are bouncing in front of his face and your brows furrowed, focused on being good and trying to earn your higher grade, he thinks might actually be in love with you. it’s then when he’s snapped out of his thoughts from you taking glasses off and putting them on yourself. it makes your eyes look significantly bigger and glossier.

“am i doing good- daddy”

“you’re doing so good princess, fuck- daddy’s gonna have to keep you behind after classes are done hm?”

you whine and blush at the thought of this being more than a one time thing.

“you gonna be a good little slut and come on your professors cock?”

“y-yea” it comes out whiny and airy.

suddenly he’s grabbing your hips and fucking his cock in and out of your cunt at a diabolical pace, making your belly feel really warm again, but this time it’s different, you feel a pressure that is about to be released, and before you can warm him, your gushing all over his thighs and abs, squirting alll over him.

but he doesn’t stop he just groans really loud and grabs your hips with an iron grip that you’re sure will leave bruises later.

“oh fuck baby, i’m gonna cum- agh where do you want it” he manages to grunt out.

“wan u to cum inside of me please daddy- fill me up”

“god- oh fuck yea baby, you wan me to fill you up with my load hm?? u wan’ be a good little cumslut for me?” his grunts are louder now.

“yeess pleaseee professor” you whimper out.

and with two-three more thrusts his spilling inside of you, the warm sensation, unfamiliar but extremely pleasant and you’re falling over on his chest, catching your breath. he looks at you, still with his glasses on, and smushes your cheeks together to give you a kiss, taking off your (his) glasses and putting them back on so he can see how his cum drips out of your puffy cunt.

“i’d say that’ll earn you an A plus for the rest of the semester, sweetheart.” he says out of breath.

you turned your face down, feeling embarrassed.

“whats up, baby?”

“i uh- i didn’t want you to think i just did that for a good grade. i actually been wanting to do that for a while and i- uhm really like you professor.”

he lets out a deep chuckle.

“i know princess, noticed how you would stare at me during lectures, you’re not very good at hiding it”

“oh- uh- i uh-”

now you’re really embarrassed.

“but what you didn’t notice is how bad i wanted to kiss your pretty little pout when i graded your last exam- or how bad i wanted to keep you behind after classes just to bend you over my desk and take you right there”

“o-oh.” your flustered, trying to think of what to say to him.

“i mean after all sweetheart, you have always been my favorite student”

something tells you you’re gonna start doing really good in this class now.

authors note: a lot of this was inspired by a fic i read earlier, by @carbonfiction . i hope u don’t mind i really enjoyed your sitting pretty fic and i was heavily inspired 🙈

[dearlenore]

hiiiii

Tim Bradford x reader where she's pregnant. and nesting. Tim would be all over that I feel.

This has gotta be my favorite thing ever I’m obsesseddd🥹💋 this one might be the fluffiest I’ve written too❤️

HELLO BABY • T.BRADFORD

SUMMARY: Tim comes home to an unexpectedly motivated reader, cleaning, building and painting the nursery for their little girl

PAIRING: SAHM!reader x Tim Bradford

tags: PURE FLUFF, reader wears ‘feminine’ clothes, mentions of pregnancy , nesting mentions, Tim is very confused

a/n: first time writing Tim so be nice to me please…

w/c: 1.1K

Tim Bradford was exhausted. Thirteen hours on shift, three foot pursuits, and one particularly annoying rookie later, all he wanted was to come home, take a shower, and collapse into bed with you. He’d been looking forward to it all day—the feeling of your body curled against his, the scent of your shampoo, the sound of your voice reminding him he was more than just a cop with a badge.

But the second he stepped into the house, he knew something was off.

The scent of fresh paint hit him first, sharp and unmistakable. Then came the sound—faint music Sabrina Carpenter from your phone, the occasional shuffle of movement, and the distinct thunk of something being assembled. Tim frowned, toeing off his boots as he followed the noise down the hall.

And there you were.

Eight months pregnant in overalls, standing on your tiptoes, rolling paint onto the nursery wall. A half-assembled crib lay in pieces beside you along with your nightgown, instructions crumpled but ignored. A screwdriver sat on top of a pile of screws that definitely should have been in the furniture instead of scattered across the floor.

Tim stared. Blinked. Rubbed a hand down his face before speaking.

“What. The hell. Are you doing?”

You startled at his voice, turning to look at him over your shoulder. A streak of light pink paint ran across your cheek, your hair was a mess, and yet you had the nerve to smile at him like you hadn’t just been caught red-handed.

“Preparations.”

Tim exhaled sharply, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I can see that. But you’re supposed to be resting, not turning the nursery into a DIY disaster zone.”

You huffed, placing the paint roller down. “I was waiting for you to get home, but you were working late, and I had all this energy, so I figured I might as well—”

“No.” Tim stepped forward, hands settling on your waist as he guided you away from the paint tray. “Babe, you’re carrying our kid, not a whole-ass toolbox. You should be lying down, not climbing on step stools and putting together cribs.”

“I wasn’t climbing,” you defended, avoiding his knowing stare.

Tim arched a brow. “You sure about that?”

You pursed your lips. “Okay, maybe a little.”

He sighed, shaking his head as he pressed a kiss to your forehead. “You need to slow down or you’ll be the death of us both.”

You grinned. “But you love me.”

“I do,” he admitted, voice soft. “Which is exactly why you need to let me handle this stuff, okay?”

Your hands came up to rest on his chest, fingers tracing absent patterns over his vest. “I just wanted everything to be perfect before she gets here.”

Tim’s expression softened. He knew how much this meant to you. He’d seen the baby books on your nightstand, the way you planned every little detail down to the crib sheets and wall decals. But you didn’t have to do this alone—not when he was here.

“She’s already got the most perfect mom in the world,” he murmured, brushing his lips against yours. “So how about you let me take over, and you sit down before I have to arrest you for reckless endangerment of my pregnant wife?”

You snorted, rolling your eyes but relenting. “Fine. But I’m supervising.”

Tim chuckled. “Wouldn’t expect anything less.”

As he helped you settle onto the nursery rocking chair, he grabbed the screwdriver and eyed the crib parts with determination. He might’ve spent the last thirteen hours chasing bad guys, but apparently, his real challenge was about to be assembling baby furniture with no instructions.

Tim had faced shootouts, car chases, and criminals twice his size without breaking a sweat. But as he sat cross-legged on the nursery floor, staring down at the disassembled crib like it was an active crime scene, he was starting to think this might be his toughest challenge yet.

You, comfortably perched in the nursery’s new rocking chair with a glass of water in hand, were thoroughly enjoying the show.

“You know,” you mused, watching as he flipped the instruction manual upside down, “I did start putting it together already.”

Tim shot you a look, then gestured to the mess of screws and wooden panels scattered around him. “Yeah, and I’m trying to undo whatever chaos you unleashed before I got home.”

You smirked, shifting to get more comfortable. “I was making progress.”

“You put two of the legs on backward.”

You waved a hand dismissively. “Details.”

Tim sighed, running a hand through his hair before glancing back at you. “You really should be in bed.”

“I was in bed. Then I got bored.” You sipped your water, giving him your most innocent look. “Besides, if I went to sleep, I would’ve missed this.”

“This?”

“The rare sight of Tim Bradford struggling.”

He pointed a screwdriver at you. “Careful. I could make you finish this yourself.”

You laughed, the sound light and easy, and despite the exhaustion still clinging to him from his shift, Tim felt the tension in his body ease. It didn’t matter how tired he was—being here with you, working on something for her, made everything else fade into the background.

A comfortable silence settled between you as he focused on assembling the crib. Every so often, you’d make an observation (“Are you sure that piece goes there?”), and he’d remind you, gently, that he knew what he was doing. (He didn’t.)

Eventually, after some cursing under his breath, an unnecessary amount of re-reading the instructions, and one incident where the crib almost collapsed on itself, he finally tightened the last screw and sat back with a victorious sigh.

“There,” he declared, brushing his hands off. “One fully operational crib, courtesy of your incredibly capable husband.”

You grinned. “I don’t know, I think she’ll have to test it herself before I give you full credit.”

Tim rolled his eyes, pushing himself up to his feet before walking over to where you sat. He rested a hand on your belly, feeling the soft movement of your breath beneath his palm.

“She’s gonna love it,” he murmured, voice softer now. “And she’s gonna love you even more.”

Your eyes glistened, and you covered his hand with yours. “We built a crib today, Tim.”

He smirked. “Correction. I built a crib today. You provided comedic relief at best.”

You swatted his arm, but your smile stayed. “First of all, my comedic relief is amazing and helpful. Second of all I can’t believe we’re really doing this.”

Tim leaned down, pressing a kiss to your forehead before dropping another one to your belly. “Yeah,” he murmured, voice full of something so deep and unshakable it made your heart squeeze. “Me neither.”

[revelboo]

Revel! I'm so happy to see you posting, I hope you've been good. 🫶 It's my birthday today and reading more of your Starscreams made my morning. Thank you for sharing your amazing writing, you're a gift! 🩷

Happy belated birthday! The inbox is somehow just shy of 500 again and I’m struggling 🤣

Bottom Feeder Pt 8

TFP Starscream x Reader

• “Eat,” he growls, shoving a fistful of random stuff at you that you really don’t want to think about how he got. Because it looks like your big, neurotic turkey kicked a hole in a grocery store wall and just grabbed whatever was within reach. Including shelving. But he’s trying at least. Digging through the pile, you know he’s also trying to distract you because after find out alien dick is a thing? You’ve been hounding him mercilessly to the point that you’re almost sure he’s recharging elsewhere just to avoid you. Biting your bottom lip to keep from smiling, you wonder if you should ease up on him.

• Wings flicking as you tear into a package and dig out a handful of crunchy, shaped little objects and start eating, he sits on the edge of his berth and studies you from the corner of his optic. Relaxing slightly when you don’t immediately ask about Cybertronian interfacing. Again. Because apparently your species is just obsessed with coupling. “I’ll be good,” you say startling him. And you’re looking up at him with those innocent eyes, cute in your unsettlingly alien way. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.” Optics narrowing, he clears his vents noisily.

• Hiding a snort with a cough when his wings lift slightly, looking so relieved it’s hilarious. And messing with him is the highlight of your day since he’s such a prude, but you’re almost positive you’re giving the giant alien an anxiety complex with your questions. Not even sure why that makes you feel guilty since he’d apparently kidnapped you as some sort of twisted status symbol, making you into his little purse dog. Maybe it’s because watching him interact with the other mechs on the bridge had made you realize his twitchiness is actually fear, flinching when some mechs talk to him, wings drawn tighter to his frame while flaring them out and snapping if the Vehicons, as he’d called them, approach him for anything. “What’s it like to fly?” You ask him and his expression softens some.

• Reaching out, he runs his talons through your hair, fascinated despite himself with how soft it is and you smile up at him to make him feel off balance. “Like life itself,” he mutters, easing back to lay on his berth with his legs hanging over the edge. Venting softly when you wander closer and try to climb up on him, using a servo to help you up and you sit crosslegged on his chassis. Misses other Seekers, flying together. That sense of kinship that comes from Seekers in a trine. Sometimes he wonders if he’s the only one left. If his frame-type, his traditions will end with him. Optics shuttering, he hooks his servos loosely around you. “You learn the wind, the way it plays over you as a sparkling,” he says, unable to keep the fondness from his voice as he uses a servo to lift one of your arms out like a wing. “It becomes familiar, almost a friend and up there, you’re free. Nothing can touch you.”

• He sounds almost lonely and you stretch out on him, feeling the weight of his servos draped against your back. “Maybe I could go flying with you?” And his optics open, head tipping to stare at you. His servos sliding against your spine and you wait for him to scoff at you, curl his lip and huff through his vents. Instead his servo shifts to rub against your jaw before he’s pressing you flat against him and you can feel the thrum of his spark. Not answering at all, but you’re not really surprised. You’re just the exotic pet after all. Eyes closing after he drapes his other arm across his face, murmuring something in his own language that you can’t understand.

Previous

[haerenven]

Can you do something with Shanks being super flirty with a reader a little older than him and he thinks that he's got her in the bag, in love with him, because she smiles and looks happy when he's near; even blushing with glee when he brings her something. Then he like overhears her talking about him and it turns out she just thinks of him as really cute. Like she thinks of him as a puppy running to her excitedly, doing tricks to impress, or bringing things for her and thats the actual reason why she's always happy to see him and reacts that way.

        ㅤ٬ ⚠︎̸̸̸̸ ⠀⠀⠀ Red White ⠀ ᵎᵎ ⠀⸺⠀ .໑⠀⠀٫

Pairings. Red-haired shanks x fem!reader

summary. Oh say it Ditto

— (a/n): I wrote this based on the idea that Shanks is a rookie pirate in my imagination. I felt that he would be like a love-sick puppy when he was in his twenties.

⠀⠀ㅤㅤ٬ ⊹ ⠀『 ⠀ 私が作った ⠀』 ⠀⠀𝐈𝐈  ˓  ୭ ⠀⠀⠀

Shanks, young and brimming with charm, believes he has a certain effect on women. He’s not just confident—he’s reckless with it. His smile, boyish yet devil-may-care, is a weapon he wields shamelessly, and when it comes to her—his crewmate who’s a little older, a little sharper, a little more refined—oh, he’s convinced she’s falling, hard. She always seems happy when he’s around. That alone is proof, isn’t it?

He buys things just for her. Trinkets from islands they stop at, exotic fabrics, jewelry that glints like stolen sunlight. He presses them into her hands, watching with barely concealed satisfaction as her eyes brighten, as her lips part in a delighted smile, as—ah, there it is—a blush dusts her cheeks. He brings gifts with the confidence of a man who knows he’s winning, a rare fruit, a delicately carved comb, a perfectly smooth shell. She takes them gently, fingers brushing his in a way that must mean something. It has to.

He teases, endlessly. “You’re too beautiful to be a pirate. Someone’s going to steal you away if you’re not careful, you know?” And she laughs, always laughs, shaking her head, never once telling him to stop. He’s always near, leaning against the mast beside her, close enough that his shoulder barely brushes hers, sliding into the seat across from her with a grin, wine in hand, ready to be the only thing she pays attention to. And when he’s away? He rushes back like an eager dog, gifts in tow, stories on his lips, expecting her to melt like she always does.

One evening, he lingers near the galley, out of sight but within earshot. A few of the crew are there, and she’s with them. He doesn’t mean to listen. Not really. But then—

“Shanks is adorable.”

His grin widens instinctively. Ah, finally—

“Like a puppy.”

…Wait.

“You know when a dog runs up to you with a big, happy grin, tail wagging, practically vibrating with excitement? And they bring you things? He’s just like that.”

There’s laughter. Friendly, affectionate. Someone, probably Yasopp, asks, amused, “So you’re not interested?”

“Oh, no, no,” she says, laughing again. “He’s sweet. He’s nice. He makes me happy, but not in that way. It’s just… cute. Like when he comes back from an island with something shiny and holds it out like it’s the best thing in the world? How could I not smile at that?”

Silence. Or at least, his silence.

Shanks steps back, heart sinking to the pit of his stomach. A puppy? A dog? He was seducing her, wasn’t he? He had her on the edge, about to fall—right? But no. The truth is a slap, one that stings worse than any punch he’s ever taken. She wasn’t blushing because she was lovestruck. She wasn’t laughing because she was flustered. She wasn’t melting because he was irresistible. She just thought he was cute.

…Like a damn excited dog.

Denial, at first. “She’s messing with them,” he mutters to himself later that night, arms crossed as he leans against the ship’s railing, staring at the dark horizon. “She’s just embarrassed to admit she likes me.” But the more he thinks about it, the clearer it becomes—no, she really meant it. Sulking. Not obvious sulking—he has pride—but enough that Yasopp eventually nudges him and goes, “You look like you lost a bet. Or a bone.”

Testing the waters. The next time he brings her something, he watches closely. And sure enough—there it is. That same delighted smile. That soft chuckle. That affectionate, amused gaze.

Acceptance. He groans, running a hand through his hair. “I can’t believe I’ve been playing fetch this whole time.”

Does he stop? Hell no. He still brings her things. Still teases. Still leans in too close, still acts like a reckless flirt. But now, when she smiles at him like that, when she laughs and shakes her head like he’s an overgrown child—he swears under his breath and mutters, “I should’ve been more mysterious.”

Shanks struts across the deck with the same unwavering self-assurance he always has, his latest “offering” clutched in one hand—a delicate silver pendant he picked up from their latest raid. He’s already picturing the way she’ll blush, the way her lips will part in soft surprise, the way her fingers will brush his just a second too long when she takes it. He knows the effect he has.

“Couldn’t help but think of you when I saw this,” he drawls, holding it out with that signature smirk, his eyes glinting with mischief. “Figured something this beautiful should belong to someone just as breathtaking, yeah?” A perfectly crafted line. He’s gotten good at those.

She doesn’t giggle like the barmaids at port. She doesn’t blush furiously like a flustered girl swept off her feet. No, she does something far more dangerous.

She smiles. Slow, knowing, something deep and unreadable flickering behind her eyes. She doesn’t take the pendant right away—oh no, she lets him hold it there, savoring the moment, her gaze dragging up to his with a heat that’s nothing like infatuation. It’s something deeper, something effortless, something experienced. And then—gods, then—her fingers brush against his wrist, the touch featherlight, but enough to send an electric jolt through him.

“You’re such a sweet thing,” she murmurs, tilting her head just slightly, just enough for a few strands of her hair to slip over her shoulder. She takes the pendant with slow, deliberate ease, her fingertips skimming his palm as she does. Then—before he can even process the way she’s looking at him—she lifts her free hand and ruffles his hair, a touch too familiar, too teasing, like she’s indulging a particularly charming boy rather than entertaining a flirtation.

“I appreciate it, Shanks.” Her voice is honey-dipped, laced with something warm, something teasing, something that makes his stomach tighten. She turns the pendant over between her fingers, her lips curling in subtle amusement. “You always bring me such lovely things… such a thoughtful boy.”

Boy.

Shanks freezes. His brain stops working.

She’s still standing too close. Still looking at him like she’s in control of this little game, like she’s the one toying with him. The way her fingers had just slid through his hair, the way she called him sweet—Oh, this wasn’t how this was supposed to go.

He was supposed to be the smooth one. The one who had her flustered. But instead—instead—she’s looking at him like he’s the young one, like he’s some eager pup trying to impress.

The worst part? His face is burning.

He coughs, straightening, trying to summon his usual cocky grin—failing miserably. “Hah—well—uh—course! Someone’s gotta take care of ya, yeah?” He reaches up to run a hand through his hair, only to realize she already did that.

She hums in response, clearly entertained, before turning away with that same effortless grace. And just as he exhales—thinking she’s leaving, thinking he can salvage what little pride he has left—she pauses. Turns back, eyes lidded with something unreadable, something slow, something deliberate. The air around her shifts, heavy with an allure so natural, so effortless, that it knocks the breath straight from his lungs.

Then—gods help him—she leans in.

It’s nothing dramatic, nothing exaggerated, nothing overtly intimate, yet somehow it’s everything. The warmth of her breath skims his cheek first, sending every nerve in his body into alert. Then, soft as a whisper, the press of her lips. Slow. Unhurried. Lingered just long enough to make his pulse stutter. It isn’t just a kiss—it’s an execution, a well-placed strike, a calculated move by someone who knows exactly the power she holds.

And then—just as he thinks he might actually forget how to breathe—she leans back, tilts her head with a smirk that drips with the kind of confidence he only dreams of having, and lets her fingertips trail lightly along his jaw as she finally steps away.

“Such a good boy,” she purrs, amusement curling in her tone like smoke, before turning on her heel and sauntering away, hips swaying, utterly, devastatingly in control.

Shanks doesn’t move. Can’t move. He stands there, completely and utterly wrecked, his heart hammering so hard he’s sure the entire ship can hear it. His fingers twitch at his sides, his face hotter than the damn sun, and when he finally—finally—blinks himself back to reality, the only thing that leaves his lips is a barely comprehensible, “…What the hell just happened?”

From a few feet away, Yasopp—who had witnessed the whole thing—bursts out laughing so hard he nearly doubles over. “Oh man, you are so out of your league.”

Shanks groans, dragging a hand down his face, mind still reeling. This wasn’t over. It couldn’t be over. He’d just… he’d just have to step up his game.

Right?

Right.

He was not a damn puppy.

…Right?

[mybelovedwoo]

interwind souls

san x f!reader

fluff, comfort, suggestive / wc: 2.4k

note: san is the best boyfriend out there! and mc is just a menace... if you want to be tagged in any of my fics you can apply here <3

san masterlist - main masterlist

Y/n stood outside San's dorm, her hand trembling as she reached for the doorbell. She pressed it, the sound echoing in the hallway. A moment later, the door swung open, revealing San's concerned face.

"Why didn't you come inside? You know the code," he said, a hint of confusion in his voice. But before he could say anything more, Y/n threw herself into his arms, her sobs breaking the silence.

San's heart clenched at the sight of her tears. She was shaking uncontrollably, her face buried in his chest. He wrapped his arms around her, holding her tightly, his mind racing with worry.

"Y/n, what's wrong? What happened?" he asked, his voice gentle but filled with urgency.

She couldn't speak, her sobs making it impossible. San felt a pang of helplessness. Seeing her like this, so broken and vulnerable, was tearing him apart. He led her inside, closing the door behind them, and guided her to the couch. He sat down, pulling her onto his lap, cradling her as she continued to cry.

"It's okay, you're safe here," he whispered, stroking her hair. "Just take your time."

Y/n clung to him, her fingers gripping his shirt as if afraid he might disappear. San's mind was flooded with thoughts of all the terrible things that could have happened. He tried to push them aside, focusing on being there for her, but the worry gnawed at him.

"Did somebody hurt you? Touched you?" San asked, his voice trembling with barely controlled anger. "If they did, just tell me."

Y/n shook her head, her sobs gradually subsiding. "No, no one hurt me like that," she managed to say between hiccups. 

San exhaled, a mix of relief and concern flooding his senses. "Then what happened? Tell me everything."

Taking a deep breath, Y/n began to explain. "There's this professor... ever since the beginning of the semester, he's been messing with me. I tried to ignore it, to not give it too much attention, but today... today he humiliated me in front of the whole class."

San's grip on her tightened, his jaw clenching in anger. "What did he do?"

Y/n's voice wavered as she continued, "He asked me a question, and when I answered, he laughed and said I was completely wrong, that I shouldn't even be in his class if I didn't understand something so basic. The whole class laughed with him. I didn't know what to do, so the first thing I did was to apologize... I don't even know why I did that. It was so humiliating, San. I felt so small. I couldn't take it, so I just left the class."

San's heart ached for her. He could see the pain and embarrassment in her eyes. "I'm so sorry you had to go through that, Y/n," he said softly. "You didn't deserve any of it."

She buried her face in his chest again, her tears soaking his shirt. "I just didn't know where else to go. I felt so lost."

"You did the right thing by coming here," San reassured her.  He held her even tighter, his voice filled with determination. "I will protect you, Y/n. No one will hurt you again."

Y/n looked up at him, her eyes still brimming with tears but also filled with gratitude. "Just don't do anything stupid again," she added half-jokingly, trying to lighten the mood.

San managed a small smile, his thumb gently wiping away her tears. "I promise I won't. We'll handle this together."

He kissed her forehead softly, a gesture filled with love and promise. "Let's get you cleaned up and feeling better."

Y/n nodded, leaning on him for support. "That sounds perfect."

San picked her up, and Y/n instinctively wrapped her legs around his torso and her arms around his neck, nuzzling her face into the crook of his neck. San carefully carried her to his bathroom, making sure not to bump into anything accidentally. He gently placed her down on the countertop, his hands lingering on her for a moment, offering comfort and reassurance.

Y/n watched him as he moved to the shower, turning on the water and adjusting the temperature until it was just right. She couldn't help but feel a wave of gratitude and love wash over her. How did she get so lucky to have this man in her life? San's gentle care and unwavering support were everything she needed right now.

San walked back to her, his hands caressing her legs, his touch sending shivers down her spine. "Can I shower with you?" he asked softly, his eyes searching hers for permission.

Y/n smiled and nodded, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. "Yes, please."

San helped her off the countertop and guided her to the shower. He gently undressed her, his movements slow and tender, making sure she felt comfortable and cherished. Once she was undressed, he quickly shed his own clothes and led her under the warm spray of the shower.

The water cascaded over them, washing away the stress and tension of the day. San wrapped his arms around Y/n, holding her close as the water enveloped them. Y/n leaned into him, feeling safe and secure in his embrace.

They stood there for a while, simply enjoying the warmth and the comfort of being together. San's hands moved gently over her back, soothing and comforting her. Y/n felt the last remnants of her fear and anxiety melt away, replaced by a profound sense of peace.

San pulled back slightly, tilting her chin up to look into her eyes. "You're amazing, you know that?" he whispered, his voice filled with love and admiration. "You're so strong, and I'm so proud of you."

Y/n's eyes filled with tears again, but this time they were tears of gratitude and love. "I don't know what I'd do without you, San," she whispered back. "Thank you for always being here for me."

San leaned down and kissed her softly, his lips conveying all the love and support he felt for her. The kiss deepened, and for a moment, everything else faded away. It was just the two of them, wrapped in each other's arms, their love a beacon of light in the darkness.

When they finally pulled apart, San rested his forehead against hers, his hands gently cradling her face. "Let's get cleaned up and then we can relax, okay?"

Y/n nodded, a small smile playing on her lips. "Okay."

They took their time in the shower, washing away the day's troubles and enjoying the simple intimacy of being together. San was gentle and attentive, making sure Y/n felt cherished and loved every step of the way.

San smiled softly, his eyes filled with love as he gently turned Y/n around. "Turn around," he said, his voice tender. "I'll wash your hair."

Y/n obeyed, turning her back to him and feeling the warm water cascade over her. San's fingers moved through her hair, massaging her scalp with a tenderness that sent shivers down her spine. She felt his concentration, the way he was dedicated to making sure every strand was clean and cared for.

As San continued his gentle ministrations, a mischievous smile spread across Y/n's face. She couldn't resist the playful urge that bubbled up inside her. She took a small step back, pressing her backside into San.

San froze for a moment, his hands pausing in her hair. She could feel his breath hitch, and the tension that suddenly filled the space between them. "Y/n," he said softly, his voice a mix of surprise and amusement.

Y/n giggled, her eyes twinkling with mischief even though he couldn't see them. "Just making sure you're paying attention," she teased, leaning back into him a little more.

San chuckled, his hands resuming their gentle movements in her hair. "Oh, I'm paying attention, alright," he murmured, his voice low and filled with affection. "But two can play at that game."

Before Y/n could react, San's hands slipped from her hair and moved down her back, his fingers tracing light, teasing patterns on her skin. She shivered, a soft gasp escaping her lips at the unexpected touch. San's touch was gentle but insistent, sending waves of pleasure through her body.

"San," she breathed, a mix of pleasure and laughter in her voice. "You're supposed to be washing my hair."

