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[forlix]

‧ ❆ ˚ 𝐞𝐦𝐩𝐭𝐲 𝐦𝐲 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐝・h.j.

— stars flare brightest in the absence of light, and you see his clearer than day.

words・6.4k

pairing・han jisung x female reader

genres・college!au, friends with benefits to lovers, snowed in trope, smut, MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS THAT INTERACT WILL BE BLOCKED, angst, ANGST, you have been warned, hurt/comfort, i can't write normal fluff to save my life, happy ending!!!, semi-slow burn

warnings・depictions of insomnia, recurring nightmares, graphic violence, character death (in the nightmare), fears of abandonment and falling in love, alcohol consumption, humans helping each other heal. smut warnings under the cut

playlist・stay - acoustic by jonah baker・all of me by big gigantic・babydoll (speed) by ari abdul・oasis by exo・volcano by han

a/n・hi, here's my second installment of winter falls. writing this was immensely challenging and twice as meaningful, so feedback would be greatly appreciated. thank you to my may for being so fucking instrumental in piecing together this rollercoaster—this one is for you, i love you. thanks to my sahar for everything, always and forever. and thanks to all of you for being here. happy new year ♡

smut warnings・spitplay, unprotected piv, please practice safe sex!!!, car sex, dirty talk, jisung's dick game is kinda crazy, squirting, lots of aftercare

Every time Jisung closes his eyes, he sees somebody’s back.

It’s leaving. Traipsing somewhere he can’t follow. He tries to chase it—he always does, he never learns—but the premise doesn’t so much as surface before the ghosts circling around his ankles go for his throat instead. They snare him by the shoulders, force him to his knees, slam his forehead into the permafrost hard enough to break bone. They make sure the next time he tries to move will be the last.

So he remains, keeled over in the cold, until tearwater clings to his lower lashes in small icicles. Until bloodstained snow coats his lips like the manifestation of a curse. Until the back has disappeared.

Who does it belong to? He’s left to wonder. Where is it going?

Why can’t I follow?

Then he wakes up.

No longer does he lay awake for hours afterwards, scouring the dream’s every frame for his answers.

Now, he tosses and turns in clammy sheets until his exhaustion wins.

Now, he welcomes sleep like a miracle granted by some pitying god.

You see him.

Through a living room packed with red-faced partygoers and dissected by oscillating strobe lights, albeit, but you see him anyways. 

Jisung can barely make out the rest of your face—he blames the lighting, or the soju, or both—but your eyes alone turn him to glass. Not a fancy vase through which the world distorts, but a simple pane that puts him and his ghosts on full display.

He hopes you like horror movies.

Felix knows you, because of course he does, and Jisung has never been happier to call the extroverted Australian his friend than when you come over to say hi. You stumble out of the crowd all smudged makeup and sweaty skin, your figure hugged by a short black dress with two diamond-shaped openings just above your hips, your glossy lips curved in a drunken smile. Jisung immediately wants it against his mouth.

Instead, it disappears behind his friend as you pull him into a quick hug. A few wisps of your hair dust over Jisung’s arm, momentarily replacing the smells of grease and vodka with cherry blossoms and vanilla.

“Lix, hey!”

“Darling, it’s good to see you! Feels like it’s been ages.”

“I know, right? How are you? How is everything?”

“Good, thank you. Just happy the semester’s over.”

“I’ll drink to that.” Then you go to lift your drink and discover thin air in its place. “Or I won’t. Whoops.”

This prompts Jisung’s first contribution to the conversation—and his first effortless laugh in a long while.

“Eventful night, huh?”

He meets your gaze from all of two feet away this time, and his knees buckle under him. That gaze, fuck. So clear and true, like a prism of glass refracting light into a rainbow. He would let you refract him a thousand times over if he had any light to give.

“Maybe,” you giggle. “Seems I’m a little too happy the semester’s over.”

“Wanna not get a drink to celebrate?”

Your expression flickers. Not in a bad way, more like you hadn’t expected him to ask so soon—or for yourself to have your answer so quickly.

A strobe light catches right under your eye and refracts the color in your blushing face. A rainbow.

“I’d like that.”

He tilts his head towards the kitchen. You give Felix’s elbow a light squeeze before moving past him; he gives Felix a glimpse of his growing smile before falling into step behind you. The blonde shakes his head, throws back the rest of his beer, then swivels at the sound of someone calling his name from across the foyer.

Felix will get drunk enough to forget the sight of you leading Jisung up the stairs, two bottles of pink lemonade tucked under your arm. Nothing stronger, as promised.

Jisung asks his question an entire minute after he intends to. “Where are we going, by the way?”

“Somewhere I can see your pretty face without having to squint,” you reply, and his stomach tumbles like a schoolboy with a valentine.

You don’t stop at the second floor. Instead, you nudge open a door Jisung swears just materialized to his left and emerge into the night air.

It’s warm for December, but he’s still met with chilly winds licking down the sides of his neck. That’s not the only reason he shudders, though. Below his feet, he finds a metal platform akin to that of a fire escape. Above his head, a staircase that looks one forceful step away from dropping off the side of the building.

You turn towards it. 

In a hurry, he sputters, “I’m, uh—I’m not sure about this.”

A beat passes. Your hold on his wrist loosens, not to let go, just to trace wordless reassurance down the back of his hand. Your fingers feel perfect sliding into the spaces between his, like drops of honey in the craters of soufflé pancakes.

“It’s safer than it looks, I promise.”

Jisung heaves a sigh. It seems saying no to you is an impossible task.

You’re right, though. The iron rungs are surprisingly rigid beneath his feet, and the two of you make it to the roof with no trouble. He does stumble when you pull him up onto the gravel, but it’s intentional, a purposeful blunder to have you closer. To snag another glimpse of that blush, another trace of that floral vanilla.

“Sorry,” he whispers almost directly upon your lips. And that earns him all three.

The next hour evades him for the most part, and Jisung is pissed about it. He’s with the woman of his dreams under a sky so clear it’s almost lustrous and he’s too shitfaced to recollect when he gave you his hoodie to wear; what you said that made his lungs capsize with how hard he laughed; how you ended up so close to each other, your legs strewn over his lap, his hands tracing over your thighs.

Thankfully, he remembers a few things. He remembers how frighteningly easy you are to talk to; he remembers your habit of smacking his stomach when you get flustered; he remembers you getting flustered a lot. He remembers the timbres of your different laughs and how your stunning features crinkle with each. He remembers feeling like a pane of glass in front of you, just like he had downstairs, and he remembers liking it, somehow. Liking the way you see through him, the way you allow him to just exist as he is. Liking the way you acknowledge his ghosts with such nonchalance, inviting them over for tea and biscuits.

He wants to remember everything about you.

It’s not often he wants to remember anything.

Eventually, your conversation comes to a natural close. In its absence, Jisung notices that the alcoholic sludge in his brain has largely diffused; with it, the rumbling bass of the party below. The full moon hangs at its highest point, blanketing the two of you with anticipatory silence, nudging you towards the only topic you’ve yet to breach.

He meets your gaze again, from all of two inches away this time, and his insides twist.

“You’re still drunk, aren’t you?”

You blink at him, not following. Then he leans his forehead against yours, lets his eyes flicker to your mouth with such unbridled want that you’re instantly dizzy—and no longer confused.

Regret pools in your eyes moments before they close. “Yes, I think so.”

Your lips are so, so close that he can feel the air shift between you when they move, can feel the soft warmth emanating from them. Jisung pulls away before he does anything stupid.

You do the stupid thing for him.

You push his shoulders to the plaster behind him, push yourself onto his lap with a swing of your body and a slotting of your legs on either side of him. 

The plush of your thighs hugging his hips, the curves of your breasts pressed against his chest, Jisung tries to stare up at you, perplexed, aroused. But you’re so close that he can’t, so he settles with whispering upon the underside of your chin, “what are you—”

“Gimme your lemonade.”

The authoritative words come out in a slurred haze, and he all but hastens to oblige. 

You pluck the plastic bottle from his wavering grasp. His empty hand hovers as if uncertain where to go. But matters as trivial as hand placement drop off his mind’s precipice as he watches you unscrew the cap, the slope of your neck illuminated by spindly moonlight, and without thinking he pushes his hands beneath the hem of your—his—hoodie.

The skin of your waist is warm and smooth where his fingertips are cold and calloused, the juxtaposition unimportant in your reciprocal desires to touch and be touched.

“Open,” you murmur.

His jaw goes slack, firstly from pure disbelief. Then, obedience. The dark locks that obstruct his vision of you fall away as his head meets the brick half-wall behind him, as if the midnight breeze itself mandated their removal.

You pour some of the pink liquid past Jisung’s parted lips. Stray rivulets slip down his cheek and vanish beneath his neckline. You break eye contact to follow their path with dilated pupils and fluttering lashes. With unadulterated desire.

He swallows, gently, and feels the sweet substance surround his tonsils.

He swallows, forcefully, when you wrap your lips around the bottle, the plastic still slathered in his spit.

The swig you take is long, deep. Your throat bobs and your eyes close as if you’re savoring a finely-aged nectar. Then your lips are popping off the opening with a soft thwock, leaving a thick strand of saliva to suspend, suspend, suspend until the very second it’s about to drop, which is when you collect the residue with a deft swipe of your tongue.

“A placeholder,” you breathe, and Jisung’s head careens. A shared bottle. An indirect kiss.

“You’re a monster,” he croaks.

You giggle and lean down, curling a hand around his cheek, pressing a wet kiss to his Adam’s apple.

“Tomorrow, if we’re both sober…”

One, two, three pecks up the length of his jaw.

“...and you still remember my address…”

A suckle to the lobe of his ear.

“...you can kiss me, for real.”

A trembling breath.

“And then some.”

Jisung moans, loudly.

Thankfully, he remembers a few things.

He shows up at your place shortly after sunset the next day. You swing open the door, your face already alight with your world-ending smile.

“Hi.”

“Hey.”

Then he’s kissing you like a man famished.

Jisung learns to love your back, that night. He loves its dips and curves, loves its rise and fall. Loves how it arches into him, how it looks drenched in his cum. It’s the back of his dreams.

The back in his dreams keeps walking.

Jisung has never liked winter.

He has never liked its winds, whispering woefully as if mourning something unnamed and unseen. He has never liked its palette, whitewashing the world as if refracting a rainbow in reverse.

He has never liked cracking open his eyes and seeing the scenery of his nightmare outside his window. Nor does he like trudging over the sleet as if weighed down by the same ghosts that break him time and time again in his dreamscape. They love winter. 

And this winter, he swears, is the bitterest yet. On the nights when he’s allowed to sleep, the nightmare comes in such sharp relief that he thinks he’d rather anything else, the ghosts meaner, the blood redder, the silhouette slower. It’s an act of mercy when he’s still awake by the time bleached sunlight perforates the curtains, resting upon his salted cheeks and balled fists.

This winter, it is not just dislike that he feels towards the gray winds—it’s hatred. A maelstrom of loathing so large and dark that Jisung no longer knows where it’s headed or what it’s directed to. Or who.

When winter break comes to an end, he’s probably the only person who’s happy about it.

His friends certainly aren’t, looking like a line of angry nutcrackers with their folded arms and thunderous faces standing outside Greem Cafe.

Jisung calls out a greeting as he jogs towards them, and cue the grumbling.

“What is there to smile about? Enlighten us.” That’s Hyunjin. “I have to deal with four finals and three essays in the next five days and this guy is smiling.”

“He’s accepted his fate, I reckon.” That’s Felix. “We should do the same, boys. Let ourselves down easy, y’know?”

“No, no, he’s smiling because he remembered to bring me his chem notes.” That’s Jeongin. “You did, right? Please say you did.”

Jisung is stunned into silence. “Can I not be happy to see my friends?”

“No,” Hyunjin and Felix reply in unison.

“My bad,” he sighs.

“My notes,” Jeongin repeats.

“I have them, dude. Let’s sit down first.”

The younger boy shouts an impassioned “THANK YOU” at the sky like the clouds just saved his GPA. Jisung reaches for the door to the café, then stops at the sound of Felix’s voice.

“We’re waiting on one more person.”

He turns towards the blonde with puzzled eyes. He’d been under the impression the study session would comprise just them four.

“Who?”

Felix’s response falters on his tongue when he catches sight of something in the distance, and his face changes in a way Jisung’s seen before.

“Look behind you.” Felix shuffles past him, raising his voice to shout, “yo!”

Jisung glances away from the newcomer as quickly as he sees her. It’s not until his eyes pivot to the fire hydrant across the street that he processes her identity.

In one second flat, his mind clutters full. He thinks back to that party, when all it took was the sight of your smile for him to theorize you were the most exquisite thing ever made. He thinks back to the next evening, when he kissed you and verified his hypothesis. He thinks back to what followed and would continue to follow in the few days that remained before break: entwined tongues and emblazoned hickeys, whitened knuckles and whiny praise, snapping hips and shaking bedframes.

This winter, Jisung swears, is the bitterest yet.

But seeing you, the scarf wound multiple times around your neck doing nothing to hide your gorgeous smile, feels like catching a fragment of summer in his frozen hands.

“Thank god,” Felix groans before embracing you. Collapsing on you, more like. “I’m saved.”

You reach around to pat the boy on the back, your eyes brimming with laughter. “Lower your expectations, please. I did well on one exam.”

“You aced the midterm. That automatically makes you a rocket scientist,” Felix corrects, his voice muffled into the shoulder of your coat. A few beats of silence pass. Then, “this is comfy.”

“Okay, okay, let’s go get some caffeine in you,” you giggle. “We have a lot of ground to cover today.”

Felix straightens up sleepily. And sadly. “Superb.”

Jisung hangs back as you introduce yourself to Hyunjin and Jeongin. He doesn’t even notice his growing smile until you’re standing directly in front of him and for the first time in three weeks there’s the smell of cherry blossoms in the air and a rainbow shining on his face again.

“Hi,” he offers.

“Hey,” you reply.

Hyunjin is the one to shatter the prolonged silence that follows. “Are you guys betrothed?”

Felix and Jeongin stalk into the café snickering. You and Jisung trail behind with flaming cheeks.

It takes Jisung two and a half hours to talk to you again. At that point in the afternoon, Felix is napping on the second practice test you’ve given him; Hyunjin has downed three shots of pure espresso and is currently viewing his screen with concerning intensity; Jeongin is at another table on a quiet Zoom call with his chemistry T.A., Jisung’s notes clutched to his chest like a life vest. And you’re leaning back against your seat opposite to him, scrolling through your phone in what he presumes to be a well-deserved study break. As good a time as any.

He opens up his texts with you. His fingers fly across the keyboard.

Jisung: do you have plans after this?

Your eyes stutter to the top of your screen, linger there for a moment, and lock onto Jisung’s from across the table.

He presses his lips into a thin line to suppress his smile. You let yours spill over in full form, and with it comes a soft giggle that would be worth getting his number fucking blocked just to hear one more time.

Three gray dots appear before elongating into a prompt response.

Y/N: I was gonna ask you the same thing…

He’s the one who laughs this time. Fuck, you’re cute. You’re so cute.

Jisung: can i take you to dinner? Y/N: Yes, I’d love that :) Y/N: When should we leave? Jisung: 9? Y/N: Sounds good~ Jisung: cool Jisung: it’s a date Y/N: It’s a date! Y/N: Excited 💛

With that, you put your phone face down and return to work, though your lips remain privately upturned. Jisung wants to kiss them again.

He also wants to turn you into a mess on his cock again.

Or both.

He doesn’t get much studying done after that thought surfaces.

Jisung: me too <3

When nine o’clock rolls around, you and Jisung begin cleaning up your work stations in near-perfect simultaneity. There’s confusion written all over Hyunjin’s and Jeongin’s faces as they watch you swing your backpacks over your shoulders—but Felix’s expression is a blank slate as he sips from his macchiato. Your ingenuity isn’t the only reason he invited you today.

As you make your way out of the café, your shoulders brush once, twice, and then Jisung drops his hand into the space between the two of you without uttering a word. You scoop it up in your own without missing a beat.

He steps into the freezing night feeling warm all over.

“You know what I realized?” You say as you walk towards his SUV.

“What did you realize?”

“We’ve never had a sober conversation before. Can we change that tonight?”

Jisung has broken hearts before.

There’s no euphemistic way to describe his tendency to abuse the sensitive organs, to wring them out and throw them away like irrelevant trash. To juggle and drop them with a sheepish laugh like they’re nothing more than props in a circus act.

He doesn’t do it to save himself or his partners from getting hurt or any self-ingratiating bullshit like that. It’s for himself, all for himself. All to unload his balls and his mind for fifteen blissful seconds. 

There’s blood on his hands. He never cared to wash it off.

Except you are the one asking for his heart this time around, a dash of hope in your smile as you do so, and he thinks it would be his life’s greatest honor to be discarded by you.

“Sure,” he answers.

He doesn’t even last until he’s inside the car.

Your back meets the door to the passenger’s seat, guided there by his hands on your hips. From millimeters away he watches your surprise morph into understanding, then darken into lust.

“I like when we don’t talk, though.”

It’s the most annoying thing in the world to remove so many layers in such a cramped space.

Combined, your clothing forms a tower high enough to block out the driver’s window completely. An unnecessary blockade.

The glass fogs up anyways.

“Fuck, Ji, yes, right there, oh my god.”

You have your legs spread open and the back of your neck digging into the cupholder on the door. It’s not comfortable. You’re too busy getting fucked open to care.

Jisung detaches his lips from your neck to ask, “here, baby?”

The head of his cock hits that gummy spot again, harder, sweeter. You convulse, your hand scrambling for purchase in his raven locks.

“Yes, yes, yes, don’t stop, please.”

Please. The word plays over in his fuzzy mind.

It seems saying no to you is an impossible task.

His cock slips out of you and you lament the loss of contact with a high wail.

“W-why’d—where’d you go?”

He can’t help but chuckle at how incoherent you’ve become. He cradles the back of your head with a tender hand and lowers your upper body onto the leather seat, adjusting himself to your new elevation.

“Right here, beautiful. Didn’t go anywhere—promise—” 

He expels the final word through gritted teeth as he slams into you again, and the new angle is glorious. Your bodies keen in flawless harmony. Profanities tumble from his lips in a steady stream before they turn back into syllables.

“Would never go anywhere. Would never leave without making this pretty pussy cream like it deserves—holy fucking shit, baby.”

You clench around him at his words and then he’s setting a new, relentless rhythm, rocking the whole vehicle with every hearty smack of his hips against yours, your wet walls squeezing him so dreamily he thinks he sees nirvana with every thrust.

You’re enjoying it just as much, if the bubbles of spit in the corner of your mouth are any indication, and Jisung is viciously proud to be the cause. Unbelievably lucky to feel your breasts jiggling under his chest and your nails digging into the back of his neck.

“Good?” He whispers, and you nod blissfully.

“So—good, Ji, so fucking good. Your cock is perfect, fuck, I can’t even—can’t even think.”

“You’re the perfect one. Can’t believe how well your cunt takes me, shit. It��s like it was fucking made for this.”

“It was,” you breathe, and he nearly shoots his load into you at this alone. “It was, it was—oh, god, I think—think I’m gonna come—”

“Do it,” he rasps. “Come for me. Come on this cock and it’s yours.”

“R-really?”

“Really.”

“Then, I will. I’ll come on your cock—make it mine. Need it so fucking bad, I’m so fucking close, oh—please—”

He anchors himself in place with a hand against the windowsill and the other travels down your body to rub fast, tight circles into your clit. You let out a wanton, prolonged moan, tilt your head back to expose him to your fluttering throat. And then you’re pulling his lips onto yours again, and the following kiss is sloppy beyond belief, the kind that can only antedate the happiest of endings.

“My cock,” you sigh into his mouth. “Mine.”

“Forever,” is the breathy response he doesn’t know if he means, the response he gives you anyways.

And then you curl your fingers in his hair. Clamp your teeth around his lower lip. Clench your thighs around his waist. There’s liquid everywhere. Tearwater spilling down the sides of your face. Release gushing all over his dick and pelvis and backseat.

He catches up the moment he realizes what’s just happened. Pulls out of you. Presses his head against the roof of his car. Spits on his hand. Pumps his pulsating cock. Sends himself over the edge you’ve just finished tripping over.

Eventually, he regains feeling in his limbs.

He opens his eyes, surveys the damage, and grins.

Your stomach is covered in ropes of white, your expression hidden behind your hands. You start shaking your head in profuse embarrassment the moment you feel his eyes on you.

“You squirted,” he says.

“I know,” you almost yell, and his grin erupts into a laugh.

He lowers himself back over you, takes your wrists, and removes them from your blushing face. He doesn’t think he’s seen you so flustered before and it has him palpitating in ways he never thought feasible.

Maybe he did mean the damn thing after all.

He pushes off the strands of hair clinging to your damp forehead and replaces them with a gentle kiss. “It was sexy as fuck and you’re everything.” 

There’s a certain softness in your eyes when he pulls away. He hopes, for your sake, it’s all in his head.

His car is in need of aftercare most of all. You shrug on your clothes with considerable effort and get to work, all while sharing comfortable chatter and easy laughter.

Those things persist during your dinner date at a nearby Chinese restaurant and the drive back to your place, which Jisung knows well enough to no longer need his GPS. Those things persist until he kisses you goodbye on your doorstep, because he would have to be fucking crazy not to after you gave him the best night he’s had in so long.

After you reminded him that he’s still capable of comfort and ease, in spite of it all.

Snow comes a few weeks into the new year. 

This winter, it falls late, and it falls hard, like a gust of breath expelled from drawn lungs at the very last minute. Held there as if lying in wait for something unnamed and unseen. 

The gust of breath is too quiet to be heard over the one Jisung lets out against the shell of your ear. “Wait here.”

He goes to roll off you. You don’t let him just yet, darting your hand around his wrist and bringing his face back within centimeters of yours.

Han Jisung is beautiful. You knew it for the first time at that houseparty and you’ve known it every hour of every day since. But it’s always clearest to you in the afterglow, when his bare skin is golden and sticky and his delicate lips bitten to bright fuchsia. 

When his irises have gone black and you see stars, flaring in the absence of light.

You close the distance that remains between you. Your lips part with a content sigh. Your hands drift over the slant of his neck; his find home in the dips above your waist.

He breaks away once you’re both out of breath, and the pad of his thumb wipes lightly at your lower lip.

“Everything okay?”

“Yes,” you reply shyly. “I couldn’t help myself.”

The smile this brings to his face reminds you of a candle’s flame. Soft on the eyes and scalding to the touch when he presses it back against your lips. Once, twice.

“Can you wipe your cum off me now?” You whisper, and he laughs straight into your mouth.

The mattress lifts. His footsteps grow quieter. You shiver in his absence.

Only then do you notice the blizzard.

You stumble off the bed to throw your curtains aside. Snow descends from the sky like spools of unraveling yarn. The streetlights have been reduced to foggy specks, the parked cars to blurry heaps. Every sidewalk and rooftop in sight has already been slathered in ivory.

Jisung announces his return with a disbelieving whistle.

“Am I dreaming?” You murmur.

“When did that happen?”

“I have no idea.”

You don’t even notice the wild smile on your face until you turn to him and catch his reaction to it. He looks like he’s asking himself the same question.

“C’mere,” he hums, and you oblige.

He laves the warm towel over your breasts and stomach, as well as the places his release has trickled since you flung yourself to your feet. All while supporting the small of your back with a touch fatally careful, an expression wholly adoring. All evidence of just how blurry the line between sexual escapade and lover has become in two short months.

Your ribcage fucking throbs.

“You don’t seem excited,” you say.

He finishes cleaning you off. You give him a distracted thank you, noticing the sudden shadow draped over his face like a netted veil.

“I’m not,” he answers, not unkindly.

“You don’t like snow?”

“Not really.”

“Why?”

He circles around the bed to get dressed. You bend to pick up the clothes tossed aside earlier and drop them into your hamper, then slip into a clean pair of underwear and sweatpants.

“It’s a long story.”

Just as you reach for a top, a bundle of cloth travels in an arc across your bedroom and hooks itself around the crook of your arm. His T-shirt. 

You glance at Jisung. He’s already looking elsewhere, but his private smile makes its way onto your face as you slip it on.

“Well, I have time.” You sink into your mattress, now surrounded by his muted musk, his papyrus and petrichor. “We’ll be stuck here a while, after all.”

“Stuck?” Jisung repeats, the lanyard of his car keys dangling from the pocket of his hoodie, his feet turned towards the door.

A pregnant pause commences. His intentions dawn, and you gape.

“You’re not driving right now.”

He breaks eye contact.

“Right?”

That was the plan, you read in his expression.

You know better than trying to reverse a river’s current by kicking up rocks. You know better than trying to curtail the flight of an albatross by clipping its wings.

