#ignore the background i gave up on it immediately

[zeroseuniverse]

Mean?

Word Count:518 Summary: She rolled her eyes. “You’re practically glued to me.” He smirked. “It’s not my fault you’re a great pillow. Pairing: Jeongin X Fem Reader

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The late-night movie marathon had turned into a cozy cuddle session on the couch, though neither of them would admit it outright. The room was dimly lit by the TV’s soft glow, and the blankets draped over the two of them made it feel like their own little world. Jeongin was leaning back against the armrest, while she sat cross-legged on the other side, pretending to be engrossed in the rom-com playing on the screen.

The problem? Jeongin had slowly inched closer to her over the last hour. Now, his arm was draped casually behind her on the couch, and he’d somehow managed to pull her closer under the guise of “getting comfortable.”

“You okay over there?” she asked, raising a brow but not moving away.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Jeongin shot back, feigning innocence. “This is peak comfort.”

She rolled her eyes. “You’re practically glued to me.”

He smirked. “It’s not my fault you’re a great pillow.”

“You’re insufferable.”

“And yet, here you are,” he teased, nudging her side.

She huffed, trying to ignore the way her heart fluttered. “Can you just move over?”

Jeongin gave her a dramatic pout, looking genuinely hurt. “Why would I do that? It’s nice here.”

“Jeongin,” she groaned, trying to sound exasperated. “You’re literally holding me.”

His eyes widened, an exaggerated gasp leaving his lips. “You’re holding me, you idiot.”

She stared at him, dumbfounded. “I am not!”

He gestured to her hands, which had somehow ended up gripping the edge of his hoodie. She hadn’t even realized she’d done it. “So mean,” he mumbled, shaking his head like she had mortally wounded him.

She tried to let go, but he caught her hands in his before she could. His touch was warm, his grip firm but gentle. He glanced down at their intertwined fingers and then up at her, his teasing smirk softening into something more sincere.

“I love you,” she blurted, the words slipping out before she could stop them. Her heart immediately leapt into her throat.

Jeongin froze for a moment, his eyes widening, and then—he grinned. A slow, boyish grin that lit up his entire face. “Oh, so you finally admit it.”

Her cheeks burned. “Shut up,” She muttered, looking away, but he squeezed her hands to keep her attention.

“I love you too, you know,” he said softly, his teasing tone gone. “Even when you’re mean.”

She glanced back at him, meeting his warm gaze, and felt her defenses crumble. “I’m not mean,” She whispered, though her voice lacked any real conviction.

Jeongin laughed, leaning in closer until their foreheads nearly touched. “Fine. You’re not mean. You’re perfect.”

She rolled her eyes again, but this time, she couldn’t fight the smile tugging at her lips. “You’re such an idiot.”

“And yet, you love me,” he teased, his grin widening.

“Unfortunately,” She replied, but her laugh betrayed the truth.

Jeongin pulled her closer, his arms wrapping around her completely this time. The movie played on in the background, forgotten, as the two of them settled into the comfort of finally admitting what had been true all along.

[isak-dot-gov]

Can you write an imagine where emily taking care of the reader when she is sick? thank youu

Sick Day

Pairing: Emily Engstler x Reader

Word count: 1245

Summary: Emily takes care of you while you're sick.

My Masterlist :)

............................

It started as a scratchy throat when you woke up. You ignored it at first, chalking it up to sleeping with the window cracked open and hoped it would subside soon. By the time the afternoon rolled around, your head felt stuffed with cotton, your body was aching like you’d run a marathon, and chills were running up and down your spine even though you were wrapped in the fluffiest blanket in the apartment.

You were curled up on the couch, eyes half-closed as the TV droned in the background. Emily had gone out earlier to run some errands, and though she’d texted to say she wouldn’t be long, you couldn’t help but wish she’d walk through the door already. Everything felt overwhelming—your pounding head, the way your nose refused to cooperate, and the effort it took just to keep your eyes open.

When the door finally opened with the familiar creak, you managed a weak, “Hey, Em,” before a coughing fit overtook you.

“Baby?” Emily’s voice was sharp with concern as she closed the door behind her. In a matter of seconds, she was in the living room, crouching beside the couch to look at you. Her blue eyes scanned your face, taking in your pale skin and flushed cheeks. “You look like you’ve been hit by a truck. What’s going on?”

You groaned, pulling the blanket over your face in embarrassment. “Thanks for the vote of confidence. I love you too Em,” you croaked, your voice barely audible.

“Don’t even try to sass me right now.” She gently pulled the blanket down, pressing the back of her hand against your forehead. Her brows furrowed immediately. “You’re burning up. Why didn’t you tell me you were feeling this bad?”

“I didn’t want to bother you,” you mumbled, looking away.

Emily let out a soft huff, her lips twitching into a smile despite the situation. “You’re literally my favorite person. How could you ever bother me?” She leaned down, pressing a light kiss to your warm forehead. “Stay put. I’ll take care of everything.”

You watched her disappear into the kitchen, the sound of cupboards opening and closing blending with the faint hum of the TV. She returned a few minutes later, balancing a tray in her hands with an assortment of items.

“Okay, so here’s the plan,” she said, placing the tray on the coffee table and sitting down beside you. “We’ve got soup—nothing fancy, just chicken noodle. Tea with honey because you sound like a frog. A cool washcloth and some medicine for that fever.”

You wrinkled your nose at the sight of the medicine. “No way. That stuff is disgusting.”

Emily raised an eyebrow. “It’s not up for debate. You’re taking it.”

“I don’t need it,” you insisted, crossing your arms. “I’ll just sleep it off.”

“Babe.” Emily gave you a look that was somehow both stern and affectionate. “You can barely sit up without looking like you’re about to pass out. The medicine will help.”

You shook your head stubbornly, burying yourself deeper in the blanket. “I’ll manage.”

Emily sighed dramatically, sitting on the couch beside you. “Okay, fine. Let’s try this another way. If you take the medicine, I’ll let you pick whatever we watch tonight. Anything you want.”

You peeked out from under the blanket, eyeing her suspiciously. “Even if it’s one of those cheesy rom-coms you always complain about?”

“Even those,” she conceded with a smirk. “I’ll sit through the entire thing without making one sarcastic comment. That’s how much I love you.”

You pouted but eventually relented, sticking out your hand. “Fine. Give it to me.”

Emily grinned triumphantly, pouring the dose and handing it to you. “See? That wasn’t so hard.”

You downed the medicine with a dramatic grimace, shuddering at the taste. “Ugh, you’re lucky I love you.”

“I know,” she teased, leaning over to kiss your temple. “And now you’ll feel better in no time.”

“You’re too good to me,” you whispered, your voice raspy.

“Of course I am,” she replied, brushing a strand of hair out of your face with a soft smile. “I love you, and I can’t have my girl feeling like this.”

Her words made your chest ache in a way that had nothing to do with being sick. You mustered the energy to smile back at her as she tucked the blanket more securely around your shoulders. She handed you some tea, holding the mug steady while you took a sip. The warmth soothed your sore throat instantly.

“Better?” she asked.

You nodded. “A little bit.”

“Good.” Emily reached for the washcloth she’d prepared, gently dabbing it against your forehead. Her touch was cool and soothing, and you let your eyes flutter shut as she worked. “You’re stuck with me today, by the way. No arguments. I’m officially your personal nurse.”

You cracked an eye open, looking up at her. “Does that mean I can boss you around?”

She chuckled, the sound low and comforting. “Don’t push your luck. Now eat your soup before it gets cold.”

Obediently, you took a few bites, the warm broth doing wonders for your aching body. Emily stayed by your side, occasionally checking your forehead and making sure you were sipping your tea. When you finally set the empty bowl back on the tray, she settled in beside you, pulling you into her side.

“Let’s put something on to distract you,” she said, grabbing the remote. “What do you feel like watching?”

“Something we’ve seen a million times,” you murmured, your head resting on her shoulder. “I don’t have the brainpower to keep up with anything new.”

She smiled and put on your favorite show, the familiar theme music filling the room. Her arm draped around your shoulders, pulling you closer as the two of you sank into the couch. You could feel the steady rhythm of her breathing, her presence grounding you in a way that nothing else could.

As the day went on, she stayed by your side, only getting up to grab refills of tea or adjust the blanket when you shifted uncomfortably. When you dozed off, she brushed your hair out of your face and pressed a kiss to your temple. And when you woke up, feeling groggy but slightly better, she was still there, scrolling through her phone with the volume turned low so she wouldn’t disturb you.

“You’re still here?” you asked, your voice thick with sleep.

Emily looked up, her lips quirking into a smile. “Of course I am. Where else would I be?”

You reached for her hand, squeezing it weakly. “I don’t know what I did to deserve you.”

Her smile softened, and she leaned down to kiss your forehead again. “You just have to be you. That’s more than enough.”

As the sun set and the room grew dim, Emily helped you get ready for bed, practically carrying you when your legs felt wobbly. She tucked you in, making sure the extra blankets were just right before climbing in beside you.

“You’re not gonna get sick, are you?” you asked, your voice filled with worry.

“If I do, you can take care of me next time,” she teased, wrapping her arms around you. “But for now, don’t worry about me. Just rest, babe. I’ve got you.”

With her warmth beside you and her steady breathing lulling you to sleep, you knew that even on your worst days, Emily would always make everything better.

[miximyx]

saw this in an "hermitcraft incorrect quotes" and had to draw it lol

EDIT: og post thanks to crystaleevee4 :D

[perpetuallyfive]

God, I'm so happy with what they did with Maddie Nolen.

I'm sure there will be plenty of people mad because obviously there was a weird backlash over a character who has sex with one half a ship, so I'm sure some people worry this will lead those people to feel justified in their initial response.

But ignoring people who can't emotionally regulate for a second, because those childish impulses aren't worth dictating the fun things a narrative can do: Maddie is SO INTERESTING as a character and she fills in a lot of the questions people seemed to have about the rest of the season.

Consider for a moment that it wasn't Caitlyn who convinced Vi to be an Enforcer. It was Maddie.

I know that some people took this line to be about Zaunites, a sort of obvious connection to the very racist idea of "one of the good ones," but since Maddie is talking about Marcus and his betrayal of the Enforcers just before this, I'm pretty sure her framing here is something else. The point she's making is specifically targeted at Vi's own beliefs and weaknesses, her desire to protect. That seems clear to me now with all we know about Maddie's capacity for manipulation.

She's not saying, "You're good, for a poor."

She's saying, "Wow, I agree with you, the Enforcers are really bad; it's so upsetting. I think you might be the only one who can change it, but only if you join us." This is what convinces Vi to do something she never thought she would.

Well, this and the fact that Caitlyn believes in her so much which, again, is information she gets fed to her directly from Maddie. It even seems like Maddie seeks her out just to say this, which on first viewing felt oddly convenient. Wow, Vi just happens to meet this naive girl who just happens to say exactly what she needs to hear to do something so out of character.

Except obviously none of it was coincidence. Everyone already knew how much Vi meant to Caitlyn and getting Caitlyn under control would require either controlling Vi or removing her from the equation. This was a push in that direction.

Then there's her more obvious role as the spy in Caitlyn's bed, there to reassure her that the Noxians are only trying to keep all of them safe. Then when Caitlyn expresses larger doubts, she's immediately ready to lay out an alternative. You could just give up, Maddie seems to whisper gently in her ear. Just reestablish things as they were before.

But she knows Caitlyn isn't going to go for that. She's not going to go back to the council as it was, because it's only going to remind her of the empty place her mother left behind. Maddie knows that Caitlyn isn't going to take this offer, which is precisely why she suggests it. She frames quitting as the only clear alternative to going along with everything Ambessa wants because she knows that Caitlyn will refuse, which leads her right back into alignment with Ambessa. She makes continued obedience into an active choice that Caitlyn affirms she's making.

Even Maddie's comments that suggest direct opposition to Ambessa — "you're our leader... I follow you" — are designed to frame herself and her true leader in direct opposition, just as Ambessa's own warning about entanglements is there to further that point. They both make a point of reminding Caitlyn that they are her true ally, isolating her further from anyone who isn't the devil and (other) devil on her shoulders.

This way Maddie and Ambessa can both tug at Caitlyn, pulling in what feels to her like opposite directions, all so that she lands precisely where they wanted her all along but with the illusion of active agency.

And look, I'm not saying my read on her is gospel, because I think they intentionally gave us enough room to really speculate and wonder about her, someone who could have been just a background nothing character but ends up being such a huge part of the second season. That's so interesting!

I especially love that she comes across as really naive and innocent, just some poor little thing swept up in the fervor, when in reality she's a true believer who has been manipulating things to go her way from the start.

[jo-speaks]

APOLOGY ACCEPTED

overview: after quinn receives the silent treatment, he's determined to make it up to you.

warnings: smut below! MDNI!! fingering, unprotected sex, quinn being an asshole but he makes up for it, etc.

note: got inspired to write bc the canucks beat the blackhawks!! (i was worried after they gave up that first goal)

“Will you quit acting like a child and just talk to me?”

You scoffed at his comment, slipping off your shoes and hanging your keys up by the door, Quinn following behind you.

In his eyes, you had no real reason to be upset. You had attended the Canucks and Islanders game, the game ending in a loss. You expected Quinn to be in a mood, a quiet one at that, so you didn’t make much of an effort to talk to him.

However, you hadn’t expected him to dodge your greeting entirely. No matter how upset he was, he’d always greet you with a hug and a kiss. This night, he had let you make a fool out of yourself, letting you wrap your arms around him as he failed to reciprocate it, being followed by walking away as you just nearly connected your lips to his.

This resulted in your current situation. You giving him the silent treatment. He had attempted to spark a conversation in the car once he had calmed down but fell victim to your silence.

He groaned in annoyance as you stepped into your shared bedroom, slipping out a few moments later in your own oversized shirt, something you only did when you were truly upset at him. You found solace on the couch, grabbing the remote and throwing some random video on in the background. Quinn watched as you didn’t even glance at him, his presence completely nonexistent in your state of anger. 

He sighed walking into the room you once were in to change into something more comfortable than the suit he had entered the arena in. It was only when he slipped into his sweatpants was it that he realized that he was the one in the wrong. You had taken time out of your day to come out and support him, offering comfort even after a tough loss. 

Quinn debated with himself in his own mind, brainstorming ways to make it up to you. He could get on his knees and beg for your forgiveness, smothering you with kisses until you forgave him or even spoke to him by telling him to stop. He could spoil you with gifts for the next year. He was feeling so unworthy of you that he briefly considered retiring early just to spend the whole time making it up to you. 

Suddenly, a lightbulb went off in his head. He stripped off the shirt that he had put on only a few moments prior and stepped back into the living room. 

His eyes were met with a slightly different scene than when he had left. Instead of mindlessly watching the TV, you were on your phone. He could catch a small glimpse of your screen, seeing you like a post from the Canucks Instagram page of him hugging Lekkerimäki after scoring his first NHL goal, zooming in to get a good look at his proud smile.

Quinn could feel his stomach twist at your actions, regretting every single second he had gone without apologizing to you.

You soon went back to scrolling your feed, trying to ignore Quinn’s presence as he squatted in front of you, turning the TV volume down before shifting his attention to you.

He sighed, “I’m sorry, baby. I’m so, so sorry.”

It was genuine, you knew that. But he was going to have to say a lot more than sorry after what he pulled. Quinn knew this too, immediately crowding your space, taking your phone out of your hands, and placing it on the coffee table. You rolled your eyes, shifting your gaze at the TV behind him even though it was barely coherent. 

Quinn didn’t stop his efforts when you ignored him, if anything it implored him to try harder. He began kissing your cheek, eventually trailing down your face and landing on your neck, sucking at the soft skin, leaving purple blotches wherever his lips landed.

You struggled to keep quiet as he reached a particularly sensitive spot on your neck, a spot he knew would make you want to drop it and give in. Somehow, you managed to keep your composure, distracting yourself with the TV.

His lips trailed further down, kissing over your shirt as he kept going lower. It was only that his kisses stopped when he reached the bottom of the clothing. He moved it slightly so he could get access to your shorts. He moved from his squatting position to hover on top of your figure on the couch. 

Now that he was in a more comfortable spot, his lips found your face again as his hand dipped into your shorts and past your panties. You bit your tongue as the pads of his fingers made contact with your clit, rubbing slow circles on the sensitive bundle of nerves.

“I’m so fucking sorry.” He mumbled into your jaw, “So fucking sorry.

Once again he trailed lower, his lips landing on your collarbone this time. His fingers increased their speed and keeping quiet was getting close to impossible. Luckily for him, your control slipped slightly as he pushed two fingers into you, a soft moan escaping your lips. 

He was knuckle-deep into you as he curled his fingers, hitting that one spot in you that caused a gasp to slip out. You were determined to keep quiet, but with every thrust of his fingers and tightening of the knot in your stomach, you wanted nothing more than to cry out his name and beg him to fuck you.

Quinn was relentless, not only with his fingers but with his words. He mumbled apology after apology into your skin as you panted, trying your best not to let anything slip. His mouth ended up next to your ear, his words seeming much more intimate due to the proximity. 

“Please forgive me, sweet girl. I’ll never do it again.” He whined, sounding pathetic as he begged for your forgiveness.

One last curl of his fingers and your body stopped fighting him. You came undone around his digits, crying out his name as you reached a hand up to tug on his hair. He sighed in relief, eyes shutting as he felt the satisfaction of not only making you cum but also hearing you acknowledge him since entering the apartment.

As you came down from your high, he continued to place soft kisses all over your neck and face. The satisfaction continued as you turned your head, your lips finding his like you had yearned for back at the arena. 

He retracted his fingers and brought them up to his mouth, wiping them clean with his tongue. You smiled hazily at the sight, admiring the way he savoured your taste as if it was his favourite thing in the world.

“Am I forgiven?” He whispered, a hint of worry laced in his words.

You giggled quietly, “I think you can make it up to me a little more, don’t you think?”

Quinn smiled at your words, stepping off the couch to discard his pants completely. You lifted your hips, sliding out of your shorts. He only got as far as to sit down on the couch before you swung a leg around his lap, straddling him, his eyes admiring you on top of him. 

Now it was your turn to litter him in marks, his lack of a shirt making his pec your first target. You sucked gently, grinding yourself over his bare cock, eliciting a groan from your boyfriend.

“Let me take care of you, hm? Promise I’ll make you feel good.” Quinn asked, hoping to at least be able to rest inside of you as you sucked at his skin.

You smiled, pulling back to place a brief kiss on his lips, “I know you will. But I wanna take my time with you. Just give me a second, okay?”

He knew he wasn’t in a position to complain, so he simply nodded, settling for the stimulation he was getting from your hips. Thankfully, Quinn was so easily marked up that you were satisfied not long after. You were always careful not to leave any hickeys that were visible under his gear, but you got carried away and now the media would get a short glimpse into his personal life. Not that either of you cared about it at the moment, however.

When you pulled away, you lifted your hips and shot him a look. He caught the hint immediately, lining himself up with your entrance and thrusting into you swiftly.

Quinn gave you no chance to adjust before he fucked you harshly. All the teasing you had made him endure got him so worked up, that he was surprised he didn’t finish as soon as he entered you.

“Shit, you feel so good.” He groaned, his hands shifting from your hips to grope at your ass.

You let out a whimper as you felt your orgasm build up yet again, the look on your boyfriend’s face making your brain short circuit. His eyebrows were knitted together, eyes glossy and cheeks red as a stream of moans left his throat.

“Quinn! I’m so close.” You whined, your face leaning into his shoulder in an attempt to hold yourself together long enough for him to finish with you. That vision was tossed out of your mind as Quinn brought his hand to your clit, his thumb rubbing around it.

A stream of his name along with some obscenities escaped your lips as you came around his cock, the pulses coming from your pussy being enough to tip Quinn over as well.

His movement subsided, the only sounds in the room being gasping breaths coming from the two of you.

Quinn settled down first, pressing languid kisses to the side of your face. “I love you. I’m so sorry.”

You smiled into his skin, turning your head to look at him, “Apology accepted. Just don’t ever do it again.”

“I never will.” He leaned over to kiss your lips longingly before speaking again, “How about we get cleaned up and order in some dinner? We can even throw on one of those cheesy romance movies you like.”

[mapis-putellas]

𝑵𝒐𝒕 𝒆𝒏𝒐𝒖𝒈𝒉/𝑨.𝑷𝒖𝒕𝒆𝒍𝒍𝒂𝒔

Spanish is in italics

The night Alexia ended your relationship replayed in your mind more often than you cared to admit. It was supposed to be an ordinary evening, the two of you curled up on the sofa after her training session. But Alexia had been distant, her responses clipped and her gaze avoiding yours. Then she finally said it, her voice steady but her words shaking your entire world: she couldn’t do this anymore.

Her reasons were all logical, rational even. She was too busy, her schedule too demanding, and she felt it wasn’t fair to you. But as much as her reasoning made sense, it didn’t make it hurt any less. Two years of love and memories had been stripped away in a matter of minutes. You’d begged her to reconsider, told her you didn’t need perfection, that you’d wait for her no matter how busy her life got. But Alexia, stubborn and unrelenting, had stood her ground. And just like that, it was over.

The first few weeks were unbearable. You threw yourself into work, trying to ignore the aching hole in your chest. Nights were the hardest. The bed felt too big, the silence too loud, and no matter how much you tried, you couldn’t stop yourself from reaching out for her in the dark.

Eventually, you started to put yourself back together, piece by piece. You weren’t healed, not even close, but you refused to let Alexia’s decision consume you. When a friend suggested setting you up on a date, you hesitated at first but eventually agreed. You told yourself it wasn’t about moving on—just an evening out, a distraction from the endless loop of memories that haunted you.

The restaurant was intimate, dimly lit with soft jazz playing in the background. Your date was perfectly nice—kind, funny, and clearly interested in you. But as charming as she was, you couldn’t fully focus. Everything she said or did reminded you of Alexia. The way she brushed her hair behind her ear wasn’t as graceful. Her laugh didn’t have the same warmth. You hated yourself for comparing, but it was impossible not to.

Unbeknownst to you, Mapi and Ingrid were seated a few tables away. Mapi had been mid-conversation with Ingrid when she spotted you. At first, she thought she was mistaken, but the sight of you leaning slightly across the table, smiling at someone who wasn’t Alexia, confirmed it. She froze, her sharp brown eyes narrowing as she tried to process what she was seeing.

By the time the meal was over and you’d stepped outside the restaurant, Mapi was waiting, her posture stiff and her expression thunderous. She barely gave you a chance to react before she stormed up to you.

“What the hell are you doing?” she snapped.

You blinked, startled by her sudden appearance and the hostility in her tone. “Mapi? What are you—?”

“With her?!” Mapi gestured wildly in the direction of the restaurant. “You’re with someone else? What about Alexia?”

Her words stung, a sharp reminder of everything you were trying to move past. Your initial confusion gave way to defensiveness, and you crossed your arms, meeting her glare head-on. “She broke up with me, Mapi. Over a month ago. You didn’t know?”

Mapi’s anger faltered, her brows knitting together as the realisation sank in. “What?” she asked, her voice quieter now, laced with disbelief.

“She ended it,” you repeated, your voice cracking slightly. “She said she didn’t have time for a relationship. She said it wasn’t fair to me. So, yeah, I’m on a date because she decided I wasn’t worth it.”

Mapi’s jaw tightened, her anger now directed elsewhere. “She didn’t tell me. She never said anything.”

You shrugged, your shoulders sagging. “Well, now you know. Can I go now? I’d really rather not have this conversation in the middle of the street.”

Mapi didn’t respond immediately. She was too busy trying to piece together everything you’d just told her. When she finally spoke, her voice was softer. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

You nodded stiffly, brushing past her without another word.

Mapi didn’t waste any time confronting Alexia. When she showed up at Alexia’s apartment later that night, she didn’t bother knocking—she stormed right in, finding Alexia on the sofa with her head in her hands. She looked up in surprise, her eyes wide as Mapi launched into a tirade.

“How could you not tell me?” Mapi demanded, her voice sharp. “You broke up with her and didn’t think to mention it? I just yelled at her in the middle of the street!”

Alexia’s face crumpled. “I couldn’t,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “It was too hard to even think about it, let alone talk about it.”

Mapi’s anger softened slightly, but her frustration remained. “You need to fix this, Alexia. Do you know where I saw her tonight? Where I yelled at her? On a date. With someone else.”

Alexia’s breath hitched, vision swimming with tears as her hands grip the edge of the sofa. “She was… on a date?”

“Yes,” Mapi confirmed. “And you have no one to blame but yourself. You pushed her away, and now she’s moving on.”

Alexia buried her face in her hands, her shoulders trembling. “I didn’t want to hurt her. I thought I was doing the right thing.”

Mapi’s tone softened, but her words were firm. “You love her, don’t you?”

Alexia nodded, her voice breaking as she said, “More than anything.”

“Then fight for her,” Mapi said simply.

*

When Alexia finally showed up at your door, she looked nothing like the composed, confident woman the world knew. Her hair was dishevelled, hidden under a baseball cap. Her eyes were red-rimmed from both the tears and lack of sleep, and she was clutching a bouquet of your favourite flowers like it was her last lifeline.

When you opened the door and saw her standing there, your heart skipped a beat. For a moment, neither of you spoke. Then Alexia broke the silence, her voice trembling as she said, “I made a mistake.”

You wanted to slam the door in her face, to protect yourself from the pain of letting her back in. But the vulnerability in her eyes held you in place.

“I was scared,” she admitted, her voice cracking. “I thought…I could not give you what you deserve, that I only hurt you by keeping you in my life. But I was wrong. I know it. Please…I want to explain.”

Without a word, you stepped aside, letting her in.

Her movements were hesitant, her eyes scanning the space she hadn’t seen in over a month, yet still felt so much like hers. She stood near the door, awkward and unsure, her fingers fiddling the flowers in her grasp, her thumb rubbing over the plastic wrapping in a nervous rhythm.

You closed the door behind her, your back leaning against it for support. It was hard to reconcile the Alexia who had walked away from you with the one now standing in your living room, looking so lost. Her mouth opened as if to speak, but she faltered, exhaling sharply as she looked down at her feet.

“Sit,” you said, your voice low and firm. You gestured to the sofa. She nodded, grateful for the direction, and slowly lowered herself onto the edge of the cushion, setting the flowers down onto the coffee table. She didn’t sink back like she once would have, her posture remaining stiff, as though the act of relaxing was too much to allow herself.

You stayed standing, arms crossed, creating a physical barrier between the two of you. “Say what you came here to say,” you said, keeping your tone steady even though your chest ached.

Alexia’s eyes darted up to meet yours, wide and glassy. “I…” She paused, frustration flashing across her face as she struggled to find the right words in English. “Lo siento,” she said finally, voice thick with emotion. “I—sorry. Sorry por todo.”

“That’s it?” you asked, your voice laced with disbelief. “You break my heart, disappear for weeks, and now you just say sorry?”

Her jaw tightened, and she shook her head quickly. “No, no! Not just…sorry.” She pressed her hand to her chest as if trying to pull the words from her heart. “I need…to explain. To tell you. But my English…”

“Try,” you said sharply, your arms dropping to your sides. “You didn’t care about your English when you decided to leave me. So try now.”

Her cheeks flushed, but she nodded her head. “I…I was scared,” she began haltingly, her accent heavier than usual. “Of…failing you. Of hurting you.” She clenched her fists, her knuckles white. “My life is…busy. Always. Football, travel, media…no time for you. I think…you deserve more.”

“More?” you prompted, your tone softening slightly.

She nodded quickly. “Yes. More. Someone who…who is here. Always. Not…far. Not…missing things.” She rubbed her temple, groaning softly in frustration. “I can’t say it…right.”

“You’re saying it fine,” you replied. “You thought you weren’t enough for me?”

Alexia’s head snapped up, her eyes locking onto yours, shiny with tears. “Yes,” she said, her voice trembling. “Not enough. Never enough. And I was…scared. So I think…leave you before…you hate me.”

You stared at her for a second before shaking your head. “You didn’t even give me a choice,” you said, your voice cracking. “You decided for me, Alexia. You took away my say in our relationship.”