"I think we're a little past that now," San replied, his lips brushing against her ear, sending a thrill down her spine. He pressed a soft kiss to the side of her neck, his arms wrapping around her waist and pulling her closer.

Y/n leaned into him, enjoying the feel of his strong, warm body against hers. She turned her head slightly, capturing his lips in a deep, lingering kiss. San responded eagerly, his hands tightening their hold on her.

For a moment, the world outside the shower ceased to exist. It was just the two of them, wrapped in each other's embrace, sharing a moment of pure intimacy and connection. San's kisses were slow and deliberate, each one filled with love and passion.

When they finally pulled away, both of them were breathless, their hearts racing. San rested his forehead against hers, his eyes dark and filled with desire. "I love you, Y/n," he whispered, his voice husky.

"I love you too, San," she replied, her voice equally breathless.

San smiled, pressing one more soft kiss to her lips. "Let's finish up here and get you comfortable," he said, his voice filled with tenderness. "We've had enough excitement for one night."

Y/n nodded, a soft smile on her lips. They quickly finished their shower, the playful energy between them lingering even as they dried off and got dressed. San helped her into a comfortable pair of clothes and led her to the bed, pulling her into his arms and holding her close.

-

After minutes of quiet cuddling, San suddenly brightened. "Hey, how about we play some video games?" he suggested, his eyes twinkling with excitement. "It'll take your mind off things and we can have some fun."

Y/n grinned, the idea appealing to her. "Sure, that sounds great. But be prepared to lose, I'm really good these days," she said, teasing him.

San raised an eyebrow, smirking. "Oh, is that so? We'll see about that."

San got up and quickly set up his gaming console, grabbing a couple of controllers. Y/n settled comfortably on the bed, her earlier anxiety fading away as she watched him. Soon, San joined her, handing her a controller and flashing her a boyish grin.

They started with a racing game, the competitive spirit between them coming to life almost instantly. Laughter filled the room as they teased and taunted each other, both trying to outdo the other with daring moves and quick reflexes.

"You're going down, San!" Y/n called out, her eyes focused intently on the screen as her car sped past his.

"You wish," San retorted, his fingers moving rapidly over the buttons. He leaned closer, a determined look on his face.

The room was filled with the sounds of the game and their playful banter. Y/n's earlier tears were forgotten, replaced by the thrill of the game and the warmth of San's presence. She could feel the tension melting away, replaced by a sense of normalcy and comfort.

After a few intense races, Y/n managed to win the last one, throwing her arms up in triumph. "Yes! I won!" she exclaimed, her face lighting up with joy.

San's mouth hung low, unable to believe he just lost to her. He had years of experience in gaming, yet his baby had just beaten him. He quickly said, "Okay, let's play another game."

He chose a game he was confident in, one where he knew he was the ace. As they started playing, he was determined to win this round. But Y/n had a new spirit; she wasn't here to lose. They battled fiercely, the tension and excitement growing with each passing moment.

Finally, another victory screen played, and Y/n leaned back, teasing San with her win. "Looks like I'm on a roll tonight," she said, smirking.

San pouted, his brows furrowing in mock frustration. "I think something is wrong with the game," he said, crossing his arms.

Y/n laughed, her eyes twinkling with mischief. "Sure, blame the game. Or maybe you just met your match?"

San couldn't help but smile, despite his pretend annoyance. "Alright, you win this time," he admitted, leaning in to plant a quick kiss on her lips. "But don't think I'll go easy on you next time."

Y/n grinned, her heart swelling with affection. "We'll see about that," she replied, snuggling closer to him. "I think I like this side of you, all competitive and pouty."

San chuckled, wrapping his arm around her. "Only for you, Y/n. Only for you."

As they continued to play, San couldn't help but steal glances at Y/n, his heart full of love and admiration. She had a way of making even the simplest moments feel special, and he was grateful for every second they spent together.

Eventually, they switched to a cooperative game, working together to defeat virtual enemies and complete challenging levels. It was a perfect way to bond and forget the troubles of the day.

As the night wore on, they found themselves getting more and more relaxed. Y/n snuggled closer to San, her head resting on his shoulder as they played. San's arm wrapped around her, holding her close and making her feel safe and loved.

In that moment, everything felt right. The worries of the day faded into the background, replaced by the simple joy of being together. They didn't need grand gestures or elaborate plans; all they needed was each other, a couple of controllers, and a game to share.

As the game came to an end and the screen faded to black, San turned to Y/n. He noticed the rhythmic rise and fall of her chest, her eyes closed, her breathing steady. She had fallen asleep.

San smiled softly, his heart swelling with affection. She looked so peaceful, and he felt a deep sense of gratitude to have her in his life. He had no heart to wake her up, not when she seemed so content and at ease.

Carefully, he shifted their positions, making sure she was comfortable. He gently lifted her head to place a pillow underneath and pulled a blanket over her. Y/n stirred slightly, mumbling something incoherent, but she didn't wake up. San watched her for a moment, his hand brushing a stray hair from her forehead.

"Sweet dreams, my love," he whispered, pressing a soft kiss to her temple.

He settled down beside her, his arm draped protectively around her. He could feel the warmth of her body next to his, a soothing presence that made him feel at home. As he closed his eyes, he marveled at how much his life had changed since she had become a part of it. The bond they shared was unlike anything he had ever experienced, and he cherished every moment.

The room was quiet, the only sounds being the soft hum of the air conditioning and their synchronized breathing.    

-

taglist: @dinossaurz @taz-97 @soso59love-blog @tiredlittlevirgo @everythingboutkpop @abibliolife @k-zuzu @ateezswonderland @oc3anfloor @Reayahnadeem24 @life-is-a-game-of-thrones

[spring002]

now playing. . . you love me by kimya dawson

the sun was peeking through the blinds, you could see the lighter strands of scaramouche's hair appear more purple than indigo, he laid on your lap. "what do you want to do today, name?" he asked you as you messed with his hair, disheveling it from its usual jellyfish like shape. well, actually, his hair is growing out. it would look so pretty with some bows. imagining it makes him appear more princely than before. so cute, you thought.

"hmm, i don't really want to do anything other than hanging with you. wait, did you have work today?" scaramouche must have work since he already had a day off last week. if he ditches again, his mother would definitely be mad. he'll be skipping his lessons to become the ceo of the raiden company. if he does it again, i'll scold him. as you were lost in your own thoughts, scaramouche just got off the phone.

"not anymore." did he really just get out of work just to hang out with you? how romantic.... and incredibly irresponsible. you huffed, stopping yourself from petting his head,

"wouldn't your mother get angry that you ditching?" you were initiating scolding mode. but when he placed your hand back in his hair, tangling your fingers with his locks, you melted instantly. so much for scolding mode.

"hmm, nah, she'll be fine." you trust his word. after that, you two were quiet, listening to the ambience of the city in the background as you disheveled his hair.

then out of the blue, scaramouche asked, "okay, why are you so quiet, name?"

"what? i didn't even say anything." you spluttered out, pausing your destressing moment with his hair. again, he patted your hand and put it back on his hair. he sighed,

"exactly. by now, you'll be blabbering about some game you're interested in." he's right. you would be raving about a new game or an item you just bought. it wouldn't be bad to ask right?

"can i braid your hair? or add bows to it? i think you would look so pretty."

he quirked a brow, "is my hair long enough for it?"

"it's a bit shaggy so yes." you examined his hair, running your hair through it, detangling it from the process. scaramouche winced a little from the pain as you whispered a sorry and pecked his forehead. after a while, he finally just said,

"alright." however, you don't exactly have the bows on you right now and the only way to get them is if you get them from the bedroom. "scara, honey," you spoke, getting his attention. "i need to get up to get the bows and hair items."

instead of moving away, he stayed still on your lap, you could feel your legs getting number. your nerves were tingling as you tried to wiggle your boyfriend off. "scara, c'mon." you were afraid to get out the big guns. you tried to imply it, "scara, y'know what would happen if you don't get up?"

scaramouche slowly raised up from your lap and said, "honey, i think, i'll get it for you instead. you deserve to sit down and such, is it in the bedroom-" you nodded. "-okay, will be back..."

he was back with a plastic bag filled with bows, ribbons, different clips that varied of different color. you smiled as he placed it on the other side of you and settled into his spot, being your lap. "thank you so much, honey."

he laughed as if he wasn't scared of you earlier, "of course, honey." you picked up a teal ribbon and asked if he liked it. he shrugged and told you it was very pretty. you giggled as you braided it into his hair. the end result? very frizzy but very cute. the teal really helped to bring out the deep indigo color. "do you think this color would be cute on you? orr this color?" you showed him a red ribbon with lace trimmings and a dark blue ribbon with lacy patterns. he chose the dark blue because it would fit better with the teal. "you're so right, scara."

"aren't i always?"

[estellan0vella]

Better Than Winning: L.F & H.J Lee Felix x fem!reader x Han Jisung (College AU)

WC: 17.7K

CW: Pre-Established relationship between reader & Felix, Sexual Themes, Jisung is a panicked Bi, Emotional Abuse (Past abusive behaviour by an ex-partner), Minho is unhinged, Public Urination, Discussions of Freud, everyone is slightly insane, Big Dick Han Jisung, threat of suicide (in a joking manner)

General Masterlist SKZ Masterlist

The living room of the Alpha Phi frat house is unusually quiet for a Saturday night. There’s no beer pong in the kitchen, no Hyunjin doing shirtless TikTok dances, no Jeongin and Seungmin bickering in the hall. Just the muted flicker of the TV, the low murmur of Easy A playing in the background, and the gentle rustling of textbook pages being turned and annotated. 

You’re curled up sideways on the loveseat, legs draped over Felix’s lap, with your child psychology textbook open across your thighs, and your black-framed glasses slip down the bridge of your nose as you try to highlight a section on Freud with a pink glitter gel pen.

Felix is shirtless beside you, a mess of ink and silver, grey sweatpants slung low on his hips and fluffy Hufflepuff socks half-hidden under a blanket the two of you have been sharing. He’s scribbling notes onto a yellow legal pad, eyes flicking from the glowing screen of his iPad to the paper. His dark hair falls into his face, the strands curtaining over his piercings as he furrows his brow. 

You glance up at him, watching the way his lips twitch while he reads, the curve of his snakebites glinting slightly in the dim light from the lamp near the bookshelf. He looks focused, and devastatingly pretty in that Felix way, sharp metal and tattoos on soft skin.

“I have to do fusion cuisine,” he says suddenly, eyes still trained on his notes. “Something European mixed with something Asian. Chef’s specific about it too. Can’t just do like fucking sushi spaghetti or some shit, y’know?”

You pause mid-highlight and glance up. “Why don’t you make a pastry? Like... a croissant, maybe? But make it savoury. You could put bulgogi jjigae inside. Flaky outside, warm stew inside.”

Felix stops mid-scribble, mouth slowly curling into a grin. “Oh my fucking god, Angel,” he says, twisting toward you. “You’re a goddamn genius.” He scribbles furiously on his pad, murmuring, “Bulgogi... croissant... fusion pastry... flaky and savoury... fuck yeah,” then tosses the notepad onto the floor and leans over to kiss you. His lips are warm and soft, tasting like the strawberry gum he’s been chewing all afternoon, and he presses the kiss to your mouth like a punctuation mark. You giggle against his lips and rest your forehead against his.

“You’re welcome, chef,” 

Felix grins wider, giving you one more peck before leaning back against the cushion, tossing an arm lazily across the back of the loveseat. “What are you reading, Angel?” he asks, squinting at your textbook. “You’ve been making this really confused face for like twenty minutes.”

You grimace and hold up the book so he can see the chapter title: Freud’s Stages of Psychosexual Development. He makes a noise like a dying animal.

“That shit looks gross.”

“It is gross,” you say, exhaling. “He’s on the mandatory reading list for this module even though he’s been discredited by basically everyone with a brain.”

Felix snorts. “So why the fuck do you have to read him?”

“Because academia is sometimes stupid,” you say matter-of-factly, flipping a page with a sigh. “It’s historical context or whatever. Can’t talk about child psychology without talking about how Freud basically hijacked it with his weird ass theories. Like, okay, get this, he believed that boys go through this thing called the Oedipus complex.”

"What the fuck is that?”

“It’s this theory that boys want to fuck their moms and kill their dads,” you say with a wince. “And girls go through something similar called the Electra complex, where they want to fuck their dads and resent their moms.”

Felix recoils in absolute horror, eyebrows shooting up toward his hairline. “Are you fucking serious?”

“Dead serious,” you say, turning your textbook toward him. “It’s all here. He even thought girls had penis envy.”

Felix looks like he’s about to gag. “So this dude thinks girls are mad they don’t have a dick, and everyone wants to bang their parents?”

“Basically, yeah.”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he mutters. “That sounds like something Juwon would’ve agreed with.”

You snort, your laugh bubbling out before you can stop it. “Right? He probably read this shit and thought it was deep.”

“Fucking hell. Why would you want a dick? They’re ugly. Like, genuinely. As a bisexual dick haver, I can say, dicks are fucking horrendous.”

You dissolve into laughter, shaking your head.

“I’m serious, Angel,” he says, eyes wide and sincere, gesturing with one tattooed hand. “They look like sad flesh swords. That’s why we stick them in our mouths, less time to look at them.”

You’re giggling so hard your glasses slip again. “You’re awful.”

Felix nods solemnly. “Pussies? Pretty. Dare I say gorgeous? Dicks? Fucking disaster. I say this as someone who genuinely likes both. I am the true authority on this. I could stare at a pussy all day. Dicks? Either in my mouth or I’ve got the guy in doggy so I don’t have to see it.”

You wheeze with laughter, your hand coming up to cover your mouth. Felix grins, triumphant.

“I’m being so serious, Angel,” he continues. “I love dick. But it’s ugly. You’re pansexual. You get it. You’d rather look at a pussy than a fucking skin flute, right?”

You nod, barely able to get the words out between giggles. “I mean... yeah, you’re not wrong.”

Felix grins and reaches for you, tugging you gently into his lap. “Come here, smartass.”

You go willingly, folding into his lap as his arms wrap around your waist. Your book ends up somewhere on the floor, forgotten as he kisses you again, deeper this time. His tongue ring clinks softly against yours as his hands slide up your thighs, fingers dragging over the hem of your tartan sleep shorts, just beneath your ass. You whimper softly into the kiss, your fingers curling into his hair. He groans low against your mouth and pulls you closer, hips shifting beneath you.

Chan saunters into the living room, a massive bowl of popcorn tucked under one arm and a pair of neon green slippers on his feet and he’s shirtless too because apparently, Alpha Phi doesn’t believe in clothes on weekends. He drops onto the couch with a sigh, his legs sprawling out in front of him as he grabs the remote and turns up the movie slightly.

“Don’t stop on my account,” Chan says around a mouthful of popcorn, not even looking at you. “I’m just here for Emma Stone.”

Felix rolls his eyes. “You have no boundaries.”

Chan shrugs. “You knew that when you moved in.”

Felix huffs, still holding you in his lap, his lips grazing your shoulder. “Chan, you’re bisexual, right?”

“Yeah?” Chan says, grabbing a handful of popcorn and tossing it in his mouth.

“Back me up on this,” Felix says, pointing dramatically. “Pussies are nicer to look at than dicks.”

Chan considers this for a moment. “Yeah.”

You blink. “I agreed with you already!”

“Yeah, but you’d look at a dick that had been through a fucking blender and be like, ‘Nooo, it’s beautiful, I swear,’ just to spare the guy’s ego,” Felix says, poking your side.

Chan nods. “True. I was hooking up with this guy once, his dick was nasty. Like, full-on fucking swamp creature. Dirty as shit. I told him and he cried.”

Your mouth drops open in horror. “Chan! That’s so mean!”

“Mean is the throat infection I would’ve gotten from that dirty dick,” Chan says calmly.

Felix groans and slumps back against the cushions. “Mood gone. Thanks, Chan. Gimme the popcorn. You killed my fucking semi.”

Chan passes over the bowl, still watching the movie. “You’re welcome.”

You giggle into Felix’s neck, snuggling closer as the boys bicker over popcorn distribution.

Chan starts telling more of the story, completely unfazed. “No, listen, like, it wasn’t even just the dirt. I mean yeah, it was visibly dirty, like he hadn’t washed it since middle school PE class or something, but also it smelled. I got one whiff and I was like nope. Absolutely not. I told him to go shower and he said, ‘I did yesterday.’ Yesterday! I was like, what part of your daily hygiene routine lets you walk around with a dick that smells like expired cheese?!”

Felix shudders, tossing popcorn at Chan’s head. “Dude, stop. I’m begging.”

Chan laughs, catching a piece of popcorn in his mouth. “I’m just saying. You’ve got this idea that being honest is mean? Fuck that. If your genitals smell like a biohazard, you need someone to tell you.”

You shake your head, still laughing as you hide your face in Felix’s shoulder. “You guys are awful.”

Felix kisses your temple, sighing dramatically. “We were gonna have a nice makeout, Angel. Maybe even some heavy petting. Now all I can think about is swamp dick.”

Chan hums. “Happy to help.”

Jisung is pacing. The carpet in his bedroom is worn thin in a neat little path from his desk to the closet like the anxiety is slowly gnawing through the fibres just from the weight of his stress. His deep blue hair is wild, his shirt is rumpled, and his voice is bouncing off the walls like he’s been shot up with espresso and caffeine pills. It’s not even noon and he’s already sweating.

Minho lies sprawled on Jisung’s bed like he’s completely immune to the chaos erupting around him. One leg bent, arms folded behind his head, eyes half-lidded in that permanently unimpressed way that only Minho seems to have perfected. He doesn’t say anything yet. Just waits. Because he knows Jisung. Knows the rant is coming.

Jisung throws his arms up like he’s preaching to the ceiling. “I swear to fuck, I’m gonna explode, hyung. I’m gonna combust. I’m gonna fucking die, right here in this room with a boner and a broken heart and no one’s even gonna care.” He pauses dramatically, spinning on his heel. “Or they will care. But too late. ‘Oh no, our precious Jisung is dead from sheer unbridled horniness and unrequited love, whatever will we do?’”

Minho yawns. “You done?”

“No! Minho, I want to fuck them. Both of them. I wanna fucking top them into the mattress until none of us can walk straight. Y/N and Felix. At the same time. I want to ruin them.”

Minho raises a brow, still not moving from his comfy position. “You? Top both of them?”

“Yes.” Jisung’s pacing again, hands flailing wildly as he speaks. “Felix with that dumb little smirk and those nipple piercings and Y/N with her fuckin’ angel voice and her dumb soft giggles and her Ravenclaw socks and why the fuck are they so perfect?! I’d top both of them, no questions asked. Felix moaning my name while I finger Y/N, that's the goal, that's the dream. I want it. I crave it. I’m suffering.”

Minho snorts. “Felix would top you in two seconds, and you know it.”

Jisung whips around, affronted. “No way! No, absolutely not. I would top Felix.”

“You could top Y/N,” Minho says casually, picking at imaginary lint on his sleeve. “Sure. She's a sub. We all know she’s a sub. The whole fucking house hears it when they go at it. But Felix  would top you and make you his bitch.”

Jisung stops dead in the middle of the room, staring at the wall like he’s having an existential crisis. Then he nods slowly. “Yeah. Yeah, you’re right. I’d thank him for it. While I’m domming Y/N, Felix could just take me apart. And I’d be so fucking grateful.”

Minho smirks. “Knew it. Knew you were switchy.”

“Like a light switch, man,” Jisung says, pacing again, words tumbling from his mouth like a waterfall of chaotic, horny thoughts. “I’d dom Y/N so fucking hard, Minho. Like, make her cry from pleasure. I wanna say shit that makes her thighs shake. I wanna eat her out for hours, man. And then I wanna be on my knees for Felix, just completely ruined while he praises me and uses me.”

Minho blinks slowly. “You’re loud today.”

“I’m desperate!” Jisung practically yells. “Do you know how hard I get when I hear Felix talking filth to her through the wall? How much I want to be there, not just listening like some fucked-up voyeur ghost in the hallway? I cried while jerking off, Minho. Cried. Do you know how fucking tragic that is? You know what that does to a man’s pride?”

Minho looks vaguely amused. “No. You’ll have to tell me.”

“I was in the shower,” Jisung starts dramatically, eyes wide with memory, “trying not to wake up the entire house at 2 am, and I’m jerking it to the mental image of Y/N’s thighs shaking while Felix whispers in my ear about how good I make her feel. And I’m sobbing. Just one hand on my dick and the other covering my mouth so no one hears me crying over not being in a threesome relationship. That’s not even porn levels of pathetic, that’s Oscar-bait sad.”

Minho bursts into laughter, shaking his head. “You’re a fucking mess.”

“I’m a panicked bisexual!” Jisung declares, pointing at his chest like he’s testifying in court. “What do I do, Minho?”

“Tell them you like both of them,” Minho says like it’s the easiest thing in the world.

Jisung blinks. “That is the worst idea I’ve ever heard. Are you on crack? Be honest. I won’t judge you if you’re a crack addict. I’d just like the option to try it with you.”

Minho sighs loudly, flopping back down. “Dramatic. Extra. So fucking loud.”

Jisung is already pacing again, tugging at his hair. “I’m gonna die, I swear. I am so firmly planted in the friend zone it makes my balls ache. My dick is sending out distress signals, Minho. Like, real Morse code. Beep-beep, I want to be the meat in a Felix and Y/N sandwich, beep-beep, help me.”

“Just jerk off,” Minho says, eyes closed.

“I have!” Jisung shouts. “Four times this afternoon! Because Y/N and Felix decided to give the whole fucking house a loud-ass audio porn show! My dick is sore, bro! I can’t bust without the image of being balls-deep in Y/N while Felix is rimming me like a goddamn devoted king!”

Minho chokes on a laugh. “You’re insane.”

“I’m in love, Minho! And lust!” Jisung says dramatically, grabbing a pillow and squeezing it to his chest. “I want to date both of them. I wanna hold Y/N’s hand while Felix rests his head in my lap. I wanna take them on cute fucking dates and then rail them both in the same night. I jerk off every time I hear them having sex like some sad, horny ghost who just wants a boyfriend and a girlfriend to cuddle and destroy emotionally and physically.”

Minho just stares at him.

“And every time they smile at me, this guy-” Jisung gestures to his crotch, dead serious. “-salutes. Like he’s a fucking soldier. And my brain goes, ‘lick Felix’s nipple piercings. Find out if Y/N has a matching set. Do it now.’”

“Go to therapy,” Minho says flatly.

“Tried it!” Jisung yells. “Paid a whole ass woman to hear my issues, and you know what she said? ‘You should tell Y/N and Felix how you feel about them.’ So obviously I stopped paying her because that’s a terrible idea. I’m not telling my friends that I wanna be in a polyamorous relationship with both of them! Do I look like I have the confidence of someone who can say that and not immediately burst into flames?”

Minho shrugs. “You could literally just say it. Hey, I have a big crush on both of you and want to try polyamory. You down? What’s the worst that could happen?”

Jisung spins toward him, eyes wild. “Oh? Oh?! Well, let me tell you what the worst-case scenario is, Minho! Worst case, I confess. They both laugh in my face. Then they sit me down, very gently, and say, ‘Oh Jisung, we thought you were joking, because obviously, we’d never fuck someone so mentally unstable.’ Then I have to live in this house forever, knowing I was rejected by the two people I adore more than anything, and every time I pass their room I have to hear the sounds of Felix pounding Y/N into next week while my broken heart beats in my chest like a lonely kazoo.”

Minho snorts again. “Jesus. Anything else?”

“YES,” Jisung says without hesitation. “What if Juwon put them off polyamory forever? What if that small-dicked loser is the reason I never know happiness? What if I missed my chance because he was a possessive douchebag who ruined their ability to trust anyone else? I’ll have to kill him. Not like really kill him. But like, I don’t know, emotionally assassinate him. Seduce his dad. Ruin his taxes. Whatever it takes to erase any lingering doubt they have about being open to polyamory again.”

Minho’s eyes are wide now, blinking slowly. “You are so unwell.”

Jisung groans, flopping to the floor like he’s physically weighed down by his bisexual panic. “I know. I know. But I see them. I see Y/N with her soft eyes and her stupid cute outfits and the way she’s so kind to everyone. She’s like a fuckin’ Disney princess who knows how to take dick. And Felix with his piercings and his tattoos and his voice all low and growly when he talks about food. What the fuck am I supposed to do?!”

Minho sits up slightly. “You could just ask if they’d be open to something more.”

Jisung glares. “And what if they say no?”

“Then you move on, jerk off like a normal person, and stop crying in the shower,” Minho deadpans.

Jisung lies back on the floor, covering his face with his arm. “I’m gonna die a virgin. A virgin to threesome polyamorous bliss. I’m gonna have to marry someone boring and straight and emotionally unavailable because my one true fantasy is taken and probably thinks I’m a weirdo.”

“You are a weirdo,” Minho says.

“And yet you love me.”

Minho hums. “Unfortunately.”

Jisung sighs again, deep and dramatic. “Maybe I’ll just seduce them slowly. Like, ease my way into their lives. Bring Felix coffee when he’s cooking. Help Y/N with her notes. Plant the seeds. And then bam! One day we’re all naked in bed crying from how much we love each other.”

Minho rolls his eyes. “You are so dramatic.”

“And yet... you listen to every word,” Jisung says with a smug little smile, even from the floor.

“Because no one else will put up with you,” Minho replies, but he’s smiling too.

And Jisung, for all his panic and theatrics, feels just a little bit better. Only a little. But enough. For now.

The front door of the Alpha Phi frat house bangs open as you and Felix stumble in, arms full of grocery bags, laughing breathlessly as a gust of cool spring air follows you into the warmth of the house. Your shoulder bag slides down your arm, and Felix, with his black and red sneakers squeaking slightly on the wooden floor, kicks the door shut behind him with the back of his heel. His hair is half tied back, the loose strands brushing his cheekbones, and his piercings catch the light as he turns to you with a wide grin.

“Holy fuck,” he huffs, shifting a bag higher on his arm. “I swear the little ones at the home today were on fucking rocket fuel. Did you see the one who tried to ride me like a goddamn pony while screaming yeehaw? That kid’s gonna be a menace.”

 “He’s six and he has dreams, Felix. Maybe he’ll grow up to be a cowboy.”

“I’m just saying,” Felix says, trailing after you. “If he ends up in prison one day, it started today.”

You shoot him a soft smile over your shoulder, and he pretends to melt, staggering like he’s been shot. “Don’t look at me like that, Angel,” he groans. “My heart can’t take it. You’re too fucking cute. I’ll burn the croissants because I’m thinking about kissing you instead of timing the bake.”

“You’ll burn them if you don’t stop talking and help me unpack these groceries,” you tease, nudging him with your hip as you reach the counter.

Felix grins, setting down the bags, the red lettering on his long-sleeved black shirt bold against the fitted fabric. His cargo pants swish softly with each movement, pockets stuffed full of random cooking notes and god knows what else. He begins unloading ingredients quickly, gochujang, beef stock, Korean pear, butter, puff pastry, sesame oil. 