You know better than asking someone who thinks he was made to leave to stay.

And you won’t.

“I have somewhere to be early tomorrow morning,” he stammers, the lines terribly rehearsed. “The snow’s not heavy, I’ll be—”

“Stay.”

You’re not asking.

Jisung looks at you, startled, as you glide across the bed. You place your feet on the hardwood and circle your arms around his waist. Lace your fingers upon the hollow of his back. His pulse goes uneven at your abrupt proximity.

Akin to the drag of a feather, you mouth at his cheek, then the side of his neck.

“You can stay, Jisung.”

He shudders at your words, and you’ve got him.

It’s oddly normal, the sight of him clambering into your bed in your clothing—a pair of old sweatpants and your favorite crewneck—like this isn’t the first time you’re sleeping together in your two months of sleeping together.

In fact, the only indication of anything unordinary is the floaty feeling in your stomach when your head hits the pillow and discover Jisung’s face only inches away. He drapes an arm over your waist, gathering you close. You nuzzle into the crook of his neck.

The inevitable question follows.

“Can I save the story for another time?”

“Sure,” you return, keeping your voice small. He doesn’t hear your disappointment this way. “Should we go to sleep, then?”

“We should.”

Your foreheads touch. Your noses bump together. Your eyes cross, watching the adoration pull at his. You dimly register your hand threading in his fluffy locks, his thumb running over your cheekbone. Your lashes narrowly miss the surface of his eyes, and then he tips your face up by millimeters.

You don’t remember when you fall asleep. You only recall the hour beforehand that you spend with Jisung’s lips traversing yours, like you are the ocean and he’s uncovering new waters with every bruise he prints against your throat, every suckle he leaves around your tongue.

In your dream, the roles reverse and you are the one exploring him, mapping out his constellations with wide-eyed wonder.

You wake to a black hole.

For the first five seconds, you see nothing. You hear nothing. You feel nothing. You only blink in the darkness, your mind kicking into groggy gear to ask the very good question of why you’re conscious again.

Instinct moves your hand across the mattress. Empty space greets you where Jisung should be. Unfounded dread shoves your back off the bed. You gasp, the sound seeming to echo in the cavernous silence.

Your eyes adjust enough to discern light in the crack beneath your door, and you’re wide awake.

The following events go by in a blur. You stumble out of bed and into your closet, fastening your fingers around the thickest piece of fabric you find. You fly into the living room, where the lamp by the couch is left on and the pair of worn black Converse on your doormat have gone missing.

The front door is cracked open, and through the narrow inches you spot someone hunched on the stairs outside, his dark hair dyed platinum by the awning light’s fluorescence.

Your heart stills in relief, then quickens with anxiety.

You’ve tried wearing this crewneck in January enough times to know you can’t. In fact, you suspect that it somehow soaks up the temperature, lets it seep in between its every seam until it becomes one with the bitter winds. 

But he isn’t shivering, you notice as you take a seat next to him, draping the puffer over both of your shoulders on your way down. He’s simply staring off into the bleak storm, snowflakes sitting atop his head like a coating of ash, their color matching that of his frozen skin. He’s becoming one with the bitter winds. 

At first, you don’t recognize the man in front of you.

You’re well familiar with those ring-laden hands and the whetted jawline thrown into shadow, those remnants of cologne clinging to his frame. But you have never seen that gaze before, bloodshot and bleak and belonging to somebody new. Somebody who isn’t completely here, straddling the partition between the realms of people and phantoms.

Then he lifts his eyes and you see stars, flaring in the absence of light. Your stars.

And you recognize him for the first time ever.

You drop your hand to your hip, and his fingers feel stiff and cold and perfect, sliding into the spaces between yours.

“Why don’t you like snow?” You ask.

Jisung’s eyes return to the swirling sleet, but he moves your interlocked hands to rest on his thigh, and you know that he’s with you.

He’s been having this nightmare.

It takes place in a small clearing. It’s winter, and everything is covered in snow. Not the gentle kind that you can catch on your tongue, but the unyielding kind that’s hard and dense and covered in cracks, like a lake newly frozen over.

Somebody is in front of him, walking away. He can only see their back. He wants to chase after them. He doesn’t want to be left behind. But there are ghosts nearby, and they’ll split his skull open on the permafrost and tie his windpipe into a pretty bow if he so much as dreams of pursuit. He always does. He doesn’t know how not to.

Normally, the back leaves, and he can do nothing but remain. He can direct his loathing only to the snow into which he bleeds. 

Normally, he waits for the dream to end with something bordering on boredom. He’s seen this movie too many times. He fucking hates how it ends.

This time, though, the snow tastes like something.

After the flavors deliquesce upon his tongue, his head shoots up, his eyes blowing wide as they latch onto the retreating figure. He knows who it is.

His feet scrabbles against the ice with his attempts to rise to them. He lunges forward with frenzied resolve, and that is when the ghosts snap his neck.

He wakes up.

“Cherry blossoms and vanilla.”

You blink, tearwater streaking from your eyes in silent, steaming trails.

“That’s—”

My shampoo.

A broken sob escapes you in lieu of the rest of your sentence, and Jisung laughs, a flimsy facade that crumbles when he lifts his hand to dab at your moistened cheeks and it’s trembling.

“Silly,” he murmurs. “I’m used to it now.”

“I don’t want you to be.”

“I don’t want you to cry for me.”

“You died.”

“And I would do it again.”

This response comes without an shred of hesitation.

You first realized you had something to confess, that night in the the back of Jisung’s SUV. You’ve kept it locked away for your sake and his, even moreso. You see how fear clings to him like an unshakeable wraith, and you refuse to feed the parasite.

Now, your confession explodes from its fortress in the center of your soul and rises up your larynx. You panic like an inept security guard letting their only prisoner bolt free. Is it really the right time? Do you know what to say? Have you really thought this through? 

Too late. It’s rushing to the point of your tongue already. You suppose you’ll find out.

He saves you the trouble.

“Honestly?”

Your confession stills. 

“I don’t know if I’m okay, and I won’t try to convince you otherwise. You’d call my bluff. You’re good at that.

“But everything feels okay when I’m with you. You see me. You allow me just to exist as I am. You make me feel human again—you make me want to feel human again. You empty my mind.”

You feel as if you’ve been ejected into space naked, griping for air where there is none.

“I never believed in having somebody to lose,” he utters, gently leaning his forehead against yours. “But I would rather disappear than watch you go.”

You cradle his jaw with shaking fingers, trying and failing to quell the violence of your emotion.

“Don’t go,” he exhales.

You kiss him.

It should feel the same as before. You reach for the slant of his neck, him the dips above your waist. You sigh into him, parting your lips, and he moves into you deeper, harder, dipping into your mouth with his tongue’s pliant swipe. But there’s something new in the way you hold each other, in the seal of your mouth against his.

The line between sexual escapade and lover vanishes as if swept off the sand and into the sea. His stars come out of hiding at last and they bathe you in their residue, light your heart aglow.

Your confession resurfaces. It wants to stargaze also.

“I love you too,” you breathe.

The night comes and goes.

The two of you spend it entangling, sweating, your lips glued the expanse of his neck and the arcs of his shoulders, writing over the ghosts’ injuries with bruises of your making.

Only when the winds have faltered outside do you attempt to rest again. You are curled up in balmy bliss, utterly depleted. Jisung’s arms around your middle and legs threaded among yours bring you that much closer to slumber’s cusp.

You attribute it to your exhaustion when he mumbles something against you, and you have no idea what it means: “Thank you for refracting me.” 

Your confusion is palpable in your silence. His laugh hits the nape of your neck with a gentle puff, and he kisses the spot just beneath your ear. “Never mind.”

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© 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐱 (est. 090323) · 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤? please consider reblogging, commenting, or sending me an ask to let me know; or, read my other writing here. thanks so much for the support!

[estellan0vella]

Exactly As It Should Be: L.M & H.J Lee Minho x fem!reader x Han Jisung (College AU)

WC: 19.5K

CW: pre-established relationship between Minho and Jisung, implied sex, mxm smut scenes (oral), simp Minsung, pining Minsung, protective Minsung, discussions of polyamory, mxf dry humping (reader and jisung are under the influence), masturbation, stalking, blackmail, upskirt picture (not taken by Minsung), fighting, violence, blood, discussion of drug use, alcohol consumption, Minsung are horny all the time

(first ever time writing any kind of smut and publishing it)

General Masterlist SKZ Masterlist

The music from the main floor of the Alpha Phi frat house is fucking deafening. Bass reverberates through the walls, a constant, pounding reminder of the rager that has the house packed with sweaty, drunk partygoers. You push your way through the crowd, clutching your little crossbody bag tightly to your side. The smell of spilt beer and something vaguely fruity clings to the air, and you grimace. You’re already tipsy, your ill-advised pregame to survive tonight’s disastrous date, but you’re determined to find solace.

You make your way to the entertainment room. Unlike the chaos outside, it’s a haven for the members of Alpha Phi and their closest friends. The door is heavy, solid wood, and you knock three times in a rhythmic pattern Jeongin taught you before pushing it open. Inside, the atmosphere is calmer, the chaos muffled by thick walls and a closed door.

Chan looks up from his spot on the couch and grins. “There she is!”

The group perks up at your arrival. Felix pats the spot next to him, his golden blonde hair glowing under the warm lighting, and Hyunjin scoots over to make room for you on the other side. “C’mere, baby,” Felix coos, using the nickname you’ve earned thanks to your love for Dirty Dancing. “You look fucking freezing in that skirt.”

You plop down between him and Hyunjin, ignoring his comment but grateful for the warm presence on either side of you. “Hey, guys,” you say, trying not to slur.

Jeongin is already on his feet, grabbing a glass. “Vodka orange?”

“You know me so well, Innie.” You grin as he hands it over, his black hair flopping into his eyes. He sits back on the armrest of the couch, looking you over with a concerned frown.

“How was the date?” Chan asks, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees.

You groan and take a large gulp of your drink. “Oh, that, uh… That was less than great.”

Jeongin raises an eyebrow. “Need me to beat him up, or is it a ‘sic the whole frat on him’ kind of bad?”

Hyunjin snickers, leaning his chin on his hand. “Yeah, spill, Y/N. What happened?”

You sigh, placing the glass on the low coffee table in front of you. “Okay, so, he made a lot of comments about how nice my skin was.”

“Like, ‘Oh, I’m a dermatology student,’ or ‘I’m Ed fucking Gein’ kind of way?” Changbin cuts in, leaning back in his chair. His arms are crossed, and his black shirt stretches over his broad shoulders.

“The latter,” you say, cringing. “But, other than that, he was really nice.”

Seungmin snorts from the corner where he’s sitting cross-legged on the floor. “You have the worst fucking taste in men.”

“My poor baby.” Felix pulls you into a cuddle, wrapping his arms around your shoulders. His cologne is comforting, and you snuggle into his side as he pets your head. “I swear, only creeps date you.”

“That’s because she’s too nice to tell them they’re creeps,” Seungmin mutters.

You whine, nudging him with the heel of your boot. “Shut up, Seungmin.”

The door creaks open, and you glance over to see Minho and Jisung lounging on a large beanbag. Jisung is sprawled across Minho’s lap, both of them sipping on identical glasses of whiskey. You don’t notice the way their eyes linger on you. On your black and green tartan skirt, your thigh-high boots, or the green ribbon in your hair. They exchange a glance but stay silent as the conversation carries on.

“Oh, Minho, you got rid of the cherry red!” you exclaim, noting his newly purple hair.

Minho smirks. “Jisung and I made a bet. I lost. Now it’s purple.”

“I love it,” Jisung chimes in, his silver hair falling into his eyes as he leans back against Minho’s chest.

You hum in response, turning back to the others. “It suits you.”

Felix runs his fingers through your hair, still playing with the green ribbon. “So, baby, why do you keep giving these losers a chance?”

“Because I’m trying to stay optimistic?” you reply, batting your lashes at him.

“That’s bullshit,” Hyunjin says, his sharp grin softening the harshness of his words. “You could have anyone. Why settle for fucking creeps?”

“Maybe because I’m not as picky as you guys,” you shoot back, a teasing smile on your lips.

The group erupts into laughter, but Minho and Jisung stay quiet, their focus never leaving you. If you noticed, you’d see the faint flush creeping up Jisung’s neck or the way Minho’s fingers twitch slightly, itching to reach out. But you don’t, caught up in the comfort of your friends and the growing buzz of your drink.

Hyunjin grabs your phone from the table, his perfectly manicured fingers swiping across the screen as he smirks. “Alright, let’s see who the fuck you’ve got lined up, baby.”

You groan but don’t fight him. Felix leans closer, peeking over Hyunjin’s shoulder, his golden hair brushing against your face. “Swipe right on the cute ones. None of those creepy accountant types.”

Hyunjin hums thoughtfully. “Wait-” He freezes, looking at the screen. “You’ve got women on here?”

Felix looks intrigued. “Women?”

Before you can answer, Jeongin leans back in his seat, smirking. “Believe me, she’s dated just as many creepy women as she’s dated creepy men.”

“And creepy couples,” he adds, earning a dramatic gasp from Felix.

“Couples?” Felix asks, staring at you as if you’ve suddenly sprouted a second head.

You shrug, feigning nonchalance. “I’m not picky.”

“Obviously,” Seungmin mutters dryly from the floor. You retaliate by kicking him lightly in the thigh, sticking your tongue out at him.

“Hey, they weren’t all bad,” you say, taking your phone back from Hyunjin for a second to scroll. “I mean, one couple was super nice. They just, uh…” You trail off, cheeks heating slightly.

“They stole so much of her fucking underwear,” Jeongin blurts out, grinning wickedly.

“They didn’t steal my branded ones,” you reply, deadpan, taking a sip of your drink. “So, it’s fine.”

The room dissolves into a mix of laughter and groans.

“What the fuck,” Changbin mutters, shaking his head. “How do you end up in these situations?”

“I’m curious about the logistics,” Seungmin adds, tapping his chin. “Like, were they doing recon during dinner?”

“Shut up!” you whine, throwing a cushion at him.

Hyunjin grabs the phone again and suddenly gasps, clutching your arm. “Ooh! A match!”

Felix leans in so close his nose nearly touches the screen. “Oh, they’re hot!”

You grin, a mix of excitement and apprehension bubbling up. “Okay, okay, let’s see what they say.”

Across the room, Jisung nudges Minho, who’s been quiet, watching the whole scene unfold. Minho leans back, resting his head against the beanbag with a smirk. Jisung turns his head slightly, lowering his voice. “If she’s into couples, we might have an in.”

Minho’s lips curve into a lazy smile as he presses a kiss to Jisung’s cheek. “We’re not creeps, so we’re already golden. Just play it cool.”

“Like you’re playing it cool right now?” Jisung teases, earning a light shove.

Hyunjin, Felix, and you let out a synchronized shriek, jolting everyone else in the room. You clutch Felix’s arm as Hyunjin clutches yours, all three of you staring at the screen in horror.

“What the fuck did they send?” Felix asks, barely containing his laughter.

Hyunjin giggles so hard he has to hold his stomach. “It’s- it’s so much worse than I thought!”

Chan raises an eyebrow, intrigued. “Alright, move over.” He leans in and peers at your phone. A beat passes before he tilts his head, squinting. “Oh, wow.”

Changbin, unable to resist, gets up to look. “Jesus Christ,” he mutters, his expression somewhere between impressed and horrified.

“It’s like Aslan’s tail,” Chan says, his tone completely serious. 

Seungmin, sitting on the floor, perks up. “What the hell are you guys looking at?” He crawls over, peeking over the couch, followed by Jeongin.

“Holy shit!” Jeongin barks out a laugh, covering his face. “Why does it curve like that?”

Felix, Hyunjin, and you are still clinging to each other, gasping for air between fits of laughter.

“It’s got a personality,” Felix wheezes, wiping at his eyes. “Like, it could be a main character.”

Seungmin scoffs. “Main character? That’s the fucking villain.”

Hyunjin waves a hand at him. “Shut up. That’s at least an anti-hero.”

“Oh, my God,” you gasp, trying to reclaim your phone, but Felix holds it away.

“Minho, Jisung,” Felix calls out, waving the phone. “Come see this.”

The two on the beanbag finally break their whispered conversation, leaning forward to look. Jisung’s jaw drops first. “No fucking way.”

Minho narrows his eyes, studying the screen. “Is it… braided at the base?”

The room explodes with laughter again.

“It’s got layers,” Hyunjin howls, collapsing onto Felix’s lap.

Jeongin snorts. “I don’t think I’ll ever recover.”

You bury your face in your hands, your laughter muffled as Felix pats your head. “I think it’s safe to say this one’s a no.”

“Hard fucking no,” Changbin agrees, shaking his head as he returns to his seat.

Jeongin stretches dramatically, brushing the laughter from his eyes. “Alright, enough about dick pics. Let’s fucking dance! C’mon!” He’s already up, tugging at Felix’s hand.

Felix looks to you, eyes glittering. “You in, baby?”

You down the rest of your vodka orange, setting the glass on the table with a loud clink. “Fuck yes.”

The three of you head out into the living room, where the music is even louder. The bass of Government Hooker pounds through the speakers, vibrating through the floor and into your bones. The room is packed, bodies moving together in a sweaty, chaotic rhythm. The heat is suffocating, but the energy is electric.

Felix grabs your hand, twirling you like you’re the lead in some impromptu ballroom routine. “Work it, baby!” he shouts over the music, his golden hair sticking to his forehead as he grins.

You laugh, letting him spin you before pressing your back against Jeongin, who’s already swaying with the beat. Jeongin wraps an arm around your waist, steadying you as you move together. Felix starts voguing dramatically, throwing in exaggerated poses that make you and Jeongin double over laughing.

Mid-spin, Felix leans in close, his voice teasing. “Two o’clock, hot girl eyeing you up.”

You glance discreetly and immediately recognize her. “That’s Ryujin,” you yell back, barely containing your grin. “Kappa Tau’s finest. Regular of mine.”

Felix’s eyebrows shoot up. “Oh, it’s like that, huh?”

You shrug nonchalantly, adjusting the green ribbon in your hair. “I’ll see you in two hours after I let her desecrate the spare room upstairs.”

Felix snorts, his laughter following you as you weave through the crowd. Ryujin watches you approach, her head tilted in amusement, a smirk tugging at her lips. Her blue-black hair shines under the dim lighting, her sharp features accentuated by her cocky confidence.

“Ryujin,” you say, stopping in front of her, your voice light and playful.

“Y/N,” she replies smoothly, leaning in close. Her fingers trail up your arm before twirling a strand of your hair around one finger. “Looking like a fucking snack tonight.”

You look up at her through your lashes, your lips quirking. “There’s a room upstairs.”

Ryujin chuckles, her smirk widening as she leans in, her breath hot against your ear. “Oh, cupcake, I’m going to ruin you.”

“Promises, promises, Ryu.”

Her eyes darken, and she takes your hand without another word, leading you toward the stairs. Felix and Jeongin watch from the dance floor, both grinning as they see Ryujin’s confident swagger.

“She’s gone,” Jeongin observes, sipping from a beer he snagged from a passing tray.

Felix giggles, leaning against him. “She always crashes here, but I hope her lady friend knows I don’t make breakfast for my friends’ hookups.”

Jeongin laughs, shaking his head. “I don’t know how she fucking does it.”

Felix sighs dramatically, watching you disappear up the staircase. “It’s the doe eyes. She lures them in like a Disney princess.”

Jeongin smirks. “But sluttier.”

“And we love her for it,” Felix finishes, raising his beer in a mock toast.

Chan approaches, a curious look on his face. “Where’s Y/N gone?”

Jeongin points toward the stairs. “Upstairs. She’s with the dommiest mommy I’ve ever fucking seen.”

Felix leans against Chan, grinning like an idiot. “She’s going to come back a reformed woman, dommed into submission. Mark my fucking words.”

Jisung bounces over, dragging Minho behind him. “Who’s getting dommed?” he asks, his silver hair already a sweaty mess from dancing.

Chan jerks a thumb toward the staircase. “Y/N. By a dommy mommy, apparently.”

Jisung’s head whips toward the stairs, and his face immediately falls when he spots you disappearing with Ryujin. Minho stiffens beside him, his jaw tightening.

Jisung leans closer to Minho, whispering, “She really does get all the fucking attention, huh?”

Minho’s lips press into a thin line before he forces a smirk. “It’s Ryujin,” he mutters, but there’s a distinct edge of jealousy in his tone. “What did you expect? The girl has game.”

“She’s got more than fucking game,” Jisung replies, watching you vanish from sight. “She’s got her.”

They share a glance, both trying and failing to disguise the frustration simmering beneath their carefully crafted facades.

Felix notices their looks and nudges Jeongin. “What’s their problem?”

Jeongin shrugs, still grinning. “Probably just jealous they’re not getting dommed by Ryujin.”

Felix cackles, but Jisung and Minho remain silent, their eyes glued to the now-empty staircase.

The library is eerily quiet, as it always is on weekday afternoons. Jisung pushes through the heavy glass doors, his bag slung lazily over one shoulder, a list of books for his criminal psychology course clutched in one hand. He hates how the place smells, like old paper and dust, but he trudges in anyway, scanning the aisles for the section he needs.

As he rounds a corner toward the back of the library, he freezes. There, tucked away at a small table by the window, is you. At first, he’s caught by the sight of you: your sharp eyeliner that practically screams I know I’m hot, your red lipstick, and the flawless way your grey coat drapes over your shoulders. But then he notices the slight tremble in your hand as you hastily swipe at your eyes.

You’re crying.

Jisung frowns, his usual easy-going demeanour slipping for a moment. He watches as you hurriedly stuff a piece of paper into your coat pocket when you sense someone approaching.

“Oh, hey, Jisung.” Your voice is bright, forced, but your sniffle gives you away.

He drops his book list on the table and pulls a travel-sized pack of tissues from his bag, sliding them across to you without a word. You stare at it for a moment before taking one, dabbing at your eyes carefully.

“Is your eyeliner waterproof?” he asks, tilting his head, his voice soft but teasing. “Because it hasn’t smudged. Not even a little.”

You giggle weakly, and the sound tugs at his chest. “Yeah, it’s waterproof. Rain-proof, apocalypse-proof, probably space-proof at this point.” You gesture at your face with the tissue. “If this doesn’t scream ‘prepared,’ I don’t know what does.”

Jisung smiles, sitting down across from you without asking. He doesn’t mention the paper or your puffy eyes. Instead, he leans back in his chair, folding his arms. “So, I had no idea you were secretly a Terminator with indestructible makeup.”

“That’s me,” you reply, your voice a bit steadier now. “Just call me Y/N Schwarzenegger.”

He snorts, propping his chin on his hand. “You’re such a dork.”

For a moment, the tension in your shoulders seems to ease. You lean back in your chair, crumpling the tissue in your hand. Jisung doesn’t press you for answers. He knows better than to pry when you’re clearly trying to keep it together. Instead, he launches into random topics, filling the silence with his signature chaotic energy.

“So,” he starts, “did I ever tell you about the time the whole frat decided to get high on molly just for shits and giggles?”

You raise an eyebrow, the corners of your lips twitching upward. “No, but I feel like I need to hear this.”

He grins, leaning forward conspiratorially. “Okay, so picture this: everyone’s fucking gone, like, way too gone. I’m talking Changbin trying to have a deep conversation with the coffee table level gone.”

You burst out laughing, and Jisung’s grin widens. “Then Minho and Chan, don’t ask me why, decide it’s a great idea to strip naked and strut around the house like they’re walking a goddamn runway.”

“Oh my God,” you gasp, laughing so hard you have to cover your mouth. “What the fuck?”

“Yeah, exactly.” Jisung chuckles, shaking his head. “And Minho, my boyfriend, mind you, starts fucking helicoptering in the middle of the living room.”

Your laughter bubbles up again, your shoulders shaking. “Helicoptering? Like, with his-?”

“Oh, yeah. Full fucking display. Meanwhile, I’m on the couch, so high I swear I was tasting colours, just watching him spin around like it’s a goddamn art performance.”

“What were the rest of you doing while all of this was happening?” you ask, wiping tears of laughter from your eyes.

“I was cuddling Felix and Jeongin,” he says, his grin turning soft. “Felix was curled up in my lap like a fucking cat, all snuggly and cute, and Jeongin was spooning both of us like we were his personal stuffed animals. Hyunjin was trying to draw some random shit and Seungmin was doing fuck knows what”

You’re laughing so hard now that the librarian at the front desk peers over, shushing you with an exaggerated glare. You press a hand to your mouth, trying to stifle your giggles, but Jisung’s grin is triumphant.