Her face crumpled, and she pressed her hands to her temples, visibly frustrated with herself. “I know. I know,” she said, slipping back into Spanish as the words tumbled out faster than she could control. “I’m an idiot. I didn’t think about you, about how you would feel. I only thought about my own fear, my own insecurity. And now... now I’m here, begging you, because I can’t lose you. I don’t want to lose you.”

Tears welled in your eyes, but you blinked them back, determined not to break so easily. “If you’re so afraid of losing me,” you said, your voice quieter now, “why did it take you so long to come back?”

“Because I’m a coward,” she admitted. “Coward. I think…maybe you are better without me. But then… Mapi…she tell me…you are on a date.” Her voice wavered, and her hands dropped to her lap as she looked at you with so much raw vulnerability it was almost unbearable. “And I know…I can’t. I can’t let you go. Even if I don’t deserve you, I need you.”

The room fell silent, her words hanging in the air like a fragile thread. You moved closer, your feet carrying you to the edge of the coffee table. “Do you know what it’s been like for me?” you asked, not wanting to further the obvious guilt she was feeling, but needing her to know just what her actions had caused. “Trying to move on when I still love you? Trying to convince myself that I’ll be okay when all I want is you?”

Her eyes filled with tears, one slipping free and tracing a line down her cheek. “I’m sorry,” she whispered again, her voice breaking. “I don’t know how to fix it. But I want to try. Please…let me try.”

You sank down onto the coffee table, your knees brushing hers. “I don’t know if I can trust you not to leave again,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

She reached out, her hand trembling as she gently took yours. Her touch was warm, grounding, and so achingly familiar. “I will not leave,” she said firmly, her eyes locking onto yours. “Never again. I promise. I swear…siempre.”

Siempre. Always. It was the word you’d whispered to each other late at night, the promise you’d clung to when things were hard. And now, here she was, offering it back to you.

“I’m scared,” you admitted, tears now spilling freely down your cheeks. “I don’t know if I can go through this again.”

Alexia’s grip on your hand tightened, her other hand coming up to cup your cheek. “I’m scared too,” she said, her voice shaking but resolute. “But I will do everything to show you. To prove… you can trust me. I love you. More than anything. More than anything.”

You closed your eyes, leaning into her touch as your tears fell onto her hand. She tenderly wiped them away with her thumb. For a moment, the only sound in the room was the soft hitch of your breaths until slowly, you opened your eyes, meeting her gaze.

“You broke my heart,” you said, your voice wavering. “But I still love you.”

A quiet sob escaped her lips as she pressed her forehead to yours. “I will fix it,” she choked out. “I will fix us.”

It wasn’t a promise you believed easily, but in that moment, you knew you wanted to give her the chance to try. Always.

**

Tags:

@ceesimz @marysfics @girlgenius1111 @codiemarin @simp4panos @silentwolfsstuff @goldenempyrean @xxnaiaxx @liloandstitchstan @ktgoodmorning @chelseacult

[mofongomuncher]

𝘽𝙞𝙘𝙚𝙥𝙨

(Ekko X Reader)

❥ cast : ! Ekko and reader ¡

It was one of those quiet afternoons in the base, where the usual noise was replaced with the soft hums of fireflies buzzing around in the background, and the occasional footstep echoing around.

Ekko was in his usual element, working on his little devices and making adjustments to his latest inventions. You, on the other hand, had been sitting on his couch, trying (and failing) to focus on something else.

Your eyes kept wandering back to him. There was something about how he worked, the way his muscles flexed when he twisted a wrench or adjusted something in place, that made your heart race just a little faster.

You always secretly admired Ekko's quiet confidence and the strength he carried—both in his actions and his presence. But today, it was something else. You couldn't seem to get your mind off of one particular thing.

His biceps.

You tried to play it cool, focusing on anything other than the temptation to see if they felt as solid as they looked. The temptation gnawed at you. You knew you couldn't do it, though. You didn't want to make it weird. And yet, the more you tried to ignore it, the more you found your gaze drifting to his arms.

It didn't help that Ekko had just taken off his jacket, exposing his toned biceps as he reached up to grab a tool. He rolled his shoulders, stretching slightly, and for a moment, you couldn't help but admire how effortlessly he carried himself.

That was when you decided to take action. "Just a quick touch, just to see if they're as strong as they look, and then I'll stop." you told yourself. You rose from the couch quietly, making your way toward him as discreetly as possible.

Your hand was almost there, just a few inches from his arm, when Ekko turned around suddenly, catching you in the act. His eyes locked onto yours, a small smirk slowly forming on his face.

"Trying to touch my biceps again, huh?" he said, his voice a mixture of amusement and curiosity.

Your face immediately flushed, and you froze, hand still hovering in the air. "I—I wasn't... I didn't mean to—" You stammered, caught completely off guard. "I just... I thought they looked—uh, I mean, never mind."

Ekko's smirk only grew, clearly enjoying your awkwardness. He raised an eyebrow and crossed his arms, making his biceps even more prominent.

"Huh.. you sure you weren't just trying to sneak a feel?" he teased, his voice playful but with an underlying confidence that made your stomach flutter.

"No! I swear, I wasn't... I mean—" You sighed, clearly flustered. "Okay, maybe a little. But it's not what you think! I didn't mean to make it weird, I was just—"

Ekko chuckled, clearly amused by your struggle to explain. His expression softened. "It's fine, really.. Do you wanna know what it feels like?" he asked, his tone casual but with that familiar edge of mischief in his eyes.

Your heart skipped a beat, and you felt your cheeks burn even hotter. "Uh, no! I mean, yes? I mean, I—" You groaned, wishing you could just disappear.

Ekko shook his head with a chuckle, his hands returning to his pockets as he gave you a teasing look. "Relax, I'm just messing with you." He nudged you lightly with his elbow.

"If you really want to know, you can touch them. No need to be shy about it."

You blinked, not quite believing what he was saying. "Wait, really?"

"Yeah, really." Ekko said with a grin. "You think I'm just going to let you embarrass yourself without giving you the chance to redeem yourself?"

You hesitated for a moment, then slowly reached out. Your hand hovered near his arm, and this time, you made sure to touch it lightly, not sure if you should go any further.

Ekko's eyes watched you carefully as you touched his bicep, the muscles firm beneath your fingers.

"See? Not so bad, right?" he said, a playful glint in his eyes. "Just a little strong." Your thoughts went absolutely wild at that moment.

You nodded, trying to fight the mix of embarrassment and excitement bubbling inside you. "I didn't think it'd feel... like that."

Ekko raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued.

"What, you thought it'd be all soft and squishy?" He chuckled again, stepping back a little and flexing his arm for effect. "Come on, I work for a living. Gotta keep in shape."

You couldn't help but laugh along, the tension in your shoulders easing as you realized he wasn't judging you. "Well, I didn't expect it to be so... firm.." you admitted, your voice still a little awkward, but more relaxed now.

"I wasn't sure if they were just for show."

Ekko shrugged with a grin. "You never know until you try."

You exchanged a look, both of you sharing the same playful vibe that made the moment less embarrassing than you'd imagined. "Okay well, thanks for the opportunity to... try." you said, still blushing a little but not nearly as mortified as before.

Ekko just gave you that signature smirk. "Anytime. But next time, maybe don't sneak up on me, yeah?" He chuckled before turning back to his workbench.

You couldn't help but look down in embarrassment, your heart still racing a little, but you felt lighter than before.

You got to touch his bicep, that's all that mattered.

This was so silly 😭

Check out my Ekko one shots on Wattpad for more stories!! :3

[lionneee]

Council meeting

English is not my first language, please be kind

Masterlist

Taglist

•Warnings: exhibitionism, oral sex, public sex.•

Prince!Regent!Aemond x Wife!Reader

The sound was well explicit, and everyone at the council table was trying to ignore it.

But it was hard.

As hard as Aemond’s cock as he kept pushing your head down.

You put your hands on his thighs, gagging and coughing as his length touched the back of your throat, again.

Aemond’s hand was in your hair, gripping them tightly as he guided you movements, decided the pace, decided when you could breathe.

“My Prince, we should discuss our next move-” Ser Tyland Lannister was the one who talked first, looking down at the table, not daring to look at the Prince Regent in the face.

“Go on then.” He groaned as he looked down under the table, his single eye making contact with yours immediately.

It was a sight he would never grow tired of.

He looked back up at the men around the table, waiting for them to speak.

Lord Jasper Wylde was trying hard to ignore the background sounds, or to not let his mind imagine the Prince Regent wife sucking the Prince’s cock right under the same table they were all sitting on.

Based on everyone’s look, they were all trying to do so.

“My Prince-” Orwyle spoke with a composed voice, but he was quickly interrupted by Aemond’s groan as he forced your head lower, keeping you there as he bucked his hips up, leaning back against his seat.

You dug your fingers in his pants as you tried to stay still, swallowing around his cock to contain the urge to cough and pull back.

He lets you raise your head with a sigh, pulling you up until your lips are wrapped around his head.

“Go on, I said.” He grunted as he quickly glanced down at you, before turning his attention to Orwyle looked down at his table, the embarrassment and unease clear on his face, but he did talk regardless.

“Ser Criston Cole, the Hand, has done a successful job, bringing us glorious victories.”

You could barely hear him, you were focused on making short quick movements with your head, concentrating on the head of his beautiful cock, caressing the spongy skin with your tongue as you hollow your cheeks, trying to give him more pleasure. In the meanwhile, your hand worked the rest of his length, jarking him quickly.

“So?” He growled.

“He asked for new directives, or when you will meet him in battle.” He concluded. “Perhaps on Vaghar’s back.” He added, then he took a deep breath, as if he just gave the hardest speech in his life.

“Soon.” The Prince sighed as he pushed your head down again, and you silently complied, sinking your head down on his cock, moving your mouth and hand together, squeezing him lightly as you caressed him with your tongue. “I have other duties here now.” He grinned as he looked back down at you, his wife.

“Of course, my Prince.” Orwyle leaned his head down.

“Ser Tyland.” Aemond groaned as he started bobbing your head up and down, quickly, harshly, uncontrolled.

He was close.

“Update me on the situation.” Aemond grunted as he kept his eye down, fixated on the sight of you, kneeling between his legs under the table with his cock in your mouth, tears running down your face and the pleading look in your eyes.

“God –” He mumbled, he quickly stopped listening as he felt your tongue press against the tip of his cock, you tasted his precum, mixed with the flavor of his skin as you looked up at him through your eyelashes.

He forced your head down, making you break eye contact, your nose was pressed against his pubic bone as you gagged and coughed around his length, trying to take him as much as he forced you to.

He wrapped his arm around your head, keeping you down as he curled up, his lips reaching your ear as he kept bucking his hips up, trying to fuck your throat as deep as he could.

“Keep going –” He moaned as he moaned in your ear. “I’m gonna come in your mouth, wife-” He groaned as you moaned around him at his words, the vibrations of your songs sending shivers of pleasure through his body. “And you’ll walk out with your mouth full-” He moaned again as he jerked his hips up again.

You moaned as you tried to hollow your cheeks as much as you could to bring him over the edge and collect your prize.

Your hands clutched his leather jacket, the other slipped under it, scratching his skin, but he immediately grabbed your wrist, not allowing you to let it wander further.

“Don’t swallow it.” He hissed. “Not until you’re about to walk out of the room —“ He managed to finish his sentence, then with a low grunt, he finally came in your mouth, bucking his hips up the last few times to ride out his orgasm.

You pulled away once you felt his cock stop twitching, and looked up at him. 

He smirked down at you and tucked himself back in his breeches, then he pulled his chair back and helped you out of the table and on your feet.

You felt suddenly aware of everyone’s presence.

You kept your eyes on your husband to not die in shame as he sat back on his seat, putting his hands on the table.

“So let’s plan our next move.” He said, and you knew it was his sign for you to leave. 

You could feel everyone’s eyes on you, but you kept your chin up, you turned around and started walking towards the large door, the guards opened it for you, and you turned back to look at your husband one last time before leaving.

When you met his eye, you found it already on you, so you swallowed and only after his nod of approval, you hurried out of the room for good, leaving the uncomfortable and embarrassed gaze of the council members behind you.

Taglist: @ka1afbr @cynic-spirit @ladythornofrivia @zenka69 @queenofthekeep @adorewhatever @diannnnsss @kotadislikesthissite @iloveallmyboys @valyrianflower @dixie-elocin @gelacat0413 @quinquinquincy @mamawiggers1980 @darylandbethfanforever9 @rhaethoughts @believeinthefireflies95 @urfavnoirette @summerposie @sk1mah1 @queenofshinigamis @anukulee @chlmtfilms @m-riaa @p45510n4f4shi0n @malfoycassimalfoy @agoldenwoe

[abbysbug]

phone calls

pairing: abby anderson x fem!reader

content: dom!abby, sub!reader, fingering (a receiving), cunnilingus (a receiving), praise, degrading, masturbation, punishments, abby on the phone while getting fucked, bratty!reader.

You love to push Abby’s boundaries and buttons, and behaving in a way that you know enrages Abby, forcing her to give you the attention that you crave. But sometimes, it backfires on you.

You’re kneeling between Abby’s thighs with your hands neatly folded in your lap and a large dildo buried deep inside of you. Abby gave you strict instructions to stay quiet and still while she worked. The only attention she has given you was a quick slap to the face when you tried protesting, other than that, she’s completely ignored you.

Normally, you’re well-behaved when Abby is punishing you, but you're desperate for Abby's attention. The urge to grind on the dildo and the slick that is leaking down your thighs isn’t helping either.

You glance up at Abby. Her brows are furrowed and she’s aggressively typing on her keyboard, obviously having to deal with some stupid man from her work.

“Fuckin’ Owen.” She mutters angrily, grabbing her phone and dialling a number. She raises the phone to her ear, her voice changing to a cheerful one once she’s picked up.

“Hey Owen, I’ve seen that you’ve…” Her words become background noise as an idea hits you.

You slide your hands up Abby’s muscular thighs, pushing them apart slightly. Abby glances down at you, giving you a warning glare. You innocently smile, your hands continuing their path towards her heat.

In this moment, you’re grateful for Abby deciding to only wear boxers as you’re able to easily slip them off her hips, giving you access to her. You suppress a whimper at the sight of her dripping cunt, apparently, she’s not the only one desperate for attention.

You brush your thumb against Abby’s throbbing clit, chuckling at how her hips jerked towards your hand, begging for more. Using your spare hand, you spread Abby’s thighs further apart. You drag your fingers through her slick before softly pushing them into her awaiting hole.

Her walls are immediately clamping around your fingers, and she throws her head back, covering her mouth to muffle a moan. Your soft moans follow hers as you start to grind on the dildo.

“You okay, Abby?” You hear Owen ask through the phone speaker.

“Yeah, I’m okay. Just hit my toe on the table,” Abby lies, attempting to push your hand away from her.

Instead of pulling away from her, you wrap your arms around her thighs, dragging her closer to the edge of her seat, and wrapping your lips around her clit, sucking softly. You push your two fingers back into Abby, curling them to hit the spot that drives her insane.

“Fuck. Owen, I’m gonna need to call you back. Alice just knocked over one of my vases,” Abby hits the hang up button before he could protest.

You moan loudly into her cunt as she grabs onto your hair, pulling you further into her. The pleasure from the dildo and the pain from her pulling your hair forces you to the edge of your orgasm.

“Don’t you fuckin’ dare cum,” Abby grunts, grinding her hips into your face, desperately wanting to reach her high.

You could decide to ignore her, but instead you mumble a quiet, “Yes, Abby.”

“God, you’re such a whore. Couldn’t even wait till I was off the phone before touchin’ me, huh?” Abby’s voice is surprising dominant compared to her whiney moans. “Couldn’t even follow simple instructions either, fuck, always gonna be my little brat, aren’t you?”

You hum, cherishing the way she struggles to keep up with your fingers as her orgasm approaches. Your moans become louder as you struggle to control your own orgasm, every bounce causes the dildo to rub against your g-spot.

“That’s it, baby. Doing such a good job fucking yourself like some pathetic slut. Fuck, look at the mess you’ve made, you’re dripping all over my floor.”

You feel your face heat up at Abby’s comment. You are absolutely soaked and now there’s a puddle of your slick between your thighs. If your face wasn’t buried between Abby’s thighs, you would be more embarrassed.

Suddenly, Abby’s thighs clamp around your head and her back arches. A loud pornographic moan leaves her lips as her orgasm washes over her. She quickly becomes overstimulated and pushes your head away.

You carefully pull your fingers out from Abby, wrapping your mouth around them and moaning at the taste of her.

“Taste s’ good, Abs,”

Abby hums, wrapping her arms around your waist and easily lifting you into her lap. You cry out in frustration as the dildo slips out of you, leaving you with an uncomfortable feeling of emptiness.

“Poor baby.” Abby coos, her fingers tracing around your clenching hole. “All stretched out and ready for my cock – if only you had behaved, though.”

Your mouth falls open in protest, “But, Abby- “

Abby delivers a sharp slap to your thigh, “Don’t complain. You should be thanking me for even allowing you to fuck yourself."

“Thank you for letting me fuck myself,” You mumble, embarrassment flooding your system.

Abby kisses your forehead, “Such good manners,”

You preen at her praise, assuming that she was about to let you off the hook. But you couldn’t be more wrong.

Abby wraps her arms around your thighs, easily picking you up and walking towards the bedroom. You try to ask her what she’s doing but she’s dead silent – not a good sign. You knew not to disturb her while she worked, especially when you’re being punished. Yet, you decided to be a brat and disturb her.

You thought that being stripped of her attention and being edged was enough of a punishment, but she obviously didn’t think so.

Abby throws you on the bed, forcing your thighs apart and positioning herself between them.

"Always gotta be a fuckin' brat while I'm working," You yelp as Abby's hand comes slapping down on your clit. "Bet you act like this so I can punish you, huh? Dirty girl."

"Abby, I-"

You choke on your words as Abby pushes three fingers into you. She curls them perfectly, forcing a pornographic moan to fall from your lips. She wraps her mouth around your clit, flicking her tongue mercilessly as her fingers pump vigorously into you.

"Oh my god," You whine, your back arching off the bed.

She suddenly pulls away, "You are not to cum unless I allow it, do you understand?" You nod, but that isn't enough for her. "Words, baby."

"Yes, Abby. I understand," You whimper, hoping that she goes back to what she was doing before.

Instead, she decides to tease you. Her wet fingers glide over your stomach, leaving wet marks in their tracks. She continues to slowly drag her fingers across your exposed skin until you're crying out for her.

"Please, Abby," You sob, tears welling in your eyes. You feel pathetic.

She chuckles before placing her mouth back over your heat and thrusting her fingers into you. You feel yourself getting close, faltering right on the line of that blissful pleasure. Your hands seek solace in her hair, tugging at her braid and hips grinding against her.

Then she stops.

The confused look on your face makes her laugh, "Did you really think I'd let you cum, brat?"

MUCH LOVE TO @abbyism TO HELPING ME FINISH THIS <33

[kumkaniudaku]

Stay A While (2)

Summary: Terry and Treece are feeling the sparks again.

Pairing: Terry Richmond x Black!OC

Word Count: 3,659

Part: 2 of ??

Warnings: None. This one's a safe for work slow burn. Enjoy.

Previous

Grocery shopping was Patrice's private pastime. She was the queen of her universe when she walked through aisles every Saturday morning. Every flash bargain and value-sized item bent to her will for a chance at making it to her humble abode and fulfilling its one purpose in life. Employees greeted her like royalty. Customers started conversations like old friends, always giving her the scoop on any sale they'd overheard in their neighborhood Facebook groups. She was happy. She was zen. She was in her element.

"Do you need this?" 

She was a woman dragging around a large man intent on breaking any modicum of concentration she had left.

Patrice stopped and looked over her shoulder at Terry, who held a bag of cotton candy grapes up in the air for her inspection. "No, TJ. Put it down." 

"Why? You like grapes." 

"Because we're getting grapes from the farmer's market. Now, put it back."

Her rebuke was sweet but stern. Having him as a way too familiar roommate was becoming easier as the days passed. But she'd be lying if she said she didn't miss the freedom to go for a walk, watch a movie on the couch, or even enjoy an intimate moment alone in her own house without a man looming somewhere in the very near background. 

He didn't allow her to travel alone, and she never had the energy to protest. 

"You don't have to talk to me like I'm a kid," he grumbled as he put the grapes back in their place.

"Then stop acting like one. I have a list. I know what I need." 

"I know what I need." He exaggerated his mimicry for maximum effect. 

"You see how that was childish?" 

"Whatever." 

Patrice ignored him in favor of browsing packages of beef for the best deal. If she didn't respond, maybe he would get the hint. And, for a few moments, he did. Terry took a break in conversation to scan the immediate area quietly. He noted each patron and their most important details before checking the exit and entry points at the front of the store. They weren't secure enough, but he could manage if the situation required evacuation.

A lack of action soon turned his attention back to Patrice, who still hadn't decided. He gave her a slow once over and smiled at how much focus she put into such a simple choice. Her brow remained furrowed in intense thought, transforming her into the ninth-grade Patrice he met during a chance encounter in the library. Truthfully, he didn't have much of an opinion either way. He just wanted to talk to her every second of the day, even if it meant being annoying. 

"Get that one." 

His sudden interruption startled Patrice out of her zone, adding a final straw to an already exhausted camel's back. Terry grinned in triumph as she closed her eyes for a calming breath. 

"Terry," she spoke, slow and measured to keep the peace. "Take the other half of this list and get out of my face. Don't come back until you find everything. I'll meet you at the register." 

She didn't give him much time to protest before she shoved a carefully torn half of paper into his chest and sent him on his way. He gave her a sarcastic salute, which she waved off without a second look. She needed a moment alone and didn't care if he came back with Fruity O's instead of Fruit Loops if that meant he would be out of her hair for more than 10 minutes. 

Terry found himself slowly meandering around the grocery store with a tiny basket in tow, exhausted by all the options on each aisle. If Patrice hadn't been so meticulous with her lists, he would've given up on the mission and gone back to home base with his tail tucked between his legs. 

After sourcing the perfect pint of Oreo ice cream as an apology for his behavior, Terry found himself drawn to the sound of laughter on the next aisle. Sure enough, Patrice was parked by the frozen vegetables and engaged with a man dressed in the store's colors with his eyes directed far too low to be looking at Patrice's face. 

Terry quickly reached her location, stopping behind Patrice to show her guest the full extent of his scowl. 

Patrice noticed how his once loose body language had gone stiff and sighed. She didn't need to investigate the problem. Only her human pitbull could make a man cower in fear like that. 

"Derrick, this is Terry. Terry, this is Derrick. He usually helps me get stuff to my car." 

"Ah, man. It's a good thing I'm here, right? We don't need you taking too many breaks from stocking. Mornin' rush can get crazy." 

"Terry," Patrice admonished with a harsh whisper and an elbow to his stomach. 

Terry remained steadfast, keeping his eyes on Derrick while taking one step closer. A taunting smile tugged on the right side of his mouth. He waited on any sign of fight from his unspoken adversary. 

Derrick stood in palpable discomfort, sizing up the outcomes if he decided to test his luck. Each mental scenario led him back to some instance of physical harm on his last shift of the week. He had plans for the weekend, none involving a trip to the emergency room.

Patrice stood between a rock and a hardheaded man, praying that the Lord would end her suffering.

"That's what I was about to say," Derrick answered before shifting his attention back to Patrice. "I think I oughta get going. See you around, Ms. Ellis?" 

"Same time next week." 

He nodded in half-hearted agreement and hurried out of dodge, with Terry keeping a watchful eye until he was safely around the corner. 

Patrice groaned with one hand, rubbing tight circles at her temple. "What in the hell was that about?" 

"He wouldn't even look you in the eye. If he can't look you in the eye when he's speaking, he can't protect you, and he doesn't respect you." 

"I'm not looking for his protection. I need this water loaded into my trunk every week when you aren't here!" 

"I'll never not be here. Problem solved."

His declaration was so sure, so matter of fact, that it left Patrice no room for retort. So she resorted to schoolyard antics. 

It was her turn to mock him with an exaggerated, deep voice. "Problem solved. Push the damn cart since you got so much energy." 

He obliged without protest and a proud, self-satisfied grin that Patrice couldn't see while she led the way to the register. An unexpected system error had halted all transactions, leaving them log jammed in a long line of restless customers. 

Together, they stood sharing light banter and running through weekend tasks, resembling any other couple making a store run to strangers observing them from the outside looking in. Former acquaintances, however, had no problem drawing attention to the pair from three spots back in line. 

"I know that ain't who I think it is." Both Patrice's and Terry's eyes darted up to find the source of the loud outburst, only to whisper 'fuck’ in tandem when they spotted Katrina Spivey waving her arms to grab their attention. "Hey, Terry Richmond!" 

Terry pretended to ignore being singled out by turning his back, earning a stifled laugh from Patrice. Katrina, not one to be deterred, used the moment to push past patrons in line until she reached her destination with a host of angry faces in her wake. 

"Well, if it ain't Mr. and Miss Homecoming in the flesh. You two finally stopped kidding around and got married?" 

"No," Terry answered without much explanation, his back still turned. Patrice reluctantly made up his slack. 

"What Terry meant to say was that we're not married. We're not together at all, actually. But he's here to visit me for a while." 

"What a blessing it is to have friends you can lean on when you need a helping hand."

"Amen."

An awkward tension settled into the conversation's lull, compounded by Terry's outright refusal to engage. Patrice was in deep water without a paddle and a co-captain who had already jumped ship.

Katrina wouldn't let the conversation end and take her newfound place in line. She continued to pry.

"Both of y'all look good! How long has it been since we last saw each other, huh? Gotta be since Terry's graduation send-off." 

Patrice feigned interest with a hollow smile. "Yeah, I think that was it. A looong time ago. All grown up now."

"And thank God for it! I remember how sad you looked all night because ol' Terry was moving away. Like a little crying puppy!" 

Katrina's laughter didn't quite reach Terry or Patrice, who bristled at mentioning one of the more contentious nights in their friendship. 

"Everybody's been a little young and dumb, right? Like when you and BJ got caught underneath the bleachers during state championships." 

Checkmate. A little reminder of her indiscretions had turned Katrina's condescending smile into a mean mug that could burn through anyone not equally as stubborn. 

Terry showed his approval with a light nudge against Patrice's arm. That was his girl. Sweet as pie but a tongue coated in venom when backed against the wall. He'd been on the receiving end on one too many occasions. It felt good to be on the winning side this time. 

Three seconds of a Western standoff had culminated in a gift sent via store intercom. 

"Apologies for the stoppage, folks. Our registers are back up and running. Thanks for your patience." 

Terry moved the cart to place items on the conveyor belt while Patrice waited for the conversation to resume.

Recovering from the sharp end of a verbal lashing, Katrina cleared her throat and grabbed hold of her cart in preparation to skip lines. 

"Well, I don't wanna hold y'all too much longer. If y'all don't think you're too good to mingle with us Francis High Hornets anymore, Corey's throwing a little Juneteenth gathering at his daddy's pool hall. This is my personal invite for the both of you."

"We were already invited. Maybe we'll make an appearance." 

"That'd be grand." 

"I bet it would."

Nice nasty smiles passed between the two foes until Katrina was off to harass some other unsuspecting patron. 

Patrice tried to let go of her frustration with an angry huff before turning to catch up with Terry, who was casually moving groceries from the bagging station to the shopping basket. He waited a moment before acknowledging the obvious. 

"You over it now, or do I need to iron a shirt for tonight?" 

"I'm over it," Patrice answered plainly. She calmly handed over payment for the day's groceries and smiled ever so sweetly to bid the cashier farewell. To an outsider, she'd returned to her zen state without much effort. Terry was no outsider and kept a cautious eye on her as they loaded bags into the trunk and got settled in the front seat of her SUV. 

"You sure you're good," he asked as he backed out of their parking space. 

"I'm sure, TJ," she answered with almost too much enthusiasm. Terry started a mental countdown for the other shoe to drop. "I'll iron the shirt. You need to shave." 

--------

The final verdict? A plain white T-shirt. 

An hour of searching, choosing, rejecting, and choosing again led them to a plain, crisp white tee. Patrice said it went better with her yellow wrap dress, which she chose because her girlfriends were all in dresses, and she wanted to match the occasion. It all sounded like made-up bullshit to Terry. Still, he accepted being treated like a Ken Doll because it meant that his Barbie would agree to a two-hour hard stop at the festivities. 