You’re in your pastel yellow cardigan and matching plaid mini skirt, your curls bouncing as you move, your delicate gold necklaces catching the light. Felix keeps sneaking glances at you like he can’t help himself, and when he pulls out the croissant dough with a dramatic flourish, you clap your hands and beam at him like he just performed magic. He looks smug and a little bit in love.

You're just about to start measuring the ingredients for the stew base when you hear it. Moaning. High-pitched and breathy, and distinctly pornographic.

You and Felix both freeze. His head tilts. Your brows knit together.

“What the actual fuck is that?” he asks slowly.

The sound gets louder. Moaning. Wet, obscene noises. The slap of skin on skin. You walk toward the living room together like you’re entering a crime scene. Felix rounds the corner first and you peek over his shoulder.

There, on the couch, is Jisung. Hair messy, hoodie bunched up around his ribs, legs thrown over the armrest. A woman is splayed across the TV screen, cheeks flushed, legs shaking, and a man is between them, thrusting in slow, graphic detail while the background music plays like some kind of fucked-up love ballad.

Jisung, to his credit, is not actively watching it. He’s half-asleep, eyes barely open, head lolling back against the cushion like he passed out in the middle of a binge. His mouth is slightly open, breathing steady, and he only seems to realize what’s happening when Felix lets out a strangled, “Ji?”

Jisung bolts upright like someone shot him with a taser. “WHAT THE FUCK-!”

He scrambles, hands flailing for the remote. His knee knocks over a cushion. He presses the wrong button and the moaning gets louder. Much louder. Now it’s full-volume audio porn. The woman on screen is screaming in Japanese, the man groaning like he’s in pain or ecstasy or both.

“Oh my fucking god!” Jisung shrieks, smashing the remote with both hands. “STOP! FUCKING STOP!”

The volume goes up again.

“CHANGBIN TOLD ME IT WAS A GOOD ANIME!” Jisung howls, fully panicked now as he gives up and lunges toward the TV, yanking the power cord straight out of the wall.

You press your fingers to your lips, shoulders shaking, trying so hard not to laugh. Felix just stands there, eyes wide, looking like he’s been spiritually attacked.

“What the actual fuck was that?” Felix finally asks.

Jisung straightens, running both hands through his hair, face flushed redder than a cherry tomato. “It’s called Amai Choubatsu, and Changbin said it was, I don’t know, steamy or whatever, but I wasn’t even watching, I swear! I was just- I dozed off, and it was on autoplay, and now I look like a fucking pervert-”

“You are a pervert,” Felix says, still staring at the blank screen.

“I was asleep!” Jisung yells. “Why the fuck was the volume button next to the power button, who designed this shitty ass remote?!”

You’re snorting now, laughing through your hand as Jisung paces in front of the TV, still rambling. “I’m gonna sue whoever made that remote. I’m gonna sue Changbin. That man fucking set me up. He knew exactly what he was doing, he’s been trying to get me into fucked up shit for months. This is a targeted attack. A full-on assassination of my dignity.”

Felix shakes his head, clearly trying not to laugh too. “You couldn’t have turned it off faster? You made it louder.”

“I PANICKED!” Jisung cries, flailing. “Do you know what it’s like to wake up to surround sound sex moans with an audience?! My soul left my body!”

You take pity on him, finally lowering your hand from your face, still giggling. “Do you want to come help us in the kitchen? Felix is doing a test run of his fusion dish. You can be the official taste-tester.”

Jisung perks up instantly, straightening his hoodie. “Yeah. Yes. Fuck yeah, let’s do that. Cooking. Taste-testing. Definitely better than whatever that was.” He shoots the TV a dirty look and bounds after you and Felix like a golden retriever who just got invited on a walk.

He’s still red in the face, but he bounces back fast, his embarrassment melting off him as he rolls up his sleeves and starts helping Felix unpack the rest of the ingredients. You direct him toward the mixing bowls, pointing out where the cutting boards are with a sweet smile that makes Jisung’s heart try to crawl up his throat.

Felix lets Jisung handle the puff pastry while he starts the bulgogi stew base on the stove. You’re measuring out sesame oil and rice wine, eyes focused and careful as you tilt the measuring spoon just so, completely unaware that Jisung is watching you and Felix like you’re the sun and he’s a half-frozen planet trying to warm himself.

“Smells fucking amazing,” Jisung says, leaning over Felix’s shoulder. “Holy shit, Lix, you gonna feed this to your professor and instantly get a fuckin’ Michelin star?”

Felix chuckles, stirring the pot. “Hopefully I’ll at least get a passing grade. But yeah, I submitted the bulgogi croissant idea, and I’ve got two months to perfect the recipe. Figured I’d start now and experiment.”

You smile, setting down the oil. “You’re gonna kill it. You’re already amazing, Felix. This dish is just the cherry on top.”

Felix leans over to kiss your cheek, warm and soft, and Jisung swallows hard, gripping the edge of the counter like it’s the only thing keeping him upright.

“You’re too good to me, Angel,” Felix murmurs. “I don’t deserve you.”

You giggle, reaching up to brush your fingers through his hair. “Yes, you do. Always.”

Jisung clears his throat loudly, trying to not feel like a third wheel while standing three feet from a public cuddling session. “So,” he says, voice just slightly higher than normal. “How do you put stew in a croissant without it turning into a fucking disaster?”

Felix grins, pulling away from you but still brushing his hand down your arm as he grabs the dough. “You make it thicker. Like a paste, almost. I’ll reduce it down and then cool it. Makes it easier to stuff.”

Jisung nods like he knows what that means. “Right. Thick stew. Got it. No leaky meat pockets.”

You laugh softly, and Jisung basks in the sound like he’s soaking up sunlight.

Jisung rolls out the dough while you brush the tops with egg wash. Felix tastes the stew and hums thoughtfully, adding a dash more gochugaru. You lean against Jisung’s side for a moment as you wait for the oven to preheat, and he practically vibrates under your touch. Felix reaches over to ruffle Jisung’s hair playfully, muttering something about him doing surprisingly decent for someone who can barely boil water, and Jisung is pretty sure he could die right then and be happy.

This. This is all he wants. Cooking with you and Felix, surrounded by laughter and warmth, the occasional teasing, the soft brushes of contact. You smile at him like he matters. Felix calls him a dumbass, but fondly. He feels like he belongs, and he wants more than anything to make this permanent.

So he throws himself into it, cracking jokes, licking a bit of sauce off his thumb with exaggerated flair that makes you giggle. He teases Felix about his meticulous plating and gets lightly smacked with a spatula. You compliment his croissant folding technique and he nearly blushes out of his skin.

He keeps thinking about what Minho said. About how he could just tell you both how he feels. How it might not be the end of the world. But for now, he keeps it to himself, because this soft, chaotic little kitchen moment is too good to risk ruining.

And if he falls a little deeper in love with both of you every time you laugh, well. That’s nobody’s problem but his.

Minho’s room smells like laundry detergent, citrus air freshener, and just a little bit like weed even though he swears he hasn’t smoked in two weeks. The overhead light is off, casting the room in the soft glow of the floor lamp in the corner and the television screen across from the bed, which currently plays a documentary on lion mating in the savannah with full, dramatic narration and too many close-ups of lion asses. Minho lounges shirtless in grey sweatpants, feet propped up on the edge of his mattress, arms folded behind his head like a relaxed but slightly amused deity.

Jisung, however, is not relaxed.

He’s pacing the length of the floor in Minho’s room, his wild blue hair tousled from nervous hand-tugging and his outfit consisting of nothing but black boxers covered in a proud, cartoonish dick-and-vagina print and bright yellow SpongeBob slippers that squeak slightly with every step.

“I think I’m ready,” Jisung says. “No more cowardice. No more hiding. Operation Make-Y/N-and-Felix-Fall-in-Love-With-Me is fucking go.”

“What changed? Last I heard, you were crying in the shower and claiming you were a cursed bisexual ghost.”

Jisung stops pacing, turning on his heel, shoulders squared. “They didn’t scream at me, Minho.”

Minho finally looks over at him, one brow raised. “Huh?”

“Yesterday,” Jisung says, pointing dramatically toward the door as if you and Felix are standing just outside. “I was half asleep, with porn anime playing, like full-onn big-titty anime chick getting railed, moaning echoing through the fucking house, and they walked in and didn’t scream ‘Burn the pervert!’ They didn’t even call me a creep. Y/N looked like she was gonna laugh and Felix just stared at the screen like he’d witnessed a murder, but they didn’t judge me. They pitied me. That’s affection-adjacent!”

Minho snorts. “So the bar is in the fucking Mariana Trench.”

“Shut the fuck up, I’m being vulnerable,” Jisung says, hand pressed to his chest like he’s about to deliver a Shakespearean monologue. “I think I have a real chance. But I need a plan. And you, my emotionally repressed but freakishly strategic best friend, are going to help me.”

Minho groans, dragging his hands down his face. “Fine. I’m in. But first of all, what porn anime was it? Just for, you know, research purposes.”

Jisung throws himself onto the bed like he’s been shot. “Some prison thing. Not even hot. My dick didn’t twitch. Like, the animation was weirdly glossy and the guy had these creepy dead eyes. And the woman kept saying weird shit about being someone’s property. I was like, girl, get some therapy. Changbin needs therapy too. He recommended that shit.”

Minho nods solemnly. “I always knew he was fucked.”

Jisung sits up suddenly, eyes bright. “Okay. First idea. I need to be shirtless at some point. My tits are my selling points. Big tits, tiny waist. That’s my brand. That’s the bait.”

Minho glances at Jisung’s chest, and yeah, okay, he’ll admit it, not out loud, but Jisung’s pecs are ridiculous. Stupidly perky. Almost offensively hot. They move when he talks. They bounce when he laughs. They’ve got more presence than half the people Minho’s dated.

Minho gets up, grabs the whiteboard from the corner of the room and slaps it down on his desk. “Fine. Let’s make a plan. You want to win over a poly couple, one of whom is a soft, submissive angel and the other is a pierced, tatted dom with a resting sex face. This is advanced shit.”

Jisung paces again, fingers snapping as ideas flow. “I need to come off hot but safe. Like, sexually competent but not a threat to their relationship. Flirty but respectful. Horny with boundaries. Like a bisexual golden retriever who also knows how to rail someone into the fucking floor.”

Minho uncaps a marker and writes Golden Retriever Whore Energy on the board.

“Perfect,” Jisung nods. “Okay. Cooking. I did good in the kitchen. I helped Felix, I was flirty but not obnoxious, and Y/N called me sweet. That’s like prime real estate. So I keep helping in the kitchen. Domesticity kink activated.”

Minho writes Domestic Sexy Helper = Green Flag.

“Also,” Jisung continues, “I accidentally flexed my forearms when I was folding the dough and I caught Felix looking. Like, just for a second. But it counts.”

“Could’ve been judging your technique,” Minho mutters.

“Let me have this,” Jisung says, pointing a threatening finger.

Minho shrugs and adds Forearm Porn to the board.

“Now,” Jisung says, clapping his hands, “what about timing? Should I start hanging out more casually when it’s just the two of them? Or should I wait until there’s a group thing and naturally drift closer?”

“Too many people and you’ll get drowned out. One-on-one is where you shine. You’re weird, but it’s endearing in small doses. Like those tiny spicy peppers that burn your whole mouth but you kinda like it.”

“Aw. That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

“It wasn’t a compliment,” Minho deadpans.

“Liar,” Jisung says, bouncing a little on his heels. “Okay, next step, physical touch. I already know they’re both affectionate. Y/N hugs everyone like she’s the goddamn sun incarnate. Felix touches people constantly. If I mirror that, then maybe they’ll associate me with comfort. And hotness.”

Minho scribbles Touch Starved Bisexual on the board.

Jisung nods solemnly. “Now we get to the advanced part.”

“Oh boy.”

“Sexual dynamics. We have to factor in bedroom logistics, because if this plan works, eventually we’re fucking. And I need to make sure it’s compatible.”

Minho exhales and flops back on the bed. “Alright, hit me with it.”

“Okay,” Jisung begins, pacing again like a professor presenting his thesis. “Y/N’s a sub. That’s not even up for debate. She gets flustered when Felix tells her she’s pretty in that voice. You know the one. Felix? Full dom. That man commands. His presence is like sexy gravity.”

Minho doesn’t disagree.

“Now me?” Jisung thumps his chest. “Switch. Certified. I can dom like a champ and beg like a pro. I contain multitudes. Which means I’m the perfect addition.”

“Let me see if I’m following. Y/N gets two doms. Felix gets two subs. You get both a sub and a dom.”

“Exactly!” Jisung exclaims. “It’s perfectly balanced, like a horny little triangle. Everyone’s needs are met. It’s like the sexual fucking Avengers.”

“You’re a lunatic.”

“I’m a genius,” Jisung counters. “Minho. Imagine it. I’m making Y/N fall apart under me while Felix is behind me calling me a good boy and pulling my hair"

Minho stares at him for a second too long, then looks back at the whiteboard. “You’ve thought about this a lot.”

“I’m emotionally invested,” Jisung says. “I want the relationship, not just the sex. I wanna wake up tangled between them. I wanna make them breakfast and kiss them both goodbye when they leave for class. I wanna hold their hands at the same time like a corny bitch.”

“You’re already a corny bitch.”

“Exactly! So I just need them to see it. To want it.”

“This plan is completely unhinged. But also weirdly coherent.”

Jisung grins. “That’s my brand.”

Minho nods, leaning back again. “Alright. Let’s make those bitches fall in love with you.”

“Fuck yeah,” Jisung says, eyes gleaming. “Operation Polyamorous Threesome Love Story is officially in motion.”

The note sits on the coffee table like it’s a live grenade with the pin barely hanging on. You’re curled up in Felix’s lap, your legs tucked to one side across the cushions of the frat house's overused living room couch, the soft weight of his arms around your waist grounding you. The light from the late afternoon sun spills through the big window, illuminating the little note like it’s daring you to touch it. Neither of you does.

You’ve been staring at it for five minutes now. Just sitting there, your back pressed against Felix’s chest, his heartbeat steady under your hand. The two of you haven’t said a word since you came in and found it sitting right there with your names written in neat, painfully familiar handwriting. Y/N & Felix in black ink. 

You can feel Felix tense behind you every time he blinks at it. His hand is clenched against your hip, knuckles whitening just slightly beneath the denim sleeve of his oversized jacket. You’re in a soft pastel green outfit today, your mini skirt perfectly pleated, your cardigan buttoned just enough to be modest but cropped enough to be cute, and your little white headband pushing your curls away from your face. You look like spring incarnate. But there’s a twist of anxiety in your stomach, a tightening that refuses to go away. A silence that says too much.

Felix sighs through his nose. “We could burn it.”

“We don’t even know what it says yet.”

“That’s what makes it worse.”

You both flinch when the living room door creaks open and Jisung strolls in, hair messy, hoodie halfway zipped, and a half-eaten rice ball in his hand. His eyes immediately zero in on the note like a heat-seeking missile. “Oh,” he says, mouth still full. “That’s addressed to both of you. You gonna open it or just keep doing the human statue thing?”

Felix doesn’t move and you stay quiet, lips pressed together.

Jisung blinks, then shrugs. “Shall I open it then?” he offers, already moving closer.

You nod before you can stop yourself. A small, unsure thing. Jisung snatches the note, tears the top open with his teeth like a raccoon in a vending machine, and pulls out the single folded sheet inside. He unfolds it with dramatic flair, eyes scanning rapidly.

“Oh,” he says, tone immediately dropping. “It’s from... uh. He Who Must Not Be Named.”

Your breath hitches slightly, but you don’t interrupt.

Jisung keeps reading. “He says he’s been to therapy. Says he’s been working on himself. Wants to reconcile. Apologize. Claims he’s gotten better.”

Felix’s arms tighten around your waist like a vice.

You glance back at him, your eyes meeting his. He looks... tired. Not angry. Not upset. Just that bone-deep weariness that only comes from someone reopening a wound they swore had already healed.

Felix takes a deep breath. “If he’s changed, we should hear him out.”

You hesitate. Then nod once.

Jisung makes a noise that can only be described as a cross between a dying cat and a smoke alarm. “No. No. No no no, fuck this. Intervention time.”

Felix sighs, already regretting everything.

“CHAN! MINHO! GET IN HERE! ACTUALLY, ALL OF YOU GET IN HERE!” 

Chan is the first to stumble in, a protein bar in one hand. “What the fuck, Jisung?”

Minho follows, t-shirt wrinkled, glasses slightly crooked like he’d been asleep five minutes ago. “If someone isn’t bleeding, I swear to god-”

Changbin barrels in shirtless and sweating, headphones hanging off his neck. “I was in the middle of a set! Who’s dead?!”

Hyunjin floats in like a storm cloud, dramatic and intense in an oversized silk robe. “If this is about Jeongin using my toner again, I will literally-”

Jeongin stomps in after him. “It was one time!”

Seungmin arrives last, holding a lighter. “I was gonna make nachos. If you pulled me away for nothing, I’m burning the house down with this lighter.”

Jisung turns to face the crowd like he’s a defence attorney delivering the final speech of his career. “We are on the verge of catastrophe.”

Minho groans. “What now?”

“It’s from Juwon,” Jisung says dramatically. “He’s been to therapy. He wants to reconcile. He’s trying to come back.”

“ABSOLUTELY THE FUCK NOT,” 

“I WILL BREAK HIS LEGS,” 

“I WILL SLIT MY WRISTS IN PROTEST. I WILL PAINT THE WALLS IN MY BLOOD.”

Minho pinches the bridge of his nose. “You two aren’t seriously considering seeing him again, right?” he says, looking between you and Felix like you’ve both lost your minds.

You sit up a little, feeling your throat tighten. “He said he’s been to therapy... he might’ve changed.”

“He won’t have,” Seungmin says flatly. “People like him don’t change. They pretend. Then they do it again.”

“Are we forgetting the time he made both of you cry in public just because he was feeling insecure?!”

“I hit that fucker with a frying pan!” Changbin adds. “A cast iron frying pan!”

“And I poured vodka all over him,” Hyunjin mutters with a dreamy look in his eyes. “Like holy water for assholes.”

“Seungmin tried to light him on fire!” Jeongin cackles.

“I fucking would’ve. If Chan hadn’t stopped me.”

“I WAS DOING DAMAGE CONTROL!”

“And Minho was holding you both like you were baby ducks,” Jisung says, gesturing at you and Felix. “He was trying to keep you safe while the rest of us were ready to commit crimes.”

Minho’s expression is stony. “I remember how you were sobbing. Both of you. Curled up in that corner while he yelled at you in front of everyone. And then had the nerve to act like it was your fault.”

“He made you stop hugging us,” Hyunjin snaps. “You both flinched when we touched you.”

“He made you cry, and he liked it,” Chan says, jaw clenched. “That’s not someone who gets a second chance.”

You glance at Felix again, your fingers laced with his, both of your grips tight.

Then Felix takes a shaky breath and nods. “Okay. We won’t see him.”

“THANK FUCK,” 

“I WILL NOT PAINT THE WALLS,” Hyunjin declares.

Chan sighs in relief, flopping onto the couch. “Thank god. I really didn’t wanna pretend to like him again.”

“Same,” Jeongin mutters. “I nearly dislocated my jaw fake smiling at him for three months.”

“Come with me,” Minho says suddenly. Everyone freezes as he steps forward, expression unreadable, shoulders squared with the kind of energy that usually precedes something unhinged. 

Minho grabs the note from the table without waiting for permission, holding it between two fingers like it’s covered in disease, and marches toward the back of the frat house. The rest of you follow like ducklings.

The air outside is cool and crisp, the back garden bathed in gold from the late afternoon sun and Minho stops in the middle of the yard, turns to face everyone, holding the note aloft like he’s about to cast a fucking spell.

“Now, I piss on this piece of emotional terrorism.”

“What-” Hyunjin starts, but it’s too late.

Minho tosses the note dramatically onto the grass like it insulted his ancestors, and then, without an ounce of shame or hesitation, hooks his fingers into the waistband of his sweatpants and boxers and drops them straight to his ankles.

“NO FUCKING WAY,” 

“MINHO!” 

“Oh my god,” you gasp, choking on your laughter.

Minho doesn’t care. Minho is already pissing. He aims directly at the note, hips swaying side to side as a powerful stream arcs through the air and soaks the paper completely.

“Oh my fucking god, he’s actually doing it!"

Jisung makes a noise somewhere between a sob and a bark, doubling over as he laughs so hard he’s crying. “THIS IS ART! THIS IS MODERN FUCKING ART!”

You drop to your knees in the grass, face buried in your hands as you shake with silent laughter, tears streaming down your cheeks. Your skirt rides up slightly but you don’t care, you’re too far gone. You feel like your lungs might collapse, like you’ll never stop laughing. Minho’s straight-faced concentration as he pisses on the note is the most unhinged shit you’ve ever seen in your life.

Hyunjin has collapsed half onto Changbin, using his shoulder as a support while wheezing so hard it sounds like he’s been stabbed. “He’s moving his hips,” he gasps. “He’s doing a little fucking piss dance.”

“I can’t fucking breathe,” Jeongin says, clinging to Seungmin’s arm for dear life.

“I hate all of you,” Seungmin says, eyes wide but laughing anyway.

“You’re all lucky I have human decency and didn’t shit on it in front of you.”

“Oh my fucking god,” Felix gasps, half-laughing, half-shrieking as he clutches his stomach.

“I swear to go, if I see Juwon,” Minho continues, deadpan as his stream finally starts to slow, “I will piss on him too.”

“HE'S STILL GOING,” Changbin wheezes, holding onto Hyunjin for balance.

“I’ve had a lot of coffee today. Like, two iced americanos and a latte. This is not a short piss.”

You fall forward from your crouch, laughter tearing through you so hard you nearly faceplant into the grass. Felix falls next to you, pulling you into his arms as you both laugh, practically vibrating with the force of it. 

Minho finally finishes and gives himself a shake like a fucking golden retriever, pulling up his boxers and sweatpants like this was the most casual act of his life.

He looks around at the group of grown-ass human beings all collapsed in various piles of hysterical laughter and nods once. “Let that be a message to all emotionally manipulative exes.”

“You’re a fucking hero,” 

“I’d name my firstborn after you if I didn’t think you’d corrupt the kid,” 

“Minho pisses on the patriarchy,"

Felix leans in to whisper against your ear, voice rough with laughter. “We made the right call.”

“We really fucking did.”

Over the next week, Jisung starts showing up wherever you and Felix happen to be, like a friendly little parasite that’s decided the best way to preserve your happiness is to latch on and never let go. At least, that’s the narrative he’s sold you and Felix, and honestly, you both believe it. After all, he’s Jisung. He talks fast, he talks loud, and his devotion to his friends is so intense and sincere that no one ever really questions it.

He claims he’s there to prevent psychological sabotage from the emotional terrorist known as Juwon, and the first time he says it, Felix actually laughs so hard he drops the whisk he’s using into the mixing bowl. You giggle, perched on the counter with your legs swinging while Felix preps a fresh batch of his bulgogi jjigae croissants, and Jisung’s heart does a fucking somersault in his chest.

“Listen,” Jisung says, “I’m just saying, both of you are emotionally vulnerable right now. I need to be your emotional chastity belt.”

Felix snorts. “You’re so full of shit.”

You tilt your head at Jisung, amused. “So you’re, like, guarding our brains?”

“And hearts. Mostly hearts. But also your vibe, which is very soft and cute and must be protected at all costs.”

You press your hand to your chest and flutter your lashes. “You’re so sweet.”

Jisung’s face goes a little pink, but he masks it with a gulp of soda and a muttered, “Yeah, well, I’m amazing.”

Minho told him to play it cool. "Just be there," he’d said. "You’re already halfway in the door, idiot. Just don’t kick it down by being insane."

But Jisung is not cool. Not when Felix calls you Angel and brushes a kiss to your temple without even thinking. Not when you lean over and poke at Felix’s arm tattoos while asking about the new filling ratio in the croissant dough. Not when the kitchen smells like love and trust and sex and baked goods and he’s standing on the edge of it all, trying to convince himself this is enough.

He keeps telling Minho it’s working. That he’s slowly infiltrating your heart. That your smile lingers longer on him now, that you laugh more freely, that maybe you’re seeing him as something more than the slightly chaotic best friend. He tells Minho that Felix is definitely noticing him. That Felix’s hands linger on his back when he passes behind him at the stove. That Felix teases him more. That the three of you are syncing like a fucking polyamorous power trio.

Minho doesn’t even try to hide his smirk when he says, “Or maybe you’re feeding your own delusions like a starving raccoon.”

Jisung throws a pillow at him and keeps dreaming.

He learns your class schedule under the guise of tactical protection, meets you at the student cafe with lattes he claims were on sale, and starts quizzing you casually about psych theories. You’re studying Erikson’s stages of psychosocial development for your childhood psych minor, and Jisung manages to tie it into criminal psychology like a nerdy magician.

“So basically,” he says one afternoon as the three of you sit on the front porch steps, “if a kid doesn’t get their basic trust developed in infancy, they’re gonna have way more issues later when it comes to intimacy, which is, like, textbook setup for criminal behaviour.”

You nod thoughtfully, eyes shining. “And it loops into autonomy versus shame too. Like, if they don’t build autonomy at the toddler stage, they’ll always rely on others to determine their sense of self, which ties into identity issues during adolescence.”

Felix looks up from his sketchpad, blinking. “Are you two having a sexy nerd moment right now?”

Jisung grins. “Maybe.”

You laugh, warm and genuine. “You can join if you want.”

Felix snorts. “Nah, I’ll leave you to your kink.”

Jisung pretends he’s not getting hard at the idea of a psychology-themed threesome.

The croissant testing continues almost every day. Felix has now adjusted the dough-to-filling ratio three times, added caramelized onions in one batch, and experimented with gochujang paste-glazed puff in another. You and Jisung are the designated guinea pigs, and you take the job seriously. You sit together at the counter with matching mugs, giving detailed feedback while Felix watches like he’s being graded.

“I like the sweetness of the onions here,” you say thoughtfully, licking your fingers. “But the stew’s a little too wet. It’s bleeding through.”

“Agreed,” Jisung says, mouth full. “But also, holy fuck. If I ever got railed after eating one of these, I think I’d ascend.”

Felix just laughs, brushing flour off his pants. “I’ll put that on my Yelp reviews.”

Jisung doesn’t know how he’s supposed to keep it together when Felix says shit like that while looking like that, inked and pierced and covered in flour, all soft laughs and lethal eyes. And then there’s you, sweet and golden and smiling at them both like you’ve never known cruelty, like you’re built from spring and honey.

It’s fine. He’s fine. Until Tuesday.

The day starts like any other. Croissants in the oven, Jisung perched on the counter like a gremlin, you leaning against Felix as you whisper something in his ear and giggle. Felix makes some dumb joke and Jisung throws a spatula at him. Normal shit.

The croissants come out piping hot and steaming, and Jisung’s already grabbing one before it cools, blowing on it dramatically while mumbling something about risking third-degree burns for flaky food.

He bites in and groans. “Okay, okay, this is the best one yet. Holy fuck, Felix, this one hits. The beef is more savoury, and the texture’s perfect.”