He doesn’t say it out loud, but seeing you laugh like this, your eyes bright, your smile genuine, makes him want to keep talking forever. He doesn’t need to know what made you cry. Not yet. For now, he’s content just being the one to make you laugh.

The soft glow of Minho’s bedside lamp casts a warm light over his bedroom, the sheets tangled around the two of them as they lie in the aftermath of their passion. Jisung is still catching his breath, his chest rising and falling against the pillow. Minho leans over, pressing soft kisses down the length of Jisung’s spine, his lips warm and gentle against sweat-slicked skin.

“You’re distracted,” Minho murmurs, his voice low and teasing as he lies down beside Jisung, pulling him into his arms. The sheets are cool, their bodies warm, and Jisung burrows closer against Minho’s chest.

“I’m not-” Jisung starts, but Minho cuts him off.

“Bullshit.” Minho brushes his fingers through Jisung’s damp hair, his tone playful but laced with concern. “You were distracted even when your dick was in my mouth, which, honestly, is fucking insulting because my blowjobs are top-tier.”

Jisung snorts, hiding his face in Minho’s chest. “Don’t make me laugh.”

“No, I’m serious,” Minho continues, pressing a kiss to Jisung’s temple. “And then you were distracted when I was fucking you with everything I have, which is even worse. My hips? Shakira level fluid, jagi. What’s up?”

Jisung groans, rubbing at his face before meeting Minho’s eyes. “I’m sorry. You know I’m usually way more focused during… that particular activity.”

Minho hums, waiting for him to go on.

“I saw Y/N earlier at the library,” Jisung admits, his voice quieter now. “She was crying.”

Minho’s brows knit together. “Crying?”

“Yeah,” Jisung says, shifting slightly to get more comfortable. “She still looked beautiful, of course, like, who the fuck cries and still looks like a goddess? But yeah, she was crying. And she stuffed this piece of paper into her coat like she didn’t want anyone to see it.”

Minho doesn’t say anything for a moment, his fingers tracing absent patterns on Jisung’s shoulder. “We’ll keep an eye on her,” he says finally, his voice steady and reassuring. “If something’s wrong, she’ll tell us when she’s ready.”

Jisung exhales, nodding. “Yeah. I just hate seeing her like that, you know? She’s always so happy. Or, at least, she pretends to be.”

Minho presses a kiss to Jisung’s forehead. “We’ll figure it out. Don’t stress too much, jagi.”

Jisung shifts again, a cheeky grin spreading across his face. “Can we go for a shower now? My ass is full of your cum, and I want to wash up.”

Minho chuckles, tightening his hold on him. “Just stay here a little longer.”

“Or,” Jisung counters, his grin turning wicked, “we could have round three in the shower.”

Minho’s lips quirk into a smirk. “Tempting.”

“I’ll even let you pretend I’m her,” Jisung teases, his voice dripping with mischief.

Minho’s eyes darken, his smirk growing. “Well, what are you waiting for?”

Jisung laughs, rolling out of bed and dragging Minho with him. The two stumble toward the bathroom, their laughter echoing through the room as the door shuts behind them.

The night air is cold, crisp against Minho’s flushed skin as he walks back to the frat house, his bag slung across one shoulder. His head is buzzing with formulas and terms from his veterinary science assignment, and all he can think about is collapsing into bed. The campus is eerily quiet, the silence broken only by the occasional rustle of leaves or the distant hum of a car.

The click of heels behind him draws his attention. Minho slows his pace, glancing over his shoulder just as you appear under the glow of a nearby streetlamp. Your black leather trousers gleam faintly in the light, your boots adding an extra edge to your look. Your hair is pulled back in a sleek ponytail, with a few strands framing your face. Despite your flawless makeup and sharp outfit, there’s tension in your posture as you glance over your shoulder again, clutching your black handbag a little tighter.

When your eyes meet his, they soften with recognition, and relief washes over your features. You quicken your pace, linking your arm with his the moment you reach him. “Walk. Quickly, please.”

Minho nods without question, his body automatically adjusting to match your stride. “What’s going on?”

You glance behind you one last time before focusing on him. “I thought someone was following me. I’m not sure, but I saw you, and, sorry for grabbing you like that.”

“Don’t apologize,” Minho says firmly, his tone laced with a protective edge. “You heading to the frat?”

You nod, your arm still looped through his. “Yeah. I’m set to get stoned with Lix, Hyun, Chan, and Innie. Something about the best weed brownies ever, the kind that’ll make me see Jesus.”

Minho chuckles, the tension easing just a little. “You’ll have to let me know if you see the pearly white gates.”

You grin despite the lingering anxiety in your eyes. “I’ll say hello to the big man for you.”

Minho smirks. “Appreciate it. We’ll walk to the frat together then. What are you doing out so late, anyway?”

You sigh, your grip on his arm loosening slightly as you relax into his presence. “I was in the fashion department, working on my showcase pieces. The theme is nature, so I decided to use Monet’s Water Lily painting as my inspiration.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Sounds fancy.”

“It was a mistake,” you admit, shaking your head. “It’s taking up all my time, and now I’m behind on my consumer psych work. I’m basically drowning.”

“Sounds like you need a fucking break,” Minho says, his tone light but his concern evident.

“Tell that to my professor,” you mutter, your smile wry.

Minho stops walking for a moment, pulling his phone from his pocket. “Pass me your phone.”

You blink at him, confused, but comply, fishing your phone out of your bag and handing it over. Minho takes it, quickly adding a new contact before handing it back. “There. That’s mine and Jisung’s numbers. We have the most fucked up sleep schedules you could imagine, so if you’re ever out late again, let one of us know, and we’ll come meet you.”

“Minho-”

“No arguments,” he interrupts, his tone leaving no room for debate. “You shouldn’t walk across campus alone at night.”

You bite your lip, then nod. “Okay. Thanks.”

The two of you resume walking, the frat house’s glowing windows finally coming into view. You glance up at him, a thought clearly forming in your mind. “Hey, you box, right?”

Minho nods. “Yeah.”

“Any chance I could get some self-defence lessons?” you ask, your voice hopeful. “I don’t want to learn how to box, just how to defend myself. You know, in case someone actually does follow me.”

Minho’s lips quirk into a small smile. “Yeah, sure. I go to the gym Monday, Wednesday, Friday, and Saturday. Pick a day that works for you.”

“Saturday,” you say immediately. “No way I’m working out on a weekday.”

He chuckles. “Fair enough. We’ll start this weekend.”

As you reach the frat house, the tension from earlier is all but gone, replaced by the easy comfort of his presence. Minho watches as you step inside, greeted by the sound of laughter and the faint smell of brownies wafting through the air. He lingers by the door for a moment, his eyes softening as he watches you disappear into the living room.

“Saturday,” he mutters to himself, a faint smile tugging at his lips before he follows you inside.

Minho pushes open the door to his room, the faint scent of his cologne lingering in the air. Inside, Jisung is sprawled across the bed, clad in nothing but a pair of boxers with a ridiculous pattern of tiny ducks. Minho stops in the doorway, raising an eyebrow as he notices Jisung fully engrossed in Roblox Dress To Impress on Minho’s laptop.

“Really?” Minho asks, letting the door shut behind him. He peels off his long-sleeved t-shirt, revealing the defined lines of his chest and shoulders. His cargos follow, leaving him in just his boxers for a moment before he tugs on a pair of sweatpants.

Jisung’s eyes flicker up from the screen, his lips parting as he watches Minho’s movements. He licks his lips, unabashedly staring. “What? It’s a good game,” he says, his voice slightly hoarse.

Minho smirks, climbing onto the bed and leaning against the headboard. “You have your own room, jagi.”

Jisung doesn’t look away from the laptop, his fingers moving deftly on the keyboard as he accessorizes his character. “Yes, but it’s a mess, and why should I clean it when I have my gorgeous, sexy boyfriend’s bed across the hall?”

Minho shakes his head, the corners of his mouth twitching upward. “I walked here with Y/N.”

“Oh yeah?” Jisung’s tone is casual, but there’s a flicker of interest in his eyes as he glances up briefly.

“She was freaked out,” Minho continues. “Thought someone was following her. I’m teaching her self-defence once a week, she asked.”

Jisung finally pauses the game, looking at Minho properly. “Did you see anyone?”

Minho shakes his head. “No. But even if it was just a cat making noise, it shook her up. Walking home at night is a completely different thing for women, you know?”

Jisung hums thoughtfully, his fingers back on the keyboard as he adjusts his character’s pose. “You think she has someone specific in mind?”

“Maybe,” Minho replies, his tone serious. “She didn’t say, but I got the sense she wasn’t just spooked by random noises. It felt targeted.”

Jisung nods slowly, the wheels in his head turning. He presses a key on the laptop, making his virtual character strike a flawless pose in an outfit that looks straight out of Vogue. “First place, motherfuckers!” he announces triumphantly.

Minho laughs softly, shaking his head. “You really take this game seriously, huh?”

“Damn right, I do,” Jisung says, grinning. “You think I’m gonna let some twelve-year-old out-style me? Hell no. My outfits slay every single time.”

Minho rolls his eyes fondly, nudging Jisung’s thigh with his foot. “Anyway, she seemed shaken up, so I’m glad I ran into her.”

Jisung tilts his head thoughtfully. “I’m coming with you to the gym on the days you teach her self-defence, by the way.”

Minho raises an eyebrow. “Why?”

Jisung smirks, his eyes twinkling mischievously. “To hold the boxing pads. Or the water. Or something. Also, I want to see her in workout clothes.”

Minho groans, covering his face with his hand. “You’re ridiculous.”

Jisung closes the laptop, setting it aside before turning fully toward Minho. “We need to talk about her.”

Minho stiffens slightly, but Jisung continues. “I took a BuzzFeed quiz on it. Having a partner but also having feelings for someone else. You know what it suggested?”

Minho’s lips twitch, already anticipating something absurd. “Let me guess. Polyamory?”

“Exactly,” Jisung says, nodding earnestly. “And don’t laugh, okay? BuzzFeed told me I’m a Hufflepuff, told me I was bi, and that the celebrity I share a personality with is Cher. It’s my gospel.”

Minho can’t hold back his laughter this time. “You seriously take BuzzFeed quizzes as life advice?”

“Yes,” Jisung replies, entirely unbothered. “They’ve never been wrong.”

Minho shakes his head, the laughter still in his voice. “You’re unbelievable.”

Jisung grins up at him. “And you love it.” He sits up slightly, his fingers already toying with the waistband of Minho’s sweatpants. “Now drop your pants and let me suck your dick.”

Minho snorts, shaking his head in disbelief. “You’re so fucking shameless.”

“Uh-huh,” Jisung replies, tugging at Minho’s sweatpants until Minho shifts, lifting his hips slightly to help. “Now lean back and let me do what I do best.”

Minho sighs dramatically, leaning back against the headboard as Jisung settles between his legs. Jisung starts slow, kissing a trail along the sensitive skin of Minho’s inner thigh, teasing him just enough to draw a soft groan from his lips. His hands are steady, warm, as they glide along Minho’s skin.

“What are you thinking about?” Jisung asks, his voice low and teasing as he presses another kiss on Minho's thigh. “Me? Her? Me and her together?”

Minho groans, his hand sliding into Jisung’s hair. “You’re impossible.”

“Oh, you have,” Jisung continues, his lips curling into a wicked smile as he kisses his way up Minho’s dick. “Naughty, naughty Minho. Tell me about it.”

Minho’s head tilts back against the headboard, a flush creeping up his neck. “Jisung-”

“Are you the one in control?” Jisung interrupts, licking a stripe up Minho’s dick that makes him shiver. “Or are we both in control with her? Tell me, Min.”

Minho groans again, his hips shifting slightly as Jisung’s tongue flicks over the tip. “Both,” he finally admits, his voice low and strained. “I thought about both of us.”

Jisung hums in satisfaction, his hand stroking Minho slowly as he looks up at him through his lashes. “Mmm, tell me more.”

Minho swallows hard, his fingers tightening in Jisung’s hair. “I thought about her between us,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. “About both of us taking care of her.”

Jisung’s grin widens, his tongue swirling teasingly. “Taking care of her how?”

“Jisung-” Minho’s voice is a warning, but Jisung only doubles down, his movements purposeful and unrelenting.

“Come on, Min,” Jisung coaxes, his breath hot against Minho’s skin. “Tell me. Are we gentle? Or do we ruin her together?”

Minho lets out a low whine, his control slipping. “Both. Fucking both.”

Jisung’s laughter is sinful as he leans forward, taking Minho fully into his mouth. He doesn’t let up, his lips and tongue working with practised precision as Minho’s breaths grow heavier. When Minho finally comes undone, his groan is deep, guttural, his body trembling beneath Jisung’s touch.

Jisung pulls back with a satisfied hum, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “You’re a mess, Min.”

“And whose fucking fault is that?” Minho retorts, his chest still heaving.

Jisung crawls up beside him, curling into his side with a self-satisfied smirk. “You’re welcome.”

Minho shakes his head, his hand resting on Jisung’s back. “You’re going to be the death of me, jagi.”

“Worth it,” Jisung murmurs, his voice softening as he presses a kiss to Minho’s shoulder.

Jisung walks hand in hand with Minho, their fingers loosely intertwined as they stroll across campus. The morning breeze tousles their already messy hair, remnants of a quick and filthy session in the toilets. Jisung grins up at Minho, his cheeks still slightly flushed, and Minho smirks back, tugging him closer as they weave through the clusters of students.

“You’re disgusting,” Jisung mutters, his grin betraying his words.

“Disgustingly in love with you,” Minho retorts smoothly, leaning in to press a quick kiss to Jisung’s temple.

Their playful banter comes to an abrupt halt when they hear a raised male voice echoing from a stairwell. Minho and Jisung share a glance, their curiosity piqued. Gossip is a shared hobby, and neither of them can resist a good dose of campus drama. They poke their heads into the stairwell, and what they see instantly wipes the humour from their faces.

You’re standing near the edge of the stairs, clutching the railing so tightly your knuckles are white. Your black cigarette trousers and white sleeveless turtleneck are pristine, your makeup flawless, but there’s fear flickering in your eyes as a man they recognize from Theta Tau looms over you. His sneer is menacing, his body language aggressive as he steps closer, forcing you back, closer to the edge.

Minho’s jaw tightens as he watches you stumble slightly, your heel slipping at the very edge of the flight of stairs. You grab the railing tighter, trying to maintain your balance.

The Theta Tau guy smirks, taking another threatening step forward.

Minho’s voice cuts through the tension like a whip. “Oi! You’ve got two seconds to back off before I throw you down those fucking stairs.”

Jisung steps up beside Minho, his grin sharp and dangerous. “Or don’t. I’d love to watch you break a few bones on the way down.”

The man’s smirk falters as he glances over at the two of them. Minho’s gaze is cold and unyielding, and Jisung’s expression is downright feral. But instead of stepping away, the guy leans in close to you, whispering something in your ear. Minho and Jisung can’t make out the words, but whatever he says makes your eyes flicker up to him with a mix of defiance and something else. Something wary.

The Theta Tau guy smirks again, straightening up before walking down the stairs, brushing past Minho and Jisung without a word.

Minho steps forward immediately, his hand brushing against your arm. “What the fuck was that about?”

You force a small smile, letting go of the railing as you straighten up. “Nothing. I had it handled.”

Jisung scoffs, crossing his arms. “Yeah, sure. You were about to fall, or get pushed, down the stairs.”

Minho’s expression softens, but his voice is firm. “Okay, come on. I’m teaching you how to throw a punch. Right now.”

You blink, surprised. “In this?” You gesture to your outfit, your tone incredulous.

Minho raises an eyebrow, his lips twitching upward. “Take the shoes off once we get to the gym. You’ll be fine. Let’s go. I’ll keep it light so you don’t sweat in your nice clothes.”

Jisung grins, already stepping toward the nearest gym. “I’ll hold the pads. Let’s see if you can throw a punch that’ll knock someone on their ass.”

The walk to the gym is lighthearted despite the heavy situation that led them there. Minho strides confidently at the front, his gym bag slung over his shoulder, while you and Jisung follow close behind. Jisung is already cracking jokes about how out of shape he is and how he’s going to collapse holding the boxing pads.

When they arrive, Minho efficiently signs all three of you in on his membership, exchanging a few friendly words with the staff before leading the way to the back of the gym. It’s quieter here, the distant clink of weights and hum of treadmills a background buzz. Minho gestures toward a corner, and you step onto the mat, kicking off your white stilettos.

“Nice socks,” Jisung says with a grin as he notices the pastel Tinkerbell pattern adorning your feet. “Love them. I want a pair.”

You roll your eyes, smirking. “You’d look great in them.”

“I know,” Jisung says, dead serious. “I’ve got the legs for it.”

Minho clears his throat, drawing your attention. “Alright, let’s get started. Boxing is great, helps you know how to throw a punch, but it’s not the only thing you need to know. You’ve also got to know how to get out of holds. So, someone grabs you from behind, what do you do?”

You tilt your head thoughtfully. “Throw my head back and break their nose?”

Minho shakes his head. “Last resort. Sure, it could work, but it’s risky. You could disorient yourself, get a headache, or spotty vision. Now you’re temporarily free but vulnerable, and bam, he’s got you again. You need to focus on vital spots and the best way to get out.”

He steps behind you, his voice steady and calm as he explains. “If someone grabs you from behind, there are three good spots to target: the ribs, the groin, and the knees. You stomp backwards on their knee with those big-ass boots or stilettos of yours. Knees aren’t meant to go backwards.”

Minho gently places his hands on your shoulders to guide your stance. “Alright, lift your leg.”

You follow his instructions, lifting your foot slightly.

“Now, bring it back onto my knee. Gently. Please don’t fuck my knee up,” Minho adds with a smirk.

You laugh softly, bringing your foot down carefully against his leg.

“Good,” Minho says, nodding in approval. “When someone grabs you, your adrenaline’s going to be pumping. It makes you stronger, more alert. You kick their knee just right, they’re not chasing you anywhere anytime soon if their kneecap’s out of place.”

Jisung watches, arms crossed, a glint of amusement in his eyes. “Damn, Min, you’re scarier than I thought.”

Minho ignores him, stepping back in front of you. “Alright, now, if someone comes at you head-on, you’ve got three main targets: eyes, throat, and groin. Blind, wind, incapacitate. Fingers to the eyes, punch to the throat, knee to the groin.”

“Blind, wind, incapacitate,” you repeat, nodding. “Got it.”

Minho steps closer, miming a punch to the air. “You hit them in those spots in quick succession, they’re done. But what if you’re pinned to the ground? Then what?”

You pause, frowning slightly. “I… don’t know.”

Minho gestures for you to sit on the mat, then lies down beside you, demonstrating the position. “If you’re pinned, you need to use your legs. They’re your strongest weapons in that position. Hook your leg around theirs, shift your hips, and roll them off balance.” He sits up, locking eyes with you. “The goal isn’t to fight forever. It’s to create an opening to escape. Always focus on getting away.”

Minho claps his hands together, signalling a change in the lesson. “Alright, punches. You’ve gotta learn how to throw them properly, or you’ll break your wrist or your thumb. And trust me, that shit’s not fun.”

He grabs a roll of hand wraps and steps closer to you, his fingers deftly unwinding the fabric. “Hold still,” he mutters, carefully wrapping your hands. His touch is firm but gentle, ensuring the wraps are snug without cutting off circulation. He secures the ends and slides on wrist supports to reinforce the wraps, his brows furrowed in concentration.

“Thanks,” you say softly, flexing your fingers experimentally.

Minho nods, stepping back and motioning to Jisung. “Jagi, grab the pads.”

Jisung snatches them from the floor, slipping them onto his hands and holding them up. “Ready for action!” he declares, his grin wide.

Minho quirks an eyebrow. “Hold them properly, jagi. You might be my boyfriend, but I’ll laugh if she misses and messes up your pretty face.”

Jisung huffs dramatically, adjusting his grip. “You wouldn’t laugh. You’d cry. You’re obsessed with my face.”

“Shut up,” Minho mutters, shaking his head. “Alright, Y/N, let’s see your fist.”

You raise your hands, curling them into fists with your thumbs tucked inside. Minho’s eyes widen, and he quickly steps forward, his hands gently encircling yours. “Yah! Do not tuck your thumb inside your fist. What are you trying to do, ruin your hand forever?”

You blink at him. “Wait, why?”

Minho adjusts your fist, his movements deliberate. “Tuck your thumb across the base of your index and middle fingers, like this,” he explains, demonstrating. “Keep it on the outside of your fist to protect it from injury when you hit something. If you keep it tucked inside, you’ll fuck it up. Like, badly.”

“Fuck it up how badly?”

Minho pinches the bridge of his nose, exhaling dramatically. “Like badly, Y/N. Just trust me.”

You mimic the proper fist formation, nodding. “Got it.”

“Alright, now punch the pad,” Minho instructs, stepping back.

You throw a punch, your fist connecting with the pad Jisung holds up. The sound is faint, almost unimpressive.

“I felt nothing,” Jisung says flatly, lowering the pad to give you a deadpan look. “Was that supposed to scare me?”

Minho smirks, crossing his arms. “There’s no power behind your punches. Like, none at all.”

“Gee, thanks,” you mutter, rolling your eyes.

“Here,” Minho says, stepping behind you. He places his hands on your shoulders, adjusting your stance. His touch moves to your arms, guiding them through the motion slowly. “Like that. See? You need to use your whole body, not just your arm. Power comes from your legs, your core, and your rotation. Without that, it’s like throwing a frozen pea at a moving car.”

You try again, this time focusing on the movement Minho demonstrated. The punch connects with a louder sound, and Jisung staggers back dramatically, flailing his arms.

“Whoa! Oh no, she’s too strong!” Jisung cries, falling to his knees in mock defeat.

You burst out laughing, your shoulders shaking. “Jisung, get up.”

“Never!” Jisung declares, crawling on the mat like he’s been mortally wounded. “I’ve been taken out by the incredible, indomitable Y/N!”

Minho sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose again. “You’re not helping, jagi.”

“Yes, I am!” Jisung retorts, getting to his feet. “She’s laughing, isn’t she?”

Minho shakes his head but doesn’t hide the small smile tugging at his lips. “Fine. But you’re holding the pads until she gets it right.”

“Deal,” Jisung says, raising the pads again with an exaggerated flourish. “Hit me, Y/N! But not too hard. I’m delicate.”

You laugh, taking your stance again as Minho steps aside to watch. The lesson continues, and while your punches still lack power, you’re improving with each attempt. Minho’s patient guidance and Jisung’s over-the-top antics keep the mood light, and for the first time in a while, you feel genuinely at ease.

Minho and Jisung lie tangled together in Minho’s bed, the warm glow of his bedside lamp casting soft light over the room. Minho’s laptop balances precariously on Jisung’s stomach as they scroll through the Theta Tau guy’s social media. Minho, shirtless and relaxed, has an arm slung over Jisung’s chest, his chin resting on his boyfriend’s shoulder. Jisung, still wearing Minho’s oversized hoodie, lazily scrolls with one hand while the other plays with Minho’s fingers.

“There’s nothing on here that points to Y/N,” Minho mutters, frowning at the screen. His thumb absentmindedly strokes Jisung’s hand.

“There has to be something,” Jisung insists, his eyes scanning the page with growing frustration. “I mean, you don’t just corner a girl in a stairwell and nearly knock her down the stairs for no reason. My journalist senses can feel it, Min, it’s tingling in my left nut.”

Minho snorts, burying his face in Jisung’s neck for a moment to stifle his laugh. “Your left nut? Really?”

“Yes!” Jisung exclaims, looking at Minho with mock seriousness. “It’s like that time Felix no-ballsed me into putting Deep Heat down there. Something was wrong that day, and that same wrong feeling is back.”

“All I remember from that day,” Minho says dryly, lifting his head, “is you crying like a baby and me having to help you wash your balls in cool water.”

Jisung groans, throwing his head back against the pillow. “It was traumatic.”

“For me, too,” Minho says, smirking. “You were screaming like you were being murdered.”

“Because it felt like my balls were on fire, Minho!” Jisung huffs, but there’s a playful glint in his eye as he turns back to the screen. “Anyway, focus. We’re looking for dirt on this dickhead.”

Minho chuckles, nuzzling closer as Jisung scrolls. A few moments later, Jisung suddenly perks up. “Ooh! Here!” He points to the screen, his voice tinged with excitement.

Minho leans closer, narrowing his eyes at the photo Jisung has pulled up. It’s a picture from a Theta Tau party a year ago. You’re front and centre in the photo, a red solo cup in hand, your smile wide but a little too forced if they look closely enough. The Theta Tau guy stands beside you, his arm slung over your shoulders, his grin wide and smug. The caption reads: Wildest girl on campus.

Minho’s eyes darken. “So now engage your criminal psych brain, Ji.”