He'd already started his stopwatch when they pulled up on a busy street in front of an even busier hole in the wall.

The smell of fresh grease greeted them upon crossing the threshold from outside into Mister C's Bar and Lounge. Fried fish, French fries, and wings in any flavor you could ask for sat in the service window, waiting for their delivery to any one of the patrons packed from wall to cinderblock wall. Terry inhaled deeply and let his scowl drop for one second to fantasize about a bite of Corey Sr.'s signature catfish and fries basket. 

Next came the familiar mix of sweat and weed near the dancefloor as bodies intertwined to some GloRilla song neither of them recognized. Thick traffic in the center of the room paused Patrice on her path to the pool tables, locking her between Terry and a crowd that wouldn't budge. 

"Excuse me!" she shouted over a swell of crowd reaction to a new song. "I need to get by!" 

No response. Not even a look back as she used a hand to create space between her and a group of men debating nonsense. Before she could try again, Terry used one hand to push her forward and his voice to clear the way. 

"Yo, step out of the way. We need to get through." Direct and to the point. He left no room for misinterpretation, and his baritone's boom left no confusion about who was calling the shots. Patrice watched with her lips slightly parted in awe. 

The first reaction to his demand was the embers of confrontation. Each member of the group sized Terry up, noticing his heavy scowl and size in comparison to their own. Then, they realized that this wasn't a winning game. 

The flashiest of the group nodded, though disdain at the mere suggestion that he was in the way kept his mouth in a tight frown. "Yeah, you good, OG. My fault." 

Another light push propelled Patrice forward as Terry maintained with each man until they had passed. 

Once they were out of the mix and nearing their destination, he advised, "Stay close." Patrice nodded her compliance, shocking Terry into a slight smile in appreciation for her obedience. 

Sparks of electricity shot between them but had no time to turn into a total current before Corey called out to them. 

"Treece! Terry! We over here!" 

Surrounded by familiar faces from Francis Edward's Class of 2010, Corey welcomed them with open arms and his ever-present 100-watt smile. At a slight 5'6", 150 on his best day, he'd always been larger than his frame would suggest. Loud and flamboyant had always been the name of his game, earning him anything he set his sights on.

It didn't take long for the trio and Corey's wife, June, to fall into familiar habits and friendly jabs at one another as they took their seats in a makeshift VIP section by the pool tables. The Three-Headed Monster was their moniker in high school, and they moved like a military force. Terry was the enforcer, while Corey and Patrice served as judge and prosecutor. If you had an issue with one, you had an issue with all three. 

"Your security is lax. Who trained them?" Terry pointed out during a dead spot in conversation. 

Corey followed his eyeline to the two young men standing at the door and back. "My boy at the sheriff's office. What you see?" 

"They look soft. It wouldn't take much to overpower them and get in for some drama. You only have one exit. Somebody breeches this place, and you're on the hook for a tragedy. Plus, the one on the left is scared. He'll be the first to leave if things get hot. Watch him."

"Impressive," June remarked, smiling at Patrice, who subtly playfully waved her off.

"Hm." Corey took a long pull from his cigar, taking in the information before responding." You here for a minute, T? I got some connections over at Liberty if you looking to get back in the swing of things." 

"Contract?" 

"Whatever you need, man. You know I'm good for it."

Terry looked over at Patrice for some indication that she believed in Corey, and she returned with a subtle nod and encouraging smile. June looked between them and then at her husband before clearing her throat. 

"It looks like Kel and his boy are back on the pool table. You know he still owes you a game from when he cheated last week." 

"Hell yeah," Corey agreed as he turned in his seat to get a look at his enemy. "Aye, T, you trynna make $100 real quick?" 

"It's either that or you gotta come dance with me," Patrice challenged. "This rum and pineapple got me feeling a little loose." 

She wasn't lying. A taste of alcohol in her system was starting to make her want to explore parts of the Patrice she thought she left at North Carolina A&T. Every heart-rattling thump of Megan Thee Stallion's latest and greatest had her thinking about reminding everyone in the room that she could move with the best of them. 

Her little grind in her seat made Terry show teeth in a small grin before he stood to his full height and looked down at her. His eyes were hooded and dreamy from some combination of exhaustion and a contact high, reintroducing that spark from before.

"Don't go too far. I'll be back with your money in a little bit." 

Patrice's tongue felt too heavy to respond coherently past a punch-drunk nod. June watched her watch him make his way down the platform and into the crowd until both men were out of earshot. 

She whistled and shook her head. "That's a good-looking man, ain't he?" 

"Who? Corey? He alright. He's like a slightly more attractive Taye Diggs." 

"First off, ouch," June laughed. "Second, I was talking about Terry. He was cute in high school, but I'll be damned if that second puberty didn't take him to a whole 'nother level." 

"Don't tell him that. His head is big enough."

"You know you wrong for that." If the music weren't so loud, everyone in the building would've heard the pair guffawing over Patrice's petty insult. 

Once they contained themselves, June took a sip from her margarita and shifted in her seat to get closer to Patrice.

"He likes you still." Five plain words shook Patrice internally as she struggled to maintain a poker face. June continued. "I see the way he looks for your approval and damn near trips on himself to fulfill your every whim. You're all he talks about when he and Corey get on the phone." 

"They talk?" 

"From time to time. I think he needs a man's opinion sometimes, you know?" 

Patrice wrestled with the influx of information as June continued. 

"That man is mean as a snake. Always has been and always will be. But, you bring something out of him. Even if you can't always see it." 

"If that were the case, things would've been different for us back then." 

June shrugged. "Maybe. Or maybe you're right where you're supposed to be. I know I can't make you do what you don't wanna do, but if what I say means anything, focus on today. Thirty-two-year-old Terry is so much more prepared to love you than eighteen-year-old Terry was." 

Punctuating her advice, June tapped Patrice's leg twice before taking a step away to refill their tray of food. 

Focus on today.

The words replayed in her mind repeatedly; even after their two hours were up, Terry had returned $100 richer, and they were back on the road to their quiet slice of the world. 

They rode together in content quiet, letting the Quiet Storm host talk while Terry tapped his fingers on the steering wheel in time with the music. 

Randomly, he would glance in her direction, assuming she had lost the sleep battle to her old friend Bacardi. When he reached over to adjust the air vent on her side of the car, he was surprised when she mumbled a low "thank you." 

"My bad. I thought you were sleeping." 

"No. My head is swimming, though. Don't let me drink that much anymore." she laughed. 

He chuckled along with her but didn't agree to keep her from letting her hair down occasionally. In his eyes, seeing her relaxed and carefree was a gift to the world. 

The opening notes of Tevin Campbell's "I'm Ready" swirled around them, sounding like a secret message to Patrice as she focused on streetlights to keep the contents of her dinner inside her stomach. 

"Hey," she whispered before she could catch herself. Terry acknowledged her with a glance. "Do you think you're still scared?" 

"Of what?" 

"Of whatever kept you away for so long?"

He thought for a moment, wanting to make sure he was clear with his word. "No. I was never afraid of you. I was afraid of bringing you along for a ride I might not survive. That's not a threat anymore. So, no, I'm not scared anymore."

You know I'm ready

To love you

Forever 

Patrice reached across the center console until she reached Terry's hand to interlock her fingers with his. He gave her an appreciative squeeze without taking his eyes off the road. 

"I-I don't think I'm scared anymore either."

Her heart raced wildly behind her ribs, and Patrice was that if Terry pressed his wrist close enough to hers, he could feel her pulse accelerate. He didn't mind either way. Sweaty palms and trembling fingers would never be enough for him to let her go. Not again. 

As if she'd break if he moved too fast, Terry brought her hand to his lips slowly. One kiss. Another. Two more. And a final one for good measure. 

When he'd had his fill of her skin, he pressed the spot up against his cheek. He needed to feel and absorb her until they were one body. 

But, for tonight at least, this was enough.

TAGS: @planetblaque @wvsspoppin @thatone-girly @oniccah @avoidthings @slutsareteacherstoo @eilujion @amyhennessyhouse

[kamiversee]

˗ˏˋ My Love Note ´ˎ˗

7 | What's it gonna take

❧ Synopsis | In which Choso Kamo, your asshole of a best friend, starts to change after you get involved with a rather cheeky cashier, Gojo Satoru.

❧ Content | language, fluff, teasing, dry humping, sexual tension, etc.

❧ Word Count | 5.6k

❧ Pairings | Choso Kamo x f!reader & Gojo Satoru x f!reader.

| Chapters mlist |

——The next morning you wake up with your cheek pressed against something warm, an oversized t-shirt clothing you and one of your legs resting atop something. You quickly find out that the something in question happens to be none other than the man you had sex with the night prior, your best friend, Choso Kamo.

Laying on his naked chest, before your eyes even peel open, you relish in the gentle smell of his cologne. Surely you don’t remember either of you showering last night and yet here he was smelling as though nothing had even occurred. But hey, you’re pretty sure you passed out at some point so you wouldn’t be surprised if he cleaned himself up while you were sleeping.

The sound of a phone dinging oddly close by makes you finally crack your eyes open, the first thing you’re met with is a phone in Choso’s hand not too far away from you. Since you were lying slightly on top of him, you could feel the deep breath he took due to the most recent notification. 

In the background was the faint sound of The Weeknd— you’ve got no idea what song was playing but it was there somewhere, sounding a bit far away. That aside, instead of focusing everywhere all at once, you center your gaze on Choso’s phone and watch his thumb linger over that recent notification.

You had to blink a few times to read it but the most you got from the text there was a ‘Hey, can u call me when u wake up? I wanna talk about last night…’ from someone named… Hori? You’ve got no idea who that is but the message is swiped away and blatantly ignored before you get to think about it any further.

Choso then swipes through the rest of his messages, answering some recent texts from his family members up until one message catches your eye yet again. It was something from his Uncle and the only reason it caught your eye is because your name was mentioned. Allas, before you could read anything past the words ‘Are you still,’ Choso was swiping out of the text thread entirely and you were soon spotting your contact.

Choso, being the total sweetheart he is, has your name happily saved as ‘Idiot #1’. You wouldn’t expect anything more or less from him but reading that made you scoff, which alerts him that you’re awake.

Followed by his realization is his heavily husked tone hitting your ears, “Well, good morning to you too.”

You almost smile at his voice alone. Something about it had your heart twinging in an unusual way and your lips twitching before you shifted your head up to look at him, “Mornin’ Cho.”

Choso’s gaze softens as it meets yours and you catch the way his whole expression and vibe seem to come at peace all at once. “How’d you sleep?” Holy shit the rasp in his voice was making your legs twitch against him ever so slightly, your eyes fleeting elsewhere.

“Fine, I think,” You hum, glancing around his bedroom until you spot the TV, “You?” As you ask that, you’ve located the source of lowly volumed music.

“Better than I have in a while,” Choso sighs as his eyes remain on your face, “How do you feel?”

You turn to him again and tilt your head, “I feel okay but uh, better than you have in a while?” You repeat with a lift of your brow, “Good pussy gave you some good rest, huh?”

He rolls his eyes at that question immediately, “Oh but I’m the ‘cocky bastard’.”

A smile graces your face and you shrug, “You didn’t answer my question.”

“Yeah,” Choso replies simply, “I guess you could say that.”

You chuckle at that and let out a little hum, to which he grins at you. Was there something in the air? Because Choso was staring at you like you were the only thing he’s ever cared to lay his eyes upon and you couldn’t get yourself to break away from his gaze for a long moment.

“Cho,” You hush out, watching as his brows lift, “Why’s my name saved as Idiot number one in your phone??”

Annnnd moment ruined.

Choso chuckles, “Cause’ you’re idiot number one, duh.”

“Why the number? Are there more idiots you know?” You muse, smiling slightly at the man.

“Two things; one, if there were, would you be jealous? And two, did you just willingly call yourself an idiot?” Your brown-haired best friend huffs out in jest, intrigued by your questions.

You shrug, “One; no. And two; yes.”

Ah, he’s full-on smiling at you now. Something was definitely in the air because Choso hasn’t felt this banter with you in forever and his heartfelt weird experiencing it again. 

Then he’s shaking his head at you, “You’re a dumbass.”

“I have my moments, I suppose,” You hum before slowly moving to sit up. The second you try moving, there’s a throb coming from just about everywhere— more specifically your thighs and back, which causes you to wince and pause in your movements, “Shit.”

Choso’s sitting up along with you and he tips his head to the side, “I asked you how you felt ‘nd you said you were okay.”

You scoff, “I was before I-“

He doesn’t even let you finish before he’s reaching over to his nightstand and grabbing something for you. Then he’s handing said unknown items to you and earning a confused glance from your face.

“Ibuprofen for your pain,” Choso explains, handing you one of two pills, “And uh, morning after for your uh-,” He awkwardly clears his throat as he processes a few things in his head, “So you don’t get, y’know… Since I uh-“

“Fucked me full of your cum last night?” You say bluntly, making his entire face heat up.

“Y-Yeah,” Choso stutters as a very prominent shade of red spreads across his face, “Since I did that.”

You smile at how shy he’s being before taking those pills from his hand, raising a brow at the man as you gesture to them, “So, am I supposed to throat these pills raw?”

“I’m sure you could if you wanted to,” He comments casually while reaching over for a water bottle, “But if you need me to stretch your throat out beforehand just say the word and I’ll-“

“Christ, Choso,” You gasp as you slap your free hand over his mouth. He smiles against you and hands you the water bottle he was reaching for. “How do you get shy from the thought of last night but then all bold two seconds later??” You huff before taking your hand off his mouth and grabbing the water bottle.

Choso shrugs, “Cause’ I almost got you pregnant last night,” He says reluctantly, the tips of his ears burning red, “But I can’t get you pregnant if I fuck your throat.”

You roll your eyes at him before taking the given medicine swiftly. Choso’s smile widens a bit and he quietly watches you gulp down the water and two pills, his eyes unknowingly focusing in on your throat for longer than intended. The way you effortlessly swallow-, which should be expected, you’re only drinking water but…

That small little ahh you let out as the bottle is retracted from your lips, the way you managed to cause a slip of water to escape your mouth, followed by an innocent glance in his direction, and then your eyes are on his and his eyes are on your lips and he just-

“You want to?” You ask casually, earning even more of his undivided attention.

“Want to, what?” Choso murmurs with a soft furrow of his brows.

You chuckle and lean closer to him. Then, you lean down a bit so he can look into your eyes and not at your lips, “Fuck my throat.”

Choso swallows thickly as he gazes deep into your eyes, “Right now?”

You scoff, “No, idiot. I’m sore enough everywhere else-“

“What’s one more place?” He cuts off, suddenly all too interested in the mere idea of face fucking you.

A heavy sigh leaves your lips, “Choso.” You murmur sternly.

“I’ll be gentle,” He whispers back, slowly reaching for your waist and carefully pulling you closer to him.

And then you’re on top of him all over again, your thighs spread and straddling him comfortably.

You shake your head, “Cho-“

“I promise,” He urges as he leans back and pulls your upper half with him until he’s resting against his headboard and your face is less than an inch away from his, “I’ll ease my cock in, take it nice ‘nd slow with you if that’s what you want, princess.”

Your body heats up at both his words and how gentle he’s already being, “Choso… We like, just woke up.”

He flashes that stupidly sexy but lazy smile at you, “Not a big fan of morning sex?”

“I actually am but,” You pause for a minute. Your eyes just linger on Choso’s and you feel his hands trail down to your hips, then your thighs, and then he’s squeezing slightly.

Choso leans in, “But…?”

“I’m sore,” You whisper.

“You’re sore,” He echoes as if to say it more to himself than to you. With that, he lets off a little nod before slouching back, “Right. Well, can I at least get a kiss?”

“S’that all you want?” You hum while leaning forward and slipping your arms around his neck.

Choso nods again and his eyes greedily drop down to your lips, “Uhuh.”

His hands start sliding up again, as if he just can’t get enough of touching and feeling you. You grin before your lips are slotting into his, his grasp on you tightening all of a sudden. He feels you whine into the kiss and bites back a smile as his hands continue to slip upward.

Choso’s fingertips dance just barely under the fabric of the shirt you’re wearing (his shirt) and you soon feel him hold onto the bare skin of your hips. His hands weren’t exactly rough but they weren’t the softest either. Choso’s skin was an odd mix of both, some areas were more calloused than the others and you could always tell he used his hands quite a bit.

He slides up again with his touch, holding onto your waist before tugging you even closer and kissing you passionately. You hum against him before he starts easing his tongue into your mouth.

And then the kiss is getting hotter and he’s gasping against your lips when you unintentionally rock your hips against him. 

Choso pries away and drops down to your neck, planting kiss after kiss and relishing in every sigh you let out. “Thought you were sore?” He hums into your skin.

You smile, “I am,” Then you’re tilting your head to give him better access and his hands are dropping back down to your thighs.

“Where?” Choso asks softly while caressing the top of your thighs and still kissing tenderly at your neck.

“The back of my legs, kinda,” You explain quietly with his hands moving the moment you speak, “And my back-, b-but mainly under my thighs.”

“Mh,” Choso hums and then he’s sliding his fingers underneath your thighs and pressing into your skin, earning a noticeable wince from you. “Here?” He whispers.

You nod and he kisses under your jaw, his hands focusing on those sore areas of yours as he massages them carefully. 

This goes on for a while up until your head ends up resting on his shoulder and he massages your legs while you remain seated on top of him. Gasping every time he presses into your skin just right and whining while he soothes your tired muscles, you find your eyes squeezed shut as he touches you.

“Right there, Cho,” You whine, to which he rotates his fingertips against the most recent area he was in.

Choso turns and presses his lips into your neck, “You make this sound so sexual, y’know,” He teases.

You roll your eyes, “It just feels good, a-and I’m not doin’ it on purpose.”

“Sure you aren’t,” He chuckles.

Then, the two of you simmer back into that comfortable silence of yours, his hands working your tense skin with care as you remain as still as possible.

· ───────── · ꨄ · ───────── ·

Roughly ten minutes go by until you seem to be a lot more relaxed under his touch. The same artist that’s been playing lowly from the TV can still be heard, Double Fantasy by The Weeknd being the song filling the still air of the room. 

At some point, Choso decides he can start teasing you again and he moves his lips to your ear, “Where else are you sore, pretty girl?” He whispers way too affectionately.

You quickly pull your head away from him and shoot him a pointed look, “I told you my back…”

He meets that little glare of yours with a smirk, “I really did a number on you, huh?” Choso teases while sliding his hands up to your back and soon pressing his fingers against your spine.

You sigh and your lashes flutter in relief, “Uhuh.”

Your best friend continues to soothe you, skillfully running his hands all up and down your back to relieve the tension. And it felt nice to be cared for like this by him. Usually, if you were sick or ever feeling bad— he’d shrug you off and tell you to thug it out (affectionately).

But now? Choso was the sweetest you’ve ever experienced from him. You wondered how long this would last-

“Choso,” You breathe out, having felt his hand wander off.

“Hm?” He hums innocently.

You almost laugh at the man, “That’s my ass.”

He bites back a laugh of his own, “Yeah, I know. You’re not sore here?” Choso questions while he palms and squeezes at the fat of your ass.

“No, Choso,” You snicker, “You just wanted an excuse to touch my ass.”

“Noooo,” He drags out playfully as his smile begins to mirror yours. You raise a brow at him and he quickly folds, “Okay, maybe. But I dunno, I couldn’t help myself. You’re sittin’ on top of me and lookin’ at me like…”

Your head weighs to the side as you search his eyes for an explanation, “Like what?”

He shrugs, “I don’t know how to describe it but it makes me crave you.”

“C-Crave me?” Your lashes bat in surprise and he nods.

Choso’s naturally sleepy features remain neutral as he peers into your eyes, “Mhm.”

You try to laugh his little statement off, “One night with me and now you’re obsessed?”

“Addicted, maybe.” Choso whispers so faintly you almost miss it.

Almost, “Seriously?” You utter in response.

He swallows, sitting there just staring at you while his hand continues mindlessly squeezing your ass. He has such a mellow expression with you right now. You’ve felt comfort with Choso before but never to this degree. Everything about the way he’s looking at you right now is making your heart feel odd.

“No.” He eventually says in a firm tone.

You scrunch your brows, “Cho-“

“I was joking, shut up.” He cuts off— feeling distant with you all over again.

“No you weren’t,” You refute, scoffing at the man, “You really are addicted to me now, aren’t y-“

He’s cutting you off with another kiss, to which you freeze completely. Your brain simply halts at the feel of his lips on yours again. So soft and gentle with you, like he’s been waiting years to do this and wants to sink into this feeling forever. Hell, maybe he has been waiting for years.

It’s nowhere near the first time he’s ever kissed you but, something about your lips on his makes his mind lose all sensible thoughts for a minute. Which is why both of his hands are dropping to your ass and he’s pulling you impossibly closer to him.

He pushes against you a bit harder and you gasp at how needy his hands are on you. Your lips part against him and he gifts your ass with a smack, earning a faint moan from you.

“Fuck,” Choso sears in between your lips, gripping and grabbing at all of you.

Your chest is pressed tightly against his and because of his tight grip on you, you can’t help the gentle rock of your hips against him.

Seconds, it takes mere seconds for you to feel his cock poking up at your unclothed cunt.

Then Choso’s snatching his lips off of yours and dropping to your neck again, “Don’t stop,” He groans, “Please.”

You moan at the way he shifts one hand to your hips and constantly tugs you against him, grunting hotly into your neck as he feels your bare cunt rub against his cock— one flimsy layer left between the two of you.

“C-Cho, we shouldn’t-,” You’re cut off by him gently lifting his hips against you, a soft gasp escaping you instead.

“Why?” He breathes, moving to grab your ass as you grind against him a bit harder, “We have the whole day to ourselves,” Choso whispers.

You toss your head back and he starts sucking on your neck, careful not to leave a mark. “B-Because… we just, hah, we shouldn’t.”

He scoffs, “Scared of noise complaints?”

“No?”

“Should be,” Choso hums as he bites back a throaty groan from the way he feels you right against his tip. “Shit, did you-, hah, notice what I did to the wall yet?”

Your brows twist up before you turn and catch sight of a rather large hole in the wall, one caused by Choso’s previous roughness with you and the bed knocking into it a little too hard.

“Choso!” You gasp, “How the hell did you-“

“I knew I heard somethin’ last night too,” He chuckles, “I was just too wrapped up in you to care.”

“You-“

“I’m sorry,” Choso breathes out almost finally before reenacting his acts from last night and swiftly flipping the two of you over, pinning you down against his bed and rolling his cock down hard against you.

You gasp, “Oh fuck-, why’re you s-so…”

He tilts his head, the veins decorating his arms flexing, “So what?” He breathes.

“Fuckin’ hard,” You nearly laugh, smiling a bit at the man, “We just woke up not too long ago. H-How do you get turned on so easily?”

Choso chuckles as if to taunt you, “You do know I can feel you right?”

“Huh?”

“I’m not the only one turned on,” He scoffs, leaning down to speak while his lips graze yours, “I can feel how wet you are, idiot.”

You gulp, “I…”

Choso nibbles on your lower lip and tugs for a moment before whispering, “Let’s jus’ make it quick, yeah?”

“Choso.” You utter sternly in protest.

“Promise,” He pants, “I promise it’ll be quick-, maybe I’ll jus’ put the tip in, c’mon.” His hips mash down against yours, causing the outline of his erect cock to push further against you.

You moan, “Mgh, but-“

“I need you,” Choso groans, sounding almost pained, “Jus’ a little bit more of you, please,” He whines.

“Fuck, o-okay, fine-“

And then he’s kissing you again, rutting his clothed cock against you over and over while he messily reaches his hands down to his sweats. Snatching at his drawstring, eager to remove the tiring layer of clothing, Choso’s kissing you like his life depends on it.

You’re such an idiot— giving into your best friend for yet a second time in a row. Were you addicted? Isn’t this wrong? Choso’s your best friend. Your best friend.

He’s just about to pull his sweatpants down before he’s rudely interrupted by the ringing of the apartment doorbell.

You both freeze, panting heavily as if you’ve been caught doing something you had no business doing. Gulping, Choso lets out a long and frustrated groan before dropping his head into the crook of your neck.

“Can we just ignore them?” He asks you.

You giggle, “No, it’s probably one of our neighbors.”

“Oh,” Choso practically smiles at that, “You’re right. They’re probably here to give us an earful about our noise last night. Or well, your noise-“

“Shut up and go answer the door,” You scoff, “I’ll probably be here when you get back.”

“Probably?” Choso questions as he sits up and slides out of his bed.

You shrug, “I might run back to my room while you’re distracted so uh, be quick.”

A wink is sent to the man and he fights the urge to just stare at you in awe. You probably have no idea how you look right now, wearing his shirt, one of the many hickeys he left on you poking out from your collarbone, laying in his bed all tired but horny because of him-

Okay, enough of that for now. Choso shakes himself out of his little reverie and glances around his bedroom floor to spot a different pair of sweats to slip into. He swiftly does so, groaning in discomfort while he turns his back to you and debates on putting a shirt on.

You lay in his bed staring at him, your eyes widening at his back profile and the numerous bright red scratch marks decorating his skin. Damn, did you do that last night?

You almost smile at the sight but in the corner of your eye, for whatever reason, the lyrics to the song from earlier seem to catch your attention. Said song was over by now but the last end of the hook was fading out. Brightly reading the words ‘Even though it’s wrong’.

Now, it’s just a song but you can’t help but find it funny considering you just had sex with Choso last night, and almost again just a few seconds ago. It’s almost like you were forgetting something-

“See what you did t’my back last night?” Choso’s voice tugs you from your mind and you look at him.

Scoffing, “Looks like you were attacked.” You comment teasingly.

Choso tosses the shirt he was considering putting on and shrugs, “Does it?”

“Yeah,” You sigh, laying on your side and watching him glance into his bedroom mirror.

The man turns around briefly to admire the marks left on him and he grins, “Holy shit,” Choso breathes, smiling at the sight, “I looked at it a bit last night but fuck, you clawed at me like crazy.”

“…Did you not feel it while you were fucking me down into the mattress ‘nd telling me to ‘take it’ for like twenty minutes straight?” You ask dryly.

He pretends to think for a long moment and opens his mouth to say something snarky but another ring of the doorbell cuts him off.

“Better go get that,” You hum playfully.

Choso groans, clearly annoyed by the constant interruption before swiftly exiting the room. Entering the hall, passing the living room and the kitchen, and soon approaching the door.

He lets out a yawn as he unlocks the door and soon opens it, “If this is about the noise last night, I jus’ wanna cut this short by sayin’ I’m-, oh,” Choso cuts himself short as he makes eye contact with the person awkwardly standing at the door.

The man in front of him furrows his brows, “I uh-“

Choso interrupts by putting a hand up and glancing back inside the apartment, “Door’s for you!” He shouts back to you. Then, he looks at the person in front of him one more time, sizes him up, and scoffs, “She’ll be out in a sec'.”

The man opens his mouth to reply but Choso rudely slams the door in his face.

Frustrated, and with his mood almost completely ruined, Choso groans again as he makes his way back to his bedroom. As he walks in, he spots you sitting on the edge of his bed looking down at something on the floor before you look back at him over your shoulder.

“What do you mean the door’s for me?” You ask softly, “And uh,” He watches you lean down to pick up a tarnished piece of fabric, “When the hell did you rip my panties?”

“Last night, duh,” Choso huffs out rather sassily before brushing past his bed and heading toward his bathroom.

“You owe me a new pair,” You tell him with a pout on your face.

With no emotion in his voice, “I’ll buy you twenty.” He says curtly before disappearing into his bathroom completely.

You scoff at his sudden attitude and dismissal of your first question, moving to stand on slightly wobbly legs as you extend your arms into the air to stretch. Sighing, you glance around to find your shorts, soon spotting them and slipping into them before exiting the room.

Every step you take, you feel faint soreness but you think the medicine and massage Choso gave you helped your body not to feel too bad. As such, you steadily make your way to the front door— wondering if there’s a package for you or something. You still get the feel you’re forgetting something but between that and Choso’s sudden grumpiness, you just-

Every thought of yours comes to a sudden halt as you swing open the door.

“S-Satoru?” You breathe.

