#and what gets me the most is she started the conversation with ‘this has been on my mind for a while’ meaning she could’ve asked me but she

[zeepatomicarts]

I always itch to get this out every time I hear people talking about Hellaverse and why they think it’s so great, and here I am finally saying it:

I MISS the old Vivziepop, most especially when it comes to her art and animation.

What makes this opinion come to my mind you may ask? Well, it starts when you get a good look at comparing the two eras of her work: The Zoophobia and Hazbin Pilot era (Early to mid 2010s), and the modern day Hellaverse era (Late 2010s to now).

I remember stumbling upon her YouTube channel back when I was 8 years old and was fascinated with random short films. The vibrant worlds that were shown within the short films of Die Young and Timber obviously had enough appealing elements to get my attention. A gorgeous Disney-esque cartoon style? Check. Adorable and charming animal characters? Check. Uniquely bold, yet also limited color schemes? Check.

From then on I LOVED her work. A lot of her character designs had their own eye-catching color schemes and patterns that would match with their personalities, and also had fluidly drawn expressions as well. But the big thing about Viv’s older works that drastically separates from what she is known for now has to be that most of them had an all-ages appeal, and it especially shows in Timber. They didn’t focus too much on heavily adult elements like satanism, sex and profanity, they just did their own thing. And that is what made her praised back then.

Fast forward to now ever since the success of Hellaverse, and that’s where you begin to see the WRONG side of Viv's work. Of course with the Hell theme, you can see they always embrace being for adults by abusing certain elements that are viewed as NSFW. Listening to the dialogue in an episode of Hazbin or Helluva feels like you're listening to an average lunch conversation from a bunch of edgy Hot Topic middle schoolers, only with TWICE the profanity.

That complete with how the character designs in that show are the same old, same old (boys are well-dressed twinks, girls are just girls), and the color scheme consisting of SO MUCH RED that it would probably feel like you're staring directly into a Virtual Boy if there weren't any yellows or pinks evening out the scene most of the time, the best conclusion I can think of is that both Hazbin and Helluva tried their best to become groundbreakers when they first came out, but ended up only being appealing to one particular audience and nothing more which unfortunately leaves them stuck at square one.

I know this because Helluva Boss came out when I was in middle school, and I remember actually ENJOYING the first four episodes before not feeling like watching the fifth one during the time that it came out due to being busy with other hyperfixtations around then, and getting so far behind to the point where I decided to give up on the show entirely around 2023. And I’m glad I lost interest in HB too after hearing about all the controversies surrounding SpindleHorse being a toxic work environment alongside the show’s drop in quality when it comes to writing. The first few episodes were decent, but then it just devolves into some 13 year old weeaboo’s Wattpad fanfic from 2014.

So what’s my final opinion on VivziePop overall? She downgraded HARD after her hell based cartoons got successful, especially since she’s been the subject of a lot of controversies since the last two years. And it makes me sad, because so much can be done when you have such a pretty artstyle.. sometimes when I just look at how much of a dumpster fire Hazbin Hotel turned out to be overall in terms of pacing and hear news about yet ANOTHER controversy about how problematic Vivzie is, I wish she didn’t have much of an ego and actually kept that cozy old school Disney vibe in her art and animations instead of having Hell be her main focus when it comes to everything she works on.

All I can say is, we can only hope for that Homestuck pilot to be the first good thing to come out of SpindleHorse for a very, very long time since Viv isn’t really involved with the writing.

I’M 21!!

So i dun drew I thing, Just a group thing cause, I freakin’ LOVE group shots, so I did one of whatever characters I just felt like throwin’ in thur, aw yiss <333

[clarktologist]

DOPPELGANGER.

summary: a night out goes a bit awry when you forget your boyfriend is both superman and clark kent. tags: afab reader, reader wears a skirt & is shorter than clark, clark kent being yearner extraordinaire, pre-established relationships, mentions of cigarettes [lois smoker truther], kissing, alcohol & drunk reader, just fluff word count: 1.3k notes: my first clark kent be nice to me world. literally just something quick to get me out of my rut.

Clark didn’t often find himself in bars. It’s not his place. He prefers to take to the skies, or the hustle of the Daily Planet office, or the soft warmth of your apartment after a long shift where he lights a candle and keeps the light low for the most amount of relaxation. There’s no reason to keep a drink in his hand when all it does is taste bitter and intoxicate everyone around him. He drinks too fast to pretend that alcohol has an effect on him, when in reality it just burns in his chest for a moment before fading. 

But when you had tugged on his hand at work, asking him to go out with you and the other members of the Daily Planet, beaming and promising to get home early, he hadn’t been able to say no. In reality, it hadn’t even crossed his mind. Whatever brought you joy was worth anything he might have to go through. 

Now, he stands in a dimly-lit dive bar, watching as you and Lois twirl each other around to some country song another patron had played on the jukebox. He’s been counting your drinks, but he doesn’t need to recall the number to tell that you’re thoroughly and utterly drunk. It shows its presence in the flush of your cheeks, the large grin (with teeth) that you flash to the other journalist, the loss of any shame in anything you do. Even when you stumble over your own ankle, clinging to Lois and almost taking her down with you, you laugh it off and brush it away before launching right back into her arms.

There’s no use in him moving, or attempting to talk to anybody else. He’s right where he needs to be, watching you with his gray blazer draped over his arm and a full bottle of beer in his grasp. Even as Jimmy strolls up and attempts to start a conversation, he’s glancing over his shoulder as he speaks, mesmerized by you. 

He only moves when he notices Lois has left your side, leaving you standing in the middle of the bar and looking around like an abandoned puppy. He’s quick to sidle up beside you and press a large hand to the small of your back, leaning down to speak in your ear. “Where did Lois go?” he asks. 

You jolt and spin around, eyes widening before relaxing at the sight of him. “To get a cigarette.” Your response is almost a hum, taking one step away and watching his hand drop. “She’s a smoker, you know. Claims to only do it when she’s drunk, but I know her better than that.”

Clark’s lips press together at that, glancing at the walls before back down at you. He’d have to leave a pamphlet on Lois’ desk about the dangers of smoking. He’s deep in contemplation about how many when you start walking away from him, his feet moving quickly to follow behind you. “Hey, are you ready to go?” he asks, keeping his voice low to show it's an offer, not a command. He loves your joy, he really does, but you’re swaying on your feet and - if he’s really honest - he misses your undivided attention. To his surprise, your eyebrows knit, looking at him with a confused once-over. “No, thank you,” you slowly speak, as if carefully choosing each one. “I’m waiting for my boyfriend.” That causes him to do a doubletake, visibly recoiling with a shake of his head. “What?”

“I’m waiting for my boyfriend,” you repeat. Then, you cross your arms over your chest stubbornly, like he’s bothering you, and he’s even more confused. 

“Sweetheart,” he starts, ignoring the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose, “I’m your boyfriend. Clark.” One hand raises to grace over the front of him in a flourish, pointing out all six feet, four inches of him, like you just needed a reminder.

Your head shakes immediately, chin tilting a bit higher. “No. My boyfriend is Su -”

Without thinking, his hand clasps over your mouth, eyebrows raising. “No.” Then, immediately feeling guilty for covering your mouth, he brings it back to his side, glancing around. “Okay. That’s okay. Will you come outside with me? Please?”

There isn’t a beat before he’s picking you up, one arm draped over your thighs as a hand pulls down your skirt. Long legs carry you outside before you can blink, not even saying bye to the Daily Planet staff gaping at you as he moves as fast as possible down the street. “My boyfriend is going to beat you up!” You squeal, a lame fist hitting right between his shoulder blades as your feet kick. “He defeats monsters! He can toss a car! He can fly!” There’s an agitated groan as his forearm tightens around your calves, stopping you from flailing your legs and getting dangerously close to kicking him somewhere that even Superman can feel.

Humble as ever, Clark doesn’t stop you from gushing, a smile pulling at his lips as he listens to you talk about him. About how he’s tall and handsome and protective, how he cooks breakfast in the morning and only burns it sometimes, how he’s the ultimate gentleman. While niceties like those weren’t unfamiliar in your day-to-day life, it’s still enjoyable to hear from your lips when you can’t even recognize him.

After he’s carried you to a street that isn’t crowded with pedestrians, he finally sets you down, keeping his large hands on your hips like you’d break away at any moment. He cannot help the way he beams down at you as you pout up at him, the dimples that you gush over when sober lining his mouth. When your brow knits and your lips part to spit something at him again, he quiets you by pulling off his glasses, folding them onto the collar of his shirt and then kissing the daylights out of you. A hand cups each one of your cheeks, pinky fingers tucked along the line of your jaw.

You’re stiff as a board for approximately two heartbeats before you’re melting into the kiss, one hand bracing on his chest as you prop yourself up on your tiptoes to kiss him better. His lips curl into a grin against yours, arms moving to wrap around your waist as his feet leave the ground. The both of you are suspended in the air, mouths locked, for (admittedly) a few minutes, Clark relishing in the taste of fruity cocktails on your lips. 

Finally, you pull away, face ten times brighter than it had been moments ago despite not touching the ground. “Superman,” you whisper, grinning up at him. “Knew you’d come pick me up.” And with the twinkle in your eye, Clark starts to wonder if this had been your plan all along.

“Yeah?” He murmurs, continuing to brace you with a singular arm as his other hand moves to brush a knuckle against your cheek. “Just needed to be swept off of your feet?”

You nod, almost too happily, and there’s a giddy giggle spilling from his lips before he can stop it. Slowly, he lowers the both of you back to the ground, running a hand through his hair and letting a curl spill over his forehead. After returning his glasses to his face, he pats your hip with one hand, drawing you into his side. “Are you finally ready to go home?” It comes out whinier than intended from his lips, the tips of his ears turning pink.

“Mhmm.” You hum, already leaning into his side. “Let’s go, Superman.”

And even though he has to glance around to make sure no one heard you, Clark can’t help but place a kiss to the top of your head before leading you back to your apartment.

[bananapurincore]

my wife.... I miss him so much..... wife....

(Bangs head against wall yk I told myself. Ok im chilling fr this time I have other stuff I need to work on but NO. Your yearning has impacted me personally so now I'm making it everyone's problem. Here's a random wip/hc I had sitting around. Your greed sickens me, anon, this is all your fault 😒😒😒)

╰┈➤ you with the other nousportists, this doesn't happen in the drabble but you def throw paper balls at the back of phainon's head sometimes, uhhh that's about it, you're not going to believe it but this isn't edited

You, Castorice, and Phainon have a perfect system for taking notes; if one were to miss class for whatever reason (Like Cas's poor immune system or otherwise), then the remaining two will have something prepared for whoever couldn’t make it. The problem is that you all have vastly different note styles that don’t always make sense to each other.

Castorice’s are, unsurprisingly, very neat, organized, and even color coded with the many pens she has, they’re also rather brief, and she utilizes a lot of shorthand when you know she’s fully capable of….. writing very long and detailed. She also tends to doodle a lot and gets distracted that way (amongst her other various musings, her half written prose remains unfinished beyond the space of the margins).

"Cas." You scan through her notes, knowing you’ll have to ask her to translate. "What does the yearning tree have to do with the lecture at all."

“Oh… I…” She starts, the bumbling of her words the consistent signal to a start of a long-winded explanation. “You always pay attention to all the wrong things….”

⋆·˚ ༘ *

Your notes are long and well documented, if not a little too long or poorly structured, they explain almost too much, and it’s evident you just start having conversations with yourself to justify the confusing concepts by jotting down every voice that comes to your head trying to make sense of it instead of asking your professor to explain it further.

"Where were you going with this? ‘The system requires us to question our morality in antiquated places to invoke feelings of nostalgia…. Going to need iced coffee later…. Is coffee nostalgic? Need coffee’….” Possibly the most confused he’s ever looked, your friend hands your journal back over to you. “… Was the coffee nostalgic?”

“Huh? I don’t remember writing that.” You shake your head, processing what he said. “…. I think so?”

“Amazing answer to your hypothesis.” Phainon sighs. There’s a tender touch to it, though, his eyes crinkling with mirth. “Worry not, I’ll get you more coffee. You’re going to need it to make sense of the rest of this.”

⋆·˚ ༘ *

Out of you three, however, Phainon’s remain the best, as there’s (somehow) never anything wrong with them. They’re detailed, straight to the point, and virtually perfect. You accuse him of stealing once or twice, under the impression that there’s no way he didn’t just take these from under Professor Anaxa’s nose or while Hyacine wasn’t looking.

The only thing that gives it away to them being his is the stain of whatever it was he was eating while writing them down. Whether it be the juice of the apple that fell from his chin and onto the paper or the miscellaneous crumbs that clung to the paper, it works better as a signature than his own name would.

“You can tell when I got hungry,” He hums, nibbling on something else, this time while peeking over your shoulder. “Hm… speaking of, with all the stress of the exams, I hope you haven’t been skipping out on eating.” He commits to resting his head on your shoulder and swallowing what was left of his snack. “And you better not try to lie to me. You know I can always tell.”

You pause your transference. “What, like our tummies are telepathic?” Does this explain how he always knows what you’re craving all the time?

“Of course they are.” He responds, matter of fact. “I thought you knew this—Look, you’re hungry right now.”

“No, I’m not—” Your stomach has a wonderful sense of comedic timing, rumbling as if it was coaxed out by his words. From behind you, he pats it gently, nodding before you have the chance to retort.

“Very convincing.” He smiles; you feel spread against your neck. “Perfect timing, I’m still pretty starved myself. I’ll make you something real quick, okay?”

You don’t get to answer. You never do, when Phainon offers, because “no” means “yes” when it comes to him cooking for you, and you gave up a long, long time ago trying to save him the time he clearly doesn’t want saved. Let him put something together. He’s always much happier when he gets to.

(Sometimes, tiny hearts are littered around his notes, and they remain the only deviation of a page otherwise free from scribbles and marks. Perhaps intentional, those smaller details remain undecipherable to you when you hold a light to them late in the night)

[unpredictable-probabilities]

Rescuing Strangers

Summary

Rumors about an entity getting captured by humans have spread around, and Hob hasn't heard anything from Dream ever since he postponed their meetings indefinitely to tend to his realm. Hob knows that it's unlikely that Dream got captured again. But it's probably safer to check.

Word Count: 5,067

Notes

This is inspired by this fic by @softest-punk! <3

For Sadman Week 2025 | Prompt: Teeth | @mr-sadman

For Tropetember 2025 | Prompt: Whump | @tropetember

[Read on AO3]

---

The buzz of pleasant conversations floats around The New Inn as Hob laughs at another joke made by one of his fae regulars. He prefers to mingle with the customers during "Spirit Nights" at the Inn; it's not everyday that he gets to truly be himself and not have to be wary about being caught as an immortal.

It was about a year ago when he happened to see two men breaking into a bookshop and stopped them before they could take anything. He met Aziraphale and Crowley shortly after the men ran away, and it took several minutes and a few drinks for his inner medieval Catholic to wrap his head around demons and angels being real, but by the end of that night they had become friends. And Hob had the idea to make the third Friday of every month be "Spirit Night" for The New Inn, to provide a safe space for other immortals like himself. Considering who he built the Inn for, it's surprising really that he hadn't thought of it sooner. Crowley makes fun of the name's pun every chance he gets, but he visits more often than Aziraphale.

The sound of a chair scraping the floor catches his attention, and he sees that one of the demons has stood up; his human disguise flickering for a moment to reveal a shorter humanoid with green skin and stubby horns, and a tail flicking back and forth. There's a spell that automatically casts a disguise on all non-human creatures if there are any oblivious human customers around, made by a witch that Hob had hired, but the fact that this particular demon's disguise flickered meant that he was preparing to use magic, and everyone knows that's against the rules of the Inn.

Hob excuses himself from the fae's table and starts to walk towards the demon, but before he could say anything, the demon heads for the door and Hob realises he's about to confront the woman who just entered.

"Lookie who's here," the demon drawled.

"Hullo, Drozgeth. Nice outfit."

Hob freezes in place as his mind registers multiple things at once.

That woman saw through the human disguise, which means she already knows other creatures exist.

She knows the demon's name and spoke it so casually.

She looks exactly like Lady Johanna.

What the hell. Is that her? Did Dream make her immortal, too? Hob knows now that Death is actually the reason that he's immortal, not Dream. But still, did those two make her immortal? Hob doesn't know how he feels about that, but for now he has a bar fight to prevent.

He walks closer to the demon—Drozgeth? He's only been here once or twice before, but he should know that The New Inn is neutral ground.

Drozgeth sneers. "What are you doing here, Constantine?" he says the name like he's spitting out something disgusting.

Constantine? If this is Lady Johanna, Hob would have a few words with Dream about not telling him she's immortal too.

"I'm here for a drink," the woman says lightly. "It's been a long night, mate. Move out of the way."

Drozgeth hisses and a forked tongue slips out from his mouth. He takes a step forward. "How about I—"

Hob puts a firm hand on his shoulder. "How about you get back to your table now, eh? Let's all have a good drink with our friends."

Drozgeth roughly shrugs off his hand and glares at him. "And what if I don't? What are you going to do about it, human?"

"Me? Nothing. The others, though…" Hob looks around them.

Fae and nature spirits and even other demons are glowering at Drozgeth, showing glowing eyes and glinting fangs through their disguises. Most of the humans remain oblivious, but they still don't look happy about a potential fight.

"They might have a thing or two to say about it," Hob continues. "You know the rules. If you're gonna fight, you take it at least one kilometer away from the premises."

Drozgeth warily looks at the threatening stances around him, and he walks back to his table with nothing but some grumbled words. The rest of the customers return to their conversations like nothing happened.

"You're the owner?" the woman asks Hob. "I've been hearing about this place. Just didn't have time to drop by until now." She walks past him and to the bar without waiting for an answer. "Whiskey, mate. Neat," she nods to the bartender.

She didn't seem to recognise Hob. A descendant, then? Not Lady Johanna herself.

Hob orders a beer for himself and sits next to her at the bar. "You look human. But you knew that demon's name. Familiar with this lot, then?"

"You could say it's the family business," the woman says indifferently before taking a sip from her glass.

"And the business is… bounty hunting?" Hob guesses.

"Depends on who hires me, really. Like my job for tomorrow, I didn't need to do the hunting for that one. Just gotta free some poor creature locked in a basement before the humans who summoned it blow themselves up with magic they don't understand."

Something about the phrasing nags at Hob. He sets down his bottle at the bar and forgets about it for a moment. "Locked in a basement? Who?"

"Probably a demon. Or a nature spirit, or something else entirely. The important thing is, the priest who heard about the capture is my friend and is paying me double if I do the job immediately."

Hob falls silent. Since Dream came back three months ago, they had seen each other almost every week. Then Dream told him at their last meeting that he needed to attend to some things in his realm, and he didn't know when he'd have the time to visit again. Hob hasn't seen him in a month.

"When was that creature summoned?" Hob asks.

"I don't know," the woman shrugs. "A few weeks ago, maybe. Why?"

An unpleasant feeling rises up in Hob's throat. "A friend of mine got locked in a basement for a while. I'm just wondering… No, it can't be him," Hob mumbles mostly to himself. "He'd have been more careful this time around. I'm sure it's not him." He doesn't believe his own words, and the woman looks even more skeptical.

She frowns and stares at his face for a few moments. "Bloody hell. Are you the Wandering Jew?"

Hob instinctively tenses up. The last person who called him that looked exactly like this woman, and her thugs had a knife to his throat within minutes.

"My god, it is you. It was a rough drawing that Lady Johanna had, but it's you, isn't it? And does your friend happen to be the 'devil' in Burgess' basement back then?"

Hob feels his eyes widen. "You know him?" He doesn't think he'd ever met another human before who knew Dream.

"Dream of the Endless? Yeah, I met him once, a while ago. I happened to have his magic sand, he took it back." Her expression turns somber for a moment, then just as quickly it returns to normal. "Anyway. I don't think it's him. Nothing weird's been happening to dreams, right?"

Hob nods slowly. He wants to know how this Constantine met Dream, and how she ended up with his sand, but there are other things to prioritise right now. "Are you absolutely sure that it's not him?"

The woman taps her fingers thoughtfully on the bar top. "No. I can't say for sure until I actually see the creature."

Hob lets out a breath and makes a decision. "Then I'm coming with you."

"What?" she looks taken aback.

"I'll help you free the creature. Then we can both be sure it isn't him."

She shakes her head. "I've never needed help with these things, and I don't need your help now. I'll let you know afterwards if it's him or not. "

"But it would be faster if you had some help, right? And safer. Especially since we don't even know what kind of creature it is."

"Look, mate, I barely know you. I don't know what you can do in that sort of work. I can't afford to worry about your ass too while covering mine."

"I've been a soldier in every war that happened in this continent for the past 600 years," Hob points out. "I can take care of myself. And how do you think I manage to run a pub like this? I'm not an idiot around magic."

She sighs in exasperation and narrows her eyes. "You really care about him, don't you?"

"Of course I do, he's my oldest friend."

"Fine. But you have to listen to everything I say. I don't want him getting angry with me if something happened to you."

***

Less than 24 hours later, Hob finds himself going down a staircase of an abandoned factory. Jo is walking a few paces ahead, and it's his job to make sure that no one's following them.

Jo had explained to him the main things to watch out for, and a few incantations to protect himself in an emergency. But what he's more worried about is what they'll find in the basement. He knows that Jo has a point about how there hasn't been anything wrong with dreams lately, so it's unlikely that Dream has been captured again. Still, he can't risk repeating the same mistake of not being there for Dream when he needed it.

They reached the bottom of the stairs, and there's a faint fluorescent light casting a ghastly glow over carboard boxes and rusted shelves. In the middle of the room sits what looks like a child dressed in leaves and twigs, hugging his knees protectively towards his chest. When he looks up at the sound of footsteps, Hob notices that his ears are pointed at the end, and his cheeks have a tinge of green.

"Dryad," Jo mutters, slowly approaching the binding circle surrounding the child. "Are you hurt?"

The child shakes his head, his bright green eyes looking cautiously at the two of them.

Jo gets to work unlocking the binding, reciting a few incantations from a book while erasing runes with her boots in a particular order that Hob doesn't understand. Hob feels bad for the dryad child, and partially guilty about the relief he feels at seeing that it's not Dream after all.

They all make it back safely out of the factory, and the dryad thanks them both, giving Jo a shiny green pendant before running off into a nearby cluster of trees and disappearing.

"See?" Jo turns to him. "There was nothing to worry about."

"Why would they imprison a dryad? And who are they, anyway?"

"People will do anything if they're desperate or greedy enough. The owners of this factory went bankrupt recently, and I guess they believed that imprisoning a magical creature would bring them luck."

"Assholes," Hob mutters, thinking about a different prisoner and a different basement.

"Go home, Robbie. You worry too much about your man."

Hob feels his face warm. "He's not my—" he cuts himself off when he sees Jo's knowing smirk.

"Just wait for him, yeah? I'll let you know if I hear anything that could be about him. It's not like you can run after every single rumour of a summoned creature just to check." Jo walks down the sidewalk and hails a cab.

***

Hob ducks behind a pillar just as the guards fire at him. A bullet lodges itself into his shoulder, and he grunts as the smallest bit of movement causes blood to trickle out of the wound and down his arm. Damn. He has to patch that up if he doesn't want a trail of blood leading the guards right to him. He takes out a handkerchief and quickly ties it over the wound, pulling the knot tight with his teeth. It will have to do for now. He can take the bullet out later.

His sources said that a demon is being held captive in the garden of this fancy mansion, and judging by the armed guards patrolling, there's definitely something worth all this expensive security.

He dashes into the hedge maze—he still can't believe rich people really own these things—and pulls out the map that was stolen for him. The early afternoon sun is glaring from above the tall green walls, and soon enough Hob can feel sweat dripping into his eyes. Why he decided to wear a jacket today of all days he doesn't know. He hastily wipes his forehead with the back of his hand and turns the corner leading into the heart of the maze.

A large perfect circle of salt is drawn in the center, and inside it stands a tall dark creature seemingly made of shadows.

Hob's footsteps stutter to a halt. It's not Dream, is it? He knows his friend can take many forms—

The figure turns to him and snarls, rows of jagged teeth appearing in multiple places along its body.

"I'm here to help," Hob puts his hands up in a placating gesture, wincing as the movement sends a bolt of pain in his shoulder up to his neck. "I'm looking for my friend, but I can get you out of here too."

Most of the teeth retreat out of sight, and Hob gets the sense that he's being watched curiously by unseen eyes.

"Okay. Salt circle. I just need to break it, right?" He checks his notebook to be sure. "Right. I'm approaching now, okay? Don't kill me." It would be annoyingly inconvenient if he had to legally fake his death so soon in this century.

The remaining teeth disappear, and the figure floats backwards as far away as possible within the circle.

Hob moves forward and kicks away chunks of salt, making sure that no amount of the fine white powder get stuck in the grass.