Jisung sits up slightly, his focus sharp. “Alright,” he says, his voice more serious now. “My criminal psych mind jumps to stalker, but that’s just me. The photo, the caption, it’s giving possessive vibes.”

“Possessive how?” Minho asks, his fingers still absently toying with Jisung’s hoodie strings.

“Look at the caption. Wildest girl on campus. It’s like he’s trying to brand her,” Jisung explains, gesturing at the screen. “But we don’t really know anything yet, so we can’t make assumptions.”

Minho hums thoughtfully, his eyes fixed on the screen. “But if he does have some sort of obsession with her, it might explain why he was cornering her in the stairwell.”

“Exactly,” Jisung agrees. “But we need more to go on. This is just speculation.”

Minho sits up, taking the laptop from Jisung and setting it aside. He looks at his boyfriend, his expression serious. “If it is something like that, we’re not letting it slide.”

“Duh,” Jisung replies, rolling his eyes. “You think I’d let anything happen to her? I’d kick that guy’s ass myself.”

Minho smirks, pulling Jisung into his arms. “I’d pay to see that.”

Jisung grins, wrapping his arms around Minho’s waist. “Don’t worry, jagi. Between your boxing and my journalist instincts, we’ve got this.”

Minho presses a kiss to Jisung’s temple, but his mind is still racing with possibilities. Whatever’s going on, he’s determined to get to the bottom of it and to keep you safe in the process.

The college football field buzzes with energy. The stands are packed with students wearing the red and black colours of the Miroh Maniacs or the grey and purple of the Levanter Lobos. The crisp fall air carries the faint smell of popcorn and hot dogs from the concession stands, and the band plays an upbeat fight song to rile up the crowd.

You’re seated in the front row of the bleachers, your black and red tartan miniskirt catching the light as you cross your legs. The thigh-high black-heeled boots you’re wearing make you feel both powerful and overdressed compared to the sea of jerseys and hoodies around you. Your black turtleneck and red and black tartan blazer complete the look, and the red ribbon tying back your half-up, half-down hair flutters slightly in the breeze.

On the field, the Miroh Maniacs’ lineup is imposing in their red and black uniforms. Chan, #03, is shouting instructions as the team gathers at the line of scrimmage. Minho, #25, adjusts his helmet, his sharp eyes scanning the opposing players. Changbin, #04, slams his hands together, psyching himself up, while Hyunjin, #69, stretches dramatically, earning laughs from nearby players. Jisung, #08, bounces on his toes, and Felix, #01, waves at you from his position near the sideline. Seungmin, #11, and Jeongin, #23, exchange a quick fist bump before taking their positions.

When they all glance toward you and wave, you smile brightly, waving back enthusiastically. The sight of you seems to inject an extra burst of energy into the team, and Jisung flashes you a grin before nudging Minho. “She’s got the best seat in the house,” he says.

“Damn right,” Minho mutters, his focus briefly flickering to you before snapping back to the game.

The whistle blows, and the first quarter is chaos. The Maniacs play hard, with Chan’s commanding presence as quarterback setting up plays that leave the Lobos scrambling. Changbin bulldozes through the defence, and Hyunjin makes an acrobatic catch that has the crowd on their feet. Jisung is everywhere, darting through gaps in the Lobos’ defence with impressive speed, while Minho is a brick wall, stopping the Lobos’ offence in its tracks.

Halfway through the first half, Jisung glances at the bleachers to steal a look at you. His smile fades instantly. Minho follows his gaze and spots what Jisung is staring at: the Theta Tau guy is sitting next to you. His body leans in toward yours, and his lips move as he whispers something in your ear. Your face is a mask of calm, but your eyes are locked straight ahead, not acknowledging him.

Jisung’s grip on his helmet tightens. “What the fuck is he doing?”

The guy leans closer, saying something else, and you suddenly get to your feet. Your hand grips the strap of your handbag tightly, and you follow him toward the back of the bleachers. But as you walk, you glance back over your shoulder, your eyes locking with Jisung and Minho for a split second before disappearing out of sight.

“Chan!” Jisung shouts, his voice sharp with urgency. “Call a fucking break!”

Chan turns, confused, but the look on Jisung’s face tells him it’s serious. “Shit,” he mutters, jogging over to the referee to call for a timeout.

The crowd groans in confusion as the game pauses. On the sideline, Jisung and Minho are already ripping off their helmets and jogging toward the bleachers.

“Where the hell did she go?” Jisung asks, his voice tight.

Minho’s eyes scan the area, his jaw clenched. “Behind the bleachers. Let’s go.”

Without another word, the two of them take off, their cleats clacking against the pavement as they make their way to find you. Minho and Jisung crouch as they reach the back of the bleachers, their cleats scrape softly against the gravel as they peek around the corner. The sight before them makes their blood boil.

You’re standing with your back against a steel support beam, clutching your black handbag tightly in one hand while the other lightly presses against your mouth. Blood trickles from a split in your lip as the Theta Tau guy looms over you, his face twisted into a smug smirk as he waves his phone in front of you.

“Delete it,” you plead, your voice trembling but firm. “Please. Just delete it.”

“I told you what you have to do,” the guy sneers, his voice low and mocking.

You shake your head, tears glistening in your eyes as you struggle to maintain your composure. “I don’t want to do that.”

Before either of you can react, he grabs your face roughly, forcing you to look at him. That’s the last straw.

Minho is on him in an instant, his cleats kicking up gravel as he grabs the guy from behind and locks him in a headlock. “You fucking piece of shit,” Minho snarls, his biceps tightening around the man’s neck.

“What the fuck?!” the guy chokes out, his phone slipping from his hand.

Jisung snatches it up without hesitation, his expression icy as he flips the device over in his hand. “Hold his head still, Min.”

“Already on it,” Minho growls, adjusting his grip to keep the guy immobilized. The Theta Tau guy squirms, but he’s no match for Minho’s strength.

Jisung holds the phone up to the guy’s face, the screen unlocking instantly with Face ID. “Got it.” He hands the phone to you, his voice softening slightly. “Here, Y/N. Delete whatever he’s holding over you.”

Your hands tremble as you take the phone. Your breath hitches as you navigate to the photo gallery, and your face twists in a mix of relief and anger when you find what you’re looking for. An upskirt photo. Your eyes sting as you quickly delete it, your fingers moving with unsteady urgency.

“What did you threaten her with, hmm?” Minho hisses, his tone venomous. “Answer before I start breaking bones.”

The guy glares at Minho but falters when the pressure around his neck increases. “An… an upskirt picture!” he chokes out.

“You piece of shit,” Minho spits, his jaw tightening.

“Is it on your iCloud?” Jisung demands, his voice sharp and unwavering.

“No! Just my camera roll!” the guy blurts.

You glance at Jisung, who nods encouragingly. You double-check the recently deleted folder and erase the photo permanently before handing the phone back to Jisung. Without hesitation, Jisung hurls it to the ground, the screen shattering on impact. He stomps on it for good measure, grinding it into the gravel until it’s completely destroyed.

Minho loosens his grip slightly but doesn’t let the guy go. “What else did you do to her?” His voice is deadly quiet, his rage barely contained.

“I just followed her a few times! Sent her some notes! It was harmless shit!” the guy protests.

Minho’s laugh is dark and humourless. “Okay, so if that’s harmless, me breaking your nose is also harmless, hmm?”

Before the guy can respond, Minho lets him go, stepping back just enough to wind up and punch him square in the face. The crack of impact echoes under the bleachers as the guy stumbles back, clutching his nose with a pained yell.

Jisung moves to your side instantly, his hands cupping your face gently as he examines your split lip. “Are you okay?” he asks, his voice softer now, tinged with worry.

You nod, but your lip wobbles, and tears spill over despite your best efforts to hold them back. Jisung pulls you into his arms without a second thought, holding you tightly as you cling to him. His hand smooths over your hair, his voice low and soothing as he whispers, “Shh, it’s okay. You’re okay now. I’ve got you.”

Minho steps back to your side, his breathing heavy but his expression softening as he looks at you. “We’ve got you,” he says firmly, his hand brushing against your shoulder in a silent show of support.

The Theta Tau guy stumbles to his feet and takes off without another word, leaving the three of you alone under the bleachers. For now, the game is the furthest thing from anyone’s mind. Minho and Jisung are focused solely on you, their protectiveness evident in every glance and touch as they guide you away from the scene.

Minho straightens his jersey and exhales sharply, his jaw tight as he glances between you and Jisung. Your face is buried against Jisung’s shoulder, your hands clutching at his jersey like a lifeline, and Jisung’s arms are wrapped protectively around you.

“I’ll go talk to Chan,” Minho says, his voice steady but edged with quiet fury. “Two of the newer guys can sub in for us. I’ll grab our bags from the locker room.”

Jisung nods, his fingers combing gently through your hair, careful not to disturb the ribbon tied at the back. His other hand strokes soothing circles along your back. “Go. We’ll be here.”

Minho jogs off toward the field, his cleats crunching against the gravel. Jisung looks down at you, his brows knitting together as he leans his cheek against the top of your head. “How long has this been going on?” he asks, his voice low but firm.

You don’t lift your head, your voice muffled against his shoulder. “A few months,” you admit, your grip on his jersey tightening.

Jisung’s heart aches at your admission. “Oh, our sweet, sweet girl,” he murmurs, holding you even closer. The words slip out without thought, and you don’t even seem to notice. His chest tightens as he thinks about everything you’ve been carrying on your own, and the urge to shield you from every possible harm swells within him.

He gently shifts his stance to hold you more securely, his voice softening. “We’ve got you, okay? Minho and I. Whatever you need, we’ll be here.”

You nod silently, the motion so small and vulnerable that it makes Jisung’s throat tighten. He stays quiet for a moment, simply holding you as your breathing evens out. His hand continues stroking your back, the repetitive motion grounding for both of you.

Minho returns a few minutes later, a gym bag slung over his shoulder and an intense look in his eyes. He pauses when he sees the way Jisung is cradling you, his expression softening for just a moment before he clears his throat. “Chan’s got it covered. He’s pissed, but he said he’ll handle it with the coach.”

Jisung nods, his hand still threading through your hair. “Thanks.”

Minho steps closer, setting the bag down at his feet. “Let’s get out of here,” he says, his tone gentler now. “Y/N, you good to walk, or do you need me to carry you?”

You shake your head slowly, lifting it just enough to meet Minho’s eyes. “I can walk,” you whisper.

“Alright,” Minho says, reaching out to brush a stray strand of hair from your face. His touch is light, careful, as though he’s afraid you might shatter. “Let’s go.”

The walk back to the frat house is quiet, the tension from earlier still lingering in the air. Jisung stays close to your side, his hand hovering near your back as if ready to steady you at any moment. Minho walks on your other side, his sharp gaze flicking to anyone who so much as glances your way. When the three of you step through the front door of the house, the familiar warmth and faint smell of laundry detergent and leftover pizza greet you.

Minho sets the gym bag down near the couch and turns to you. “We’re gonna go shower,” he says, his tone softer than usual. “You gonna be okay?”

You nod, managing a small smile. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

Minho’s eyes linger on you for a moment longer, his lips pressing into a thin line. Jisung hesitates too, his brows furrowing, but he doesn’t say anything as they both head upstairs. Their heavy footsteps fade, leaving you alone in the quiet house.

You take a deep breath, exhaling shakily as you step into the kitchen. Bending down, you pull the first aid kit from under the sink and set it on the counter. You reach into your bag, pulling out your compact mirror and flipping it open. The fluorescent kitchen light illuminates the damage.

Your split lip looks worse now than it did under the bleachers, the small wound red and raw. A faint shadow of smeared lipstick surrounds it, a stark reminder of how hard you’ve been trying to keep it together. You sigh, reaching into the kit for an antiseptic wipe.

The moment the cool wipe touches your skin, a sharp sting flares up, making you wince. “Fuck,” you mutter under your breath, dabbing gently at the cut. The antiseptic smells sterile, a harsh contrast to the comforting familiarity of the kitchen. You work methodically, cleaning the area and wiping away the traces of blood.

As you do, your mind drifts back to the events of the day. The Theta Tau guy’s smirk, his hand grabbing your face, the fear that coursed through you as he loomed over you. Your hands tremble slightly, but you force yourself to focus, using the mirror to inspect your work.

“Not bad,” you mumble to yourself, forcing a weak smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes.

You toss the used wipe into the trash, closing the first aid kit and leaning against the counter for a moment. The silence feels heavy, pressing down on you as you try to shake the lingering unease. You press your hands against the cool surface of the counter, grounding yourself, and close your eyes, taking a deep breath.

They said they’ve got you. And for the first time in a while, you think you might actually believe it.

The hot spray of the shower cascades over Minho and Jisung, the steam curling around them in the small bathroom. Minho stands with his hands braced against the tiled wall, his head bowed, water dripping down his tense shoulders. Jisung watches him quietly, his own body relaxed but his mind racing.

“Min, you need to calm down, baby,” Jisung says softly, stepping closer and placing his hands on Minho’s shoulders. His thumbs press into the knots beneath the damp skin. “You’re too wound up to go back down and comfort her like this.”

Minho lets out a heavy sigh, his breath fogging in the humid air. “I know,” he mutters, his voice tight. “But it’s not fucking working.”

Jisung’s hands still for a moment before resuming their gentle massage. “Stress reliever handy?” he asks, his tone calm but purposeful.

Minho nods, his head dipping slightly. “Yeah.”

Jisung leans in, his lips brushing against Minho’s ear. “Make no mistake, I’m in control right now because that’s what you need.”

Minho nods rapidly, the tension in his shoulders shifting as he gives himself over to Jisung. “Please.”

Jisung hums in approval, his hands sliding down Minho’s arms before circling him from behind. “Relax, baby,” he murmurs, his voice low and soothing. “Let Ji take care of you as we both think about our pretty girl, hmm?”

Minho’s breath catches, his hands curling into fists against the tile. “Fuck, Ji.”

“That’s it,” Jisung whispers, his hand wrapping around Minho’s dick with practised ease. His strokes are slow at first, deliberate, coaxing. “You kept our pretty girl safe, Min. You stopped that guy. I’m so proud of you, my Minho, my beautiful Min.”

Minho’s head tilts back, his breath coming in short, shaky bursts as Jisung’s hand moves faster. “Ji-”

Jisung presses kisses to Minho’s collarbones, his lips soft against the slick skin. “You kept her safe,” he continues, his voice full of praise. “You showed that guy what happens when someone messes with her. My strong, sexy baby.”

Minho cries out, his body trembling under Jisung’s touch. Jisung holds him steady, his strokes firm but comforting. “That’s it,” he murmurs. “Come on, let go for me.”

Minho’s release is sudden and overwhelming, his body shuddering as he leans back against Jisung for support. Jisung holds him close, his free hand stroking Minho’s side in soothing circles as the water washes away the evidence of their intimacy.

“Shh,” Jisung whispers, his lips brushing against Minho’s temple. “You’re okay now, baby. Feeling calmer?”

Minho nods weakly, his head lolling to the side as he catches his breath. “Yeah,” he murmurs, his voice hoarse. “Thanks, Ji.”

Jisung smiles, pressing one last kiss to Minho’s shoulder before stepping back slightly to rinse them both off. “Anything for you, Min. Let’s finish up and go check on her, yeah?”

Minho straightens, the tension in his body eased but his determination renewed. “Yeah. Let’s go.”

The two of them step out of the shower moments later, their movements in sync as they towel off and redress, their focus already shifting back to you. Whatever comes next, they’re ready to face it. Together.

Minho and Jisung descend the stairs, their hair damp from the shower and their moods slightly more composed. Dressed in sweatpants and soft t-shirts, they move through the house with purpose, their footsteps muffled against the carpet. As they reach the kitchen, they stop in the doorway, their gazes landing on you.

You’re perched on a stool at the kitchen island, your compact mirror propped up as you dab at your chin with a makeup sponge. “Hey,” Jisung says softly, stepping forward as you glance up at them. Your lips twitch into a weak smile, and he’s relieved to see even that small flicker of emotion.

“Hey,” you reply, your voice quiet.

Minho moves past Jisung, heading to the counter where the kettle sits. “I’ll make tea,” he says, his voice calm and steady, a grounding presence in the room. “For all of us.”

Jisung pulls out the stool next to yours, sliding onto it. He leans his elbows on the counter, his head tilted as he watches you. “Let me fix that,” he says, gesturing toward your face.

You blink, confused. “You can do makeup?”

Jisung grins, leaning closer. “Not eyeliner, I’m shit at that. But the basics? Yeah. Min likes makeup sometimes.”

You glance at Minho, who’s smirking as he fills the kettle. “Really?” you ask, your curiosity momentarily distracting you from everything else.

“Yup,” Minho says without looking up. “I’ve got the cheekbones for it.”

You can’t help the small laugh that escapes you, and Jisung beams at the sound. “Okay,” you say, handing him the makeup sponge. “Show me what you’ve got.”

Jisung takes the sponge and your compact, his movements careful as he dabs at your chin. His touch is gentle, his focus intense as he smooths out the area where the blood had crusted earlier. “You’re good at this,” you murmur, watching him work.

“Told you,” Jisung replies, winking. “Minho’s got high standards, so I had to learn.”

Minho chuckles from across the room, pulling mugs from the cabinet. “That piece of shit won’t come near you again if he’s got a single brain cell in that thick skull of his,” he says, his voice low but firm.

You glance down at your hands, twisting your fingers together. “You guys don’t have to do all of this,” you say softly, guilt flickering in your tone.

Minho sets a mug on the counter in front of you, his sharp gaze softening as he leans against the island. “You don’t understand what we would do for you, sweet girl,” he says, his words measured but earnest. “But that’s okay. Give it time. We’re in no rush.”

You blink, confusion crossing your face at the intensity in his words, but before you can respond, Jisung leans back, examining his work with a satisfied smile. “Done. You’re back to flawless.”

You smile faintly, taking the compact back and glancing at your reflection. “Thanks, Ji.”

“Anytime,” he says with a grin, his hand brushing against your arm briefly before pulling away.

Minho places a steaming mug of tea in front of you, the warmth seeping into your fingers as you cradle it. “Drink,” he says simply. “You’ll feel better.”

You nod, taking a small sip, the warmth and taste grounding you. The two of them stay close, their presence comforting in a way that words can’t quite capture. For the first time in what feels like forever, you let yourself lean on someone else.

Jeongin’s room is a cosy disaster. There’s a pile of laundry in the corner that’s been waiting to be folded for weeks, and his desk is cluttered with an assortment of notebooks, snack wrappers, and half-finished projects. But his bed is a sanctuary, a fluffy mountain of mismatched blankets and pillows, perfect for a lazy night in.

You’re lying on your stomach in the centre of it, your feet kicking idly in your fluffy black socks as you sip straight from a bottle of cheap red wine. A cooling sheet mask clings to your face, and the glow of The Princess Diaries illuminates the room.

Jeongin is beside you, similarly face-masked and holding his own bottle of white wine, which he swirls like a sommelier despite it being something that cost less than ten bucks.

“I can’t believe you own a Juicy tracksuit,” Jeongin says, gesturing at your outfit with his wine bottle. The black velour set hugs your figure, the word “Juicy” spelt out in glittering diamantes across your ass. The cropped hoodie rides up slightly as you shift, revealing a sliver of skin.

“Hyunjin has it in pink,” you reply, completely unfazed. “Felix has it in blue. We found them at a thrift shop, and obviously, we had to buy them.”

Jeongin snorts, shaking his head. “I can’t decide if that’s iconic or tragic.”

“Both,” you say, grinning as you sip your wine. “But mostly iconic.”

The movie plays on in the background, the familiar scenes providing comfort. When Mia Thermopolis takes her infamous tumble in the bleachers, you both burst out laughing, even though you’ve seen it a dozen times.

Jeongin’s laughter fades as he looks over at you. “So,” he starts, his tone shifting slightly, “Minho and Jisung told us all about the Theta Tau dickhead.”

Your smile falters, and you lower your wine bottle. “Innie-”

He shakes his head. “I’m not mad at you. I just want to know why you didn’t tell me.”

You sigh, resting your cheek against the cool pillow. “I would have told you, but he said if I told anyone, that picture would go all over the internet.”

Jeongin’s face softens, and he reaches out to nudge your shoulder gently. “I’m not mad at you, idiot. I’m worried about you.”

“I’m okay,” you insist, though your voice wavers slightly. “My lip’s healed. The guy backed off after Minho wailed on him and Jisung smashed his phone to pieces. It’s handled.”

Jeongin doesn’t look entirely convinced, but he nods, taking another swig of his wine. “Talking about Minho and Jisung,” he says, a mischievous glint in his eyes, “what’s going on there?”

Your brow furrows. “How do you mean?”

“Girl,”

“Boy,”

“Be so fucking for real right now,” he demands, sitting up and glaring at you through the slits of his face mask.

You groan, rolling onto your back. “Okay, fine. They’re not exactly subtle, but what if they just want one night and done?”

Jeongin raises an eyebrow. “You’re kidding, right?”

“I’m not!” you protest. “I mean, what if I mess things up? What if it’s just casual for them?”

“Well,” Jeongin says, shrugging dramatically, “you’ll have to ask them.”

“That sounds like hell,” you mutter, groaning again as you cover your face with your hands.

Jeongin pats your thigh consolingly, his voice softening. “It’s not hell if they care about you, and I think they do. You’re not as good at hiding your feelings as you think, and neither are they.”

You peek at him through your fingers, your lips twitching into a reluctant smile. “Since when are you this wise?”

“Since always,” Jeongin says smugly, reclining against his pillows like a king. “Now shut up and pass me the chocolate. Therapy wine and The Princess Diaries require snacks.”

You chuckle, tossing him a candy bar from the pile of junk food on the nightstand. For now, you let the conversation drop, burying your worries beneath laughter and cheap wine as the movie plays on. But Jeongin’s words linger, and somewhere in the back of your mind, you know he’s right.

Minho’s room is a blend of chaos and comfort, with the faint hum of David Attenborough’s soothing narration on the TV providing a calm backdrop to Jisung’s enthusiastic commentary as he plays The Sims on Minho’s laptop. The two of them are sprawled on Minho’s bed, Jisung’s legs tangled with Minho’s as they cuddle beneath a blanket.

Jisung is perched with the laptop balanced on his thighs, his fingers flying across the keyboard as he perfects his newest sim. “Alright,” he says, biting his lip in concentration. “I’ve got your sim, and I’ve got her sim. Now it’s my turn.”

Minho doesn’t look up from the screen, where a pod of dolphins gracefully arches out of the water in stunning high-definition. “Make yourself hot, jagi,” he says absently, his hand lazily stroking Jisung’s thigh.

“I’m already hot,” Jisung retorts, smirking. “But fine, I’ll be extra hot.”

He finishes tweaking his sim’s features, giving it his trademark silver hair and an outfit that looks straight out of a runway show. Once he’s satisfied, he grins wickedly. “Okay, time to make my sim woohoo your sim.”

Minho finally glances over, raising an eyebrow. “Sexy.”

Jisung snorts, clicking the interaction button. “Look! We’re woohooing! Oh my God, the bed is shaking! Scandalous.”

Minho chuckles, his lips quirking into a smirk as he watches the pixelated characters dive under the covers with a flurry of hearts and confetti. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Ridiculously hot, you mean,” Jisung says, grinning as he continues to make the sims woohoo. “Ooh, we’re going again. Look at us. Nonstop action. This is basically porn.”

“Pixel porn,” Minho deadpans, though his eyes are sparkling with amusement.

Jisung keeps clicking, his enthusiasm building. “Oh, wait, plot twist! Your sim is pregnant.”

Minho groans, throwing his head back. “Jisung.”

“Look!” Jisung exclaims, pointing at the screen. “Mpreg! Mpreg Minho! It’s even alliteration. Meant to be.”

“That is the worst thing you have ever done,” Minho mutters, though he’s laughing despite himself.

Jisung giggles uncontrollably, leaning against Minho for support. “You’re like an omega from A/B/O. Submissive and breedable.”

Minho snorts, swatting at Jisung’s arm. “Shut up.”

“Never!” Jisung declares, clicking away. “Ooh, we’re woohooing again. Now you’re woohooing her sim! Now I’m woohooing her sim! It’s a polyamorous paradise.”

Minho shakes his head, a fond smile tugging at his lips. “You’re having way too much fun with this.”

Jisung grins devilishly, his eyes glued to the screen as he starts making dirty commentary. “Oh, look at that. Jisung Sim, absolutely wrecking Minho Sim. And now Minho Sim is carrying twins. Who’s the daddy? Me. Plot twist, it’s always me.”

Minho groans, covering his face with one hand as his shoulders shake with laughter. “You’re insane.”