Oh, so that’s what you’d been forgetting. Gojo Satoru, y’know, the guy you’ve been getting along with better than you ever have with any other guy you know, the guy who’s nothing but a gentleman to you, the guy who you were literally dancing with less than twenty-four hours with, the-

Yeah, you get the point. Either way, you’re left staring up at the man with your eyes as wide as ever and your breath caught in the middle of your throat. Staring into Gojo’s kindhearted and dazzling blue eyes, feeling an abrupt rack of guilt lump up in your chest as your mind scrambles for some way to process your situation.

Swallowing thicker than ever, you slowly step out into the hall with him and shut your apartment door behind you, “What uh-, w-why-, what’re you doing here?” You stammer out with the faintest shake in your voice.

Gojo moves to scratch the back of his neck, “If I’m being honest, I’m not too sure myself.”

Blinking in confusion, you tilt your head, “What?”

“I just-,” Gojo sighs, “You didn’t respond at all last night or this morning, so I got a little worried…”

“So… you show up at my apartment?” You question further as you raise a brow at the man.

He winces, “Is that weird-, this, is this weird?” Gojo asks as he gestures to his being here.

Maybe if you weren’t guilty of sleeping with your best friend it wouldn’t be…

“U-Uh, no?” You huff out almost awkwardly, “I just wasn’t expecting you, sorry. My phone died on me last night and I never plugged it up.”

He nods before glancing to the side, “Busy with other things?” 

You choke on your own guilt all over again, “I-I’m sorry?”

“Your roommate said somethin’ about a noise complaint,” Gojo recalls simply as he looks at you once more.

Your brows go up, “Did he? Well, that’s probably from whatever he was up to before I got home.”

Gojo tilts his head at you and you feel as though he could see right through you, “Riight…” He hums, “Anyway, I just came over to make sure you were okay.”

“I appreciate that Gojo but what could’ve possibly have happened to me from last night when you dropped me off to this morning?” You point out to the man with a little laugh. Sure, regret and guilt were eating you alive right now but that still doesn't explain Gojo’s sudden appearance, “I live with someone I’ve known for like eight years.”

“I don’t know-, wait, you’ve known him for eight years?” He redirects as he narrows his eyes at you.

“I met him during my freshman year of high school, Satoru,” You chuckle, “He’s my best friend.”

“Is that all?” Gojo blurts out.

You blink, “Huh?”

The man gulps, having not meant to ask that so suddenly, “Like, are you two just best friends?”

“That’s what I just said, yes.” You reply straightforwardly.

“I-“

Quick to snap back at the man for questioning you in an accusing manner, “Aren’t you and Geto just best friends?” 

“Yeah,” He murmurs.

“Is that all?” You ask with a smirk.

“Of course-,” He cuts himself off with a scoff, “Okay, I see what you did there.”

“Mhm,” You hum, “So if that’s all then uh,” You slowly begin to motion toward the door behind you.

Gojo reaches a hand out, “Wait, are you free today?”

You pause, “Depends on what for.”

“Me,” He shrugs.

“Am I free for you today?”

“Yeah.”

“Hmmmm, I dunno, I gotta check my schedule, Satoru.” You say teasingly as you lean left against the doorframe, “I’m a busy woman, y’know…”

Those pretty rose-tinted lips of his curve into a smirk, “Oh are you now?”

You smile, “Mhmm..”

Gojo takes a little step closer and lifts his shoulders, “Can’t you spare some of your time for your favorite barista?”

“I can consider,” You tell him before eyeing the man up and down, “What did you wanna do with me anyway?”

“Jus’ hang out.” He explains simply.

“That’s all?”

“Mhm.”

Clicking your tongue, “I would but, I was planning on taking a bit of a rain check today.”

“Oh,” Gojo hums, his brows lifting in surprise, “That’s uh-, that’s cool. I mean, yeah, no, that’s-“

“Satoru,” You snort.

He stops himself from making even more of a fool of himself, clearing his throat and meeting your gaze, “Yes?”

Lifting a finger, you gesture him to come closer and he shuffles his feet toward you. Then, you reach up for his shirt and carefully pull him down to you.

“Stop being such a dork,” You sigh with a smile on your face. Then you plant a kiss on his cheek and hug him, “And thank you for coming to check on me.”

Gojo’s body goes still for a moment while you wrap your arms around his neck and push up on your toes to hug him fully. After which, his arms are engulfing your waist and he’s letting out a sigh as he reciprocates your hug.

“Anytime,” He murmurs, his hands caressing your back, “Sorry if I made things weird…”

You chuckle, “You’re fine, Satoru. You jus’ surprised me, that’s all.” You slowly retract from the hug and meet his eyes one last time, “So… I’ll see you Monday morning?”

He nods, “Yeah.”

And with that, the two of you are steady to say your goodbyes to one another— soon parting ways as you watch him leave before disappearing back into your apartment and letting you the heaviest sigh ever.

Silence engulfs you as you stand there at the door for a moment. What are you? Some kinda slut? You literally had sexual interactions with not one, but two men on the same night.

Christ, what the hell got into you last night (aside from Choso)? Now the guilt was really settling in. It hit you earlier when you first laid eyes on Gojo but now that you’ve spoken to him, it’s like you feel even worse.

How could you completely forget him last night? The guy went out of his way to show up the next morning just to make sure you were okay and yet there you were, having just been pulled away from having sex with your best friend for a second time. This was so beyond fucked up-

“Y’know if all else fails,” The sound of your brown-haired best friend speaking tugs you out of your thoughts, “You should really consider acting because that was-“

“Oh my god, Choso,” You instantly let out a long groan, turning around to glance at him standing in the nearby kitchen, “Please shut the hell up.”

He frowns, “What’d I do?”

A sigh of frustration is let out, “Me. You did me, and that’s the problem.”

His face contorts to confusion as your statement hits his ears, “How? It’s not like you’re dating the guy.”

He makes a rather good point there but that doesn’t stop you from feeling guilty about forgetting about him and lying to him. “But I like him.” You argue.

Choso rolls his eyes, “So? What does that-“

“A lot,” You emphasize.

Your best friend cocks his head to the side and crosses his arms, “You like him ‘a lot’ but you let me fuck you last night?” 

At that, your breath is caught in your throat, “I…”

He heaves out a really heavy sigh, “Look, if it makes you feel any better, I won’t say anything to him.”

You meet his gaze with thankful eyes, “Really?”

“Yeah,” Choso shrugs, “We had sex, who cares. Why would I go out of my way to tell him that?”

“Because you hate me and find joy in my suffering,” You comment jokingly.

He laughs, “I don’t hate you.”

“Debatable,” You argue, “But anyway, thanks.”

Then, you move away from the door and slowly start walking in the direction of your bedroom.

“Mhm,” Choso hums, his eyes following you, “So, are we gonna pick up where we left off or-“

You’re quick to cut him off and not allow yourself to let him have his way with you yet again— you feel shitty enough as is, “Not in the mood anymore, Cho.”

Choso, not fazed by your rejection in the slightest, merely nods, “Another time then?”

The last thing you say to him is a crisp, “No.” Before you disappear into your bedroom and shut your door behind you.

There’s the slightest panging felt in Choso’s heart at the sound of that but he ignores that feeling entirely. ‘No’, you said. He scoffs, yeah right, let’s see how long that lasts…

mlist | last chapter | next chapter |

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[sweetestcaptainhughes]

Moments in Time - Quinn Hughes Edition

Word Count - 2300

Summary - The eight times Quinn Hughes showed his love through the ring camera that he didn’t even want in the first place.

Warnings - none pure fluff I know a true shocker if you aren't new here

Author's Note: Hello everyone as always thank you for reading. This is apart of a "Moments in Time" series that I wrote eight moments each of the Hughes brothers. The fics are individual stand alone pieces, they can be read in any order, or you could only read the one brother you want.

Jack Hughes Edition. Luke Hughes Edition.

I have to give credit to my girl Kay @icebound-imagination for not only helping come up with the original idea! But literally stayed up late one night to help me detail plan all three Hughes brothers fics because I didn't want any repeated ideas. Kay also wrote some of the concepts and hers are noted as "Kendra's Version."

Main Masterlist

When you mentioned to Quinn the first time that you wanted to get a ring doorbell he gave you that famous “what the fuck” Quinn Hughes look. But then when you told him about how you really just wanted it in Vancouver because of how much time you spent completely alone in the apartment. To this day, you swear you’ve never heard Quinn agree to anything so fast. Truthfully you just wanted to watch your neighbor’s new puppy growth. But you knew that if there is anyone who hates you having to be completely alone for so long with no family around it’s Quinn. So really it was best of both worlds, Quinn felt more at ease with the ring camera and you got to watch the next door neighbor be ridiculously cute everyday on the way to their walks. 

 Early Morning Goodbyes

Quinn had to leave early many times throughout the season. Although he always kissed you goodbye on the cheek, because you were still deep in sleep you both knew you wouldn’t remember it. Learning this after the first time he did kiss you goodbye before leaving for a roadie and you didn’t remember it at all. To say you were mad at Quinn for not saying goodbye, you gave him the silent treatment for two whole days, only to discover you were the one in the wrong. 

So the next time he had to leave home early due to an early flight for a roadie or hell, even an early morning skate. Of course he still kissed your cheek and whispered his goodbyes. But he started saying bye on the ring because he knew that way you’d see it when you were actually a functionable human being to society and would remember it. 

2. Getting a notification

The main reason that Quinn agreed to getting a ring was because of how you said that you would feel safer when he was on long roadies. The first time that you came home from work and he was on a roadie, he was waiting for the notification to come on his phone. As soon as it popped up he clicked on it quickly, ignoring his teammates and the movie they had playing in the background. “Hi baby.” he said softly he didn’t wanna startle you. After a long day all you wanted to do was crawl into bed, “hi Quinny” immediately hearing his voice and feeling better. 

“What are you doing? Aren’t you supposed to be doing some team bonding?” Resting your forehead against your doorbell but looking directly at the camera.

“Oh I am Barbie is playing right now it was Brock’s turn to pick.” A soft laugh leaves both your lips at Quinn’s comment, your laugh continues when you hear Brock in the background telling him to “fuck off.” Quickly Quinn tells you that he’s gotta go but he will text you. 

That was the first night you guys had a full blown conversation through your ring camera when he was on a roadie. But it became a little tradition every night when you got home if Quinn was out of town. Even if at the time he was in the middle of a game or an interview, everyday you would ring the doorbell and say “Quinny I’m home.”  

3. Drop the attitude 

Quinn and you didn’t fight often but when you did it was usually something serious. Today was not one of those cases, it was just one of those days where you were in a bad mood all day and you couldn’t pin point why. But every little thing Quinn was doing was getting on your nerves, to the point of you wanting to scream. From procrastinating on unloading the dishwasher, to being indecisive about what he wanted for breakfast. By the time you were trying to take a nap and he was yelling on Facetime with Jack and Luke you had hit your breaking point. 

Storming into the living room and telling Quinn that he needed to leave the apartment because you needed time alone before you went insane. Quinn told his brothers he’d call them back and hung up. He tried to ask you what was wrong but you insisted that you needed him to leave. So he left but not without leaving a message on the ring camera. 

“I don’t know where this attitude is coming from, baby. But what do you need for it to go away? Like do we need food? Are you hangry? Do you need cuddles and some quiet time? Cause whatever you need imma give it to you if you drop the attitude. Cause I don’t like when you want to kill me.” 

4. Celebrating 

Every home game that you went to it wasn’t unusual for you to uber from the apartment to the stadium. But you would always wait until Quinn was ready to leave to go home to the game. Tonight there was a home game and you were planning on going. But this week has been so long at work, you were debating on just watching it on T.V, ultimately you did decide to take an uber to the game. Never have you been so happy to not miss out on a game live. It was an insane game that turned out to be a shutout with no other than baby goalie as starter. 

Quinn and you both decided to go to the local bar to celebrate with the team and other wags. After Quinn had 2 beers, and you lost track of the amount of rum and cokes Petey was giving you. Quinn decided it was time to call it a night. Once you got home, your not sure if it was the alcohol you both consumed or just still on a high from the game. But Quinn insisted on practically sprinting down the hallway to your apartment while you cheered about the game. Quinn has never felt so lucky the night when the ring camera was able to catch such an intimate private moment that neither of you would have remembered that morning without the video proof. 

5. Playing pranks - Kendra’s Version 

You had just settled onto the couch, a warm bowl of popcorn balanced in your lap as your phone screen lit up. You picked it up and checked to see you had a notification from the front door’s security camera. It was Friday night, which meant you weren’t getting any deliveries and your husband, Quinn, was home in the shower. 

Curiously you click into the app, seeing what the footage showed. And it wasn’t much. But what you could see was some blonde hair and a toque. You knew exactly who that hair and that hat belonged to. What on earth was he doing? 

Your finger hovered over the screen as you decided what to do about your husband’s teammate when the camera showed a flash of a stylish jacket, one that was definitely not the style of the blond hair and toque wearing teammate. Which meant his literal partner in crime was with him. And then it was like someone smashed their finger onto a fast forward button. 

You were getting ready to use the two way microphone to ask what was going on when you heard a crashing noise. Your finger hit the button quickly as you yelled out “What on earth are you two blond himbos doing out there? Brock I swear to god if you’re leaving your laundry for me to do again I’m throwing it in the Pacific!” 

You were too busy screaming to notice you weren’t the only one who heard the ruckus Dumb and Dumber had made. Quinn must have seen the security notification when he got out of the shower, heard your screaming, and now he was angrily stomping towards the front door and opening it up to figure out what was going on.

Brock, who must have tried to hide from the camera, was leaning against the door. Except the door was ripped open by your angry husband and Brock came tumbling backwards into the foyer. His signature smirk and deep voice trying to play innocent. “Hey Huggy.” 

You decided it was time to get off the couch and look for yourself. As you pushed past Quinn and Brock you leaned against the door frame. This was when you noticed the white stuff all over and that Petey was doubled over in laughter.

This left Brock to be the one to fess up their master plan, “Well we figured it would be Quinn that would see the camera not you. He’s ALWAYS checking it in the locker room. After me and the Swede had too many tonight we wanted to have some fun. And what’s more fun than pranking the captain? We wanted him to open the door to pie him. Get glitter stuck in his playoff beard. You weren’t supposed to catch us, Y/N.” 

You looked back at Petey, now understanding why he was sparkling under your porch lights.

“Sorry about the plant,” he wheezed. 

You could feel Quinn’s glare get darker. Brock however was unaffected by the quiet brooding man. “Petey will pay for it because he makes more money.” 

6. “Where the fuck you going in that dress?”

Quinn wasn’t as overprotective over you as people assumed he would be with his girlfriend. He trusted you and he also knew that you knew how to keep yourself safe when you were out with friends for a girls night. But at the same time he didn’t like it when you went out when he was on a roadie. Quinn made the comment about how when he’s a plane ride away it gives him anxiety when you're out with friends drinking. He said that he would feel terrible if something bad happened or even if you needed a ride home and he couldn’t come to you because he was on the other side of the continent. Since you weren’t a big partier anyway, from that night on you did tend to only go out if Quinn was in town. Never wanting to be the reason you brought your boyfriend to the breaking point with his anxiety. 

But it was your best friend having her birthday and you couldn’t not go. It had completely slipped your mind about your new ring camera and how Quinn was basically addicted to checking it especially when he was on the road. After coming over to get ready at your place. Finally you were ready to order the uber and as you were locking the door, you heard Quinn’s voice “Where the hell are going in that dress?” You could tell from his voice that he was definitely a little annoyed. It was probably because he knew even from the shitty ring camera quality that this was your go to clubbing dress. 

“Hi bubs. It’s Y/B/F birthday tonight.I know your out on a roadie which is why I didn’t tell you.” You said as you bent down so that your face was lined up with the camera. “I am realizing now that wasn’t my smartest idea. I promise I won’t be out long okay? I’ll text you as soon as I get home, Quinny.” Quinn could hear the guilt in your voice and it made his heart break a little. 

“It’s okay baby girl. Just be safe okay. I love you. Also your making me miss you even more cause you look really really fucking beautiful in that dress.” As much as you tried to hide your blush you knew that you were failing miserably. 

“Thanks Quinn. I love you.” as you stood up and blew a kiss to the camera.

7. Fidgety Hughes 

Sometimes Quinn’s fidgeting was out of this world insane even for him. Whether it was that he sometimes let himself get lost in his head and didn’t realize how bad it had gotten. Or if shaking his leg or tapping his fingers on thighs calmed his anxiety. But sometimes his fidgeting was just adorable and this was no difference. Quinn was trying to unlock the door but his hands kept fidgeting probably due to the rough practice or maybe it was just from being tired. But after dropping his keys the fourth time you couldn’t help but chirp him through the camera. 

“I hope you can handle a puck better than those keys Hughes.” Quinn couldn’t help but smile at your voice through the camera.

“Oh I can name a lot of things you tell me all the time I handle better than these keys.” playing along with your antics but with a flirty tone. But then of course he dropped his keys on the floor for the fifth time. 

“Come on get it together bro.” you chirp.

“Don’t be such a brat, unless you need a reminder of who you beg to help you when you have an itch.” 

8. Long Week

Quinn knows that you’ve had a long week and been very stressed because of it. So he stops at the store on his way home and grabs all your favorite snacks that he knows you will want later when you come home from work. He decides to ring the camera to tell you that he got all your favorite snacks and will be ready when you get home for a movie night or whatever you want. Even if it’s The Office which he never even saw a single episode until he met you and you forced him to. He also tells you that he already placed an order to your favorite restaurant for takeout.

[all-purpose-dish-soap]

41 / 3k / soap soulmate au, part 10

...

Gaz's bullet slides neatly into the target's head, folding into his frontal cortex, his hypothalamus, and lodging to a satisfying stop in his brain stem.

Your job is done.

Ignoring the radio chatter between Gaz and Price, you slip away from the dead man. Your boots grind blood and broken glass into the carpet as you go. You should vanish before Soap's team can catch up to you. You head for the opposite corner of the mansion. They don’t have eyes there.

You slide the ground floor window open and pull Soap's radio collar from your neck. You’re about to remove the earpiece when it crackles in your ear. It's Ghost's voice.

"They got Johnny."

You pause. Your teammates are rough, but they won’t kill Johnny. Right? They won’t kill a soldier.

"Where is he?" Price's voice crackles back.

"Basement lounge," Ghost mutters. The radio catches shouting voices in the background.

"Can you get to him?" Price asks.

Gunshots crackle through the earpiece. Ghost curses. "Negative, sir. Too many mercs and he's agitatin' 'em as it is. Might be able to fish him out, but I'd need a better vantage point.”

“Is he in immediate danger?”

“Don’t think so.”

"Then keep yourself hidden, Lieutenant. Kyle and I are en route."

Your stomach twists. Price doesn't sound like he plans to negotiate. You switch the radio's to KorTac's frequency. "Horangi, what's going on?"

There's a long pause before he replies, and several other voices echo underneath his. "Where the hell are you? SAS is fucking up our whole job. The cargo is gone."

You force yourself to get a grip on your own cover story even as you slip through the window and drop silently to the ground. Snow squeaks under your boots. "How did he know about the cargo?" you ask, your voice careful and even.

"I don't know. Shit, maybe someone fed him information. Military dogs love their rats." There's a pause. Horangi's voice sounds more distant as he speaks away from the mic. "Oy, shitbag. Who gave you the intel?”

You let out a breath of relief. Johnny will have no choice but to give them your name in exchange for his freedom. You'll be far, far away before your teammates know you're gone. KorTac won't bother with trying to track you down. It'd be a waste of money. Even if they did, you've disappeared before. You know how not to be found.

It’ll be a clean break for you both.

Then Johnny's voice crackles into your ear through Horangi's mic.

"No rat," he says. You hear him smirking, but a snarl edges the bravado in his voice. "Your security's piss-poor."

What? No. Bad, that's bad. Johnny’s playing at taking the blame. Of course he is. He thinks he's protecting you. Stubborn idiot.

Horangi chuckles. “You want to die here? That can be arranged.”

Something under your sternum clenches. This is your fault. You stare down at the fresh snow in front of you. You can still leave. Your plan never involved seeing him again, and it certainly didn't involve helping him if he got his ass in trouble. But you're the one who told him where the hostages were. He's only in the basement lounge because of you.

With Price and Gaz in the way, and with Ghost seeking a higher vantage point, sniper in hand, your teammates don’t know how much trouble they’re in, either.

Goddamn him. Why can’t he just rat you out? Why can’t he just be as heartless as you are?

You turn and retrace your trek back to the mansion. You don't know what you're going to do to avoid the confrontation at hand and make a clean escape, but maybe you'll come up with something on the way.

...

You slip into the lounge behind your teammates. Soap is on his knees, hands ziptied behind his back with the barrel of Horangi's rifle to his head.

Every last one of your squadmates is here. With you, that's a dozen mercenaries. You check the upper corners, the catwalks—Ghost is nowhere to be found. Of course. There'd be no way for Ghost alone to snipe enough of your teammates in one go to pull Johnny out of this mess. Nor is there any alarm you can pull, no authority you can leverage to get your soulmate out of the position you put him in.

You switch your radio frequency back to 141's secure channel. "Ghost, don't shoot. I can talk them down."

But it's Price's voice that echoes back. "Stay put, love. We'll get it sorted."

"Listen to me--"

"You in position, Ghost?" Price asks calmly.

"Affirmative, sir."

"Good. Gaz and I will be there shortly. When I signal, you take out as many as you can. We'll clean up the rest. Until then, stay hidden. We don't need a body count of our own."

You ease your finger off the comm, hands shaking. A fucking bloodbath? That's Price's plan? You think back to how he stared across the interrogation table at you, his eyes crinkling in amusement at the barbs you threw back at him. He'd have killed anyone else.

No, focus. You pull the earpiece out and rip the radio unit, cords and all, away from you. It clatters to the ground. A few of your squadmates glance over. You push your way through them until Horangi's eyes fall on you. Johnny’s do, too, but you refuse to look at him.

"He's obviously military,” you say, pinning Horangi with as severe a look as you can summon. “You can't just kill him. You know what would happen."

Horangi scoffs and looks back down at Soap. "He could be impersonating a soldier for all I know. Besides, military mutts bark." He presses the muzzle of his rifle harder into Soap's skull. "So bark, or I shoot."

"If you let me up right now," Soap growls, "I won't rip your goddamn hands off. How about that?" 

Horangi tuts. "You're in no position to be making threats, mutt. Answer me or I'll shut you up permanently. Who gave you the intel?”

"He's not the only one," you interrupt again, talking fast. "He's... His team. They're looking for him."

Horangi’s gaze rises to you again, a strange look in his eye. You've said too much. "Where have you been?" he asks you with a hard stare.

"With the protectee."

"And where is he now?"

Silence swells between you and him. You feel your teammates' eyes on you now. This is your last chance to walk away. If you do, the path ahead of you will be free and clear. And whatever blood is spilled here in service of this stupid mission will be on your hands.

Soap sees the look on your face. "No, hen, don't--"

"I'm the rat," you say. "I fed him the information. The protectee is dead."

Soap curses and tries to lunge to his feet. Horangi pushes him down with the heel of his boot between his shoulder blades. Soap grunts in pain.

"How interesting," Horangi says. "And why would you do that?"

"Don't listen to her," Soap growls. "She's lyin'."

He's still fighting the cuffs around his wrists. His shoulders jerk with every tug, trying in vain to break the plastic tie. A horrible feeling clutches at his chest. He knows what you're doing, and everything in him rebels against the idea. He's so close to finally having you, so close to saving you from yourself.

He never wanted you to come here. He wanted you safe, far away. The thought of something happening to you is far worse than any of the pain he might have endured if you hadn’t come back for him.

You risk a glance at Soap. He looks stricken. You almost wish you could explain, but it wouldn't make a difference. He should know better. You do your job. That's who you are. Even if it means there’ll be hell to pay.

You force your eyes back to Horangi's. "The bastard deserved it," you say simply.

Horangi scoffs. "Obviously. And we deserve our paychecks.” He watches Soap struggle under his boot. "You know him?"

You glance down at Soap, taken off guard. "He's..."

Soap meets your gaze, his eyes still burning with fire despite the situation. “Hen,” he says. “You are makin’ a mistake.”

Horangi leans onto Soap’s shoulder, pinning him flatter. Soap grunts.

Horangi smirks. “He seems to know you. You know, if it were me, I'd just keep my mouth shut and let him take the blame. That's what he wants, isn't it?” He jabs the barrel of his rifle against Soap’s spine.

Soap’s jaw clenches. He doesn’t take his eyes off you.

"In fact," Horangi muses, "I might be more inclined to believe him than you. Not to mention our employer would be very disappointed to know someone on payroll sabotaged a very well-paying job. I don’t think you’d do that unless you had a good reason.”

You hear your teammates murmur behind you. Horangi is giving you an out. Your teammates will know what you did, but KorTac won't. Plausible deniability brings back the possibility of escape. You're shocked Horangi would offer at all, knowing now what you did.

But you steel yourself. You know what you have to do. "Check his left arm," you tell him.

Horangi examines you, but there's no skepticism in his eyes—only intrigue. He gestures to a few of the mercs behind you. Two push past you. They hold Soap down, and Horangi grabs Soap's cuffed wrists and pushes his sleeve up his arm. It's there plain as day—the soulmark bearing your name.

Soap grits his teeth. You're giving yourself up for him. You're going to take the fall in exchange for his freedom. Why can't you just do one goddamn thing he wants you to do? It should be him protecting you.

He tries to catch your eye again, but you look away from his furious glare. Deep down, a part of him understands you. That infuriates him even more. You're doing this out of some sick sense of duty. Just like everything else.

Horangi is impassive. "Ah. Guess that explains it."

A hand comes down hard on your shoulder, and you're pulled back hard as two of your teammates take you by the arms and ziptie you. You don't struggle. One of them kicks out the back of your knee and forces you to kneel. 

Soap snarls as he tries to shake the mercenaries pinning him down. "Get your hands off her!"

Horangi smirks down at Soap. "You really do like each other, eh? Cute."

Soap's blood burns through him. All his systems are haywire. He's angry at you, but he's more furious than he's ever been in his life at the men holding him down. He jerks again, taking one of the mercs by surprise. He manages to get to one knee before they're on him again, joined by two more of your comrades who stream in to help.

They force him to the ground once more. Horangi digs his knee into Soap's back and jabs him with the butt of his rifle. Another merc kicks a boot into his gut. But Soap doesn't stop. He's not going down without a fight. He won't sit there quietly and let anyone walk away with his woman.

Horangi looks down his rifle at Soap and rests his hand on the trigger, his smirk gone. "Careful," he says, voice low. "I still might just shoot you."

"Then you'd better kill me in one shot, because when I get my hands around your fuckin' neck--"

"Johnny, stop," you interject.

"Why?" he growls. "You think I'm just gonna sit here and watch you give yourself up?"

"You don't have a choice."

"The hell I don't."

Horangi pushes his rifle harder against Soap's skull. "Listen to her, mutt."

"Hey," you snap at him. One of your comrades behind you pulls your arms back, and you realize you're unconsciously fighting to get close. "Let him go."

When Soap sees you straining against your binds, trying to reach him, his heart clenches. He lets out a stream of expletives and throws his body weight against the mercs trying to hold him down.

"You care for him that much? Then again, I guess you don't have a choice."

"Horangi—"

“Yes, yes. Relax,” Horangi says to you, keeping his rifle trained on Soap. “I don’t plan to kill him. But we're not uncuffing him. Because we're not fucking idiots," he mutters. He steps off Soap and nods toward the back of the lounge where the bar and kitchen are. "Put him in the walk-in."

The mercs pull him roughly to his feet, jerking his arms behind his back. His gaze flicks to you, and he opens his mouth to say something, but you won't meet his eyes. It's like you're trying to shut him out completely, closing yourself into some emotional void. Just like in that interrogation room. He can’t fucking stand it.

Soap growls in frustration as he's hauled backward. He's torn between anger and desperation, wanting to make you understand how much he needs you. But you're so stubbornly set on building your stupid walls and keeping him out.

"This never would've happened if you'd just let me handle it," he snaps at you. "But you had to go runnin' off by yourself instead of listenin’ to me."