Shouts and footsteps are coming from nearby, and Hob looks at the creature just as it lunges towards him with clawed hands. Hob doesn't have time to gasp as he feels bony hands grip his shoulders and suddenly everything is dark and he's flying and it's cold cold cold.

He lands unsteadily on his feet and blinks a few times before the disorientation dissipates completely. He's outside the mansion, and the shadow creature is floating in front of him. Only the sound of passing cars and pedestrians can be heard here; the maze is too deep inside, and it would take the guards a while before they can get out of it.

The shadow creature bows to Hob, then it shrinks back and blends into the shadows cast by the mansion.

Hob quickly unties the bloody handkerchief and pockets it. Then he takes off his jacket with a pained grunt—he really needs to take that bullet out—and slings it over his shoulder to keep the wound out of sight and soak up any blood that might come out. He heads down the road and blends in with the other pedestrians on the crosswalk.

So, not Dream. Still, there's been no word at all from his friend. Hob sighs and walks towards the restaurant where he had parked his car.

***

"A crystal? Really?" Hob says infuriatingly at the orange pendant hanging on a hook in the empty bedroom he had broken into. The pendant is about the size of his palm, and inside it he can see the silhouette of a humanoid figure, who just shrugs at Hob's exasperation.

Hob quickly turns the pages of his notes to find what he can use to free someone from a crystal. Jo mentioned some general unbinding incantations on that night they went to the factory. One of them must work.

He tries them one after the other, even combining a few, but to no avail. He huffs out a breath and looks at the creature. The silhouette was sitting cross-legged inside the crytal, it looks like its arms are crossed. Hob can't see its facial features but it almost seems bored.

"I don't supposed you can help me in any way? I'm not sure if I can take this crystal outside the premises without harming either of us."

The bedroom door opens and reveals a very surprised man in a business suit.

Hob looks back at the crystal. "Never mind, let's go." He grabs the cord and wears it on his arm, holding the pendant tight in his fist.

"Hey—!" The man steps forward but Hob shoves him as he runs past and out into the corridor.

"Guards!"

Always with the guards. Hob turns a corner and finds a door in front of him and a balcony to his right. He's only on the second storey, but he doesn't wanna risk breaking his neck jumping from that height. Maybe that room has a window with a respectable ledge outside he can climb out of. He runs to the door. Locked. He can probably try to break it down but—

"Stop!" a warning shot fires into the air.

"Oh, bugger," Hob curses under his breath, looking at the balcony.

He sprints for it, ducking as bullets zoom past him.

Hob closes the glass balcony doors behind him and looks around for anything that might help him climb down. There's a pillar to his left overgrown with vines, and down below a few shrubberies that might soften his fall marginally if he's lucky enough.

He swings a leg over the railing as the balcony doors burst open and three guards pour in. He leaps onto the pillar, grabbing at vines that are much thinner than they look. A guard leans forward and tries to take hold of his arm but he's already sliding down, tearing down vines and leaves and going far too quickly than he'd like.

Branches scratch at his face, and he's sure some of his fingernails are bleeding from how he's scrabbling for purchase on the stone pillar. He tries to jump down to the ground, but he doesn't quite time it right and his legs give out beneath him, sending him rolling inelegantly across the garden like a thrown rock.

He takes a few seconds to catch his breath, staring at the clouds above being coloured a soft orange by the setting sun. He looks at the pendant still in his hand. The silhouette is standing up, its hands pressed to the surface of the crystal as if eager to get out.

He hears footsteps coming towards him, and he unsteadily gets to his feet. He's too far away from his planned escape route, but he can take a few bullets while running as long as they don't shoot his head or something.

"Hob Gadling."

He jumps at the sound of the voice, and he turns to see Dream standing right beside him, a frown creasing his otherwise smooth forehead.

"Dream!" Hob can hear the relief in his voice, and he knows what a sight he must be right now, grinning like a fool with cuts all over his face. "We have to get out of here. They—"

Dream waves a hand and the air ripples around them. "They shall not perceive us."

The guards arrive and run around the garden looking confused. One of them says that the intruder might have gotten out already, and they all rush outside the gate to give chase.

"Give me the crystal."

Hob wordlessly hands it over, still staring at his friend who has finally shown up again.

Dream speaks in a language that feels otherworldy, making goosebumps crawl across Hob's skin and the hair stand up on the back of his neck.

The crystal shatters into orange mist, and suddenly a fae creature is standing beside Dream. Her blue hair is cut short like a pixie's, and her eyes glitter in different colours much like her dress.

"Lord Shaper." She bows deeply to Dream, her voice reminding Hob of a soft breeze blowing through windchimes. "My thanks to you. And your friend." She smiles at Hob, eyes twinkling with interest. "Who is he? If I may ask."

Dream looks at her, his eyes narrowing a fraction. "He is mine. You may go now."

Something skips in Hob's chest with the way Dream answered, but he decides not to dwell on that for now.

The fae bows again. "I will tell my kin of your kindness. We owe you a boon, Lord Shaper." She straightens up and slowly turns into a swirl of orange and green leaves, floating into the air and scattering in the wind.

"As for you, Hob Gadling…"

Dream summons his sand and a gust of wind causes it to surround them both. There's a swooping sensation in Hob's stomach, and when the sand disappears they're both standing in his living room.

"How did you know where I was?" Hob asks in awe.

"It is Spirit Night at your pub. You were not there. I persuaded your sources to tell me where you had gone."

Hob can only imagine how intimidated they must have been when Dream suddenly arrived. Though Hob had a feeling that they knew why he was going on all these missions, so hopefully they didn't need much persuading before they told Dream where he went.

"Tell me. Why go out of your way to attend to these endeavours? I seem to recall you saying that you are actively avoiding a dangerous life this century," he says in a tone that was unmistakeably disapproving.

"Ah. Well…" Hob tugs at his ear. He can feel the scratches and bruises all over his body, but they all seem distant compared to the nervousness he feels at having to explain to Dream why he'd done it. "I couldn't risk any of them being you."

Surprise flashes on Dream's face. "What?"

"Yeah." Hob brushes dirt and leaves off his clothes just to give his hands something to do. He'd have to vacuum those later. "I'd avoided all sorts of magic things, after the 1600s. So when I heard that Burgess had a 'devil' locked in his basement, I steered far away from it. And I…" He makes himself look at Dream. "I didn't wanna make that mistake again."

Dream's lips are parted, but he can't seem to form any words. He looks so soft like this, and Hob has to resist the urge to reach out and touch his face.

"Hob. What happened then was not your fault, and I would not have you risk capture or harm to your person just for my sake."

Hob smiles. "You said to live life as I choose, right? Well I choose to always be there for my friend. You'll just have to deal with it."

"I am serious, Hob."

"So am I," Hob can't help the edge to his voice. His entire body still hurts from jumping off a balcony, and he can't believe that Dream still doesn't realise how much he's cared for. "It's been four months, Dream, without a single word from you. How was I supposed to know if you're still okay? Maybe my method now is a bit stupid to you, but at least it's different from sitting on my arse doing nothing for more than a century while you're imprisoned."

Dream purses his lips. "I did not say it is stupid. I just… worry."

Hob softens at that. He knows it isn't easy for Dream to admit to such sentiments. "And you're allowed to do that, just like I'm allowed to worry about you when I haven't heard from you in a while." A pang of pain shoots up his side and he winces, clutching at his ribs. He must have bruised them pretty badly.

"You are hurt." Dream steps forward, frowning in concern.

"This should heal in a few minutes," Hob tries for a smile but just manages a grimace. He walks—limps—towards the couch and gingerly sits down.

"You should not have gone through all that trouble. Any of it." Dream sits beside him.

Hob shakes his head. "It's no trouble, Dream. Not for me. Anyway, are things all right in your realm now? I'm not taking you away from your duties, am I?"

Dream frowns. "My realm is fine. Do not deflect, Hob Gadling. Will you keep doing this every time I am away?"

"If I keep hearing news about magical creatures being captured, and if I don't hear from you during that time, yeah," Hob shrugs. "It's not like I can die."

"Neither can I, and yet you persist in worrying."

Hob chuckles. "Yeah, okay, you got me there." He leans his head back against the backrest, closing his eyes as he feels some of his injuries heal up. He didn't seem to have broken any bones, fortunately.

"I do not understand," Dream says quietly, and when Hob opens his eyes to look at him, he seems genuinely confused. "You know of the Sleeping Sickness that happened when I was captured. As long as nothing of that nature is happening here in the Waking, you should feel reassured that I have not been captured once more. This all seems… unnecessary."

Hob sighs and stares at his ceiling. Maybe it's because he feels like Dream needs to know. Maybe he hit his head too hard on the ground earlier. Or maybe he's just never meant to make wise decisions. Whatever the reason, he hears himself say the words.

"I love you, Dream." He keeps his eyes on the ceiling, seeing Dream in his periphery but not daring yet to look at his expression. "It's not unnecessary to me."

The minutes tick by and Hob is hearing nothing but his own breathing.

Dream remains silent for long enough that Hob finally looks at him.

Dream is staring somewhere in the middle distance, his shoulders are tense, and there's an uncertainty in his eyes. "I am not sure I understand that either," he says quietly before meeting Hob's gaze. "Why you love me."

Something aches in Hob's chest at that. He sits up properly to face Dream, and he very nearly almost reaches out. To do what, he doesn't know.

"But." Dream lowers his eyes. "I am… happy. That you do." He looks at Hob again.

Hob exhales in relief and smiles. "Right then. So just let me do this, yeah?"

Dream is quiet again for a few moments. "Will you let me do the same thing?"

Hob furrows his eyebrows. "Do what?"

Dream leans forward and reaches out to Hob's hair. "Will you let me love you, Hob Gadling?" He plucks out a leaf and drops it to the floor, before looking at Hob again.

Hob feels like his heart is thumping wildly behind his newly-healed ribs, and it's hard to breathe, let alone speak. "Dream… You… What…"

Dream gives a small smile. "I am afraid I might be out of practice, but I would like to try. With you."

"Y-You're not just saying that because I said…?"

"While I was away attending to my duties, I found myself frequently wishing that I could simply return to you. There were times when I wished I had a mundane human job, that I might go to you once my working hours were done."

It's Hob's turn to be speechless. He never once thought that he even crossed Dream's mind the entire time he was away.

"When I arrived at your Inn and learned what you had gone to do, I surprised myself with how much I worried. Even knowing that you cannot die, I could not bear the thought of you being taken and out of my reach. I would tear down any walls that would dare keep you from me." His gaze haven't left Hob's, and those brilliant blue eyes burn with an intensity that Hob is all too happy to be devoured by.

Hob swallows, trying to clamp down on the wave of emotions surging within him. He wasn't prepared for this. He's dreamt about this, definitely, but what is he supposed to do now that it's happening? What if he makes a mistake and—

Dream touches his face, a light caress of thumb over cheekbone, fingers a grounding presence on his jaw. He leans forward, slowly, giving Hob plenty of time to move away.

Hob takes a shaky breath and closes his eyes as he bridges the gap between them.

Dream's lips are soft, and warm, and so careful with him. The kiss lingers for a few precious heartbeats, and then Dream is pulling away. Hob chases after him before he can think about it, and suddenly there's more.

Their lips slide against each other, and when their tongues touch for the first time Hob inhales sharply and something fierce and urgent pools in his belly. His hands find themselves in Dream's hair, and then Dream's hands are on his waist and their knees are in the way and Hob wants and needs—

Dream gasps and breaks the kiss, resting his forehead against Hob's as he catches his breath.

"Are you alright?" Hob asks, lightheaded and breathless himself. He pulls back a little to look at Dream. "I didn't hurt you, did I…?" He looks at his hands on Dream's shoulders.

"Your daydreams." There are spots of red high on Dream's cheekbones. "Are loud."

Hob feels his face flush. "Ah."

"You are still injured." Dream looks at him up and down with a frown of concern.

"Well, don't let that stop you," Hob quips. "The worst thing that can happen is you accidentally kill me, but then I'll pop right back up and we can continue."

The corner of Dream's mouth turns up in a smile and Hob wants to kiss him all over again. "Will you be amenable to continue instead in the Dreaming? In my home. There you will not be limited by a physical body. And neither will I." The promising glint in his eye makes Hob's heart rate pick up again.

"Yes," Hob breathes, his hands tightening their hold on Dream.

There's something sharp and excited in Dream's smirk as he pushes Hob down on the couch. He looms over Hob and kisses him with a newfound confidence, and Hob slowly feels his body relaxing as his mind slips into the Dreaming.

---

Notes

Thank you for reading! I had a lot of fun writing this~

---

(Sadman Week 2025 Masterlist)

(Tropetember 2025 Masterlist)

(Fanfic Masterlist)

[johnnyfoursandco]

[ Disclaimer that I haven't unlocked any official in-game titles of real discertion for my characters so you're getting what I made up, in my noggin. ]

Johnny 'Fours', the Unright Ailsman

- There are very few places one *cannot* find Johnny Fours, though most popular is Mrs. Plenty's Carnival, staring off into the black-glassed mirrors. No, no one particularly knows why he goes by 'Fours', but no one likes the look on his face when you ask.

Many have remarked that he's an intelligent man—why, the Honey-Addled Dectective will pass your case to him should the path go too sour—just not a smart man. Well-spoken but senseless, tough but freely shattering.

Something about being unable to perish in the Neath brings out the devil-may-care in that one. He's as quick to get his melon smashed in one day, as he is to share a drink with the bloke who did it the next. All seems well enough as long as he's getting something out of it. What exactly he wants, though, is anybody's guess. He's keen to blow up Claymen for the revolution's sights, keener to hand over contraband to the Masters when that sight isn't on him. It's little wonder that he takes company with the Brass Embassy. In any case, he's constantly in a sorry state and likely deserves it.

Helimeri, the Unsuitable Socialite

- 'Hell-Mary'. Yes, yes, she thinks she is *quite* hilarious for that one. It would be to the surprise of no one if her real name was or was not Mary. What is surprising is that she gets published every other week, a mind like that. Plays, hymns, novels—writes like it's all the day's worth.

But, that aside, it is not a profitable venture to allow her freely-aired dorkishness imprint the notion upon you that she is harmless. That maverick hound at her side is clue enough that the up-and-coming poet has more behind her eyes than talk of the latest gossip, a kindness enough to go through the paperwork of freeing Claymen, and a desire to stack her finger sandwhiches into increasingly elaborate pyramids. She's got favors in higher places, and courtly enough mannerisms. The kind brought up in you over years, not the sort you pick up to talk a lady out of her handbag.

Her and Misit are apparently sisters. Truth be told, they don't even look like cousins. But you didn't hear that from me, and I'd rather Misit not hear it either.

Hellena Misit, the Quiet Pugalist

- You know what I enjoy about thunder? It announces itself. And lightning, why it's alarmingly bright! Miss Misit? Too bloody quiet for a fellow's liking, and far too tall to be that silent!

Much can be assumed about her following the same naming conventions, but perhaps the best, forthright assumption is that where Helimeri goes, Misit isn't far behind. Blokes say she does all the 'unpleasant work' so her sister's gloves stay nice and stainless, but the woman herself doesn't say much at all. Except to occasionally ask where someone went, in which case the polite thing isn't to try and make conversation.

But, if you do happen to start fumbling, there's nothing wrong with complimenting the weasels crawling through her coat. Just may save you a little dentist's visit. And they *are* awfully well-groomed.

Malintilde, the Masked Toygetter

- No one seems to know if the thief is a bloke or a dame, there's accounts of both or of one being two seperate, distinct cretins borrowing the same moniker. All I know is they're in cahoots with Fours and I've been keeping a heavy lock on my watches ever since they arrived.

A criminal, straight through, thoroughbred. Holds a soft spot for the orphans 'round the Flit, but otherwise if spotted, best left to their own business. Their way of speaking is awfully improper, a mixed bag of words thrown together like second-hand syllables pilfered from anyone passing.

Will eat anything. I do mean anything.

Homer Otto, the Repentent Deacon

- Is his name Homer or is it Otto? He goes by both, yet at times forgets to respond to either. Most common place you'll find that one is in church, or, in his own head. In which case, just give him a wide berth, yeah?

Most priestly types are witfull and well-spoken, but this deacon is more than quaintly nosy and rather a brute. Force and brimstone prattling are his bread and butter, but he is kind enough and, prone to bouts of melancholy, crying to the cobbles for forgiveness and all that, as the guilty do. Occasionally, people pick at the poor fellow for ten-pence prayers.

He came to the Neath with Misit, apparently got all mixed up in her business in New Newgate. Not that he seems to care all that much for her. The man's only real company seems to be his faith and his beetle.

Have you seen it, the beetle? Named Dymphna, that one. Haven't the foggiest why.

#0

What is your character's name? Do they have any epithets? Nicknames? In the most basic sense, who are they? Give us a general overview of their character, as quickly as you can.

[itysmin]

Between the Limit and Desire

At the heart of a seemingly perfect relationship between two people, there is an unexpected feeling that threatens to destabilize everything. As you struggle to maintain your friendship with Minho and Jisung, you are forced to face the possibility of losing everything you hold dear. However, you ignore the fact that they are hiding more than you think.

➵ PAIRING : Lee Minho ⭒ Fem!Reader ⭒ Han Jisung

➵ GENRE : Fluff, Smut﹙+18﹚

➵ WORD COUNT : 20K

➵ WARNINGS : Dom!Minho, Swich!Jisung, Sub!Reader, Minsung established, emotional constipation, threesome, sexual tension, jealousy, explicit language, oral sex (f & m receiving), unprotected sex (don't be dumb, this is just fiction), m&m kissing, overstimulation, pet of names, male masturbation, vaginal sex, dirty talk, creampie, hair pulling, breast play, and multiple orgasms. (I guess that's all; I hope I haven't overlooked anything.)

✧ㅤ【 𝓝 𝑜𝑡𝑒 】 — This started from a request, and well, I ended up getting pretty inspired, so it turned into a long story. This fanfic is dedicated especially to @berryichimoon in honor of her support; she was one of the first people to support me as a writer. I've been working hard on this, so I hope you guys really like it.

Please remember that English is not my native language. I have made corrections, but due to time constraints, I have not been able to do an extra review. There may be errors. 📨

At this point in life, I’ve already given up; it’s useless. I was simply born to be alone. It’s not like I’ve never been in a relationship, though of course, my longest one only lasted eight months. I don’t know what’s wrong with me; for some reason, I can never truly click with anyone, and if I do, it never seems to be enough. Sooner or later I end up realizing that we weren’t really that compatible, that the relationship wasn’t going anywhere. I even convinced myself that maybe I had commitment issues, but that didn’t make sense—what I wanted the most was to find someone to love. All this time I’ve felt like it’s something else, but I can’t find the answer to my doubts. It’s a fact: there’s no one out there for me. There’s no one left to blame; all I can do is resign myself to the idea. I’d ask the universe for a sign, but it’s too busy with things more important than my boring, pathetic life. Clearly, it has better things to do. After all this time, I at least expected my sex life to be interesting, but instead, the list of idiots I’ve been with is even longer. Only worried about their own pleasure and stuck in their egos, they were nothing but complete jerks.

I haven't dated anyone in over two months, and I haven't even felt like having a casual fling. I'm not going to waste my time again. I already tried meeting people and going on dates; clearly, it didn't work. I insist, it's a lost cause. But hey, I guess not all of my life is a disaster. At least I have a good roommate; does that count? I guess so. I've known Minho for a year; we met when a mutual friend introduced us at a party. We would chat from time to time, although we weren't that close back then. We would greet each other cordially and have the occasional conversation, but that was it. We've been sharing an apartment for ten months; it's not too big, but not too small either—just right. During these ten months, I've gotten to know Minho better. Despite his constant jokes and characteristic humor, he's a reserved person. He enjoys spending time at home with his cats, he's a great cook, dancing is one of his great passions, and he has zero tolerance for lies. It hasn't been difficult at all to live with him; he's always up to date with shared expenses, helps keep the place clean, and we divide the chores, and he always respects my personal space, which I really appreciate. He's not even a noisy person; sometimes I've even thought he wasn't in the apartment.

I’d describe Minho as the perfect boyfriend. And I don’t mean that because of everything I just mentioned, but because he just seems to do everything right. And well, he also has everything I don’t. He doesn’t usually have big problems in his life; he’s got a stable job, good friends, and a beautiful, enviable relationship. Yes—a relationship. His boyfriend, Jisung, is someone completely different from him in many ways. I met Jisung when Minho moved into this apartment with me; being the good boyfriend that he is, he came to help him with the move. I remember when he introduced himself. That huge, beautiful smile—it was impossible not to miss. He was so friendly, and immediately seemed interested in striking up a conversation with me. I thought he was just being polite. I don’t really consider myself that interesting. But somehow, he made me feel like we were already close friends, like we’d known each other forever. Unlike Minho, I’d say Jisung is much more outgoing. He’s the kind of person everyone wants to have around. Just his presence lights up the whole place. He’s louder than Minho, but not in an annoying way—he’s funny. He’s adorable. Especially when he eats. His cheeks puff up just like a squirrel’s.

Every time I see Minho and Jisung together, I have no doubt they’re meant for each other. Despite their obvious differences, they complement each other perfectly; it’s like they were born to be together. Well, at least they don’t have a love life as miserable as mine. Even though my current situation makes me feel like my whole life is a mess, I think I must be the only person stuck at home on a Saturday night. I should be out enjoying my youth; instead, here I am, lying on my friend’s couch, cursing the events of my life.

"Your face looks like shit," Alice says as she drops onto the couch beside me, grinning.

"It's the face I was born with, nothing I can do about it," I reply without even looking at her.

"That’s not what I mean. You’ve got that look again—that face you make when you’re in a bad mood or having a rough day." She stares at me like she’s trying to read my mind.

"I’m fine, it’s nothing." Suddenly, whatever was on TV seemed far more interesting than this conversation.

"Are you really not going to tell me what's going on?" she asks, eyebrows drawn together in offense.

"I already told you, it's nothing serious. I'm just tired, that's all," I said quickly, trying to end the conversation. Telling him what was really going through my mind wasn’t an option.

"Fine. I don’t believe you, but I won’t push it."

Ever since I met Minho and Jisung, I’ve been aware of how attractive they are. That’s something I can’t deny. Of course, I’d never admit out loud that from the very beginning I felt drawn to both of them, but I didn’t think much of it—it was nothing more than physical attraction. We can feel attracted to more than one person, right? Over time, we’ve grown very close; they usually include me in their plans or just invite me to hang out. Without realizing it, I started spending most of my time with them. I enjoyed their company, and they seemed to enjoy mine too—like any friends would.

But what I’d been feeling lately wasn’t right. I felt the need to see them all the time, I’d look for any excuse to be near them, even if we weren’t doing anything special. And whenever they weren’t around, I missed them—not in a friendly way, but something much deeper. This feeling kept growing stronger, and I didn’t know how to explain it. I needed time to process everything; maybe for now, I should keep some distance. I’d been trying to convince myself that I was just confused, that it was nothing, and that eventually this feeling would fade.

Alice has been my friend for years—we trust each other, and we never had a problem sharing things. But this time, I wasn’t planning on telling her. Not because I don’t trust her—I obviously do—but because I know it’s not a good idea to say anything yet. I need to be sure about what I feel; I need more time. Besides, I don’t really feel like talking about it. At least, not right now.

"Alice, can I stay here tonight?" I ask. She quickly turns to look at me, staying silent for a moment as if she’s thinking. Her expression shifts from neutral to looking at me like she’s just made the greatest discovery in the world.

"I’ve got it! I know what’s going on. You had some kind of problem with Minho, or something happened between the two of you. There’s no way you don’t want to go home tonight."

"Alice, this has nothing to do with Minho. I’m just too tired to go back." Of course, Minho did have something to do with it—and so did Jisung. But I wasn’t about to tell her that. Not yet.

"Fine, don’t tell me. Sooner or later, I’ll figure it out." I knew Alice well enough to know she meant it. Every time she set her mind to something, she did whatever it took to reach her goal.

"That sounds like a threat. Anyway, are you going to let me stay or not?" Her words were something to worry about later. Right now, all I wanted was to rest.

"It’s not a threat. And yes, you know you can stay whenever you want."

"Thanks. I’ll just spend the night, I’ll leave in the morning," I say as I get up from the couch.

"You don’t need to tell me that. You know I’m not going to question how long you stay."

"I know. Now, if you don’t mind, I’m going to bed. I don’t want to hear your late-night calls with your boyfriend." She laughs at my last remark.

"Well, that’s probably a good idea. I don’t think you’d want to hear the dirty words I’m about to say to him."

"Alice, that’s disgusting!" I say, showing my disgust at her words.

"I’m just joking." She laughs like she’s just told the funniest joke in existence.

"Yeah, yeah. I’m going to sleep now. Good night."