“And you love me for it,” Jisung says, leaning in to kiss Minho’s cheek before going back to his chaotic gameplay. “Oh no! Minho Sim is going into labour. What do we do?”

Minho rolls his eyes, still laughing. “Delete the game. That’s what we do.”

Jisung suddenly shuts the laptop with a decisive snap and looks up at Minho. “I have an idea,” he announces, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

Minho raises an eyebrow, leaning back against the headboard. “Is it a good idea?”

“When have I ever had bad ideas?” Jisung counters, puffing out his chest in mock indignation.

Minho doesn’t even hesitate. “Do you want me to start from the top? Because I will. How about the time you bought that vibrating cock ring and it got stuck?”

Jisung’s face flushes. “That was one time!”

“Or when you thought a double-ended dildo would be fun for us and ended up knocking over the lamp while trying to figure it out.”

Jisung groans, burying his face in his hands. “Stop.”

“Oh, and let’s not forget the brilliant idea of edible lube that tasted like fucking cough syrup,” Minho continues, smirking. “Or-”

“Okay!” Jisung interrupts, holding up his hands in surrender. “Fine. I’ve had a few missteps.”

“A few?” Minho scoffs, but his smirk softens as he leans forward. “So, what’s this idea?”

“I’m going to go ask Y/N on a date,” Jisung declares, his grin wide.

Minho blinks, his brows knitting together in surprise. “Uh, what?”

“Not just me,” Jisung adds, hopping off the bed and heading for the door. “Both of us. A date with both of us.”

“Wait, hold on,” Minho says, sitting up straighter. “You’re going right now?”

“Yup,” Jisung chirps, already halfway out the room. “Be right back!”

“Jisung!” Minho calls after him, but Jisung is already bounding down the hall, his bare feet slapping against the wooden floor. Minho lets out a heavy sigh, rubbing his temples. “Fucking hell.”

In Jeongin’s room, you’re lounging on his bed, the remnants of your wine bottle on the nightstand and the sheet mask peeled off and discarded. “Y/N!” Jisung’s voice rings out, loud and enthusiastic.

You and Jeongin both whip your heads around to see him standing in the doorway, his silver hair slightly damp and his grin as bright as a kid who just found out it’s Christmas.

“Uh, hey, Ji?” you say cautiously, sitting up straighter.

“You, me, Minho,” Jisung says in one breath, pointing at you with both hands. “Date tomorrow night. We’ll pick you up from your place at eight. Okay, bye!”

Before you can respond, he spins on his heel and marches back down the hall, leaving you and Jeongin staring after him in stunned silence.

“What the actual fuck just happened?” Jeongin finally asks, blinking at the empty doorway.

“I… I don’t know,” you admit, your face heating up as you process what Jisung just said. “A date? With both of them?”

Jeongin looks at you, his lips curling into a grin. “Girl, you better dress for that. This is huge.”

Your heart is pounding, your thoughts racing as you glance toward the door, then back at Jeongin. “This can’t be real.”

“Oh, it’s real,” Jeongin says, grabbing his phone. “We’re planning your outfit now. You’re going to knock them both flat on their asses.”

Jisung returns to Minho’s room triumphantly, shutting the door behind him as Minho stares at him, his expression a mix of exasperation and amusement.

“What the hell did you do?” Minho asks.

“Secured our date for tomorrow,” Jisung replies. “Get ready, Min. We’re making moves.”

Jisung grins at Minho, his silver hair falling messily over his forehead as he dramatically flops back onto the bed, his hands behind his head.

“Okay,” he declares, “now suck my dick! For being the best and getting us a date.”

Minho snorts, leaning against the headboard. “Now there’s a good idea.”

Jisung raises an eyebrow, a slow grin spreading across his face. “I’m serious, Min. I deserve a reward.”

Minho rolls his eyes but pushes himself up from his relaxed position, crawling over to where Jisung lies sprawled out. His movements are slow and deliberate, like a predator closing in on its prey.

“You’re lucky you’re cute,” he murmurs, brushing Jisung’s hair back from his forehead before leaning down to press a teasing kiss to the corner of his lips.

Jisung shivers under his touch, his grin softening into something more genuine. “You’re just mad you didn’t think of it first.”

Minho smirks, trailing kisses along Jisung’s jawline, his hands sliding under the hem of Jisung’s oversized t-shirt. “Shut up, Ji.”

Jisung laughs softly, but the sound catches in his throat as Minho’s lips move lower, his mouth hot against the sensitive skin of Jisung’s neck. “Min-”

Minho doesn’t reply, his hands slipping down to tug at the waistband of Jisung’s sweatpants. “Lift your hips,” he murmurs, his voice low and commanding.

Jisung obeys without hesitation, his breath hitching as Minho drags the fabric down, exposing him. The cool air of the room contrasts with the heat pooling between them, and Jisung’s hands grip the sheets beneath him, his confidence wavering just slightly in the face of Minho’s intensity.

“You really think you’re the best?” Minho asks, his voice teasing as he settles between Jisung’s legs.

Jisung’s grin returns, though it’s laced with a hint of nervous energy. “Obviously.”

Minho chuckles, his hands firm on Jisung’s thighs as he leans down. “Let’s see if I can knock you down a peg.”

Jisung’s laughter fades into a sharp inhale as Minho’s mouth closes over him, the sensation stealing whatever witty retort was on the tip of his tongue. His head falls back against the pillows, his fingers tangling in Minho’s hair as Minho works him over with maddening precision.

“Fuck,” Jisung breathes, his voice barely above a whisper. “Minho-”

Minho hums in response, the vibrations drawing a shuddering gasp from Jisung. His pace is steady, his movements calculated to draw out every sound Jisung tries and fails to stifle.

“You’re too good at this,” Jisung manages to choke out, his grip tightening in Minho’s hair as he teeters on the edge.

Minho pulls back slightly, his lips slick and his smirk sharp. “Don’t forget who you’re talking to, jagi.”

Jisung doesn’t have the chance to respond before Minho takes him again, pushing him past the point of no return. His release comes with a strangled cry, his body arching as Minho holds him through it, his hands grounding him even as he feels like he’s falling apart.

Minho finally pulls away, sitting back on his heels with a satisfied smirk as Jisung struggles to catch his breath. “Reward enough?” Minho asks, his tone light and teasing.

Jisung’s chest heaves as he laughs weakly. “You’re gonna kill me one day, you know that?”

Minho leans forward, pressing a soft kiss to Jisung’s forehead. “Only in the best ways, jagi.”

Jisung grins, pulling Minho down beside him and curling into his side. “I fucking love you, Min.”

“I know,” Minho replies, his smirk softening into a genuine smile as he pulls Jisung close. “I love you too.”

Minho’s car pulls up outside your dorm building, the sleek black exterior shining under the dim glow of the streetlights. You glance out the window as you lock your door, catching sight of him leaning casually against the car.

Minho’s outfit is effortlessly chic. A deep purple silk shirt that drapes perfectly over his frame, black slacks that fit like a dream, polished black shoes, and a black beret perched at an angle that only he could pull off. The pearl earrings and matching necklace glint faintly under the light, adding a touch of elegance to his beauty.

Your jaw drops as you step closer, the sound of your white wedges clicking against the pavement. “How do you look prettier than I do?” you ask, half-joking but fully in awe.

Minho looks up, his lips curving into a soft smirk as he takes you in. “I have an androgynous face,” he replies smoothly, gesturing toward his sharp cheekbones. “But you look stunning, so shush. Now hop in.”

“Flatterer,” you mutter, though a blush rises to your cheeks as you glance down at your blue sleeveless halterneck denim jumpsuit. The faux pearl necklace and earrings you’ve paired it with catch the light, complementing the way your hair cascades half-up, half-down, tied with a crisp white ribbon.

Jisung leans out of the backseat, his grin mischievous as he waves at you. He’s dressed to kill in a black tank top under a white jacket with intricate gold detailing, black trousers, and a matching belt. A gold chain hangs around his neck, catching the light with every movement. “Get in here already,” he calls.

You slide into the backseat beside Jisung as Minho gets into the driver’s seat. Jisung immediately pulls out his phone to fiddle with the music, his leg bouncing with restless energy.

“So,” you ask, settling into the plush leather seat, “where are we going?”

“The ice-skating rink,” Jisung announces, turning to flash you a grin.

“Isn’t it closed on Sundays?” you ask, raising an eyebrow.

Jisung shrugs nonchalantly. “To the public, yeah. But we know the owner. Connections, baby.”

“Like a mafia boss?” you tease, smirking.

Jisung snorts, his laugh bright and unrestrained. “Exactly like a mafia boss. Just call me the Don.”

Minho shakes his head, smiling as he starts the car. “We figured it was fair to do something we’re all bad at.”

You tilt your head, intrigued. “Oh, I did figure skating for thirteen years.”

Minho glances at you in the rearview mirror, one perfectly shaped eyebrow quirking upward. Jisung pauses mid-scroll on his phone, slowly turning to look at you.

“Thirteen years?” Jisung echoes, his tone incredulous.

“Yup,” you say, popping the ‘p’ and crossing one leg over the other. “Competitive and everything.”

Minho exhales dramatically. “Of course. Of course, you’d just casually drop that after we’ve made plans.”

“Oops?” you offer, biting back a smile.

Jisung leans closer, narrowing his eyes playfully. “You’re about to embarrass the hell out of us, aren’t you?”

You grin, leaning back in your seat. “Maybe. But hey, you’re the ones who invited me.”

Minho chuckles, his fingers tapping rhythmically against the steering wheel. “This should be interesting.”

The ice skating rink is eerily quiet as Minho unlocks the door, the sound of the key turning in the lock echoing through the crisp night air. The three of you step inside, the cold instantly hitting your skin. The faint hum of the cooling system and the smell of frozen air transport you back to your years of figure skating.

Minho flicks on the lights, and the rink glows, the pristine ice reflecting the overhead fluorescents. He glances over at you and Jisung. “Grab your skates,” he says, nodding toward the rental booth.

You find a pair of skates in your size with ease and sit down on a bench to lace them up, the movements instinctual after years of practice. Jisung and Minho follow your lead, though it’s clear neither of them has the same muscle memory. Jisung struggles with the laces, muttering a string of curses under his breath, while Minho frowns at his skates like they’ve personally offended him.

“Here,” you say, getting up and kneeling in front of Jisung. “Let me.”

Jisung freezes for a moment, then smirks as you begin retying his laces, your fingers moving quickly but carefully. Over your head, he wiggles his eyebrows at Minho, who rolls his eyes but can’t hide the faint quirk of his lips.

“You’re insufferable,” Minho mouths silently at Jisung, but there’s no real heat behind it.

“You’ve got to lace them like this,” you explain, tugging the laces tight. “It’s like when you wrapped my wrist for hitting the pads. It’s the same principle. Tight enough to protect your ankles but not so tight it cuts off circulation.”

Jisung hums in understanding, watching you with a fond smile. “You’re like a skate whisperer.”

“Shut up,” you say, but you’re smiling as you finish and move on to Minho’s skates. You crouch in front of him, repeating the process. Minho watches you quietly, his expression soft as you work.

“You’re really good at this,” he says after a moment.

“Well, it’s second nature at this point,” you reply, glancing up at him briefly. “Thirteen years and all that.”

Minho nods, his fingers fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. “Thanks.”

Once everyone’s skates are secure, you stand, brushing your hands against your jumpsuit. “Alright, let’s do this.”

You step onto the ice with ease, your movements fluid and graceful as you glide across the rink. The cold air bites at your cheeks, but it’s familiar, comforting. You pick up speed, spinning in place and lifting one leg behind you in an effortless arabesque.

Minho stops at the edge of the rink, blinking. “Well, shit.”

Jisung stares, his jaw dropping. “You’re fucking kidding me.”

You laugh, skating backwards to face them. “Come on, guys. It’s not that hard.”

Minho and Jisung exchange a glance before gingerly stepping onto the ice. Immediately, they both wobble, their arms flailing slightly for balance. Minho grits his teeth, muttering a curse, while Jisung lets out a string of nervous laughter.

“I’m going to die,” Jisung announces dramatically, clutching Minho’s arm for support.

“You’ll be fine,” you say, skating over to a nearby rack. You return with two penguin supports, the kind designed for children, and slide them toward the pair. “Here. These should help.”

Jisung stares at the penguin like it’s an insult. “Seriously?”

“You want to fall on your ass, or do you want to skate?”

Minho snickers, grabbing one of the penguins. “You look cute, Ji. Like a big kid.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Jisung grumbles, but he takes the support anyway. “This is humiliating.”

You glide effortlessly across the ice, your movements smooth and fluid as you circle around Minho and Jisung, who are clutching their penguin supports like their lives depend on it. The contrast between your grace and their awkward stumbling is almost too much to handle.

“Show-off,” Jisung mutters, his feet skidding out from under him for the third time in thirty seconds.

“You love it,” you tease, skating backwards with ease as you flash him a cheeky grin.

Minho lets out a dry laugh, his beret somehow still perfectly in place despite the way he clings to his penguin. “I feel like Bambi learning to walk.”

“You look like Bambi learning to walk,” you quip, spinning in a quick circle before continuing your laps.

The two of them wobble and slide, their movements anything but coordinated. Every time Jisung tries to pick up speed, his penguin wobbles dangerously, forcing him to stop. Minho isn’t faring much better, though he’s at least managed not to fall. So far.

“Fuck this,” Jisung grumbles, glaring at the penguin as if it’s personally offended him.

You can’t help but laugh, your voice ringing out across the rink. “You’re doing great, Ji.”

“Shut up!” Jisung retorts, though the corners of his mouth twitch upward.

As if to prove his point, he leans forward on the penguin, trying to push off with more force. But the extra weight causes the penguin to tilt forward, and before he can react, both he and the penguin hit the ice with a loud thud.

“Fuck!” Jisung yells, sprawled on the ice as the penguin lies face down beside him.

Minho, who’s been watching the entire thing, bursts into laughter. It starts as a chuckle but quickly escalates into full-blown cackling. He’s laughing so hard that he loses his own balance, his feet slipping out from under him as he crashes onto the ice next to Jisung.

“Bullshit!” Jisung declares, sitting up and glaring at Minho. “This is fucking bullshit. Minho, I take back everything I’ve ever said about your intelligence. This is the worst idea you’ve ever had.”

Minho is too busy laughing to respond, tears streaming down his face as he tries to catch his breath. “Oh my God,” he wheezes, clutching his stomach. “You should’ve seen your face.”

Jisung scowls, nudging Minho with his foot. “You’re a dick.”

You skate over to them, crouching down beside their tangled forms with a bemused smile. “You two okay, or do we need to call an ambulance?”

Jisung narrows his eyes at you, a mischievous glint flickering in them. “Oh, you think this is funny?”

Before you can answer, Jisung reaches out and grabs your wrist, yanking you down onto the ice with them. You land with an unceremonious thump between the two of them, your arms flailing as you try to brace yourself.

“Jisung!” you yelp, glaring at him as you sit up.

He grins, looking far too pleased with himself. “Now we’re all on the same level.”

Minho finally manages to compose himself enough to smirk at you. “Welcome to the chaos.”

You roll your eyes but can’t stop the laugh that bubbles up. “You two are ridiculous.”

“And you love it,” Jisung says smugly, echoing your earlier words.

“Debatable,” you tease, but the warmth in your eyes betrays you.

Jisung shifts closer to you on the ice, his hands sliding to your waist as his dark eyes meet yours. There’s a flicker of mischief and something deeper in his gaze before he leans in, capturing your lips with his. The kiss is warm and insistent, his fingers digging into your sides just enough to ground you in the surreal moment.

Minho sits beside the two of you, his posture deceptively casual as he watches. His gaze flickers between your lips and Jisung’s hands on you, his teeth dragging across his bottom lip as he suppresses a groan. Something about seeing Jisung kiss you, your soft gasp, the way your body melts into the kiss, makes his skin tingle and his throat tighten.

Jisung pulls back slightly, his lips curving into a smug grin. “We could head to the staffroom,” he suggests, his eyebrows waggling.

You laugh breathlessly, still slightly dazed. “This jumpsuit isn’t exactly quickie-suitable.”

Minho clears his throat, smirking as he adjusts the collar of his shirt. “Besides, we’re doing this properly, you horny fiend,” he chides, his voice steady but teasing. “We’re not hooking up with her casually. We’re romancing her. Woo City Central.”

Jisung sighs dramatically, flopping onto his back. “You’re right,” he grumbles, though there’s no real disappointment in his tone.

You blink, the words catching your attention. “Not casual?”

Jisung lifts his head, grinning at you. “Oh, you haven’t figured it out? Pretty airhead, hmm?”

Minho chuckles, leaning closer as his hand brushes against your cheek. “Oh, sweetheart, you’re a lot dumber than you look, huh?”

Your lips part to protest, but before you can, Minho’s lips are on yours. His kiss is harder, more insistent, his fingers tangling in your hair as he pulls you closer. It’s a sharp contrast to Jisung’s earlier kiss, where Jisung teased, Minho demands.

Jisung groans from beside you, his hand sliding down to palm himself through his trousers. “Fuck, that’s so hot.”

Minho pulls back just enough to glance at Jisung, his lips curling into a smirk. “Bad Jisung,” he scolds, his tone mockingly stern. “Do you want to get frostbite on your dick?”

Jisung grins unapologetically, his eyes dark with heat. “I’ll happily risk it.”

Minho sighs, his forehead resting against yours as he brushes his thumb across your cheek. “We’re going out for food later, remember?”

“Oh yeah!” Jisung exclaims, perking up instantly as he sits up. “Dinner plans. Can’t forget those.”

Minho chuckles, finally pulling back but not before pressing a soft kiss to your temple. “C’mon,” he says, standing and extending a hand to help you up. “We’ve got plenty of time for everything else later.”

Your cheeks burn as you let him pull you to your feet, your thoughts swirling. They weren’t kidding about the whole not casual thing and now, you’re not sure how you’ll survive the rest of the night.

The restaurant is tucked into a quiet corner of the city, its understated exterior hiding the cosy luxury inside. The three of you are escorted to a private room, the soft glow of hanging lanterns creating a warm and intimate atmosphere. At the centre of the low table is a built-in grill, the heat already radiating faintly.

You settle into the plush cushion across from Minho and Jisung, smoothing the fabric of your jumpsuit as you adjust your pearl necklace. The room is quiet except for the faint hum of conversation from other private rooms, giving you the perfect bubble of privacy.

Jisung leans back with a grin, pulling the menu toward him. “Alright, here’s the deal,” he says, his tone conspiratorial. “Minho’s love language is cooking. So just let him do everything, because if we try to help, he’ll hiss at us like a fucking feral cat.”

Minho raises an eyebrow, not bothering to deny it as he rolls up his sleeves. “I’m not that bad.”

“Bullshit,” Jisung says, pointing at Minho with the corner of the menu. “You’re worse. You’ll even feed us because that’s how you express love. But, and this is important, if you try to touch the chopsticks, he will swat your hands away. It’s like trying to take food from a tiger.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “Got it. No chopsticks. Let Minho do his thing.”

Jisung nods approvingly and waves down the server. “We’ll take the bibimbap ingredients and a platter of assorted meats for grilling. Also, soju for me and her, and soda for the chef over here.”

Minho snorts as the server leaves, setting the table with plates and utensils before disappearing. “I like how I’m reduced to chef.”

Jisung leans over, kissing Minho’s cheek. “You’re my sexy chef.”

Minho rolls his eyes but smiles as he starts arranging the grilling tools. When the server returns with the soju and soda, Jisung pours a generous shot for you and himself, raising his glass. “To surviving ice skating with minimal injuries.”

“And to your future culinary masterpiece,” you add, clinking your glass against his before taking a sip.

Minho sets the platter of meats on the grill, the sizzle filling the room as the aroma of seasoned beef wafts through the air. He works methodically, flipping the strips of meat, his expression calm and focused.

Meanwhile, Jisung turns his attention to you. “Alright, random question time. What’s your favourite colour? And if you say blue just because you’re wearing it, I’m calling bullshit.”

You laugh, swirling your soju. “Green, actually.”

Jisung gasps dramatically. “Minho! Green! She’s practically your soulmate. Your plants would love her.”

Minho glances up from the grill, his lips twitching into a smirk. “I think my plants would approve.”

Jisung continues firing off questions. Your favourite ice cream flavour, your go-to karaoke song, your weirdest hobby. Somewhere along the line, the conversation shifts, and he dives headfirst into the Princess Diana conspiracy theories.

“So, hear me out,” Jisung says, leaning forward like he’s about to drop the secret of the century. “What if it wasn’t an accident? What if one of the British MI-”

“Oh, please,” you interrupt, waving your chopsticks. “Jeongin and I have been over this a million times. It was too convenient. The paparazzi were just a cover.”

Minho shakes his head, flipping the meat. “Are we really doing this?”

“Yes,” you and Jisung reply in unison, making Minho chuckle despite himself.

As the meat finishes grilling, Minho picks up a perfectly cooked strip with his chopsticks and holds it out to you. You instinctively reach out to take it, but Minho swats your hand away with a sharp flick of his fingers.

“Uh-uh,” he says, his voice amused. “Open.”

You blink, momentarily surprised, but you do as he says. Minho gently feeds you the meat, his eyes watching yours as you chew. It’s tender and flavorful, the perfect bite.

“Good?” he asks, his tone soft.

“Perfect,” you reply, feeling warmth bloom in your chest.

Jisung claps his hands together. “Alright, chef, my turn!” He leans forward eagerly, and Minho rolls his eyes but obliges, holding out a piece of meat for him as well.

Two hours and several bottles of soju later, the three of you spill out of the restaurant. The night air is cool against your flushed skin as you giggle uncontrollably, your arm hooked tightly around Minho’s. On his other side, Jisung stumbles, nearly tripping over his own feet before Minho steadies him with a firm grip.

“You two are ridiculous,” Minho mutters, but there’s a soft smile tugging at his lips as he watches you and Jisung dissolve into another fit of laughter.

“You love it,” Jisung says, slurring slightly as he leans heavily against Minho. His gold chain glints under the streetlights, and his grin is unabashedly cheeky.

“I think I like you, Min,” you declare dramatically, clutching his arm like he’s your lifeline.

“You’re adorable,” Minho replies dryly, his tone betraying the affection in his eyes. “Now let’s get you both into the car before you faceplant on the sidewalk.”

With one of you on each arm, Minho expertly guides you both to the car, his patience saintlike as you and Jisung trip over your own feet. By the time you reach the car, you’re hiccupping with laughter, and Jisung is humming a song that doesn’t seem to have an actual melody.

Minho sighs, opening the back door and gently manoeuvring Jisung inside first. “In you go, jagi,” he says, pushing him into the seat.

Jisung flops back with a dramatic groan, throwing an arm over his eyes. “This is so comfy,” he mutters.

Minho turns to you next, his hands firm but careful as he helps you into the seat beside Jisung. “Your turn,” he says, buckling your seatbelt like you’re a tipsy toddler. “Try not to kill each other back here, okay?”

You nod solemnly, which would be more convincing if you weren’t giggling the entire time. Minho finally shuts the door and rounds the car, sliding into the driver’s seat with a long-suffering sigh.

As he starts the engine, he hears a faint click from the backseat. Glancing in the rearview mirror, his eyes widen at the sight. You’ve unbuckled your seatbelt and climbed onto Jisung’s lap, your hands tangled in his hair as your mouths move together in a heated kiss. Jisung’s hands are on your hips, guiding them to rock against him as he groans into your mouth.

Minho bites his lip, his grip tightening on the steering wheel as he feels a rush of heat pool low in his stomach. “Fucking hell,” he mutters under his breath, his eyes flicking between the road and the mirror.

Jisung’s fingers slide down to your ass, gripping it tightly as his other hand tangles in your hair, tilting your head to deepen the kiss. The sound of your soft whimpers and Jisung’s quiet groans fills the car, and Minho feels his self-control slipping with every passing second.

“You’re our girl now, yeah?” Jisung murmurs against your lips, his voice rough with want.

You nod silently, your breath coming in short, desperate gasps. Jisung’s grin is wicked as he presses another searing kiss to your lips, pulling you closer and making your hips grind harder against him.

From the front seat, Minho exhales sharply. “So much for romancing it,” he says, his voice strained as he adjusts himself in the driver’s seat.

Jisung pulls back just enough to smirk at Minho in the mirror. “I think she likes this way,” he says, his tone teasing as his hands tighten on your waist.

Minho tightens his grip on the steering wheel, his knuckles white as he forces his eyes to stay on the road. But the sounds coming from the backseat are impossible to ignore.

Every soft whimper, every muffled groan, every wet, needy kiss reaches his ears and sends a sharp thrill through him. Despite himself, his gaze flicks to the rearview mirror, and what he sees makes his breath hitch.