You stare at him in disbelief. He's still arguing this? How headstrong is he? "You're the one who refused to rat me out!” you retort, unable to stop yourself. “I was out the fucking window when you went all heroic and forced me to come back and save your ass!"

Soap's temper flares hotter. "Oh, I'm the one who went all heroic?" He yanks his arm against his captors' grip, but it hardly slows them down. “You’re the bloody martyr, aren’t you? Couldn't just let me handle it. Had to go sticking your nose in where it doesn't belong."

"You with a fucking gun to your head? That was you handling it?"

"I've been in worse situations," Soap shoots back, bristling. "I didn't need your help. And I damn sure don’t want you throwin’ yourself into danger like you've got a death wish."

You swallow. You were right to step in and take the fall for what you did, you realize. As rough-tempered as your soulmate is, he's just trying to protect you. He deserves better than you.

"This is... it's what I deserve," you say finally.

Soap's eyes widen in disbelief, his expression going from anger to shock to cold fury. "What you deserve?" he hisses, his voice low and enraged. "What you deserve is a good smack upside the head. You think you deserved to throw your life away for my sake? That's how little you think of yourself?"

"I betrayed my teammates and ruined our contract. I have to pay for that."

He's so fucking over it. You’re letting yourself be ripped away from him because of—what, a mistake you made? Loyalty to your team? Some misguided sense of penance and responsibility? Empty excuses. None of that should matter. You’re meant to be his.

"I don't give a damn what you think you deserve,” he says. “You're not the one who gets to decide that."

"And you are?"

You're looking at him like you don't believe him. It makes something in him snap loose.

"You still think you're expendable," he says, his voice hard. "As long as everyone else is safe. As long as you've done your bloody duty." He jerks his shoulders, angry and desperate to have you in his sight for a few more seconds. "Whatever you tell yourself, you’d best remember you made your goddamn choice to take what Iwanted most away from me. I swear to you, darlin’, when I get out of these cuffs, I will find you and make sure you never leave my sight again. That’s what I deserve.”

You say nothing. Your heart is in your feet as they wrestle him away.

You’re not worth this. You can't be. You've shown him—all but told him you were ready to abandon him mere minutes ago. He just doesn't care. Regardless of what you think, he keeps deciding you're worth the fucking trouble.

You're just trying to do one thing right by him. One thing. But he has to go and tear your heart in two about it anyway. Bastard.

"Let go of me!" Soap barks, voice echoing behind you as they drag him out of sight.

The sound of the large, industrial steel walk-in freezer banging open echoes through the basement, followed by clattering and Horangi barking orders. Then it slams closed.

That's it, then. The last time you'll see him.

You believe him when he says he'll never stop looking for you. You might be stubborn and set in your ways—he happens to be worse. But you know your employer, and you know what happens to traitors who kill the charges they're paid to protect. Regardless of what seemed right at the time.

You know there are prisons with which the CIA won’t interfere.

You're going to live the rest of your life in a cell. Because of your own damn sense of responsibility for some twisted form of penance for your past.

The moment you hear the lock on the walk-in click, whatever solemn self-assurance you felt turns to ash in your mouth. Penance bears a strong resemblance to empty self-righteousness and self-hatred. Worse—it feels a hell of a lot like you're condemning your stubborn bull of a soulmate to a lifetime of searching for a woman who refuses out of spite to be found.

Horangi and the others return, and the two mercenaries at your sides haul you away. You stumble along with them, numb. They drag you out of the building and push you toward the back of a bulletproof KorTac panel van.

What have you done?

...

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more Soap / masterlist

[steinfellds]

Calling Her Phone [W.M]

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Fem!Reader

Summary: You love to push Wanda's boundaries and buttons, and behaving in a way that you know enrages Wanda, forcing her to give you the attention that you crave. But sometimes, it backfires on you.

Content: Dom!Wanda, sub!reader, fingering (W receiving), cunnilingus (W receiving), praise, degrading, masturbation, punishments, Wanda on the phone while getting fucked, bratty!reader, mommy kink.

You’re kneeling between Wanda's thighs with your hands neatly folded in your lap and a large dildo buried deep inside of you. Wanda gave you strict instructions to stay quiet and still while she worked. The only attention she has given you was a quick slap to the face when you tried protesting, other than that, she’s completely ignored you.

Normally, you’re well-behaved when Wanda is punishing you, but you're desperate for Wanda's attention. The urge to grind on the dildo and the slick that is leaking down your thighs isn’t helping either.

You glance up at Wanda. Her brows are furrowed and she’s aggressively typing on her keyboard, obviously having to deal with some stupid man from her work.

“God, Tony.” She mutters angrily, grabbing her phone and dialling a number. She raises the phone to her ear, her voice changing to a cheerful one once she’s picked up.

“Hey Tony, I’ve seen that you’ve…” Her words become background noise as an idea hits you.

You slide your hands up Wanda's thighs, pushing them apart slightly. Wanda glances down at you, giving you a warning glare. You innocently smile, your hands continuing their path towards her heat.

At this moment, you’re grateful for Wanda deciding to only wear panties as you’re able to easily slip them off her hips, giving you access to her. You suppress a whimper at the sight of her dripping cunt, apparently, she’s not the only one desperate for attention.

You brush your thumb against Wanda's throbbing clit, chuckling at how her hips jerked towards your hand, begging for more. Using your spare hand, you spread Wanda's thighs further apart. You drag your fingers through her slick before softly pushing them into her awaiting hole.

Her walls are immediately clamping around your fingers, and she throws her head back, covering her mouth to muffle a moan. Your soft moans follow hers as you start to grind on the dildo.

“You okay, Wanda?” You hear Tony ask through the phone speaker.

“Yeah, I’m okay. Just hit my toe on the table,” Wanda lies, attempting to push your hand away from her.

Instead of pulling away from her, you wrap your arms around her thighs, dragging her closer to the edge of her seat, and wrapping your lips around her clit, sucking softly. You push your two fingers back into Wanda, curling them to hit the spot that drives her insane.

“Fuck. Tony, I’m gonna need to call you back.” Wanda hits the end call button before he can protest.

You moan loudly into her cunt as she grabs onto your hair, pulling you further into her. The pleasure from the dildo and the pain from her pulling your hair forces you to the edge of your orgasm.

“Don’t you dare cum, slut.” Wanda grunts, grinding her hips into your face, desperately wanting to reach her high.

You could decide to ignore her, but instead, you mumble, “Yes, mommy.”

“God, you’re such a whore. Couldn’t even wait till I was off the phone before touching me?” Wanda's voice is surprisingly dominant compared to her whiney moans. “Couldn’t even follow simple instructions either, fuck, always gonna be my little brat, aren’t you?”

You hum, cherishing the way she struggles to keep up with your fingers as her orgasm approaches. Your moans become louder as you struggle to control your own orgasm, every bounce causes the dildo to rub against your g-spot.

“That’s it, baby. Doing such a good job fucking yourself like some pathetic slut. Fuck, look at the mess you’ve made, you’re dripping all over my floor.”

You feel your face heat up at Wanda's words. You are absolutely soaked and now there’s a puddle of your slick between your thighs. If your face wasn’t buried between Wanda's thighs, you would be more embarrassed.

Suddenly, Wanda's thighs clamp around your head and her back arches. A loud pornographic moan leaves her lips as her orgasm washes over her. She quickly becomes overstimulated and pushes your head away.

You carefully pull your fingers out from Wanda, wrapping your mouth around them and moaning at the taste of her.

“Taste s’ good, Wands,”

Wanda hums, wrapping her arms around your waist and easily lifting you into her lap. You cry out in frustration as the dildo slips out of you, leaving you with an uncomfortable feeling of emptiness.

“Poor baby.” Wanda coos, her fingers tracing around your clenching hole. “All stretched out and ready for my cock – if only you had behaved, though.”

Your mouth falls open in protest, “But, mommy- “

Wanda delivers a sharp slap to your thigh, “Don’t complain. You should be thanking me for even allowing you to fuck yourself."

“Thank you for letting me fuck myself,” You mumble, embarrassment flooding your system.

Wanda kisses your forehead, “Such good manners,”

You preen at her praise, assuming that she was about to let you off the hook. But you couldn’t be more wrong.

Her fingertips suddenly are encased in red wisps, your body is lifted from her lap, and she stands, walking towards the bedroom. Her magic hovers you over the ground and forces you to follow her. You try to ask her what she’s doing but she’s dead silent – not a good sign. You knew not to disturb her while she worked, especially when you were punished. Yet, you decided to be a brat and disturb her.

You thought that being stripped of her attention and being edged was enough of a punishment, but she obviously didn’t think so.

Wanda's magic throws you on the bed, and she forces your thighs apart and positions herself between them.

"You always are a little brat while I'm working, aren't you?" You yelp as Wanda's hand comes slapping down on your clit. "Bet you act like this so I can punish you, huh? Dirty girl."

"Mommy, I-"

You choke on your words as Wanda pushes three fingers into you. She curls them perfectly, forcing a pornographic moan to fall from your lips. She wraps her mouth around your clit, flicking her tongue mercilessly as her fingers pump vigorously into you.

"Oh my god," You whine, your back arching off the bed.

She suddenly pulls away, "You are not to cum unless I allow it, do you understand?" You nod, but that isn't enough for her. "Words, baby."

"Yes, mommy. I understand," You whimper, hoping that she goes back to what she was doing before.

Instead, she decides to tease you. Her wet fingers glide over your stomach, leaving wet marks in their tracks. She continues to slowly drag her fingers across your exposed skin until you're crying out for her.

"Please, Wanda," You sob, tears welling in your eyes. You feel pathetic.

She chuckles before placing her mouth back over your heat and thrusting her fingers into you. You feel yourself getting close, faltering right on the line of that blissful pleasure. Your hands seek solace in her hair, tugging at her braid and hips grinding against her.

Then she stops.

The confused look on your face makes her laugh, "Did you really think I'd let you cum, brat?"

[estellan0vella]

Never Felt Safer: B.C & H.J Bang Chan x fem!reader x Han Jisung (College AU)

WC: 17.4K

CW: Anxiety, panic attacks, pre-established relationship between Chan and Jisung, implied sex, mxm scenes, Minlix in the background, simp Chansung, pining Chansung, twin!Felix, protective!Felix, Comforting!Minho

General Masterlist SKZ Masterlist

The Alpha Phi living room smells like a mix of old pizza, faint cologne, and someone's leftover gym socks, probably Changbin's, based on the guilty glance he shoots toward the corner of the couch. Felix lounges at the centre of the chaos, legs stretched out and crossed at the ankle on the coffee table, holding a Red Bull like it’s his life force.

“Alright, listen up, dickheads zero through five,” Felix announces, voice cutting through the buzz of chatter like a knife.

Minho, seated next to him with his arms casually sprawled across the back of the couch, raises an eyebrow. “Not me, though, right?”

Felix tilts his head toward Minho with a smirk. “Not you, Min. You’re an evil angel, and I love having you here.”

Minho grins, sharp and smug, clearly revelling in the attention. Jisung immediately leans forward from his perch on the floor, waving a hand. “What number am I?”

“Two,” Felix says without hesitation, pointing at him with the Red Bull. “Chan’s number one.”

Jisung’s face splits into a shit-eating grin, and he wiggles his eyebrows at Chan, who’s perched in the armchair nearby with his usual relaxed confidence. Without any preamble, Jisung climbs into Chan’s lap like it’s the most natural thing in the world, snuggling against him and fiddling with a fidget cube. Chan chuckles, resting one hand on Jisung’s hip.

“Fine with me,” Jisung mutters, twisting the cube over and over. “I’ll take number two if it means I get first dibs on this guy.”

“Gross,” Seungmin deadpans from the other couch, tossing a pillow in their direction. “We get it, you’re disgustingly in love.”

“Jealous?” Jisung fires back, not missing a beat.

“Hard pass.”

Jeongin, who’s been scrolling on his phone next to Seungmin, pipes up. “So, what’s up? You’re building to something.”

Felix straightens, his expression growing just a little more serious. “My sister’s coming over tomorrow.”

Immediately, a wave of groans rolls through the room, but Felix cuts them off with a sharp glare. “Shut the fuck up and listen, okay? She’s coming over to practice some SFX on me and Minho, and you know how anxious she is. So no scaring her, got it? I’m looking at you, Hyunjin.”

Hyunjin, sprawled dramatically across the other armchair with his long legs dangling over one side, raises both hands in mock surrender. “What the fuck did I do?”

“You almost gave her a stroke last time,” Felix snaps, jabbing a finger in his direction. “Which is why you’re dickhead zero, the eternal source of my disdain, affectionately, of course.”

“I told her she looked pretty!” Hyunjin protests, clearly offended. “How is that a crime?”

“You terrified her with your pretty frat boy bullshit!” Felix throws his hands up. “She has anxiety, you dumbass, and you made her turtle.”

Hyunjin blinks. “Turtle?”

Felix rolls his eyes so hard it’s a wonder they don’t get stuck. “Disappear inside her shell. Like turtles do, idiot.”

Minho, watching the exchange with a small smirk, finally chimes in. “Don’t worry. I’ll keep them reined in.”

Felix blows Minho a kiss, the pink tips of his ears betraying his casual tone. “Thanks, Min.”

The room erupts into groans and exaggerated gagging sounds, but Felix ignores them. He levels the rest of the group with a sharp look. “Best behaviour. You hear me?”

A collective murmur of agreement goes around the room. Changbin nods solemnly. “Got it, chief.”

“Scout’s honour,” Seungmin says, holding up three fingers.

Felix doesn’t even pause before snapping back, “You were never a scout a day in your life. Shut the fuck up.”

Minho chuckles low in his throat, and Felix shoots him a fond glance before continuing. “Minho’s the only one who doesn’t freak her out, so the rest of you better leave her alone. She’s coming here to practice, not to deal with you idiots.”

Jeongin, ever the instigator, smirks. “The only reason Minho doesn’t freak her out is because you and him see her once a week for dinner at her apartment. Brother, sister, and brother’s sort-of-undefined-but-basically-dating boyfriend.”

Felix’s ears turn a brighter shade of pink, and he sputters, “That’s not—”

“It was a process, believe us,” Minho interrupts smoothly, leaning forward to rest his chin on his hand. He gives Jeongin a slow, deliberate wink. “But you’re not wrong.”

“See?” Jeongin shrugs. “I’m just saying.”

The room falls into a comfortable rhythm of teasing and chatter, but two pairs of eyes linger on Felix for just a moment longer than the rest. Chan’s and Jisung’s. Chan’s gaze softens as it shifts, landing on the small space between Felix’s explanation and the mention of his sister.

Jisung catches Chan’s look, his lips quirking up into a knowing smile. It’s the same thought, unspoken but clear between them: tomorrow’s visit isn’t just about SFX practice.

It’s about seeing you.

The Alpha Phi house looms in front of you, just as chaotic and intimidating as always. The faint sounds of bass-heavy music thrum from somewhere inside, even though it’s not even noon.

You take a deep breath and clutch the strap of your makeup case tighter. The last time you knocked on this door without a plan, Hyunjin had answered, and your anxiety had spiralled out of control before you’d even crossed the threshold.

Not this time. Felix and Minho are already outside, leaning casually against the porch railing, waiting for you.

“Finally,” Felix calls out as soon as he spots you approaching. His blonde hair gleams in the sunlight, and he’s already wearing his signature shit-eating grin. “Took you long enough, slowpoke.”

You roll your eyes but can’t stop the small smile that creeps onto your face. “Traffic,” you mutter, hefting your makeup case as you reach the steps.

Minho pushes off the railing, straightening up. His red hair is pushed back today, giving him an air of effortless cool that would probably be irritating if it weren’t for the slight curve of his lips that softens the look. Without a word, he takes the case from your hands like it weighs nothing.

“Thanks,”

“No problem,” Minho says, his voice smooth and calm. He gestures toward the front door with a nod. “We’ve cleared the hallway and stairs for you. Path to Felix’s room is officially fuckboy-free.”

You let out a laugh, your shoulders easing a little. “Good. I don’t think I could survive another Hyunjin ambush.”

Felix snorts, opening the door for you. “Yeah, well, he’s banned from being anywhere near the front of the house when you’re coming over. Lesson learned.”

“Damn right,” you mutter, stepping inside. “So, no flirting this time?”

Minho smirks. “Not unless you���re into compliments like ‘you look like you belong in a museum.’ That’s what got you last time, right?”

You groan. “Please don’t remind me.”

Felix waves a hand dismissively. “Don’t worry, he’s not even awake yet. I think he stayed up all night painting or something. Total disaster.”

The three of you make your way up the stairs, Minho carrying your case with ease. “So,” he says, glancing back at you, “what are we doing today? Zombies? Scars? Some gory masterpiece to make my mother proud?”

You chuckle nervously. “Uh, SFX injuries, if that’s okay? I need to work on realistic wounds for my portfolio.”

“Wounds it is,” Minho says without missing a beat. He holds the case up slightly. “You brought all your murder tools, I assume?”

“Always,” you say, grinning despite yourself.

You don’t notice Jisung peeking out from the slightly cracked door of his room as you pass, his silver hair messy and his eyes wide with interest. He stays quiet, though, watching as the three of you disappear down the hall toward Felix’s room.

When you step inside, the familiar chaos of Felix’s room greets you. Posters are plastered across the walls in a chaotic patchwork of vibrant colours, and his gaming setup blinks with multicoloured LEDs in the corner. Felix flops into his gaming chair immediately, spinning in a lazy circle as Minho sets your case down gently on the bed.

“Sorry about… all of this,” you say, gesturing vaguely around the room. Your voice comes out softer, more hesitant. “Making the guys stay out of the way and everything.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Minho says, sitting down beside you on the bed. His tone is casual, but there’s a firmness to it that makes you feel a little less guilty. “The guys are a lot, even on a good day. This is nothing.”

Felix hums in agreement, spinning once more in his chair before planting his feet and leaning forward. “Seriously, you don’t have to apologize. They’re all idiots, but they know better than to mess with you. And if they don’t, Min and I will handle it.”

You glance down at your hands, fiddling with the anxiety rings on your fingers. Felix notices, of course, but doesn’t say anything. Instead, he distracts you the only way he knows how by grinning at you like he’s just had the best idea in the world.

“So, murder makeup, huh?” he says. “Think you can make Minho look even hotter with a giant gash across his face?”

“Easily,” you say, a laugh bubbling out of you before you can stop it.

Minho raises an eyebrow, clearly amused. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“It was,” you admit, feeling a little less nervous now as you pull out your supplies. “Thanks for, you know being cool about this.”

“Always,” Minho says simply, his tone so genuine that it surprises you.

Felix wheels his gaming chair closer to the bed, the wheels creaking against the hardwood floor. He plants his elbows on the edge of the mattress and leans in, watching you as you sort through your SFX makeup kit.

The little compartments are crammed with pigments, brushes, sponges, and bottles of fake blood in varying shades of grotesque. Minho leans back on the bed next to you, his sharp gaze flicking between your hands and Felix, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“Alright, let’s do this,” Felix says, clapping his hands together like he’s rallying a team. His grin is mischievous, practically glowing with chaotic energy. “I wanna scare the shit out of Jisung and Chan, just like when you did that burns look”

Minho snorts, his laughter low and amused. “We should’ve filmed that for you. The way Jisung screamed when he saw you standing there? Priceless.”

Felix tips his head back and cackles. “He looked like he saw a ghost”

You shake your head, but you can’t help the small laugh that escapes. “You’re such a menace,” you mutter, pulling a headband out of your bag and holding it up. “Okay, sit still, Lix.”

Felix obeys and lets you push the headband over his head, sweeping his bleach-blonde hair back from his face. The ends stick out in every direction, and you grimace, running a finger through one crunchy strand.

“You need to put a hair mask in this disaster,” you say, holding up a particularly fried piece. “The bleach is murdering it.”

“I’ve been telling him that for weeks,” Minho says, leaning forward to inspect Felix’s hair critically. His tone is playful, but there’s an undercurrent of concern. “Baby boy, you’re gonna go bald by twenty-five at this rate.”

You gag dramatically at the nickname. “Ew. Minho, please. I’m trying to work here.”

Felix rolls his eyes, brushing both of you off. “Whatever, it’s fine. I’ll deal with it later.”

“Later isn’t good enough,” you say, wagging a brush at him like a weapon. “You’ll be doing comb-overs by the time you graduate if you don’t fix this now.”

Felix groans, but there’s no real bite to it. He stays still as you start applying a base layer of makeup to his face, smoothing out the colour to prep for the fake wounds. The rhythmic motion is soothing, and you quickly fall into a comfortable flow.

Minho grabs his phone and starts scrolling. A moment later, the opening notes of a Little Mix song fill the room. He turns the volume up, the beat bouncing off the walls. “Little Mix is undefeated,” Minho says, reclining again with a self-satisfied smile.

“You’re so right,” you reply, adding a streak of red to Felix’s cheekbone. “They’re perfect for this.”

Felix hums along to the song, swaying slightly as you blend out the faux injury. “I feel like a bad bitch already.”

“You are a bad bitch,” Minho chimes in. “You just happen to have the hair care routine of a gremlin.”

Before Felix can retort, the next song starts. The three of you are nodding along to the beat, when a loud voice from the hallway joins in, belting out the chorus with alarming enthusiasm.

Felix’s head snaps toward the door, his expression shifting to murderous in an instant. “Jisung! Go away!” he yells, his voice cutting through the music. “You know not to come near my room when my sister’s here!”

A loud, theatrical whine echoes back. “But it’s Little Mix! You can’t expect me to not sing along!”

You glance at Felix, stifling a laugh as he throws his hands up in frustration. “I swear to God,” he mutters, leaning back in his chair.

Before he can get up, another voice cuts in, Chan’s, calm and soothing. “Come on, babe. Let’s go play Little Mix in your room, yeah?”

There’s a beat of silence, then the unmistakable sound of Jisung perking up. “Really? You mean it?”

“Yes,” Chan replies, laughter evident in his voice. “Come on. Let’s go.”

The two of them disappear down the hall, but not before you hear the exaggerated sound of Jisung smooching Chan. It’s so loud and obnoxious that it sends Felix spiralling into a fit of cackles.

“They’re so fucking gross,” Felix mutters, wiping a tear from his eye as he settles back into position. “Alright, where were we?”

“Making you look like you got into a bar fight,” you reply, dipping your brush into the next colour. “Now hold still, or I’ll make it worse.”

“Can’t get much worse than it already is,” Minho teases, and Felix flips him off without missing a beat. “I’m gonna order us food. Any objections?”

Your hands pause mid-blend as you work on Felix’s makeup. “Oh, no, it’s fine,” you say quickly, the words spilling out in a rush. “I’m not really hungry.”

Felix scoffs so hard that he nearly dislodges the headband. “She’ll have the least spicy tteokbokki you can find,” he says, completely ignoring your protest. “She can’t handle spice, just like me. We’re not freaks like you, Min, who eat the spiciest shit they can find for fun. Order her food. She’s just being her little anxious self, panicking about you buying her food.”

“Felix!” you whine as you nudge him hard with your elbow. “Stop calling me out!”

Minho snorts, shaking his head as he pulls up the food delivery app on his phone. “He’s not wrong, though. You’re too polite for your own good. Just let me order you something. You can eat later if you’re not hungry right now.”

Felix grins, clearly enjoying your flustered state. “Trust Min. He’s the responsible one here.”

“Debatable,” you mutter, focusing back on the gash you’re painting on Felix’s cheek.

“Rude,” Minho says with mock offence. “I’m only ordering in because I can’t be bothered to cook. Every time I do, it’s like vultures descend on the kitchen. I make one decent meal, and suddenly it’s a free-for-all.”

“That’s because you’re the best cook in this house,” Felix says matter-of-factly. “No one else even comes close. What did you expect?”

“Not to be treated like a five-star restaurant, that’s for sure,” Minho grumbles, scrolling through the menu.

You try again, your voice quieter this time. “Seriously, though, Minho, you don’t have to-”

“Nope,” Minho interrupts, holding up a hand without even looking at you. “Also, no paying me back. End of story.”

“But-”

“Shhhhh.” He cuts you off again, this time with an exaggerated shushing noise, his tone dripping with amusement. “If you keep arguing, we’re settling this on the football field. First one to score a touchdown wins.”

You give him a flat look. “I’d lose in ten seconds.”

“Exactly,” he says with a smug grin, clicking the order confirmation on his phone.

Felix lets out a loud laugh, nearly knocking the makeup sponge out of your hand. “God, he’s so full of himself. I love it.”

You roll your eyes but can’t help the small smile tugging at your lips. “You’re impossible, both of you.”

“And you love us for it,” Felix says, winking. “Now hurry up with my face so I can take selfies to scare the shit out of people.”

Minho smirks, leaning back against the headboard as the three of you settle into the easy rhythm of banter and laughter. The lighthearted atmosphere helps ease the tight knot of anxiety in your chest, and for a while, it’s just the three of you, surrounded by the comforting chaos of Felix’s room.

Jisung’s room is a certified disaster zone. Clothes strewn everywhere, half-empty snack bags crumpled on his desk, and a pile of notebooks teetering precariously on the edge of his chair. Despite the chaos, it’s unmistakably Jisung’s space, with posters of indie bands and anime characters covering every inch of the walls.

The air smells faintly of the caramel-scented candle Chan had gifted him a week ago, though it does little to mask the underlying hint of energy drinks.

Jisung sits cross-legged on the bed, bouncing slightly with nervous energy as Sweet Melody blasts from the Bluetooth speaker on the nightstand. He hums along to the chorus, his voice light and airy, but his fingers are picking relentlessly at a loose thread on the corner of the blanket. The thread gets longer with each tug, but he doesn’t seem to notice or care.

Chan, sprawled out on his back next to him, notices. He always notices. His dark eyes flick from Jisung’s hands to his face, taking in the slight furrow of his brow and the way his lips press into a thin line between lyrics.

“I can hear your brain running a million miles a minute,” Chan says finally, his voice soft but laced with curiosity. “What’s up?”

Jisung freezes mid-bounce, the loose thread now wrapped around his finger. He glances at Chan, his silver hair falling into his eyes, and sighs dramatically. “Nothing.”

“Bullshit,” Chan replies without hesitation, sitting up and leaning on one elbow. “You’ve been picking at that blanket for the last five minutes, and you only do that when something’s eating at you. So, spill.”

Jisung hesitates, chewing on his bottom lip. He tugs at the thread one more time before finally blurting out, “How the fuck are we supposed to get close to her if Felix is glued to her side every second she’s here?”

Chan blinks, caught off guard by the sudden outburst, but he doesn’t interrupt. Jisung continues, words spilling out in a rush. “Like, I get it, he’s her brother, her twin, her emotional support whatever-the-fuck, and I respect that, okay? I do. But how are we supposed to make any progress if he’s constantly playing guard dog? I mean, we want her to be the third in our relationship, but we can’t even fucking talk to her.”

There it is. The frustration, the longing, the anxiety. It all comes tumbling out in a messy, unfiltered stream. Jisung runs a hand through his hair, making it stick up in wild angles, and looks at Chan with wide, pleading eyes. “What do we do, Chan? How do we even start?”

Chan leans back against the headboard, crossing his arms over his chest as he considers his words. “If we spoke to her, like, really tried to make our intentions clear, she’d probably have a panic attack.”

Jisung winces, already halfway through forming a rebuttal, but Chan isn’t finished.

“And then you’d have a panic attack for causing her panic attack,” Chan adds, his tone matter-of-fact.

Jisung gasps, clutching his chest dramatically. “Okay, so we’re just dropping truth nukes today? That was a personal fucking attack.”

“Yep.” Chan grins, entirely unbothered. “Because I know you, Ji. You overthink everything when it comes to her. You want to protect her and impress her and somehow confess your feelings all at once, but you freeze up every time she’s in the room.”

Jisung groans, flopping back onto the bed and throwing an arm over his face. “You’re not wrong, but do you have to say it out loud?”

“I do,” Chan says, nudging Jisung’s knee with his own. “Because you need to hear it. She’s not like us. She’s got walls up for a reason, and we can’t bulldoze our way through them just because we want to.”

“So what, then?” Jisung mumbles, his voice muffled by his arm. “We just sit here and pine while Felix keeps giving us death glares every time we so much as look at her?”