There’s a smear of bulgogi sauce at the corner of his mouth, and he licks his lips, but he misses it. Felix steps forward, reaches out, and with the softest, most casual motion in the universe, wipes it away with the pad of his thumb. And then Felix fucking sucks his own thumb clean.

Jisung short circuits. He stands there, croissant in hand, eyes wide and jaw slack, as Felix turns away to grab something from the counter like he didn’t just casually fry Jisung’s brain.

You blink at Jisung. “You okay?”

“Uh-huh.”

He makes it through fifteen more minutes. Fifteen excruciating minutes of pretending he’s normal, of acting like he didn’t just have a sexual awakening from one goddamn thumb.

The moment you and Felix leave to grab some more ingredients from the market, Jisung bolts upstairs like he’s been launched out of a cannon. He doesn’t knock when he storms into Minho’s room. He never knocks, which is a problem today. Because Minho is under his covers, shirt off, hand down his pants, clearly mid-stroke and looking very much in the zone.

“FUCK! Get out!” 

“NO TIME,” Jisung shouts, throwing himself onto Minho’s bed like a deranged gremlin. “MINHO. I NEED TO FUCK Y/N AND BE FUCKED BY FELIX RIGHT FUCKING NOW.”

“Can I just jerk off in peace once this month? Please?”

“NO. THIS IS AN EMERGENCY.”

Minho sighs the sigh of a man who has known nothing but suffering and dramatic bisexuals. He flops onto his side, abandoning his hard-on, and pulls the blanket up to his chest. “Do I need to stroke your hair again?”

“Yes. Please.”

Minho rolls his eyes but reaches out anyway, threading his fingers through Jisung’s hair with long, slow strokes. “Alright. Let it out.”

“I need to dom Y/N until she cries while I suck on Felix’s fingers. Minho. He wiped sauce off my mouth and then licked his thumb. I almost came in my fucking pants. That’s not fair. That’s a war crime. You don’t just do that to a person!”

“Mmm.”

“Felix has got these hands, right? Like veiny, tattooed, perfect dom hands. I want them everywhere. I want them around my throat, I want them on my hips, I want them inside me. Y/N looked at me with those sweet eyes and I was like, I’d literally pay her tuition, I’d buy her a pony, I’d kill a man for her. I’d raise a baby with her and Felix and go to PTA meetings and bake fucking cookies.”

“You sound stable,” Minho says flatly.

“I’m not,”

Minho just keeps stroking his hair as Jisung melts into it like he’s a cat getting scratched behind the ears.

“I’m gonna die,” Jisung murmurs. “Die horny. Die in love. Die with un-sucked nipples and a heart full of yearning.”

“Poetic,” Minho mutters.

Jisung sighs deeply. “Tell my story.”

Minho just rolls his eyes. “You’re not dying. You’re in love with your friends, and it sucks, but you’re surviving. Just keep taste-testing the croissants and pretending you’re normal.”

Jisung groans. “Pretending is exhausting.”

“Yeah, well,” Minho says, shifting under the covers, “so is jerking off to the thought of a threesome that hasn’t happened. Welcome to the club.”

Jisung lifts his head. “Wait, you-”

Minho cuts him off with a glare. “Don’t. You’ll ruin the moment.”

Jisung drops his head again, comforted by the hand in his hair and the low hum of Minho’s voice. For now, it’s enough. Barely. But enough.

Jisung is flat on his back, eyes wide open and staring at the ceiling like it’s going to bless him with divine intervention. His comforter is pulled halfway up to his chest, his knees are bent, and his fists are clenched at his sides like he’s bracing for an earthquake. Except the earthquake is coming from the other side of the fucking wall. Because Felix’s room is right next to his, and you and Felix are currently fucking with the enthusiasm of a couple auditioning for a porno with an emotional subplot.

He has his pillow over his head, earbuds shoved into his ears, and he’s muttering to himself like a man on the verge. “No, no, no, think of nasty shit, come on, think of... feet. Dirty feet. Athlete’s foot. Fungus. Come on, Jisung, be strong.”

But his dick does not care about foot fungus. His dick cares about the soft moans slipping through the wall like they’re aimed directly at him, about the low, guttural growl of Felix’s voice, about the sweet little whimpers he hears from you that sound like you’re being ruined and loving it. 

And then, through the fucked-up miracle of paper-thin frat house walls and bad insulation, he hears something that makes his whole body seize.

“Fuck,” Felix’s voice drips through the drywall, husky and slow, “can you imagine if Jisung was in here with us?”

“What-” you gasp, breathy and high, “-you think he’d like it?”

Felix laughs, low and dark. “He’d love it. He’d fuck you so good, Angel. He’d top you like he’s been dying to. And I’d take him from behind, slow and deep, make him moan.”

“You think he’d let you?”

“Bet he’d beg for it,” Felix murmurs, voice thick with lust. “Beg me to keep going while he wrecks you.”

“Oh my god,” Jisung whispers, eyes the size of dinner plates. His body goes stiff, and his dick stands to full fucking attention with the urgency of a fire drill.

He has to leave. He has to leave right now. 

Waddling shamefully out of his room like a penguin in heat, Jisung uses both hands to cup his crotch, like a cartoon character. He makes it to Minho’s room in record time, knocks once with his foot, and then just barges in because dignity is long dead.

Minho, already propped up in bed reading something on his iPad, doesn’t even flinch. “Come cuddle, sad baby,” he says flatly, lifting the edge of the duvet like this is just another Tuesday night where Jisung needs affection because his feelings are louder than his common sense.

But then his head turns and he sees the way Jisung is standing, legs awkward, hunched posture, hands cupping his crotch, and Minho blinks slowly.

“Wait! Hands in the air, you little goblin. Hands up right the fuck now.”

“What?!” 

“You heard me,” Minho barks. “Hands. The fuck. Up.”

Jisung, face bright red and eyes wide in panic, lifts his hands like he’s being arrested. His boxers tent comically, the front obscenely prominent. He stands in the centre of Minho’s room like a deer caught in headlights, half expecting to be shot or baptized.

Minho stares. Stares longer. His jaw drops. 

“Where the fuck have you been hiding that?!”

“Don’t make this a thing,” 

Minho is already pointing. “That’s why you’re short! Your height is in your cock!”

“MINHO-”

“Forget everything nice I ever said about your stupid hair or your pretty eyes,” Minho continues, sitting up now. “That third leg is your selling point. Jisung, what the fuck? Does it not get heavy?!”

“Can we not-”

“You have a monster cock and you never told me?! Me! Your best friend! Is this why you never get naked in the locker room?! Is that why you change behind a fucking towel?! You afraid of taking someone’s eye out or tripping someone over with that python?!”

“Please stop talking about my dick like it’s a registered weapon.”

“It should be!” Minho shouts. “You should have a license! There are elephants with less to deal with!”

“MINHO.”

“I feel betrayed.”

“I panicked!” Jisung cries. “Do you know what I just heard through the wall?! They—Felix and Y/N, they were fucking and talking about me!”

Minho pauses mid-rant. “What?”

Jisung starts pacing, hands still hovering near his crotch. “They said they wanted me to join. Felix said I’d top Y/N and he’d fuck me at the same time. And Y/N sounded like she was into it! I was just trying to sleep and suddenly I’m the fucking guest star in their nightly sexcapade!”

Minho’s expression flickers between confusion, intrigue, and thinly veiled amusement. “So what you’re telling me is your crush might not be as one-sided as you thought?”

“I don’t know,” Jisung says, collapsing into Minho’s chair, legs spread like he’s given up. “Maybe they were just dirty talking. Maybe they meant nothing by it. Maybe it was just some fantasy bullshit and I’m projecting. Or maybe it was about me and now I have a fucking boner that won’t go away and I want to cry and also cum and also crawl into a hole and die.”

“So basically business as usual.”

“Shut up.”

“Come here, penis monster,” Minho sighs, scooting over and patting the mattress. “Just don’t poke me with your fucking divining rod, alright?”

Jisung grumbles but crawls under the blanket, still hard and ashamed, curling into Minho’s side like the world’s most tragic cuddle bug. Minho wraps an arm around his shoulders and hums. 

“You smell like desperation and confusion.”

“I smell like love and sadness.”

Minho’s hand rubs soothing circles over his arm. “Same thing.”

And as Jisung lies there, painfully hard, emotionally overwhelmed, and clinging to the only person who knows all his fucked-up secrets, he wonders if maybe he’s not as alone in this as he thought.

The scent of kimchi and sizzling beef fills the frat house like a wake-up call from the gods, the windows are cracked open just enough to let in the early morning air, still cool from last night’s breeze. 

You sit at the counter on your usual stool, cradling a hot mug of coffee in your hands like it’s the most precious thing in the world. Your hair is piled on top of your head in a lazy updo, loose strands falling around your face as the steam from your drink curls around your cheeks.

Your crisp, blue pinstripe shirt clings to you just right, unbuttoned to that perfect spot where your cleavage draws attention without effort. Paired with a sleek, high-waisted white mini skirt and delicate white ankle socks, you’re a vision of calm elegance, totally at odds with the chaotic house around you. Your butterfly hairpin glints in the morning sun and your gold hoop earrings catch the light every time you shift your head slightly.

Felix is at the stove, humming to himself, half-dancing in place as he flips kimchi pancakes with the confidence of someone who’s mastered the art of multitasking. He’s wearing one of your favourite looks on him, an open red plaid flannel shirt over a tight black tank top that hugs his frame like a lover, light-wash jeans full of rips and frays that show off the smooth stretch of his thighs, a black belt with subtle metal detailing, and those absurdly fluffy black socks you bought for him in the winter that he now wears religiously.

His hair is half-up in a messy little bun that you helped tie earlier with one of your scrunchies, and the rest of his hair falls around his shoulders in inky waves. He looks entirely too good for someone making breakfast at 8:42 in the morning.

You sip your coffee, watching the pancake flip in slow motion and then Jisung shuffles in like the ghost of horny chaos past.

He pauses in the doorway, barefoot and bleary-eyed in a pair of mismatched sweats and a hoodie that’s falling off one shoulder. He stares at the two of you, Felix glowing golden over the stove, you sipping coffee in all your soft, pin-up sweetness and he nearly turns back around to go straight back to bed.

But he doesn’t. Because he’s an idiot. And he’s also whipped.

Felix smirks when he catches sight of him. “Morning, Ji.”

You glance over, smiling gently. “You look like you haven’t slept.”

“I haven’t,” Jisung croaks, voice rough. “I made some bad choices.”

Felix raises a brow but doesn’t push. He plates the last of the pancakes and nods toward the counter. “Come help me dish everything up. I made kimchi pancakes, jjigae, and eggs. Feeding the masses.”

Jisung pads in slowly, dragging his feet as he moves to stand beside Felix. “Feeding the masses or trying to seduce the entire house with food?”

Felix grins, sliding him a pair of tongs. “Can’t it be both?”

They start plating in silence, the comfortable kind. Jisung tries not to look at Felix’s hands but it’s impossible. They’re everywhere, moving over the counter, flipping pancakes onto plates, brushing against his own every time they reach for the same serving spoon. The touches are soft, lingering a fraction longer than necessary. Jisung doesn’t say anything, doesn’t even breathe too loud, afraid to shatter the moment.

He’s halfway through arranging pancakes on a tray when Felix glances over at you. “Angel, can you go wake the guys up? If I try, they’ll throw something at me.”

You nod, setting your coffee down and stretching lazily, exposing just a hint more skin beneath your shirt. “They won’t yell at me. I’ll go be nice.”

Jisung watches you walk out of the kitchen, your skirt swaying, your steps light, and then turns back to the counter only to find Felix staring at him like a cat with a canary between its teeth.

“Didn’t hear you whining last night,” Felix says casually, stirring the jjigae. “Kinda missed it.”

Jisung freezes. “What?”

Felix’s smile widens. “Usually we can count on a backtrack. Little background vocals of you jerking off while we fuck. But not last night.”

Jisung’s heart tries to escape his chest. “I- I- Fuck, how do you-?”

Felix shrugs like it’s nothing. “Thought you were more obvious, honestly. We can hear you. And you’re not exactly quiet.”

Jisung gulps, throat dry. “Fuck, I-”

“What?” Felix asks innocently, dragging his spoon through the pot. “Thought we didn’t know about your big crush on us?”

Jisung stares at him, mouth slightly open, and Felix just tilts his head. “What changed?”

“I went to Minho’s room.”

Felix laughs softly, shaking his head. “Sad, really. We even started talking about you last night, hoping you’d start making noise. We were getting bored.”

Jisung blinks rapidly, blood rushing south like it’s got a mission, and Felix’s gaze dips down meaningfully.

“Careful,” Felix murmurs. “Might want to tuck that into your waistband. Or whip it out. I wouldn’t complain.”

Jisung makes a sound that can only be described as a strangled scream and immediately drops to the kitchen floor, face down like he’s trying to merge with the tile.

“I need to lie down,” 

Felix leans down, grinning. “Gonna ask Minho for advice later?”

Jisung nods silently, still face-planted against the floor.

Felix coos. “Poor baby.”

“I hate you,” Jisung mumbles, voice muffled.

“No you don’t,” Felix says sweetly. “You want to fuck me and Y/N.”

Jisung groans louder, kicking his feet against the tile like a toddler having a meltdown. “Fuck you, fuck this kitchen, fuck everything.”

The moment breakfast is over, the second the last kimchi pancake has been devoured and the kitchen cleared with everyone staggering off in various directions, Jisung grabs Minho by the wrist and practically drags him through the house like a man possessed. Minho doesn’t even have time to protest, just gets yanked up the stairs and shoved into his own room, the door slamming behind them.

Jisung is breathing heavily, eyes wide, hands flailing as he spins around to face his best friend like he’s about to deliver news of the apocalypse.

Minho stares at him flatly. “You’re being weird.”

“Oh my fucking god, Minho,” Jisung says, bouncing on his heels. “It’s happening.”

“What’s happening?”

“They- Felix- He knows. He fucking knows and he said something in the kitchen and I think I died, like, actually died and now I’m in queer horny purgatory and this is hell and heaven all at once.”

Minho blinks slowly. “You’re gonna have to use actual words.”

“Felix said he knew I’ve been jerking it to him and Y/N,” Jisung blurts. “He said he knows, and that they were talking about me last night on purpose, and that they wanted me to hear it, and he smirked, Minho. He smirked. Like he meant it.”

Minho stares, stunned into silence for a long beat. Then, slowly, incredulously, “So… let me get this straight. They wanted you to hear them talking about how much they want you. How much they want to fuck you and instead of joining in or walking in there or literally saying anything, you ran here? To me?!”

“Yes. I panicked. I came to you.”

“What is wrong with you?!”

“So fucking much!” Jisung wails, pacing again. “My brain short-circuited, Minho! My dick was out of commission. It was like being horny and terrified and in love all at once and also Felix was teasing me and I just- I melted! I melted into the floor!”

Minho groans. “Ji, they want you. They want you bad.”

“I know! What do I do?!”

Minho rolls his eyes like he’s in the presence of a complete dumbass. “What do you do? You fuck them, obviously!”

“I can’t just-”

“You can and you should,” Minho interrupts. “You’ve been crying about this for months, crawling into my bed, sobbing about how you want to top Y/N and be fucked by Felix. Now they’re literally asking for it. They’re handing it to you on a platter. You’re the only one cockblocking yourself!”

Jisung opens his mouth to argue, but the sound of the doorbell cuts him off. Then your voice floats up from downstairs, light and sweet.

“Minho? Can you look out your window, please?”

Then Felix. “Now, Min! Look now!”

Minho frowns, already striding across the room to his window. He throws it open and pokes his head out, the late morning sun streaming in and casting a golden glow across his face and then he goes completely still.

Jisung joins him, brow furrowed, and the moment he leans out the window beside Minho, his stomach lurches.

Juwon.

Standing right there on the front step, holding a massive bouquet of what looks like white roses and baby’s breath, speaking to you and Felix like he’s in the middle of a drama redemption arc. His hair is too perfect, his outfit meticulously put together, and the self-pity practically oozing from his voice makes Jisung recoil.

“I just... I never heard back from you,” Juwon is saying, holding the flowers out like an offering. “You didn’t reply to the letter, and it’s really affected my recovery. I’ve been working on myself, doing therapy, trying to change, but I needed closure. And I think maybe, if we could talk-”

Minho’s eye twitches. “Oh fuck no.”

Jisung’s mouth falls open. “Is he seriously-?”

“I said I’d piss on him.”

“What- Minho-”

Minho yanks his sweatpants and boxers straight to his ankles in one swift motion, strides right back to the window, and without a second’s hesitation, lets it rip. A golden arc of vengeance rains down from the second-story window, and Juwon yelps, stumbling back as the stream splashes across his shoulders and chest.

“WHAT THE FUCK?!” 

Felix claps a hand over his mouth, shaking with silent laughter. You bite your knuckle as you try and fail not to burst out giggling.

Minho’s voice rings out from the window, gleeful and proud. “FUCK YOU, YOU MANIPULATIVE PRICK!”

From the window next to Minho’s, Changbin’s head pops out, eyes wide with glee. “IS IT GO TIME?”

Chan’s head appears a second later. “FUCK YEAH IT’S GO TIME!”

Hyunjin’s head joins them, already holding an egg. “Say the word.”

“FIRE!” Minho bellows.

Eggs start flying out the window. One hits Juwon square in the shoulder, another explodes at his feet, yolk splattering his expensive shoes. He stumbles and flails, trying to dodge as the barrage continues.

“YOU SHIT-STAINED LOSER!”

“FUCK YOUUUUUU!” 

Chan throws an egg with perfect quarterback aim. It nails Juwon in the chest.

Downstairs, Jeongin and Seungmin have joined the party from the living room. Their window slides open and Jeongin leans halfway out, cupping his hands around his mouth.

“YOU GOTTA BE BRAIN DEAD TO SHOW YOUR FACE HERE!”

“GET THE FUCK OFF OUR PROPERTY, YOU WET MOP OF A MAN!”

“SEE THIS? THIS IS WHAT A BIG DICK LOOKS LIKE!”

Chan loses it. “OH MY GOD.”

Minho keeps going. “FELIX AND Y/N TOLD ME ALL ABOUT YOUR TINY TWO-INCHER!”

A massive whoop goes up from every window. Jeongin howls. Seungmin nearly falls out of the living room. Changbin is wheezing. Chan is crying with laughter.

Juwon, completely humiliated and covered in egg, piss, and verbal abuse, finally stumbles back off the porch and bolts down the walkway like his ass is on fire.

The moment he’s gone, the boys collapse into cackles. You’re still standing in the doorway with Felix, eyes glistening from laughter, hands clapped over your mouths.

Jisung, still stunned beside Minho, finally breathes out. “That was the most beautiful fucking thing I’ve ever seen.”

Minho, finally shaking himself off and pulling his pants up, turns to Jisung. “Now go fuck your couple before I start peeing on you too.”

The living room glows with the soft, warm hue of the floor lamp in the corner, casting gentle light across the space. Felix is already sprawled across the couch in black sweatpants, shirtless, tattoos in full display and glinting slightly with the soft light. His shoulder-length hair is half-tied, the ends curling over his chest and collarbones. His piercings catch the light when he tilts his head, eyes locked on the opening credits of Mary Poppins playing across the flat screen. 

You’re curled beside him, legs tucked underneath you, dressed in a pale pink silk nightgown that stops mid-thigh. It clings to your curves and catches the light in that way that makes Felix look over at you every few seconds, smirking a little each time.

You’ve got a blanket over your lap, a bowl of popcorn balanced between your knees, and your eyes are soft, a little sleepy, completely content. The familiar music plays low in the background as you sip from a mug of chamomile tea and lean your head against Felix’s shoulder, humming quietly along with the opening score. The air is peaceful, calm in the way only quiet evenings can be in the chaos of a frat house.

The door creaks open just as Julie Andrews starts singing and Jisung pokes his head in, eyes darting around as if he’s checking to make sure this isn’t some weird dream. His gaze lands on you and Felix curled up on the couch and he almost turns around to leave again, heart thudding loudly in his chest, but then Felix looks up and grins.

“Come sit, Ji.”

Jisung freezes for a second. Then, without thinking, he shuffles in quickly, trying to look casual while his pulse is jackhammering. He doesn’t ask where he should sit and doesn’t hesitate. He makes a beeline for the couch, slipping right onto your other side and sliding into place like he was always meant to be there, sandwiching you gently between his thigh and Felix’s hip.

You smile at him as you tuck your feet up onto the couch, shifting just enough to lean into his side while still resting your head lightly on Felix’s shoulder. Jisung goes rigid for half a second, staring straight ahead like a deer in headlights. Then, slowly, he relaxes, wrapping an arm around your shoulders instinctively, like he’s done it a hundred times. You melt into it with a soft sigh.

Felix leans forward to grab another pillow and tosses it onto Jisung’s lap without looking. “You wanna go on a date with us?”

Jisung’s eyes widen and he turns slowly, mouth already falling open. “What? Seriously? Like, a real date? With you two?”

Felix smirks, not taking his eyes off the screen. “That’s what I said, yeah.”

“Yes. Yes. Absolutely. One hundred percent in. Sign me the fuck up. I’m so available.”

Felix chuckles. “You’re a switch, right, Ji?”

Jisung sits a little straighter, nodding again with wide eyes. “Yes, that’s me. Very switchy. Versatile, some may say. Emotionally and sexually flexible. Minho calls me chaotic.”

Felix laughs again, and it’s low and warm. “Good. Now let’s keep watching Mary Poppins.”

Jisung nods obediently, heart pounding against his ribs as he tries to process what the fuck just happened. Did he just get asked on a date by Felix? With you? Together? Is this real life?

He tightens the arm around your shoulders just slightly and you lean into it, letting your head rest lightly against his chest as your eyes remain fixed on the movie. Your hair smells like lavender and honey and Jisung’s brain begins its rapid-fire descent into emotional catastrophe.

Then he feels it, Felix’s fingers brushing against his. It’s subtle. Just a slow, warm touch where their hands rest on the blanket across your lap. Jisung glances down, lips parting as Felix’s fingers slide lightly over his knuckles, casually interlacing their pinkies.

Every inch of Jisung’s soul leaves his body. He swears he ascends on the spot. His heart stutters. His breath catches. His eyes sting a little from how full he feels. He is touching both of you. He is sitting between the two people he’s been in love with for months and he just got asked on a fucking date. His mouth moves without his permission.

“Oh my god, I’m going on a date with you two.”

Felix snorts. “Yeah.”

Jisung shoots to his feet, fist punching the air. “OH MY FUCKING GOD!”

You yelp and laugh, startled by the sudden movement, the popcorn bowl nearly falling off your lap. Felix leans away, grinning, as Jisung turns in a circle on the rug, hands up like he’s summoning divine forces. “IT’S HAPPENING. IT’S ACTUALLY FUCKING HAPPENING.”

Footsteps pound on the floorboards above and then Minho comes running into the living room like he’s on fire, wearing a silk emerald green robe, a white towel wrapped around his wet hair, and a sheet mask plastered to his face.

“What the fuck is going on?!” he demands, breathing hard, eyes scanning the room like he expects blood.

Jisung spins to face him, dramatically pointing toward the couch. Toward you. Toward Felix. Then he clutches his chest and drops to his knees like he’s been shot, eyes wide with emotion.

Minho’s jaw drops. “You’re going on a date with them?!”

Felix looks up, blinking. “You understood that?”

Minho throws his hands up. “I speak dramatic bisexual!"

You’re giggling now, eyes wide and shining as you look between the two of them. “Are you okay?”

“No!” Jisung cries from the floor. “I’ve never been less okay in my life!”

Minho steps forward, face mask crinkling slightly as he places a comforting hand on Jisung’s shoulder. “You’ve been training for this moment. All the pacing, the crying, the horny rambling. It all led here.”

Jisung looks up, eyes comically wide. “Do I bow? Should I make a speech? Should I buy condoms?”

“Definitely buy condoms,” Minho says, dead serious.

Felix shakes his head, still grinning, and reaches for the popcorn bowl that nearly got sacrificed to the moment. “You’re not getting laid tonight, Ji. Calm your tits.”

“Oh,” Jisung breathes. “But someday?”

Felix winks and Jisung lets out a sound that’s somewhere between a gasp and a groan and flops onto the rug, face pressed into the carpet like he’s one with the floor now.

Minho sighs, adjusting his towel. “I leave you people alone for one evening and you emotionally implode without me.”

“You’re lucky you’re hot,” Jisung mumbles into the carpet.

Felix laughs and tosses popcorn at his head. “Get up and come cuddle. Movie’s not over.”

Jisung scrambles up, moving like his body is made of jelly and adrenaline, and flops back into his spot beside you, breathless and still smiling like an idiot.

You glance between the two of them, resting your head back on Jisung’s shoulder with a soft hum. “So we’ll pick a night for the date?”

Felix nods. “Yup. Something cute. Something chaotic.”

“Perfect,” Jisung whispers, eyes glued to the screen again, a smile plastered across his face.

Jisung takes a deep breath at the top of the stairs, shaking his arms out like he’s about to walk into a battlefield. His heart is racing, his palms are sweaty, and Minho and Hyunjin are still watching him from behind with matching smirks, both looking like smug stylists who know damn well they’ve created a masterpiece.

“This is either the hottest I’ve ever looked or I look like a bisexual rave warrior,” 

“You look hot enough to cause accidents,” Hyunjin says.

Minho rolls his eyes. “Go before you sweat through that shirt, dumbass.”

Jisung flips them both off and finally descends the stairs, each step making the metal on his vest clink softly. The electric blue leather catches the low lighting of the hallway as he walks, glinting off the studs. Underneath, the dark blue and black abstract-patterned shirt is tucked neatly into wide-leg denim jeans, held up with a studded black belt that gleams. The jeans fall perfectly over chunky black platform boots, adding a few inches to his height, something Minho had insisted on, saying, “You need the presence.”

His hands are decorated with layered silver rings, some bulky, some delicate, all of them catching the light. Matching bracelets jingle softly at his wrists, and his ears are full of silver, glinting against the slight flush in his cheeks.

When he steps into the living room and sees you and Felix standing near the door, everything inside him stutters.

You look like a dream. The pastel blue cropped cardigan clings softly to your arms, the white lace-trimmed camisole underneath giving the outfit a touch of delicate sweetness that makes Jisung’s brain momentarily stop functioning. The high-waisted plaid mini skirt is just barely long enough to be legal, and your hair is curled and perfect, dainty gold necklaces glinting against your collarbones. Your small white bag hangs delicately off your shoulder like the whole look was curated by the universe just to end him.

Felix, on the other hand, looks like a living god. He’s wearing a sleeveless black leather vest over a cropped textured white blouse, and Jisung’s eyes zoom in immediately on the abs beneath the hem. The leather trousers fit him like sin, cinched at the waist with a thick belt dotted with metallic accents. The high-platform combat boots look dangerous and gorgeous at once, chains catching the light with each slight movement. Felix’s hair is half-up, half-down, dark waves falling over his shoulders and framing his face like he’s stepped straight out of some androgynous fantasy.