Jisung’s hands are firm on your waist, guiding your movements as your hips roll against him. His head tips back briefly, a low, guttural groan escaping his lips as his hips buck up in time with the motion. You’re straddling him, your hands buried in his hair as your lips move together in a desperate, messy kiss. Your soft whines are muffled against his mouth, your body arching as you cling to him like he’s the only thing grounding you.

Minho swallows hard, the heat in his chest spreading lower. “Fucking hell,” he mutters under his breath, his voice barely audible over the sounds of your shared desperation.

Jisung shudders, his chest heaving as his grip on your hips tightens. “Fuck,” he groans, his voice rough and breathless. He presses his forehead against yours, his dark eyes glazed with need as his fingers dig into your skin. “You’re so fucking perfect.”

Minho forces himself to look away, his jaw clenched as he focuses on the road. The tension in his body is palpable, his breathing heavier than he’d like to admit. But just when he thinks he’s regained control, another sound from the backseat pulls his attention back to the mirror.

Jisung’s hips stutter beneath you as he lets out a strangled moan, his body shuddering as his grip on you falters momentarily. You follow seconds later, your head falling against his shoulder as a high-pitched whimper escapes your lips. Both of you slump against each other, your chests heaving as you come down from the high.

Your lips move lazily against Jisung’s in the aftermath, the kisses slow and sloppy but no less hungry. Minho exhales sharply, shifting in his seat as he struggles to ignore the heat coursing through him. “You two are going to fucking kill me,” he mutters, more to himself than anyone else.

Jisung glances up briefly, a satisfied smirk tugging at his lips. “Eyes on the road, Min,” he says, his voice rough but teasing as he presses another kiss to your temple.

Minho grits his teeth, refocusing on the drive. But the image of the two of you tangled together is seared into his mind, and he knows it’s going to be a long night in more ways than one.

Minho pulls into the driveway of the Alpha Phi frat house, parking neatly before cutting the engine. Without a word, he gets out and opens the back door, ushering you and Jisung out with a roll of his eyes as both of you stumble slightly, still giggling and leaning on each other for support.

“Upstairs,” Minho commands, his voice firm but laced with amusement as he hooks an arm around Jisung and places his other hand gently on the small of your back, steering you both toward the door. “Before you embarrass yourselves in front of anyone else.”

“We’d never,” Jisung protests, though his slurred words and tipsy wobble say otherwise.

Inside the house, the late hour has left the main floor quiet, and Minho takes advantage of the calm to herd you both up the stairs to his room. The cosy space smells faintly of fresh linen and the faint citrusy scent of his cologne. Minho flicks on the bedside lamp, casting a soft glow across the room.

“Clothes,” Minho says, rummaging through his dresser and pulling out two oversized t-shirts and pairs of sweatpants. He tosses one set to Jisung, who catches it with a wide grin, and holds the other out to you. “Put these on before you fall asleep in your fancy shit.”

You glance at the clothes, then back at him. “Do I have to?”

“Yes,” Minho replies, his voice exasperated but fond. “I’m not dealing with you whining about creased jumpsuits in the morning.”

You sigh dramatically, setting the t-shirt and sweatpants on the bed before reaching behind you to unzip your jumpsuit. Jisung is already halfway undressed, pulling the t-shirt over his head as his trousers drop to the floor. But when you peel off your jumpsuit, revealing a matching green lace bra and boyshorts, both Minho and Jisung freeze.

Minho’s lips part slightly, his eyes trailing over the intricate lace hugging your figure, the green contrasting beautifully against your skin. Beside him, Jisung groans audibly, his hand twitching at his side before it cups himself through his sweatpants. “Fuck,” Jisung mutters, his voice thick. “You’re so-”

“Don’t finish that sentence,” Minho cuts in sharply, though the edge in his tone is undercut by the way his gaze lingers.

You pretend not to notice as you pull on Minho’s t-shirt, the fabric falling just below the tops of your thighs. The sweatpants remain untouched on the bed. “Too warm for those,” you say, pointing at the pants as you climb onto the bed.

Jisung lets out a breathy laugh, tugging on his own t-shirt before flopping down beside you. “You’re killing us, you know that?”

Minho sighs, dragging a hand down his face before slipping off his beret and tossing it onto the dresser. “Okay, you two,” he says, his tone firm. “Bedtime.”

Jisung grins mischievously, crawling up the bed and pulling you with him. “Minho,” he says sweetly, his voice lilting with suggestion. “Let us help you.”

You nod in agreement, your eyes wide and teasing. “You deserve it.”

Minho’s lips twitch into a grin as he lets out a low chuckle. “Fine,” he says, climbing onto the bed and lying back against the pillows. “Go on, then.”

Jisung giggles as he turns to you, his hands sliding up to cradle your face as he pulls you in for a kiss. It’s soft at first, almost tender, but it quickly deepens as his lips move against yours with a growing urgency. The kiss is intoxicating, leaving you breathless as your fingers tangle in his hair.

Minho watches from beneath half-lidded eyes, his chest rising and falling steadily as his hand drifts to the waistband of his trousers. He palms himself lazily, his touch light as he watches you and Jisung kiss, the heat in his gaze burning brighter with every soft whimper and muffled groan.

Jisung’s lips leave yours for a moment, his breath ghosting against your cheek as he murmurs, “She’s perfect, isn’t she, Min?”

“Fucking perfect,” Minho replies, his voice low and rough as his hand presses harder against himself.

Minho lies back against the pillows, staring at the ceiling, his breathing still heavy and his body far too aware of its unmet need. The bed shifts slightly as Jisung and you snuggle closer to each other in your sleep, soft snores escaping both of you. He glances over and nearly chokes on a laugh at the sight.

You and Jisung, curled up like contented cats, are completely dead to the world. Your lips are slightly parted, your body curled instinctively into Jisung’s side. Jisung has one arm thrown haphazardly across your waist, his face smushed into the pillow, and both of you look blissfully unaware of Minho’s predicament.

“This is fucking ridiculous,” Minho mutters, though his lips twitch with amusement. The situation is absurd, he’s rock hard, practically squirming, while his boyfriend and new girlfriend are passed out like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

A giggle escapes him, soft at first but quickly escalating into a full-body laugh. He claps a hand over his mouth, his shoulders shaking as he tries not to wake you or Jisung. The harder he tries to stop, the funnier it all seems, and soon he’s burying his face in the pillow to muffle the sound.

Eventually, Minho gives up on willing his problem away. “Jesus Christ,” he groans, sliding out of bed as quietly as possible. He grabs a clean towel from the dresser and pads into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him with a soft click.

The warm spray of the shower does little to soothe him at first, his mind racing with images of you and Jisung in the car. He leans one hand against the tiled wall, the other sliding down as he exhales shakily.

The way you’d straddled Jisung, your hips rocking against him, the breathless sounds you’d both made. It all plays in his mind like a vivid, erotic film. Minho bites his fist, stifling a groan as he gives in to the memory. His breath comes in uneven pants, the heat of the water cascading over his shoulders doing nothing to cool the fire coursing through him.

“Fuck,” he mutters under his breath, his movements quick and desperate as he chases relief. His mind is a whirlwind of you, Jisung, and the heat that had radiated off both of you. It doesn’t take long before he shudders, his knees nearly buckling as he leans heavily against the wall.

The water washes away the evidence of his release, and he exhales deeply, feeling the tension finally leave his body. “Better,” he murmurs to himself, shaking his head as he shuts off the water.

Minho dries off quickly, pulling on a pair of soft sweatpants before heading back into the bedroom. The sight that greets him pulls a small smile to his lips. Jisung and you are exactly as he left you, tangled together in a heap of limbs and blankets.

Carefully, Minho tucks the blankets around the two of you, his hands gentle as he adjusts the covers. He hesitates for a moment, watching your peaceful expressions, before climbing into the bed on your other side. He manoeuvres himself so that you’re nestled between him and Jisung, the three of you forming a warm, protective cocoon.

As he drapes an arm over your waist, his fingers brushing against Jisung’s, a wave of contentment washes over him. The night has been chaotic, messy, and entirely unexpected but it’s also felt right in a way that Minho hasn’t experienced before.

He presses a soft kiss to your temple, then to Jisung’s shoulder, before settling in. “Goodnight, loves,” he whispers, his voice barely audible over the rhythmic sounds of your breathing.

The sun streams through the windows of the Alpha Phi frat house, casting golden light across the hallway where Jeongin, Chan, Changbin, Hyunjin, Felix, and Seungmin are gathered, whispering and snickering like schoolchildren. They’re huddled just outside Minho’s door, their curiosity about the previous night reaching a fever pitch.

“You think they fucked?” Hyunjin asks, his voice barely above a whisper but filled with mischief.

“Of course, they didn’t,” Seungmin mutters, rolling his eyes. “Minho’s too much of a perfectionist. It’d have to be candles, music, and some five-star hors d'oeuvres first.”

Felix giggles, clutching Jeongin’s arm. “But what if they did? Imagine the chaos.”

Chan, ever the ringleader, presses a finger to his lips to silence them. “Shut the fuck up,” he hisses, pushing the door open just a crack to peek inside.

What he sees makes him freeze for half a second before a wide grin spreads across his face. He motions for the others to look, and one by one, they peer through the door, their laughter barely contained.

Inside, you’re sandwiched between Jisung and Minho, still fast asleep. Jisung’s arm is draped over your waist, his face tucked into your hair, while Minho’s hand rests protectively on your hip, his body curled against yours. The blanket is haphazardly thrown over the three of you, and the peaceful scene is both heartwarming and hilarious given the frat’s usual chaos.

“Oh my God,” Jeongin whispers, pulling out his phone. “We need pictures. This is too good.”

One by one, they start snapping photos, their phones clicking softly as they try to stifle their giggles. Hyunjin nearly drops his phone when Changbin elbows him, his laughter threatening to burst free.

Suddenly, Jisung stirs, his face scrunching as he lets out a low groan. “What the fuck…” he mumbles, blinking blearily as he turns toward the doorway. His hungover brain processes the scene slowly, but when it clicks, he frowns deeply.

“What the fuck are you guys doing?” Jisung grumbles, his voice hoarse. He shifts slightly, making sure the blanket covers you properly, shielding your barely dressed form from prying eyes. “Piss off.”

“Good morning, sunshine,” Chan teases, snapping one last picture before ducking out of sight.

Jisung groans again, rubbing his temple. “I hate all of you.”

The commotion is enough to wake Minho, who sits up with a start, his sharp eyes narrowing as he takes in the scene. He spots the group of frat brothers clustered outside the door, phones in hand, and his jaw tightens.

“Jeongin!” Minho barks, throwing the blanket off as he leaps out of bed. “You little shits!”

Jeongin squeals, bolting down the hallway with the others close behind. Minho snatches a handful of tissues from the bedside table as he gives chase, his bare feet slapping against the wooden floor.

“Minho, no!” Jeongin yells, laughing so hard he nearly trips. “It was Chan’s idea!”

“You’re all dead!” Minho shouts, his voice echoing down the hall.

He catches Hyunjin first, tackling him to the ground and straddling him with surprising ease. “Open wide,” Minho says, his voice deceptively calm as he shoves the tissues into Hyunjin’s mouth.

“Mmmph!” Hyunjin protests, flailing his arms, but Minho grabs his wrists and pins them to the floor.

“You should’ve thought about this before you joined the fucking paparazzi,” Minho says, his tone dripping with mock menace.

“Min!” Jisung’s voice calls from the bedroom, cutting through the chaos. “Can you start on coffee and breakfast? You’ve got two hungover lovers in here!”

Minho freezes, his expression shifting from murderous to begrudgingly affectionate in a heartbeat. “Of course,” he shouts back, releasing Hyunjin with a pat on the cheek. “You’re lucky,” he mutters before heading back toward his room.

Jisung’s voice follows him. “We’ll be down in ten!”

Minho shakes his head, chuckling softly as he makes his way downstairs. He pulls out ingredients from the fridge, eggs, bacon, and bread for toast, moving with practised efficiency. As the smell of sizzling bacon fills the kitchen, he feels a sense of contentment settle over him.

Minho is in the kitchen, carefully plating up scrambled eggs, crispy bacon, and golden toast. The coffee pot hums softly as it finishes brewing, and he pours two steaming mugs, knowing full well his hungover partners are going to need it. The sound of shuffling footsteps and soft groans pulls his attention to the doorway.

Jisung appears first, his hair a chaotic mess and sunglasses perched on his nose despite the dim lighting inside. Behind him, you shuffle in, similarly dishevelled and wearing one of Minho’s oversized basketball shorts, the waistband tied in a haphazard knot to keep them from falling. You’ve also got sunglasses on, though they don’t quite hide the exhaustion etched into your features.

Minho sets the plates down with a smirk. “Look at you two,” he coos, his tone dripping with faux sweetness. “My poor, hungover babies.”

“Shut up,” Jisung mumbles, collapsing onto the couch and immediately reaching for one of the coffee mugs. “I can hear colours right now, and I don’t like it.”

You flop down beside Jisung, groaning as you grab the other coffee. “Min, why did you let us drink so much?”

“I didn’t let you do anything,” Minho replies, amused, as he carries the plates to the coffee table and sits beside you both. He starts eating without ceremony, entirely unaffected by the previous night’s chaos.

You and Jisung nurse your coffee in silence for a moment before Jisung looks over at Minho, squinting through his sunglasses. “Hey, Min,” he starts, his voice scratchy. “What did you do last night? We fell asleep pretty early.”

Minho glances at him, entirely unbothered, as he sips his coffee. “Jerked it in the shower.”

Both you and Jisung burst into laughter, the sound unrestrained but quickly turning into groans as the movement jolts your heads. You clutch your temples, wincing. “Fuck, it hurts to laugh,” you complain, leaning into Minho’s shoulder for support.

Minho chuckles, setting his mug down. “That’s what you get for overdoing it.” He stands and walks to the window, pulling the curtains closed to block out the offending sunlight. “Better?”

“Much,” Jisung says, his voice muffled as he leans back against the couch, coffee mug still clutched in his hands.

The three of you settle into the couch, the aroma of breakfast wafting around the room. You and Jisung pick at the food, your movements slow and deliberate, while Minho continues eating with the precision of someone who didn’t wake up feeling like death.

When the food is gone, you and Jisung instinctively lean into Minho, your bodies slotting against his like puzzle pieces. He wraps an arm around each of you, pulling you closer as he grabs the remote. “How about we put on something soothing?” he suggests, scrolling through the options until he lands on Bridgerton.

“Scandal and corsets,” Jisung mumbles. “Perfect.”

The room falls into a comfortable silence, the soft sounds of the show mingling with the occasional hum of Minho’s approval as he strokes both your heads. His fingers are gentle as they thread through your hair, the motion lulling you and Jisung into a haze of comfort.

One by one, you both fall asleep, your breathing evening out as you curl into Minho’s chest. He glances down at you and Jisung, his expression softening as he adjusts the blankets to ensure you’re both covered. His arms tighten around you, his touch protective and tender.

“You two are going to be the death of me,” he murmurs quietly, his lips brushing against the crown of your head.

Despite his words, there’s no trace of complaint in his voice. Minho sits there, holding you both like you’re the most precious things in the world, the quiet hum of contentment filling the space.

For the first time in a long time, everything feels exactly as it should be.

General Taglist: @nightmarenyxx

[husbandhoshi]

LILY HI ITS ME STAR!!! HOW ARE YOU I LOVE U AND WISH U ALL THE BEST MUAH MUAH!! also: perhaps smth a little naughty at 11:36 PM with lab partner!wonwoo 👀👀

tags: college!au, inexperienced!wonwoo x f!reader, nerd!wonwoo, experienced!yn, oral (m!receiving)

[11:36]

wonwoo has never liked chemistry.

the periodic table looks like a colorful placemat and a titration might as well be a long winded recipe for a terrible cocktail. (although the ones at the delta tau delta chemistry themed party were good. they served them in little beakers, and wonwoo thought those were quite cute. that was also the party where he met you.)

speaking of you—unlike chemistry, wonwoo does, however, like you a great deal.

which makes chemistry much more tolerable because you are his lab partner.

on the first day of lab, when they had asked the class to pair up, you walked over to him, and wonwoo almost melted right into the ground.

"you're the only one here i know," you whispered, waiting for him to lean down to your height. he did, and you smelled like cherries. "we talked at the delt party. wonwoo, right?"

"yes, i'm wonwoo," he had said, words tripping and tumbling off of his tongue like he was learning to speak for the first time.

it was no better at the party, except he was drunk and you were drunker, and you had made the grave mistake of asking him what classes he was taking. two mike's hard lemonades and a battery acid vodka shot later, his dumb ass was still talking about emily dickinson, and you, somehow, were standing there in those mile-high heels, listening as if he was the most interesting guy at the party.

i think she's totally into you, mingyu had said, in that loud, spitty cadence he has when he's 90% beer.

don't be ridiculous.

but then you had asked wonwoo to walk you to your dorm, and you took the long way, winding right through campus.

he doesn't dream often, but he thinks the one he had that night was red and smelled like your lip gloss.

now, he thanks god for the miracle that is you in an oversized hoodie and shorts in his room past sundown.

granted, you're there to work on the last lab report of the term, and he had seen you just two nights ago at the kappa party, but wonwoo thinks he likes this version of you best. (that night, you had tried to break in your new heels. he ended up holding onto them, and you ended up holding onto him on the drunken stumble home. whether it was for support or for something else, wonwoo doesn't know, but he wishes he wore something different than the ratty polo from the back of his closet.)

"thanks for all your help," you say, closing your lab notebook. "i don't know how you're so good at all of this."

"i'm not," he laughs. he hands you your pencil case with the sailor moon charm, the one you were so proud to show him when he mentioned he watched anime. "it was all you."

you wave him off and bend down to put your things in your bag.

wonwoo tries his best to avert his eyes. he really does.

it's a valiant effort. there's a book out of order on his shelf (anna karenina, tolstoy). he really should have put that gundam figure away before you came over.

and your ass is perfect, but that doesn't really surprise him because he doesn't think there is a single thing wrong with you.

"you know," you start, still rifling around in your bag. "i heard something real interesting from mingyu the other day."

"hm?"

wonwoo changes the backlight color of his keyboard. it does not make him calmer. instead he feels all the peely leather on his gaming chair poke through his sweats and he tries not to think about the little birthmark you have on the back of your thigh.

"he told me that..." you stand straight and turn to face him. there's a fresh coat of gloss on your lips, like a magic trick. "you have a crush on me."

wonwoo doesn't know what to say. he likes to think before he speaks but now you're walking towards him and thinking isn't really an option anymore.

"right?"

"um."

not good. he didn't think he was that obvious but he's no liar.

"fine, i'll start." you're standing right in front of him now, and he thinks the gulp he takes is audible. "i like you."

he watches your lips form around the words, glittery and confident, and if he wasn't doomed before, he certainly is now.

his near perfect gpa is doing jack shit to help him understand why someone like you, gorgeous and funny and smart and popular, would ever take a second look at the gangly boy in the glasses.

but you are—in fact, you're staring with an intensity that makes him afraid you can actually see right through all the clothes he's got on.

"i—" come on, wonwoo thinks. they're the words he wanted to tell you outside your dorm building three weeks ago when you said you didn't know anyone quite like him. "i like you too. a lot."

"good."

the first thing he learns is that you're forward, and he likes that.

the second thing he learns is that your lip gloss tastes like cherry.

your mouth is hot and soft on his. he thinks he died and went to heaven, and then you're kissing him again, catching his bottom lip between your teeth so he whines into your mouth.

the last time he tried kissing was during senior prom. his date stood on her tiptoes and he accidentally bumped his nose into hers and missed her mouth and the whole thing was a disaster.

and yet now, wonwoo feels like he's melted right into your hands. you lead and his body just knows how to follow.

"you're shy, huh?" you murmur, pulling back to look at him. "that's so cute."

he doesn't quite know what he looks like but his glasses are slipping down his nose and he feels the menthol sting of your lips all over his. there has never been this much blood in his cheeks but that doesn't quite make sense to him because he feels all of it going straight to his dick.

"you're perfect," is what the primordial ooze in wonwoo's brain manages to put together.

you kiss him again, and when he remembers to relax his lips enough, you're slipping your tongue in and letting him suck, and you moan.

wonwoo swears he could have blown his load right there and then—when it came to you, it really didn't take much, and now he's wondering what your skin tastes like, craving the cherry of your cunt.

your hand on his chest, sharp nails and glittery rings, trails down nice and slow. it feels like he's on fire. it's a wonderful distraction from the sensation of your teeth on the pretty, taut skin over his collarbone, but then you're biting and licking and he feels his balls get so tight and heavy in his pants he might just cry.

and then your hand comes to rest on his lap, right over his hardness, and wonwoo's about to protest—no, no, sorry, i don't mean to have a boner! i've never been kissed like that before in my life!—until you drop to your knees, right in between his parted thighs.

"has anyone ever touched you like this?" you say, voice low, dizzying. "anyone ever made you feel good?"

he shakes his head no, a new, sudden wave of desire climbing his bones.

mussed hair and swollen lips, you look more beautiful than anyone wonwoo's ever seen in his entire life. he doesn't know what he did in a past life to earn this but he must have saved the world.

"p-please," he says, but it's somewhere between a moan and a gasp because you're palming him through his sweats, the sensation foreign, thrilling.

"patience," you tease, and he would be morbidly embarrassed at the spot of precum on his pants if you weren't already thumbing at it yourself.

once you take his cock out of his sweats, he knows he's losing whatever battle he was fighting. he sees how your hand looks so little around it, and it's his nth struggle to make sure he doesn't just cum in your face. maybe another day, if he's so lucky.

"i-i might cum really fast," he confesses, because he doesn't know how to really say he's never gotten a blowjob before.

"good," you answer. unlike him, somehow you always know exactly what to say.

the third thing wonwoo learns that day is that he's fully, wholly, entirely obsessed with your mouth. with your slick bottom lip, with your tongue, and now with the way he sees your gloss-smeared mouth wrap taut around his cockhead.

wonwoo can never return to watching porn again. there is simply no one quite like you.

"f-fuck," he pants, the feeling overtaking him all at once. "feels so good, mouth's so good—"

one look at your eyes, big and watery and good for him, and he feels his cock twitch in your mouth. and then you start moving; you take him all the way to the base and then some. he feels your tiny little throat close around him, and the groan he lets out is nothing short of pornographic. he never thought he was that big, but seeing your eyes well up and your mascara get all dewy as you gag around him is doing something crazy to his brain.

it doesn't take long for you to fall into an easy rhythm. you're figuring him out so fast, and that would scare him if it didn't feel so good. your tongue's on his veins, the underside of his cockhead, and he's already gripping the armrests of his chair with white knuckles.

you sink down again and swallow around his length, let your throat do all the work, and wonwoo throws his head back, chest heaving. his eyes flutter shut, and the fluorescent ceiling light phases in and out of vision as you give him what could possibly be the best head you've ever given someone in your whole life.

"gonna cum s-soon," wonwoo manages. "you're so fucking hot."

it's either a moan or a whimper that comes out of you when he says that, and he thanks his lucky stars he has the wherewithal to put that information in his back pocket. he doesn't know when or how but his plan is to return the favor to you in full. and if that involves a copious amount of praise, he's all the better prepared because he has no shortage of nice things to say about you.

you take him once, twice to the base and wonwoo feels all the heat in his balls and his belly and then he's cumming, more and harder than he ever thought possible. he almost thinks it's like a piece of his soul was taken from him.

"d-don't have to swallow," he says, but you do, every last fucking drop until it's dribbling from your perfect mouth, and wonwoo is now fully convinced you are a real life goddess.

i'm an addict in the making, he thinks, but then you smile at him with those eyes, and he doesn't think that's such a bad thing.

he searches for the right words to say, something cool, experienced. it's a constant effort to be that guy for you because he's still not really sure why any of this happened.

"stop thinking so hard," you say, coughing once, then wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. "i can see your wheels turning."

how you can read him so easily is beyond him. he wonders if you knew he was in love with you the second he laid eyes on you at the delta tau party.

where are my manners, wonwoo then remembers, and the post-nut clarity possesses him to brush the hair out of your eyes and help you up from your position on the ground.

"i like you. i don't care how experienced you are."

he hears you, and he believes you. instead of arguing, he cups your tear-streaked face in his hands and uses his thumbs to wipe your cheeks.

"plus, i think i'm a pretty good teacher."

you smile, and wonwoo has the confidence to kiss you back, for real this time.

[awkward---bean]

today is where your book begins (the rest is still unwritten)

come one come all to read the newest chapter of the anyone but you au!

“You know what?” Kara asks, softening to a more amiable tone. “Just… let’s get through tonight. For them.”