"Good night. Sleep well."

I knew falling asleep wouldn’t be that easy, even though I was exhausted. But at least I was going to try. I knew I couldn’t avoid Minho and Jisung forever—especially since I lived with one of them—but tonight, I just didn’t want to deal with it. At some point, I’d have to face the situation and my own feelings. Just not now. Luckily, they didn’t seem to notice my sudden distance—or maybe they had, and just decided not to bring it up. Either way, it was a relief not having to face them. If they ever asked me what was wrong, I’d probably be at a loss for words and end up coming up with a weak excuse.

I head to the guest room with the intention of at least trying to get some rest. Alice kept that room mainly for visits, or so her parents would have a place to stay when they came to see her—which, for some reason, never happened. Usually, it was Alice who went to their house. I never understood why they never visited her, but that wasn’t really my business.

The room was cozy, with a small private bathroom, a closet, and a nightstand next to the bed. It didn’t have much in it, just the basics. The decoration was simple, nothing fancy, but it was nice. Neutral colors dominated, just like the rest of the house. Alice tended to go for simple things; she didn’t complicate her life too much. She wasn’t as organized as I was, but she always kept her home clean.

I kicked off my shoes, slipped into one of Alice’s old shirts and a pair of shorts—I always wore those whenever I stayed over. Even though this was only the third time I’d stayed here, I already knew she kept an old shirt or shorts tucked away in one of the drawers just for me. It wasn’t often, but I knew she made sure I had clothes whenever I spent the night.

I lay down on the bed, mentally preparing myself to sleep, when the sound of my phone caught my attention. A notification. A message—from none other than Minho.

"Min ♡: Will you be home late? I know you have the apartment keys, but I just wanted to make sure you were okay."

"Me: No, I’m staying at Alice’s place. Don’t worry, I’m fine."

"Min ♡: Alright. Jisung’s spending the night here, hope that’s not a problem, right?"

It wasn’t the first time he stayed over, so I didn’t know why Minho even bothered asking. Still, maybe staying here tonight wasn’t such a bad idea after all.

"Me: You know you don't have to ask me that. You live there too, you can make those kinds of decisions."

"Min ♡: Okay. Good night, see you tomorrow."

After reading his last message, I set my phone down on the nightstand. Tomorrow was going to be a long day. I needed to prepare myself to act normal, to pretend nothing was going on—as if my mind weren’t constantly torturing me with my own thoughts. When I said I wanted a more interesting love life, this wasn’t what I had in mind. I went from not being able to connect with anyone to having feelings for two people at once. Never in my life did I imagine something like this happening to me.

I’ve always believed that Minho and Jisung only see me as a friend, nothing more. I figured this couldn’t possibly be mutual. Not because they’re in a relationship with each other—both of them had been with women before. Jisung once told me that he had been in a relationship with a girl, but they broke up when she moved to France for a study abroad program. Four months later, he met Minho. As for Minho, he’d had more than a few encounters with women himself. They’ve both been open about being bisexual; they never felt the need to hide it. That wasn’t the issue. The issue was that they didn’t see me as anything more than a friend—and they never would.

And even if they did, I could never be the reason for a problem in their relationship. They love each other. I could never bring myself to ruin that.

After a few more hours, exhaustion finally took over my restless mind, and without even realizing it, I drifted off to sleep.

[ ... ]

The next morning, the sunlight illuminated my face, letting me know it was already day. I got out of bed and walked to the window to check the weather. The city looked quiet, which probably meant it was still early. The morning sun was beautiful. The weather was perfect—the sun and clouds balanced just right, the sky clear, and the air fresh. Knowing that brightened my day a little; not everything had to be bad.

I went to the bathroom to wash my face. I took off the clothes I’d slept in and tossed them into the laundry basket. Then I slipped back into the clothes from the night before; I didn’t have anything else here, and besides, I was leaving soon anyway—I needed a shower as soon as I got back. I brushed my hair just enough to avoid looking a complete mess. I had to get going; that shower couldn’t wait.

Before leaving the guest room, I made sure the bed was straightened and the room tidied up a bit. It didn’t take long—there wasn’t much to do.

I headed to the kitchen and found Alice plating pancakes onto two plates. She spotted me immediately and waved me over to sit down.

“Need help with anything?” I asked, watching as she searched for something—probably a topping for the pancakes.

"No, almost everything’s ready. Let me finish serving this, and I’ll come join you."

“Alright, if you say so.”

Alice placed both plates on the table. The pancakes looked delicious. She was good at cooking—unlike me.

“Can you hand me the sugar?” she asked. I grabbed the small jar and passed it to her. I poured myself some coffee and took a bite of the pancake—definitely tasty. Alice glanced at me again and spoke. “I thought you’d shower here. You’re still wearing the same clothes from yesterday.”

“I don’t have any extra clothes here. I’ll shower once I get back to the apartment.”

“Don’t worry about that, I can lend you some clothes. I don’t mind.”

“I’m fine, but thanks anyway.”

The rest of breakfast passed in silence. Not an awkward silence, and not unusual either; sometimes we just chose to do things quietly, and it never felt like a problem. We finished eating peacefully, and I helped her clear the table.

I sat on the couch, scrolling through a few videos on my phone while Alice finished brushing her teeth. She seemed a little rushed; I figured she had something to do or somewhere to be.

She walked into the living room with a bag slung over one shoulder and a coat in her hand. Yep, she was definitely about to head out.

"I'm leaving right now. Do you want a ride?"

“Yes, please.”

“Alright, let’s go.” She grabbed her car keys, and we walked to the parking lot. I slid into the passenger seat as she started the engine.

The drive to my apartment wasn’t very long; by car it took about seventeen minutes. On the way, Alice was humming along to a Taylor Swift song. For some reason, she seemed happy, and knowing that made me happy too. I kept my eyes on the scenery outside the window, hoping it would distract me from my thoughts, even just for a little while. That was enough.

Traffic was light at that hour; only a few cars passed by, and the sunlight cast a pleasant glow over the city, as if everything were calm. I cracked the window open to let in the cool morning air. It helped clear my mind a little, though not enough. No matter how hard I tried, the image of Minho and Jisung together kept surfacing in my head.

Alice turned the volume up just a bit, letting the song fill the car. For a moment, it gave me the feeling that everything was normal, like things were simpler than they really were. She even started tapping the steering wheel in rhythm with the music, which pulled a small smile out of me.

Before I knew it, the car slowed to a stop. I looked up and realized we were already in front of my apartment. We’d arrived. The ride had felt shorter than usual—or maybe it was just my anxious mind playing tricks on me.

I said goodbye and thanked Alice for the ride. I knew it wasn’t a burden to her, that she didn’t mind at all, but I thanked her anyway. Manners mattered, even with a friend.

I headed straight for the elevator, not bothering to greet anyone on my way up—something I normally did out of habit. But today, all I wanted was to get home, shower, and breathe. I didn’t want anyone seeing me in this state. It was obvious I’d only splashed water on my face earlier.

When the elevator doors opened, I stepped out and made my way down the hall until I reached the apartment. Inside, everything looked as neat as always, but the silence was almost heavy. Dori was curled up on one of the sofas, sound asleep. He looked peaceful. I assumed Doongie and Soonie were probably in Minho’s room. With the quiet that hung in the air, I figured Minho and Jisung weren’t home. Most weekends they had time off, and usually spent it together. It didn’t surprise me that they were out—it was likely they’d gone somewhere as they often did. That worked in my favor. It meant I had more time to avoid them.

I went straight to my room, dropping my bag and phone on the bed before heading to the bathroom. Stripping off my clothes, I tossed them into the hamper and stepped into the shower. The moment warm water touched my skin, I felt some of the tension melt away. I let myself take my time, lingering under the water, savoring the quiet comfort of it.

When I was done, I wrapped myself in a soft towel and padded back to my room. Digging through my drawers, I found something simple—black sweatpants and a matching T-shirt with a minimal print. Once dressed, I went through my usual routine. I carefully brushed out my damp hair, blow-drying it until it felt light and soft. After that, I went through my skincare steps, each motion calming, grounding. A small act of self-care, but one that made me feel a little more like myself.

Glancing at the clock on my nightstand, I blinked. 12:45 p.m. Already. Time had slipped past me faster than I expected. Assuming Minho and Jisung wouldn’t be back anytime soon, I figured I still had a little while longer to myself.

Since I didn’t have much to do, I decided to catch up on the paperwork my boss had left me on Friday. Even though he was a complete jerk, I couldn’t afford to look for another job. This one wasn’t great, but at least it gave me a steady income. I remembered the last time I was unemployed and how hard it had been to find work; I wasn’t about to go through that again. So I worked on the documents for about three hours, hoping there might be some kind of reward in it for me—though I doubted it. Overtime never paid much, but some months, even that little extra made a difference.

After a while, I figured I’d done enough and stretched out on my bed, turning on the TV to watch something on Netflix. It was Sunday, but I didn’t feel like making plans. Just like yesterday, I preferred staying home, letting the quiet keep me company. Normally, I enjoyed spending time outdoors, but with my mood lately, the comfort of home felt safer.

I slipped on my slippers and headed to the living room to check on the cats. It was about time to feed them, and I was sure they were getting hungry. Dori was still sprawled across the couch, but this time Soonie had joined him. I went to the shelf where Minho kept their food and called them over. Soonie just looked at me and curled back up, but the second he heard the sound of food hitting the dish, he perked up and trotted over. Doongie emerged from Minho’s room, planting himself right in front of his bowl, waiting eagerly. I left the three of them eating in peace while I poured myself a glass of water.

That’s when I realized it had been hours since I’d eaten at Alice’s place. Even if I wasn’t all that hungry, it was probably time for lunch. I didn’t feel like cooking, so I decided to order in. Just as I was heading back to my room to grab my phone, I froze—the sound of keys turning in the lock echoed through the apartment. Minho and Jisung were back.

I tried to steady my breathing, reminding myself this wasn’t life or death. I needed to stay calm and face whatever was happening. I couldn’t run forever. I hadn’t even done anything wrong… but the feelings stirring inside me terrified me. I had no idea how to handle them.

They came in with shopping bags, which told me they’d probably just been to the supermarket. At first, they didn’t even notice me, too caught up in a conversation about what seemed to be a new coffee shop nearby. I remembered hearing about a place that had just opened a few blocks away—it was probably the same one.

The moment I saw them step inside, my stomach tightened into a knot. For them, it seemed like an ordinary day, but for me, it was like my mind was a battlefield. I’d never imagined I’d develop feelings this tangled, this complicated.

Jisung noticed me first. His eyes flicked in my direction, then over to Minho. They exchanged a brief glance, and for a second, I thought they were silently sharing some secret I wasn’t part of. Maybe it was nothing—but my nerves were raw, and I couldn’t think of anything except how to survive this moment.

They set the bags down on the kitchen counter. Doongie, already finished with his food, trotted up to Minho with a soft meow, demanding attention. He always did that whenever Minho came home—it was his version of a greeting. Minho crouched down, stroking his head, and Doongie purred instantly, loud and content. Jisung smiled at the sight, and I couldn’t help but stare. Something so small, so ordinary, made my heart race.

I didn’t know why it hit me so hard, but it did. Maybe because deep down, I’d already fallen for them. Every little thing they did felt overwhelming, pulling me deeper into something I wasn’t ready to admit. I wanted to dismiss it as confusion, but I couldn’t lie to myself anymore. No matter how much I denied it, these feelings weren’t going away.

Minho scooped Doongie up into his arms and carried him over to Jisung so he could pet him too. I suddenly felt out of place, like I didn’t belong there at all.

“Are you okay?” Minho asked, noticing the look on my face.

“Yeah, I’m fine. I was just… watching Doongie.” I hoped I didn’t sound too obvious. The last thing I wanted was to explain myself.

“Doongie’s a really lucky cat. Minho hyung spoils him way too much,” Jisung said, joining the conversation.

Minho just smiled at Jisung’s words. He set Doongie down on the floor and got busy putting the groceries away with practiced efficiency. The fridge door opened and closed softly as he arranged the fresh produce neatly inside. The crinkle of paper bags and the scent of fruit filled the air. His hair fell across his forehead while he worked, his expression focused and calm, completely immersed in the task. He looked like he’d stay occupied for a while—but Jisung, on the other hand, seemed intent on drawing closer to me. Minho acted as if everything was perfectly normal, but there was something in Jisung’s eyes that made me feel like he was up to something.

“We took a while because we stopped by that new café nearby,” Jisung said with an easy smile. “It’s really nice, and the coffee’s good. We should all go sometime.”

His words sounded casual, but his gaze said something else entirely. It was steady, almost searching, as if he was trying to tell me something without actually saying it.

“You already work at a café, Jisung. Why would you want to go to another one?” I asked, honestly confused.

“You don’t get it—it’s not the same. This one has cats. Can you believe that?” His excitement was contagious, and despite myself, I smiled at how animated he looked. «As if there weren’t already dozens of cat cafés» I thought, but I kept that to myself. It was just nice seeing him so happy.

“I did hear something about a new café opening, but I haven’t had the chance to check it out yet,” I admitted, glancing at him. The conversation was helping steady me, distracting me from the whirlwind in my head.

“That’s why I’m saying you should come with us sometime—it’d be great for you to see it. There was even a cat that looked just like you. If you were a cat, you’d totally be that one.”

Minho chuckled at Jisung’s words, a soft laugh that lingered as he continued unpacking the last of the groceries with a smile on his face.

I couldn’t help but feel a rush of warmth. Jisung probably didn’t think much of it, but the fact that he’d thought of me at all meant something. It wasn’t smart to let myself get carried away, but in that moment, I wanted to hold on to the feeling of connection.

“Yeah, maybe… someday,” I said uncertainly, dodging the subject. I didn’t want to give a direct answer, not when I knew I should really keep some distance for my own sanity.

He seemed to think about that for a moment, maybe realizing I was sidestepping. Whatever crossed his mind, he chose not to press. Instead, he smoothly changed the subject.

“So, how was your day?” he asked, his tone returning to its usual, easy warmth.

By then, Minho had finished putting everything away. He joined us, staying quiet for the moment, just watching me with that calm, casual expression of his, waiting for me to answer.

“Honestly, it was quiet. I didn’t do much—mostly just caught up on some paperwork for the office.”

“You should’ve called us if you were bored. We don’t mind including you in our plans, you know that,” Jisung said kindly.

And that was the real problem—it wasn’t just about being included. It was how they made me feel, as though I was already a part of their relationship. They didn’t realize how complicated it was for me. Sometimes they treated me like their girlfriend, when in reality I wasn’t. More than once, people had mistaken us for being in some kind of poly relationship. And when they gave me compliments, my heart swelled—only for one of them to remind me that they were a couple, and I was just a friend. That reminder always came like a cruel jolt back to reality.

“It’s fine, Jisung, it’s not a big deal. I had to work on it anyway—I have to turn it in tomorrow,” I said, brushing off the situation.

The three of us fell into silence. What felt like an eternity was really only a few seconds before Minho finally spoke up.

“Alright. It’s dinner time, we should make something to eat,” he said, changing the subject abruptly.

“Actually, I was about to order takeout.”

“Don’t worry, we’ll cook. I’m not letting you order food again—nothing beats a home-cooked meal.”

When he said we’ll cook, I assumed he meant him and Jisung. Everyone knew I wasn’t great in the kitchen. Whenever Minho was home, he was always the one who cooked.

“We’ll handle it. You just wait.”

Minho and Jisung headed into the kitchen, moving with a rhythm and ease that could only come from practice and familiarity. Minho started pulling out ingredients for pasta while Jisung took charge of boiling the water.

"What kind of sauce do you prefer?" Minho asked, looking at me.

“The classic, of course,” I answered with a smile.

Minho nodded and started preparing the sauce while Jisung took care of the pasta. The scent of garlic and olive oil filled the kitchen; the sound of the sizzling pan and boiling water created a warm, comforting atmosphere.

I sat on a chair near the kitchen counter, watching as Minho and Jisung cooked with perfect synchronization. The smell of food in the air made my appetite grow. I observed how confidently they moved around the kitchen, their actions fluid and natural. The way they worked together was almost like a dance, each knowing exactly what to do and when to do it. Every time I saw them, I couldn’t help but be fascinated by the way they moved and communicated. I often thought they were soulmates, connected on a deep and special level. Their relationship seemed to carry a harmony and rhythm that was impossible to ignore. I found myself watching them with a mix of admiration and love, wondering what it would be like to be in their place.

After a while, their teamwork paid off and dinner was ready. The pasta was perfectly cooked, and the sauce had a mouthwatering aroma.

Minho leaned toward Jisung and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. “All done,” he said with a smile.

Together, they served the pasta into three plates and carried them to the table. The three of us sat down, and without further delay, we started to eat. Dinner went by in a lighthearted mix of jokes and laughter. Jisung made a few playful comments about the café cat, and Minho backed him up, insisting the cat really did remind them of me. Between laughs, I denied it, refusing to accept that a cat could supposedly match my personality. Still, the moment was full of warmth, and I felt grateful to be sharing it with them.

Once we finished eating, Jisung and I cleared the table while Minho washed the dishes and utensils. After that, I said goodnight and headed to my room to rest. Minho and Jisung lingered a bit longer in the living room, chatting and enjoying each other’s company. Eventually, Minho walked Jisung home since he had to work early the next morning—just like the rest of us. The night came to an end, each of us retreating to our own space to get ready for the day ahead.

Before going to bed, I went through my skincare routine, applying a hydrating cream to my face and neck. I felt a wave of calm as my skin softened after a long day. Then, I slipped into my favorite pajamas—a cotton set of pants and a T-shirt that made me feel cozy and ready for sleep. With my nightly ritual complete, I finally felt ready to rest and prepare myself for whatever tomorrow might bring.

[ ... ]

On Monday morning, I went through my routine as usual—waking up at the same time as always and starting the day with a light stretch. After a quick shower and getting dressed, I made myself a simple breakfast. I didn’t eat with Minho like I usually did; he had left the house a bit earlier, and our routines didn’t line up that day. His absence at the table left a small emptiness I tried not to dwell on.

Work turned out to be calmer than I had expected. The chaos I had braced for never came, which allowed me to make steady progress. At the end of the day, I stayed a couple of extra hours to finish up some pending tasks. A coworker invited me out for coffee, and I gladly accepted. I welcomed the chance to chat, unwind a little, and feel part of something simple—something uncomplicated.

By the time I got home, it was late. The lights were off, and Minho was already asleep. In the kitchen, I found a note stuck to the fridge in his quick but neat handwriting: «There’s food in the microwave. Don’t skip dinner» That small gesture made me smile silently; even exhausted, he had thought of me. I warmed up the meal and ate quietly, careful not to make any noise that might disturb his sleep. The taste was comforting—more than I expected—as if every bite reminded me that someone was looking out for me.

The rest of the week passed without anything remarkable happening. I barely saw Minho three times at most. He was working extra shifts at the restaurant, often coming home late and drained. In one of our brief conversations, he mentioned he was planning a weekend trip with Jisung to visit his parents. I guessed the extra shifts were to save money for the trip. Minho was always cautious, never traveling without setting aside a little extra.

The news left me thoughtful. The idea of spending a couple of days without seeing them unsettled me, but at the same time, I realized it might not be such a bad thing. A little distance could give me clarity—a chance to sort through my feelings and face the truth. I was starting to realize that my emotions for them ran deeper than I had been willing to admit. Pretending they weren’t there, or trying to ignore them, was slowly eating me alive.

I knew I had to make a decision. Floating in this uncertainty wasn’t fair to them or to me. The fear of losing them weighed heavily, but the fear of losing myself was even greater.

The possibility that what I felt for them was real terrified me—because it meant risking everything we had. But it was also necessary. I couldn’t keep putting it off. The time to face my truth was drawing closer, and with it came the certainty that nothing would ever be the same again.

[ ... ]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤFriday afternoon, 16:25 P.M

I sat at my desk, surrounded by papers and documents, diving into the project I’d been assigned. The office was quiet, filled only with the rhythmic tapping of keyboards and the occasional low murmur of a hushed conversation. I focused on my task, determined to meet the deadlines and requirements that weighed over me.

But as I worked, my mind began to wander. Thoughts of Minho and Jisung slipped in uninvited, softening the tension in my shoulders. I wondered what they were doing right now, if they were together, if they were thinking of me too. The thought made me smile before I even realized it.

Suddenly, my boss appeared beside my desk, handing me a document to review. I pushed the thoughts aside and concentrated, carefully scanning the text to make sure every detail was correct.

Just as I finished, my phone buzzed. A message.

When I glanced at the screen, my heart gave a small leap—it was Jisung. Almost as if I had summoned him with my thoughts. Smiling, I unlocked the phone and opened the message.

"Sungie ♡: Hey, how are you?"

I blinked, a little surprised that he was messaging me in the middle of the day, but the surprise quickly melted into warmth. It felt good to hear from him. I typed back quickly.

"Me: Hey! Buried in work, but I’m doing fine."

His reply came almost instantly, as though he’d been waiting for me.

"Sungie ♡: I suppose that won’t be a problem when it comes to accepting an invitation."

My curiosity stirred. An invitation? I tapped my fingers against the desk, thinking for a moment before replying.

"Me: What kind of invitation?"

The typing bubble appeared right away, pulsing on the screen like a heartbeat. Seconds later, another message arrived.

"Sungie ♡: There’s a friend passing through the city, so we’re having a party at Chan-hyung’s place. I was wondering if you’d come with us."

I’d spent a long time avoiding Minho and Jisung. I went over the situation carefully, running through all the possible reasons why going might be a bad idea—but logically, it wasn’t. It was just a party, nothing more. Besides, I needed a distraction; something casual wouldn’t hurt tonight. I actually felt relieved, realizing there was nothing to be afraid of. The party seemed like the perfect chance to take my mind off Minho and Jisung, even if only for a while. Maybe a hookup would help with that.

"Me: Alright, I will go. What time does the party start?"

"Sungie ♡: Party starts 10:30, I’ll swing by for you and Minho at 10."

Given the time, I’d have more than enough to wrap up my work and head home to get ready before the party. If I wanted to stick to my plan tonight, I needed to commit.

"Me: Okay, see you later."

After sending the message, I dove back into my tasks, working as quickly as I could, though my thoughts kept drifting toward the night ahead. Tonight, Minho and Jisung wouldn’t be my priority. There was always someone out there willing to help you forget. Maybe it wasn’t the smartest idea, but I had every right to enjoy myself. I was an adult, capable of making my own choices, and there was nothing wrong with wanting to explore my sexuality.

Once my work was done, I packed my things and headed home, a strange mix of excitement and nerves stirring in my chest. When I arrived at my apartment, I took a moment to breathe and ground myself before getting ready for the night.

I took a shower, then began to get dressed. I chose a red dress that hugged my figure, with a V neckline that hinted without revealing too much. The fabric was smooth and soft, catching the light in a way that flattered my skin. The length was neither too short nor too long—just enough to feel daring yet tasteful. Small details gave the dress an elegant touch, but it never crossed into overly formal. I added a minimalist silver necklace to highlight the color of the dress, along with earrings that complemented the look.

I glanced at my reflection in the mirror and felt a rush of confidence. I looked attractive, assured, and ready to face the night with an open mind and a positive attitude. As I continued to prepare, my thoughts circled back to the idea of finding someone—someone who could make me forget, someone who could pull me out of my own head, if only for a little while. With each step in my routine, my decision to go felt more and more right.

Just as I sat down at my vanity to begin my makeup, I heard Minho call out from the other side of the apartment: «I’m home!» Time was short, so I needed to be quick. I rushed through the rest of my routine, opting for a natural yet polished look. A touch of gloss on my lips, a soft eyeshadow, and a thin sweep of eyeliner were enough to enhance my features without costing me precious minutes.

As I applied the final touches, I could hear Minho moving about the apartment, his presence a subtle pressure urging me to move faster. I gave myself one last look in the mirror and nodded. Perfect. All I had to do now was wait for Jisung.

Just as I was finishing the last adjustments to my hair, I heard Jisung’s voice outside my bedroom door. He had arrived already—or perhaps he’d come with Minho. Most likely the second.

“Ready yet?” Jisung’s voice came from the other side of the door. I chuckled to myself, guessing Minho must’ve told him I was almost done. I gave my hair one last touch before stepping out of the room, only to find Jisung waiting.

The moment he saw me, his eyes lit up and a warm smile spread across his face. “You look gorgeous,” he said, leaning in to press a gentle kiss to my cheek. His words—and the kiss—made me blush. Smiling back at him, I asked if we were ready to head out.

Just then, Minho stepped out of his room. His eyes immediately fell on me, his expression shifting to one of pleasant surprise. Under the weight of both their gazes, I suddenly felt small, though in a way that wasn’t unpleasant. With a slow, admiring smile, Minho walked toward me, his eyes roaming over every detail of my look.