Jisung makes a noise, something high-pitched and involuntary, a whimper that sounds like “hnnnggg” as his eyes jump back and forth between the two of you.

You giggle softly, stepping forward and brushing your fingers over his vest like you’re inspecting him. “You look amazing, Ji.”

Felix grins, bumping your hip with his. “We clean up nice, huh?”

Jisung’s mouth opens, then closes, then opens again. He nods like his brain’s buffering. “You both look like you’ve come to kill me. And I’m fine with that.”

Felix laughs, teeth flashing. “Ready to go?”

“Yeah,” Jisung croaks, then clears his throat and tries again, “Yes. Definitely. Extremely ready.”

“Where are we going?” he adds, as you all start heading toward the front door.

You glance back at him, excitement glowing on your face. “One of the workers at the children’s home gave us the keys to the arcade. Said we could have the place to ourselves for a few hours.”

Jisung stares. “That’s fucking adorable.”

“It’s fun,” you say with a smile. “But we’ll have to catch the bus. None of us can drive.”

Felix groans dramatically. “One day, one of us will learn.”

“But not today,” you say sweetly, pulling the door open.

Outside, the night air is cool and comfortable. The three of you walk down the block, Felix on one side of you and Jisung on the other. The world feels smaller in the best way, like everything that matters is right here, walking in step. Jisung’s hand brushes yours as you all move toward the bus stop, and he fights the urge to lace your fingers together. Felix catches the look on his face and just smirks.

At the stop, the street is still alive with distant chatter and the low rumble of traffic. A soft wind lifts your curls, and you tuck a strand behind your ear, smiling to yourself.

“Minho really went off with your outfit,” you say, looking Jisung up and down with open appreciation.

“Hyunjin helped,” he mumbles, cheeks pink. “They kept calling me their doll.”

Felix chuckles. “You’re their proudest creation.”

Jisung huffs, pretending to pout, but the praise makes something flutter in his chest. “You’re lucky I like you both. This much metal makes me sound like a wind chime.”

The bus arrives with a hiss of air brakes, and the doors open with a mechanical wheeze. It’s packed. Standing room only.

Felix curses softly under his breath. “Of course, it’s fucking full.”

Jisung steps up first, helping you up onto the bus by your waist without a thought, and you laugh, bracing your hand against his arm as you find your balance. The three of you move toward the back, wedging into a small open space near the rear exit. There are no poles or rails, so Felix stands behind you, placing his hands firmly on either side of your waist. Jisung slots in front of you, one arm braced above him against the side panel of the bus to steady himself, the other resting loosely around your shoulders.

Felix’s chest is against your back, warm and solid, and his hand slips down slightly to the bare strip of skin between your camisole and the waistband of your skirt. His thumb strokes lazily there, subtle and comforting. Jisung, on the other hand, is keeping his gaze fixed straight ahead, but you can feel the tension in his body where it curls around yours like he’s buzzing.

Jisung glances down, sees your skirt hem teasing along your thighs and glances around at the strangers on the bus. Some are looking, some aren't, but none of them are close enough to touch.

Still, he shifts, subtly positioning himself so he’s blocking any line of sight that might give anyone an upskirt view. He meets Felix’s eyes over your shoulder and finds the other man doing the same thing from behind you.

The shared look says everything. 

Jisung exhales slowly. His hand brushes against your upper arm. You don’t flinch. Instead, you lean slightly into the contact, your weight settling more comfortably between the two of them.

Felix’s chin drops to your shoulder for a moment, and his lips skim the top of your ear.

“Almost there, Angel,” he murmurs.

Jisung hears it and feels like he might melt right into the floor.

You glance up at him with a gentle smile. “You okay?”

He nods quickly, eyes warm, voice quiet. “Best I’ve ever fucking been.”

The bus hisses to a stop, brakes squealing as the city noise spills in through the open doors. Felix gently taps your hip, and Jisung lets you step off first before he hops down behind you. Felix follows, his boots thudding against the pavement. The night air hits with a little more bite than before, and you pull your cardigan closer, your fingers gripping the edges as your curls bounce softly with each step.

The arcade sits tucked between a boarded-up ice cream shop and an old record store with graffiti-painted shutters. The neon sign over the arcade entrance is dark, but the bright cartoon decals plastered to the windows are still cheerful even in the dim light. 

Felix fishes the keys from his leather vest pocket. “Moment of truth,” he says, crouching slightly to fit the key into the lock.

Jisung leans against the wall beside you, his boot tapping rhythmically against the ground, eyes darting from Felix to the storefront like he’s waiting for a secret door to a fantasy world to open up. You watch as Felix twists the key, jiggles the handle, and with a loud click, the door creaks open. 

“Holy shit,” Jisung murmurs as the three of you step inside.

The inside is a chaotic mess of bright colours and silent machines, the stillness of them slightly eerie without the usual arcade noise. Prize plushies hang limply from the claw machine near the entrance, their glass cases fogged slightly from humidity. The glow-in-the-dark carpet is tacky under your Converse, and the back wall is a kaleidoscope of neon-painted murals of racing cars, anime characters, and giant pixel hearts.

Felix crosses the floor, his boots thudding against the ground as he heads to the side wall behind the counter where the control panel lives. He squats down, flicking a switch and twisting a dial. Lights flicker to life like dominoes, first the red and blue glow of the skeeball machines, then the bright flashing bulbs of the basketball hoops, then the row of racing games down the middle. Finally, the air fills with the chirps, pings, and start-up jingles of ancient arcade cabinets coming to life.

You grab Jisung’s hand and tug him toward the back. “Come on, I know exactly where we’re starting.”

Jisung follows eagerly and Felix jogs to catch up, laughing under his breath as you lead the way past whirring claw machines and flashing DDR pads, weaving through old-school cabinets until you reach your destination.

The Mario Kart arcade cabinet stands proudly near the corner, worn but functional. The seats are cracked at the edges, and the paint on the plastic steering wheels is chipped, but the screens glow brightly, invitingly.

Felix lets out a low whistle. “This thing still works?”

“Last time I came, yeah,” you say, bouncing on your toes. “It’s a piece of shit, but it’s our piece of shit now.”

Jisung cracks his knuckles. “Alright, bitches, I’m ready to dominate.”

You and Felix both raise your brows at him.

“Dominate twelfth place maybe,” Felix quips, sliding into the red seat on the far left.

You giggle, slipping into the middle seat, leaving the rightmost spot for Jisung. You reach for the controls, squinting at the character select screen as the coins blink in the top right.

Felix digs into his pocket and tosses a couple tokens into each slot. “On the house, courtesy of children’s home generosity and my morally grey sense of fun.”

The game fires up, and you all start mashing buttons to pick your racers. You slam down on Peach without hesitation as Felix hums, eyes scanning the screen before landing on Bowser. 

Jisung squints at the screen and huffs. “Toad. He’s a little freak. Just like me.”

The countdown begins and all three of you grip your wheels like you’ve trained for this your whole lives. The screen bursts to life with colour, the track lighting up in all its over-saturated glory, and the announcer counts down.

Three… two… one… go.

You hit the gas too early and spin your wheels, Peach lurching forward like she’s been hit by a truck. Felix’s Bowser slams into the wall. Jisung’s Toad takes off like a bullet, straight off the side of the track.

“Fuck! Why is this so sensitive?!” Felix huffs, jerking the wheel too hard and sending Bowser straight into a banana peel.

“Why the fuck does the jump make me go backwards?!” Jisung wails.

“I just fell off the fucking rainbow bridge for the third time!” you shout, mashing buttons as Peach spirals into the void again.

The first lap ends and not a single one of you is above ninth place.

“Jesus Christ, how are children supposed to be good at this?!” Jisung yells, frantically steering.

Felix’s entire body is leaning into the wheel like that’ll help. “My guy’s driving like he’s on acid!”

“Felix, you’re fucking Bowser, he weighs like four thousand pounds, you can’t drift like that!” 

Jisung snorts. “How the hell do you know that much about Bowser?”

“I do research,” you say proudly, just before Peach drives into a fake item box and spins out.

“Top-tier research,” Felix mutters. “Look at her go.”

“Shut up, you’re in last!” 

Jisung, somehow, is now in tenth. He cheers like he’s won the lottery. “Suck my tiny mushroom dick, losers!”

You and Felix scream at him simultaneously.

The second lap is just as catastrophic. Jisung forgets to drift on a corner and slams straight into the railing. Felix launches a shell backwards that ricochets and hits himself. You somehow manage to drive off the side three more times.

“Okay, okay, we suck, we’re so fucking bad at this.”

“Speak for yourself,” Jisung says proudly as he crawls into ninth for a whole two seconds before being overtaken by Donkey Kong.

“Alright, Donkey Kong can eat my ass,” Jisung mutters.

“God,” Felix groans, “this is like watching toddlers drive bumper cars. I hate this and I never want to stop.”

The final lap is pure chaos. Items are flying. Someone throws three red shells in a row and Felix is hit by all of them. Jisung misses a ramp and spins out. You manage to catch a boost only to immediately swerve off the track.

By the time the finish line appears, you’re in tenth, Jisung is in eleventh, and Felix is dragging Bowser’s ass in a solid dead last.

There’s a beat of silence and then all three of you erupt into laughter so loud it echoes off the walls.

“That was fucking terrible,” 

“I’ve never been so humiliated,” 

“I fell off the track eleven times,” you say, eyes wide. “I counted.”

"We’re not even racing each other. We’re just trying not to lose to the bots.”

"Fuck you, AI Luigi. Fuck you and your stupid green hat.”

After the catastrophic Mario Kart attempt, you skip over to a basketball hoop game that looks like it’s seen better decades, calling out over your shoulder for them to follow. Jisung jogs to catch up, his boots heavy against the floor, still trying to process that he’s on an actual date, with you, with Felix, with both of you. He’s not sure if he deserves it, but he’s not about to question it too hard either.

“Alright,” you say, tying your cardigan around your waist as you approach the hoop machine, “first to get more than five points wins. If we all fail, I’m claiming victory by default because I’m cute.”

Felix laughs and moves to your left, stretching his arms like he’s preparing for an Olympic event. “Five points? That’s it?”

“This thing is broken,” you reply, gesturing to the net, which sags slightly and tilts suspiciously to one side. “Plus, we all suck.”

“Speak for yourself,” Jisung says, puffing out his chest. “I played basketball in middle school.”

Felix raises an eyebrow. “Yeah? What happened?”

“I hit puberty and realized I’m short,” Jisung says, grabbing a ball from the dispenser. “I moved on to journalism and emotional damage.”

The game starts and the timer begins its rapid descent. Balls start flying. Jisung launches one and hits the rim so hard it bounces back and smacks him in the chest. Felix overshoots and the ball hits the plastic board with a thud before dropping straight down. You barely graze the edge of the hoop with your first shot and huff in frustration.

“Fuck this game!” 

“I feel like I’m in gym class again and about to throw up.”

Jisung manages to sink one and throws his arms in the air. “One! ONE POINT, BABY!”

You get two by pure accident, one ball hits the rim, bounces off the back wall, and falls through just as the timer beeps. You cheer in celebration anyway, jumping up and down while Felix collapses against the machine, laughing so hard he nearly slides down the side of it.

“Zero,” he gasps. “I got zero fucking points.”

“I’m the goddamn MVP,” you shout, pointing at yourself. “You losers owe me your lives.”

“You barely got two!” Jisung says, giggling uncontrollably. “I got one!”

“Which is less than two, genius,” you shoot back, poking his chest.

Felix watches the two of you bicker with a fond smile before grabbing both your hands and tugging you toward the next machine. “Come on, you degenerates. Let’s go see what else we’re horrible at.”

The next hour is a full-blown descent into chaos.

You try your hand at the claw machine and almost break a nail before Jisung steps in and somehow, through pure bullshit luck, wins you a tiny plush penguin with lopsided eyes. You hug it to your chest like it’s a diamond, smiling so wide it makes Jisung’s brain short-circuit again.

Felix insists on playing the old-school dancing game, the kind with the coloured arrows and metal platforms. It starts out okay, but five seconds into the first song, it’s obvious none of you have rhythm. Felix does an impressive slide and then trips over his own foot. You flail dramatically, nearly twisting your ankle, and Jisung, determined to win, starts flapping his arms and stomping like he’s being electrocuted.

“Are you having a seizure?” 

“I’M DANCING!”

You collapse on the side rail, laughing so hard tears stream down your face.

The only game any of you do remotely well in is the zombie shooter near the back of the arcade, and that’s only because it doesn’t require finesse, just blind panic and button mashing. Felix dual-wields the plastic pistols like he’s in a John Wick movie. You scream every time something pops out at you and immediately unload the entire clip. Jisung crouches behind the cabinet like he’s in an actual war zone, making little pew-pew sounds with his mouth.

“This is the only time I feel alive,” he mutters, reloading furiously as a zombie dog lunges at the screen.

“You’ve been bitten three times already!” 

“Let me go out with a bang!” 

The three of you don’t even beat the level, but it doesn’t matter. None of it matters. The entire night becomes a competition of who can fail hardest, who can suck the most with the most flair. Felix declares himself king of last place, you call yourself the chaos gremlin queen, and Jisung just keeps yelling “lower-tier excellence!” every time he finishes second-to-last instead of actual last.

You take a break on the floor in front of the air hockey table, all three of you panting and laughing as you pass around a can of soda. 

Jisung leans back on his elbows, watching the way the neon lights reflect in your eyes as you smile. Felix is beside you, his leather trousers creaking softly as he stretches out his legs and leans back. You’re between them, your knees drawn up, cardigan still tied at your waist, hair curling around your face like a halo.

It’s not glamorous. You’re all sweaty, slightly dishevelled, and still laughing at the way Felix screamed during the jump scare in the zombie game.

But to Jisung, it’s fucking perfect. He doesn’t even need to win at anything. He’s already won. Sitting here with the two people he adores most, surrounded by bright lights and busted machines and joy so loud it echoes, he doesn’t want to be anywhere else.

“Okay,” you say, nudging Jisung’s knee with yours, “who’s ready for skeeball?”

“Last place gets no soda,” Felix says, finishing the can with a dramatic gulp and tossing it in the recycling bin like a basketball player.

“I’ve never been more motivated,” Jisung declares, standing up and brushing off his jeans.

And the three of you head back into the blinking chaos of the arcade, ready to fail again in the most glorious way possible.

The morning sun cuts through the gauzy curtains in Minho’s room, casting soft streaks of light across the mess of laundry and half-finished mugs of coffee scattered around his space. Minho is half-awake, his cheek pressed into his pillow, hair a chaotic mess of flattened strands and soft waves from last night’s shower. He’s in a ratty grey tee, one that reads PETA: People Eating Tasty Animals and a pair of threadbare boxers, his legs tangled in the blankets as he squints at the door that creaks open without a knock.

Jisung waddles in with a grin so big it makes his cheeks puff up, arms lifted in a lazy stretch over his head as he yawns. His hair’s sticking up on one side, he’s wearing boxers with tiny frogs on them, and a t-shirt that says I Paused My Game To Be Here. There are faint red scratches on his collarbone, a few more just visible on his upper thigh where the hem of his boxers rides up, and his neck is bearing a fresh set of hickeys.

Minho lifts his head an inch from the pillow. “Why are you smiling like a cat that got the cream?”

Jisung flops dramatically on the bed beside him with a loud groan of happiness. “Because I did, Minho. I did.”

Minho blinks once, then shifts to his side, propping his head up with his hand. “Tell me everything.”

“Oh my god, where do I even start?” Jisung kicks his legs behind him, like he’s trying to contain how excited he is and failing. “We played every game in the arcade. We sucked so bad. Like embarrassingly bad. I nearly cried laughing because we all just kept losing. Felix couldn’t score shit in the basketball game. Y/N somehow managed to reverse drive in every racing game. And me? I was just trying not to piss myself from laughing.”

Minho hums, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You’re glowing. Like post-orgasmic happiness glowing.”

Jisung shoots him finger guns. “I am glowing. I’m radiant. I’m ethereal. I’m living my best slut life, Min.”

Minho cackles and tosses a pillow at him. “So did they like your pant monster?”

Jisung lifts the hem of his shirt to show the marks on his hip, bright red nail indents and a bite mark. “Loved it. I mean, look at me. These? These are the marks of love.”

“I’m proud of your slutty little journey.”

 “I’m proud of it too.”

Minho’s eyes narrow slightly. “Wait. Why are you walking funny though? You walked in here like you just got railed.”

Jisung turns his head and grins, all teeth. “Because I did get railed by a god, Minho. Multiple times. My ass is still recovering from being respected thoroughly by Felix’s demon dick and my dick is singing heavenly symphonies from being balls deep in Y/N.”

Minho groans and drops his head back onto the pillow. “Fucking hell. Good for you, Ji.”

“Thank you, I’m in polyamorous heaven.”

Minho reaches over to scratch lightly at Jisung’s head, fingers moving gently through the tufts of hair sticking up from sleep, sex and probably too much hairspray the night before. “My sweet bisexual baby bird is all grown up.”

“This is the best timeline. I’m cuddled up with my best friend after fucking the most beautiful couple in Seoul and playing Mario Kart like a toddler with brain damage. Everything is perfect.”

Minho grins. “That’s the dream right there. Tell me more.”

Jisung snorts and lifts his head just enough to meet Minho’s eyes. “Okay, so after the games, we laid on the air hockey table floor, because obviously that’s what you do when you’re sweaty, exhausted, and too horny to stand properly. And I just looked at them. And they weren’t perfect in that moment. They were messy, their hair was everywhere, Felix had sweat dripping down his chest and Y/N’s eyeliner was smudged from laughter. And it was like they’re not gods, they’re just people.”

Minho shrugs lazily. “Yeah. Because they are people.”

Jisung waves a hand dramatically. “No. They are deities. Okay? Divine. Transcendent. Made of glitter and stardust and the best fucking skin I’ve ever touched. But yeah, they’re human too. And that made everything better. Like, I didn’t have to be anything. I didn’t have to pretend. I could just be Jisung, chaos incarnate, and they liked it.”

Minho rests his chin on his palm, watching Jisung with something close to fondness. “So the date went well?”

“So well. The best date of my life. And an even better night.”

Minho perks up. “Oh? Do tell.”

“Nope, you get no details.”

“You asshole! I deserve details! I’ve earned porn privileges!”

“You’ll get the PG-13 version and a mental slideshow if you’re lucky.”

“I want the director’s cut with commentary!”

“Nope! No deleted scenes either!”

Minho groans and rolls on top of him like a cat, pressing his forehead into Jisung’s back. “I hope Felix left hickeys on your balls.”

“He might’ve,” 

"You’re disgusting. I love it. I love you.”

“Love you too, Min,” 

Five months into the relationship, things have settled into a rhythm. A chaotic rhythm, sure, but it’s yours. Mornings are sleepy and warm, full of tangled limbs and grumbled jokes. Evenings are spent rotating between campus classes, shared kitchen experiments, and flopping onto the Alpha Phi living room couch like a pile of affectionate, sleep-deprived puppies. And nights like tonight are for Studio Ghibli, mismatched pyjamas, and three humans pretending they understand the plot of Ponyo while two of them doze off halfway through.

Jisung is the only one paying attention to the screen, bright-eyed and emotionally invested, arms crossed as he leans forward slightly on the couch. His hair’s a little messy, and he’s in a faded yellow sweatshirt with an enormous cartoon duck on the front, paired with navy pyjama pants. On his left side, you’re curled up, your blue silk nightgown just barely covered by the thin blanket thrown over your knees. On his right, Felix is draped lazily across the cushions in loose plaid pants and a black tank top, one arm tossed over your legs and the other tucked behind his head, eyes half-lidded.

“This fish girl’s chaotic. Like she said I'm five and then started flipping physics the bird.”

Felix yawns. “Baby, she's magic, not chaotic.”

“No, she’s chaotic and magic. Like, she’s a menace. She turned the sea into a soup. Look at that wave! That wave had teeth.”

You hum softly, head tilting into Felix’s arm. “She just wants to be a girl.”

“She just almost drowned the world to do it,” Jisung says, grinning. “Honestly, I respect the hustle.”

Felix chuckles sleepily, reaching over to tug your blanket up higher on your legs. “You're missing all the good bits, Angel.”

You blink up at him, lashes fluttering. “It’s too soothing. The music is like a lullaby.”

“And the visuals?” Jisung adds, still staring at the screen like it’s a life lesson. “I feel like I’m being spiritually cleansed. This is how I ascend.”

You giggle, rubbing your cheek against Felix’s arm. “If you start crying again like you did during Spirited Away-”

“That was a sacred moment,” Jisung says, cutting you off with a mock-serious tone. “I will not be shamed for weeping when Haku remembered who he was.”

Felix laughs under his breath and leans over to kiss the top of your head. You tilt your chin, nudging his cheek with your nose before settling back into the pillow. Jisung’s lips quirk into a soft, content smile.

He’s warm. Not just physically, though the blanket and the two of you squishing him into the couch are definitely cosy, but emotionally. Steady. Safe. Like the world could be crashing down outside and he’d still be fine as long as you two were here with him.

Then there’s a knock at the front door and all three of you pause.

“The fuck?”

You blink a few times, groggy, but the knock comes again. Two sharp raps. You rub your eyes and push the blanket off your legs, standing carefully and padding toward the door in your white fluffy socks.

“We weren’t expecting anyone, right?”

Jisung frowns, already halfway off the couch. “Nope. If this is a surprise inspection from the RA, I swear to god-”

You reach the door and open it cautiously and then immediately lean your head back. “Lix! Ji!”

Felix’s feet are hitting the floor before you finish the sentence. Jisung’s already jogging behind him, hair bouncing, both of them rounding the corner into the hallway just as you step back from the door.

Standing there, in the porch light, holding a small bouquet of crumpled white lilies, is Juwon.

“Hey,” he says, eyes flicking from you to Felix, then to Jisung. “Can I talk to you two? In private?”

Felix’s brows shoot up as Jisung’s face immediately crumples into a scowl.

Felix folds his arms. “What you say to us, you can say to our boyfriend.”

Juwon’s jaw tightens. “It’s personal.”

“Yeah,” Jisung snaps, stepping forward. “So’s being manipulated, guilt-tripped, and emotionally drained, but here we are. I didn’t spend months building a healthy, emotionally stable relationship with the two of them so some insecure, manipulative, micro-dicked gaslight goblin could pretend like I don’t belong"

Felix makes a choking noise behind his hand before he holds his hands up, spreading them wide. “Jisung’s the opposite of you.”

You giggle softly, covering your mouth.

Jisung grins, eyes gleaming. “Minho calls it my monster cock.”

Juwon stares. Silent. The three of you stare back before Jisung grins and opens his mouth.  "JUWON’S BACK!”

Chan’s voice bellows from above. “ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?”

Minho appears around the corner with a slipper in one hand and murder in his eyes.

Jeongin and Seungmin skid into view from the kitchen, Hyunjin right behind them, shirtless and wild-haired like he just rolled out of a Renaissance painting. Changbin’s already armed with the legendary frying pan, the one with the dent from Juwon's face almost a year ago.

“MOVE!” 

“I GOT HIM!” Changbin shouts, raising the pan above his head like Thor’s hammer.

Juwon doesn’t even speak. He just turns and runs as six men chase him down the street. You lean against the doorframe, laughing into your hand as the chaos disappears into the distance.

Jisung kisses the top of your head, then leans over to kiss Felix’s too. “Let’s go back to watching Ponyo,” he murmurs. “Or, I watch while you two snooze while those six chase Juwon for as long as they need to.”

Felix smiles softly and threads his fingers through yours. You nod, wrapping an arm around Jisung’s waist. Together, the three of you pad back into the living room, leaving the door open just a little, just in case the guys come back needing water or bandages or to brag about a successful slap.

But for now, your couch waits. The soft buzz of the TV hums in the background. And Jisung? Jisung is exactly where he belongs.

Han Jisung Taglist: @puppymsworld

General Taglist: @nightmarenyxx @velvetmoonlght @annafee_bou @mlink64 @intoanothermind @furfoxsake22 @daaaph-lol @tirena1 @yu-winchester @cristy-101 @puppymsworld

Proofread by the lovely @hwangjoanna (who has a Squid Game SKZ AU which you should all go and show some love)

Based off this Jilix ask but I took some creative liberties

[stillxnunpxidintern]

You Heathen! - Marco x Reader

(A very quick Soulmates Au - Had first words spoken to each other on them)

It was a nice warm day and you were enjoying your day off, walking around the market buying mostly food for the week but looked at others stalls as well.

Walking down to docks for the fish market, you heard whispers that a pirate ship had docked but didn't pay attention to what crew as they weren't causing any kind of trouble and that means you wouldn't have to deal with aftermath of that trouble.

Getting to fish market you saw a group of men you hadn't seen before so guessed that they were apart of the crew that had docked. You were simple going to just walk by them but the blonde in group had you stopping and staring in horror as your mouth was working faster than brain.

"YOU ASBOULE FUCKING HEATHEN" You shouted, pointing a finger at the blonde, noting his wide eyes but put it down to being caught off guard "What the hell is wrong with you, did no one ever teach you how to eat a pineapple properly, cause who in their reach mind would be eating it like that" your voice still loud as you berated and matched up to him, "Just because it has apple in the name doesn't mean you eat like one you god damn heathen" you stopped talking when he put his hand to stop you.

You looked at the blonde and the men next to him who were doing their best to keep their laugher in, the one with a pompadour was failing hard, so he turned around in an attempt to calm himself. The blonde took another bite of the pineapple and titled his head before speaking.

"And who are you, the pineapple eating police yoi " he asked between bites.

Hearing those word momentarily stunned you, processing that he has just said your words which meant that this man was your soulmate but seeing him bite the pineapple again had your left eye also most twitching.

"No but I've been told my told slaps are not be messed with and with your heathen eating habit, I'm sure they help improve your eating habit" you answered him.

That had the pompadour man laughing again, bent over as he tried to get a hold of himself. The black hair man just gave a sigh as he turned to laughing man and pulled him away.

The blonde then stood up to his full height and stared down at you, finishing off the last bit of pineapple but you just narrowed your eyes at him.

"Is that anyway to talk to your soulmate yoi" he said, smiling at you

"Yes it is! especially when you eat pineapples like" you replied, "You could be the Fleet Admiral or a King or someone very powerful and I will still call you a fucking heathen for how you eat pineapples" you informed him, crossed your arms.

"Of cause my soulmate would be stubborn little thing, why would I expect otherwise yoi" he sighed, rubbing a hand over his face

"Excuse me, you pineapple heathen" you said feeling insulted, "There nothing wrong with being stubborn" you told him

"Marco" he said

"What?" you asked

"My name is Marco, not pineapple heathen" he said

You looked at him and studied him a little more closely for a moment, noting his tattoo and stored that away for later and then took in his outfit, it was unusual but somehow worked for him and while you were doing that you could laughing the backward.

"What ever you say pineapple heathen" you smirked at him before turning and leaving him, heading to your original stop of the fish market.