Lena takes a step forward. Their faces are closer now—Kara can see that the black eyeliner under her lower lashes is smudging. To counter Kara’s white flag, Lena lets her voice drops to scorch. “Well, she’s your sister. I doubt the relationship will last long.”

At that, Kara’s brow furrows deeply, her mouth falling to a gape. No one messes with Alex. “And she’s your friend, so I think my sister must be out of her mind to see something in her.”

“Well, I might as well just go get a drink instead, then,” Lena answers, voice low and smooth as she takes another step forward, “and toast to never seeing you again.”

For a second, the warm puff of air that accompanies Lena’s words consumes every single one of Kara’s synapses when it clashes against her mouth. She licks her lips, taking in a sharp, shallow breath as her eyes flicker down to Lena’s, cherry red and gorgeously parted.

But then, just before Kara’s body can do anything rash and stupid, an ever-so-slight smirk of victory pulls at Lena’s lips. Lena smirks and turns to walk away, headed to the bar, and Kara is left so exposed and blindsided by her own reaction that, even though she’s two seconds too late, she feels the overwhelming need to reclaim her dignity. With a horrible, burning flush crawling up to her cheeks, she takes a step forward, furrows her brow, and raises her vodka coke high in the air, yelling out a very impassioned:

“Yeah, cheers to that!”

read chapter 1 here on ao3!

[caitlynmeow]

Modern AU

Cassandra has a death wish with the drinks she makes. Bela is surprised her sister didn’t get a heart attack. But that is only Bela, what does she know when it comes to the things that her sister does. As long as she’s handling this madness just fine, Bela shouldn’t have any reason to complain.

But the eldest daughter feels obligated to mention what is mixed with the vodka. Because different people like different things right? Some prefer cranberry, others prefer cherry soda, and then there is Cassandra’s mix which is vodka and red bull. Of course, it isn’t for show, Cassandra does drink that monstrosity and thinks most people are okay with this thing.

It isn’t only vodka. On occasion, Bela saw her sister mix espresso with red bull when she needs the extra burst of energy after staying up very late. How her sister didn’t drop dead after drinking that is still something Bela wonders about to this day.

Cassandra never listens though. She thinks it’s okay and as long as her body isn’t rejecting this then why should she stop?

On a morning while the girls were staying over at their aunt Donna’s house, Cassandra did toss espresso in a glass full of the energy drink. It was then that the three sisters saw their very kind and very soft-spoken aunt snap.

Donna is very against energy drinks. To the Italian woman, if you need energy you get it from caffeine that’s either in tea or coffee, and that’s about it. Energy drinks are a huge no in her book and she often speaks about it. To see her niece nonchalantly mix two things that have no business mixing together, the woman was sent over the edge.

Donna might have over-dramatized it. She didn’t have to go as far as to mention how she would tell Alcina that she stood by while her daughter killed herself. Because the woman is convinced that the second Cassandra drinks the beverage, her soul will depart from her body.

Daniela, trying to help her aunt calm down, mentioned that she should relax because “Cass does this a lot you really don’t—“ But she was interrupted because what do you mean she does this frequently?

Donna wonders how Alcina allows this. To which the daughters gulped because their mother doesn’t really know and they figured that what Alcina didn’t know wasn’t going to hurt her. But of course, Cassandra is cocky and thought her aunt wouldn’t even know what red bull is which is apparently not true at all.

[dcbbw]

Cocktail

This is just a thought that was in my brain, and I finally decided to write it out. It’s not even a full fic; at under 700 words, drabble is the only way to describe it. Not sure if it’s part of an existing AU or something new; for now, it just is.

If you read this, THANK YOU. Your likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated more than you realize. Please excuse any and all typos, missing/extraneous words, and/or grammatical errors. MS Editor rates this 100% error-free.

Contains my version of PB characters

Song Inspo: 4am, soft siren/CASHFORGOLD/Sidewalks and Skeletons

Word Count: 635

Riley Brooks poured herself a cocktail. It was 6:30 am, far too early for alcohol but she justified her actions by telling herself that the orange juice made it breakfast. Besides, day drinking was a thing now. As she mixed her ingredients together, she reflected on how every major milestone of her Cordonian adventure had been punctuated by a drink.

The night of the Coronation, when she returned to Ramsford with her mind and soul filled with confusion and hurt, Maxwell had brought her a whiskey sour filled with cherries and garnished with wedges of lemon and lime. A boozy fruit salad. The sweetness of the cherries blended with the tartness of the citrus to soothe the burn of the sour mash and numb her heart.

The night in France during the Engagement Tour when Drake took her to the billiards hall. He suggested drinks and that she have a mojito: a blend of sweet and minty muddled to allow each ingredient to assault her tastebuds with every swallow. But Riley neither needed nor wanted muddled. Her emotions were enough of a mess. Liam’s words were a complete contradiction to his actions. No, Riley Brooks needed straightforward and blunt. She chose a whiskey neat. And felt the need for another one after Drake leaned her over the pool table, his hardness pressing invitingly through the denim of his jeans and into her ass cleavage.

Sitting along the darkened banks of the Siene River, enjoying rustic bread and aged cheeses with Liam as he waxed poetically about their future, even though the chances of finding Tariq were growing slimmer with each moment that passed. Riley drank deeply of the French red wine, letting it warm her insides and wrap her in a hazy comfort. Perhaps she and Liam weren’t meant for open daylight; maybe he wasn’t protecting his father for the most fucked-up fuckery she had ever been subjected to. Just maybe, Liam was protecting her and their love, keeping them tucked under the cover of night and away from prying eyes and wagging tongues.

The sloe gin fizz the night of the wedding party had tasted of bittersweet victory. Her name had finally been cleared to Cordonia’s satisfaction, but the disingenuity and boot licking towards her by the nobility and elite merely because their King had ordered it, made the victory a hollow one. They were only sorry to be wrong in their assumptions and gossip, which made them dislike and mistrust her even further. 

There was no liquor at the Statue of Liberty the night of the proposal; Riley chose to make her coffee Irish at breakfast the following morning. She knew her answer would hurt people; the announcement before the meal was served confirmed it. While her intended grinned broadly and gushed eagerly over her, Riley sipped the strong beverage, avoiding gazes and offering a wan smile when she did catch someone’s eye.

On her wedding night, tepid champagne sat in a bucket filled with melted ice. The bubbles that had fizzed and hissed in their flutes when she and her husband toasted each other were now flat. Their bodies were slick with sweat, their breathing labored as the bride and groom lay in each other’s arms, whispering promises and sweet nothings to each other.

The sparkling cider when she told her husband they were pregnant; with a loud yell of happiness, he had picked her up and swung her around, prompting her to throw up all over his shirt and the carpet.

And now this morning, vodka and orange juice. A screwdriver. She needed the sharpness of the vodka to strengthen her resolve and solidify her courage. The orange juice would make her tears not as bitter and her words sweeter. Not that it would make a difference. 

Because five years, two children, and a trail of lies, failures, and broken promises later, today Riley Brooks was going to ask her husband for a divorce and sole custody of their children.

Tagging:  @jared2612​​​ @ao719​​​ @marietrinmimi​​​ @queenjilian​​​ @indiacater​​​ @kingliam2019​​​ @bebepac​​​ @liamxs-world​​​ @mom2000aggie​​​ @liamrhysstalker2020​​​ ​ @twinkleallnight​​​ @umccall71​​​ @superharriet���​​ @busywoman​​​ @gabesmommie1130​​​ @tessa-liam​​​ @beezm​​​ @gardeningourmet​​​ @lovingchoices14​​​ @mainstreetreader​​​ @angelasscribbles​​​ @lady-calypso​​​ @emkay512​​​ @princessleac1​​​ @charlotteg234​​​ @queenrileyrose​​​ @alj4890​​​ @yourfavaquarius111​​​ @motorcitymademadame​​​​ @queenmiarys​​ @walkerdrakewalker​

[smallraindrops-blog]

Meet Me in The Sunflower Fields.

(part two)

(A sleep family series)

Summary: out of order snapshots of the hazy days of summer with cherry popsicles and the distant, happy laughter of family. Modern!au

Word count: 1.6k

warnings: no beta, nsfwish, kids being kids, mention of puking

Notes: this will be a daily series for the month of July. Super self-indulgent so beware. I will have a sleep family Masterlist out soon, so yall won’t have to hunt through all the tags.

Did not mean for this part to go this long. Lol

Cocktail

(Early childhood)

Even late into the night, the heat remained oppressive, a damp weight that hung over the land. Thankfully, some genius  had invented A/C, letting the house remain mostly cool.

Creeping down the hallway, you did one last check on all the children. The quiet noises of Hypnos putting away the last of the dishes only served you to move quickly. 

You and Hypnos had barely had a moment alone since summer began and you planned on enjoying your husband tonight.

The twins were first, both sleeping deeply in their beds as you checked that the window was locked. 

Icelos looked like a little princess with her white canopy gleaming in the warm nightlight, her stuffed bunny tucked into her arms. You tugged her blanket up a little higher, smiling when she sighed heavily in her sleep.

However, Phan had already kicked off his blanket, a comic dangling off the side of the bed from his fingers, his limbs starfishing across the bed. He looked so much like Hypnos in that moment, you wanted to laugh.

You went over to him, placing the comic on his nightstand and you adjusted him so he wouldn’t roll off the bed. Again. You placed the blanket halfway up, kissing his forehead lightly. 

Then Morpheus’ room was next. You paused, listening for any noise before peeking in. The lad was deeply asleep, curled up into a loose ball, done in by the summer sun and the new pool you and your parents had installed for the kiddos.

With a quick glance at the window, you whispered a soft ‘Sweet dreams, baby’ before closing his door.

Last but not least, was Phobetor. 

When you opened the door, you gave the floor a wary glance. Far too often, you - or Hypnos- had fallen victim to a stray lego. Once you were confident that you wouldn't be assaulted by plastic, you went to the youngest.

All of his pillows were on the floor, his beloved trex doll under the bed and the blanket were pushed off the end of his bed. His shirt was bunched up, showing his little round belly, drool spilling down his mouth.

He was sleeping like a rock. 

With an amused eye roll, you quietly grabbed his doll, tucking it close to him. It was then you saw the red lego under his cheek, no doubt leaving a deep imprint in his skin.

How in the world….

You debated if you wanted to risk waking him up but you couldn’t leave him with a lego stuck against his cheek. With a nervous grimace, you lifted his small head up and peeled off the block, placing him back down.

Phobetor’ face twisted and you felt your heart stop because once Phobetor was awake, he was awake for hours.

But your son merely smacked his lips and flopped to the other side, his back facing you. You let out a sigh of relief, quickly tucking him in, making sure the room was safe and hurried out. 

You paused in the hallway for a moment, realizing the lego was still in your hand so you placed the lego on a bookshelf as you walked past then hurried down to the kitchen to where Hypnos should be. 

When you got down there, you raised an eyebrow when you saw him with the hidden bottle of vodka, pouring a generous amount into a glass, orange juice waiting close by.

He looked gorgeous, his pale curls loose from his daily bun, his skin darker from time in the pool today. He was wearing one of his thin shirts, the chill in the kitchen enough to make his nipples hard under the fabric.

Your mouth watered.

Hypnos held your stare, still pouring. A moment later, he switched to the other glass.

Biting back a laugh, you went over to him, kissing his temple as you wrapped your arms around his waist. 

“Is there a reason you brought out the heavy stuff?” You dipped your head lower, kissing behind his ear. Hypnos shivered, his fingers groping for the orange juice as you pressed your weight on him.

Hypnos finished mixing the drinks, twisting around in your arms to scowl up at you. His hands rested on your chest, “Yes. Do you know what your oldest son called me today?”

“What did he do?” You asked, trying to remember if Morpheus acted up but nothing came. Morpheus had happily been swimming the day away like a little fish.

“He called me ‘dad’.” Hypnos looked devastated. When you remained quiet, he gave you an expectant frown, crossing his arms.

“You are his dad.” You informed Hypnos slowly. Wondering if Hypnos had already been drinking without you.

Hypnos rolled his eyes at you, pushing you away enough for him to grab his drink. “I am supposed to be dada. Not dad. Not daddy.”

He took a deep sip and poked you in the chest. “Da.Da. Nothing else!”

Unable to resist, You leaned down to press your lips against the shell of his ear, keeping your voice low. “Yeah, besides ‘daddy’ is supposed to be your title for me.”

Hypnos smacked your shoulder, gasping out your name in outrage but you saw the smile that formed before Hypnos hid it with another sip. Feeling left out, you got your cocktail and quickly caught up. 

You and him stood in comfortable silence for a long moment, enjoying the quiet house. No screaming, no dramatic ‘oops’ as something fell to the floor or fighting between the kids. 

Just blissful quiet.

”I think we should have another baby.” Hypnos announced as you took a sip, stirring his cup as he peeked up at you under his eyelashes.

You choked, nearly spitting out your drink. You slammed a hand on your chest, coughing after you swallowed.

”What- Hypnos, where is this coming from?” You gasped, staring down at him. “Because Morpheus called you dad?”

Hypnos shrugged, running his finger along the rim of his glass. His curls fell down his cheeks, creating a veil of moonlight around his face. “I just thought, well- The twins will be in school soon enough. And Phobetor could use a playmate.”

“By the time the baby is old enough to play, Phobetor would be in school as well.” You pointed out quietly. You finished your drink and almost went for more but held off. Hypnos still haven't met your eyes.

This certainly wasn’t what you were expecting from Hypnos tonight. You shifted, bracing hands on the kitchen counter, locking Hypnos between your arms. Hypnos polished off the drink before you took it away, but he still wouldn’t meet your eyes.

“Do you really want another baby?” You asked him quietly, studying the way he bit his bottom lip, the kitchen light turning Hypnos’ gold irises honey soft. He was beautiful.

You had loved him since you were a boy, even when he hated you and you hated him back, there had been a type of love there too. A childish one that had shifted and grew into something you wouldn’t trade the world for. 

And… and if he really wanted another baby, you would give him one. You and him would make it work. Somehow. 

You cupped his chin, lifting his face toward you. “Hypnos?”

His expression crumbled. “I want my babies to stay my babies. Isn’t that horrible?” He laughed with a shake of his head. “I should be cheering for every milestone, not becoming this selfish thing.”

Ah. Not even you could offer him that. The power to stop time was beyond mere morals.

”Nothing wrong with being sad that the kids are growing up.” You told him quietly. “I didn’t get a chance to tell you but Icelos had informed me this morning that she is all grown up and doesn't want me to help tie her shoes anymore.”

Hypnos gave a watery laugh at that and spoke. “And Phan had decided to be a fire truck when grows up, did I tell you that?”

You chuckled with a headshake. “A fine choice.” 

Hypnos swayed closer and you kissed him, wrapping him in a tight embrace. You meant to pull back, to finish the conversation. Really you did. 

But the gentle whimper, the soft lips parting under the pressure of your mouth, the warmth of his body against yours, made you linger. Hypnos wrapped his arms around your neck, keeping you close, the kiss shifting to something lewder. 

You silded your hands under his ass, lifting him up easily. You squeezed, smirking at the gasp it earned you. He fist a hand in your hair, tugging at you. 

Placing him on the counter, you gave another greedy squeeze, groaning softly when one of his hands went under your shirt, running up your stomach. Hypnos’ legs wrapped tight around your hips and you were about ready to carry him off to bed when you heard noise from one of the kids’ bedrooms.

“Papa! Dada! Phan threw up!” Icelos cried down the hallway, disgust clear in her sweet little voice. 

You and Hypnos shared a look of utter despair, realizing tonight would be another missed opportunity for lovemaking. 

Both of them went up the stairs, Hypnos taking Phan to get cleaned up as you handled the bed. Icelos was wide awake, toddling behind you as she chatted at you about her dreams about puppies and hotdogs.

When you were bringing up the new sheets, you saw Morpheus out of bed. At your questioning glance, he lifted a cup of water. “I was thirsty.”

Then Phobetor opened his door, tears running down his round cheeks as he wailed. “Papa, a monster ate mister red!”

“Mister red?” You asked before you could stop yourself.

“My Lego!” He wailed even higher, making you wince. Icelos was still chatting happily as her baby brother sobbed and Morpheus ran down the stairs for more water.

You sighed, closing your eyes for a moment. 

if Hypnos really did want that fifth baby, it was going to be a long while.

You heard the sound of more puking from the bathroom. 

A very long while.

[blursed-ninjago-ideas]

Whumptober 6

So I have to explain the context for this one a little bit. I guess call it SOG Red Shogun AU.

Kai uses his old Slither Pit connections to go deep undercover in the SOG. The team quickly loses contact with him.

Prompt: Recording

Randomly Selected Whumpee: Kai

Selection method: Rolled dice

TW: Alcohol abuse, various injuries, and a lot of vague but uncomfy implications.

--

“Everyone to the bridge. You’ll want to see this.” Pixal said.

Jay and Nya shared a worried glance before they set their tools down. Zane and Pixal were waiting for them when they arrived.

Pixal was staring at the screen with a strong frown and Zane was pacing back and forth. A bad sign if Zane was doing something so out of character.

“How are the computer repairs coming?” Jay asked nervously.

Cole came in behind him holding Baby Wu’s hand. It was still weird that the baby they had been taking care of was their sensei.

“The repairs are going well. Our situation is not.” Pixal said, not taking her eyes off the screen. “The virus downloaded several files onto our computer.”

Nya sighed in frustration.

“How long will it take to remove the malware?” she asked.

“You misunderstand.” Pixal said, finally turning to face the others. “These are normal video files.”

Pixal received three confused looks before Zane stopped pacing long enough to speak.

“The good news is that we have contact from Kai.” Zane said.

Nobody liked how that was phrased.

“There’s bad news, isn’t there?” Jay asked, barely keeping his voice level.

Zane nodded. He gestured to the screen as he pressed play on the first video.

There was a wave of relief to see Kai alive, but it was chased with concern at his appearance.

His eyes were unfocused and his skin was covered in bruises and soiled bandages. He was trying to wrap his knuckles, something he had done a millions times before, but he was having trouble with it this time. His hands were shaking too much and his movements seemed too sloppy.

“How’s it going, Red?” the voice behind the camera asked.

Kai barely responded. His entire focus was on wrapping his hands.

“Let me help you with that.” a female voice.

The owner slid into frame to sit next to Kai and help him wrap his hands. Her cherry red Mohawk blocked most of Kai’s face, but what could be seen wasn’t reacting. He seemed to barely know she was even there.

“He’s pretty out of it.” laughed the camera man.

The Redhead laughed as she finished wrapping Kai’s hands.

“I think we poured like two bottles of vodka down his throat.” she said “Top it off with the concussion and he probably can’t remember his own name!”

The camera shook as the camera man laughed again.

Nya felt Jay reach over and squeeze her hand.

“What is this?” she asked.

Zane just shook his head.

“Are you filming?” the redhead on screen asked.

“Boss wanted to make a presentation for his friends.” The camera man explained “Said to get some glamour shots of our little ‘new addition’.”

“This is just a part of his cover, right? I mean, he threw the wire out to make them think he was quitting being a ninja. This is just….” Jay trailed off.

“I do not believe Kai is faking this.” Pixal said, clenching her fist.

Jay wanted to argue, but Nya squeaked next to him.

The camera focused on Kai’s face again and it was undeniable. Kai wasn't sober at all. He looked like he had been dragged through the cursed realm and back with the dried blood caking on his face.

“Let’s get you in the ring, Red.” the cameraman said, reaching a hand forward to help Kai stand.

Kai mindlessly took the hand and nearly fell back over the moment he stood.

That was the end of the first video.

They all stood in silence for a moment before Pixal spoke.

“There is more.”

No one answered her.

She reached forward to play the second video, but Nya shot forward and stopped her. Pixal didn’t argue. She just took a step back.

“I believe Kai’s cover was blown.” Zane said, having calmed down.

--

That just felt like the place to end it.

Kai threw the wire out to maintain his cover and that left him alone. He was fine with the enemies, it was the "old friends" he wasn't prepared for. Old habits are easy to pick back up, especially when you're surrounded by bad influences. Kai ended up blowing his cover without knowing it, but by then the SOG were having too much fun playing with him. (I will stop rambling about this au now.)

-Ivy

[thepartyplug]

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[pisspope]

Attack on Titan + Favorite Cocktails

Part 1: Scouts

so I want to make actual cocktails that I feel like represent these characters but it's gonna take some time to craft. so for now here's the regular drinks I think they'd really like + links to the recipes if you want to try them for yourself!

I tried not to include rum in any of the scouts recipes because i don't think that's something they would logically have access to. Connie's recipe includes rum but it can be substituted with vodka quite easily, so i thought it was worth including.

Eren + Feuerzangenbowle

- a mulled wine, but with a sugar cone that u set on fire !!!

- this is one of Connie's favs too but they never let him make it because they don't want him anywhere near an open flame

- eren likes the mulled wine by itself too, when the scouts are in hiding he makes it as a treat on cold nights

- makes it as more of a social event as opposed to just wanting to drink. loves to gather everybody around him while he sets the sugar cones ablaze one by one

- his mulling experience makes him the best punch maker of the scouts too. In a modern!au he's always tasked with making the punch for parties and get togethers. he puts his hair in a little lunch lady style hairnet and gets roasted to shit by Jean.

Mikasa + Kirsch Royale

- red like her scarf 😱😱😱

- very very cherry flavored mixed with champagne

- like mikasa; beautiful, will knock u on ur ass

- historia introduced her to it at her coronation party. everyone's popping cheap champagne and historia Demands that they bring out the good stuff for her friends

- just likes vodka-soaked cherries in general; anything that's spent time submerged in alcohol is her finger food of choice

- if Jean/Mikasa endgame they bond over their love of cherry liqueur idk idk ((also kirsch?? kirschstein?? the flirting opportunities baby))

Armin + Aperol Spritz

- lightweight alert!!!!!

- usually a really light alcohol content, pregame type of drink. just a white wine and some sparkling water really

- armin has two of these when he first drinks and gets absolutely blasted. Someone (probably jean) snuck it from erwins office the night before shiganshina 2 electric boogaloo

- armin drinks it on special occasions. But he also likes to bring a pitcher of it down whenever he talks to Annie

- in the modern day he LOVES Pina coladas, but in universe he has no clue what a pineapple or a coconut is so

- when he goes to marley he also discovers blue caraçao and puts that shit in everything ("it makes whatever you drink look like the ocean!!!")

Jean + French Connection

- called "The Connection" because France doesn't exist

- just cognac with amaretto liqueur

- his dad drinks it; that's it that's the reason

- he thinks it's cool and masc because it's served in a brandy glass and only has two simple ingredients; wants to be seen as an adult and a man's man or w/e

- has a convo post-rumbling talking about how he "wished all alcohol wasn't so bitter tasting". man has had only cognac and a hint of amaretto his whole life. Annie buys him a sweet moscato wine ("her one good deed for the week") and his head explodes

Sasha + Rumplesnuggler

- literally creamy alcoholic hot chocolate (peppermint schnapps and Irish cream being the alcoholic part)

- sweet sweet sweet sweet sweet

- her dad made it for her one christmas and ever since then she's been hooked

- every time she drinks it it takes her back to the cold woods of her youth, of her loving family, and of her moms delicious cooking

- gabi and falco try the non-alcoholic version of this and love it too. instant sugar high

- she also really likes anything with vodka because it's made with potatoes lol

Connie + Green Demon

- midori and lemon juice!!! Toxic waste in a bottle!!

- azumabito brings a bottle of midori as a gesture of goodwill (likely called something else at this point) and Connie just 👀👀 "it's green. Like GREEN green"

- he's putting it in everything, like it's food coloring. Green water, green green tea, green coffee. Menace to society

- he lets niccolo try it and he ponders the taste for a second. "Let me try something". Squeezes a WHOLE LEMON into the glass (he's a chef not a bartender). Tastes it, immediately regrets it. Sooo sour. He's about to throw it out but lets connie try his concoction of the damned first

- Love At First Sip. man never tried that marleyan wine because it's just midori and lemons from here on out

- when he gets married they toast this instead of champagne. heck he might just get married to the bottle

- Connie Springer Midori Melon Man

Levi + Dry Martini

- my first thought was a U-Boot which is just beer with vodka poured in it. this man weighs 100 pounds soaking wet and 50 of those pounds have to be liquor before he feels anything

- instead it's gin and vermouth which is. Not much better tbh

- levi likes to be in control of what he drinks but also what he looks like while he's drinking it. No unsophisticated beer kegs or basic wine glasses. It's martini glass or bust. No martini glass? He'll just drink water.

- same with the olives or lemon peel. No garnish? No drink. he's a little picky

- definitely has a favorite bar that makes it Just Right. probably a bar he went to with Erwin when they were starry-eyed scouts

- in the modern day he also makes a hell of a mixer. Kenny 100% taught him how to make a killer trash can punch

?????????????????????????