“You look stunning,” he said, his voice low and sincere. Jisung nodded in agreement, his gaze still fixed on me with a mixture of affection and admiration. Their attention was a little overwhelming, but at the same time, I couldn’t deny how much I liked it. The way they looked at me made me feel wanted, appreciated. Minho stopped right in front of me and brushed a soft kiss against my cheek, while Jisung slipped his hand into mine, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

“Let’s go—we don’t want to be late,” Minho said with a smile.

We made our way to the parking lot and climbed into the car. Minho took the driver’s seat while Jisung settled in the passenger side. I slid into the back, a flutter of excitement stirring as the night unfolded ahead of us. The engine roared to life, soft music filling the space as the two men chatted about their plans for the evening. I leaned back against my seat, watching the city blur past outside the window. The night pulsed with life, the lights and colors dancing against the dark backdrop.

After a while, Minho turned down a side street and pulled up in front of Chan’s place. Music and laughter spilled out into the night, wrapping around us as we walked in. At first, the crowd felt overwhelming, but Minho and Jisung seemed to know almost everyone. True to his sociable nature, Jisung greeted people left and right, flashing smiles that seemed to light up the room.

Chan emerged from the crowd, his signature grin in place and a glass in hand.

“They finally arrived!” he exclaimed, pulling Minho into a hug and then Jisung. When it was my turn, he gave me a warm embrace. “You look amazing, as always.” I laughed, returning the hug, a sense of ease settling over me.

As Chan led us toward the backyard, where the heart of the party seemed to be, I couldn’t help but think back to the night I’d first met Minho. It had been at one of Chan’s parties too—he was the one who introduced us. Now here we were again, surrounded by friends and music, though the feelings this time were different. Something about tonight felt… new.

Suddenly, a guy approached us. He was tall, dark-haired, his skin carrying a hint of a tan. His brown eyes glimmered beneath the lights, and a small tattoo peeked out from the sleeve of his shirt. He was handsome, no doubt about it. With an easy smile and a warm look, he stepped closer, clearly a friend of the boys. After greeting them with handshakes and a playful pat on the back, his gaze landed on me.

“And aren’t you going to introduce me to this beauty?” he said, his voice smooth and friendly, laced with curiosity.

Minho and Jisung exchanged a quick glance before Minho spoke.

“This is Jaewon, an old friend. And she is…” he paused, as if debating how to introduce me.

“She’s our girl,” Jisung cut in, finishing for him.

The words made my heart race. Our girl. He never introduced me like that. Usually, I was just a friend.

The guy flashed me a charming smile and extended his hand. “Nice to meet you,” he said, his gaze warm and genuinely interested. I shook his hand, feeling the friendliness and ease in his touch.

Chan swooped in, pulling Minho and Jisung away under the pretense of introducing them to some other friends, though it was clear his real intention was to leave me alone with Jaewon. The guys hesitated, exchanging reluctant looks before finally giving in to Chan’s insistence.

“I’ll be fine,” I reassured them with a smile. “Go ahead with Chan, it’s no problem.” Minho and Jisung nodded, though I could see the doubt lingering in their eyes. As they walked off with Chan, Jaewon turned back to me, his smile still soft and inviting.

“I didn’t know the guys decided to try a poly relationship,” he said, stepping a little closer.

“What are you talking about? I’m not Minho and Jisung’s girlfriend,” I answered, and he looked at me, clearly confused.

“You’re not? They literally just introduced you as their girl. I thought it was something… serious.” He seemed pleased by my denial. His voice was gentle, but there was an unmistakable curiosity beneath it. His eyes stayed locked on mine, as though he was trying to piece me together.

“We’re just friends. They probably said that to protect me. They can be a little overprotective in situations like this.”

“And what kind of situation would this be?” he asked with a grin that was now a little more flirtatious.

“I don’t know,” I said, matching his tone. “Why don’t you tell me?”

Jaewon laughed softly, his smile widening as he leaned closer. “I’d say this is the kind of situation where two interesting people meet and feel a spark,” he said, his voice low and smooth. His eyes locked with mine, full of intent, full of heat.

From a short distance away, I could feel Minho and Jisung’s eyes on us, watching carefully. I wondered what they were thinking. Jaewon, meanwhile, seemed completely focused on me—determined to charm me, and I wasn’t going to resist. After all, he wasn’t making it hard to get lost in the moment.

The night carried on with playful banter and easy laughter between us. We danced to the music, moved closer with every song, and shared drinks that only fueled the energy between us. His charisma was magnetic, and his sense of humor made it easy to relax. As we danced, our bodies brushed, the chemistry undeniable. I could feel Minho and Jisung’s stares from across the room, a mix of intrigue and irritation flickering in their eyes. They were watching, weighing every move, but Jaewon and I sank deeper into our own world, enjoying the pull between us.

At some point, we slipped away to the balcony. It was quiet, private—the perfect escape. We stood in silence for a few moments, taking in the view. When I finally glanced at him, Jaewon was already watching me. His eyes dropped to my lips, and he didn’t bother to hide it. Slowly, he leaned in, one hand lifting toward my face as he closed the distance, every movement filled with intention.

I held my breath, waiting, wanting him to take that final step.

But the kiss never came.

Instead, the sharp buzz of my phone broke the moment. Jisung was calling.

“Sorry,” I whispered, pulling back. Jaewon nodded with understanding, giving me space. I stepped away to answer, the sound of the party fading into a muffled hum behind me.

“Yes?” I answered the phone, trying to sound casual despite the music and noise from the party.

Jisung’s voice came through on the other end—sharp, clipped, and unmistakably upset. “We’re going home. Come down now.” His tone was commanding, leaving no room for negotiation.

“We should stay a little longer, I’m actually having fun,” I tried, hoping to ease him a little.

“Just come down. We’ll be waiting in the car,” he said flatly, hanging up before I could even reply.

I froze, staring at the screen in disbelief. He didn’t even give me the chance to argue. Something was wrong—he never sounded like that. Whatever it was, I knew better than to push him when he got like this. Rarely did I ever see him angry, and that alone was enough to make me uneasy.

Taking a breath, I went back to Jaewon, who gave me a curious smile, one eyebrow slightly raised.

“Everything okay?” he asked, stepping closer.

I nodded, forcing a smile. “Yeah, everything’s fine.”

But as I looked at him, I struggled to find the right words. I couldn’t tell him the truth—not without making things awkward.

“Jaewon… I’m sorry, but I have to go,” I said softly. “Could I get your number?”

His expression shifted, the easy smile giving way to concern. “Are you sure everything’s alright?” he asked again, ignoring my question.

“Yes, really. It’s nothing. Just… something personal,” I insisted, my voice calm but a little rushed. After a brief pause, I added, “Listen, I had a great time with you tonight. Maybe we could pick this up again—get to know each other better. If you want, of course.”

He agreed right away. He saved my number, and I said goodbye with a warm kiss on his cheek. He didn’t seem to want me to leave the party, but he understood. I headed straight to the car; I’d have to apologize to Chan later for not saying goodbye, but I didn’t want to keep Jisung waiting any longer. The thought of a confrontation had my nerves on edge—the last thing I wanted was to fight with him.

When I reached the car, I saw Jisung leaning against the passenger-side door, his expression stern. He looked at me as I approached, and I could feel the tension radiating off him.

“What’s going on?” I asked, trying to sound casual despite the knot in my stomach.

Jisung straightened and opened the passenger door for me, completely ignoring my question.

“We’ll talk on the way,” Minho said from inside the car.

I slipped into the back seat, and Jisung settled into the front. As we pulled away from the party, silence wrapped around us like a heavy blanket. I could feel Minho’s eyes flicking to me in the rearview mirror, but I didn’t dare meet his gaze. I already knew this conversation wasn’t going to be easy.

The quiet stretched through the entire drive home, growing heavier with every passing minute. I felt like I was suspended in some strange limbo, with no idea what they were thinking or why they were so serious. Anxiety churned inside me, and my mind spun with questions. What had they seen? What had upset them so much? Were they jealous of Jaewon? The thoughts piled on, but I didn’t dare break the silence.

When we finally reached the apartment, Minho parked and cut the engine. The sound of the passenger door slamming shut shattered the silence, and Jisung turned toward me, his gaze sharp and unwavering.

“We need to talk. All three of us,” he said, his voice low and firm, emphasizing all three.

Minho climbed out of the driver’s seat and joined us, his expression just as serious. Their intensity was intimidating, but I knew I couldn’t avoid this.

As we rode the elevator up, the silence lingered, thick and suffocating. I could feel both of their eyes on me, their stares heavy even when I refused to meet them. The elevator chimed, and the doors slid open. Jisung stepped out first, Minho close behind, and I followed, relieved to leave the confined space.

Standing outside the apartment, Minho opened the door, then motioned for us to come in. The warm light from the lamps inside softened the atmosphere a little, but the tension was still there, floating in the air, waiting. I knew that the conversation Jisung had warned me about was about to begin—and I had no idea where it would lead us.

“What’s going on?” I asked, forcing my voice to stay calm despite the unease twisting in my chest.

Jisung met my eyes, his gaze searching, piercing.

“What happened with Jaewon?” he asked, his voice blunt and direct.

Minho crossed his arms, his gaze just as intense. “Yeah, what was all that about?” he added, his tone a little harsher.

I felt slightly defensive, but I tried to keep calm. “We were just chatting a little and dancing,” I told them, attempting to downplay the matter. “Nothing more than that.” But Jisung and Minho didn’t seem convinced. Their stares remained piercing, and I could tell they were waiting for more.

“Nothing else?” Jisung asked, his voice laced with skepticism. I felt uneasy, knowing I wasn’t telling the whole truth.

«But what right did they have to question me about my life?»

«Why do I even have to explain myself to them?» I thought, irritation quickly bubbling into frustration. «What right did they have to question my choices or my life?» We were friends, sure, but that didn’t give them the authority to control my actions or judge me. I was a grown woman, capable of making my own decisions and choosing who I wanted to spend time with. I didn’t need their approval or permission. The feeling of injustice, of having my autonomy disrespected, only made me angrier.

“What’s wrong with you two?” I snapped defensively. I wouldn’t let them keep acting like this—I hadn’t done anything wrong. “Why are you acting as if you own me, or as if you’re my guardians?” The situation was becoming more and more uncomfortable. This wasn’t going to end well.

Jisung and Minho exchanged a glance before fixing their attention back on me. Jisung’s expression softened slightly, though his voice was still serious.

“We’re not acting like we own you or like we’re your guardians. We’re just worried about you,” Jisung said, trying to explain.

“Yeah, we’re worried about what happened with Jaewon. We don’t want you getting hurt,” Minho added. Their concern sounded genuine, but I still felt like they were crossing a line.

“I don’t need you to protect me. Besides, Jaewon is your friend—you know him,” I shot back, my irritation still simmering.

But Jisung and Minho didn’t look convinced. The tension in the room remained heavy, and I knew this conversation was far from over.

“That’s exactly why,” Jisung said this time, his voice calmer but still edged with anger. I knew they weren’t telling me everything. “Jaewon’s a womanizer. We don’t want him hurting you.” I laughed bitterly at his words.

“And what makes you think I even want something serious with him? We were just having fun. I have the right to spend time with whoever I want,” I shot back, defensive again. This was ridiculous. I still couldn’t wrap my head around why they were both so upset.

Minho finally spoke after a beat of silence. His voice was sharp, almost offended. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“And what if I did like him?” My tone rose, sharper than I intended. “Do either of you have the right to tell me how to feel? Or who I should spend my time with?” I looked between them, daring one of them to answer.

The air in the room thickened. I could see both Minho and Jisung holding themselves back, tension written all over their faces.

“I just want to know if you’re okay with what you’re doing,” Jisung said quietly, softer than Minho, but no less insistent. And still, I couldn’t figure out why they cared this much.

“Why does it even matter to you?” I snapped, my irritation boiling over.

Minho glanced at Jisung. They exchanged a look, the kind of silent conversation that only made my nerves spike. Then he turned back to me.

“Because we care about you.” His words came low, sincere even, but I wasn’t buying it.

“Why don’t you just admit you’re jealous? Then maybe we can stop with this ridiculous argument,” I fired back. The words slipped out before I could stop myself. I knew I’d regret them, but it was too late.

Silence fell heavy between us. Minho and Jisung shared another look, their expressions taut with something unspoken. Then Minho stepped closer, his gaze burning into mine.

“Jealous?” he echoed, his voice low, tightly controlled. “What are you even talking about?”

But I knew. I could see it in his eyes, in the way he closed the distance between us.

Jisung’s chest rose with a sharp breath, his eyes flicking toward Minho as if bracing for impact. The air was suffocating, electric, and I knew I was dancing on the edge of something dangerous.

“You know exactly what I’m talking about,” I said, steady this time. “Don’t play dumb.”

Minho’s stare deepened, every muscle in his face taut. He was fighting himself, and I knew it.

“And what if I was?” His voice came barely above a whisper. My heart hammered in my chest. He was crossing a line.

Jisung’s eyes flew wide, like Minho had just given something away. Before I could even process, Jisung cut in.

“Min…” he said to Minho, and the word hit the air like a warning. A plea to stop.

“What is it, Jisung?” Minho pressed, irritation flickering in his tone. “What are you trying to keep me from saying?”

Jisung leaned in, his voice urgent, almost desperate.

“Not now, Minho. Not like this... not here.”

But Minho wasn’t backing down. His voice sharpened, brimming with defiance.

“Why not? What’s there to hide?”

The tension between them was unbearable, thick enough to choke on. I felt like I was standing in the middle of something I was never meant to see.

“What the hell is going on between you two?” I demanded, my voice louder than I intended, slicing through the heavy silence.

But they didn’t answer. They just kept staring at each other, caught in a storm I wasn’t sure I wanted to understand.

Minho spoke again, his eyes locked on mine. “And what if you weren’t wrong… thinking Jisung and I are jealous?”

The words hung in the air like a spark about to catch fire. He and Jisung exchanged a look—something heavy, something that shifted everything in the room.

Silence swallowed us whole. Their eyes met with a kind of intensity that went far beyond simple communication. Jisung’s gaze flickered with a mix of shock and reluctant acceptance, while Minho’s said it all: there’s no going back now.

It felt like I had just opened a door I hadn’t even known was there.

“What does that mean?” My voice shook as I spoke, the question slipping out before I could stop it. The tension only thickened, pressing down on all of us. Minho stepped closer, his eyes never leaving mine.

“It means maybe we’re not as selfless as we’ve been pretending to be,” he said, his tone low, steady.

Jisung held his breath, frozen in place, like he was waiting for something he couldn’t stop from coming.

Shock rippled through me, confusion clawing at my chest. My mind scrambled to piece everything together, puzzle fragments shifting until they finally began to align. Suddenly, all of it—their stares, their protectiveness, their strange intensity—made sense in a way it never had before.

I swallowed hard. “What… what does this mean?” The words came out barely audible, fragile, like I was afraid of naming what was happening between us.

Minho and Jisung exchanged one more look, then turned toward me, their eyes blazing with a kind of honesty that left me breathless.

“It means we both have feelings for you,” Minho said at last, his voice low, sincere.

Jisung gave a small nod, his gaze steady on mine.

“And maybe… we’re not as different as we thought,” he added, his voice carrying a raw vulnerability I’d never seen in him before.

My heart thundered in my chest, my mind spinning with questions, doubts, possibilities. What did this mean for us? Where could this even go?

The uncertainty was terrifying. But at the same time… it was thrilling.

Despite the excitement, my annoyance remained. But this time, for something else. How was it possible that they were telling me this right now? I spent months having a hard time because I thought these feelings weren’t mutual, trying to push them away, thinking that this way it would all go away.

"Why are you telling me this now?" I asked, my voice full of frustration and pain. "Why didn’t you tell me before? Why did you let me suffer in silence for so long?" My gaze turned to both of them, I could tell they were feeling my pain and confusion. And at the same time, they seemed surprised by my sudden confession.

"I’m sorry," says Jisung, breaking the silence.

"We didn’t know how to tell you. We didn’t want to hurt you, but we also didn’t know this was mutual," Minho continued.

"You didn’t want to hurt me?" I repeated, my voice full of disbelief. "You let me suffer for months, not knowing the truth. That is harm."

Jisung stepped forward, his face full of regret. "We’re afraid of losing you. But we know you deserve to know the truth, even if it means we stop being friends."

My gaze hardened. "I want to know the whole truth. No more secrets," I told them, with my arms crossed.

Minho sighed. "I remember the day I met you," he said, his voice full of nostalgia. "You seemed so… different. I couldn’t help but feel attracted to you."

I blushed slightly at his words, but my gaze remained fixed on him.

Minho paused, his words hanging in the air before he found the courage to continue. "But then I remembered Jisung. I loved him—I’ve always loved him—but at the same time, I couldn’t ignore the pull I felt toward you."

Jisung didn’t look the least bit surprised. In that moment, I realized he had known all along.

"When I first met you, it was the same for me," Jisung admitted softly. "We didn’t talk about it right away—it took us time to confess what we were really feeling." His lips curved faintly, as though the memory itself carried a fragile light. "Eventually, we understood that we wanted to be closer to you. Not just as friends... but as something more."

My heart stumbled at his words, racing faster than I wanted to admit. The way they both looked at me—with such intensity—it made me feel like I was the only person in the room. Special. Desired.

"And why didn’t you tell me sooner?" My voice shook, raw with the weight of my curiosity.

Minho stepped closer, his expression unguarded, his gaze steady on mine. "Because we were afraid. Afraid of losing our friendship. Afraid of scaring you away. I didn’t want to ruin what we had, so we told ourselves you only saw us as friends. But then... you began to pull away, and we couldn’t help but think something was wrong."

His honesty pierced through me, his vulnerability wrapping around my heart like a quiet truth I had longed for but wasn’t ready to face.

But if they were brave enough to bare their hearts, then it was time I did the same. I had spent too long in silence, punishing myself with the weight of unspoken feelings, convincing myself they were forbidden. The pain of hiding had been unbearable, and I knew I couldn’t carry it any longer.

"I pulled away because I thought it was for the best."

Their eyes widened, confusion flashing between them. I hesitated, searching for words that felt both terrifying and inevitable. "The truth is... I started developing feelings for both of you a long time ago. I thought it was wrong. I thought I had to fight it, to avoid it at all costs."

For a moment, silence stretched. Then Minho spoke, his voice low and steady, carrying a kind of tenderness that reached me more deeply than I expected. "We noticed when you began to distance yourself. Even though we didn’t understand why, we chose to step back... to give you space." His eyes held mine, warm and unwavering, filled with a quiet understanding.

Jisung remained silent, as though he were analyzing the situation from a place none of us could reach. Whatever thoughts he was wrestling with seemed heavier, more important than what had just been spoken aloud. A flicker of doubt twisted inside me—was he regretting this? Regretting letting his feelings slip into the open?

Despite their confession, I knew I needed time. Time to breathe, to untangle the storm inside me. I didn’t know what decision we would eventually make, but right now, I only knew that I had to think. To process.

There was so much to take in. My heart swelled with a kind of satisfaction I could barely name—a soaring emotion, impossible to put into words, at the realization that my feelings had been returned all along.

"And so..." Minho began again, his voice trailing off. He hesitated, leaving the rest hanging in the air, as if waiting for one of us to finish the thought.

"And so what?" I asked directly, my tone sharper than I intended. I couldn’t tell exactly where he was trying to go with this.

"Now that we know the truth," Minho said, his eyes fixed on me before flickering toward Jisung, "where does that leave us?" He was waiting for an answer—maybe from me, maybe from both of us.

"I think the best thing is to be sure of how we feel first," Jisung finally spoke, his voice calm yet steady, carrying a rare kind of certainty. "Then, when the time is right, we can decide. None of us want to throw our friendship away for nothing."

He was right. He had always been right.

"Jisung’s right," I echoed softly. "That would be the best."

Silence settled once again, thick and unyielding, wrapping around us like a fragile glass wall. We stood there, caught in a quiet duel of emotions and unspoken words. The weight of the night—their confessions, mine—hung in the air, pressing against my chest.

Everything had changed.

My thoughts spiraled, chasing themselves in endless circles. Minho’s voice, Jisung’s honesty, the look in their eyes—it all echoed within me, over and over, until I felt as though I were drifting helplessly in a sea of emotions, unsure which direction was safe to take.

What did this mean for us? For our friendship? For the future we thought we knew? Could things ever go back to the way they were before?

[ ... ]

The next morning was awkward. I had breakfast with Minho as usual, but the tension between us hung in the air like a heavy fog. Neither of us seemed willing to speak, so silence filled the space instead. The only relief came when Minho left for the day. He wouldn’t be back that night—this time, he was staying over at Jisung’s place. I guessed he planned to spend the rest of the weekend there.

After he left, the apartment felt strangely hollow. The silence pressed against me, leaving me both restless and disoriented. I tried to keep myself busy—cleaning the kitchen, tidying up, focusing on chores—but no matter what I did, my mind wandered back to the conversation from the night before, and the fragile tension that lingered between us.

I couldn’t help but wonder what was happening at Jisung’s place. Were they talking about what had happened? Were they trying to untangle their feelings the way I was? The thought gnawed at me, but I knew better than to interfere. Whatever came next had to unfold on its own.

The rest of Saturday dragged on in slow motion. I felt disconnected, as though I were only half present in my own life. I tried to distract myself with a book, letting the pages fill the silence, but my thoughts kept circling back to Minho and Jisung—wondering what they might be saying, wondering what might come of it all.

By the time night fell, I slipped into bed with a thousand thoughts still swirling in my head. I didn’t know what would happen next, only that everything was already shifting. The question was: in which direction? Toward something good—or toward something that would break us? Only time would tell.

Sunday passed much the same. I went through my routine as if nothing had changed, pretending at normalcy while the quiet of the apartment held me in its grip. For most of the day, I was alone. But then the front door opened, and Minho stepped inside, with Jisung right behind him.

The sight of Jisung caught me off guard—I hadn’t expected him to be here so soon. The glow of the lamp in the living room fell across their faces, and I noticed they both looked tired, as if the weight of the past days hadn’t given them a moment’s rest.

"Hey," Minho said, collapsing onto the couch. "How was your day?" His voice sounded more relaxed than the night before, though a thread of tension still wove through his tone.

I shrugged, trying to appear indifferent. "It was fine. How about yours?" My gaze shifted toward Jisung, who had taken the far end of the couch, his eyes fixed on his phone.

Minho lifted his shoulders again in a casual shrug. "It was fine, I guess. Jisung and I spent the day together." His voice softened slightly as he mentioned Jisung, carrying with it a subtle intimacy I couldn’t ignore.

I felt a little uneasy, unsure of what to say or do. The tension between us was still palpable, thick in the air, and I had no idea how to break the silence without shattering something fragile.

I busied myself in the kitchen, preparing dinner as if nothing was wrong, trying to mask the storm inside me with small, ordinary gestures. When we finally sat down to eat, I kept the conversation light—safe, superficial topics like television or the weather. Minho and Jisung played along, and for a brief moment the tension seemed to dissolve. But as the minutes stretched on, I noticed Jisung watching me differently. His eyes lingered, searching my face for something—something I wasn’t sure I could give. Curiosity stirred under his gaze, an unspoken question hidden in the depths of his eyes. The way he looked at me was like he was trying to speak without words.

Minho, on the other hand, behaved as if everything was normal. But I could see through the mask. His smile was tighter, more practiced, and his eyes avoided mine more than once. Beneath his calm exterior, he was still struggling to process everything that had happened.

By the time we finished eating, I felt lighter, as if a weight had temporarily lifted. Things seemed almost normal again—for the moment.

The days that followed fell into a pattern of familiarity. Life went on as if nothing had ever been said, as though the night of confessions had been erased. We all worked silently to keep things steady, to avoid slipping back into that uncomfortable place. Sometimes Jisung would come over to spend time with us, just like he used to. After that night, none of us spoke about it again. I assumed we were waiting—waiting until each of us was sure of our feelings before daring to reopen the subject.

But despite the careful return to routine, something had changed. I noticed it in the way Minho and Jisung looked at me. Their gazes carried a weight that went beyond friendship—something softer, deeper, edged with desire. And what startled me most was that this time, it didn’t unsettle me. This time, I felt myself meeting those looks with one of my own, one that spoke of the same dangerous affection I had tried so hard to bury.

Jisung’s eyes held me as though he were seeing something no one else could, his gaze slipping past every guard I tried to keep in place. Every time our eyes met, my pulse stumbled. Minho’s stare was different—he looked at me with a fierce intensity, a fire I could almost feel on my skin. It was as though I were being consumed by a flame I couldn’t hope to control.

When the three of us were together, those looks became inevitable. Jisung studied me with a mix of curiosity and longing, while Minho’s gaze burned with an unspoken passion that left me feeling exposed, vulnerable. I tried to stay composed, but my body betrayed me. I was drawn to them in ways I couldn’t explain, pulled into their orbit like gravity itself had shifted.

