#oscs x reader

reader = pink

redify = red

yugi = purple

santi = white/bold

arky = orange

nos = blue

sunny = green

OPEN-DOOR DISASTER - REDIFY

warnings: making out, group interruption, embarrassment, teasing, mild swearing, light chaos/fluff

you and red were way too into each other on the living room couch — his hands on your waist, your fingers in his hair, his mouth on yours like he didn’t care about anything else in the world.

you barely heard the front door open.

“red—” you whispered, breath uneven, “i think they’re back.”

he didn’t even lift his head.

“don’t care,” he mumbled against your mouth, pulling you right back in.

and then—

the voices hit.

the footsteps.

the loud clatter of takeout bags.

yugi’s voice echoing through the house:

“HELLO?? ANYONE HOME??”

you pulled away just an inch — wide-eyed — right as the whole OSCS crew walked into the living room.

red froze.

you froze.

they did NOT.

yugi stopped mid-step. “nah. no way.”

nos literally dropped the bag he was holding. “bro.”

arky put his hands on his head. “in the living room? on a TUESDAY?”

santi just stared, blinking. “dude… seriously?”

red looked like he was about to pass out.

“can you guys NOT—”

nos burst out laughing. “you didn’t even hear us come in?? you two were GONE.”

“brain EMPTY,” yugi added, pointing at red. “zero awareness.”

red was bright red. “shut up.”

sunny peeked around nos, trying to hold in a laugh. “you guys are… bold doing this here.”

you covered your face with your hands. “we weren’t— it wasn’t—”

santi cut you off with a tired hand gesture. “yeah, yeah. save it. we’re going upstairs. goddamn.”

arky backed up the stairs first. “don’t start again while we’re walking up, i’m begging.”

nos snorted. “y’all are dramatic.”

yugi kept staring at red like he discovered a new species. “i’m never letting you live this down.”

one by one they shuffled upstairs, still whisper-laughing, still talking shit, still tripping over each other.

silence finally settled.

red threw his head back on the couch, mortified.

“i’m moving out. i swear to god.”

you nudged his leg gently, trying not to laugh.

“it wasn’t that bad.”

“yes it was.”

“red—”

“they saw EVERYTHING.”

you leaned into him, brushing your nose against his cheek.

“no they didn’t.”

he sighed, defeated, voice going all soft and annoyed:

“i wasn’t done kissing you.”

you smiled.

“i kinda figured.”

he looked at you, still embarrassed, still pink, still wanting you.

“we’re never doing this in the living room again,” he muttered.

“deal,” you said — then kissed him again anyway.

(NOT PROOFREAD!)

warnings: gun range setting, mentions of firearms and loud gunshots, romantic tension, protective/possessive undertones but in a gentle way

—

you’re standing just inside the entrance of the gun range, the heavy door swinging shut behind you with a dull thud. the air smells like metal and oil, sharp and sterile, and the muted cracks of gunfire echo rhythmically from somewhere deeper inside. fluorescent lights hum overhead. he’s beside you, hands in his pockets, watching your reaction more than the room itself.

“you okay?” he asks, casual, but his eyes are scanning your face carefully.

“i didn’t think it would be this loud,” you admit, glancing toward the lanes.

he gives a small nod, stepping closer without making a big deal of it. “it’s not that bad once you get used to it. and i’m right here.”

there’s something steady about the way he says it. not dramatic. just certain.

when you get to your lane, he moves with quiet confidence, talking to the instructor, handling the paperwork, making sure everything’s set up before you even have to ask. you lean back against the counter, pretending you’re not watching the way he focuses.

he notices anyway.

“don’t look at me like that,” he mutters, sliding the safety glasses toward you.

“like what?”

“like you’re deciding if this was a good idea.”

“i am deciding.”

he huffs a soft laugh. “you’ll survive.”

once you’re both geared up, he stands behind you, not touching at first. just close. close enough that you’re aware of him. the heat from his body seeps through the thin fabric of your top. his voice drops slightly when he starts explaining.

“okay. feet shoulder-width apart. don’t lock your knees.”

you adjust awkwardly and he steps in, hands settling at your hips to shift you gently into place. his fingers press firm but controlled, thumbs sliding just enough to guide you.

“like this,” he says, leaning in closer so you can hear him through the ear protection.

your breath catches for half a second. you hope he doesn’t notice.

he does.

his hands move from your hips to your arms, lifting them slightly, adjusting your stance. his chest brushes your back now, solid and steady. he reaches around you to help position your grip, his fingers wrapping over yours.

“don’t tense up,” he murmurs near your ear. “just breathe.”

the first shot surprises you anyway. even prepared, your shoulders jump and your grip falters. before you can react, his arms tighten around you, steadying.

“hey,” he says, low and calm. “i’ve got you.”

you swallow, nodding once, trying again. this time you focus on the sound of your own breathing instead of the noise around you. his thumb presses lightly over your knuckles, grounding you.

“there you go,” he says after the second shot, glancing at the target. “that’s good.”

“you’re lying.”

“i don’t lie about stuff like this.”

there’s no teasing in his voice. just quiet approval.

after a few rounds, you lower the gun, flexing your fingers. he steps back just enough to give you space, but his hand lingers at your waist for a second longer than necessary before dropping.

“so?” he asks. “still think i brought you here to scare you?”

you shake your head. “no.”

he studies you for a moment, something softer settling in his expression. “i brought you because you said you’d never done it before.”

“and?”

“and i like being the first to show you things.”

it’s not possessive. not aggressive. just honest.

the words sit between you heavier than the gunshots echoing downrange.

you hold his gaze for a second too long. “you don’t have to turn everything into a moment.”

“wasn’t trying to,” he replies, but he doesn’t look away.

when you both step out into the evening air, the sky is dim and cooling, the parking lot quiet compared to inside. the world feels slower out here. you’re still a little wired from the adrenaline.

he reaches for your hand without asking this time. his fingers lace through yours naturally, thumb brushing once over your knuckles.

“you did good,” he says, softer now.

“you only liked it because you got to stand that close.”

he gives you a sideways look. “that was a bonus.”

you try to roll your eyes, but you’re smiling.

he opens the car door for you, then pauses before you get in, leaning one arm against the frame so you’re kind of boxed in, but not trapped. just close again.

“next time,” he says quietly, “we can do something calmer.”

“like what?”

he thinks for a second. “doesn’t matter. i just wanted you with me.”

there’s no dramatic confession attached. no big grin. just that steady tone again.

and you knew this wasn’t gonna be the last date.

—