Chan chuckles, lying back down beside him. “No, dumbass. We take it slow. Be patient. Show her that we’re not just a couple of horny frat boys looking to make her a notch on our belt.”

“Speak for yourself,” Jisung sighs, letting his head roll to the side as Sweet Melody fades into another song. “Fine. We’ll play the long game. But if Felix cockblocks us one more time, I’m going to scream.”

Chan props himself up on his elbows, watching Jisung fidget with the loose thread again. After a moment, he sits up fully, reaching for his backpack that’s been haphazardly tossed onto the floor. “I did find this,” he says, pulling out a crumpled piece of paper. He smooths it out against his thigh and holds it up for Jisung to see.

“What the fuck is that?” Jisung asks, tilting his head as he squints at the flyer.

“It’s from the cosmetology and SFX department,” Chan explains, his grin widening. “They’re looking for part-time models for the students. Hourly pay, and they feed you.”

Jisung grabs the flyer, scanning the text quickly. His eyes widen as the gears in his head start turning. “You absolute fucking genius, Bang Chan,” he says, smacking Chan’s arm with the paper. “This is why I love you. You’re getting the dick-sucking of your life tonight, and I’ll even do that position you like to fuck me in.”

Chan smirks, leaning back on his hands. “Why not now?”

Jisung rolls his eyes, though his grin is practically glowing. “Because I want to see a peek of her before she leaves. Duh.”

Chan snorts, shaking his head. “You’re such a simp.”

Jisung flops back onto the bed, clutching the flyer dramatically to his chest. “You’re not wrong. I peeked out of my door when she came upstairs with Felix and Minho earlier.”

Chan’s eyebrows shoot up. “Oh, yeah? What’d she look like?”

“She was wearing this cute cropped white sweater, you know, the off-the-shoulder kind? And those mom jeans that make her ass look, like, ugh,” Jisung says, waving his hand like he’s at a loss for words. “Her hair was clipped up all messily, and she had eyeliner so sharp it could cut a bitch.”

Chan groans, rubbing a hand over his face. “Fuck. Wish I’d thought about peeking.”

“You missed out,” Jisung says with a sing-song lilt, flipping onto his stomach to look at Chan. “She looked like an angel. Or a menace. Or both.”

“Definitely both,” Chan agrees with a chuckle.

Jisung holds the flyer up again, studying it as if it holds all the answers to their problems. “This is fucking genius. You’re a genius. We can get close to her, right? Like, we sign up, become her models, and bam! We’re friends! She gets less anxious around us, trusts us, and then bam! She falls in love with us.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Chan says, leaning over to ruffle Jisung’s hair. “And if it doesn’t work, at least we’ll have some cool makeup looks.”

“It’ll work,” Jisung insists, his excitement bubbling over. He giggles, tossing the flyer onto the bed before pouncing on Chan, knocking him back against the pillows. “God, I fucking love you.”

Jisung peppers Chan’s face with kisses, laughing between each one as Chan tries and fails to push him off. Chan’s hands find their way to Jisung’s waist, gripping tightly before sliding down to his ass, squeezing just enough to make Jisung gasp.

“You’re obsessed,” Jisung teases, wiggling his hips in Chan’s hold.

“Can you blame me?” Chan retorts, his fingers tracing over Jisung’s waist like it’s his favourite thing in the world. “You’re fucking perfect.”

“Damn right, I am,” Jisung says, leaning down to kiss him properly this time. 

Jisung breaks the kiss with a grin, his forehead pressed against Chan’s. “My genius, sexy boyfriend,” he murmurs, voice dripping with affection as his hands rest on Chan’s chest. Before Chan can reply, the faint creak of a door opening filters through the chaos of Jisung’s room.

Both of them freeze.

“That’s Felix’s room,” Jisung whispers, wide-eyed. He scrambles off Chan in a flurry of movement, almost tripping over a discarded hoodie on the floor as he darts toward the door. Chan follows, his socked feet sliding a little on the hardwood.

They press themselves against the doorframe, carefully peeking through the narrow gap. Sure enough, Felix’s bedroom door is ajar, and you step into the hallway, your makeup case in hand. Felix and Minho trail behind you, chatting to you about something, but neither of them notices the two lurking shadows just down the hall.

Chan’s eyes immediately drop to your figure, taking in the way your jeans hug your curves. His lips part as he lets out a low whistle under his breath. “That ass,” he mutters, barely audible.

Jisung hums in agreement, his gaze just as fixated. “Fucking hell,” he says, practically purring. “Alright, seeing her ass in those jeans has me ready.”

Chan tears his eyes away from you just long enough to glance at Jisung. “Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Jisung says, his grin wicked. “You ready to get your dick sucked?”

“Yes.” Chan’s reply is instant, decisive. Without taking his eyes off you for a moment longer than necessary, he reaches out and kicks the door shut with his foot, the sound reverberating through the room.

Jisung laughs, already grabbing at Chan’s shirt to pull him closer. “God, I fucking love you.”

“Show me,” Chan says, smirking as Jisung shoves him back toward the bed. Whatever comes next is their business, but one thing’s certain: both of them are more determined than ever to turn the object of their admiration into something far more significant.

The classroom is buzzing with energy, chatter bouncing off the walls as students set up their stations for the day. You sit in your usual spot near the back, partially shielded by a tall counter stacked with brushes, pigments, and latex prosthetics.

Your SFX kit is open in front of you, neatly organized but untouched as you twist the anxiety rings on your fingers, trying to drown out the noise. The clipped-up mess of your hair keeps falling in your face, but you don’t have the energy to fix it.

Your teacher strides in, clapping their hands for attention. “Alright, everyone! Models are here. Be respectful, follow the guidelines, and remember to thank them for their time. This is a great opportunity to work with real people instead of mannequins, so make the most of it.”

The door swings open, and a group of about ten models shuffles in, their faces a mix of curiosity and boredom. You glance up, expecting a crowd of strangers. Instead, your breath catches in your throat as two very familiar figures step through the door. Chan and Jisung.

Chan looks effortlessly cool, dressed in black cargo trousers and a white t-shirt under a black knit sweater. His silver chain glints under the fluorescent lights, matching the one around Jisung’s neck.

Jisung, for his part, looks like he just stepped out of a fashion editorial. His cropped grey long-sleeved top shows just a hint of his toned stomach, and his baggy blue jeans hang low enough to reveal his white boxers. His sneakers are pristine, white as snow, and somehow, even in this classroom setting, he looks like he’s having the time of his life.

When they spot you, their faces light up. Jisung waves enthusiastically, practically bouncing on his heels, while Chan offers a more subdued but equally warm wave. You hesitate for a second, the overwhelming urge to disappear into your shell creeping up, but you manage a shy wave back.

Their reaction is immediate. Jisung’s grin widens, and Chan nudges him, clearly amused.

The other students notice them almost instantly, the energy in the room shifting. A few of the girls near the front start whispering, throwing glances at Chan and Jisung. It’s no secret that the two of them are infamous for their openness at parties, and now that they’re in the same room, the attention is palpable.

The teacher finishes their brief introduction and waves the models toward the stations. Almost immediately, a cluster of girls swarms Chan and Jisung, practically vying for their attention. Compliments fly left and right.

“Chan, you’d be perfect for my project.”

“Jisung, I love your skin tone. It’d be amazing to work with.”

“Have you modeled before? You totally look like you have.”

Chan and Jisung, however, seem completely unfazed by the attention. They exchange a look, a silent conversation passing between them, and then, without hesitation, they make a beeline for your station at the back of the room.

“Hello!” Jisung chirps as they reach you, his voice as cheerful as ever. He drops into the chair across from you, resting his chin on his hand.

“Hi,” you reply softly, your fingers still fiddling with your rings.

Chan pulls out the chair next to Jisung and sits down smoothly, his gaze warm but focused. “What a coincidence,” he says, his voice lower and steadier than Jisung’s. “We just wanted some extra cash, and here we are.”

You can’t help the small smile that tugs at your lips. “Well, I’m glad it’s some familiar faces who picked me rather than total strangers,” you say, though the words come out in a rushed tumble. “I mean, I guess you two are strangers with recognizable faces, but, um, still better than total strangers.”

Jisung beams at you, clearly charmed by your rambling. Chan leans forward slightly, resting his forearms on the table. “Yeah? You’re not nervous about working with us?” His tone is teasing, but there’s genuine curiosity behind it.

“No, I-” You stop, realizing you’re about to contradict yourself, and shrug instead. “I’m just glad I won’t have to meet someone completely new. Familiar faces and all that.”

Jisung tilts his head, his silver hair catching the light. “So, how does this work, exactly? What do we do?”

You shrug again, feeling slightly more at ease under their curious but non-judgmental gazes. “It’s pretty simple. I just practice my SFX and different makeup looks on you. You sit still, let me do my thing, and you get paid by the university for your time.”

“That’s it?” Jisung asks, his expression lighting up. “We just get to chill while you turn us into zombies or whatever?”

Chan chuckles, his eyes never leaving your face. “Sounds like the easiest job ever.”

“It’s not as easy as it sounds,” you mumble, already reaching for your brushes. “I can be kind of a perfectionist.”

Jisung nudges Chan with his elbow, his grin widening. “I think we can handle that.”

“Alright,” you say, your voice steadying slightly as you flip through your kit. “I’m going to do bruises for you, Jisung. If that’s okay? It’s the quickest thing to start with, so you can get a feel for what it’s like and how still you’ll have to sit.”

“Okay!” Jisung chirps, his enthusiasm as boundless as ever. He leans forward slightly in his chair, watching you intently.

As you grab the foundation brush and a small compact, your fingers instinctively reach for your anxiety rings, twisting them back and forth in a soothing rhythm. You think you’re being subtle, but both Chan and Jisung notice. They exchange a quick look, just a flicker of understanding passing between them, before Chan leans back in his chair, breaking the tension.

“I’ll grab us some coffee from the table,” Chan says, standing up.

“Oh, don’t,” you reply quickly, looking up from your kit. “It’s gross. Seriously, it's undrinkable.”

Chan raises an eyebrow, amused. “That bad?”

“Worse,” you say, pulling a small coffee sachet from your tote bag and holding it out to him. “Use this. There’s a kettle in the corner.”

Jisung perks up immediately. “Ooh! I love that brand. Their hazelnut flavor is the shit.”

You smile shyly, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear before turning your attention back to your kit. “It’s the only coffee I can actually stand,” you admit, pulling out your bruise palette.

Chan takes the sachet with a small nod. “Got it. Fancy coffee it is,” he says, heading toward the kettle.

As he leaves, Jisung rests his elbows on the table, leaning in just enough to stay in your line of sight. “So, you wanna get into the makeup industry?” he asks, his tone casual but genuinely curious.

You nod, focusing on applying a thin base layer of foundation to his temple. “Yeah. That’s the plan. Mostly SFX, though.”

“That’s cool as fuck,” Jisung says, his lips twitching into a grin. “When I become a famous crime reporter, I’ll hire you to make me look good on camera.”

The corner of your mouth quirks up into a small smile. “I’ll hold you to that.”

“You better,” he teases, his tone light and playful. “And when Chan opens his music production company, you can do his makeup for the promo stuff.”

You glance at him, a faint smile still on your face as you swap the foundation brush for a sponge. “The two of you have nice skin. You don’t really need makeup.”

Jisung smirks, his voice dropping slightly. “We’re a sexy couple, huh?”

Your brush falters for half a second, and you laugh softly, not trusting yourself to respond. Instead, you focus on the bruising, using purples and yellows from your palette to create a realistic-looking contusion on his temple.

Jisung doesn’t push. He sits quietly for a moment, letting you work, but his gaze never leaves your face. He notices the way your shoulders relax as you settle into your craft, your hands moving with practised ease. You’re more comfortable here, surrounded by brushes and palettes, than you ever seemed in the unfamiliar chaos of the frat house.

“You’re really good at this,” he says after a while, his voice softer.

“Thanks,” you murmur, your eyes focused on blending the colours seamlessly into his skin.

The kettle clicks off in the corner, and Chan returns a moment later with three steaming cups of coffee. He sets one down next to you with a small smile before sitting back in his chair, watching you work.

Jisung flashes him a quick grin. “Told you she’s good.”

“Yeah,” Chan agrees, his voice warm. “She’s really good.”

You glance at Chan, tapping the end of your brush against your lip in thought. “How good are you at sitting still?”

Chan smirks, leaning back slightly in his chair. “Much better than him,” he says, jerking his chin toward Jisung.

Jisung nods enthusiastically. “Oh, absolutely. I have the attention span of a squirrel who’s had crack, PCP, and coffee. Sitting still is not in my vocabulary. That was super hard for me.”

You snort, shaking your head as you pull out a small palette and sponge. “I could do scratches or maybe a split lip?”

“Do both,” Chan says. “Whatever you want. We’re here to help you, get free food, and get paid.”

Jisung grins, leaning forward slightly. “Emphasis on the helping you.”

Their casual support makes you smile, a real, unguarded smile, and you turn your attention to Chan, holding up a few shades next to his face to match his skin tone. The colours need to be just right for the scratches to look realistic, and you’re already envisioning the placement.

While you’re focused, Jisung starts poking around in your kit, pulling out sponges and brushes like he’s never seen them before. “What’s this thing for?” he mutters, holding up a stippling sponge.

“Jisung,” Chan says sharply, without even looking at him. “Sit down. Drink your coffee. Be a good boy.”

Jisung snorts, rolling his eyes but obediently sliding back into his chair. “You sound like a dad,” he mutters, taking a sip of his coffee.

Chan doesn’t respond, but the amused glint in his eye says enough.

You let out a soft laugh, shaking your head as you position Chan’s face just right, tilting his chin slightly so you can work. Starting with the scratches, you dab the base colour along his cheekbone in thin, jagged lines, layering the colours to create depth. The focus required for the details blocks out the noise of the room, narrowing your world to just the colours, textures, and angles.

Chan stays perfectly still, his gaze never leaving your face. Every so often, his eyes flick to your fingers, watching the way they move with such precision. He notices the way you fiddle with your anxiety rings between steps, your thumb brushing over the grooves as if grounding yourself. It’s subtle, but he catches it every time.

Jisung leans closer, resting his chin in his hand as he watches too. He doesn’t say much, which is rare for him, but he’s captivated by how your concentration transforms you. You’re not the shy, anxious girl who fidgets in uncomfortable spaces here. You’re in your element, confident, steady, and focused. Your smiles, when they appear, are genuine, and they feel like small victories to him and Chan both.

“Does this hurt?” Jisung asks suddenly, his voice breaking the quiet.

You blink, looking up from the scratches you’re blending on Chan’s cheek. “What? No, of course not. It’s just makeup.”

“Yeah, but you’re so good it’s making me feel phantom pain,” he says dramatically, and you chuckle softly, shaking your head.

“Sit still and let her work,” Chan says, his tone teasing.

“I’m literally not moving!” Jisung retorts, throwing his hands up.

You roll your eyes but smile as you switch to the split lip. Using a small detailing brush, you draw the initial line across Chan’s lower lip, smudging the edges for realism. You add layers of reds and purples, blending them seamlessly into his skin until the injury looks raw and freshly split.

The room fades away entirely as you work, your focus narrowing to the details of Chan’s face. You don’t notice the way he and Jisung exchange glances, silently communicating as they take note of your little habits, the shifty glance you throw at your rings when the noise gets too loud, the way your shoulders tense and relax in rhythm with your breathing.

They’re careful not to draw attention to it, subtly keeping the energy around you calm and light without you even realizing it.

When the scratches and bruising are complete, you step back, studying your work critically. You add a faint smudge of purple and green around the edges of the scratches, giving them the illusion of swelling, before finally reaching for the mirror.

“Alright,” you say, holding the mirror up for Chan. “What do you think?”

Chan leans in to look, his eyes widening slightly at the realism. “Holy shit,” he murmurs, turning his head from side to side. “This looks incredible.”

“Seriously,” Jisung chimes in, craning his neck to see. “It looks like someone decked you. This is insane.”

You feel a flicker of pride at their reactions, your lips curving into a small smile. “Thanks,” you say quietly, fiddling with your rings again.

“Can’t believe we get paid for this,” Chan says with a grin. “Best gig ever.”

Jisung nods enthusiastically. “We should’ve signed up for this ages ago.”

You laugh softly, your nerves starting to melt away as the three of you fall into an easy rhythm of conversation and quiet admiration.

The room buzzes with its usual energy, students chatting and setting up their kits, but Chan and Jisung sit off to the side, waiting. Jisung taps his boots against the floor rhythmically, glancing toward the door every few seconds. He adjusts the cuffs of his cropped leather jacket, his black vest underneath snug against his torso.

Chan sits next to him, leaning back in his chair, one leg bouncing slightly. His matching leather jacket and vest combo, paired with the loose baggy jeans, gives him an effortless edge, but his eyes flick toward the door just as often as Jisung’s.

“She’s late,” Jisung mutters, chewing on his bottom lip.

“Maybe she got held up,” Chan offers, though his voice carries the same undercurrent of unease.

When the door finally opens, you step inside, your movements stiff and your hands trembling slightly as they clutch your tote bag and makeup kit. You’re dressed in a blue and white tartan mini skirt with a matching cropped blazer, your makeup immaculate despite the visible tension in your posture. The messy clip holding your hair back looks like it’s hanging on by sheer determination.

Jisung immediately notices the trembling. His eyes widen, and he nudges Chan, who follows his gaze. Recognition flashes across Chan’s face, he’s seen this before, too many times with Jisung.

Jisung jumps up first, his wide smile doing little to mask the concern in his eyes. “Hey!” he calls out, his voice bright and warm, though there’s a softness to it meant just for you. He strides over quickly, motioning for you to follow him. “Come on. Let’s go to the other room for a sec. It’s quieter there.”

Chan is already beside you, taking the tote bag and your makeup case from your trembling hands without a word. “Let’s go,” he says gently, his presence steady and grounding as he gestures toward the hallway.

You nod numbly, letting Jisung lead the way. His cropped leather jacket bounces slightly with each step, and you focus on the rhythm of his boots against the floor, using it to anchor yourself.

Once inside the empty classroom, Jisung pulls out a chair and motions for you to sit. Chan places your bags down carefully on the table, then leans against it, his arms crossed but his expression soft.

Jisung crouches in front of you, his voice light and cheerful despite the tension in the room. “You know what I need right now?” he asks, tilting his head.

You blink at him, your breathing still uneven. “What?”

“Embarrassing childhood stories about Felix,” he says, his grin widening. “Come on, you’ve gotta have loads of them. Spill.”

You let out a shaky laugh, your fingers gripping the edge of the chair. “I- I do, but...”

“But nothing,” Chan interrupts, his tone playful but firm. “Give us the dirt. I’m talking full-on Felix humiliation. We need it.”

Jisung pulls something out of his pocket and holds it out to you. A small fidget cube. “Here. This always helps me. Try it.”

Your hands shake as you take the cube, turning it over in your fingers. The clicking and spinning mechanisms give you something to focus on, and you start to feel a faint sense of control creeping back in.

“There has to be something,” Chan says, his tone encouraging as Jisung moves to sit next to you, running a hand gently up and down your back. “Don’t hold out on us.”

You take a deep breath, the fidget cube helping to steady you as you begin. “Okay, um, there was this one time when Felix was sixteen. He had a massive crush on this guy, like, total heart eyes every time he saw him.”

Jisung hums, clearly intrigued. “Go on.”

“So,” you continue, a small smile creeping onto your face, “Felix heard that this guy loved birds. Like, absolutely obsessed with them. So Felix, in his infinite wisdom, decided he was going to catch a dove and give it to him.”

Both Chan and Jisung burst into laughter, but they don’t interrupt. They let you continue, their attention fully on you.

“He spent hours in the park with a net he bought from a fishing store,” you say, your voice growing steadier as the memory takes over. “And when he finally caught one, he brought it home, named it Cupid, and tried to teach it tricks to impress the guy.”

Jisung is practically wheezing at this point. “No fucking way.”

“I swear to God,” you say, a genuine laugh escaping you. “He even bought birdseed that was, like, premium grade or whatever because he thought it would make the dove healthier and shinier.”

Chan shakes his head, his own laugh rumbling low in his chest. “And did it work? Did the guy fall for him?”

“Nope,” you say, giggling. “The guy was allergic to birds.”

Jisung collapses against the back of his chair, clutching his stomach as he laughs. “That’s fucking priceless. Felix trying to be Mr. Romantic and failing spectacularly. I love it.”

Chan grins, his eyes softening as he watches you laugh. “See? That’s exactly the kind of story we needed.”

You fiddle with the fidget cube again, but your breathing is steady now, the tension in your shoulders easing. Jisung nudges you lightly with his elbow, his grin still wide. “Feel a bit better?”

“Yeah,” you admit, glancing between them. “Thanks.”

Chan straightens up, offering you a hand. “Anytime. Now, let’s get back before someone claims your station.”

You take his hand, letting him pull you up, and for the first time that day, you feel like the world isn’t spinning quite so fast.

Chan and Jisung step inside the classroom, hand in hand as Jisung grins at whatever Chan whispers in his ear. Chan’s black cargos and fitted compression shirt make him look every bit the confident leader he is, his silver chain glinting under the fluorescent lights.

Jisung, in his black trousers and the striking red-and-black watercolour-style top, walks with a similar self-assurance, the chain around his neck catching the same light. They’re already the centre of attention without even trying, but their eyes immediately scan the room for one person. You.

You’re at your usual station, sitting on a chair, but something’s off. Your shoulders are hunched, practically touching your ears as you try to shrink into yourself. Two girls are standing in front of you, leaning in far too close, their voices carrying just enough for Chan and Jisung to catch snippets of what they’re saying.

“Come on,” one of them purrs. “You know them, right? Set us up, just for one night. That’s all we’re asking.”

“They’re into sharing,” the other adds, her tone smug. “Everyone knows it. It’s not like they’d say no.”

You’re gripping the edge of your chair tightly, your knuckles turning white as you avoid eye contact. The tension radiates off you, your lips pressed into a thin line. Your green cargo trousers and white sleeveless turtleneck are immaculate, your hair clipped up messily but beautifully, and your makeup flawless as always, but the way you’re folding into yourself tells them everything they need to know.

Chan’s jaw tightens, and Jisung’s grip on his hand briefly tightens before he lets go, stepping forward. “Oi,” Chan snaps, his voice sharp enough to cut through the chatter in the room. “Leave her alone.”

Both girls turn, startled but not deterred. Their faces light up when they see Chan and Jisung approaching, and they immediately shift gears, their tones turning flirtatious.

“Oh, hey, guys,” the first girl says, batting her eyelashes. “We were just talking about you.”

“Yeah,” the second girl chimes in, smiling coyly. “We’ve been dying to get to know you better.”

Jisung rolls his eyes so hard it’s a wonder they don’t get stuck. “Both of you, piss off,” he says flatly, his voice dripping with irritation.

The girls falter for a moment but recover quickly, leaning into their usual tactics. “Don’t be like that,” the first girl says, pouting. “We know you like adding a girl to your relationship. It’s your thing, right?”

The second girl glances toward you, who’s practically curled into yourself at this point. “You two seriously can’t be considering her,” she says, gesturing toward you with a sneer. “I mean, come on.”

Chan’s glare is immediate and lethal. His dark eyes narrow, and his jaw clenches as he takes a threatening step forward. “Watch your mouth,” he says, his voice low and dangerous.

Jisung scoffs, turning his full attention to the girls. “What? You think we’d go for you? Don’t make me fucking laugh.”

The girls’ confidence wavers under the combined weight of their disdain, but they don’t leave right away. Jisung doesn’t wait for them to figure it out. He turns back to you, his expression softening as he crouches slightly to meet your eyes. “Fuck this noise,” he says gently. “You wanna come with us to grab coffee?”

You glance up at him, your hands still trembling slightly, and nod, your relief visible even through your lingering anxiety.

“Good,” Jisung says, standing up. He grabs your tote bag without hesitation while Chan picks up your makeup kit.

As they turn to leave, both of them shoot the girls looks that could kill. “Stay the fuck away from her,” Chan warns, his voice quiet but ice-cold.

Jisung doesn’t bother saying anything else, but the sharp glare he throws over his shoulder speaks volumes. Together, they guide you out of the classroom, their presence on either side of you making you feel safer with every step. The noise and tension of the room fade behind you as the door swings shut.

Once you’re in the hallway, Jisung flashes you a small, reassuring smile. “Let’s go get something sweet”

Chan nods, his expression softening now that you’re away from the chaos. “You’re with us. Don’t worry about anything else.”

The campus café is quiet at this time of day, a soft hum of conversation blending with the low buzz of the espresso machines. Chan leads the way to a corner table in the back, where it’s more secluded. He sets your makeup case down on the floor beside the table as Jisung pulls out a chair for you before plopping into one himself.

“What do you want to drink?” Chan asks, his voice steady and calm as he takes the seat opposite you.

You shake your head quickly, fiddling with the edge of your sleeve. “I’m fine, really.”

Jisung raises an eyebrow, leaning forward on his elbows. “Nope! Anxiety will not let you dehydrate on my watch,” he declares, his tone light but firm. “How about this, you can pay for the coffee next time. Sound good?”

You hesitate, glancing between them, but their expressions are so genuine, so patient, that you finally nod. “Okay. An iced caramel mocha, please.”

“Good choice,” Jisung says with a grin, leaning back in his chair.

As Chan heads toward the counter to order, Jisung places your tote bag on the table, his eyes lighting up when he notices the corner of a sketchbook sticking out. “You have a sketchbook?” he asks, already tugging it free.

“Yeah,” you reply, feeling a little self-conscious but smiling faintly. “If cosmetology and SFX don’t work out, tattooing is the backup plan.”

Jisung’s face lights up like it’s Christmas morning. “Can I peek?” he asks, his voice practically buzzing with excitement.

You nod, and he immediately cracks it open, flipping through the pages with wide eyes. “Ooh, I want that one,” he says, pointing to a minimalist snake design winding around a crescent moon. “And that one.” He gestures to a geometric wolf. “Oh, absolutely that one.” His finger lands on an intricate floral skull.

You can’t help but laugh softly. “If you like them so much, pencil your name next to the ones you want.”

“Done,” Jisung says, digging into your tote bag for a pencil. Instead of a pencil, his hand brushes against a box of tattoo pens, and he pulls it out, eyes sparkling. “Oooh! Can I have one now?”

“Sure,” you say, sliding the box toward him. “Pick a colour.”

Jisung immediately grabs a black pen and places it in your hand instead. “Draw something cool on me.”

There’s a smile on your lips as you grab his hand. His fingers twitch slightly as you adjust his position, your own hand steady as you start outlining a skeletal hand on the back of his. The pen glides smoothly over his skin, and you fall into your rhythm, focusing on each careful line.

Jisung watches you intently, his eyes darting between your concentrated expression and the design appearing on his hand. “This is so fucking cool,” he murmurs, tilting his head to watch you work. “Seriously, how are you this good?”

You shrug, not looking up. “Practice.”

By the time Chan returns with the drinks, Jisung’s hand already resembles a realistic skeleton hand in progress. Chan places your iced caramel mocha in front of you before sitting down with his own coffee. His gaze falls on Jisung’s hand, and his eyebrows raise slightly. “What’s this?”

“She’s giving me the coolest skeleton hand tattoo,” Jisung says proudly, holding his hand up briefly before letting you continue. “It’s semi-permanent. How long will it last?” he asks, glancing at you.

“About two weeks,” you reply, still focused on adding shading to the bones. “If you’re careful.”

“Careful?” Jisung scoffs. “Have you met me?”

Chan chuckles, leaning back in his chair to watch you work. “Guess we’ll see how long it survives. It’s a good look for you, though.”

Jisung grins, wiggling his fingers slightly, earning a small scolding from you as you steady his hand again. “I feel like a badass already.”

“You already are,” Chan says with a smirk, taking a sip of his coffee.

You finish the final details on Jisung’s skeleton hand, stepping back to admire your work. The clean black lines trace over his skin perfectly, each bone detailed with just enough shading to make it look almost real. “There,” you say, setting the pen down for a moment. “Done.”

Jisung twists his hand to get a better look, his grin widening. “Holy shit, this is incredible. You’re a fucking magician.”

“You’re being dramatic,” you reply with a faint smile, wiping your hands on a napkin.