One night, as we watched a movie together, Jisung leaned closer, his arm brushing against mine. It was the faintest touch, but it sent a shiver racing down my spine. Minho noticed, raising an eyebrow at me, as if silently asking if I was all right. I could only nod, though my heart was pounding so hard it hurt.

There were other touches, too—small, fleeting moments that carried no obvious intention, yet every one of them struck me like lightning. A casual brush of a hand, the ghost of a shoulder against mine, the warmth of them near me. Each touch lit me up from the inside, filling me with an aching need for something more—though I wasn’t sure what that “more” even was.

The closeness between us only grew stronger with time. Jisung started sitting closer on the couch, our knees brushing more often than not, while Minho’s arm would graze mine as he passed behind me. Each touch was a spark, each spark a fire threatening to ignite everything I thought I could control. I felt alive, awakened, tethered to them in a way I had never experienced before.

[ ... ]

The day finally came when Minho would visit his parents’ house with Jisung. The trip had originally been planned for the following week, but Minho was given a few days off, and Jisung arranged to start his vacation early. A quiet sadness tugged at me when I realized they’d be gone for several days, though I tried my best not to let it show. Minho had always told me his family was warm and welcoming, and that Jisung got along with them easily.

I was happy for Minho—he looked so eager, almost glowing at the thought of spending time with his family and Jisung. At the same time, the thought of not seeing them for days left an ache in my chest. Before they left, Jisung wrapped me in a quick hug and pressed a soft kiss to my cheek, while Minho gave me a smile and promised he would call soon.

And he did. They both did. Nearly every night, my phone lit up with their names, and we talked until late. They told me about their days, the weather, little things that made them laugh. Without fail, Minho always asked about the cats. I sent him pictures of Doongie, Dori, and Soonie, while he sent me snapshots of his days there—landscapes, small details, and every now and then, a photo of Jisung eating with his cheeks puffed out like a squirrel. Those were my favorite.

While they were away, the cats ruled the apartment like kings. Doongie, Dori, and Soonie wandered from room to room, claiming every corner as their own. One afternoon, as I sat on the couch, Doongie leapt onto the backrest and toppled clumsily into the cushion behind me. His startled expression had me laughing until my sides hurt.

Dori, mischievous as ever, had mastered the art of stealing food. More than once, I woke in the middle of the night to find him perched on the kitchen counter, a piece of ham dangling from his mouth. Soonie, on the other hand, was content to nap for hours in the sunlight, sprawled lazily with his paws stretched out and tail dangling.

I captured their antics in photos and sent them to Minho and Jisung, who always laughed and told me the cats seemed to have a life of their own. It comforted them to see those little moments, as if the distance between us had shrunk just a little.

One afternoon, while cleaning the apartment, I found Doongie chasing a ball of yarn he had stolen from my sewing box. He darted across the room with it, batting it around like prey. I laughed so hard I had to sit down on the floor before I lost my balance. In their absence, the cats became the perfect companions, filling the quiet spaces with life and mischief.

Alice visited me from time to time, bringing with her the warm scent of fresh coffee and a smile that lit up the room. We would curl up on the couch, surrounded by the cats, and talk for hours about everything and nothing. Her presence was a comfort, a reminder that I wasn’t alone.

Alice had always been special to me. She had this way of listening that made the world feel less heavy, as if everything would be all right after all. When Minho and Jisung were away, her company meant even more.

One evening, as we sat on the couch together, Alice asked about Minho and Jisung. For a moment, nerves twisted inside me, but I knew I could trust her. There was no reason to hide it anymore—not from her. So I told her.

I told her everything. About what had happened, about the feelings I could no longer deny. I confessed how it felt when they were near, the way they looked at me, the moments we’d shared. I admitted that I didn’t know what to do, that I was confused and exhilarated all at once.

And Alice just listened, her eyes steady, her smile soft, making me feel as though maybe—just maybe—it would all be okay.

Alice listened closely, without judgment or criticism. She asked questions, offered her thoughts, but above all, she gave me her support and understanding. The weight on my chest eased, and for the first time in days, I felt relieved to have shared my secret with her.

“What are you going to do now?” Alice asked, her eyes fixed on mine with genuine curiosity. “Are you going to keep exploring your feelings, or just wait and see what happens?”

I lifted my shoulders in a helpless shrug. “I don’t know. I guess I just have to wait and see what happens.”

Alice nodded, her expression soft but steady. “Well, whatever it is, I’m here for you,” she said. “No matter what happens, I’ll always be here to support you.”

Gratitude swelled in my chest. I thanked her quietly, though words felt too small for what I truly felt. For so long, I’d been carrying this secret alone, a silent weight pressing down on me. But now, with Alice’s understanding, that heaviness finally began to lift.

[ ... ]

It had been a little over a week since Minho and Jisung’s short trip. I remembered them mentioning they’d be back the following morning.

That Monday unfolded like a blank sheet of paper, smooth and uncreased, offering no hint of what was about to come. My daily routine became a balm for my soul, a reminder that some things in life were constant, predictable. I woke early, dressed in the same clothes I usually wore to work, and made myself a light breakfast—just enough to give me the energy to face the day.

Work went by as it always did, a steady rhythm of tasks and responsibilities that kept me busy. Nothing unusual happened, just the clatter of keyboards and the low murmur of my coworkers around me. Afterward, I stopped by the grocery store, welcomed by the scent of fresh bread and the rhythmic beeps of cash registers. I bought everything I needed for the week—fresh vegetables, cleaning supplies—and even indulged myself with a box of chocolates I hadn’t planned on. The thought of their rich sweetness later that evening brought a quiet smile to my face.

Back home, I put everything away and slipped into my room to change. The air was cool but not cold, so I dressed for comfort—an oversized T-shirt that draped loosely over me, leaving only my underwear beneath. There was a small freedom in it, a reminder that this was my space, my sanctuary.

I settled onto the couch, surrounded by the silence of the apartment, and turned on the television. The flickering screen and steady hum of sound pulled me away from my thoughts, easing me into a calm rhythm. I opened the chocolates and let one melt on my tongue, savoring the creamy sweetness that spread across my mouth.

When I glanced at the clock, it was already half past eight. Not too late, though most of the day had slipped quietly away. A gentle gratitude filled me—thankful for the time alone, for the chance to rest in the calm of my home.

But that calm was broken by the faintest murmur of voices outside my door—soft laughter, low and intimate. I froze, my thoughts scattering as the sound of keys at the lock followed. My breath caught. Only Minho had the keys to the apartment, apart from me.

The door opened. They both stepped inside, mid-conversation, only to fall silent when they saw me. Their eyes widened, surprise flickering across their faces, mirrored by the sudden rush of heat rising in my cheeks.

I was painfully aware of what I was wearing—or rather, what I wasn’t. The oversized shirt, the absence of anything beneath but underwear, suddenly felt like a terrible choice. Minho and Jisung’s gazes lingered, a mix of surprise and amusement sparking in their expressions. They didn’t look upset, not even uncomfortable—just caught off guard.

And maybe a little entertained...

“Didn’t expect us back so soon, did you?” Minho asked, a playful smile tugging at his lips.

Jisung chuckled softly beside him, his eyes gleaming with amusement as they both took me in.

I shrugged, feeling the heat creeping higher into my cheeks. “No… I thought you’d be back tomorrow.” My voice came out small, almost embarrassed. They had said tomorrow.

“We came back early because Minho decided to drive home ahead of schedule,” Jisung explained, his tone light but his gaze fixed on me, as if enjoying my reaction.

“And why did you decide to drive back sooner?” I asked, forcing myself to meet Minho’s eyes, though curiosity and nerves tangled inside me.

He only shrugged, lips curling into that faint, deliberate smile. “I don’t know. I just felt like coming home to see you.” His gaze locked on mine, intense enough to make my breath falter. There was no mistaking the edge of flirtation in his tone. Jisung seemed quietly entertained by the exchange, watching us with a knowing smile.

His words stirred something inside me—something both tender and dangerous. My heartbeat quickened, thudding in my chest at the weight of them.

“We want to talk to you,” Jisung said at last, his expression shifting ever so slightly. “We have a proposal.”

Minho looked at Jisung, as though seeking approval, then turned back to me. His eyes shimmered with something darker, something more dangerous. “But we didn’t expect a surprise like this,” he murmured, his gaze flicking briefly over my oversized shirt. “Didn’t know you’d be waiting for us like this.”

My lips parted, but words refused to come. My breath was uneven, shallow. My throat dry. My palms slick with nervous heat. I told myself this couldn’t be real—that maybe I was dreaming. But no… they were there. Standing before me. Watching me as if I were prey they had no intention of letting slip away.

Minho moved first, slow and deliberate. I instinctively leaned back until I hit the sofa’s edge. His presence loomed closer, the warmth of his breath brushing the air between us. His eyes—dark, smoldering, relentless—burned with a hunger that made me tremble.

“I can’t hold it in anymore,” Minho rasped, voice low and rough. “I can’t stop thinking about you. Not for a second. Being away from you is torture.”

His words sent a shiver down my spine. I felt trapped in his gaze, unable to tear my eyes away from those burning with uncontrollable passion. His eyes dropped to my lips, and I swallowed nervously, a tingling sensation sparking in my stomach. Without warning, Minho closed the distance between us with a soft, passionate kiss. His lips brushed against mine with such tenderness that it felt as if time had stopped. His hand slipped lightly around my waist, deepening the kiss. This time it was charged with impatience and lust, showing just how long we had waited for this moment.

I felt our breaths mingling, warm and rushed, as if we had both been holding the air in for far too long. The world around us seemed to vanish—no sound, no space, just him and me in that moment. His hand trailed softly down my back, sending a shiver racing through my entire body. My heartbeat was so loud I swore he could hear it. I shut my eyes tightly, clinging to the sensation of his lips, to the taste of that pent-up desire that had finally erupted between us.

We pulled away carefully to catch our breath, but our faces stayed close. When Minho’s eyes met mine again, I could see just how much he desired me.

Jisung was watching silently. His breathing had grown slightly uneven, as if he had been holding it without realizing. His eyes were locked on us, and a soft blush colored his cheeks. The intensity in his gaze seemed to reflect a deep, unspoken emotion.

Minho’s attention shifted to Jisung, as though he were studying his reaction. Suddenly, he smiled—a smile I thought I had seen before, though I wasn’t sure what it meant. I followed his gaze and caught sight of the bulge in Jisung’s pants. Now I understood. The expression on Jisung’s face was unmistakable: he was completely aroused.

“I didn’t know a simple kiss could make you this sensitive, sweetheart,” Minho said, clearly addressing Jisung.

“Uh, well, I…” Jisung stammered nervously, stumbling over his words.

“What do you say we help Sungie out?” Minho turned his gaze to me, asking. His words caught me off guard, leaving me a little shaken.

At Minho’s suggestion, my eyes met Jisung’s. The look we exchanged was clear—both of us wanted this. The desire and the tension were undeniable, but neither of us made a move. That’s when Minho took the first step. He reached for my hand with deliberate gentleness, giving Jisung a subtle signal to follow us into his bedroom. If this was going to happen, it definitely wouldn’t be in the living room.

Once inside, Minho gestured for me to sit at the edge of the bed. I obeyed without a word, my eyes still fixed on Jisung, who lingered by the door, watching us with a mixture of restrained desire and expectant curiosity.

“Why don’t we give Sungie a little show? Maybe let him see what he could get if he’s a good boy,” Minho said with a playful grin before leaning in to press a brief kiss to my lips.

Then he knelt in front of me, his presence firm yet calm. His warm, steady hands rested on my shoulders, applying the slightest pressure—an invitation to relax, to surrender to the moment. I felt his breath near my ear, slow and controlled. He didn’t speak, but he didn’t need to; his body language said enough.

Jisung took a few steps toward us, his gaze shifting between Minho and me. His movements were slow, as if he were making sure not to break the delicate balance we had created among the three of us. My body had already responded for me. The heat coursing through me was undeniable, and anticipation throbbed beneath my skin. I was acutely aware of the dampness gathering in my underwear and just how aroused I was.

The air was heavy, but there was no rush. Everything unfolded with an almost ceremonial smoothness. My breathing grew heavier, more uneven.

I felt Minho move closer, his lips barely brushing against my thigh, just a whisper of a touch. He slid his hands over my thighs with an almost cruel slowness, as if he were savoring every reaction he drew from me. His gaze stayed locked on mine as he did it, as though seeking confirmation that every stroke, every breath, was exactly what I wanted. And it was.

"Spread your legs for me, baby." I obeyed his words immediately, surrendering to desire and arousal. "Look how wet you are. I haven’t even done anything yet, and you’re already so needy."

He lays me back on the bed gently, not giving me time to answer. Not that I could have; I doubted words would come out anyway, when I couldn’t focus on anything but the pulsing of my pussy.

He pushes my panties aside with hunger, making my wetness swell even more. I needed his touch—I needed him.

The moment his mouth brushed against my pussy, a soft moan escaped me unconsciously. It didn’t take long before his mouth fully connected with my pussy, devouring me. His lips were soft, his tongue slow and delicate, licking as if he were savoring every inch. He was taking his time, as if he didn’t want to let the moment slip away.

“M-Minho… God, this feels so good,” I spoke between moans, consumed by pleasure.

Hearing his name between my moans and gasps didn’t make him stop. On the contrary, it only heightened his arousal. He fucked me with his tongue, hungrier than before. His tongue slid over my folds, slow and careful, before wrapping around my clit and sucking hard. I was certain I had never felt anything like it before. He made me feel so good, as if he knew my weak spots perfectly and exactly how to use them.

My hands found his hair, almost instinctively, almost familiarly. I gripped his hair between my fingers, firm and determined. The pleasure was nearly uncontrollable, and with each passing minute, the lust inside me only grew stronger.

When my hips lifted slightly, he grabbed my thighs firmly, holding me in place, keeping me from moving.

“M-Minho…” I moaned, arching my hips against his touch. There I was—sensitive, vulnerable. Ready to do whatever he wanted if he asked me to.

“That’s it, baby. I want to hear you fall apart.”

“Shit… Mhm, don’t stop…”

My mind was clouded with arousal, completely consumed by the moment and my own pleasure.

Suddenly, I heard a moan. More exasperated, more desperate. It wasn’t me, and I knew it didn’t come from Minho either. Then I understood—it was Jisung.

This time, he was sitting in a chair by Minho’s desk. His pants and underwear hung carelessly around his knees. One of his hands stroked his cock, but that wasn’t what caught my attention the most—it was the look on his face. He was staring at us intently, with an expression that looked as if he were about to be corrupted.

His face was twisted in agony, lips parted, brows furrowed as if every stroke burned him from the inside. His eyes searched for mine, pleading, as though seeing me there, watching him without intervening, was the fuel pushing him to the edge. I could feel the tension in his body, every muscle tight, struggling to hold back and yet begging for release.

His movements were fast, deliberate. He let his head fall back as he stroked himself with greater urgency. The room filled with moans, louder and less restrained each time. Arousal was at its peak, and I could feel my legs begin to tremble with pleasure.

I knew I could come just from hearing Jisung moan.

“Mhm… what a dirty little kitten, I bet you’d come just from hearing Sungie beg.”

I couldn’t respond—I simply couldn’t form a single thought. My walls clenched at the sound of Jisung’s desperate moans. My stomach tightened, the pleasure swelling to an unbearable peak. I knew I was so close.

I savored every sound, every gasp and groan. I could hear Jisung stroking himself faster, his movements quickening. His cock sounded slick, utterly delicious. I pictured his cum decorating his pretty cock—so swollen, so sticky and desperate. Ready to be fucked.

“Mhm… oh my God, I’m going to cum.”

“That’s it, baby… fuck, cum on my tongue.”

I couldn’t hold back any longer. My mouth opened in a silent cry as I let go, the orgasm crashing over me like a wave.

I heard Jisung unravel into his own climax, his hand pumping faster until the very last moment, cumming at the same time as me. The mix of his broken voice and the wet sounds of his ecstasy pulled me deeper, drowning me in the feeling of a shared orgasm—intense and filthy.

Still with my chest heaving and my legs trembling, I felt Minho catching his breath for what seemed like an eternity before I heard his steps moving toward Jisung.

I turned slightly, and this time I found Jisung with his pants clumsily buttoned, stained with his own release. His breathing was ragged, his chest rising and falling with exhaustion as palpable as mine.

Suddenly, Minho grabbed Jisung’s shirt, pulling him into a rough kiss. Their lips fit together perfectly as Minho’s hands clutched at Jisung’s waist. The kiss was hungry, desperate, dripping with lust. My skin, still sensitive, shivered deliciously at the sight.

Jisung’s hands were already venturing further, exploring with intent, but Minho grabbed his hair—not with much force, but just enough to pull him back from his lips. Jisung gasped, breathless, overwhelmed by desire.

“Wait, darling. Don’t be impatient… not yet.”

With a look and a subtle gesture, Minho signaled for him to come closer to the bed, where I was still recovering. Watching them approach, I forced myself to sit up slowly, carefully, anticipation coursing through me.

Jisung sat down on the edge of the bed, so close that the heat of his body brushed against mine. Our eyes met for just an instant, heavy with silent desire, before Minho’s voice once again filled the air.

“Do you want to continue?” he asked, and I nodded immediately.

Minho began undressing me completely, removing the few garments I had left with a provocative attitude, as if nothing could stand in the way of what we had all been waiting for. In that moment, I was the only one fully naked.

“M-Min… I need to touch her. Please, darling,” Jisung said, his voice thick with desperation and pleading.

“I’m sorry, Sungie. You’ll have to wait—you touched yourself without my permission. You haven’t been a good boy.”

“M-Minho, I… I want Sungie to touch me, I need it,” I said, looking at Minho. I needed to feel him, I needed him.

Minho smirked mischievously, ignoring my words completely. He lowered his pants and underwear to his knees, catching me by surprise. His cock was only inches from my face, the tip swollen, so delicious.

“What a dirty little kitten, waiting to be fucked by my cock.”

“M-Min… please,” Jisung said, his eyes filled with desperation.

“Shut up. I give the orders here… you’ll watch everything, without looking away, until it’s your turn.”

Minho’s hand closed firmly around his cock, stroking with a calculated rhythm. At first, he moved slowly, with a provocative cadence designed to be watched.

His hand kept that hypnotic pace, his eyes locked on us. Every movement felt like an invitation, a silent challenge to look and to want.

Beside me, Jisung leaned in slightly, his lips brushing against my ear, a breathy moan escaping that sent shivers down my spine. The mix was delicious—one controlling the scene, the other surrendering to desire. And me, trapped between them, feeling every brush ignite my body all over again, making me forget that only moments ago I thought I had reached my limit.

Minho’s movements remained steady, as if every stroke to himself had been calculated to provoke. He didn’t say a word, but the way he watched us spoke volumes: he wanted us to feel every second of his control.

Suddenly, Minho’s movements stopped being so measured. His hand began sliding with more force, faster, and the wet sound of friction filled the silence between our moans. His features tightened slightly, as if he were fighting to keep composure, though each acceleration betrayed him.

Caught between them both, I felt the tension climbing inside me again, fueled by that rhythm that was becoming harder and harder to ignore.

His hand was now moving frantically, every stroke hungrier and faster than the last. His groans filled the room—ragged, urgent, heavy with need.

“Ah… yes…” he growled through clenched teeth, his voice low, almost pleading. His eyes stayed locked on us, as if feeding on the scene.

“Look at me… don’t look away…” he ordered in a broken whisper, his breathing erratic.

Jisung obeyed, lifting his gaze toward him, lips parted and eyes pleading.

A final moan escaped his lips, deep and raw. With one last thrust, he came over my tits, and I let out a choked moan at the sensation of his release. His body arched slightly, trembling as the climax struck him with restrained violence. He collapsed back, bracing himself against the wall with his free hand, gasping uncontrollably while his chest rose and fell in desperation.

“Don’t clean yourself, baby… just wait a moment,” Minho whispered, still trying to catch his breath.

The three of us remained in silence; the only sound filling the room was our ragged breathing. We stayed like that, suspended in a calm charged with desire, until the tension in our bodies began steering toward the next step.

With a firm voice, Minho instructed Jisung to strip. He obeyed without hesitation, revealing his erection. Then Minho’s eyes landed on me; with the same authority, he ordered me to place Jisung’s cock between my breasts and press them together gently.

I obeyed, sliding my hands along Jisung’s torso as I guided him toward me. I placed his hardness between my breasts and, with a slight motion, pressed them together just as Minho had told me to.

“Like that… slowly,” he murmured, his voice low and heavy with authority.

Jisung’s eyes shut instantly, a low moan slipping from him as I began to move with slow, steady strokes, letting myself follow the commands I had been given. I could feel his breath quickening above my face, and at the same time, Minho’s intense gaze anchoring me under his control.

“That’s it, baby… don’t stop,” Minho whispered, savoring the scene as though every second belonged to him.

Turned on by the friction, Jisung began moving his hips slowly, searching for more between my breasts. His moans mixed with mine, and soon his hands found my waist, gripping firmly as if he needed to hold on so he wouldn’t lose himself in the sensation.

Minho never looked away; every gesture seemed evaluated and approved by him.

“That’s it… move slow… make him feel it,” he ordered, his deep voice filling the silence.

Jisung obeyed, matching his movements to my rhythm, while his lips lowered toward mine in a timid, almost pleading attempt. I let him reach me, and the kiss—wet and deep—ignited every fiber of my body all over again.

“Very good… that’s how I want to see you,” Minho murmured, savoring the scene as if everything unfolded under his command.

“M-Minh… oh my God! Her tits feel incredible.”

Jisung began to thrust harder, unable to hold back. His moans grew more intense, broken, spilling from his throat uncontrollably.

“Ah… more… more, please…” he murmured between gasps, his voice trembling with urgency. His hands gripped my waist desperately, leaving marks on my skin as his body chased release.

Minho, leaning back against the wall, never took his eyes off us.

“Look at him, baby… watch him lose himself,” he whispered with a dark smile, relishing the show.

“N-no… I can’t… I’m going to—” Jisung could barely form the words, pleasure overwhelming him completely. His breath came in chaotic surges, his moans tangled with broken pleas.

“Fuck! Mhm… this is incredible.”

“That’s it… let it all out,” Minho murmured, satisfied, as if he had planned it from the very beginning.

One last desperate thrust, a long, guttural moan, and his body shuddered against mine. He came hard, spilling between my breasts as his forehead dropped to my shoulder, gasping like the air had been stolen from him.

Jisung collapsed onto the bed, exhausted, his breathing still shaky after what had just happened. Minho, on the other hand, rose calmly and disappeared into the bathroom for a few seconds. When he returned, he carried a small towel in his hand. Without a word, he leaned over me and began gently wiping the cum from my breasts, every brush of the fabric turned into a deliberate caress.

“You did wonderfully, baby…” Minho murmured, that deep voice of his still sending shivers down my skin. “But we’re not finished yet.”

That’s when I realized Minho was the only one still not completely naked.

I exhaled deeply and lay down beside Jisung, both of us still breathing unevenly, letting ourselves sink into that brief silence after the storm. He closed his eyes for a moment, as if he needed to regain his strength, and I quickly followed his lead.

In front of us, Minho remained standing. And then, with a calmness that contrasted with our exhaustion, he began removing the clothes he still wore, piece by piece, as if he had all the time in the world.

After a few minutes, I turned toward Jisung and, without thinking too much, sought out his lips. The kiss was slow—tired, yet still full of smoldering desire—like a gentle touch that didn’t need to be rushed. Jisung answered with tenderness at first, but gradually the pressure of his mouth deepened, reminding me that the fire in him wasn’t extinguished yet.

Minho was still there, watching the scene with that patience that made him so different.

Jisung shifted over me, leaving a trail of kisses down my neck, punctuated by soft bites that drew small gasps from me. He descended slowly to my breasts, and before continuing, he lifted his gaze to seek my approval. I answered with a slight nod, and then his hands claimed them with a mix of desire and urgency, caressing as though he could no longer resist.

At first his touch had a restrained rhythm, as if he wanted to savor every second. But soon his fingers grew more insistent, squeezing firmly, and his lips closed around my skin with a hunger he could no longer hide.

“Ah… you don’t know how much I want you…” he murmured between moans, his voice breaking with urgency.

Each kiss was more desperate than the last, each bite leaving a deeper mark. His movements, once measured, grew faster, and I felt his body trembling against mine, like he was losing every bit of control with each second.

Then something shifted in Jisung. His kisses, no longer desperate and messy, turned firm—possessive. His hands wrapped tightly around my wrists, pressing them down against the bed, holding me in place with a force that pulled a gasp out of me.

“You’re mine… fucking mine,” he growled against my skin, his voice low, rough, trembling with need.