Something inside suddenly made you feel so giddy as you walked away from him, smiling to yourself and probably looked like a fool to others but didn't you care as you had just met your soulmate, even if he did eat pineapples like that.

"Don't I get to know your name yoi" Marco called after you.

"That's something you're gonna have to earn, as that takes away the fun if I just tell you pineapple heathen" you answered, turning to look at him with a grin on lips

"Is that a challenge I hear" he asked, soon coming to your side.

"Only if you think can, I know not many pirates are all that smart" you said, making a jab at him.

"It's a good thing I'm also a Doctor yoi" he grinned widely

"Oh this be fun to see if can get it before having to ship out" you answered

The smile that he gave when you said that, told you that there was something else almost like he had an ace up his sleeve and that had you wanting to find out what that something else was now.

The two then walked around the fish market, as he began to try and guess your name and when that was getting him no where he began to ask you about your life, occasionally asking things about your name than out right guessing it.

As the two you walked about before heading off somewhere else in the town, leaving the two men that had been Marco to themselves.

"Izou our little Marco is grown up, he found his soulmate" the pompadour man said with a laugh and cry, "I feel so proud of him"

"Thatch, darling, my soulmate, I'm not saving you if Marco throws you overboard if he hears you say that" Izou answered honest "Now come along, lets enjoy our day"

[cokoladasljesnjakom]

tag you're it

tag you're it - shes a ruthless killer. she does not care if someone dies on her watch. her moves are like shadow. she is a shadow. once you see her, its too late. its not her problem. she cant complain, but what she can do is to comply thats what is she made for. thats what they made her do. but once she escapes from their grasp, she searches for him. for her brother. but of course what goes around, comes around. and thats is when she meets him. the winter solider. and oh yeah the rest of the avengers.

bucky barnes x fem! reader

word count: something like 8k

warnings: blood, panic attack (again), guns,bombs and uh lots of tears so yeah :) have fun

taglist: @svtpbts :)

a/n: here she is... ready to serve yall and YALL BETTER LIKE HER. i spent like a week and a half trying to finish her and i couldn’t. idk why tho but honestly? who gives a shit. have fun honey bunnies. just to be sure this is NOT proofread! so if you see mistakes... get over it.

masterlist

"Wake up! Come on, kids! Time for school!” Veronica’s voice rang through the house as she rushed from room to room, juggling breakfast, backpacks, and her own work uniform. She barely had time to tie her hair back before heading to Max’s room.

Pushing the door open, she expected to find him tangled in his blankets, grumbling for five more minutes. Instead, he was already sitting up, wide awake, grinning from ear to ear. “Mommy, I’m ready! Ready for school!” he announced proudly, bouncing on the bed like he couldn’t wait to start the day. Veronica’s heart swelled as she crouched beside him, hands on his tiny shoulders. “My big boy,” she whispered, pressing kisses to his soft, chubby cheeks.

Max giggled, his laughter bright and full of life. He clumsily returned the favor, smacking a sloppy kiss against her cheek. She chuckled, wiping off the mess but never once complaining. That was Max—her little sunbeam. As she looked at him, she couldn’t help but think of the day he was born—the way she had sobbed when she held him for the first time, overwhelmed by love. And then, the moment Y/N had met him, standing on the bed, wide-eyed with curiosity.

Veronica had barely gotten the words out— "Sweetheart, meet your baby brother. His name is Max."—before Y/N gasped dramatically. “What?! But you said the baby was in your tummy, Mommy!”

Veronica had burst into laughter, tucking a strand of hair behind her daughter's ear. “Well, he’s here now. I know you’ve been waiting to meet him.”

Y/N had stared at Max for a long moment, her little brows furrowed in concentration. Then, slowly, her frown melted into awe. “He’s so pretty,” she whispered, as if speaking too loudly would scare him away.

And just like that, a bond was formed. Wherever Y/N went, Max followed. And wherever Max was, Y/N was never far behind.

Now, years later, Veronica smiled at how little had changed. “Wanna wake up your sister?” she whispered. Max’s eyes lit up instantly. “Yes, yes, yes! Let’s wake up Y/N!”

Before she could stop him, he was already racing down the hall, his tiny feet thudding against the floor. He burst into Y/N’s room like a tiny hurricane, jumping onto her bed and shaking her with all his might. “Y/N, wake up! Wake up! It’s time for school!”

A low groan came from beneath the

blankets. “Max, move,” Y/N mumbled, pulling the covers over her head. Then, peeking out with one eye, she turned to their mom. “Can I stay home today? Please? I really don’t wanna go anywhere.”

Veronica gave her a sharp look, the kind only a mother could master. Y/N huffed but rolled out of bed anyway, throwing the blankets aside with dramatic flair.

“Ten minutes,” Veronica said, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “I want you downstairs, ready to go." By the time Y/N trudged into the kitchen, hair brushed, backpack slung over her shoulder, breakfast was already waiting for her. She plopped into her seat, grabbing the bowl of cereal. “Thanks, Mom,” she muttered before shoveling a spoonful into her mouth. Across the table, Max, munching on his PB&J, pointed at her and started giggling. “You have milk on your face!”

Y/N glared at him, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand while their mother watched with an amused smile.

For a moment, everything was perfect.

And none of them knew—none of them could have known—that this was the last normal morning they’d ever have.

3 months later -

Max gasped awake, choking on air as if he had been drowning. His heart pounded violently against his ribs, sweat clinging to his skin like ice. His hands trembled as he gripped the sheets, trying to remind himself— It’s not real. It’s not real. It’s not real.

But it was. The echoes of gunfire still rang in his ears. The scent of blood, smoke, and something burning filled his lungs. In his head, he could still see her—could still hear her. His mother’s voice, screaming. Shadow’s cries. His own younger self, frozen in place, unable to move, unable to help.

And then, the silence.

The silence was always the worst part.

Max turned onto his side, squeezing his eyes shut, as if that could somehow erase the images behind them. His fingers curled into fists against the mattress, his breath coming in quick, shallow gasps. It never ended. No matter how far he ran, no matter how much time passed, the nightmares never stopped. Some nights, he thought maybe—just maybe—if he could endure it long enough, they would finally fade. But every time he closed his eyes, the past dragged him back.

5:00 AM.

The red numbers on his clock glared at him like an omen.

Max exhaled sharply and sat up, running a hand through his damp hair. He glanced to his side—his fingers had accidentally brushed against hers in his sleep. That small, almost insignificant touch was enough to ground him, just a little.

But it also reminded him of how fragile everything was. He wasn’t getting any more sleep tonight.

With a quiet sigh, he pushed the blankets off and forced himself out of bed. His body ached in protest, but he ignored it, walking toward the bathroom. After brushing his teeth and splashing his face with cold water, he stepped into the kitchen, pulling on his running shoes.

“Couldn’t sleep?” Sam’s voice made him pause.

Max looked up to find him leaning against the counter, a steaming cup of coffee in hand. Max hesitated for a moment before nodding. “Yeah. You know how it is.”

Sam studied him for a second. He didn’t push. He never did. Then, as if shifting gears, he smirked. “So, what, you finally decided to stop being lazy and go on a run with me?”

Max huffed a quiet laugh. “Yeah, well… figured it was time to kick your ass and prove you’re getting slow.”

Sam raised an eyebrow, amused. “Oh, really?”

Max finished tying his laces and stood. “Yeah, really.”

Sam hummed in mock thought. “Perfect. That means I can finally push you into that lake I told you about.” Max scoffed, already heading for the door. “Dream on, shithead.” He flipped Sam off over his shoulder.

Sam followed, shaking his head as he locked the door behind them. The world was still dark, the air crisp and biting against their skin.

He smirked. “Oh, I do dream about that shit. Every day, buddy.”

Max chuckled, shaking his head. “You need new dreams, man.”

Sam grinned. “Nah, this one’s too good.”

Then, without warning, he took off.

Max blinked. “Wait, aren’t we supposed to warm up first?” Already halfway down the street, Sam shouted back, “I did!” before flipping him off.

Max cursed under his breath before sprinting after him.

The nightmares never stopped. The past never let go. But for now, running—chasing after Sam, feeling the wind against his skin—made him feel like he could breathe again. At least for a little while.

After ten minutes of running—ten long-ass minutes of Sam teasing him about anything he could think of—Max was starting to regret this.

Sam, barely out of breath, smirked over at him. “You tired yet? Or do you wanna call it quits before I have to carry your ass home?”

Max shot him a glare, still keeping pace. “I should be asking you that, old man. You’re running like this is your last day on Earth.” He paused, grinning. “Actually, I wouldn’t be surprised if it is.”

Sam let out a dry laugh. “Yeah, yeah, keep talking, tough guy. We’ll see who’s still standing at the end of this.”

Max, despite the burning in his legs and the way his lungs fucking ached, smiled wide. “Uh-huh, sure. I’m dying here as we speak, y’know?”

Sam glanced at him. “Nah, if you were dying, you wouldn’t be running your mouth.”

Max huffed out a breath, shaking his head. His muscles were screaming at him to stop, but he pushed through it—he had to. The exhaustion, the burn, the ache in his chest… It was better than feeling nothing.

Sam must’ve noticed something shift in his expression because his teasing softened just a little. “Hey,” he said, nudging Max’s arm as they ran. “Still with me?”

Max blinked, snapping out of whatever dark thought was creeping in. He swallowed, forcing himself to focus on the pavement beneath his feet.

“Yeah,�� he muttered. “Still here.”

Sam gave him a look but didn’t push it. Instead, he jerked his chin forward. “Race you to the end of the block.”

Max raised a brow. “The hell? I thought we were pacing ourselves?”

Sam smirked. “What, scared you’ll lose?”

And just like that, the tension cracked.

Max snorted. “You wish.”

Then, before Sam could react, he took off.

Sam blinked. “Oh, you son of a—”

But he was already sprinting after him.

For the first time in a while, Max wasn’t running from something. He was just running.

-

They had been running for a while when another figure joined them. Blonde hair, white shirt clinging to his muscles, running like the damn ground was on fire beneath his feet.

Sam was the first to notice. His eyes widened as he watched the guy sprint past them at an almost inhuman speed. “Damn, how’s he running so fast?” He turned to Max, mouthing, Are you seeing this?

Max turned his head, catching a glimpse of the guy. And yeah, he was fast. Stupidly fast. “Dude, he’s gotta be winning this one. He just ran, like, two miles in a minute.”

Sam shot him a skeptical look. “Since when do you know math?”

Max glared at him. “What? Am I wrong, though?” He huffed, nodding toward the runner. “Show-off.”

Before Sam could respond, a voice called from behind them.

“On your left.”

Max, without missing a beat, deadpanned, “Uh-huh. Yeah, okay.” Sam gave him a weird look, but Max just shrugged, picking up his pace slightly.

A few minutes later—

“On your left.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Uh-huh. On our left. Got it.”

Another few minutes passed, and Sam could already feel it coming. He didn’t even have to look over his shoulder to know the guy was about to say it again. And right before the words could leave his mouth, Sam called out, already annoyed, “Don’t you say it! Don’t you say it, man!”

The runner just smirked. “On your left.”

“Oh, come on, man!” Sam groaned, finally slowing down while Max doubled over laughing.

Sam threw his hands up. “Did you see that shit? Who even does that?!”

Max was still wheezing, hands on his knees, shaking his head. “Dude’s out here making us look like amateurs!"

Sam pointed at him. “Speak for yourself. I’ve still got some dignity left.”

Max raised a brow. “Uh-huh. Keep telling yourself that.”

After that, they gave up from running, more like max gave up because, damn he never ran this long before.

Wheezing and catching their breaths, they leaned on a nearest tree and rested their backs on it, while max tried to speak, the man who was with them not while ago spoke up, a smile on his face. "Need a medic?"

Sam broke out in a laughter and said "I need a new set of lungs" while Max huffeed and said right after sam "I need new legs. and a cold shower. Like a really cold one."

Sam continued, his hand still on his chest, trying to steady his breathing. "Dude, you just ran 13 miles in 30 minutes."

And the man said, while not sweating a breath or anything at all. "Guess i had a late start.

Max, grinning from ear to ear, took a swing from his water bottle and said. "Yeah? well you should be ashamed of yourself. you should take another lap." And looked at him sceptiply and added again "I assuned you just did right?" Then he turned to sam and asked him "Can you believe that?" while sam shook his head and drank his water too.

The man now asked sam "what unit you were in?" and Sam answered "58th pararescue. but now im working at the VA." While max answered, noticing the mans stare at him. "Im unemployed. Living on his back so, yeah, i am tehnically his problem" and sam rolled his eyes. "Yeah, a very expensive one."

The man noded, while Sam extended his hand at the man to lift him up from the ground and introduced himself "Sam Wilson." while Max did the same, only he lifted himself off the ground alone. "Max harrison."

And the man finally introduced himself back while taking sams hand and lifting him off the ground. "Steve Rogers."

Sam laughed and answered while pointing to steve. "yeah, i kinda put that together."

Max, however being the only one interested in now, steve rogers, the Captain America asked him, his hands gripping the bottle in his hands, trying to keep himself from fanboying. "Must have freaked you out, coming home after the whole defrosting thing."

Sighing, steve answered "it takes some getting used to. good to meet you Sam and uh Max."

Sam now seeing a chance to know about steve asked him, curiosity peeking out. "its your bed right?"

Steve, now turning around to face sam again asked "what?"

Sam continued "your bed, its too soft. when i was over there, i'd sleep on the ground, use a rock as a pillows like a cavemen." and Max snorted in the backround, after hearing the word 'cavemen' coming out from sam's mouth, and Sam turned around at hit him across his head, while max grumbled.

"Yeah, well I bet your head was too big to fit on a pillow anyway." Max teased Sam.

Sam sassed back at Max "your ass is too big for my couch and yet youre there sleeping like a little princess you are."

Sam now turned his head to face Steve, who had a shit eating grin on his face, looking at Max and Sam bickering. "now im home, lying in my bed -"

Steve interrupted him. "feeling like im going to sink into the floor, like a marshmallow." after a second he asked sam. "how long?"

Sam answered looking around. "2 tours."

Max asked him, now interventing in the conversation. "you must miss the good old days, huh?"

Steve, however shrugged and pointed some things out. "well the things arent that bad. foods a lot better, we used to boil everything." Max grinned. “Okay, first—hot dogs. You gotta try ‘em. Ketchup, maybe a little sugar on top—”

Sam groaned. “Oh my God, please don’t listen to him.”

Max ignored him, continuing, “Also, there’s this new restaurant that just opened. People say their food is amazing. I mean, I haven’t tried it yet, but—”

Sam turned around to face Max and told him to calm down, while Steve looked at them loving the way that Max got excited to talk about new places hes definitely going to visit after. "Internet, so helpful. i've been reading a lot, trying to catch up."

Sam suddenly remembered something and told steve about the old singer. "Marvin Gaye, 1972, trouble man sound track."

Steve took his little notebook out his back pocket and said "I'll put it on the list." and wrote out the artist's name and the name of the resturant that Max told him about, when max saw that, he punched Sam on the shoulder to celebrate his victory.

Steve’s phone buzzed and he sighed before saying bye to Max and Sam. "Alright Sam and Max. duty calls. thanks for the run." and he added teasingly "if you want to call that running."

Max lifted his eyebrows in suprise and called out "okay, cmon man, we tried okay. you're just stupid fast." while Sam said, laughing "oh thats how it is?" and Steve laughed and said while shaking sams hand "ooohh, that's how it is."

Steve pulled his hand out, ready to walk away sam called out "anytime you want to come by and visit me at the VA, trying to make me look cool in front of the girl at the front desk, just let me know."

While Max said "yeah, well if you want to visit me, which it would make more sense, and hang out with me, im always here."

Steve laughed and said "i'll keep it in mind." and while he walked away, a car pulled in fron of him and a women called out, or lets say the black widow, Natasha Romanoff. "hey fellas. either of you know where smithononias is? im here to pick up a fossil."

Steve now walked to the car and said "thats hillarious." while closing his door getting in the car. buckling himself in he turned around and said to the boys. "can run everywhere."

Max and Sam laughed and said "yeah, no shit you cant." and the car drove out from their sight. the moment it did, Max jumped up and down while yelling to Sam "dude i just met Captain America!" while Sam laughed and both of them went home, while Max ratted Sam's ear off about everything.

H.Y.D.R.A. SAFEHOUSE

The mans hands trembled as he gripped the files to his chest, his breath coming in quick, uneven gasps. I shouldn’t have done it. I should’ve deleted everything when he told me to.

He forced himself to take a deep breath, but it did little to steady the panic clawing at his ribs. Reaching the secured door, he swiped his keycard. A beep. The doors hissed open. He slipped inside. The computer sat waiting, its screen casting a dim glow over the desk. He dropped into the chair, fingers flying over the keyboard, searching for the file he was supposed to have erased. Come on… come on…

Then—there it was. The man exhaled sharply, relief crashing into him. He clicked it open— And froze. Everything was still there. Every bit of data, every classified detail, untouched. But something felt wrong. Like someone had been here before him. Like the most important piece was just… gone. His grip tightened around the flash drive in his hand. No. I need to check—

"William?"

The thick Russian accent sent a bolt of ice down his spine.

Slowly, he turned.

Ivan Aslanov stood in the doorway, watching him with a cool, unreadable expression.

"What are you doing here?" Ivan asked, his tone even.

William swallowed hard. "I—uh, I was just checking the data for the mission tonight. Making sure everything’s in place." His heart slammed against his ribs. Too fast. Too hard.

Ivan’s sharp gaze lingered on him a second too long before he finally nodded. "We have all the data in the office. Come." He gestured toward the door. "We have work to do."

William hesitated. Then, stiffly, he logged out of the system and powered it down.

He stepped away from the desk.

And didn’t notice—The flash drive. Still plugged into the computer. Ivan’s gaze flicked to it the moment William passed him, his expression giving nothing away.

He waited until the sound of William’s footsteps faded down the hall. Then, in one smooth motion, he plucked the drive from the port and slipped it into his coat.

For the first time in years, he had a lead.

Now, he just needed a plan.

To get her out.

Ivan walked with measured steps, his thoughts miles ahead of him. The risks. The consequences. What could go wrong—and what had to go right. Three months of planning, of waiting for the perfect moment. Three months that had stretched into what felt like a lifetime.

Now, it was almost time.

Beside him, William remained oblivious, too focused on the mission at hand. They entered the office, where a large table was covered in blueprints, maps, and classified files. Everything was set. The fake pirate attack. The bitter Frenchman with his personal grudge against Captain America. The so-called "hostages"—S.H.I.E.L.D. agents placed in just the right position to play the victims.

But Ivan barely saw any of it. Tonight wasn’t about the mission. A voice cut through his thoughts, sharp and commanding. An American voice. Alexander Pierce. “Is everything ready for tonight?”

Around the room, the scientists muttered in unison, “Yes, sir.”

Pierce nodded, his gaze sweeping over the room like a final warning. “Good. Everything has to go exactly as planned.” His tone left no room for failure.

Another round of nods. Another “Yes, sir.”

Satisfied, Pierce turned and left.

Ivan exhaled slowly.

First step: the mission. Let S.H.I.E.L.D. play hero. Let them think they were winning.

Because tonight wasn’t about them.

Tonight was about her.

BACK AT THE S.H.I.E.L.D. COMPOUND

Steve and Natasha made their way down the hall toward Nick Fury’s office, their conversation light but persistent—at least on Natasha’s end. “Oh, come on, Steve,” she teased, a knowing grin on her face. “That girl at the front desk? She’s cute. And her name is Darcy. Sounds like she was made for you.”

Steve groaned as they stepped into the elevator. “Is she the one who stares at me every time I walk by?” Natasha nodded.

Steve sighed, running a hand over his face. “Yeah, no. Too many tattoos. And she’s always looking at me weird.”

Natasha let out a dramatic sigh and shook her head. “Because she likes you, dumbass. And she probably wants a piece of that—” Steve shot her a glare as they reached their floor. She smirked. “I mean, can you blame her?”

They stepped out of the elevator and walked toward Fury’s office. Steve raised his fist to knock—maybe a little too hard.

BANG.

Natasha snorted. “Easy there, soldier. You planning to break the door down?”

Before Steve could respond, the door swung open, revealing Nick Fury’s unimpressed face. He eyed Steve, then the door, then back at Steve. “You knock like that again, and you’ll be paying for a new door, Captain.”

Steve scratched the back of his neck. “Sorry, sir.”

Fury stepped aside to let them in, the door shutting automatically behind them. “Lock it,” he ordered.

The AI responded instantly. “Doors locked.”

Natasha dropped into a chair, crossing her legs as she made herself comfortable. “So, what’s the emergency, Nick?”

Steve remained standing beside her, arms crossed.

Fury exhaled, leaning back in his chair. He twirled a classified file between his fingers before tossing it onto the table. “We have a mission. And I need you two on it.” He glanced at Natasha. “I tried to get Stark, but the little asshole won’t answer his phone. So congratulations, you’re my second choice.”

Natasha placed a hand on her chest mockingly. “Wow. I’m honored.” Steve, ignoring the banter, stepped forward. “What’s the mission? And when do we start?”

Fury nodded toward the file. Natasha picked it up first, skimming through the pages. Her eyes flickered with interest as she read. “S.H.I.E.L.D. agents taken hostage…” she muttered. “Pirates. French ones, apparently.” She raised an eyebrow. “They really thought taking S.H.I.E.L.D. operatives hostage was a good idea?”

Fury scoffed. “These guys aren’t just pirates. They’re stupid pirates. But stupid people can still be dangerous. And they’ve got hostages.” Natasha handed the file to Steve, who flipped through it quickly before nodding. “We’ll get them back.” He shut the file and placed it back on the table. “You have my word, sir.”

Without waiting for a response, he turned toward the door. “Romanoff, I’ll be waiting.”

Natasha smirked. “Aye aye, Captain.”

As soon as the door closed behind Steve, Fury’s expression shifted. His usual cool demeanor remained, but his voice dropped just slightly. “You know your real mission, Romanoff.” Natasha’s smile didn’t falter as she stood, adjusting her jacket. “Take the most important data, as much as i could and try not to sabotage the mission.Yeah, yeah, I got it.”

Fury gave her a long look. Natasha held up two fingers. “Scout’s honor.” Then, with a wink, she strolled out the door.

When it shut behind her, Fury let out a slow breath, his gaze drifting to the city skyline through his window. For three months, he had been chasing shadows. Following whispers about her. The one who nearly put a bullet in his brother’s head. The one who had disappeared without a trace.

Tonight, that would change.

Or at least, he hoped it would.

2 HOURS BEFORE THE MISSION -

walking slowly and trying not to get attention on himself, Ivan had the files thightly in his hands, while the stick was deep in his lab coat, hidden from everyone.

the reason he was on the ship and not someone else? because he was the only one who knew the code to the doors he needed to get into. yeah,yeah he knew, a stupid reason, but he needed one. to do what he wanted to do for months.

when walking, every guard would nod his head to greet him and he would do the same. finally, reaching the doors, his hand reached for the card he now had and scanned it, making the doors open with a quiet hiss. now, youre asking, but how did he got the card, after all these years? well heres it how he got it.

flashback-

walking out from his office, his case in his hands, Ivan's thoughts were all around the place. how would he get the card, how would he find out what did William did, and how to break her free.

his fingers thightly gripped the case, while he entered the room where the winter solider stood. it wasnt a mission, or anything at this point, it was just the siencetists doing their own thing. experimenting on him. breaking him. all over again. his stomach churned at the sight of, before the strongest solider ever known, now like a broken toy, thrown away like nothing. 'it must’ve been the trigger words that affected this.' he had thought. the older siencetist, thrown across the room and his breathing shallow. 'maybe a few broken bones, here and there.'

trying to foucus on the solider, he stepped close to him, and spoke carefully, whispering with his hand out, like hes trying to ground himself. "солдат? ты меня слышишь?" (solider, can you hear me?) and the way the solider spoke, made him stop in his tracks, his footsteps now quiet, like he was afraid to scare him off. "цель устранена, миссия выполнена успешно." (target eliminated, mission successful.)

Ivan looked at the other side and saw a medic on the man trying to get him up, and the guy from the medic, nod his head in the was to say that the siencetist is fine. looking back at the solider, Ivan nodded his head yes, as in making believe for the man in front of him that he susccssesed.

"молодец солдат" (well done solider) Ivan said, while inching closer to the solider. "но мне нужно, чтобы ты сейчас вернулся и рассказал мне, что ты сделал." (but i need you to come back now and tell me what you did) and the solider stiffened, his back now straight and coice clipped. "Я убил цель и готов вернуться." (I killed the target and am ready to return)

Ivan now looking at the mans face, the blood running on his forhead, busted lip, fractured bones and probably twisted arm, asked him once again. "почему и кто вам сказал это сделать?" (why and who told you to do this) and the solider looked at him, pointed his head at the mans direction and said. "он мне так сказал" (he told me so) and Ivan nod his head once again, before telling the solider in a calm,deep voice. "Ты снова идешь спать. Спи спокойно, солдат." (you're going to sleep again. sleep well, soldier.) and the way his eyes crumbled, Ivan turned away, because he knew, that is he stayed there, he would to anything to get him out.

stepping away from the room, he saw William fiddgeting with his fingers and murmuring something to himself. seeing the key card hanging around his neck, he needed something do discract William, so he could at least get a copy of the card.

walking towards William at the full speed, yet acting calmly, he knocked his shoulder against his making William’s files fall out from his hands. cursing, William got down to pick them up, craning his head down, making the card fall down from his neck to the floor. and Ivan not waisting a second, took the card and hid it in his pocket.

"sorry, didn’t looked where i was walking, sir." William apologized, his hands now shaking and if it wasnt for now, Ivan would’ve felt bad. but unfortunately, he did not, so he helped him with his files and said, almost like he felt sorry, with russian accent. "its okay, it happens to everyone." so he patted his shoulder and walked away.

end of the flashback

Entering the dimly lit room, Ivan moved quickly, the door sliding shut behind him with a quiet hiss. He strode to the desk where the terminal awaited, his fingers already pulling up the login screen. The code? He knew it. Hacking into restricted systems had always been second nature to him—just another skill Hydra had unknowingly sharpened over the years.

He typed it in. The system granted him access. Now, his eyes scanned the directories, searching for one thing: the deleted file. But it wasn’t there. His jaw tightened. William must have wiped it completely.

Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a small drive and plugged it into the terminal. A second passed, then another—then the screen flickered, and the file appeared. The one that wasn’t supposed to exist. Clicking it open, he scanned the data flashing before him. The missions Hydra had executed over the decades. The projects. The experiments. The people they had destroyed. Her. Him. Countless others who had been nothing more than pawns in Hydra’s hands. And worst of all—proof that Hydra had never truly died, that it had been rotting within S.H.I.E.L.D. all this time, waiting for the right moment to strike.

His hands hovered over the keyboard for only a second before he made his decision. With precise keystrokes, he initiated the upload. Every secret Hydra had buried, every atrocity they had committed—it was all about to be exposed.

A final prompt flashed on the screen:

“RELEASE THE DATA?”