“No, seriously. It’s so good!” Jisung glances at you, his grin turning sly. “So, can I have another?”

You arch an eyebrow but grab the pen again, motioning for him to roll up his sleeve. “What do you want this time?”

He taps his chin, pretending to think. “How about a sword? With a snake wrapped around it. Make it badass.”

“Got it,” you say, leaning over to begin sketching on his forearm. The pen glides smoothly over his skin as you map out the shape of the blade, the hilt, and the curling snake.

As you work, Jisung leans back slightly, looking over at Chan with a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Hey, Chan. Baby. Sexy man.”

Chan gives him a flat look. “What.”

“How do you feel about Jisung’s bitch on your forehead with the tattoo pen?”

“No.”

Jisung pouts dramatically. “No hesitation? Not even a little consideration?”

“Not even a little,” Chan replies, sipping his coffee calmly.

You shake your head, biting back a smile as you continue detailing the snake coiling around the sword. The tip of the blade points toward Jisung’s wrist, and the snake’s head curves menacingly near the hilt, its fangs bared.

“Could we count this as a date?” Jisung asks suddenly, his voice casual but his grin anything but.

Your hand falters slightly, and you cough, your head snapping up to look at him. Before you can respond, Chan kicks him under the table, the dull thud making Jisung wince.

“Kidding! Kidding!” Jisung says quickly, throwing up his free hand in surrender. “Totally joking.”

You narrow your eyes slightly but don’t say anything, your focus snapping back to his arm as you continue detailing the snake’s scales with delicate precision.

While your attention is on the drawing, Chan leans forward slightly, his eyes narrowing at Jisung and he mouths, What are you doing?

Jisung shrugs dramatically, mouthing back, What?! It was worth a shot!

Chan rolls his eyes and mouths, Idiot.

Jisung grins, leaning closer to mouth back, At least now she might realise we’re interested.

Chan glares, his lips pressing into a tight line, but he doesn’t argue. Instead, he leans back in his chair, his gaze softening as he watches you work.

You finish detailing the snake’s body, adding a hint of depth to its scales, before leaning back to examine your work. “Done,” you say. “What do you think?”

Jisung lifts his arm, turning it this way and that to admire the sword-and-snake design. His grin stretches from ear to ear. “It’s fucking perfect. You’re a genius.”

Chan nods in agreement, his voice warm. “It looks incredible.”

You glance between them, your cheeks warming slightly at their praise. “Thanks.”

As Jisung continues marvelling at his arm, you finally allow yourself a small smile, feeling a strange but welcome sense of ease in their company.

The Alpha Phi frat house is quieter than usual, a rare lull in the usual chaos. You make your way up the stairs, your sneakers squeaking faintly against the worn wood. Felix is at a culinary practical class, which means you have a golden window of opportunity to talk to Minho without your overprotective twin hovering nearby.

Reaching Minho’s room, you hesitate for a second before knocking twice and pushing the door open. The familiar scent of his room, clean laundry mixed with a faint hint of cologne, greets you as you step inside.

“Hey there, anxiety bundle,” Minho greets from his bed, where he’s lying with his phone in hand, scrolling lazily. He glances up, a small smirk playing on his lips.

You can’t help but grin, hopping onto the bed beside him. “Hi, Min.”

He sets his phone down, propping himself up on one elbow to look at you more closely. “So, what’s up? You look like you’ve got something on your mind.”

You take a deep breath, fiddling with the hem of your cropped turtleneck. “I wanted to talk to you about Chan and Jisung.”

Minho raises an eyebrow, his smirk widening slightly. “Chan and Jisung, huh? Have you ever even spoken to them?”

You bite your lip, nodding. “Yeah, they’re, uh, my models for my cosmetology and SFX extra credit stuff.”

“Interesting,” Minho says, his tone light but curious. He leans back against his pillows, giving you his full attention. “Go on.”

“They’re actually super cool to hang out with,” you admit, your voice softening as you pick at an invisible thread on the blanket. “But, we went to a café a couple of days ago, and Jisung asked if it was a date.”

Minho’s other eyebrow joins the first, his expression shifting to something more knowing. “You can’t tell they’re both into you?”

You blink at him, caught completely off guard. “Huh?”

Minho rolls his eyes, sitting up fully. “Come on, everyone in the frat but Lix knows. They’re not subtle. They like you and want you as a third in their relationship. A little polyamorous trio.”

You freeze, the words sinking in like a stone dropping into a still pond. “No. No way. No, I can’t- Nope. Nuh-uh. I am not relationship material. Nope. No way.”

Minho stares at you for a moment before letting out a low chuckle. “Okay, no breakdowns here. Deep breaths. You’re spiralling.”

“I’m not spiralling,” you protest weakly, even as your chest tightens.

“Right.” Minho reaches for the edge of his blanket, a mischievous gleam in his eyes. “Here’s what we’re gonna do. I’m going to blanket burrito you and then cuddle you until your stresses flow out of you. Arms free, of course, so you don’t feel too restricted.”

Before you can argue, he’s already wrapping the blanket around your shoulders, tucking it securely but leaving your arms free just as he promised. “There we go,” he says, satisfied with his work. “Comfy?”

You hum softly, leaning into his side as he pulls you closer. “Yeah. Surprisingly.”

Minho shifts slightly, adjusting the blanket around you as he tucks you closer into his side. His warmth seeps into you, and for the first time today, the tension in your shoulders starts to ease.

“So,” Minho begins, his tone light but teasing, “what do you wanna talk about? We cannot under any circumstances talk about black-haired football captains and silver-haired journalism students who wanna fuck you in what could possibly be the hottest threesome and three-way relationship to walk the earth. Anything but that horror, which I am wildly jealous of but we can’t discuss because you’re in an anxiety burrito.”

“Shut up!” you exclaim, smacking his arm lightly, though you can’t help the small laugh that escapes.

Minho gasps dramatically. “Excuse me. Everything I say is a blessing. Don’t silence the gospel.”

You roll your eyes, relaxing further against him. “Fine. Let’s talk about you and Lix. What’s going on there?”

Minho groans, tilting his head back against the headboard. “We’re, like, together. Without the labels.”

“Loser,” you mutter, smirking as you nudge his side.

His head snaps back down, and he glares at you playfully. “Listen here, brat. It’s your brother’s fault, alright? One minute he’s all over me, sucking my dick like it’s the cure to cancer, and the next, he’s chatting up and fucking every Theta Tau asshole who so much as glances in his direction.”

You grimace but can’t stop yourself from laughing. “Oh my God, Minho.”

“It’s true!” Minho insists, throwing up his hands. “Do you know how fucking confusing that is?”

You sit up slightly, resting your chin on your hand as you consider him. “Have you ever considered that Felix wants you to make the move?”

Minho pauses, his brow furrowing. “Huh. No. No, I did not. That actually makes sense.”

“You’re welcome,” you say with a smug smile. “I give sound relationship advice. Can’t follow it myself, but hey, it’s called anxiety.”

Minho snorts, ruffling your hair affectionately. “Fucking nerd. Alright, Yoda, explain this wisdom to me.”

“It’s simple,” you say, leaning back against him. “Felix probably doesn’t want to make things official because he’s scared of messing it up. He’s waiting for you to say something.”

Minho hums thoughtfully, his arm tightening slightly around your shoulders. “Okay. Fair point. I’ll think about it.”

There’s a beat of silence before Minho glances down at you, his smirk creeping back onto his face. “Now, back to you.”

“Nope,” you say quickly, shaking your head. “We’re done talking about me.”

“Look,” Minho begins, ignoring you completely. “You’re hot. Chan’s hot. Jisung’s hot. And those two have got it bad for you, sweetcheeks. I’m talking down horrendously bad. Me mooning over your brother? Nothing on those two.”

You groan, pulling the blanket tighter around yourself. “Minho, stop.”

“Not a chance,” he says, his voice growing more serious. “You think you’re not relationship material, but I’ve seen the way they look at you. They’d bend over backwards to make you happy. You deserve that. You really do.”

You don’t respond, your fingers absently twisting the blanket’s edge. Minho doesn’t push further, letting his words sink in as he pulls you closer to his side, his presence steady and comforting.

“Anyway,” Minho says after a moment, his teasing tone returning, “I’m pretty sure Felix and I are the blueprint for dysfunctional relationships, so if I can make it work, you’ve got no excuse.”

You laugh softly, shaking your head. “You’re impossible.”

“And you love me for it,” he replies, grinning. For now, the weight of his words lingers, but it feels less like a burden and more like a possibility you can slowly start to consider.

The classroom hums with the usual pre-class energy. Students chatting, tools clinking against palettes, and brushes being sorted. Chan and Jisung are already seated at your station when you walk in, your steps hesitant. You’re dressed in green cargo trousers, black Converse, and a black cropped turtleneck, your hair messily clipped up as always. Your makeup is, as usual, flawless, the sharpness of your eyeliner contrasting starkly with the apprehension in your eyes.

But today, something’s off.

Chan notices it first. You don’t greet them like usual, instead setting your tote bag and kit on the table with trembling hands. Jisung picks up on it seconds later when you don’t return his grin or meet his gaze. You sit down silently, immediately busying yourself with unpacking your materials, your movements stiff and hurried.

“Hey,” Jisung says softly, leaning forward slightly. “You good?”

You don’t answer, pretending to focus on your brushes as if they’re suddenly the most interesting thing in the world. Your fingers fumble as you arrange them, the clinking sound drawing Chan’s attention. He exchanges a quick glance with Jisung, his brow furrowing.

“Y/N,” Chan tries, his tone low and gentle. “What’s going on?”

Still, you don’t respond. Instead, you grab your palette and turn to Jisung, gesturing for his arm. “I’m starting with the scarring,” you mumble, your voice so soft they almost miss it.

Jisung hesitates but holds out his arm, watching as you grab a brush and start applying a base layer. Your focus is razor-sharp, but something about the way your hands move feels mechanical, like you’re running on autopilot. You won’t look at him, your gaze glued to your work.

Jisung glances at Chan again, his worry evident. “Okay,” he says cautiously, trying to keep the mood light. “Guess we’re skipping the chit-chat today.”

No reaction.

As you work on creating realistic scarring up his forearm, Jisung tries again. “You know, I was thinking, maybe I should start a petition for you to do our makeup at frat parties. You’d probably get us a shit ton of attention.”

Still nothing. You don’t even crack a smile, your brush moving methodically as you blend shades of red and brown into his skin. The silence stretches, heavy and uncomfortable.

Chan leans back in his chair, his fingers tapping rhythmically against the table as he studies you. He doesn’t say anything, but his dark eyes flicker with concern, his lips pressed into a thin line.

When you finish Jisung’s arm, you finally glance up, just to grab another tool, before quickly averting your gaze again. “Switching to facial injuries,” you mumble, turning toward Chan without waiting for a response.

Chan shifts in his chair slightly, his posture relaxing as he nods. “Go ahead.”

You step closer, your movements still stiff as you start creating a gash on his cheekbone. Your hands remain steady, but your avoidance is glaringly obvious. You don’t meet his eyes, even when you have to angle his face toward the light. Instead, you keep your focus strictly on your work, avoiding any interaction.

Jisung leans his chin on his hand, watching you carefully. “You know, we’re here, right?” he says softly, his usual playful tone replaced with genuine concern.

Your hand falters slightly, but you quickly recover, your expression unreadable. “I know,” you mutter, still not looking at either of them.

Chan tilts his head as you add depth to the injury, his voice low and steady. “You don’t have to say what’s bothering you if you’re not ready. But you can. We’re not going anywhere.”

Your hands are trembling so violently now that you can barely hold the brush. The classroom feels too loud, too bright, too crowded, like the walls are closing in around you. The edges of your vision blur as you inhale sharply, your breaths coming too fast and too shallow.

“I- Excuse me,” you manage to choke out, your voice trembling as much as your hands.

Without waiting for a response, you push back from the table, nearly knocking over your chair in your haste to leave. You don’t even think to grab your tote bag or kit as you rush out the door, the classroom’s noise fading into an overwhelming silence.

Chan and Jisung are on their feet immediately, exchanging a single, knowing look. They don’t need to speak to understand what’s happening. Jisung recognizes the signs, he’s been there too many times himself, and Chan has seen this far too often when helping Jisung through his panic attacks.

“We’re going after her,” Jisung says, already heading for the door.

Chan nods as he follows. “Of course.”

They move quickly through the hallway, scanning for any sign of you. It doesn’t take long for Jisung to notice the slightly ajar door to the empty classroom they’d taken you to before. He pushes it open gently, the hinges creaking faintly, and the sight inside makes both of them freeze.

You’re crouched down near the far wall, your head in your hands as you tug on your hair with trembling fingers. Your whole body is trembling, and your breaths come in short, ragged gasps that hitch and catch painfully in your throat. It’s clear you’re spiralling fast.

Jisung and Chan exchange another glance, unspoken understanding passing between them. Chan steps forward first, closing the door quietly behind them while Jisung pulls the blinds down to block out the outside world. They’re careful, their movements measured and deliberate, as if any sudden motion might make things worse.

Jisung crouches down in front of you, his voice soft but steady. “Hey, what do you need? I know it’s hard to answer right now, but I’ve been here before. For me, a hug helps, a tight one. It compresses my nervous system and calms me down. You’ll fight it at first, but it’s just me and Chan. You’re safe with us, okay?”

You nod faintly, your fingers twitching as you try to loosen your grip on your hair. Your breaths are still shallow, but you’re trying, and Jisung can see it in the way your shoulders rise and fall unevenly.

“Good,” Jisung says gently, shifting to sit behind you. He carefully takes your hands, pulling them away from your hair and holding them in his own for a moment before guiding your body to rest against his. “I’m gonna hug you now, alright? Just let me help.”

He wraps his arms tightly around your chest, holding you firmly but not uncomfortably, his chin resting lightly against the top of your head. “Just me,” he whispers. “I’ve got you.”

Chan crouches in front of you, his eyes soft with concern. “My turn,” he says quietly, leaning in to wrap his arms around both you and Jisung, enveloping you in a warm, grounding embrace. You’re sandwiched between them, their bodies a protective barrier against the storm raging inside you.

“Just breathe,” Chan murmurs, his voice low and soothing. “We’re here. You’re safe.”

Jisung presses his cheek against the back of your head, his voice equally calm. “Deep breaths. In through your nose, out through your mouth. Slow and steady.”

It’s hard. Your chest feels tight, and the panic claws at you, but their warmth and steady presence start to chip away at the edges of the fear. Jisung’s hold is grounding, his arms firm and secure, while Chan’s presence in front of you feels like a shield against the world.

“You’re doing so good,” Jisung says softly, his fingers lightly brushing against your forearms. “Just keep going. We’ve got you.”

Chan’s hands rub gentle circles on your back, his movements synchronized with Jisung’s reassurances. “That’s it. Keep going. One breath at a time.”

Slowly, the tension in your body begins to ease. Your breaths become a little less ragged, a little more controlled. The trembling subsides bit by bit, though your body still feels exhausted from the panic.

“You’re okay,” Jisung whispers, his voice soft as he rests his forehead against the back of your head. “You’re safe. We’ve got you.”

Chan pulls back slightly to meet your eyes, his hands still resting gently on your shoulders. “Better?” he asks, his voice warm and patient.

You nod weakly, your voice barely above a whisper. “Yeah. Thank you.”

Jisung presses a light, reassuring kiss to the top of your head before helping you sit up straighter. “No need to thank us. We’re here for you. Always.”

“Want to talk about why you’re an anxious bundle of nerves today?” Chan asks gently, his eyes locked on yours. There’s no judgment in his tone, just patience and concern.

You hesitate for a moment, chewing on your bottom lip, but the warmth of their presence gives you enough courage to speak. Once you start, though, the words spill out in a frantic, barely coherent rush.

“It’s—it’s Minho,” you stammer, your voice shaky and fast. “He said you two like me, and not just like me, like like me like me, and then he said something about polyamory and a three-way relationship, and I-look, I can’t do that. I don’t want to come between you two, you’re perfect together, and I don’t even know how to be in a regular relationship, let alone something like that! I mean, I’m definitely not relationship material. I overthink everything-”

“Wait, wait, slow down,” Chan says, his lips twitching in an effort to suppress a smile as he tries to keep up with your rapid-fire rambling.

Jisung giggles, resting his chin on your shoulder. “Silly girl,” he says, his tone playful and affectionate. “You wouldn’t be coming between us. There’d be three of us in the relationship. That’s kind of the point.”

You pause, your brain short-circuiting at the simplicity of his words. “I… what?”

Jisung squeezes you tighter, his grin widening. “Three of us. Not you versus me or Chan. All of us together. Team effort.”

“Exactly,” Chan chimes in, his voice steady and calm. He leans in slightly, his dark eyes warm as they meet yours. “Tell you what. Jisung and I will take you on one date. Just one. No pressure, no expectations. If you decide polyamory isn’t for you, we’ll stay just friends. No hard feelings.”

You blink at them, your heart racing as you try to process everything. “One date?” you echo, your voice almost disbelieving.

“One date,” Chan confirms, his lips curving into a soft smile. “Just to see how it feels. No strings attached.”

Jisung nods eagerly. “And if it’s not your thing, that’s fine. We still get to hang out with you and be your friends, which is already pretty fucking great.”

You look between them, the sincerity in their expressions making your chest tighten in a way that’s equal parts terrifying and comforting. Finally, you nod, the tension in your shoulders easing just slightly. “Okay. One date.”

Jisung cheers softly, his arms tightening around you. “Yes! I’m calling this a win.”

Chan chuckles, resting a hand on Jisung’s back as he looks at you. “Thank you for trusting us.”

As you sit there, sandwiched between them, the panic that had consumed you earlier feels like it’s beginning to fade, replaced by a tentative sense of hope. Maybe, just maybe, this could work.

The low rumble of a sleek black convertible echoes through the quiet street as Chan pulls up outside your apartment building, the hood already down. The car gleams under the dim glow of the streetlights, a perfect reflection of its owner’s effortless confidence. Jisung sits in the backseat, his cropped leather blazer catching the light as he leans against the side of the car, a casual grin on his face.

Chan, in black trousers and boots with a white half-buttoned shirt over a black turtleneck, rests one arm on the steering wheel as he glances up at your building. He checks the time briefly before looking at Jisung. “You think Minho’s keeping Felix distracted long enough?”

Jisung snickers, adjusting his silver chain. “Please. If anyone can manage Felix, it’s Minho. The man dragged him to a love hotel. They’re probably too busy fucking to even think about anything else right now.”

The sound of the building’s front door opening pulls both their attention, and their conversation stops. You step outside, your beige flares swishing slightly with each step, white sneakers bright against the pavement. Your white bandeau crop top hugs your figure, and your half-up, half-down hair style gives you a polished but relaxed look, the little bun at the back bouncing slightly as you walk.

Jisung’s grin widens as he scrambles out of the backseat and around to the sidewalk, opening the door for you with a dramatic bow. “Your chariot awaits, milady.”

“Thank you, kind sir,” you reply with a teasing smile, sliding into the backseat next to him. Your movements are smooth, but there’s a flicker of nervous energy in your hands as you buckle in.

Chan glances over his shoulder, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. “You like fast driving?”

You nod, settling into your seat. “Yeah, why not?”

Chan doesn’t need any more encouragement. He slams his foot on the gas, and the car roars to life, speeding down the street. The wind whips through your hair, and your laughter spills out, unrestrained and genuine. You throw your hands up, tipping your head back as the city lights blur into streaks of colour.

Jisung wraps an arm around your shoulders, his touch light enough to give you space to pull away if you want. Instead, you lean into him, your laughter bubbling over as the wind rushes past. Chan watches the two of you through the rearview mirror, a soft smile tugging at his lips as he navigates the empty streets with ease.

“Disclaimer,” you say between giggles, “I had an edible brownie to help my anxiety, so I’m kind of stoned right now.”

Jisung’s eyes widen with delight. “Oh my God. When I thought you couldn’t get any hotter.” He nudges Chan with his free hand. “She’s one of us, Chan! A stoner!”

Chan snorts, his eyes flicking to the mirror again. “I’m sober, don’t worry. I wouldn’t drive stoned.”

“Obviously,” Jisung says, grinning. “I had a joint earlier, though, so we’re vibing, Y/N. You and me? Stoner solidarity.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “Good to know I’m in good company.”

Chan hums thoughtfully. “I will steal one of those brownies later, though, if you’re offering.”

“Sure,” you say easily, your gaze softening. “I’ve seen your place already. You can come over and meet my dog. He’s a golden retriever. His name’s Simba.”

“Dream woman,” Chan says, his voice warm and genuine. “Dog lover, brownie maker, and she likes fast cars. What’s not to love?”

You laugh again, feeling the edges of your nerves melt away in the company of their easy banter. The car speeds forward into the night, the three of you riding the high of the moment, figuratively and, in your case, literally. It feels like freedom, like something new and exciting, and for once, you’re more eager than anxious about what comes next.

The sleek black convertible pulls up to the brightly lit bowling alley, its neon sign casting a kaleidoscope of colours on the pavement. Jisung hops out first, his black trousers swishing as he moves, and he offers you a hand with a playful grin, and you take it, sliding out of the car.

Before you can step away, Jisung wraps an arm around your waist, his fingers brushing lightly against the fabric of your beige flares. “You ready for this?” he asks, his tone warm and teasing.

You glance at him, your nerves bubbling up again, but before you can respond, you feel Chan’s gaze on you. His dark eyes are soft but questioning, waiting for permission. You nod shyly, and he steps closer, draping his arm over your shoulders with a casual ease that makes your heart skip a beat.

“Now we’re ready,” Chan says with a small smirk, steering you toward the entrance as Jisung keeps his arm snugly around your waist.

The trio walks through the glass doors, greeted by the bustling atmosphere of the bowling alley. The place smells like popcorn and pizza, and the sound of bowling balls crashing into pins echoes around you. Chan leads the way to the counter, where a guy in a red-and-white uniform greets him with a friendly smile.

“Got a booking under Bang,” Chan says smoothly, his tone low and confident.

The employee nods, checking the screen and handing him a set of shoes. Meanwhile, Jisung leans closer to you, his voice conspiratorial. “Must be nice, huh?”

You giggle, glancing at Chan as he talks to the guy like it’s second nature. “I’d be half passed out by this point talking to another human like that.”

Jisung snorts, his laugh low and infectious. “Right? Meanwhile, Mr. Smooth over here acts like he owns the place.”

Chan turns back to you both, raising an eyebrow. “You two gossiping about me?”

“Always,” Jisung replies without missing a beat, his grin cheeky as Chan rolls his eyes and leads you down a side hallway.

At the end of the hallway is a door marked Private Lane. Chan opens it with a flourish, stepping aside to let you and Jisung walk in first. The private lane is sleek and modern, with plush seating and mood lighting that makes it feel more like a lounge than a bowling alley.

“You’ve outdone yourself, Mr. Smooth,” Jisung says, plopping onto the couch with a dramatic sigh.

Chan ignores him, instead turning his attention to you. “So, have you ever bowled before?”

You hesitate for a split second before shaking your head. “No,” you say, your voice soft.

Chan quirks an eyebrow, and Jisung’s grin widens. “Never?” Chan asks, his tone somewhere between disbelief and amusement.

“Nope,” you lie smoothly, hoping they won’t catch on.

“Well then,” Chan says, grabbing a bowling ball from the rack and holding it out to you, “we’ll have to teach you.”

“Absolutely,” Jisung chimes in, standing up and grabbing another ball. He rests it on his hip as he walks over to you. “This is gonna be fun.”

You smile, biting back your nerves as they both step closer, their expressions eager and intent. You might not be a complete novice at bowling, but right now, the idea of their hands guiding yours and their attention entirely on you feels worth a little white lie.

Chan rolls up his sleeves and grabs a bowling ball from the rack, his silver chain catching the light as he steps to the lane. “Alright, Y/N,” he says, holding the ball out to you. “Let’s start simple. Just grip it here and here.”

You take the ball, the weight of it heavier than you expected, and Chan steps behind you, close but not overwhelming. His hands rest lightly on your elbows as he adjusts your stance. “Feet shoulder-width apart. Bend your knees a little.”

Jisung lounges on the nearby couch, a smug grin on his face. “Don’t drop it on your foot.”

“Helpful,” Chan mutters, shooting him a look before turning back to you. “Ignore him. Now, swing it back gently, then forward. Let it roll off your fingers when it feels right.”

His voice is low and patient, and you nod, following his instructions. With Chan’s hands steadying your arms, you swing the ball forward. It rolls down the lane with a satisfying thud, wobbling slightly before knocking over a few pins.

“Not bad,” Chan says, his voice warm with approval. “Let’s try that again.”

The game continues, and for the first few rounds, either Chan or Jisung is always there, standing behind you, guiding your movements. Jisung’s approach is less methodical than Chan’s, he’s more playful, cracking jokes and deliberately leaning close enough to make you laugh as he adjusts your grip.

“Alright, superstar,” Jisung says during your next turn, resting his chin on your shoulder for a moment as he lines up the shot with you. “This time, aim for the left side. Trust me.”

You roll your eyes but follow his advice, and the ball takes out a solid chunk of pins. Jisung cheers loudly, throwing his hands up like you’ve just won a championship. “See? I’m a genius!”

Chan laughs from his spot on the couch, his eyes crinkling with amusement. “You’re ridiculous.”

The real chaos begins each time it’s Jisung’s turn. Instead of bowling normally, he walks up to the lane, turns his back to the pins, and bends over, rolling the ball between his legs. It glides perfectly down the centre of the lane, knocking down every pin in a clean strike.

“Fuck yeah!” Jisung yells, spinning around with his arms raised in victory. “Did you see that?”

“That shouldn’t even count,” Chan calls out, shaking his head in disbelief. “You didn’t even look!”

Jisung shrugs dramatically, grabbing another ball. “Jealousy isn’t a good look on you.”

His next turn, he lies flat on his stomach at the start of the lane, pushing the ball forward with both hands. Once again, it rolls perfectly down the lane and crashes into the pins, scattering them everywhere.

“This is bullshit,” Chan mutters, standing up and grabbing a ball. “There’s no way you’re this lucky.”

“It’s not luck!” Jisung insists, grinning from ear to ear. “It’s raw talent.”

You can’t stop laughing, your sides aching as Jisung continues his streak of absurd bowling techniques. He tries spinning the ball while crouched like a frog, rolling it while hopping backwards, and even attempting to launch it from his lap while sitting. Somehow, every ridiculous method he tries results in a strike.

“You’re unbelievable,” you say, shaking your head as you watch him collapse onto the couch, arms raised in mock exhaustion.

“Unbelievably good,” Jisung corrects, winking at you.

“Annoying is more like it,” Chan quips, his smirk softening the words.

The second game kicks off, and you decide it’s time to step up. Chan and Jisung exchange a glance as you grab a ball, their eyebrows raised in mild surprise.

“You got this,” Chan says, leaning casually against the scoring console.

Jisung smirks from where he’s sprawled on the couch, his silver rings glinting as he gestures toward the lane. “Show us what you’ve learned, superstar.”

You roll your eyes but can’t hide the smile tugging at your lips. With confidence, you line up your shot, swing the ball back, and release it. It glides perfectly down the lane, straight into the pins, scattering them in a deafening crash. A clean strike.

The room falls silent for a split second before Jisung shoots up from the couch, pointing an accusatory finger at you. “We’ve been fucking hustled!”

You turn to him, feigning innocence as you shrug. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Jisung’s jaw drops dramatically. “Oh, you’re good. Real good. You just wanted us to feel you up, didn’t you?”

You duck your head, biting your lip to hide the shy smile that betrays you and Chan laughs as he steps forward, ruffling Jisung’s hair as he passes. “Oh, she did,” he says, his voice warm and teasing. “But don’t tease her too much, Ji. Look, you’ve made her all shy.”

Jisung grins, unbothered, and strides up behind you. Before you can step away, he wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you against him. “Be honest,” he murmurs near your ear, his voice low enough that only you can hear. “You’ve bowled before, haven’t you?”

You nod once, still too shy to speak, and his nose brushes lightly against the side of your neck as he chuckles. “Little liar,” he whispers, his tone playful and affectionate.