I shivered beneath his weight, caught between his heat and Minho’s watchful eyes, calm and calculating as ever. The tension was unbearable—Jisung claiming me with raw urgency, while Minho savored the scene, master of it all without lifting a finger.

But suddenly, Minho stepped in, stopping Jisung’s movements cold. His gaze hardened, and I knew instantly who the control belonged to. With a simple gesture, he made us move on the bed.

“On all fours,” Minho commanded, his voice deep and absolute. I obeyed without hesitation, feeling his eyes roam over every inch of my exposed body. A faint smirk tugged at his lips, a quiet click of his tongue as if he were tasting the moment before deciding what to do with it.

He leaned back against the headboard, settling in like a king on his throne, patient and terrifyingly calm.

“Jisung should go first,” he murmured smoothly. “I think he’s earned it, after being made to wait so long.”

His fingers tangled in my hair, pulling my head back until my ear brushed his lips.

“What do you think, baby?” he whispered, his breath scorching my skin. “Do you want Jisung to be the first to fuck your pussy?”

My body reacted before my mind did. Jisung was already at my side, trembling with pent-up need.

“Yes… Minho…” My voice shook, caught between shame and desire.

He gave the faintest smile, tilting his head toward Jisung. “And you, Sungie? What do you think?”

Jisung swallowed hard, his ragged breath giving away how desperate he was.

“P-please, Min…” His voice cracked into a pleading whimper.

“That’s fine…” Minho’s voice dropped low, dangerously calm. “I’ll give you what you’ve been begging for.”

His fingers gripped my jaw, forcing me to meet his eyes as his lips curved into a dark smile.

“And you, baby…” His thumb brushed my lips before pushing them open. “Let’s put this dirty little mouth to work.”

Heat flooded through me as I leaned in, teasing him with soft strokes before kissing the tip of his cock—an offering, a surrender. Sliding between his legs, I wrapped my lips around him, taking him in. Behind me, I could feel Jisung’s stare burning into my back, starving for something he couldn’t touch. Minho knew it, and he was savoring every second.

The mattress dipped suddenly, a rush of movement as Jisung climbed up behind me. His impatience was unbearable, radiating from him before his body even touched mine. That urgency betrayed him, and Minho only smirked, completely in control of us both.

With one desperate thrust, Jisung pushed inside me, stealing the air from my lungs and forcing a muffled moan up my throat.

The sound broke as he started moving, his pace frantic, uneven, like he couldn’t hold back another second. Each thrust was raw need, a hunger that had waited too long. His hot breath washed over my back, his hands clutching my hips so tight it felt like he was afraid I’d slip away.

Caught between Jisung’s hungry thrusts and Minho’s steady grip in my mouth, my body became the stage for a game neither of them had any intention of stopping. Jisung’s muffled moans poured over me from behind, but it was Minho’s cold, commanding gaze that kept me completely undone.

My pussy clenched tighter with every hard thrust from Jisung, while my lips worked over Minho, sucking him with desperate hunger.

“Fuck… your pussy feels so fucking good,” Jisung growled against my back, his hands digging bruises into my hips as his pace grew harsher.

A sharp tug on my hair snapped my head up. Minho’s eyes locked on mine, calm and merciless, that glint of power slicing through the tension.

“That’s it, baby…” His voice dripped like poison and honey all at once. “Tell me, Sungie… how does her tight little pussy feel wrapped around your cock?”

“A-ah… it’s so… so hot… so tight…” Jisung stammered through ragged breaths, his voice trembling with need.

The wet sounds of my mouth working Minho blended with the broken moans tearing out of me. My throat vibrated around him every time Jisung drove into me, stealing every ounce of air I had left.

“Mmhhn… M-Minho…” I whimpered, my voice muffled around his cock.

“Shh… easy, baby,” he murmured, pushing his hips deeper into my mouth. “Just focus on obeying. He’ll fuck you the way you deserve, and you’re going to suck me just right.”

Jisung’s thrusts came faster, harder, his breath scorching against the back of my neck. His fingers dug mercilessly into my skin, clutching my hips with frantic need.

“Ahh… M-Minho… I’m gonna—” Jisung’s voice cracked, strangled by urgency.

A low growl rumbled from Minho’s chest, silencing him. His hand clamped in my hair, forcing me down harder, his cold gaze slicing toward Jisung.

“Don’t even think about cumming yet.”

Jisung’s body shook behind me, his groan breaking into something close to a sob.

“P-please… I can’t… I can’t hold it…”

Minho’s mouth curved into the faintest, cruelest smile. “Look at that, baby,” he murmured, steadying the rhythm of my head on his cock. “You’ve got him begging like a fucking dog.”

A moan escaped me, muffled around him, my throat trembling against his length. Behind me, Jisung pressed his face into my shoulder, every sound tearing out of him raw and desperate.

“So tight… so fucking good…” His words were broken, like every syllable was dragged out as punishment.

And then Minho’s voice cut through again—low, deliberate, and merciless.

“Slow down. You’re not going to come until I say so. Understood?”

“S-sir… yes—” Jisung’s voice was strangled, every thrust forced slower, heavier, as if the restraint itself was eating him alive.

Minho’s hand slid across my cheek, his thumb brushing over the corner of my mouth while his cock filled it.

“And you, baby… don’t stop sucking. Show me what he doesn’t get to have yet.”

I moved over him, obedient, when suddenly he tugged hard at my nipples. A sharp sting of pain shot through me, twined instantly with pleasure, and a muffled cry tore from my throat around his cock.

“That’s it…” Minho murmured, his cruel calm dripping from every word. “Your tits look so fucking good from here, baby.”

Behind me, Jisung groaned, his breath hot against my back. His thrusts were heavy, restrained, each one dragging him closer to breaking apart.

“M-Minho… please…” His voice cracked, more prayer than plea.

Minho chuckled low, stretching my nipples harder before circling one stiff peak with his thumb.

“Do you feel it, Sungie?” he taunted. “Her cunt swallowing you, her mouth serving me… and these tits, soft, perfect, mine.”

A strangled sob escaped me as he pulled again, forcing my body to arch, baring me even more for them. My moans stayed trapped in my throat, vibrating against him.

“Look at her, Sungie…” Minho leaned back with a satisfied ease, his eyes glinting. “Look at how our girl gives herself over, every inch of her body obeying.” His gaze locked on Jisung’s.

Another choked sound spilled from me, mingling with Jisung’s ragged breath behind me. His thrusts had turned sloppy now, desperation written in every movement as he fought against the orgasm consuming him.

“M-Minho… I can’t hold it…!” His broken plea cracked in the air.

Minho laughed darkly, fisting my hair to shove me deeper onto his cock.

“Look at him, baby,” he growled. “Look at him squirming, like a dog in heat… and still, he can’t come until I say so.”

Jisung’s thrusts grew wilder, rougher, his nails digging into my hips. Each movement wrenched another torn cry from me, swallowed down around Minho’s cock. My nipples burned from the cruel pulls, my body trembling in flames that spread through every nerve.

“Mmm… yes… just like that…” Minho’s voice rumbled as he guided my pace, his fist tight in my hair. “Take me deep. Don’t stop.”

“F-fuck… Minho… I can’t— I’m gonna—” Jisung’s voice broke, a ragged scream muffled against my shoulder.

“Do it, Sungie,” Minho ordered with a dark smile. “Fill her up. I want to see her pussy swallow every last drop of your cum.”

The sound that tore from Jisung’s throat was wild, his hips slamming against me in frantic thrusts. And then I felt it—heat flooding inside me, filling me to the brim as my pussy clenched around him in involuntary spasms, milking him without mercy. A strangled cry broke from my lips, my nails clawing at the sheets as my own orgasm ripped through me in an endless wave.

“Mmmhnn… yeah… good girl,” Minho whispered, giving my nipples a final sharp tug as he shoved himself deeper down my throat. “Come for me…”

My body shook, wracked by every spasm, my throat vibrating around him until the hot taste spilled into my mouth. I swallowed greedily, sobs of pleasure tearing from me as I was trapped between them, used and marked as theirs.

Jisung collapsed against my back, still buried deep inside me, his cum spilling and dripping slowly down my thighs. Broken and spent, I could barely hold myself up, while Minho watched with cruel calm, perfectly satisfied to have us both exactly where he wanted: surrendered, obedient, his.

The air was thick, heavy with panting and the heat of our bodies. Jisung rolled to the side, exhausted, his chest heaving as he closed his eyes to catch his breath. I could still feel his cum inside me, hot and thick, leaking between my legs.

Minho, on the other hand, didn’t look spent at all. With the composure of a sated predator, he pulled me against him, forcing me to rest against his chest. His strong hands roamed over my sweaty skin until they settled on my breasts, caressing them slowly, like he owned every curve.

“Mmm… always so perfect…” he murmured, lowering his head to trap one nipple between his lips. His tongue dragged lazily over the sensitive peak, savoring every shiver my body gave him in return.

A weak moan slipped out of me; I was drained, but every flick of his tongue made me tremble all over again. Minho squeezed one breast as he sucked the other, reveling in my reactions as if there were no rush, as if the game would never really end.

He lifted his head, lips wet, that dark smile still etched on his face.

“Mine, even now…” he whispered, giving the swollen peak a light bite that made me gasp.

Silence fell over the room, broken only by our ragged breaths. Jisung lay on his side, eyes closed, his body spent, dragging in air slowly.

Minho held me against him, his warmth wrapping around me like a reminder that I was still his. His lips kept playing with my breasts, licking slowly, biting here and there, as if he needed to keep leaving his mark even now. I whimpered softly, too weak to resist, my body pliant in his hands.

Finally, he pulled back, his fingers trailing over my damp skin before tangling in my hair. Tilting my face toward him, he pressed a kiss to my forehead with unsettling calm, like every second of this night had gone exactly as he planned.

“Good girl…” Minho murmured, his deep voice still heavy with authority. “You’ll need the next few days to recover. Don’t think this is over… I still need to feel your pussy myself.”

I didn’t answer; I only let out a breathless laugh, too drained to argue, knowing he meant every word.

I curled into his chest, still trembling with the aftershocks of pleasure, while Jisung released a long sigh beside me. Minho closed his eyes, still absolute in his control even in silence.

“By the way, what was the proposal?” I asked quietly, still nestled against Minho’s chest.

Jisung gave a small laugh beside me without opening his eyes, too worn out to move. It was Minho who answered, calm as ever, as if he always owned the moment.

“We were going to ask you directly, but I guess there’s no need now. You’re our girlfriend,” he murmured, eyes still shut, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

My heart started pounding wildly, harder than any orgasm I’d had that night. A different kind of heat spread through me—deeper, more uncontrollable. There were no doubts left, no fears. In that instant, I knew it with absolute certainty: I was in love with both of them.

That night gave me the answer to every question that had been haunting me. I had always been meant for them, and somehow, they had been meant for me. I didn’t know what the future held, but one thing was undeniable—if Minho and Jisung were in it, everything would be okay.

I finally understood why I had never fit with anyone else. All this time, I’d been looking in the wrong places, trying to force pieces that never belonged to my puzzle. With them, it was different. With Minho and Jisung, everything clicked. Their shadows and their light blended with mine, filling the empty spaces I’d been carrying all along.

Out of nowhere, the sound of an incoming call shattered the quiet, breaking through my thoughts and ripping me out of my emotions.

It was Minho’s phone. He slipped away from me gently and pushed himself up with lazy movements. Crossing the room, he picked it up from the nightstand, muttering under his breath in clear annoyance as soon as he saw the name flashing on the screen.

"Yeah?" Minho answered, his voice low, not even bothering to hide his irritation.

"Hello, Minho?" came a man’s voice on the other end.

"Go ahead, Jaewon."

"Hey, sorry for calling at this hour, but I needed to know something."

"If this is about my girl..." Minho’s tone cut like a blade, calm but sharp.

"Excuse me? Your girl? She told me she was single... I just wanted to check if she’s okay—she hasn’t answered any of my messages since the party."

"Well, Jaewon… yeah, she’s fine. In fact, she’s right here with me. Do you want to talk to her?" Minho asked with an unsettling calm.

"Wait… what the hell are you talking about? This isn’t funny."

"I’m not trying to be funny. I’m dead serious. I can put her on if you want… though I doubt she’s in any condition. Jisung and I wore her out completely."

There was a heavy silence on the line.

"What the fuck…?"

© itysmin — All rights reserved. Please do not repost or modifyㅤmy works in any way. Thank you.

[actuallyjustabiscuit]

So this moment right?

Initially I felt like this reaction stemmed from him beginning to identify with Ragatha’s tendencies to rapidly change the subject when she starts feeling uncomfortable, and that he may have been judging her a bit too harshly for her overcompensating positivity

But in light of ep 6, this pensive look he gives actually says a lot more

Jax, outside of Kinger because he literally can’t remember, was the only one who didn’t share anything about himself at the bar

I’ve seen a lot of people claim that Jax is a lot more honest than Ragatha is, but…he’s really not. It's as much his problem as it is hers

I wanna talk about the bar adventure as a whole because it's probably the most blatant example of how Jax's own reluctance to be vulnerable (or just being open about himself in general) has been hurting his chances at making any meaningful relationships

And this is exactly how he prefers to keep it

Something had cemented the ideology in him that so long as he pretends to not care what other people think of him then he won’t ever get hurt. The less someone knows about him the less they can use that personal information against him. This is why he gets all squirrely whenever Pomni starts to dig a little deeper

Zooble just flat out does not put up with any of Jax's bullshit. Even when he pretends to finally decide to talk about himself

They are quick to dismiss him because it’s obvious he’s just gonna keep the real answer to himself and they refuse to give him the attention if he’s not gonna actually deliver

The bar scene I think does a great job of naturally introducing what we already didn’t know about the characters. It doesn’t feel like an exposition dump because they’re in the perfect environment for sharing their individual stories, but each one shares their piece in a way that's unique to their personalities

Pomni only directly answers someone's question, tells them her job then very vaguely explains what probably led to her getting stuck by mentioning her hobby of urban exploration. It’s very interesting that she doesn’t see herself as a former YouTuber because the videos she posted about her…ahem…adventures…never garnered any kind of audience. She’s almost reluctant to include the detail that she posted these videos online, like she’s embarrassed that she even did it. She claims it’s something she did for herself, which I believe. But her looking wistfully into her drink makes me think that perhaps she wanted someone to watch these videos. Maybe it was her way of leaving something of herself to be remembered.

Gangle also initially just answers the main question, almost shamefully. The service industry is rough, and working in fast food is typically not a profession that's looked at or treated with much respect. Plus there was the entire previous episode that probably resurfaced a lot of trauma and created a lot of new ones. I like that Zooble is the one to gently push her to see that she was a lot more than just what she did for work. But Gangle also sees the artist part of her life as a failure since she never completed her degree

I just want to gush a little bit about Gangle and Zooble’s relationship for a bit because it’s very sweet that Zooble never treats Gangle as being either one or two things like her masks. And how Zooble sees that her passion for art never actually left her despite the realization that her dreams will never come true and consistently encourages her to continue doing what she likes because it’s what makes her special and genuinely happy. Zooble's at their most positive and uplifting when it's with Gangle

If this ain't an invitation to fuck, I don't know what is

These two are just the cutest. I love them.

Anyway, Zooble meanwhile is never directly asked about their former life but they are happy to sprinkle in tidbits about themselves to help fuel the conversation. Shows how comfortable they are with sharing when they know someone is actually listening, and it helps to create a more casual atmosphere rather than making it feel like each character is getting interviewed. I also think it's neat how despite Zooble being so uncomfortable in their current body, they're quite confident and authentic when it comes to everything else about themselves

We arguably get the juiciest details about Ragatha out of everyone.

Her deciding to share despite no one directly asking felt like her way of trying to include herself since she��s picked up on the pattern that nearly all of them had decided to talk about themselves

But what stood out to me was how anxious she was to even begin talking about her life. Makes me think she not used to sharing anything about herself

Me every time I get a new therapist

And Ragatha doesn’t start with just talking about what she used to do like everyone else. No, she starts with her home life. What’s more, she actually gets really into sharing what she loved about where she lived before suddenly remembering who she lived with, and immediately her ramped up excitement shifts into something more subdued

Doing what she does best, Ragatha tries to repress the bad stuff by not getting into what she mean by “a lot”. It's only after dumping this emotional bucket of ice water on herself that Ragatha finally answers the main question. Though it's clear she has no strong feelings her old job as a realtor one way or the other because now all she can think about is her mother

Going into just a few of the ways her mother was "a lot" to her before becoming self-conscious when she turns and sees this

(God the way Zooble, Gangle, and Pomni look so concerned here kills me every time)

We can just go ahead and add "over-sharing" to our Beautiful Princess with a Disorder's growing list of trauma responses. But then again, we already knew that was something she does when stressed

But in all seriousness, I don't think Ragatha has ever allowed herself to vent the way she does here because that would mean dumping her own sadness onto someone else and she would rather suffer silently than become an inconvenience like that. So of course it's done unconsciously. This bitch has a support system and is too scared to be the one in need of supporting, so she clams up again the second she thinks she's making the others uncomfortable

And Jax's reaction at the end of this share fest really highlights how uncomfortable it makes him when his views of everyone is directly challenged. He got huffy when Gangle is seen actually being happy, constantly tries to get under Zooble's skin any time they start to talk about things that they genuinely like

is confused (and even annoyed) that Pomni doesn't find Kinger to be as crazy as he does

and now he's seeing that Ragatha truly only uses her cheerfulness to cover up the more vulnerable parts of herself... just like how uses "comedy" as a cover to distract others from the most vulnerable parts of himself

This trips him up because how is he supposed to keep treating them like cartoon characters if they keep going against what he believes them to be? Jax constantly tries to steer away from opening up, but he also can't hide that he longs for connection no matter how much he tries to convince himself and others to the contrary. He could've been honest here too, but sharing would mean actually being a real person

And he really doesn't want that

[lazysoulwriter]

certified yapper pt. ii ── .✦ - pt i.

requested! thank you. content: fluff, wife/girlfriend!reader, domestic comfort, reader yapping, Pedro being the most supportive man alive, fans noticing, heart-eyes galore.

Pedro had always been a yapper—sure. But tonight, the tables had turned.

You were the one pacing around the kitchen with your tea forgotten on the counter, voice lilting as you launched into an impassioned monologue about a book you’d just finished. Pedro leaned against the counter, arms crossed, curls still damp from his shower, and just… watched. Listened.

God, he loved listening.

Every little expression on your face kept him hooked—the way your brows furrowed when you reached a dramatic twist, the way your hands waved wildly when you quoted dialogue, the way you chewed your lip before rushing to the next thought, not wanting to lose the thread. He nodded along, chimed in with the occasional “oh no” or “you’re kidding,” just to keep you rolling. Not that you needed encouragement—you were on fire.

He couldn’t stop smiling.

“You’re not even hearing me,” you accused finally, collapsing beside him at the counter. “You’re just staring.”

“Wrong,” Pedro said, poking your side until you giggled. “I’m hearing every word. Every. Word. I could write a dissertation on your dissertation right now.”

You tried to look skeptical, but your grin betrayed you. “Yeah? Then what was the protagonist’s fatal flaw?”

Pedro didn’t miss a beat. “Trusting the wrong people. Which, by the way, you’d never do, because you’re smarter than half the characters you read about.”

Your heart squeezed at the way he said it—so sure, so proud, like it wasn’t even a question.

And of course, the world noticed.

Because the next morning, someone had uploaded a grainy café video of the two of you. You were animated, voice carrying even over the clatter of cups, while Pedro sat opposite you, chin resting on his hand, smiling like he’d been waiting his whole life for this conversation. Every so often, he’d lean forward, interrupt gently with a question, only to let you spiral off into another tangent.

The comments section exploded: “he found someone who YAPS BACK 😭😭😭” “pedro’s certified yapper has finally met her match… i’m sobbing” “the way he’s looking at her like she’s the only person in the world… yeah i’m unwell”

When you showed him later, cheeks burning, he only laughed and pulled you against his chest. “Let them talk,” he murmured into your hair. “They finally get to see what I see every day.”

And maybe, just maybe, you were starting to think he was the real certified yapper—because nothing in the world could quiet the way he kept telling you how much he adored listening to you.

✦ please do not copy, repost, or translate this work. © lazysoulwriter // i write with a lot of love and care, so please respect that.

[kkeidawrites]

Gameplay

Spoilers ahead: I had to learn more about what our beloved smoker, by reading the manga, Enjin likes in a woman and I would say this took some time to write.

I have read the manga but I have not yet watched the anime I want all the episodes out first so I can binge it but I’m hearing that it’s getting some good traction so far in both sub and dub!

⚠️Again please be aware of the SPOILERS AHEAD, THIS IS THE LAST WARNING I WILL BE PUTTING THIS!!⚠️

To keep it simple, Y/n felt she was in a constant game with the Cleaners most prominent Janitor: Enjin. His constant funny quips that would somehow makes its way into a conversation always brought an eye roll and a laugh from Y/n. It also doesn’t help how much he was trying to show how hard he was trying. The subtle winks her way, giving her little gifts he would find whenever he went out on missions. (Side note: she would give some of them to Rudo to help fix up if it was something she couldn’t use), or their many missions where he was always looking out for her. The best part about him to Y/n sometimes he would put on the charm to Y/n, a show, she liked to call it and would actually keep a log of his progress.

Day 15: Your curves are so perfect; they should come with a warning sign: “Caution—extremely attractive!”

Day 26: If curves were a sport, you’d be the MVP.

Day 33: I'm not a photographer, but I can totally picture us together.

Day 48: I'm lost. Can you give me directions to your heart?

And so on, it’s been a little interesting hobby of hers that she has since he started and a lot of the other Janitors often ask her what day is it up to now. She’ll admit some of the things he has said was pretty clever and Y/n puts a little heart next to the ones that are her favorites.

Enjin-29

Y/n-28

There are times though when she has to help him out, especially when it comes to knowing stuff. One time they had a mission with Riyo, Gris and Rudo and as Semiu was explaining the situation. This time, three trash beasts were on the loose and the plan was to take down all three in teams but leave one to study it and find out how the trash beasts are becoming harder to take down, Enjin looked at the woman confused.

“So does that mean we have to kill the other two?” He asks as he scratches the back of his head. A short silence follows after his comment.

Y/n-30

Enjin-29

Y/n sighs deeply and says nothing, sometimes you just have to let the stupid slip out to help you out.

Perhaps, on day 73 according to her book of Enjin lines, is when Y/n could say she actually started to fall for him. Right around the time Rudo had came back with Riyo on a mission outside the border of headquarters.

Y/n was probably the many ‘chef’s for the Cleaners and she actually didn’t mind that at all, because she was allowed to eat first but she at least lets the kids eat first. Riyo had came to her asking about making food for Rudo’s welcome to the Cleaners/Ground party and she didn’t want anyone else to cook but her. Y/n just couldn’t say no, she loved Riyo like her own and Rudo was weaving into her heart as well.

As she began making the sauce for the spaghetti, the familiar smell of cigarette smoke came to her right. Y/n glanced at Enjin who was watching her stir the sauce pan then turned her attention to the noodles cooking in the large pot.

“What Enjin?” She asked turning the burner off.

“Just watching you cook, is that a crime?” He smirks at her. Y/n raises her brow as she brings out the colander from the cabinet above her head.

“Boy bye. You came in here to mess with me didn’t you?” She asked moving the sauce around.

“Pretty much.” He shrugs as he leans against the counter.

“Enjin, get out my kitchen.” Y/n says with a laugh.

“I’ve committed no crimes that would push me to leave this area.” He says bringing out a cigarette.

“It’s a crime that you aren’t helping me out. I’m over here slaving away and you want to sit and watch.” She says putting the colander in the sink.

“I can do more than sit and watch.” He says raising a brow at her suggestively.

Y/n was about to fuss but then stopped herself and grin appears on her face as she turns to him.

“You know what, yes you can do more than sit and watch.”

Next thing Enjin knows is that he’s forming the shape and cooking the meatballs for the spaghetti and extra just in case the spaghetti runs out.

During that time, she and Enjin had taken the time to bond over, Y/n noticed he wasn’t that good of a cook but he can at least get by with some help and Y/n had to help him out when it came to putting the meatballs in the pot of noodles.

Enjin had to leave due to orders once the meatballs in the oven were finished and Y/n was already done with everything else but, Enjin promised he would be back soon once briefing was over and to save him a slice of the pizza that he loved to say was his doing.

Y/n was actually impressed with how much he helped her cook in such a short time and she didn’t mind that someone was there with her to cook. It just goes to show that Enjin was willing to help anyone.

Once the party began, the food that she had made was quickly consumed and Y/n was thankful that she had prepared back up just for the occasion.

Placing more plates onto the main table, Y/n decided it was time she sat down and made a plate for herself. Taking a plate, Y/n begins to fill it with spaghetti, pizza, and to help with the carb load she takes some salad as well. Making her way to where Rudo and Riyo were sitting, Y/n sits beside Rudo and rubs his head affectionately.