Ivan didn’t hesitate. He hit Yes.

The system processed his command, the progress bar crawling forward. Heart pounding, he rose from the chair, yanked the drive free, and tucked it back into his coat. He swiped his keycard, stepping out of the office just as the countdown began.

Thirty minutes.

That’s how long until the attack. Until the data was stolen, hidden away. Or worse—until it was erased again. But this time, he had done something that mattered.

For the first time in years, the weight on his shoulders felt lighter.

30 minutes later -

With calculated precision, she took down the last guard, moving like a shadow through the dimly lit hallway. No wasted movement, no unnecessary noise. By the time his body hit the ground, she was already at the door, pulling out a small device. A few taps. A quiet beep.The lock disengaged.

Natasha slipped inside, closing the door behind her without a sound. The room was cold, sterile—just another forgotten corner of a ship filled with secrets. She moved to the computer, fingers flying as she logged in using the stolen credentials. Files flickered across the screen. She filtered through them, searching, scanning—until she found it. A single, tucked-away file, buried deep.

Gotcha.

She clicked. The screen filled with data, scrolling too fast for the average eye to catch, but she wasn’t an average eye. Her fingers moved again, copying everything onto the drive Fury had given her.

Fury.

Lately, he had been on edge, more than usual. Like he was waiting for something—or someone. And whatever was on this hard drive, it mattered to him more than he was letting on.

A muffled grunt sounded from outside the room. She ignored it. Come on, come on, she thought, watching the transfer bar crawl forward. Then— The doors burst open. A body crashed to the floor—a French pirate, groaning, half-conscious. And stepping over him, shaking his head, was Steve Rogers. "Well, this is awkward," she muttered, a smile on ber face.

Steve glanced from her to the computer, then back. "What are you doing?" She smirked. "Backing up the hard drive. It’s a good habit to get into."

Steve’s jaw tightened. "Rumlow needed your help. What the hell are you doing in here?".Finally, he looked at the screen. Realization hit. "You’re stealing S.H.I.E.L.D.’s intel."

Natasha barely reacted, typing a few more commands. "Whatever I can get my hands on." Steve stepped closer. "Our mission was to save hostages." She pulled out the drive and patted him on the shoulder. "No, that was your mission," she corrected, smiling. "And you did it beautifully."

Before she could move, Steve caught her arm, pulling her back. His voice was low, tense. "You just jeopardized this whole operation." Natasha didn’t flinch. "I think that’s overstating things."

Before he could respond, a click echoed in the room. Both turned—just in time to see the pirate on the floor rising to his feet, a small detonator in his hand. "Shit," Natasha muttered. Steve barely had time to react. He grabbed Natasha, shielding her as he launched them both over the desk.

She fired a shot at the window just as the explosion detonated behind them. The blast ripped through the room, sending them crashing to the floor, the impact knocking the wind out of her.

For a moment, everything was dust and ringing ears. Steve was the first to move, pushing himself up and glancing out the shattered window. The pirate was gone.

Natasha let out a breath, rubbing her head. "Okay. That one’s on me." Steve shot her a glare, completely unimpressed. "You’re damn right."

And just like that, he was gone, already chasing after the pirate. Natasha sighed, rolling her shoulders before getting up. "No gratitude, I swear," she mumbled, following after him.

THE NEXT MORNING -

Nick Fury sat in his dimly lit office, the weight of last night’s events pressing against his thoughts. The hard drive in his hand felt heavier than it should. Something isn’t right. He placed it into the computer and spoke, voice steady. “Secure the office.”

“Office secured.” The AI’s confirmation was immediate. The once-transparent windows darkened, the room sealed off from the outside world. No prying eyes. No unwanted ears.

Fury leaned forward. “Open Lemurian Star's satellite launch file.” Silence.

“Access denied.”

He froze. His gaze flicked to the screen. That’s impossible. “Run decryption.”

The system processed, the progress bar crawling forward—then suddenly stopping.

“Decryption failed.”

Fury’s fingers tightened around the desk. He wasn’t one to be shut out. “Director override. Fury, Nicholas J.” Another pause. Another lockout.

“Override denied. All files sealed.”

A slow exhale. His instincts were screaming now. He switched tactics.

“Open files on the most recent missions.”

“Specify.”

Fury didn’t hesitate. “Shadow and the Winter Soldier.” Nothing.

“Access denied. Files are sealed.”

His jaw clenched. "On whose authority?"

The AI didn’t even pause. “Fury, Nicholas J.”

His own name. That was all he needed to hear. Yanking the drive from the port, Fury turned on his heel and strode toward the elevator. "World Security Council."

"Confirmed."

As the elevator ascended forty floors, Fury’s mind raced. Someone had locked him out of his own system, and he wanted to know who. Why now? And what the hell are they hiding? The doors slid open. He stepped out, heading toward Alexander Pierce’s office.

Pierce’s secretary barely had time to acknowledge him before he was inside, waiting while Pierce wrapped up a conversation with a congressman on the screen. Pierce turned, a smirk already in place. "I work forty floors away, and it takes a hijacking for you to visit?"

Fury shook his hand, matching his tone. "A nuclear war would do it too." Pierce let out a short chuckle, but his eyes remained sharp. Fury glanced toward his office. "You busy in there?" Pierce waved a dismissive hand. "Nothing some earmarks can't fix."

Fury nodded, taking a second before speaking. How the hell do I ask this?

"I need a favor." Pierce exhaled. "Nick, when you say favor, I hear ‘bureaucratic nightmare.’" Fury ignored him. "I need you to call for a vote. Project Insight needs to be delayed." A pause. "And I need access to the mission data from three months ago."

Pierce leaned back slightly. "That’s not a favor, that’s a subcommittee hearing. A long one." His fingers drummed against the desk. "And that data—why not just pull it yourself? You’ve got the code."

Fury’s stare was unwavering. "That’s the problem. My code doesn’t work."

Pierce’s expression didn’t change, but his fingers stopped moving. Just for a second.

"Could be nothing," Fury continued. "Probably is nothing. I just need time to make sure it’s nothing."

Pierce studied him. "And if it’s something?"

Fury didn’t blink. "Then we’ll both be damn glad those helicarriers aren’t in the air."

Another pause.

"Fine," Pierce said, rubbing his temple. "But as for the data—I, uh, forgot my own code for it. You’ll have to wait a day." Fury didn’t buy that for a second. But he nodded. "Appreciate it." Pierce smiled, leaning back in his chair. "No problem. But you still owe me—my niece’s birthday party, remember? You promised Iron Man would show up."

Fury gave him a look. "He’s not exactly the 'kids' party' type." Pierce smirked. "He doesn’t have to mingle. Just stand there and look shiny." Fury let out a low chuckle, turning toward the door. "I’ll see what I can do."

As he walked out, though, the uneasy feeling in his gut didn’t fade. Something was wrong. And he hated not knowing what. Stepping into his car, he locked the doors, started the engine, and drove. His instincts were rarely wrong. And right now?

They were screaming.

BACK AT THE H.Y.D.R.A FACILITY -

running around, the siencetists tried to do everything in time, before he arrives. they got out him out of the cyro and sat him down, strapping his hands down on the arm rest. after checking twice if the knot was tied hard enough, the man stepped in front of him with a red book in his hands.

now bucky, stared him with wide eyes, fear filling them and anxiety bubbling all over him. his hands shook in fear, that maybe there is another mission and his memories would be wiped all over again. 'i dont want this, not again, please.'

he wanted to say the words out, but knkowing them, saying a word without a premission woulve have consequences, so he keept his mouth shut and watched the man silently.

the machine inching closer to buckys face, it cachged him and started electrucing him. opening the book, while buckys scream echoed in the room, the man began saying the trigger words.

"Тоска" the man started to circle around bucky, his footsteps now loud, but not loud enough to susprese Bucky’s screams.

"ржавый" every scream sent the siencetists into a haze, their skin crawling and their minds too quiet.

"печь" bucky's skin felt like it was on fire, the touch of the machine burning his face. not handling the pain, he screamed louder.

"рассвет" remembering the daylight so clearly, the sunrise kissing his cheeks, every time he stayed up late, thinking about his future, but now forbidden to think about it.

"семнадцать" when he was just seventeen, the news he got were like he got hit by a car. the day that his grandmother died. he remembered how he cluched his mothers body next to his as if to ground himself.

"доброкачественный" the first time he got convinced that he was about to do, that it was 'good'. that it would help him to grow into good person.

"девять" always doubting him, using him for cruel ways to kill someone and the last nine years he had been used, those nine times he had been forced to listen and have no choice, but do everything what they said. the days that his freedom was taken away from him.

"возвращение домой" the days before he was capcured. the familarity of having his family close to him. where he felt that he belonged there. the warmth of his moms hugs, the teasing from his 4 younger sisters, every praise from his dad and raising him to be good man in the future, his friend, the one he loved so dearly, but his name - seemed so familiar, yet so distant.

"один" the first time he was ever sent to a mission. meaning he was sent alone. being the only one solider he was, in the beginning, it was always just him. one mission, one task, one target.

"товарный вагон" the day he fell off from that train. his fingers grippkng the handle so thightly, he thought his palms would bleed. Steve inching closer to him, wanting to take Bucky's hand into his and get him up, his hands suddenly fell off from the handle, making his screams for help to echo in to the void.

the man now stopped circling around bucky, closed the book and put it on a table next to him and stepped kn front of now, the winter solider, said in a cold demanor. "доброе утро, солдат."

the winter soldier now looked at the man with nothing but emptiness in his eyes as he nod his head. "готов подчиниться."

"is he ready?" pierce asked the second he stepped in the room, his hands in his pocket, making his presence in the room now cold. the man noded his head. "he is ready, sir."

pierce now satisfied with the answer, stepped closer to the winter solider and said. "we meet again, solider." sighing, he said again. "I have a mission for you, and you have to do it perfectly. no hessitation, just perfection." the solider nod his head yes in understoodment.

and the words that left pierce's mouth, shocked all of the siencetists in the room, even the man who triggered bucky. "kill nick fury. and I want a clear shot with a bullet in his head." and with that, he left the room, only to go in the other one.

Entering in the second room, the presence felt cold, non exsitend and almost normal? hearing the sharp breaths and the way her eyes burned through his skull, it made him uncomfortable and his skin crawled and itched every time he had to lock his gaze onto hers.

noding to the siencetist, as if asking if she was ready, the siencetist, whose name was Ivan, noded his head in aprovement to say yes.

Ivan watched Pierce’s gaze onto hers and all he wanted to do is to rip her off from the chair and save her. "she ready?" asked pierce.

Ivan nod his head and stepped away from her, and watched the way pierce walked slowly towards her and kneeling in front of her, taking her hands in his. "I have a mission for you, shadow." and she looked at him with the same look the winter solider had. emptiness and coldness. the loom that could say everything, but yet, nothing.

"I need you to kill Nick Fury." sighing and agzer a second he said again. "and i need you to repeat your mission before 3 months ago." looking at her, he asked her. "you remember that, dont you?" and shadow nod her head yes.

getting up from the position he was in, he clapped her shoulder and walked out from the room.

now it was the time to do the missions.

not one, but two.

-

In 20 minutes, both assassins were ready.

Weapons strapped to their bodies—knives, pistols, explosives. Anything that could kill, they carried. Their suits, dark and fitted for combat, left no room for mistakes. As they stepped out of their lockers, they locked eyes.

The Winter Soldier gave a curt nod. Shadow, standing there awkwardly, scoffed under her breath. “Asshole.”

He heard it. Of course, he did. Enhanced hearing was a pain in the ass sometimes. Turning slightly, he glanced over his shoulder—she was already gone.

Rolling his eyes, he made his way to the black SUV, yanking open the door and slipping inside. And there she was, sitting across from him, casually inspecting a gun. It was sleek, polished—black with pink edges.

His gaze lingered. Shadow, not even looking up, stretched her arm before speaking. "You're doing the staring thing again." He leaned back in his seat, expression unreadable. "No, I’m not. You’re imagining things." She snorted, loading and checking her weapons. "Uh-huh. And you’re delusional."

The Winter Soldier crossed his arms, his presence somehow even more intimidating, and Shadow—God help her—felt her face grow warm. That suit did not need to fit him that well. The way his muscles flexed beneath the fabric? Unfair.

"You are pretty annoying for a girl," he muttered. Shadow smirked. "You think I’m pretty, Soldier?"

His jaw clenched. A flicker of something crossed his face—confusion, irritation, maybe both. The faintest red crept up his neck. He didn’t answer. He wouldn’t give her the satisfaction. Before she could push further, the vehicle came to a stop. Orders were given. They stepped out, weapons in hand, eyes locking for one last moment before their humanity switched off.

Now, they were empty. Now, they were killers.

-

Max leaned against the wall, chest heaving. His shirt stuck to his back with sweat, and his legs felt like jelly. He waved Sam off weakly. “I hate you so much.”

Sam, hands on his hips, grinned like he had just run a warm-up lap instead of nearly getting them both killed. "Uh-huh. And you have a terrible way of lying, but here we are."

Max shot him a glare, but it lacked bite. He was too tired for attitude. Sam, ever the menace, reached out a hand. Max grabbed it, only to regret it immediately—Sam yanked him up, then clapped him on the back so hard he nearly faceplanted.

“Okay, what the hell was that for?” Max grumbled, straightening himself.

Sam smirked, already walking ahead. “You need to learn how to run. Those two things you call legs? Feels like you’ve got cinder blocks strapped to them.”

Max scoffed, catching up. "I wasn’t built for running, Wilson. I was built for—"

"Whining? Complaining? Moving at the speed of a grandma on a Sunday stroll?"

Max shot him a look. “I was gonna say ‘strength,’ but sure, let’s go with that.”

Sam snorted. “Strength, huh? Hate to break it to you, but if we were in a race for survival, you’d be dead five minutes in.”

Max threw his arms up. “Okay, first of all—screw you. Second, I’d survive.”

"Oh yeah? How?" Sam challenged.

Max grinned. “By tripping you first.”

Sam blinked, then let out a laugh. "Wow. Real honorable, man."

"Hey, survival's not about honor, it's about strategy."

Sam gave him a long look before shaking his head. “You know what? I’m actually impressed by how little shame you have.”

Max clapped a hand on Sam’s shoulder, smirking. “I aim to disappoint.”

Sam groaned, rolling his eyes as they kept walking. “Yeah, you’re doing a great job at that.”

Max just grinned, jogging ahead. Sam shook his head, but a small smirk played on his lips as he followed.

-

Five more minutes of running, and Max was done. He yanked Sam toward a nearby shop, ignoring his protests.

“I need a treat,” Max muttered, walking straight to the freezer section.

Sam scoffed but followed. “Yeah, sure. Take your time. Not like we were doing anything important.” When Max emerged, happily unwrapping a chocolate-covered ice cream bar, Sam’s expression turned downright offended. Without hesitation, he smacked Max upside the head.

“Wow. Okay. I see how it is.”

Max gave him an unimpressed side-eye as he took a bite. “You’ve got your own money. Buy your own. I’m not your damn nanny.”

Sam huffed under his breath but didn’t go back inside. “You know, every time I go grocery shopping, I get you something. Because I know your ass will be up my neck whining about how I didn’t.”

Max scoffed. “Well, yeah. You can’t just let me starve, shithead.”

Sam shot him a deadpan look. “Sometimes I wish I could.”

Max rolled his eyes and tossed the ice cream wrapper in a trash can as they walked. “Yeah, yeah. You fucking wish, man. If you really hated me, you’d have thrown me out a long time ago—”

BANG!

The gunshot split the air. Max froze as the bullet whizzed past his head, missing him by inches. Sam lunged, grabbing Max by the shirt and yanking him down behind a parked car just as another shot rang out. The sudden impact knocked the air from Max’s lungs. His ears rang.

“What the hell was that?!” Sam hissed, peeking over the hood, trying to pinpoint the shooter. More gunfire. Bullets pinged off metal, shattered glass, tore through the air.

Max’s hands were shaking. His breathing hitched. His heart pounded so hard it felt like it would burst from his chest. He turned to Sam, eyes blown wide with panic. "Sam, w-what’s happening?"

Another shot clipped the side mirror, shattering it. Sam grabbed Max again, shoving him further behind cover. He felt it then—Max's heartbeat hammering against his own palm. Too fast. Too erratic. Not good.

Max’s chest rose and fell too quickly. His fingers curled into his hoodie, nails digging into his own skin so hard his palm bled. His whole body shook. Panic attack.

Sam didn’t hesitate. He gripped Max’s wrist, prying his clenched fingers open. “Hey, hey—look at me.” Max’s eyes flickered to his. “Breathe, buddy. In. And out.” Sam inhaled, exaggerated, slow. Max mimicked it, struggling to control the rapid gasps.

But the gunfire. The noise. The smoke rising in the distance. It pulled him back—to her.

To the day she tried to kill him.

“I can’t.” Max’s voice cracked. His free hand clawed at his chest, as if trying to tear the panic out of him. "Sam, I can't fucking breathe."

Sam’s grip tightened. “Yes, you can. You’re with me. Right here. No one's gonna hurt you. I got you.” Max squeezed his eyes shut. Focus. Focus on Sam's voice. The world narrowed. The ringing in his ears dulled. Breathe. A deep inhale. A shaky exhale.

Sam gave a small nod. “There you go. You’ve got it.” Then he glanced over the car. Smoke. Whatever was burning, it was getting worse. Max was still rattled, and if he took one breath of whatever that shit was—it’d send him spiraling all over again.

Sam turned back to him, forcing a grin. “Alright, listen. We’re gonna run. As fast as we can. Because if we don’t, we’re gonna die in this damn alley, and I refuse to go out like this.”

He nudged Max, trying to keep the moment light. “If I’m gonna die, it better be on some cool superhero shit.”

Max let out a breathless laugh. He knew what Sam was doing. And he appreciated it. “…Yeah, well, we better start running then.” Sam grinned. “You ready?”

Max exhaled. "Hell no. But let’s go."

Then they ran. Bullets tore past them. They weaved between cars, ducking low, using wreckage as cover.

Suddenly—a blur of movement.

A man lunged from the shadows, tackling Sam to the ground. Max skidded to a stop, heart dropping. Sam barely had time to react before a fist slammed into his ribs. Another hit followed—a brutal hook to the jaw.

Watching the fight happening in front of his eyes, Max was ready to jump in and help sam but then - the grip on Max’s wrist took him by a suprise and it was like a vise, twisting his arm so far back that pain shot through his shoulder.

A second later, his chest slammed into the pavement. The impact rattled his ribs, his breath torn from his lungs in a choked gasp.

Move. Don’t freeze.

He felt the weight of the man shifting above him—his attacker trying to get a stronger hold. Max gritted his teeth and yanked his arm forward, rolling onto his side just enough to jam his elbow into the guy’s knee.

A sharp grunt. The grip loosened. Max didn’t wait. Using the momentum, he twisted free and planted both feet firmly against the pavement. Then he kicked.

His boot crashed into the man’s chest like a sledgehammer. The force sent him staggering back, a deep, guttural cough escaping as he nearly lost his balance.

Max didn’t stop. Couldn’t stop.

He launched forward, grabbing the man’s collar and slamming his fist into his jaw. Once. Twice. A third time. The guy’s head snapped back, but then— A second attacker. Max barely registered the movement before a fist collided with his ribs. A sickening crunch.

Pain exploded through his side, knocking the breath from his lungs. He stumbled back, clutching his ribs, vision momentarily spinning.

Stay up. Don’t go down.

The second man was bigger, stronger. His smirk was slow, deliberate—like he was enjoying this. "Not bad, kid," he taunted, cracking his knuckles.

Max wiped the blood from his lip and exhaled hard, forcing himself to focus.

Then he moved. He ducked under the man’s next punch, twisting his body and bringing up his knee. A sharp hit to the gut. The man grunted, doubling over slightly. Max didn’t give him time to recover. He brought his elbow down onto the back of his neck, sending him to one knee.

But the first guy wasn’t down yet. Max barely turned in time to see him lunging.

His instincts screamed. At the last second, Max twisted out of the way, grabbed the man’s arm, and used his momentum against him—flipping him forward. The attacker’s back slammed into the pavement.

Sam groaned, pushing himself up from the ground, wiping blood from his busted lip.

"Show-off."

Max scoffed, shoving the unconscious guy aside like he was nothing. He stepped in front of Sam, rolling his shoulders before extending a hand to pull him up. “Yeah, well, this show-off just saved your sorry ass.”

Then Max gave him a once-over, lips curling in mock disgust. “Guess I didn’t have to.”

Sam grinned, shaking his head as he clapped a hand on Max’s shoulder. “You alright, man?”

Max hesitated. His body ached. His heartbeat still hadn’t fully settled from the fight, the adrenaline making his hands tremble slightly. But he exhaled, forcing a nod. “Yeah. I mean—I survived, right?”

Sam studied him for a second, then nodded back. “Good. ’Cause it’s your turn to order pizza tonight, dumbass.” He nudged Max’s arm playfully.

Max rolled his eyes, already opening his mouth to fire back—

BANG!

The world shattered. Pain—sharp, searing, unforgiving—ripped through Max’s side. His breath hitched. He barely even registered the sound of the gunshot before his legs buckled beneath him.

Sam didn’t hesitate. He caught Max before he hit the ground, dragging him behind cover. "Max? Max?!"

Max's eyes fluttered, dazed. A slow, creeping warmth spread across his ribs, and when Sam's hands pressed against his side—red. Dark, pooling, spreading red.

Sam’s stomach dropped. "Shit—shit, stay with me, man. Just keep your eyes open—”

Max sucked in a sharp breath, vision blurring at the edges. The pain wasn’t even the worst part—it was the cold. Crawling up his spine, numbing his fingers, slowing everything down. Across the smoke-filled street, a figure emerged.

Shadow. She lowered her gun, pressing a finger to her earpiece. Her voice, sharp and clipped, cut through the static. “цель устранена. достижение успешное.”

But then—another voice crackled through her earpiece. "цель сбежала. миссия... провалилась." Her breath caught. No. Not again.

She took a slow step back, her heartbeat thudding against her ribs like a warning. Her fingers twitched at her sides as memories threatened to surface—the Soldier. The mission. The failure.

This was just like before.

She turned on her heel, walking stiffly toward the waiting black SUV. The agents inside didn’t ask questions. They knew better. Inside the car, Shadow pressed her forehead against her hands, breathing shallowly. When does this end?

Sam was still pressing down on Max’s wound, hands slick with blood. “Max, c’mon, open your eyes—stay with me, man, stay with me.”

Max exhaled shakily, eyes barely focusing. “S-Sam?” Sam nodded quickly. “Yeah, yeah, I’m right here, buddy.”

Max swallowed, his throat dry. “Listen. You’re… you’re gonna save my sister, okay? Promise me.”

Sam felt his chest tighten. Max lifted a trembling pinky finger. Even now—dying in his arms—this dumbass was making him pinky promise. Sam let out a choked laugh, blinking hard to keep his vision clear. He linked their fingers together..“Yeah, yeah, you got it, man. But first?” His grip tightened. “You gotta stay awake for me, alright?”

Max’s breathing hitched. His eyelids drooped. “…Max?”

No. No, no, no— Sam’s hands shook. His heart slammed against his ribs.

“Max—HEY—STAY AWAKE, MAN!"

TO BE CONTINUED...

translation-

Тоска - longing

ржавый - rusted

печь - furnance

рассвет - daybreak

семнадцать - seventeen

доброкачественный - benign

девять - nine

возвращение домой - homecoming

один - one

грузовой вагон - freight car

[sadieshairbrush]

Helping Hand | Steve Harrington

Steve has a big date, but he loses confidence when his best friend puts in his head that he’s no longer in high school, and that the girl he’s seeing tonight won’t be impressed by the same old tricks. You got him into this mess, you gotta get him out of it

Warnings: my first smut on here so it’s kinda bad :0, no name but use of she/her pronouns, reader with boobies and cooter, making out, oral f receiving, p in v

Steve absolutely loves himself as far as you’re concerned. He thinks he can do anything, and he’s certain the entire population of Hawkins knows it, too.

Now, only to provoke this sentiment further, he stands in front of your mirror running a hand through his fresh, clean hair.

The twinkle in his eye was reserved for one thing, and one thing only. It was almost literally, like you could see it even in the dim lighting of your bedroom.

“Knew it, you’re planning on having sex,” you smirked, noting the stunned look he passed you through the mirror. “Steve the virginity snatcher.”

“Stop watching me,” he snapped, embarrassed. Because indeed, you lay on your front atop your messy bed, magazine abandoned beneath you. Your eyes are hard to shake.

“Weirdo.”

“This is more interesting,” you declared, grin widening at the pink creeping up your friends neck. “And you’re in my house, stupid.”

The smell of Aramis lingers around the room like spiced cinnamon.

He’d unwrapped the bottle you’d gifted him on his 15th birthday and has worn nothing else since. It reminded you of school mornings in his car, still half asleep in the passenger seat as he whined for your attention.

“Can’t get ready with dad breathing down my neck, can I?”

He turned, eying your form as you roll onto your back, head hanging off the bottom of the bed.

From here, the valley of your chest was on full display, dragging Steve’s gaze in.

You can’t blame him, it being a routine at this point. It’s as if you tried your very hardest to turn him on at the most inopportune moments.

Really, it depends how he looked at it. He supposed it wasn’t the worst thing in the world to let his motor run before he saw whatever girl it was that week.

As the pattern would make evident, there was every chance in the world you were doing it on purpose.

“Guess so,” you sighed, eyes still on him as he leans his palms on your dresser, head quirked at you. “Who’s the lucky lady this time?”

“Don’t make it sound like that,” he sneered. Why must you make it out as if he flies through women like the pages of a phone book? It really hadn’t become as bad as that.

“Heidi Morrison. Blonde girl, big rack.”

This changes things. Heidi who’s had three boyfriends, at least. Heidi who has some experiences under her belt to compare to.

Not that every girl Steve had pursued was a virgin, but all young and clueless.

“Steve, you understand that you’re probably not as good in the sack as you think you are, don’t you?”

Unnecessary and rude, he thought.

What the hell would you know about his performance?

“That’s just weird of you to say,” he squeaked, waving one distressed hand around by his head.

“All your sex-capades have gone on ten minutes tops with no room for foreplay,” you laughed, watching the new fire burn in his eyes. “I’ve been to those parties, Steve, there’s barely even any time to miss you.”

Okay, so he’ll admit, most of these aforementioned happenings were a quick “get in, get out,” but that’s all it needed to be, right?

If it feels good for him, it’ll feel good for her. It’s all part of the same experience, right?

“You wouldn’t know,” he fired back, scrambling to save himself this embarrassment. There you are, cheeks pink as the blood rushes to your head, full cleavage on display for Steve’s eyes alone. “You wish.”

“I wish to sleep with someone who doesn’t know where my clit is?” You tease, separating your legs, innocently. If only you knew how much he wishes you were turned the other way, just for one sneaky peak up your loose pyjama shorts.

“You’re in trouble~”

That stupid, sing-songy voice of yours, too. Are you trying to play games with him?