Hange + ???

- do NOT engage hange in talks about alcohol do NOT pass go do NOT collect 200 dollars

- their fav drink does not have a name. it is a long island iced tea but made of GARBAGE

- the ingredients change every time but it is invariably disgusting

- attempts at mixing include: pickle juice, barbecue sauce, mayonnaise, seawater, bone marrow, olive oil

- every once in a while a combo will come together that shouldn't work but absolutely does. do not trust this miracle to happen twice

@lemmetreatya @nuri148 @uwubraun u guys said u were interested so!! here it is!! i did it. my opus. im gonna do the warriors next and i already have Ideas

[dreaminlittlenightmares]

Writing prompt: you mention before about how the Lady usually eats a guest who pays for the most. Can you write about one of these events? I just want to see the Lady being a badass and eating someone.

AU where the Lady is Hannibal Lecter

Title: It's Always Nice Having a Guest for Dinner Word Count: 805 Characters: the Lady, a Guest CW: Alcohol mentioning, Implied Cannibalism

The Lady quickly went over the list about her special Guest in her head. She was to entertain a noblewoman from the southern cities. The Guest had no known food allergies, did not have a specific diet, and preferred high-end vodka to drink.Seemed easy enough. The Lady had no preference when it came to who was to get her personal time. As long as they paid the price for it, they would have it; and, the "High Roller" Guest had to have paid a small fortune.

The Lady exited the elevator and slid open the doors to a private dining area. The High Roller was already there waiting for her, along with some appetizers and half-finished drinks. "Good evening," the Lady announced with a smile in her voice, "I hope you didn't have to wait for long."

"Oh no! Not at all" the High Roller cried out, "They told me you were on your way up. I haven't even touched the food, in case you wanted to eat first, my lady." The High Roller sounded so flirty, it was cute.

The Lady took her seat next to her Guest and picked up a piece of fried octopus with chopsticks. "Thank you for your kindness. But, the Maw prides itself on its cuisines. It would be a shame if the appetizers went cold before you could eat them."

The High Roller turned as red as a cherry. "Well, I heard you like people with manners. I figured it would be impolite to start without you." The Lady smiled and pushed the piece of octopus closer to the High Roller's lips. Her Guest ate it hungrily, as expected. The rest of the dinner went on like this. They both chatted and ate merrily, as if they were old friends reconnecting. Appetizers came and went, followed by the main course and alcohol. The Lady had a higher tolerance for drinking than the High Roller, and that came quickly apparent after four drinks.

"Uhnusher one, Miss!" the High Roller pushed her empty glass forward, "Tell meh aboush yuhr masssssk."

The Lady emptied the bottle of vodka out. "My mask?" she asked cutely, "It's nothing but a plain, white thing that protects my delicate skin, my lady. Nothing more."

The High Roller leaned in too close. "Buh whhhhhy dah masshk?" The High Roller slumped into the low floor table, making a mess of the remaining dishes. "Are you preeetttty?"

The Lady tilted her head to the side. "Would you like to see?" Her Guest nodded her head so hard and fast, it was a surprise her neck didn't snap. "Very well..." The Lady pulled of her white mask swiftly and glanced down.

The High Roller gasped in wonder and started to drool. The Lady took the woman's chin and lifted it up from the litter. "Well? Am I pretty, my lady?" The Guest was too stunned to answer verbally. She nodded again with a small 'uh huh'. The wonder in her small, beady eyes turned to desire the longer she looked at the Lady. "Would you like a kiss, my lady?" Again, the Guest nodded without thinking; and the Mistress of the Maw was happy to oblige. She lowered her lips to hers and gave the High Roller a cold, sweet kiss.

The Guest didn't resist; or rather, couldn't. She felt a breath of iciness slither down her throat and freezing her insides. But the kiss was so sweet, she didn't mind the cold. The Lady, however, pulled away and pushed the Guest onto her back. She stood over her and sighed. "Thank you for being a patron of the Maw," she said coolly, "Your sacrifice will be remembered at the next dining service." She flexed her hand into a claw and slowly closed it, like she was crushing a can in it.

The Guest reached for her throat as a tight, icy feeling choked her. She didn't scream, she couldn't. The Lady ensured that when she twisted her hand sharply, which broke the Guest's neck instantly. The Lady looked down at the dead woman at her feet and took in a deep breath. The dark magic that was in the Guest floated out and went back to its Mistress.

"Ahhh," the Lady sighed, but her relief was quickly replaced with disappointment. The life force she absorbed was barely a satisfying taste. She huffed and walked over to a panel in the wall. She slid up the panel and took the hidden phone, and dialed the kitchens downstairs.

"Hi. I'm done here. I didn't use too much magic this time. The High Roller had too much vodka, so anything that required marinating in vodka should be already done." She looked back at the Guest and paused. "I'll take her liver, though. Seared and with mushroom sauce, if we have any..."

[illegally-blind-and-deaf]

Treasure Planet AU Idea

Where Jim never managed to get the engine started again as he's falling down the crevice at the end...

And he keeps falling, and falling, and falling.

Until the planet explodes and all he can remember before everything went black is the pure terror flooding his heart as he plummeted towards death.

Except it's not death, because he wakes up in the middle of a snow-covered world, dark and gloomy and miserable. He looks around, trying to figure out where in the world he is. It's not like anything he's seen before, and it's horribly cold to the point that he wonders if he'll freeze to death.

He wanders along, watching as the snow around him cleared a little to show a city ahead, with columns of smoke from the factories rising above and glittering lights. Maybe there's warmth. Maybe there's an explanation.

He wanders in, glancing at the signs written in such an odd script he's never seen before, dangling across old shop fronts and painted across windows and banners:

кормить детей!

мир земля и хлеб!

He doesn't know what they mean, or what language it is. It makes no sense. Nothing makes sense and it's petrifying.

After what seems like forever, he reaches a towering palace, a glittering jewel in the heart of a tarnished crown. It's huge with turquoise walls and warm light spilling from the windows. He finds a back entrance and somehow sneaks in, making his way through the winding halls, following the scent of the most delicious food.

He should have known it would take him to a kitchen. A massive one, too. People of all sorts shouting, dicing, mixing, running, all hurrying to get the food done and on the tables. It's a good few minutes before someone notices him standing in the doorway, shivering at the warmth after the bitter cold outside. The chef who notices him beckons at him, speaking rapidly in the sake foreign tongue. He raises and eyebrow, startled and overwhelmed at the whole situation. The chef repeats that statement, more impatient, yet Jim stares blankly back. The chef mutters something then walks over to the boy. He asks something different, something about a Russkiy? And making a talking motion with his hand? Is he asking if Jim speaks their language? The boy shakes his head, hoping his guess in right. The chef stares at him with concern, then says something to his coworkers. Jim is too distracted by the delicious yet foreign food being prepared. It smells like heaven, somehow better than his mother's cooking.

His mother.

He missed her.

He wanted to go back and hug her and apologise for everything, but he couldn't.

The chef got his attention again and pointed to himself, uttering a single word. "Sasha."

A name. Jim pointed to himself. "Jim."

The chefs all shot him confused glances.

"Djim?"

Someone muttered something and someone else laughed.

"Djim... Dim? Dima?"

"Dmitri?"

They all stared back at him expectantly. Dmitri. It must be a name, right? Jim nodded, accepting his fate. He would fix it later. For now, he just needed to remember Dmitri.

Eventually, as time passes, he learnt their foreign language. It was Russian, as they lived in a country called Russia on a planet called Earth, and he was now working in the kitchens of Tsar Nicholas II. Jim, or Dmitri as everyone called him, soon proved to be useful with his cooking and cleaning skills, even if he was still limited in his communication with others.

He did improve; soon it was almost impossible to tell that he hadn't lived there his whole life. He spoke it with fluency, read it easily and even knew a couple of dances. He discovered apples and cherries and borscht (and vodka, though he hated it,) and became an expert in cooking Russian meals.

There was one person who caught his eye. Nicholas had four daughters, as well as a son. The youngest daughter was Jim's favourite. Red hair, vibrant blue eyes and an uncanny vocabulary of practice jokes up her sleeve.

Her name was Anastasia.

She would go missing when Rasputin cursed the family and the revolution killed them all.

Jim went into hiding. He roamed the cities of St Petersburg, stealing and conning to survive. He made a friend called Vlad, who reminded him of Silver, all those years ago when he dreamed of a thousand planets' worth of treasure. Now his biggest dream was getting out of Russia, which was proving very difficult.

Then, ten years after the revolution, there was a rumour in St Petersburg.

Anastasia was alive, and her grandmother would reward 10 million roubles to whoever could find her and bring her to Paris.

Ten

Million

Roubles.

A thousand planets' worth of treasure.

It was like a repeat of the past, except now he needed a girl, not a map. And a music box.

A girl by the name of Anya.

[eijishimas]

caught red handed.

18+ nsfw content. minors dni. all characters are aged up.

masterlist.

content warnings: f!reader, college!au, masturbation, mentions of alcohol, voyeurism, daddy kink, bit of a handjob, bit of oral (m!receiving), filming, slight degradation, creampie, one (1) instance of bakugou slapping your pussy.

notes: happy belated birthday to my bestie, @rekiri . you deserve the world and so much more, you’re sweet and hilarious and i fucking love talking to you, whether we’re joking or being more serious. i know you told me not to, but i really wanted to write something for you as a gift (because ya girl is a bit of a broke bitch). ik it’s not eren, kiri, or reki, but i hope you like this piece regardless. i love you, even if you annoy me to death, you whore /j. this one’s for you <3

wc: 2.6k | inspo (nsfw link): xxx

Everyone knew college was stressful. Deadlines nearly every single week, assignments and essays, not to mention attending classes brought a whole new wave of anxieties for students every single day. Sometimes that stress was either doubled or relieved by having a partner for a project or two. Luckily for you, you and your old high school classmate Katsuki Bakugou were paired up for a project for one of your Quirk Law classes. It was a research project, one that required a forty slide presentation. You were headed on your way to Katsuki’s dorm today to work on it at the time you agreed upon: 5pm. Then you two would study together for upcoming midterms. It was all planned out down to a tee. So at around 3:50pm, Katsuki knew he had time. He figured he needed a break from his Rescue Tactics Indoors II class, otherwise his brain would begin oozing from his ears.

Pushing aside his overpriced textbook, he rolled his shoulders back, hearing the cracks of his stiff muscles while he stretched at his desk. He let out a sigh, propping his chin up on the palm of his hand as he scrolled mindlessly through his socials. Mina had posted a Throwback Thursday post, an old one of him and you back in your freshman year of college. His nose twitched in annoyance as he recalled the parties, more specifically Denki Kaminari’s birthday party, where he had gotten so drunk that the walls melted and bent before him. Katsuki’s expression changed however, as he swiped through the collection of photos to stumble across an image of you and him. Have you always worn dresses that tight? You practically had your ass out from how short your garment had been cut, tits threatening to spill out of your low hanging neckline. Not only that, but Katsuki had an arm slung around your shoulder. His smile was stretched wide due in part to the alcohol in his system, but also because you were standing next to him. You were laughing at something Mina had said behind the camera, your hand tossed against the slightly unbuttoned shirt Katsuki had worn that night. Your fingers had brushed against his toned chest and he scoffed at the thought. Slowly but surely, memories of that party flooded back to Katsuki in waves.

They were mostly recounts from Kirishima and Mina, but apparently you two had made out in front of everyone that night. He swiped left again, swallowing dryly as he saw just that. Your manicured fingers were wrapped tight around his party shirt, tongues in a deadly dance of want and desperation for each other. Katsuki’s eyes grew as he noticed that the photo hadn’t cut out the part where he had been kneading your ass through that skimpy dress of yours. Immediately, Katsuki went to Mina’s dms demanding to take down the photo. And she did, thank god, but not without sending Katsuki more than ten photos of you and him making out at the party. He clenched his jaw, anger and a low desire plaguing his conscience. Glancing to the top left corner of his phone, he noted the time. 4:10pm.

He had time.

Saving the photos to his gallery, he pushed his chair away from his desk to have some fucking breathing room. His eyes flitted down to his sweats and as he expected, there was a tent forming. He groaned, wiping the sweat from his palms off on his pant leg before languidly beginning to palm himself through his clothes. His breaths quickened, chest stuttering as he looked to his phone displaying the photos of you and him. There’s a faint recollection in the back of his head of how you taste. Like cherries from your glossy lips, like vodka from the shots you took off of Denki earlier that evening, how you moaned into his mouth the night you had drunkenly kissed.

Katsuki tugged the waistband of his sweats down, allowing his previously constrained cock to breathe. It slapped against his stomach, heavy and leaking. Shit, he didn’t remember being this horny at the beginning of this. Spitting into his palm, he lubed up his dick as best as he could on short notice. His eyelids drooped as he swiped through the pictures like a filmstrip, a montage of all the best moments he had with you at that party. You grinding on his lap, you whispering dirty ideas you wanted to do with him later, you, you, you…

Katsuki squeezed his aching shaft, fisting his cock as precum dribbled down his slippery head. His face was an uncanny shade of crimson, a testament to how horny he was all for a few old pictures of the two of you. “Y/n.” He swore he barely recognized his voice from how breathless and needy it was. He continued to pump his cock, the only thoughts replaying in his mind were perverted fantasies of you bouncing on his dick hard enough to hear the slap of your ass cheeks against his abs.

Tapping the screen of his phone twice to zoom in, he admired your curves with pursed lips. Fuck, you really were gorgeous. Everything about you radiated a sinful nature he could never put his tongue on. You were tempting him, licking flames up his body with such intensity that made him shiver. He cursed, thumb drifting over his slit as he hissed. Fuck you for being as ravishing as you were that night, fuck you for making him feel so goddamn needy for your-

“Bakugou, I was about to text you but I remembered you were studying today, so I figured it would be okay if I came a bit...” your words trailed off. You blinked rapidly in an attempt to process the scene unfolding before you. Katsuki Bakugou, holding his dick in his hand, face on fire with a deep blush, his other free hand secure around his phone with- was that a picture of you from your freshman year of college? There was a beat of silence, Katsuki’s uneven breathing the only sound in the room aside from the low drawl of the ceiling fan over both of your heads. You gaped at him, tongue darting out to wet your lips upon realizing his hand hadn’t stopped moving. If anything, you saw his hand flex around his cock, further tightening his grip as you stood right in front of him.

“What the fuck-”

“What?” he beat you to the punch, his lips twitching into a devilish smile, “Don’t like what you see?” His confidence knocked the air out of you, your bewildered attitude showing true on your features. Your body feels warm, searing beneath his gaze. “Excuse me?” you squeaked out, overcome with both curiosity and a hint of lust for the ash blond.

“Are you gonna fucking help me or not?” His pride was refusing him to be flustered, not when he was this feverish for you. He needed the upper hand, he needed control over this situation. And it seemed by how you were shifting your weight from side to side, that it was happening just as he wanted. Who were you to refuse such an offer from Katsuki Bakugou?

And that’s how you ended up here, nestled between thick, muscled thighs with your hand wrapped around his throbbing cock. He had you spit over his dick, his entire shaft gleaming in all its glory as it stood to attention in your grasp. The flash of his camera burned your eyes as you suckled on his crown, hand continuously jerking his cock while he ravenously watched you through the screen. The guttural groan that escaped him was nothing short of music to your ears, your thighs tensing as the coils of heat continued to build and knot between your legs.

“Mm. Keep going like that, take it. All the way in now, like a good little slut,” Katsuki instructed, his voice slicing through the heavy atmosphere of desire. The words make you whimper, enveloping his sensitive head in vibrations while you lick around his slit. A large hand cupped your face, forcing you to make eye contact with the ash blond behind the camera. His black tank top truly had no confines over him, since it was tight enough to see the outlines of his pecs and ripped torso. Katsuki sure worked hard to maintain his appearance, but you knew he had the strength to back those muscles up. The thought of him completely dominating you, holding you with strong arms and pinning you down with his body made your pussy even more wet with your slick than it already was. Even from how you were on your knees, Katsuki possessed an unspoken will over you. You wanted to please him, make him feel good, make him have no good reason not to give you everything he had to offer.

You took your lips off of his head with a little ‘pop’, eyes wide and expectant as a string of drool connected your bottom lip to the tip of his cock. Bakugou’s smile grew, making sure your face was completely in frame and in focus. “Dirty girl,” he hummed, thumb tracing the apple of your cheek before guiding your lips toward his twitching cock. You slowly kissed the vein on the side of it, mumbling out four words:

“Your dirty girl, daddy.”

The moment the words left your mouth, Katsuki let out a low, gravelly moan. It was as if a switch inside him had flipped. Without warning, he’s pulling you off the floor and sitting you down in his desk chair instead. He’s a bit rough, his vision clouded by the sheer want to fuck you until you were screaming his name, until his name was the only word your pretty little brain could recall. He abandoned his phone and instead had his hands drop to the armrests of his desk chair, encasing your body as he towered over you. Your skirt was immediately shucked up your waist and Katsuki’s hands went to work on your panties. He ripped them off completely, tossing them aside without a care as to where they went. He gazed down at you with fervour, licking his lips at the sight of your dripping cunt.

“Who’s pussy is this?” he coaxes with a grin, teeth shining. His hand slipped between your thighs, his index and middle finger tracing up and down your slit. Goosebumps erupted across your skin, your thighs instinctively closing around his hand. Your face bloomed with warmth, eyes darting away from his cocky demeanour, “Baku—”

Your body jolted as a firm smack was delivered to your sensitive pussy, a wet, lewd sound meeting your ears as he did. It made a high pitched, whiny moan be pulled out from your throat.

Fuck.

“Try again,” he ordered, tone demanding and almost condescending. His lips ghosted yours yet he never had any intention of moving close enough to seal the gap between the two of you. You whimpered, eyes meeting the dark red irises that were staring straight through you.

“‘S yours, daddy.”

“Now that’s a good fuckin’ girl.”

His lips found yours, teeth tugging at your bottom lip hard enough to make the warmth in your stomach double. The liquid heat had been building ever since you walked in, and you were fairly certain that you weren’t going to last much longer.

He hooked your knees over his elbows, biceps flexing as the muscles in his arms supported your full weight. He picked you up with such ease, your arms flying around his neck as you squeal, gasping at how little effort that took him. He was a pro-hero in training, of course he had practiced lifting people up no matter their body type or size. Either way, it didn’t matter to him. He thought you looked rather angelic clinging onto him regardless. He wasn’t even breaking a sweat with his hands spreading your cheeks, grunting as he adjusted you in his arms. He slid slowly into your slick cunt inch by suffocating inch, your walls fluttering and enclosing around his throbbing cock. Katsuki’s breathing was unsteady, eyes watching your expression intently in hopes that this new position would give you as much pleasure as it was giving him. His ego was running rapant from how you were holding onto him for dear life. You were practically shaking in his grasp, mouth open in an ‘o’ shape as all you could do was gape at how deep he reaches within you. You were keening, eyes hazed with lust and nails digging crescents into his shoulder blades hard enough to make him hiss.

When you finally catch your breath and adjust to his size, you give him a curt nod as an indication for him to start moving. Slowly, he lifted you up off his cock until his head kissed your entrance before allowing gravity to do most of the work. This position had his cock nudging your cervix and it made the knot in the pit of your stomach squeeze further, threatening to snap with every loud smack of his balls echoing through his dorm room. He pistoned into you like that, reaching deeper to rearrange your insides. It was like your entire body was being engulfed with pleasure and fire. He took in your face, how it scrunched in pleasure, hair sticking to your face as you mumble out how much you want to cum, how much you need to cum.

“Fuckin’ tight just for daddy, hah?” he cooed to you, “You wanna cum all over my cock like a little slut? You were watching me from the door jerking off for you. Dirty fuckin’ girl. Who’s making you feel good? Say it. Spit it out.”

“You!” you moaned, your head feeling light from the way the veins on the side of his cock rubbed your walls, “You, daddy. Please let me cum. I w- wanna cum!”

“I can’t hear you,” Katsuki rumbled, eyes steeled before you unmoving and unwilling to give you permission just yet. “Please!” you begged, “I’m a dirty girl. I’m your dirty girl, daddy! Please let me cum!” You were too engrossed in your pleasure to have any semblance of shame. Katsuki grinned. That’s what he wanted to hear. He let out a tiny ‘tch’ before uttering out, “Then cum, slut.”

Without another word, you let out a final wanton moan, gushing around him as the liquid heat finally expels from your body. Your orgasm hits you in waves, your body quivering with each new sensation as you hold Katsuki’s cock within your cunt. Your nails leave angry red marks along Katsuki’s shoulders, ultimately sending him hurtling towards his own release.

Cum dripped down his twitching cock, your chest heaving as your legs feel like jelly. Tingles shot down your spine as Katsuki pumped rope after rope of his sticky cum well enough to paint your inner walls white. He helped you ride out your high, delivering harsh bitemarks to your neck to leave a mural of hickeys claiming you as his. The smile he gives you is cocky, prideful, and arrogant. He placed you back down on his desk chair, your thighs still going through the aftershocks of your high. Reaching for his phone, he tapped the app icon for his camera. He knelt down, chuckling as your fingers slid between your legs to spread your lower lips for him. His cum seeped out past your slit, leaking down to your puckered asshole.

“There we go. Aren’t you daddy’s good girl, hm?”

Tiredly, you nodded.

“‘M daddy’s good girl.”

all works © eijishimas 2021. do not reuse, modify, or repost.

tags:

@lonleyweeb77 @cynthus-no @lonelyheart-cluband @smhhyung @stoopidnekobish @kiridarling @kirislilrock @baku-deku1 @hajisuu @damnitcrowley @foruthemoon @peaxhcringe @justanotheruselessextra @izukuuarchive @katsuki-kitten @shokoarashi sorry i couldn’t tag all of you!

want to be on the taglist? see here.

[multi-kpop-fanfics]

Seventeen Masterlist

index: smut - 🔞| suggestive - 💋| fluff - 🌸| angst - 🌩| crack - 😆| horror - 🔪| personal favorite - ✨| requested - 💬| repost - 📌

Choi Seungcheol (S.Coups)

[20:56]🌸

[22:36]🌸😆

[20:34]🌸💋

Cherry Lips🌸😆

[22:46]🌸😆

Birthday 🌸🌩

the devil said...🌩🔞

Unholy🔞

Vodka Slime🔞😆💬

the kraken's girl🔞🌸😆

Yoon Jeonghan

[21:51]🔪💋

Hong Jisoo (Joshua)

[20:24]🌸

Fall From Grace🔞

half past five high (ft.Mingyu)🔞🌩

Masquerade of the Sinners🔞

Wen Junhui (Jun)

[20:43]🌸

[19:10]🌸🔞

Ride (Me) Back Home🌸🔞

Kwon Soonyoung (Hoshi)

TTT (Tipsy To Tease)🌸😆💋📌

Jeon Wonwoo 

[20:25]🔞

[23:48]🌸

Red Lights🌩🔞✨

Good To Us (ft. Mingyu)🔞✨

Good To Me🔞😆🌸

[21:15]🌸💋

[14:26]🌸😆

Trust Me, My Love - Teaser - Part 1 - Part 2🌸🔞✨

Getting Closer🌩🔞🔪✨

[20:24]🌸🔞

All To Yourself🌸💋

bloodlove - part 2 - one more taste🔞🌸🌩

love me tender...or maybe not🌸🔞

Lee Jihoon (Woozi)

[21:00]🌸

Lee Seokmin (DK)

Happy go-lucky boy! (sometimes not so happy)🌸🌩

Kim Mingyu

[22:12]🔞

Good To Us (ft. Wonwoo)🔞✨

Get A Grip (On My Collar)🔞🌸

half past five high🔞🌩

Hotel Voluptas: Check(ed) In (You)🔞

Xu Minghao (The8)

[00:24]🌸

Boo Seungkwan

[23:22]🌸😆

valentine's on a budget🌸🔞🌩

Chwe Hansol (Vernon)

[09:39]🔞

[23:06]🌸💋

Remember When🌸😆🌩💋

Lee Chan (Dino)

Be Mine?🌸🌩💋

hoodie szn (but make it jolly)🔞🌸😆💬

the drink is on me (I want your body on me too)🌸💋

the drink is on me (like your body)🔞🌸

OT13

What type of lingerie would Seventeen wear in bed: Hip Hop Unit - Vocal Unit - Performance Unit🔞

Reaction to meeting a shy and introverted fan🌸💬

Seventeen and types of physical affection🌸💬

What type of sex related content would Seventeen make🔞💬

Seventeen reaction to you using your safeword🌩🌸💬

Seventeen as types of kissers🌸💬

Seventeen reaction to watching porn with their s/o🔞💬

song drabbles

hybrid!AU drabbles