“Y/n, this pizza is awesome! Your food is great!” He says with a slightly full mouth of food.

“Well, I won’t take the credit for this one-“

“Hey squirt, that pizza you’re eating was made by yours truly.” Enjin interrupted as he sat, more like pushed, next to Rudo. His right arm finds itself wrapping around Y/n’s waist as he gives her a smirk and a wink. His eyes then peep the slice of pizza on her plate and was about to take it when, Y/n slaps his hand away. She grabs the large plate of pizza left and hands it over to Enjin, he chuckles as he takes a slice.

“Sorry Enjin, one thing you’ll get to know about me is that I don’t share my food.” She says with a smirk. She hands the pizza plate to Rudo who happily munched away on the other three slices.

Enjin-44

Y/n-48

“Oh, so all my charm worked then, huh?”

“It played out into a little more of how corny you really are. You make me laugh so I guess I’ll give you a chance.” She smiled up at him.

“Besides you told me to save you a slice, just don’t take mines. It’s rude.” She says and Enjin smiles bringing his lips to her ear.

“Thanks for saving me a slice, anyway.” Y/n hmphs and begins eating her spaghetti. Enjin snickers with a goofy grin and takes out a cigarette.

Enjin-50

Y/n-49

Be prepared to be sick of Enjin when he begins to tell the rest of the crew he’s got a girlfriend now.

Enjin-Winner! Game. Set. And match.

[greenwitchfromthewoods]

Right Beside Me. [chapter 5] l Harry Castillo

Harry Castillo x f!reader

bio : You and Harry had been friends for a few years. When he told you about his plans, despite your concerns, you supported him in his decision. Later, you were there for him as he tried to find his way in a new situation, when he was looking for the love he had always dreamed of. You were looking for the same thing too… But maybe you were both looking in the wrong places?

warnings: spoilers! If you haven't seen the movie The Materialists and don't want to know the plot, skip this story; friends to lovers; self-doubt; complexes and low self-esteem; some champagne; stable relationship; bad ending; some tears

a/n : The final chapter of this story. I hope someone made it to the end. I'm curious to hear your thoughts. I had a hard time getting this out of my head, i'm sorry

your feedback is very important to me and I want to thank you for all the reblogs, comments and likes. I secretly hope you like this story.🖤 sorry for all the mistakes

[my masterlist] [Harry Castillo masterlist] [Right Beside Me. - masterlist]

3 months and a bit...

Smiling, you walked through the brightly lit lobby and headed straight to the room where the music was blaring. The most expensive suits, beautiful evening gowns, champagne, and a whole host of guests, friends, and family. The Castillo family knew how to throw a party on a grand scale.

You spotted him right where you'd left him. He was still talking to Peter, still holding the same low glass, still looking incredibly handsome in his suit. When your hand lightly touched his back, Harry immediately turned around, smiling.

"Hey, beautiful stranger. You need to be careful, my girlfriend could be back any minute," he said, and you rolled your eyes, though you couldn't help but smile.

"You can be so sappy sometimes," Peter muttered, finishing his drink and turning to you. "I don't know why you're with him."

“He has his good sides too,” you replied as Harry wrapped his free arm around your waist, pulling you closer, and kissed your temple. “Your mom looks happy.”

Harry and Peter looked toward the dance floor, where their parents were dancing with the others. His mom’s birthday party had been planned for a long time and was going really well.

“She’s surrounded by family and friends. Everyone’s having a good time…” Harry began, but Peter quickly interrupted.

“And her oldest son finally brought a girlfriend. It’s a huge success.”

You barely held back a laugh as Harry shot him a murderous look. He finished his drink in one gulp and looked at you.

“Would you like to…”

“Uncle Harry!”

The small figure grabbed his hand and squeezed it tightly.

“Jean? For heaven’s sake, you’ve grown!” Harry’s face lit up at the sight of the girl. “You have a beautiful dress.”

“Thank you. Will you dance with me, uncle Harry?”

He glanced at you, but you had already taken the glass from his hand and nodded toward the dance floor. Jean, beaming, pulled him along.

You watched them from the side, unable to hide your smile. The music mingled with the laughter and conversation of the guests. Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed Peter had found Charlotte and asked her to dance. The evening passed in a pleasant, family atmosphere, and you felt truly good.

Because it was good. You were good.

Being together came naturally to both of you. You didn't hide the fact that you were a little afraid at first. Could friendship turn into love? Wouldn't that destroy what unites you?

But from the very beginning, you understood that honesty was key. You decided not to revisit the past, to start over, and this time, to do it right.

"I want to do it right, darling," Harry said as you ate pasta in the freshly cleaned kitchen. "I care about you, about us. I don't want to waste any more time..."

And he truly meant it.

“You should finally move in with me.”

You spat the last of your toothpaste into the sink and looked at Harry's reflection in the bathroom mirror. You were both getting ready for bed. You wiped your lips with a towel and smiled at him gently. Harry had been suggesting this for a while now.

“I told you, it's too soon.”

Harry rolled his eyes dramatically, and you giggled. “Honey, we've known each other for so long…” he sighed, walking over to you. He wrapped his arms around your waist and rested his chin on your shoulder, gazing at your shared reflection. “Your toothbrush is already here. Your underwear too, you have your favorite mug, I even have your snacks. The only thing missing is you.”

“I'm here almost every day.”

“Too rarely.” His lips touched the nape of your neck, kissing you tenderly. “Stay here. Or tell me, and I'll find us a new place. One you'll love.”

“Harry…” you sighed. You carefully turned in his arms and leaned against the sink, resting your hands on his chest. “Do you really want this? What if…”

“No what ifs. I’m sure of it, and I know I want it, but if you’re hesitant, I’m willing to wait as long as it takes. You’re worth it, baby.”

You didn’t say a word, but it wasn’t necessary. As you stroked his cheek, Harry smiled, and soon his lips met yours in a kiss. When he pulled away, a soft smile still graced his lips. Everything between you was amazing, and Harry made you fall deeper into him every day.

“My parents invited us to dinner this weekend,” he murmured, brushing his lips against your cheek.

“That’s nice.”

“Mom said she’d have your favorite dessert.”

“Jesus!” you giggled. "She's a crazy woman! If this keeps up, I won't find a swimsuit for our trip."

"You can still wear nothing. I don't care."

"Harry!"

Another kiss. Damn, this guy was driving you crazy.

You'd been planning this trip for weeks. Wanting to take advantage of a few days off work over the holidays, you and Harry started planning how to spend them. Finally, he showed you what the hotel in Mexico had to offer—beautiful private beaches, delicious food, sunshine—everything you could dream of. The decision was made quickly.

Damn, he loved you. He knew it weeks after you started dating, but he didn't say anything, afraid his confession would overwhelm you. The secret he was hiding was growing inside him. Harry wanted to tell you, and so many moments were perfect for it—like when you made him his morning coffee, when you were snuggled together on the couch watching a movie, or when you came home from the restaurant in that beautiful dress.

Harry had never been sure he could love before, but you made loving easy. Because you weren't just the woman he fell in love with—you were his friend, his confidante, the person who had been by his side for so many years, who had known him and supported him. With you, Harry wasn't afraid to be vulnerable, wasn't afraid to show his soft side.

"You're perfect," he told you one morning.

You looked up from your sandwich. "No, I'm not," you replied, as soon as you swallowed the bite in your mouth. "Neither are you. No one is."

And then he realized he could be himself with you. He didn't have to pretend to be perfect, he didn't have to constantly monitor his every move.

Your new job allowed you to work from home, which was incredibly convenient. You felt fulfilled. Life finally looked and tasted good, you were happy and felt…

Love?

Those three words hadn't been spoken yet, but you felt them on the tip of your tongue. Harry's eyes told you everything, his tender gestures, his concern. You read him like a favorite book, and you were sure he knew you just as well.

You hadn't told him yet, but you had already talked to the landlord about when you could terminate the lease without harming either of you. You knew that as soon as you told Harry you were ready to move in, he would be thrilled.

And his family was thrilled about your relationship as soon as they found out. Peter said in a loud voice, "Finally!", slapping his brother hard on the back. They'd known you for a long time, and you sensed they'd often talked about whether you and Harry would finally find each other. And you finally did.

The apartment was silent; you were absorbed in your work. Sweatpants and one of Harry's t-shirts were now your new uniform, but no one seemed to mind. You knew Harry loved coming home to see you like this, and since you were together, he'd definitely given up working overtime unless the situation called for it. He happily returned to a house that wasn't empty anymore. It was yours.

It was cloudy and rainy outside, but inside, the warm light made you feel comfortable. Harry would be home from work soon, and you were planning to visit the newly opened Italian restaurant Peter had told you about. Without taking your eyes off the monitor, you reached for a cup of tea and…

"Shit!"

The warm drink spilled onto your pants. You quickly jumped out of the chair, grabbed your laptop, and set it down somewhere dry. Luckily, the drink hadn't reached the device.

"Shit…" you muttered to yourself, seeing a huge stain on your favorite sweatpants.

You quickly took them off, intending to throw them in the washing machine, and a moment later you were rummaging through your closet for new ones. The sound of your phone reached your ears. Grabbing the first pair of pants you found, you quickly ran through the apartment.

"Hi, honey. I'll be leaving the office in fifteen minutes," you heard Harry's soft voice on the other end. "I hope you're hungry, because I'll change and take you out to dinner."

"I can't wait," you replied, pressing the phone to your ear with your shoulder and unfolding the pants you were holding. Something fell to the floor.

"I thought we could go to your favorite ice cream shop for dessert, what do you think?"

Your gaze fell on a small box with the logo of a popular jeweler. Your heart stopped for a moment. You must have grabbed Harry's sweatpants by mistake.

"Honey?" Harry's voice was slightly disturbed by the silence.

“Y-yeah, great,” you replied, struggling to find the right words in your head. “That sounds great. Although…” You leaned over to pick up the box, but didn’t open it. You just stared at it, as if unsure if it was true.

“I don’t want to hear that you can’t fit into some dress or swimsuit. You’re perfect for me.”

“So I won’t say anything,” you replied. “Harry?”

“Yes?”

You weighed the words on your tongue for a moment, unsure of what you wanted to say. Finally, he heard your voice again.

“I’m waiting for you, come home safely.”

“See you soon, love.”

He hung up. The box was still in your hand, and tears welled in your eyes. A wave of mixed emotions washed over you.

Did he really want to do this? Knowing how Harry liked to plan everything, you began to suspect that your vacation trip wasn’t a coincidence. Nothing Harry did was a coincidence.

But then you felt it. Something that had been growing inside you for so long. You loved him. Hell, you loved him like crazy, and even if you weren't holding that box, you'd still feel it.

You wiped your cheeks with the back of your hand and went back to the bedroom. Harry's pants and box went back to their places, and you reached for your leggings.

When Harry arrived at the apartment half an hour later, he saw you sitting at the computer, finishing up work. He brushed his lips against your cheek, telling you he'd missed you, and disappeared down the hall, about to change into something more comfortable. When he arrived in the doorway a few minutes later, he smiled at you uncertainly.

"Are you okay?" he asked. He couldn't read your expression; you seemed otherworldly, slightly dreamy.

You nodded. "Yes, I'm good," you replied.

"Are you sure? If you're feeling sick, we can stay home and order something..."

"No, Harry." You stood up and after a moment, wrapped your arms around his waist. "I just... missed you. And I'm glad you're back."

His eyes looked at you tenderly, brushing back a strand of your hair. "I don't know what I did to deserve this."

You shrugged. "Don't think about it. Just be with me."

"I will, baby." He kissed your forehead. "Until the end."

Three words hovered at the corners of your mouth, ready to burst at any moment. Ready to burst into your hearts and make them even bigger. You loved Harry. And he was a man who had proven with everything he possessed that he felt the same way about you.

So that morning, as he hurriedly drank his coffee and scrolled through emails on his phone, he heard you say:

"I love you, Harry."

His world stopped for a moment. Nothing mattered anymore. You stood before him in your pajamas, your hair disheveled, holding a cup of coffee. The woman he loved most.

The phone was placed on the counter in a second. "I love you too, baby," he replied. The words tasted so sweet. "God, I've loved you for so long."

In an instant, he was by your side, warm hands cupping your face, kissing you hard. He couldn't be happier. Or could he? His thoughts drifted to the box in the drawer. The one that had been there for weeks.

Harry understood that love doesn't require grand gestures, fireworks, expensive dinners, exclusive vacations, or the pursuit of perfection. It's a simple, humble feeling built on care, friendship, trust, and sacrifice, while also giving the other person space to grow.

It was a rainy Thursday morning when Harry felt, heard, and understood—what he had always wanted was always right there beside him.

☆☆☆

Thank you for your time.

taglist: @enchantedreader @sarahhxx06 @wencontreras @stevie75 @orcasoul@picketniffler @perfectpoetrybluebird @saltyfartdreamland @beaagiannelli @the-curator1 @lillaydee @inlovewithchrisevans123 @chewie-bars @chrrypascal @person-005 @avengersfan25 @tezooks @kakiki3 @beezusvreeland @mallingcalling-blog@wand-erer5 @missladym1981

@sunnytuliptime @purplerain04 @la-vie-est-une-fleur29 @maryfanson

[polyamorousmood]

There’s a lot of context I had to cut out of this, but I hope I can explain everything I want to here

I’ve been living with my nesting partner for coming up on two years now, and while we both have some long-distance partners (mutual and otherwise), recently she has found a new partner locally who has moved in with us

Before said partner moved in, my nesting partner and I were kind of lacking in a sex life; while we have had sex before on multiple occasions, between general stressors killing the overall mood (for her, at least) and my total inexperience and lack of confidence with flirting, we haven’t done much, and more recently I’ve pretty much given up entirely on trying to have sex with her, since I’m so used to being rejected (and, again, inexperienced and unconfident)

However, now that the new partner has moved in, I’ve noticed that the two of them seem to have semi-regular sexual interactions, and my nesting partner has even alluded to some of their activities, including some things that I’ve expressed an interest in wanting to try but she has never expressed much of a mutual interest in trying; meanwhile the only time in the past several months that I’ve engaged in sex with my nesting partner has been once, alongside the new partner, whom I do not feel any attraction to, despite both of their wishes (I am also demisexual/demiromantic, and while I don’t regret the experience, I do not wish to repeat it due to said lack of attraction to the other partner)

I’ve started to get kind of worried that my nesting partner is somehow… replacing me? I’m not sure exactly what it feels like is going on but it bothers me that she so flippantly and relatively frequently has sex with the new partner while I have repeatedly expressed to her that I desire a deeper sexual relationship with her; moreover, the other day she mentioned our mutual partner moving in (she’s stuck out of state but hopes to move in with us eventually) in such a way as to seemingly suggest that we would form some sort of dual-pair dynamic instead of what we currently have?

I’ve got this vague worry that my nesting partner somehow doesn’t like me/no longer desires a relationship with me (at least, sexually) because of all of this (and some unrelated financial issues that I’d rather not get into), and I’m also starting to get a bit sexually frustrated, and in general I’m just worried about trying to sort out how much of what I’m feeling is genuinely concerning and how much is just jealousy that I need to get over

This is the only relationship I have ever been in, so I am generally rather inexperienced, and I also didn’t really know anything about poly relationships before I met my nesting partner; I’m also kind of bad at analyzing my own emotions, so trying to figure out if/when I’m feeling jealous has been generally pretty difficult for me

I know that my first course of action should be having a solid conversation with her about it, and to bring up all of my concerns I’ve mentioned here, but I want to try and sort out my thoughts some before I do, so that I don’t just go incidentally flinging accusations at her because I’ve failed to take stock of my own emotions; also she’s quite a bit more assertive than I am in conversations, so I want to make sure I can do more in conversation with her than just accept everything she says at face value over how I might actually be feeling

I’m scared that she might be taking advantage of my inexperience for some reason or another, but I’m also really scared of losing her; I don’t think she’d leave me if I brought everything up to her—she’s generally pretty level-headed whenever I’m having trouble processing my emotions—but if it really is a bad situation I’m scared to think about breaking up with her, because I love her! (Also we share an apartment and it’d be kind of difficult :/ )

I want to stay in this relationship, polyamory and all, but it’s really difficult when my nesting partner who tells me she is hypersexual has rebuffed my advances so frequently that I’ve given up on making them, while also having a very active relationship with another partner

(We have also been experiencing some financial/responsibility troubles, but they aren’t quite as relevant so I tried to cut them out for brevity)

So… am I right to be worried about these recent changes in our relationship, or is it more an issue of jealousy? And if there is a genuine issue, is it something that seems reasonably salvageable, or has my inexperience gotten me into a bad spot? And do you have any suggestions on how to broach this topic to my girlfriend, or even if I should at all?

I only really have one friend that I feel like I can ask about all of this, given that it’s about my poly relationship, and I don’t even know if they’d be able/willing to offer me advice anyways, so I’m feeling a bit lost :(

(Apologies in advance if I’ve poorly worded/formatted anything, for any typos, and generally for the long ask, and thank you for considering/answering! Any suggestions are greatly appreciated)

My first🥇, most sincere🤗, and strongest 💪piece of advice is to talk to that IRL friend of yours.

I say this first and foremost because I think you need to vent♨️. Not should, need. Secondarily, though, I admit to significant bias here.

I am very sexual. I want it every day🥵, and a month without it sincerely and truly and clinically depresses me. It's actually less of an issue when I'm not dating anyone, but when I'm with someone and want them and I can't? Very literally maddening. I am, at any given time, approximately seven weeks of sexual denial aware from carving mad ramblings into the walls and sleeping in my cabinets in hopes of being adopted by a colony of rats🐀 that take pity on me.

This is something that I speak of glibly, but it does have significant impacts on my life. I am constantly vigilant about the amount of pressure it puts on my partners.

So that is the context that I go into answering your question under. I need you to know I would -- I have -- reached complete emotional breakdown in less time than you've already been in this situation. I believe myself to be on outlier (��️) in this regard, so I try to keep myself in check.

Nevertheless, I hope it helps calm any fears you have that you're an asshole for finding this a problem. Because compared to me... you're eligible for sainthood😇.

So, with the foreword finished, my summary of advice is going to be -- say it with me folks -- 🗣️you gotta talk it over. I will once again link to this ask where I explained generally how to have productive conversations in depth. Because I ain't saying all that shit again.

But!

I have other you-specific shit, too.

Firstly, "am I right to be worried about these recent changes in our relationship, or is it more an issue of jealousy?" This question barely matters. It is a problem to be discussed and worked through either way. What I will say about this, is I don't think it's a useful allocation of your energy to fear being replaced, specifically. Your partner inviting you for a threesome, continuing to live with you. That very much reads to me like this person wants you to continue to be a very important part of her life. Having said that, it is possible she wants that to look a little different than it has in the past or than you'd like it to. It might just be some New Relationship Energy. It might be some combination of both. It might be something else. But before you go into the conversation, it seems prudent if you can address the reality that the "solution" here may still involve some significant changes, without it being a necessarily a bad thing or you being "replaced".

"And if there is a genuine issue, is it something that seems reasonably salvageable, or has my inexperience gotten me into a bad spot?" Okay, friend. There are two types of inexperience you reference. Sexually, and then just like, romance and relationships generally. I'm breaking them apart, but I want you to know neither of these matters nearly as much as you're acting like.

Sexually 😏: Listen to me. No one should give a shit about how sexually experienced you are. It doesn't matter. Confidence can, but mostly for more casual sex or starting a relationship. It shouldn't matter hardly at all for someone in a years-long relationship. Certainly not to the tune of "we haven't fucked in months despite me trying." Why hasn't she tried to initiate with you at any point during that time? (I am really having to bite my tongue lest I let the bias get the best of me, but excluding asexuality and debilitating illness that is not normal, especially not for younger folks, which I'm assuming you are.)

Relationships generally🧑‍🤝‍🧑: Experience can matter here but... its more in like, recognizing and advocating for yourself early enough. And getting out early enough, when that fails. So like. If its not salvageable, experience wouldn't have made the difference, as long as you do your diligence now and advocate for yourself. If its not salvageable, experience would have actually ended the relationship sooner because you'd be less likely to put up with her not meeting you halfway. So in addition to the other point there (which is "don't sunk cost fallacy yourself here if it continues to be shit), I'm also saying "don't blame yourself if everything goes to shit."

and like. Your question of if its salvageable. I hope my answer is apparent. But just to cover my bases: I think so, but☝️ you cannot know until you say something about it - probably repeatedly - and see if that changes the trajectory to something more to your liking.

"And do you have any suggestions on how to broach this topic to my girlfriend, or even if I should at all?"

Yes you fucking should, holy shit, how is this even a question

No offense, my friend, but this question is literally "should I take moderate and normal steps to try to improve my situation somewhat, or should I continue to suffer in silence until it bothers me so much I develop a heroin addiction" to me. 🤔A mystery. you fucking say something. Don't be a dumbass.

As to how to bring it up. Well. The entirely of the post I already linked. But also

she’s quite a bit more assertive than I am in conversations, so I want to make sure I can do more in conversation with her than just accept everything she says at face value over how I might actually be feeling

Okay. Write it down then. Write a letter, say everything you want to say in it. Hand it to her all at once. Then you can't back out of making any points. And before you say "but what about my other fear of making baseless accusations!!" then just... explain your feelings. Use your I-statements. Don't accuse her of anything, just explain facts and how you feel. You won't get it perfect, but you know enough to say its got you fucked up, because you said that much to me. You can even preface and/or end it with "I'm really sorry if anything is out of line, but I need to address this because I feel like I'm going crazy."

I prefer talking it over in real time, so if you can manage it if you just like, make yourself a list📃 of points you want to make when talking to her, I would do that. But if you're worried about caving even with that, do a letter✉️.

I would recommend, overall, steeling yourself⚔️. Be prepared to bring this up more than once -- its been like this for months, it likely won't be fixed overnight. You might even need to schedule a time🗓️ to revisit it so that you can be sure it happens. I know that sounds corny, but I'm so serious. You gotta say shit. Do whatever it takes to make sure shit doesn't go unsaid. Nothing will be a worse fate than leaving shit unsaid.

You deserve to be in a relationship that is not just loving, but also meets your needs, my friend. And you can make that happen. Give Brave by Sara Bareilles a listen 🎧, buckle in, and get out there and improve your life!! 💙💖🖤

[roboticonography]

A very much belated post for Day 1 of @steggyfanevents Steggy Week - AUs and Crossovers.

This is an AU, but it's more of an homage than a crossover.

As some of you know, I'm a big fan of the Electra McDonnell series. In the first book, A Peculiar Combination, Ellie has to break into a safe at a party in order to retrieve some classified documents. I thought it might be fun to borrow this scenario, and give Peggy and Steve a night on the town.

The story isn't finished, but here's a little taste. You don't have to have read A Peculiar Combination to read this - though if you have read it, you probably know how Steve and Peggy's evening is going to go. 😉

===

The Cozy Corner Teahouse wasn’t the kind of place Steve usually went to when he was in London. For one thing, he wasn’t much of a tea drinker. For another, he was more recognizable these days, which meant a private lunch very quickly became a public appearance.

But he would happily drink dishwater and shake the clammy hands of strangers all afternoon, if it meant getting to spend an hour with Peggy Carter.

The teahouse lived up to its name: small, intimate and comfortable, with warm lighting and a crackling fire going in the large brick fireplace.

Steve spotted Peggy at a small, round table in the corner, a pot of tea already in front of her. She’d taken the most strategic position—back to the wall—and left him the seat opposite, exposed to the room.

He considered making a joke about it, but he and Peggy hadn’t been exactly on joking terms since the Private Lorraine incident. Yet another reason why he’d been so thrilled to get her invitation. Maybe this meant she was ready to forgive him.

“Order whatever you’d like,” she said as he sat down. “It’s my treat. Thank you for meeting me on such short notice.”

“It’s no problem,” Steve assured her—then wondered if he should have phrased it differently. To refer to something as no problem generally suggested the opposite.

Their waitress appeared; Steve ordered coffee.

When she’d gone, Peggy got right down to business. “Are you busy tomorrow evening?”

For a split-second, Steve thought she might be asking him on a date, before common sense intervened.

“I’m on leave until Friday,” he said, carefully neutral.

“Yes, I know, and I’m sorry to interrupt. I’ve got a covert assignment,” she said, in the way an ordinary person might say they had a toothache—as though such a thing were merely a commonplace inconvenience. “The operative who was supposed to work it with me is unavailable. But I think you could fill in for him, with a few changes to the plan.”

“Sure,” said Steve, readily. “No prob—uh, happy to help.”

“Wait until you’ve heard what’s being asked of you before you agree,” Peggy warned.

Steve glanced around uncertainly. The teahouse wasn’t packed, but a few of the nearby tables were occupied.