“I know where a clit is, I just- I figure if I’m feeling good, she’d be feeling good.”

And there it is, the truth you never thought you’d hear. Your best friend is probably pretty bad at sex. He lets out a huff of air, flying himself backwards onto your bed so his head is by your knees. “Why are you making me panic?”

“I’m not trying to make you panic,” you defend, sitting upright to look down at Steve who covers his face with his arms. “But this is a totally different situation now. Girls like Heidi know what they want from a man, and being repeatedly slammed into won’t cut it. It’s not high school anymore.”

“What else is there?” He all but growled out, a frustrated mess beneath you. He removed his arms, his honey brown eyes finding yours. “Not to cross a boundary with you here, but I’m so certain they always come.”

“That’s pretty unlikely, Steve,” you told, crossing your legs beneath you before motioning for him to sit up. He does so, rather begrudgingly.

“Probably around 80% of girls won’t come just because we have a dick in us. Most of us probably won’t even find it all that enjoyable, period. Not when there’s no foreplay, no external action, you should know this. They moan and they whine because they think they should be.”

Hearing this filth come out of your mouth so brazenly was surprising to say the least. Not that you two haven’t always been close as close can be, but the terms you’re using now were downright pornographic, and might have had him straining in his jeans if he weren’t so stressed.

“I didn’t think foreplay was necessary,” he admitted, sitting upright to mirror you. “I’ve never needed it.”

“Foreplay gives us time,” you explain, all tones of teasing disappearing for good. “It gives makes us expectant, wet.”

This made Steve freeze. He couldn’t possibly be hearing you right. Or maybe he was just looking too far into the whole thing. But either way, the very idea of you letting him in on what gets you hot and bothered nearly had him sweating under his jacket.

“I can tell you what you should do.”

He didn’t know whether or not you were serious, and you wouldn’t give it away. Your smile is light, innocent enough to where the ball was totally in his court.

It was almost too fun to watch him silently fumble, his cheeks flushed a pretty shade of pink, his pouty lips parted in astonishment.

You looked so pretty in the dim lighting, shorts wrinkled around the tops of your thighs, camisole top loose over your breasts. “Really?”

you nod, slowly, grin widening.

“If you want me to.”

He didn’t know whether he wanted to cross this line or not. Surely, you’d just be talking him through what you, as a woman, like. But even that had him hot under the collar.

“Okay,” he gulped, breathless as your grin widened to full.

“Tell me how you usually start,” you begin, sparing not a single second.

It’s an odd position to be in for both of you, but you were keeping your cool. Steve just desperately wanted to know whether that was because you were just generally unbothered by the lines to be crossed, or that he was mistaken that these lines existed at all.

“I don’t know, I just… I kiss her, lay her down on my bed, we’d strip down and… you know…”

“consummate?”

“Not the word I’d use, but, yeah, I guess.”

He was trying his very hardest now not to portray his defensiveness to you. But you could read him better than anyone, so if you did notice, you didn’t let him know.

“Well, you know when you make out with a girl? But like, really make out? When it gets all hot and heavy… that’s foreplay, so you’re not completely stupid.”

Except maybe he is. He desperately wracks his brain for a time he followed such an intense make out session with sex. Making out was for when sex was off the table, if there wasn’t enough time for the deed itself.

Without having to admit a word, you catch on, knowing his shameful expression more than anyone.

With a sigh, you nudge his leg with your foot. What a pathetic loser your friend is.

“Think about it, you’re making out, your hands are on her waist, then her tits, her thighs. Your lips are on her neck, and she’s grinding herself against your lap ‘cause she’s so desperate. She needs friction, some contact to get her wet and ready.”

Again, pure filth.

You’re not beyond realising the hotness of the man before you, and the idea of grinding against his denim clad cock until you begged for his fingers was enough to have you squeezing your thighs together.

This wasn’t lost on Steve, but the last thing he wanted was to be wrong if he’d confronted this speculation head-on.

“Where would her hands be?”

And like he’d hoped, you shuffle impossibly closer, no heed paid to the mountains of tried-on and written-off clothes on your bed.

But his breath still hitches in the back of his throat when your hands come to meet the back of his neck, a light grip on the silky hair that resided there. He’s unable to hide the strangled groan that escapes his throat, but you don’t mind as you pull his hands to your back.

He knows exactly how to make out with a girl, it wasn’t new to him. His being clueless has more to do with this sudden pathetic attempt to feel your hands on him.

You shift a little closer so you’re settled between his parted legs, the strong odour of autumn fanning hotly from his neck. Your fingers are absently massaging his scalp and his hands move to your back, kneeding the flesh over your tank top.

“See?” You whisper, close enough to feel his breath hit your face. It was like cigarettes and mint. The mints in your vanity drawer, to be exact. “How easy is that?”

How easy is it to be this close to you? Smelling the sweet aroma of your skin, full cleavage a dangerous distance away? Not very easy, not easy at all.

You’d been this close before, but it had never been a position quite this intimate, but you felt as ease doing it.

Instead of answering, his eyes trail down the smooth skin of your neck down to the exposed expanse of your cleavage.

He knows he’s caught, but he brings his eyes back up to yours to see you’re unsurprised. You might even be encouraging him.

“This is already foreplay if you think about it,” you laughed, softly, sending heat radiating through Steve’s body. Because, here you are, in his arms, practically crotch to crotch, convinced you were taking part in what he’d call canoodling. “Is it helping?”

“‘M not sure… how do I know?”

“Well, aren’t you getting ideas? If I was a girl you liked, right here, tits in your face, pussy expectant, what would you do to make her want you? To make her feel good?”

Now you were asking the impossible. It’s like you’re trying to trick him into overstepping boundaries that should be obvious, but there’s no telling where the line is.

Is he allowed to say he’d been listening to you all along, and that he’d thumb your clit over those slutty pink shorts? Isn’t that what you’re asking him?

“You’d- umm… you’d need to move. So you’re on my lap.”

“Oh, she would, would she?”

You smirked, adjusting yourself to the position he’d asked, unsurprised but thrilled to feel the forming tent in his jeans.

“She, yeah, sorry.”

“Then, what?”

It’s obvious to you he’d had ideas. His eyes trailed down towards where your clothed crotch met his, and you’d immediately let your weight drop, sitting down where he wanted to feel you. “Don’t hold out on me, Steve, I know you’ve got some ideas.”

Reluctantly, he drops his hands lightly onto your thighs, skin smooth and warm. He didn’t know whether it was okay or not to squish his fingers into your flesh, but you seemed to be more than okay with this development, slowly grinding your core against the tent in his jeans, drawing out a throaty moan.

“This is where you should probably kiss her,” you spoke softly, drawing his dark eyes to yours.

It took a second to sense his agreement, but once you see him nod slightly, you lean in to press a light kiss to his lips.

It’s over a quick as it starts, you’re pulling away slowly, lips tingling and heart thumping against your rib cage.

Steve chases your lips, uncertainty still there but pushed to the back of his mind. It’s slow, it’s noisy, wet smacking sounds filling the room as you feel Steve’s hands begin to roam free over the skin of your thighs.

“Now what?” You breathed into his mouth, proceeding to brush your lips against his.

With less hesitation, he slides one hand around to hold the flesh of your ass, the other hand creeping closer to your crotch, dangerously close to your wet core.

“Can I touch you?”

His voice is muffled against your skin, breath moist on your face as you nodded. What has taken him so long to just say it?

You’d imagined your best friends hand creeping towards your core, soft, warm lips moving slow on your jaw. It was always a fleeting thought, when you’d been sat across from him at a party as he flexes his fingers at random, or when he had a strange blonde on his lap, palm pressed to her thigh.

Real life was different. His thumb presses into the damp fabric covering your clit, and you let out a quiet gasp into his mouth.

The sound was angelic to Steve. Here he had you, straddling his lap in your bedroom, and his thumb pressing harder but fleetingly into your clit as you chased the contact by rolling your hips ever-so-slightly.

It was unbelievable. He couldn’t even believe what he was doing, that he really had you flush on top of him, straps of your top falling down your shoulder, lips wet from his tongue.

He leaned forward again, capturing your lips in his. But it’s messy, all teeth and tongues as he nibbles around your lips.

His hands are kneading the flesh of your moving hips as his lips move to your jaw.

The thought of leaving evidence down your neck was so erotic and resolute, so he near enough attacked, nipping and biting only to soothe the burn with his tongue.

You were breathless, His eyes roam over your body, taking in every inch of you, a mixture of desire and adoration dancing in his gaze. He sits up, gripping your thighs, his hands gliding up higher on your skin as he pulls you closer, his gaze never leaving you as he looks up at you, his expression almost reverent.

“What’s next? What else do you wanna do to make me need you?” You breathed out, hips rocking against him in a motion to small you’d barely see it. But if the raging boner twitching in Steve’s pants was any indication, he could definitely feel it.

You don’t even know what you expected him to answer, but he didn’t say a word. His hand was on the back of your neck, and he was pulling you back into an open mouthed kiss.

He pushed his tongue against yours, hand wrapped around the wet fabric of the crotch of your shorts, knuckles brushing your slick folds, so dewy and inviting it sends a shiver down his neck.

He’d never been so aroused, it almost ached as his hardened cock strained so obviously against his jeans. A groan escapes his throat, strained and desperate against your tongue, making your lower belly swirl.

You hadn’t the brain function at the moment to register his lips moving to leave a wet and messy trail down the side of your neck.

Your skin is scorching as he nips and sucks at the sensitive skin. It’s enough to give you flashes of wild, dirty images of what’s to come.

Next thing you know, Steve is shrugging his jacket off, then he’s easing you onto your back to rest between your parted thighs. His hand held the back of your head as his lips found yours again in a messy, almost dirty kiss.

Maybe you were both completely lost, taken over by lust in all its plain simplicity.

Because damn, you can feel how needy he is.

His thumb finds your swollen clit as his hand settles under your shorts, drawing a shaky breath from you, moving to bury his face by your ear, a string of saliva still connecting your lips.

“…wet,” his breath was hot in your ear, a hoarse whisper as he slowly pulled your shorts down past your hips.

Oh fuck, this is really happening.

He slides the fabric down your thighs, fingers digging into your soft, smooth flesh as your shorts were abandoned and lost to the pile of clothes over your sheets.

The line was officially crossed, because Steve had a perfect view of your bare, glistening cunt. Your puffy lips slick with arousal, pulsing with a carnal hunger. Because the man in front of you was hungry, his hair a fluffy mess you’d never seen it in. His eyes, hooded with lust, drank in your cunt like a juicy peach begging to be tasted.

And that was exactly the plan.

All reasoning of why this was happening had been abandoned, and you were both completely consumed with blind desire.

He looks up at you, the look on his flushed face fleeting before it disappears between your parted thighs making you gasp.

His tongue flicks through your soaked folds, hands wrapped around your thighs as he savours the sweet musk of your hot cunt on his tongue.

A possessive growl escapes from the back of his throat while he feasts like a staved man.

Your head is spinning, body twitching with electric jolts with every flick of his tongue to your hardened clit before he pushes it into your small, fluttering opening, his nose now nudging your tiny bud.

Your mouth falls open, hips raising as if to get closer to his hot, wet mouth, his spit mixing with your slick spreading over your inner thighs and down the crack of your ass.

“So wet…”

It’s all you needed, your climax climbing closer and closer with every flick of his tongue, but those words made the muscles of your tummy tighten, your whining release coming in quick waves as your thighs shake, back arching.

You’re reduced to a writhing, moaning mess, liquid heat gushing onto his tongue.

As your chest rises and falls, Steve gets straight to unbuckling his belt, hungry eyes never leaving yours as he yanks his jeans past his thighs.

His grey boxers left little to the imagination, his sizeable cock straining against the fabric, an obvious wet patch where his slit is.

He leans back down, capturing your lips as he blindly reaches for his abandoned jacket, only pulling away to dig into the pockets.

You watch as he pulls out a condom.

“You’ll need that later,” I breathed out.

Ultimately, Heidi would still be waiting to be swept away by the man in front of you. She is, after all, the reason this is happening.

“No, I won’t.”

He opened the condom quickly with his teeth.

No further instruction was needed, and you got to yanking down his boxers in a flash.

If you were desperate before there’s certainly no hiding it now as you plucked the condom from his hand to roll it onto his angry, red cock, slick with pre-cum.

That action alone had him hissing harshly, sensitive to the touch.

A quick study, you call him. Because your pussy is more than ready to accommodate him, your soaked and sloppy hole clenching and unclenching around nothing, as if already milking an imaginary cock.

He growls with want, caging you in underneath him as you spread your legs. One of his hands guides his cock to your ready hole and he pushes himself party in, drawing two perfectly harmonious moans.

The stretch burns still slightly, and you whimper into his shoulder as he feels every ridge of your insides on every vein of his cock.

It’s slow, but he reaches the hilt, the dark patch of hair at his base meeting your ever-needy clit.

“You’re so wet… so tight…”

You only nod, chest heaving as you pull him in close with a hand on his back beneath his shirt.

“So tight,” you muttered against his shoulder.

He thrusts slowly and deliberately to start with, feeling how tight your cunt is, knowing just how full you must feel. And yes, you’re stuffed.

His face is buried into your neck, grumbling out nonsense between kisses to the skin there.

“So hot.”

“You feel so good…”

“So tight, fucking wet…”

His pace only picks up as you squeak out his name, repeatedly. What else can you do when he’s plunging into you with such urgency?

Lewd sounds fill the room, the squelching so obscene beside the groans and the gasps, the sound of Steve’s balls slapping rhythmically against your ass.

Your nails drag down his back, careful not to break any of his hot skin as he reaches impossibly deep inside you.

His grunting became persistent, his breath rapid as he held you tight and close, hips jerking harshly as he pulls almost all the way out, just to slam back it, all the way with a shaky moan.

“Gunna… cum… gunna cum,” he announces quickly, hips rocking into you rapidly.

Fuck, you were perfect, with your eyes hooded, your lips parted and your cheeks flushed a deep crimson. Not to mention he felt that your cunt was made for his cock, the way he fit so snuggly, the way it pulled him in…

Fuck.

His lower belly coils tightly, cock swelling inside you. His jerky thrusts were quickly becoming more urgent, and less controlled.

One hand tightened on your thigh, the other in your hair as he groaned out his release, filling the condom with his hot seed, his moan downright pornographic in your ear.

Steve Harrington just fucked you. On your bed. Before a big date.

He was collapsed on top of you, spent cock inside you with his face buried in your neck.

“Oh my God, sweetheart…”

“Isn’t it so much better like this?” You laughed softly against him, feeling him laugh back, nodding his head.

He looked back down at you, a light sheen on sweat over his skin, cheeks flushed pink in pretty blotches.

“I think I’ll skip that date. What else you got to teach me?”

[thollandsgirl2013]

Hi! I love your work and was wondering if you could write about Peter x stark!reader. A mission goes wrong causing Tony to be mad at both of them leading to an argument between both reader and Peter at the end but it’s very like wholesome when Peter sees how much reader is feeling guilty about the mess up?

I’m bad at explaining sorry if it doesn’t make sense!

Have a great day/good night

Hi! Thank you so much! I hope you enjoy this fic!

-----------------©®©®©®©-----------------

𝐌𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐆𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐖𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐠

Parings → Peter Parker x Stark! Reader

Warnings → Argument, guilt, injury mention, explosion, mild angst, hurt/comfort.

Summary → A mission gone wrong leads to Tony Stark’s anger, an argument between you and Peter, and a heartfelt moment of guilt and comfort.

"You two are grounded from missions—indefinitely!"

Tony’s voice boomed through the Avengers' compound as you and Peter stood in the briefing room, heads down like two kids being scolded. The mission had been simple—get in, retrieve intel, and get out. But, of course, things never go as planned.

“Do you have any idea how reckless that was?” Tony continued, pacing the room. “One mission. One easy mission, and you two nearly blew up half a HYDRA base!”

“In my defense,” Peter started hesitantly, raising a finger, “the explosion wasn’t entirely our fault. The HYDRA guy—”

“Oh, don’t even try, Parker,” Tony snapped, cutting him off. “You left the plan! Both of you! If I hadn’t sent back-up, you could have been killed.”

You flinched at his words. He wasn’t wrong. You had been the one to call an audible mid-mission, deciding that splitting up would be faster. Peter had reluctantly followed your lead. But when an unexpected HYDRA ambush cornered you, everything had spiraled out of control. Peter had to web you out of the way just as a grenade detonated, collapsing half the structure. You barely escaped, but the mission was a mess.

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to meet your father’s gaze. “Dad, I—”

“No. No explanations. I don’t want to hear them,” Tony interrupted, rubbing his temple. “You’re off the field. End of discussion.” He turned on his heel and walked out, leaving you and Peter standing in tense silence.

----------------

The silence stretched for a moment before Peter finally huffed, pacing across the room. “I told you it was a bad idea to split up.”

You crossed your arms, your jaw tightening. “Yeah? Well, we didn’t exactly have time to debate it, Peter.”

“We didn’t have to debate! We had a plan, and you changed it last minute.” He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Mr. Stark’s right. We could’ve been seriously hurt.”

“I know that, okay?” Your voice wavered slightly, frustration mixing with guilt. “I messed up. I get it.”

Peter’s expression softened, but he still shook his head. “You’re not the only one who messed up. I followed you, and I should’ve spoken up.”

“Then why are you acting like this is all my fault?” You snapped, feeling the weight of the mistake crushing you.

“Because you keep doing this!” Peter blurted out. “You take risks, and I— I can’t always be there to save you.” His voice cracked, and his shoulders dropped. “And one day… one day I might not be fast enough.”

Your chest tightened at the vulnerability in his voice. “Peter…”

He exhaled heavily, rubbing the back of his neck. “Look, I get it. You want to prove yourself to your dad. You want to show him that you can handle this life. But you don’t have to do that by throwing yourself into danger.”

You looked away, staring at the floor. “I just… I just don’t want him to think I’m useless.” Your voice was barely a whisper. “Like I’m just ‘Stark’s kid’ riding on his name.”

Peter’s heart ached at your words. He stepped closer, his voice softer now. “Hey… You are not useless. You’re incredible, Y/N. And Mr. Stark knows that. I know that.”

You let out a shaky breath. “Then why do I feel like I failed?”

Peter reached out, gently taking your hands in his. “Because you care. But making mistakes doesn’t mean you’re a failure.” He offered you a small smile. “Trust me, I’ve made plenty of them.”

You let out a small laugh, though your eyes still burned with unshed tears. “Yeah, you have.”

“Wow. Rude,” he teased, nudging your shoulder lightly.

You sighed, squeezing his hands. “I really am sorry, though.”

“I know,” he said sincerely. “Just… next time, let’s stick to the plan, okay? You don’t have to do this alone.”

You nodded. “Okay.”

Peter grinned, giving your hands a final squeeze before pulling you into a hug. You melted into his embrace, resting your forehead against his shoulder.

“By the way,” he murmured, “I think ‘grounded from missions indefinitely’ really means ‘until Mr. Stark stops being mad.’”

You groaned. “Which could be forever.”

Peter chuckled. “Well, if it is, at least we can be miserable together.”

You smiled against his shoulder. “Yeah. Together.”

‎∗ ࣪ ˖༺ 𓆩☆𓆪 ༻˖ ࣪ ∗

[angelofverdum]

Yellowjackets 3x07

"I'm not family but we have a very intense trauma bond."

This episode was very entertaining and full of rush. I blinked and it was over, but it was clearly a set-up episode for the shit that it's about to go down for the rest of the season.

The adult timeline is usually the weakest point of the show but I feel they went hand in hand with the teens this time. I wish they spent the whole season together.

Misty and Shauna are so fun to watch. Melanie and Christina's chemistry is insane. I wish Misty had gone with Shauna so we can see more bickering but I'm sure Tai is gonna need Misty more than Shauna.

Btw, Shauna is fucking crazy for going to that woman's house ready to put that knife to use. Like c'mon Shauna, that woman that lives in Virginia locked you up in a freezer and cut your breaks.

They're finally doing something with Tai, the most wasted storyline in the show. She definitely is going to start killing people to save Van, and those people need to understand that we need Van alive.

Is Walter lying about Shauna? or maybe Lottie took something from Shauna's house and that's how her DNA ended up at the crime scene. I think it'd be too messed up that one of the Yellowjackets killed Lottie unless it was other Tai.

Hilary Swank is definitely playing adult Melissa (I hope I'm wrong) because there's no way she's connected to those scientists. And why did they need to say out loud that Mel and Gen are dead? I want to know now.

The teen timeline was so delicious to watch.

Lottie is going crazier each day. She killed that man because the wilderness wasn't vibing with him. Maybe now the girls will see that Lottie is almost gone, to quote Nat "She is clinically insane".

Van broke my heart in this episode, adult and teen. One version just wants to go home, and the other just wants to live with her wife but without killing anyone.

Melisa asked Shauna to not leave her, and when Shauna obviously did because she cared but not that much then she got mad. I've seen people reading the "If she dies you died" as Shauna caring about her but c'mon she didn't even stop to check or look at her. She reacted because Melisa called her name. She could have stayed with her, even tho they'd need Shauna the butcher, as usual, but of course, she didn't bc she was more hype about hunting people.

Jackie had to drag Shauna out of the plane bc she didn't want to leave Van. Oh Jackie Taylor you are so missed.

Why the hell was Misty in that hunt? She didn't have a torch or a weapon, they left her alone and then broke her glasses. She should have been on camp taking care of Melissa.

Joel McHale is very lucky that Shauna didn't find him.

Also, it was very interesting to see the Yellowjackets from another perspective. To me, they are my beloved family, but they do look very crazy and cannibalistic from the outside.

They confirmed the three explorers died there. I'm dying to see the horrors they are going to face, and how the woman is going to manage these crazy girls. She is very smart and I feel she'd understand the dynamic pretty fast. She probably knows who they are.

This is my reaction every time I remember the hunting sequence:

I Loved seeing the girls hunt those people without actually communicating they know each other so well. Nat leading the hunt because yes, that's her role The Hunter. Uff that was Cheff's kiss.

They don't need the fire, because they know this woods like the palm of their hands by now.

Imagine if, at the beginning of the episode, we see them playing soccer together and then in the wilderness we see them using those skills to hunt people.

- If Melissa is alive why would Shauna cover for her?

- Gen is dead because she pushed Nat

- Misty saying "That's not good" when Van was coughing blood was hilarious.

- Shauna and Misty discussing murder in front of the police. They don't give a fuck.

- There have been 2 deaths so far, and Shauna's hands are clean.

- Shauna keeping the strand of hair. She's making her antler queen outfit iktr.

- They were worshipping frogs fucking.

- Shauna + Knife is one of my favorite pairs.

Jennifer Morrison is directing? Of course, another lesbian is about to die. Jmo never beating those allegations I fear.

- "I don't know where you end and I begin" That's the most romantic thing Shauna has said so far. Don't play with me.

[the-badger-mole]

The Moon, the Stars, and Beyond

It was a rarity in the early days of Cardan's reign for there to be anything like peace between him and his Seneschal behind closed doors.

"My puppetmaster," he corrected himself. Jude looked up from some documents she'd been pouring over for a moment to shoot him a wry look. Cardan ignored it and went back to picking at his nails.

"This is duller than I could have ever conceived, even in my darkest nightmares," he sighed.

"You can leave," Jude told him, not glancing up again. "I don't actually need you until it's time to sign these. I'd probably get through it much faster if you left me alone." Cardan did consider it. He knew his presence bothered her. He could see it in the way her cheeks would flush when he pointed out some flaw of hers- the dark circles beneath her eyes from her long hours working. The way her stomach rumbled when she hadn't eaten in a while. The disheveled mess her hair had become from running her hand through it agitatedly. Jude had done a splendid job making it so he couldn't punish her the way she sorely deserved, so he had to resort to petty button pushing.

Today, though, Cardan was too bored to even pick a fight, so he'd been sitting mostly in silence in the office Jude had claimed after Dain's death. He would never say so out loud, but Cardan thought the room suited her more than it ever had his brother. She was a better ruler than any of his siblings would've been. It seemed like she'd always belonged here. It did make Cardan wonder.

"What would you have made of your life," he asked, disturbing the silence, "if you'd stayed in the mortal world?"

Jude didn't lift her head, and for a while Cardan thought she was ignoring him. But then she set the page she'd been reading down and looked up thoughtfully.

"I think," she said slowly. "I think I would've liked to be an astronaut." Cardan snorted at that.

"There was nothing stopping you from doing that here," he pointed out. "Very silly of you to choose this instead. But I suppose once our time together is done, there's nothing stopping you from pursuing it then. Assuming Baephin would put up with having you for an apprentice. And also assuming I don't have you thrown into the Tower of Forgetting." Jude scowled at him. Cardan smirked at her. Perhaps he wasn't too bored for pettiness after all.

"I said astronaut, not astrologer." She hadn't taken the bait, Cardan noted sullenly.

"Well, what's the difference?" he asked.

"Astronauts go to space," Jude explained. "I think it'd be cool to see the earth from out there. When I was very young, I wanted to go to the moon, and to Mars."

"And how would you accomplish that?" Cardan scoffed. "Or is this where you tell me that humans have the ability to sprout wings?"

"No, I'd go in a space shuttle," Jude explained with no small amount of impatience. "Cardan, you do know that humans have been to space, right?"

Cardan, in fact, had never heard such a thing. He stared at Jude, trying to decipher the little tells he thought exposed her when she lied. She just looked exasperated. Still...

"You are a liar," he said finally.

"Not about this," Jude told him. "Humans have been going to space for longer than I've been alive. There's a whole space station. We have pictures of Earth from the moon. No one's been to Mars yet, but there are robots there."

"Robots?" Cardan repeated. His eyes narrowed. "What are robots." Jude let out an annoyed huff.

"I really don't have time to explain technology to you," she told him. "And I don't know enough about it to make it make sense."

"How do I know you aren't making this up?" Cardan asked.

"Why would I make something like that up?"

"To make humans more interesting."

Jude stared at Cardan, as if he'd said something completely incomprehensible. Then, to his surprise, she laughed. It was short, and even she seemed surprised at it, but it was genuine. It didn't seem to be at him, either. Cardan wasn't sure how to react to it. There was still a small smile on her face as she shook her head.

"I'm not making it up," she assured him. "You can ask Madoc, if you don't believe me. He knows about it. You can ask Vivi, too, when she comes for Taryn's wedding. Maybe I'll have her bring a book for you. You can see all the pictures humans have taken from space. It's fascinating."

Cardan tried to picture Jude as an astronaut, and he could see her dancing among the stars with that too rare smile on her face.

"Maybe," he said quietly. "Maybe you still could do it. A year and a day isn't so very long." A surprised look stole across Jude's face, and Cardan remembered he was supposed to be petty and cruel. "You'll need to do something with yourself when I banish you from Elfhame, after all."

"Cardan," Jude heaved a long-suffering sigh. "Get out."

To the surprise of them both, Cardan stood up without any further argument and left the room hastily. He wasn't moving fast enough to escape the echo of her laugh, or the image of her smiling down at him from the stars.