“I know it’s an odd venue for this sort of a chat,” she said, “but I’d rather we don’t talk about this at the office. And our being seen here together can only help us, in the long run, with what I’m proposing.”

Steve nodded as though he understood.

The waitress returned with Steve’s coffee, and they paused the conversation until she’d deposited it on the table and left.

“Do you know who Sir Henry Chalfont is?” Peggy asked.

Steve vaguely recalled hearing the name in the newsreels before a picture. “Does he own a newspaper?”

“Several, in fact. Sir Henry was very vocal about his German sympathies before the start of the war. He’s been watched for some time now, and we believe that he’s been passing off information to HYDRA.”

“What kind of information?”

“The classified kind.”

“Right,” said Steve.

She paused for a moment, looking as if she was deciding how much more to tell him. Finally, she said, “Recently, he indicated in a coded message that he has copies of files related to Project Rebirth. Specifically, technical schematics for the Vita-Ray chamber. Howard was careless enough to leave them somewhere they could be stolen, which is how I became involved in all of this. I managed to track down the thief, but not before the plans had been sold to Sir Henry—who, by all accounts, intends to flip them for a tidy profit. Johann Schmidt is very keen to get his hands on everything there is to know about Captain America, and he’s offering a high price to anyone who can bring him information. Clearly, you made an impression.”

“It’s nice to be popular,” said Steve, dryly.

“Indeed.” said Peggy. “We have a general idea of where Sir Henry is keeping the files, and when he plans to pass them off. If we can swap his real files for false ones, we can track the false information as it makes its way through German channels, without giving the Nazis anything of value.”

Steve knew this was often how the game was played, but it struck him as unsatisfying—to see someone doing something harmful, and not be able to intervene directly. 

Peggy nodded, as if he’d made the observation aloud. “The other advantage this gives us is that we might be able to persuade Sir Henry to continue to feed his contacts bad intel, once he’s confronted with the evidence of his misdeeds. He is, ultimately, an opportunist, and I don’t think he’s willing to hang for his political beliefs.”

Steve drank his coffee, taking a moment to absorb what Peggy had told him. “So you need my help making the switch?” he guessed.

She nodded again. “Sir Henry is giving a party tomorrow night at his house, and I’ve come by an invitation. I’m to go to the party, break into Sir Henry’s safe, retrieve the technical schematics, and replace them with the false set prepared by Howard.”

It sounded like the kind of thing Peggy could handle on her own. “Where do I come in?”

“As I said, I had planned to have another operative with me, posing as my date. He was going to carry the documents, provide some cover for me, and back me up if I ran into trouble. He’s run into a spot of trouble himself, and he can’t make it in time for tomorrow. But I believe you’d be able to fill in. I’ll do all the tricky bits. Your part will be a lot of standing around, drawing attention to yourself, and making charming party conversation.”

“Wouldn’t Howard be a better choice for that?” Besides the fact that Howard was almost certainly better at charming party conversation than Steve was, Howard and Peggy were friends, and would easily be able to convince people they were more than that.

She shook her head. “The plans were stolen from Howard, and we don’t want to tip Sir Henry off as to our intentions, even indirectly. Besides which, there will be people at this party who’ve known me for years. They’d have a difficult time believing that I would be involved with the likes of Howard Stark.” She said it mildly, but the rebuke came through loud and clear. “And he’s a civilian. He could get hurt if something goes wrong. So I’m afraid you’re it, Rogers.”

Steve wanted to ask how it was that Peggy could have social connections to a known collaborator, close enough that she’d be invited to his parties, but he sensed that was the type of question she wasn’t about to answer. And it didn’t really matter.

She continued, “A month ago, you were on a stage, convincing people to buy war bonds.”

Steve grimaced. “Don’t remind me.”

“I only mean that you do have relevant experience. You’ll just be playing to a slightly smaller crowd.”

“Right. And if Hitler shows up, I can pretend to knock him out.”

“I’d prefer you didn’t pull your punches in that case, actually,” said Peggy, giving him a faint smile. 

“Okay by me,” said Steve, smiling back.

“Well? What do you say to a bit of socializing for the war effort?”

“I’ll do it.”

She looked relieved, and he realized she had expected him to say no. 

“A car will pick us up outside my flat at 1900 hours,” she told him. “If I tell you the address now, you’ll remember it?”

He nodded.

“Good,” she said, and recited it, crisp and precise. 

“Got it.” Steve didn’t know London well, but he knew enough to know that Peggy lived in a very upscale part of town. Not for the first time, he wondered what her life had been before the war.

“Wear your dress uniform. Have your sidearm loaded. Look smart. Don’t be late.”

“Is that how you make all your dates?” The words were out of his mouth before he realized how far out on a limb he’d gone.

“Yes,” she said. She sipped her tea, genteelly, then added, “I like to know whether a man can follow instructions.”

Steve was sure his ears were bright red. He couldn’t think of anything to say in response that wasn’t likely to get a cup of tea thrown in his face. 

“I’ll be there,” he said at last. “Inspection-ready.”

“Thank you, Steve. Really.”

“Don’t mention it,” he said, awkwardly. He was a little embarrassed that she was acting like this was some big sacrifice on his part. He had no problem whatsoever with taking Peggy on a pretend date. 

The challenge was going to be making sure he didn’t mistake it for the real thing.

*

As instructed, Steve was outside Peggy’s building slightly before seven, in full dress uniform. Given the direction to look smart, he’d put in some work polishing his boots and his brass, and had even found time for a haircut and an extra-close shave. 

He thought he cleaned up tolerably well; however, as he watched Peggy descend the front steps, he realized none of it mattered. Because as long as she was on his arm, no one would be looking at him.

Her dress was black, backless, and low-cut, accessorized with a simple string of pearls and a thin diamond bracelet. As she descended the stairs, smoothly and gracefully, the satin flowed over her curves like dark water—fathomless, perilous.

“You look really nice, Agent Carter,” said Steve, in perhaps the greatest understatement of his life.

“Thank you,” she said easily. “So do you. But you’ll have to remember to call me Peggy this evening.”

“Right.”

She handed him a thick, cream-coloured envelope, which he tucked into the interior pocket of his jacket. He could see now why she needed him to carry the files: she couldn’t exactly fit them down the front of her dress, and she wore no coat, only a long, gauzy wrap. She’d instructed him to carry a loaded weapon, and he wondered if she was also armed—and if so, where.

A black cab pulled up. Peggy looked at Steve expectantly, then cut her eyes towards the car. After a moment, he clued in and opened the rear door for her, waiting for her to tuck her full skirts into the car before gently pushing the door shut and walking around to the opposite side.

Once they were both settled in the back seat, the car pulled away smoothly.

“Let’s go over our cover story.” 

Steve glanced in the direction of the cab driver.

“You can speak freely in front of Martins. He has the appropriate clearance.”

Steve nodded. They really weren’t leaving anything to chance this evening, apparently.

“As far as these people know,” she continued, “I work for Colonel Phillips as his secretary. So we met when you came to his office for a briefing, two weeks ago. You noticed me, and asked me out to dinner. We’ve been inseparable since then.”

Steve blinked. “That fast?”

“You were kissing Howard’s secretary after you’d known her for about two minutes,” she pointed out, coolly.

He grimaced. “Sorry.”

Her expression, in the dim interior of the car, was inscrutable, but she gave a short shake of her head that seemed to suggest she didn’t care who he kissed, one way or the other. Either that, or she didn’t want to have this conversation in front of Martins-the-driver, regardless of his security clearance—even though she was the one who’d started it.

“So we’ve been going out for two weeks,” Steve reiterated. “How’s it going so far?”

“What do you think?”

He considered. “You must like me, if you’re bringing me to a party with your friends. But I think I’m probably more invested than you are.”

“I wouldn’t call them friends, exactly. And what makes you say so? You’re a handsome, charming officer—not to mention a hero and a minor celebrity. What woman wouldn’t be swept off her feet?”

He was grateful it was too dark for her to see him flush to the tips of his ears. “I just think, if we play it that way, it’ll be easier for you to explain to your—to people you know—when we break up after tonight.”

She nodded approvingly. “Good thinking.”

A small part of him wished she hadn’t gone along quite so easily.

*

The driver let them out in Mayfair, in front of a large, immaculate townhouse. The entrance was framed by tall columns, the stucco façade was smooth and gleaming white, and all the fences and trim looked like they’d had a fresh coat of paint just yesterday. It was elegant, thought Steve, in a blank-faced sort of way; from the school of design where wealth and character existed in inverse proportion to each other. He’d take plain old brownstone or brick any day of the week—especially if it came with window-boxes full of flowers, and kids’ toys strewn in the front yard.

He’d have to make an effort to keep those kinds of opinions to himself tonight, he supposed.

Peggy slipped her hand through his arm as they ascended the steps. “Don’t forget,” she told him. “Date manners. You hold my doors, you fetch my drinks, you light my cigarettes before your own.” There was something slightly disparaging in the way she recited the list, as though she considered it all a lot of unnecessary theatre.

“I don’t smoke.”

“Well, nobody’s perfect,” she said. “Now, smile, darling. It’s a party, not a firing squad.”

And with that, Steve took his first steps into the lion’s den.

[rauferes]

ok confession: reading 'again we light our fires' I have been absolutely obsessed with the idea of an Emmrich POV. just the little hints you have about what he's thinking and how he's reacting drive me nuts. Knowing that you have little notes in your outline about his side of the coin has me absolutely salivating

(please take this as a poorly worded attempt to say how much I love your fic and not a demand for a secondary fic despite knowing how much you're already writing <3)

Here's a fun little bit of perspective for you that Emmrich is not going to make clear to Rook: the thing about helping out unbonded omegas is that (although Emmrich doesn't necessarily realize this) he's most likely to get individuals who are LEAST interested in partnering at all. So they've got the least trappings of romantic attention of like, any sample of the omega population. Emmrich helps anyway of course, because his particular brand of being alpha really responds well to being useful, but he's generally been pushed to be more dominant than he prefers, and a hell of a lot less loving. (Fundamentally, he's getting objectified, and his partners want a gender performance.) He enjoys the scraps of tenderness he gets out of the process, and secretly longs for a partner, just as in Veilguard canon.

And then Rook arrives and just... she is completely unaware of this, but her behavior is mirroring exactly what she's been quietly thinking: Emmrich is an incredibly desirable longterm partner to her. Rook is an emotionally bold sort of person, so her instincts have skipped a few steps, and she's been treating him like a mate. A beloved mate. Very, very affectionately. The exact behavioral equivalent of what Emmrich is inadvertently doing verbally, and calling her "darling" up front.

So Emmrich, starved for decades of the kind of relationship he's desperately craved, is suddenly confronted with an extremely attractive person who smells EVEN BETTER than a typical omega in heat (that's such a high bar) who's doing the equivalent of like. Newly wed behavior.

Cannot emphasize enough that he was heading to her apartment assuming that he would get his bones jumped only to get tenderly kissed. She's deliriously horny, he can smell that, but apparently that's less important to her than. Bonding activities??? Imagine being, I don't know. Extremely lonely pizza delivery driver. You're aware that the person you're delivering to next hasn't eaten in five days. But when you arrive with food they just. Invite you into their apartment and sit you down on their couch and start chatting with you like you're a long lost best friend. Their stomach is growling so loud. But they seem to be enjoying the conversation so much that they aren't even looking at the pizza boxes.

???¿¿¿???

Emmrich is having a good time, but he's so bewildered. In a good way. He's left assuming that Rook is just an inherently affectionate person, and feels guilty that he's responding to it so strongly. Guilt isn't going to stop him from soaking it up like a desiccated plant though.

Also: Emmrich picked up immediately that Rook had something Bad in her sexual history-- it was obvious to him from the very start of their meeting. People don't just... take heavy duty suppressants right up until they completely fail. This element, along with the way she seemed so shocked that alphas could behave themselves, has Emmrich extremely protective of her. It generates an interesting synergy, actually: Emmrich's inclination is a much softer touch than most alphas (gender nonconforming, if you will) and given Rook's background, this is a great opportunity for him to be that, and be appreciated for it. Later on as their relationship develops and their trust in each other deepens, he'll be able to bring out the firmer parts of himself again (which Rook will appreciate) but for now it's really a breath of fresh air to be only soft.

Rook is also gender nonconforming by the way, in a lot of ways! One of my biggest commentaries that I wanted to get through in my fic is that the biology of sexes... really has very little to do with the box society sets up for gender. Gender is always going to cut off parts of the range of behavior that naturally exists. Rook's an omega, yep. That doesn't make her personality less assertive. It just means she gets punished for it more.

Luckily for Rook, boy does Emmrich LOVE his partner taking control ;) no snapping from him because his ✨alphaness ✨ got threatened, ooh it gets him hot under the collar. This man has absolutely been alpha 4 alpha before and he loves that shit.

[citrinesparkles]

the way this had me GIGGLINGGGG. you are so nice to me i cant 😭i hope you dont mind me responding to these bc i GOTTA have these masterpieces of comments on my blog for forever omg.

you hit a lot of rly important points so. under the cut bc you pulled my string. director's commentary ramblings ahead, be ye warned.

MID OCTOBER EVENING IS MY ENTIRE REASON FOR WRITING. ever. that kind of magic is why i even bother with any of this, so that's possibly the sweetest thing anyone has ever said to me. but then you kept saying super sweet things so it's got a little competition.

repetitive spirals!! yes yes yes absolutely you get it repetition is one of my FAVORITE (and ironically, possibly one of my most overused) tools when im writing. it was so important to me to balance the Comfort jay and the reader have with some nerves, because this is scary stuff!! good scary, but scary nonetheless.

fun fact the dialogue is pretty much the only thing that survived my rewrite of this fic 😭 a lot was changed or cut, but nowhere near as much as was cut or replaced from descriptions. dialogue is far and away my favorite thing to write, so hearing such sweet feedback about it means the world to me <3

sway jason is... so special to me. like you said this version is Gentle, he's a shield, and im so ecstatic that that shows :) one of my huge concerns when i first had the idea for this story was stripping jason of what makes him Him, so ive put a ton of energy and time into trying to make sure he feels organic and three dimensional! im not always sure i hit the mark with him, but im pleased so far with what i've cooked up :) (although, credit where it's due: sway would never have made it out of my drafts without @/angelz-dust being my sounding board. she's an absolute angel, and put up with many, many brainstorming sessions when i was first cobbling this thing together.)

this may be the first (and last) time ive ever been called subtle HJSDKFHSD thats so sweet of you 😭 but to your point about bruce and jason!!!! i dont even remember where i mentioned it at this point but exploring them is really what convinced me to write this self-indulgent little story. bruce and jason are so, so similar, and with jay's death they become this feedback loop of emotional impacts!! so, here, when jay doesn't die, who does he become? the key to that was actually figuring out who i thought bruce would be, without that critical loss. how did that loss change the tone of bruce? of batman? of the universe? bc those things all inform jason, and if jay got to grow up and go to college and be a big dork, that removes some of bruce's... gestures at all of him. they absolutely still butt heads, and jason absolutely has some Opinions about how bruce does things, but they also have an incredible amount of respect and love for each other.

obviously, bruce is still bruce. that man is difficult. but it's different, and exploring that (even though it barely shows up in the actual text of the fic) has been soooo fun.

and the bookshelf. your tags. i cant even add anything to them bc you get it. it's the vulnerability and Understanding. that being said i Will add that i have no idea how id ever fit it in anywhere but in my heart of hearts jason and reader absolutely have Conversations about book organization. this reader works at the gotham u library (how they met!!), so books are the start of all of this <3 i also happen to be of the belief that he would tease you for how you organize your shelves but like. also be able to put things away bc he remembers and respects the system.

now we just sway part three

jason todd x gender neutral reader. 1,868 words. notes: jason lives au continues. dance lessons occur. warnings: n/a. original | song insp | part one | previous | next (coming soon)

okay, so, in retrospect: this whole dance thing? not your best decision.

it means making sure both your apartment and your nice sweatpants are clean in an attempt to seem casually put together, like he doesn’t already know better. like he hasn't already spent movie nights and study buddy lunches here, and seen how you organize your bookshelf.

it means realizing that you’ve never broken in the nice shoes you bought a few months prior. y'know, the only pair you own that would work for an event this pretentious- er, nice- but that'll be fine, right?

it means jumping out of your skin when your doorbell rings right on time.

and it means that your heart performs an impressive backflip and sticks the landing only to dissolve into a melted puddle when you open the door and find him in a casual, soft t-shirt and sweatpants combo with a winter coat and warm smile to top it off. “hey.”

hey. which is a common ass word. that should mean nothing.

that should absolutely not make you want to smile like an idiot, because everyone says hey.

you sigh heavily instead, stepping aside to let him in. “c'mon, ballerina boy," you mutter, leaning heavily against the door. "let’s get this over with.”

“what, not looking forward to it?” he quips, with that smug, stupid little head tilt he does as he slips past you.

and, for some stupid reason, you hold his gaze the entire time. it's maybe, maybe two whole seconds, but it feels like longer, because he's… him.

like somebody took a romcom and gave it a pulse, and a nice smile, and pretty brown eyes.

you swing the door closed with a soft click, and resign yourself to ignoring all of that. “i’m not looking forward to stepping on your toes. literally.”

“don’t worry, i grabbed the thickest shoes i own,” he teases, slipping off his coat and setting his keys and phone on the coffee table you'd slid out of the way. “plenty of cushion.”

“the dress shoes and sweatpants thing is an interesting statement, i’ll give you that.”

“you’re just jealous that i-” he glances pointedly at your own shoes and sweatpants as you stop a few feet back, that dumb little smile making your crisis much worse- “can make it work.”

you roll your eyes, because what else is there to do when the handsome guy about to teach you to waltz is being a playful jerk? “yeah, well, some of us don’t get to look good in everything.”

at least it earns you a sputter of laughter.

it's the little things, really.

-

“ready to go?”

“ready is a strong word, todd.”

“so grumpy. what, you afraid you’ll learn something?”

it's not the learning you're afraid of, not that you'll tell him that.

for one thing, you really are nervous about stepping on his toes.

for another, you're afraid of breaking the comfortable, teasing rhythm you've found yourselves in. afraid that if you step into his orbit, the pull may truly be too strong to escape.

it's one thing to swallow butterflies and mask surges of affection with playful eyerolls from across the room, but up close and personal? more challenging, especially considering you're trying to hide from the protégé of the batman himself.

because he couldn't just be pretty and clever and sweet. no, he also has to be the most observant person you've ever met. why not?

“hey,” he calls, snapping you out of your thoughts. his smile's shifting from playful to reassuring, warmth seeping from him and threatening to melt you all over again. “c'mon, we’ll go slow.”

he offers you his left hand, steady and confident.

you lay your right palm over it, trying not to focus on the feeling of warm, calloused skin, or the way his fingers squeeze your hand.

“there we go. now your hand on my shoulder-” he nudges his right shoulder forward slightly, an open invitation you carefully take (against your better judgment)- “and mine on your waist. this good?”

“this is good,” you respond, a little more honestly than he'll realize. yes, it's unnerving holding and being held by the guy that makes your heart do kickflips, but his hands are gentle despite the visible wear and tear and his movements are cautious and slow. doing what he can to make you comfortable.

which almost works, actually. because when he's not making you want to throttle him or kiss him stupid, he's… calming. which is why you're doing any of this.

it's one thing to have a handsome guy that likes to grin at you and go round-for-round with stupid teases. that would be an easier thing to ignore. no, this handsome guy grins and teases and is also a good friend that makes everything seem more manageable.

he nods a little, which jogs you out of your thoughts, and shifts slightly before clearing his throat. “okay. so here’s where things get tricky.”

“oh, joy.”

“i figure i’ll lead, because i actually know what i’m doing, so i’ll start by stepping forward with my right foot like this-” he shifts forwards, watching his shoes and nudging the toe of yours gently- “and you’ll step your left foot back to make room.”

“like this?”

“yeah, that’s good. step back onto the ball of your foot- yep, perfect. now,” he says, glancing up at you and nodding to his left, “other foot that way.”

you step sideways slowly, actually grateful to be focusing on the moves instead of him, and he mirrors your movement.

“just like that. now just step in, bring your left foot right.”

you do, and hum a little curious sound to see if that was what he meant.

“that’s it!” his gaze jumps back up to meet yours, a goofy hint of a smile on his face. “half a box step down. now we just gotta do it backwards.”

“…you’re kidding, right?”

“uh… no. sorry.”

you sigh. he doesn’t look sorry, and you point it out under your breath, ignoring the cute little laugh he gives you in return before guiding you into the reverse.

-

“-and he does this thing- i’ve told you about the grumble thing before,” jason pauses, pointing his water bottle at you in a silent question and mimicking your nod before taking a sip and continuing. “so he does the grumble thing with his voice, right, trying to figure out who hired this guy and he must have had a death wish or something because he flips him- bruce- off.”

this is better. sitting on your couch and listening to him tell stories- ones he almost definitely shouldn't be telling you, but you're not about to stop him- this is much more familiar ground.

there's something sweet about it. mundane and calm. just watching him as he tells a family story. it's… cute.

“seriously?”

“dead serious. he flips him off and goes-” he raises his voice to a nasally, high tone- “your mom hired me.”

you wince, somewhere in the middle of a startled laugh, just imagining having the guts required to say that to batman. sure, you've never actually seen the bat, but you've heard enough to picture an intimidatingly enormous, angry looking figure. “ouch.”

“yeah, he had a bad time after that.”

“did you ever find out who hired him?”

he pushes up off the couch, stretching towards the ceiling with a groan. “not yet, but i’m sure bruce’ll know by the time i get home. he said he had a lead this morning.”

“well,” you follow suit, setting your water off to the side. “sounds like you’ll have your work cut out for you tonight.”

“usually do,” he sighs. “alright, break time’s over. back to ballroom bootcamp.”

you laugh again, quickly (weakly) covering it with a serious expression as he shoots you something you're sure is supposed to look chiding. “right. time to be serious.”

“mhm,” he mumbles dubiously, which only serves to make you giggle again. “yeah, you sound very serious.”

“you just said ballroom bootcamp, jason. what did you expect?”

he rolls his eyes, and you pretend not to see the smile he hides behind another sip of water before closing his water bottle and tossing it onto the couch. “c'mere, let’s run through the basics one more time and then we’ll call it a day, yeah?”

-

“well,” he says, bringing his feet to a stand-still, but continuing to sway back and forth. “there’s the basics.”

you want to complain. or at least make a joke about how the two of you describe basic differently.

you don't.

you smile, instead.

“i guess that wasn’t awful.”

“no?”

“nope.”

and maybe that's a mistake, because the ghost of a smirk is on his face as he slows the little sway to a stop. “so does that mean i win?”

you roll your eyes and sigh again, his smugness becoming even more evident as you stall. “you’re the worst, y'know that?”

“is that a yes?”

he's still holding you.

his hands are loose, sure, so you could pull away. probably should, if you're honest with yourself. but you don't, just yet, because he's leading this stupid dance.

he can end it.

“yes, jason,” you say, more resigned than you genuinely feel. because now his smirk is warmer, dipping into something more sincere than his usual ribbing, and you've never been very good at resisting his sincerity. “you win.”

“i’m mature enough to spare you the ‘i told you so’, but-”

even there, even being a know-it-all that's too proud of himself, he sounds warm. so you interject. “you told me so?”

“a little.”

you huff a laugh, and he finally pulls his hand from your waist. so you take the queue and slide your hands off of him, swallowing the mild disappointment at the loss of warmth and turning to get some water instead.

“so,” he starts slowly, and if you didn't know better, you'd almost call his tone cautious. nervous. “does that mean you’ll come?”

“wasn’t that the deal?” you ask, taking a sip of water and glancing back.

“well- i mean, yes, but-”

“yes," you cut him off gently, because jason todd stumbling over words can not possibly be good, and the last thing you want is for him to think that all of your grumbling was actually your attempt at wriggling out of this. "i’ll be there.”

his grin comes back full force, dazzling and warm, the kind that you wish you could put in a bottle and open on bad days to make everything better. “cool.”

“cool?”

“cool.”

-

jason todd leaves your apartment two full hours after he arrived.

leaving you to drop onto your couch and stare at nothing, cheeks burning and water gripped loosely in your hand.

he gets back to the manor with a spring in his step he very much tries to hide.

so, obviously, bruce is in the foyer, the least convienent place possible. impossible to avoid without doubling back around to the mudroom instead of the front door.

bruce, the most infuriating man alive, takes one look at jason's poker face and smiles right into his stupid cup of tea.

jason doesn't stop to chat.

[kaidanalenkosprmanager]

Sophie Oliveira-Shepard Alenko-Oliveira and Kaidan Alenko-Oliveira - ME3 (3/?) "What would I do without you?" "You'll never have to find out." Mass Effect 3: Legendary Edition (2021)

[monstermp3]

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