Chan takes his turn at the lane, his throw smooth and precise, though he leaves two pins standing. He shakes his head as he turns back toward you, grinning as Jisung presses a kiss to the top of your head before letting you go.

While Chan preps for his spare, Jisung leans over to the control pad on the table and presses a few buttons. “You drink?” he asks, glancing at you.

You tilt your head curiously. “They have cocktails?”

Jisung nods, scrolling through the menu on the screen. “Yep. What’s your poison?”

You hum thoughtfully, tapping your lip as you consider. “Hmm. Sex on the Beach.”

Jisung freezes for half a second before turning to you with a grin so wicked it makes your heart skip. “We could have sex on the bowling lane.”

Your jaw drops as you stare at him in shock, your eyes wide. “Jisung!”

He bursts out laughing, his arms wrapping around you again as he pulls you into a tight hug. “I’m kidding! You’re so easy to mess with, it’s adorable.”

You huff, though you can’t fight the laugh bubbling up as you swat his arm. “You’re impossible.”

“And you like it,” he quips, his grin softening as he rests his chin on your shoulder.

Chan returns to the table, his spare successfully picked up, and raises an eyebrow at the two of you. “What’d I miss?”

“Nothing,” you say quickly, shooting Jisung a look as he chuckles under his breath.

“Sure,” Chan says, his eyes narrowing slightly but the smile on his lips giving him away. “Whatever you say.”

Jisung, still grinning, reaches for the pad to confirm the drink order, adding a mock toast under his breath. “To bowling hustlers and adorable liars.”

The sleek convertible pulls up in front of your apartment building, its engine purring softly before Chan cuts it off. The night air is cool, brushing against your skin as you step out of the car andJisung hops out after you, his cropped leather blazer catching the streetlight as he stretches.

“This is the part where we find out if you’re a hoarder or if you’ve got some hidden skeletons in your closet,” he teases, falling into step beside you.

Chan chuckles, locking the car as he joins you both. “Don’t scare her off, Ji.”

You lead them up the stairs, your sneakers tapping lightly against the concrete as the three of you climb to your floor. At your door, you unlock it with a faint click and push it open, flipping on the lights. The warm, lived-in space comes into view, shelves lined with books and figurines, Attack on Titan posters framing one wall, and a collection of Harry Potter merch spread across various surfaces.

Jisung steps in first, his eyes immediately scanning the room. His mouth falls open slightly as he takes in the decor. “Anime and Harry Potter?” he says, his voice filled with awe. He turns to you with a playful grin. “You’ve officially made me fall in love.”

You laugh softly, shaking your head as you kick off your shoes. “It’s not that impressive.”

“It’s fucking heaven,” Jisung declares, his eyes darting from the Levi Ackerman figurine on your shelf to the Hufflepuff throw blanket draped over your couch.

Chan is about to respond when the soft patter of paws echoes through the apartment. Simba, your golden retriever, pads out from the hallway, his tail wagging lazily as he stops in front of Chan, sniffing curiously.

“Oh my God,” Chan breathes, crouching down immediately to pet the dog. His hand brushes over Simba’s soft fur, his face lighting up with pure joy. “He's adorable"

You watch Chan coo at Simba, scratching behind his ears. The dog leans into his touch, clearly pleased.

Jisung flops onto your couch, letting out a dramatic sigh and you sit next to him. “No, seriously. This apartment is heaven. Anime, Harry Potter, and now a golden retriever?” He looks at you, his grin softening into something more genuine. “You’re perfect.”

Before you can respond, Jisung leans forward and presses a quick kiss to your lips. His touch is fleeting, like he’s testing the waters, and his eyes widen immediately as he pulls back. “Uh, shit, sorry, I-”

You cut him off by leaning in and kissing him again, your hands lightly brushing against his chest. His surprise melts into a quiet groan as he deepens the kiss, his fingers tangling gently in your hair while his other hand finds its way to the small of your back.

Behind you, Chan stands up slowly, his dark eyes locked on the two of you. There’s a heat in his gaze, his tongue swiping over his lower lip as he watches, his hands slipping casually into his pockets.

Jisung pulls away just enough to look into your eyes, his breath warm against your lips. “You’re dangerous, you know that?” he murmurs, a grin playing at the edges of his mouth.

“Only to you,” you tease, your voice barely above a whisper.

Chan steps forward, his boots clicking softly against the floor before he leans down and cups your face in his hands. His touch is gentle but firm as he tilts your chin up, his eyes searching yours for permission.

When you don’t pull away, he leans in, capturing your lips in a kiss that’s slower, deeper, and filled with intent. His thumbs brush against your jawline as he holds you steady, the kiss sending a shiver down your spine.

As Chan kisses you, Jisung doesn’t move far. Instead, he wraps his arms around you from behind, his lips finding the curve of your neck. He presses a series of soft, lingering kisses along your skin, his breath warm and his touch featherlight.

Chan pulls back slightly, his forehead resting against yours as he glances at Jisung over your shoulder. “You good back there?” he asks, his voice rough with a mix of humor and something darker.

Jisung grins against your neck, his hands tightening around your waist. “Oh, I’m very good,” he replies, his voice muffled as he presses another kiss to your neck.

Chan brushes his thumb gently against your cheek, his gaze steady and soft despite the heat simmering in his dark eyes. “If you don’t want to go any further, let us know,” he says quietly, his voice low and reassuring. “There’s no pressure.”

You take a deep breath, the tension in your shoulders easing at his words. Meeting his gaze, you manage a small, shy smile. “My bedroom is the door at the end of the hall.”

A flicker of surprise crosses Chan’s face before it’s replaced with a warm, knowing smile. He takes your hand, his grip firm but careful, and starts leading you toward the hallway. Behind you, Jisung remains attached to your back, his arms draped loosely around your waist as he follows your movements step for step.

The short walk feels longer than it is, your heart racing with anticipation. When you reach the door, Chan opens it for you, stepping inside first to take in the space before turning back to you and Jisung. The room is cosy and well-kept, the bed neatly made with soft, neutral tones, and fairy lights strung up around the walls giving it a warm glow.

Jisung’s eyes sparkle with excitement as he steps inside, still clinging to you. “Oooh! I get to dom! I haven’t done that in a while. Chan doesn’t let me dom him!”

You let out a shy giggle as he twirls a strand of your hair around his finger. “Is that so?”

Chan snorts, closing the door behind him. “That’s because you’re a menace, Ji.”

“And you love it,” Jisung retorts, grinning as he tugs lightly on the strand of hair before letting it fall back into place.

Chan steps closer, his gaze dropping to meet yours, his voice taking on a teasing edge. “You ready for all other men to be ruined for you?”

You nod, biting your lip nervously but unable to suppress the small, eager smile that tugs at your mouth.

Jisung’s grin softens as he gently cups your face, his thumb brushing over your cheek. “You know this isn’t just a one-time thing, right?” His voice is quieter now, almost tentative, as if he needs to be sure.

You nod again, your hands lightly resting on his chest. “I know.”

Something shifts in Jisung’s expression, a mix of relief and exhilaration, before he leans in and kisses you, his lips warm and eager against yours. His hands slide down to your waist, gripping you firmly as he deepens the kiss. In one swift motion, he lifts you effortlessly, your legs wrapping instinctively around his waist as he presses you back against the wall.

Chan steps closer, his hands brushing against Jisung’s shoulders as he tilts his head to kiss the side of Jisung’s neck. His lips trail up slowly, leaving warm, open-mouthed kisses along Jisung’s skin, making him shiver slightly even as he keeps his focus on you.

Jisung pulls back just enough to meet your gaze, his breathing uneven but his grin still intact. “Ready for this, baby?”

You nod, your hands curling around the back of his neck as your chest presses against his. With both of them here, surrounding you with their attention and warmth, you’ve never felt safer or more wanted.

Three Months Later

The Alpha Phi frat house is as chaotic as ever, laughter and the faint hum of music filling the space as you step inside with Chan and Jisung. You’re wearing black cargo trousers, a lilac cropped lace camisole, and black Converse. Your hair is clipped up messily, stray strands framing your face, and your makeup is flawless as usual.

Jisung struts beside you, his black baggy jeans slung low enough to reveal the waistband of his black boxers. His cropped black long-sleeved top and silver chain make him look effortlessly edgy, and Chan, on your other side, is the perfect counterpoint with his black cargo trousers, sleek black t-shirt, leather jacket, and matching chain.

The three of you are greeted by the sight of Minho lounging on the couch with Felix perched in his lap, their positions far too cosy for anything innocent. Felix is giggling about something, his blonde hair tousled as Minho’s arms keep him firmly in place.

“What’s going on?” Felix asks, his bright eyes darting between the three of you as you hesitate near the doorway. There’s a curious tilt to his head, but his smile is easy and warm.

You open your mouth to speak but quickly close it again, glancing at Minho with wide eyes. At the same time, Jisung nudges Chan, who scratches the back of his neck awkwardly. Minho’s grip tightens on Felix’s waist as if bracing himself for impact. His knowing smirk is the only indication that he’s been expecting this moment for weeks.

Felix frowns slightly, leaning back against Minho. “I feel like I’m missing something.”

“Uh, yeah,” Jisung says, dragging out the words with a nervous laugh. “You could say that.”

Before Felix can ask anything else, you and Jisung simultaneously push Chan forward, using him as a shield as you step behind him. “You tell him,” Jisung whispers urgently, peeking over Chan’s shoulder.

Chan sighs, giving both of you a side-eye before turning to Felix. “Okay. Felix,” he starts, his tone careful but firm. “You know Jisung and I are together, right?”

Felix blinks, his expression turning incredulous. “Obviously. I’ve heard you two fuck in every part of the house.”

Chan pinches the bridge of his nose, muttering under his breath before continuing. “Right. Well, we added a third to our relationship.”

Felix’s face lights up with excitement. “That’s great! Who is it?!”

Minho stares at Felix in disbelief, his lips parting slightly before he mutters, “Oh, Lix. You’re so pretty. So, so pretty.”

Jisung, still partially hidden behind Chan, snickers. “But dumb. Even compared to me.”

Felix’s head snaps toward Minho, his frown deepening. “Well?! Who is it?”

Minho sighs, rolling his eyes like he’s explaining something painfully obvious. “It’s Y/N.”

Felix tilts his head further, the frown deepening into confusion. “My sister Y/N?”

Chan, deadpan, replies, “No, another Y/N on campus.”

Felix’s eyes widen, looking between all of you. “Really?”

Minho groans, his hand dragging down his face. “So, so pretty.”

Everyone goes quiet, waiting for Felix to piece it together. Jisung and you peek over Chan’s shoulders, your expressions nervous but slightly amused as you watch the gears turning in Felix’s brain.

But nothing happens. Felix’s brow furrows, his mouth opening and closing like he’s about to speak but can’t find the words. Minho watches him for another few seconds before shaking his head in resignation.

“It’s not computing, is it?” Jisung whispers to you, his voice barely audible as he stifles a laugh.

You shake your head, biting your lip to hold back your own giggles. “Not at all.”

Felix finally bursts out, “Wait, so you’re telling me-”

Everyone leans in slightly, hopeful.

“-you, Jisung and Y/N are… like, all three of you?” His eyes dart between you, Jisung, and Chan, still visibly processing.

Minho buries his face in Felix’s shoulder with a groan. “Yes, baby. Yes, that’s exactly what we’ve been saying. God, you’re gorgeous, but your brain…”

Felix’s eyes narrow at Minho’s tone. “Shut up. I get it. I’m just surprised!” He turns to you, his voice higher-pitched now. “You? Really?”

Jisung pats Chan on the back. “We might be here a while.”

It’s been twenty minutes, and Felix is still sitting in Minho’s lap, staring blankly at the floor. His mouth occasionally opens as if he’s about to say something, only to snap shut again. Meanwhile, you and Jisung remain firmly behind Chan, who’s started tapping his foot against the hardwood floor, his arms crossed as his patience wears thin.

Minho gently strokes Felix’s arm, his voice soft but laced with teasing. “I know your little brain has processed it by now, baby. Come on, some emotion. Anything. You can do it.”

Felix blinks a few times before his gaze slowly shifts to you, his expression finally breaking out of the fog of shock. “Wait, wait, wait,” he says, his tone incredulous as he points at you. “You’ve never had a serious boyfriend in your life. Ever. Just random hookups! And now you come back with two boyfriends?”

Your eyes widen, and you glance at Jisung, who’s biting his lip to keep from laughing. Chan sighs heavily but stays silent as Felix continues his rant.

“What the fuck is this bullshittery?” Felix exclaims, throwing his hands in the air. “It took me twenty fucking years to lock down one man! One! She meets these guys and bam! Two boyfriends! Just like that! The universe is sexist and homophobic!”

Jisung finally bursts out laughing, clutching his stomach as he leans on Chan for support. “It wasn’t like bam!” he protests between giggles. “There was a buildup, okay? Like two months of it. And now we’ve been happily dating for three months.”

Felix’s head snaps toward him, his jaw dropping. “Three months?! How the fuck did I not notice?”

Minho, who’s been quietly holding back his own laughter, smirks. “You didn’t notice because I was deployed as your distraction.” He leans closer to Felix’s ear, his voice dropping slightly. “Every time Chan and Jisung left to see Y/N, I railed you into next week.”

Felix makes a choking noise, his cheeks going bright red. “Minho!”

Minho grins shamelessly, brushing a strand of Felix’s hair back. “It worked, didn’t it?”

Felix glares at him for a moment before sighing dramatically and turning back to you, Jisung, and Chan. He points at you, his expression serious. “Okay! Fine! But if either of you hurt her,” he says, directing his attention to Jisung and Chan, “I did taekwondo for twelve years, and I’ll fuck you up.”

Jisung salutes him, his grin wide. “Noted.”

Chan nods solemnly. “Fair warning. Got it.”

Felix leans back against Minho, letting out an exaggerated sigh. “Now, Minho, take me somewhere where I can cry, scream, and throw up to process this bullshit. Because now I have the knowledge that my friends are Eiffel towering my sister!”

He gags dramatically, covering his face with both hands as Minho finally loses his composure and laughs openly. “Alright, baby,” Minho says, standing up and hoisting Felix with him like he weighs nothing. “Let’s get you somewhere private to let it all out.”

As Minho carries Felix toward the stairs, Felix shoots you one last look, his hand flailing in mock accusation. “This isn’t over, Y/N! I need therapy!”

As Felix and Minho disappear up the stairs, you let out a heavy sigh. “Booze,” you say firmly, your tone decisive. “I need booze.”

Jisung perks up immediately, grinning like the devil himself. “The kitchen is more of a bar than a place we store food. Let’s go.” He takes your hand, leading you toward the kitchen as Chan follows, shaking his head fondly. “And hey, if you’re nice, I’ll roll us some joints.”

You raise an eyebrow at him as you step into the spacious but chaotic kitchen. “Am I not always nice?”

Jisung freezes for a second before turning to you with wide eyes and an apologetic grin. “Kidding! Kidding, baby!” He tugs you closer and presses a quick kiss to your temple. “Tell you what, we can even use my cherry papers.”

That earns a smile from you, the edges of your tension softening. “Deal.”

Chan rolls his eyes, already moving toward the counter to pull down glasses. “You two are impossible,” he mutters, but there’s no bite to his words.

Jisung skips over to a cupboard and pulls out a tin labelled Jisung’s Shit in bold, slightly crooked letters. He pops it open on the counter, revealing a neatly arranged collection of rolling papers, a grinder, and a stash that smells distinctly skunky and sweet. “What’ll it be?” he asks over his shoulder, wiggling his eyebrows. “Straight joints, spliffs, or my famous two-layer combo?”

“Famous?” Chan interjects as he pours three hefty servings of whiskey into the glasses. “Last time you made that, you couldn’t get off the couch for six hours.”

“Which means it worked,” Jisung retorts, sticking his tongue out before turning back to you. “Your call, baby.”

You laugh softly, shaking your head as you lean against the counter. “Keep it simple tonight.”

Jisung mock-salutes you, grabbing the papers and his grinder with an exaggerated flourish. As he works, Chan slides a glass into your hand, his own already in his other. “Here,” he says, his tone warm.

You take a sip, the burn of the whiskey grounding you almost immediately. Jisung hums softly to himself as he rolls, his hands deft and practised. It’s a strangely comforting sight, the three of you falling into this rhythm together, the chaos of earlier fading into the background.

Jisung finishes quickly, holding up the joint with a grin. “And voilà. Cherry perfection.” He lights it with a flourish, taking a quick puff before passing it to you.

You take it carefully, the sweet smoke curling into the air as you take a slow, cautious drag. The tension in your chest eases a little more, replaced by a warmth that’s equal parts the whiskey, the weed, and the presence of the two men beside you.

Chan clinks his glass against yours, his smile soft but teasing. “So, what’s the verdict? Does this make up for your brother’s meltdown?”

You snort, shaking your head. “It helps. He’s going to be a drama queen about this for weeks, though.”

Jisung leans against your side, draping an arm over your shoulders. “Good thing you’ve got us, huh? We’ll keep you sane.”

“You say that like you two aren’t half my stress,” you tease, earning a loud laugh from both of them.

As the night wears on, the three of you settle into easy conversation, the kitchen filled with laughter and the faint haze of smoke. It’s not perfect, and the chaos of the day still lingers at the edges, but for now, it feels enough. You’re surrounded by warmth, care, and a sense of belonging that you hadn’t expected to find but now that you have it, you’re not letting it go.

General Taglist: @nightmarenyxx

Requested By: @omgsquee2001

[heavyhitterheaux]

Here (Slight NSFW)

See Me Through You Series

I'm sorry if I seem uninterested

Or I'm not listenin' or I'm indifferent

Truly, I ain't got no business here

But since my friends are here, I just came to kick it

But really I would rather be at home all by myself not in this room

Synopsis: Girls night quickly goes left when your safety ends up being compromised

Series Masterlist

Warnings: underage drinking, drug use

Please Do Not Repost My Content Anywhere

Textbooks as well as individual pieces of paper filled with notes were scattered all around both you and Joe clearly forgotten as the makeout session that you two were currently in had taken priority.

As always, he had offered to help you study and you only had one more final to take until the semester would officially be over with. But studying led to him giving you kisses here and there and now he held your focus.

When Joe had suddenly pulled you on top of him, that's when your phone decided to go off.

“Ignore it, baby.” Joe told you as you had broken the kiss in order to grab it and he quickly pulled your face back towards his.

“But…” You started to protest, but Joe immediately cut you off.

“It can wait. I hardly saw you all day.” He told you and you leaned down once more to kiss him.

It wasn't until your phone went off a third time when he audibly groaned at the sound.

“It might be important, babe.” You said as you then let out a laugh from his reaction.

“Fine, answer it.”

“Two minutes. Stop being a grump.”

“I'm not a grump for wanting my girlfriend's attention.” Joe told you as he pouted. You gave him one last kiss before starting to look for your phone.

Finally locating it, you grabbed your phone from the other side of Joe's bed under one of your notebooks and saw it was Erin and quickly answered. But that didn't stop Joe from giving you his undivided attention.

“Yes, boo?” You answered and you could hear movement in the background.

“Uh, are you forgetting something bestie?” Erin asked and you were honestly genuinely confused.

“Forgetting what?”

Since you were still straddling your boyfriend, he took the opportunity to move your panties to the side and ran his fingers along your folds making your eyes go wide.

You gave him a warning look and mouthed ‘stop it’ but he paid you no attention as he grabbed your thighs and moved you all the way up until you were directly over his mouth.

“Me, you, and Alisha were going out tonight! You were supposed to be here getting ready with us.”

“Shit, I completely forgot.” You told her in response as you felt Joe take one long lick and you had to cover your mouth in order to suppress a moan.

“Alisha found some new spot for us to go to and I need to find a boyfriend so we have shit to do.” Erin told you as Joe's tongue was now moving in and out of you.

“Ohh, umm. Okay, I'll be there soon.” What started out as a moan was quickly suppressed by the full answer you gave her.

“Remember ladies free before eleven so hurry up. And I promise to return you to your boyfriend in one piece. I know you're with him from the sounds you're making. Being discreet was never one of your strong qualities.”

“Erin!”

“I can tell he's giving you his undivided attention! Just saying! I'm not mad at it. After he's finished putting you through the mattress, come to my apartment.”

“You get on my nerves, but I will.” Your response came out shaky as you hung up and glared down at your boyfriend who didn't do anything but smirk in response which then led to you rolling your eyes.

“You definitely could have waited until I got off the phone. She knew what you were doing.”

“No I couldn't and it's not my fault I want to make you feel good. And where are you going?” He asked as he then started kissing along your thighs.

“I forgot I promised Erin and Alisha that I would go out with them tonight. I'm sorry, baby.” You told Joe, but all he did was shrug.

“They can have you for a few hours and I'll get you the rest of the night. You promised them, so you should go.”

“I need to go back to my apartment to get something to wear and then head over there.”

“Hmm, I'll take you, but you aren't going anywhere until I'm finished. I want these off. Now.” He told you and a laugh escaped your mouth as he tugged at the waistband.

You slowly pulled them down while still straddling him and slid each leg through one by one as you threw them on the floor.

“Much better.”

It was 10:25 when Joe finally pulled up to Erin’s apartment just as he had promised and was still having a difficult time keeping his hands to himself. After he had eaten you out for close to an hour, you returned the favor and the two of you had then gotten dressed to head to your apartment.

Being there quickly led to him eating you out again before he finally allowed you to take another shower in order to get ready to go out with your best friends.

“I need another kiss before you leave.” He told you and you laughed as you pinched his cheek.

“I’m not going to be gone long, babe. The sooner you let me go, the sooner you come and pick me up.” You replied as you connected your lips to his.

“Do you know where the three of you are going?”

“No idea, Alisha chose the place. Apparently it just opened, I think that’s what she told me in the text.”

“Just let me know when you get there and what time I should come and get you. I’ll be awake, okay?” He told you as you nodded your head and fixed your bracelet that was gracing your left wrist.

“Okay, will do. Promise.” You replied as he leaned over to kiss you once more.

“I love you.” He quietly whispered against your lips and you felt his mouth turn up into a smile.

“I love you too. Be back soon.”

–

“How in the world did you get us a table in VIP?!” You asked Alisha as all three of you had now gotten settled in your section and she simply smiled at you.

“Connections, boo. I got connections.” She answered as she looked over the drink menu that was placed on the table.

“Her connections are fucking one of the bouncers.” Erin stated as she playfully rolled her eyes and Alisha shrugged.

“And…. we get all of our bottles on him tonight.” She told both you and Erin and your eyes suddenly went wide.

“Wait, what? We're not even 21….” You replied since you were now confused.

“He doesn't know that.” She said as she sent a wink your way.

“Y/N, stop acting like you've never gotten drunk before.”

“Well yeah, in your house and your sister gave us IV fluids.” You told Erin who had quickly snatched the menu from Alisha earning a pinch to her arm in response.

“It'll be fine. Just sit back and have fun. We almost made it through our first semester at LSU. We deserve to celebrate that. As well as you finally breaking up with Trevor's dumbass. Joe is literally perfect for you.”

“He is, I’m happy that I stopped being scared and finally gave him a chance.”

“And not to mention, he obviously knows how to please you from what we heard on the phone earlier.” Alisha added as she eyed you while a small smirk appeared.

“That was hilarious, you were trying so hard not to moan, but me and Alisha knew what was happening.” Erin confessed as she busted out laughing.

“And he did it again before he dropped me off at your apartment.” You told both of them and they collectively gasped.

“Oooh, yall nasty. But I love it and I do not blame you one bit. But enough about that, let’s have fun and pray that I pass my final tomorrow.”

“TOMM- ERIN?!?!?” You exclaimed and she simply shrugged.

“I don’t take it until three! I have time to sober up!”

“Isn’t your GPA like 1.7?” Alisha asked Erin before she busted out laughing.

“I will take the first bottle we get and bust it upside your head! No! It’s definitely not since I would have been kicked off the team if it was.”

“Anyway, moving on. Let’s start off with something light.”

You knew for a fact when you went out with Erin, drinking was anything but light.

“And what is your definition of light because I know for a fact mine is different.”

“Vodka shots!”

“Maybe I need to preorder the uber.”

The three of you stayed in your section at your table for a good while when Alisha decided to go with the bouncer that got the three of you in the section in the first place whose name you learned was Derek while you and Erin decided to make your way downstairs to where the dancefloor was. Not being in the mood to be around that many sweaty bodies, you told Erin that you would keep an eye on her while you sat at the bar and decided to get another drink. You knew that you would have been a lot more wasted if you weren’t drinking water in between downing the alcohol.

That was when you felt a presence next to you.

Looking over, you saw that it was Cameron, Trevor’s best friend who also played on the baseball team with him.

“Hey.” He said and you instantly felt weird.

You could never quite put your finger on it, but something about him had always rubbed you the wrong way. When you had told Trevor, he simply brushed you off and told you that you were being dramatic.

Surprise, surprise

Cameron obviously had never flat out said it at least in front of you and neither did Trevor, but you knew deep down for a fact that he didn’t like you. And he probably didn’t like you now more so because you had broken up with his best friend.

“Hi.” You quietly said as you were trying to decide what drink you wanted to order.

“Who’s here with you tonight?” He curiously asked and you instantly rolled your eyes.

“Not with my boyfriend if you must know.”

Cameron instantly held his hands up in defense.

“It’s not any of my business what happened between you and Trevor. I was just curious. He isn’t here by the way since I see you constantly looking around.”

“Hmm, that’s surprising since when I see one, I usually see the other not too far behind.”

“I just… wish you two could have worked things out. He really loved you.”

When you were quiet, he took another approach to get you to talk to him.

“But, your happiness is what matters.”

“Thank you, I appreciate that.” You told him since he actually sounded sincere for once.

“Anyway, let’s celebrate the semester being over and new beginnings for you.” Cameron replied as he waved over the bartender.

“What are you drinking?” He politely asked and you took a second to think it over.

“Amaretto sour.”

“Good choice.”

When you were waiting for your drink to be made, you turned away from the bar in order to face the crowd to once again keep an eye on Erin as you had promised. You spotted her and was taken out of your thoughts by Cameron nudging you in order to hand you the drink he got for you.

“Cheers.” He simply said as the two of you raised your glasses. It took less than two minutes for yours to be gone as Cameron still stayed in his place next to you.

“See you around, Y/N. Enjoy your night. Wishing you and Joe the best.” He said as he winked at you before walking off.

As soon as he was out of sight, you decided that you would go to the bathroom before grabbing Erin and heading back upstairs to your table.

When you were washing your hands, you glanced up in the mirror and had to blink a few times to get your eyes to focus.

After you dried your hands and threw the paper towel in the trash can, you felt off balance and quickly leaned against the wall in the bathroom to steady yourself.

“Fuck, did I really drink that much already?” You asked yourself before taking a few minutes to clear your head.

Once you felt that it was safe to move, you headed back out to find Erin.

She happened to be in the same place that you had originally left her, but the walk back felt like it took an hour.

That was when you knew something wasn’t right.

“Y/N? Babe? You feel okay?” Erin asked you as she had pulled you over to the side away from the crowd. Your head felt fuzzy and you leaned on the wall in order to steady yourself.

“No, I… Erin I'm scared. I don't know what's wrong.”

“Okay, we'll figure this out. What did you drink? Did someone give you something?” Erin was trying to get answers out of you since her back had been turned and she had been facing away from you as you were sitting at the bar. She had peeked over at you periodically and made sure you were okay, but hadn’t seen you drink anything.

“Cameron.” Was all you could get out as you had now slid down the wall in order to sit on the floor.

“Y/N, why the FUCK would you take a drink from him out of all people!? You know he's just as unhinged as Trevor is! They're obviously best friends for a reason! Shit! No, stand up!”

“But I'm tired. Where's Joey?”

“He's not here, but you have got to stay awake.”

Alisha walked up to the two of you and instantly got a look of concern on her face and was confused about what was happening in front of her.

“Uhh? What the fuck is going on? Why is she on the floor?” She asked and Erin turned to see you had slid onto the floor anyway despite her protests.

“Help me get her outside so we can call 911.”

“Joe is about to kill us because of this, well Cameron I should say.”

“And Ja'Marr.”

The two of them helped you up as they gathered all of your belongings from VIP and made their way outside. They sat you on the curb with Alisha sitting next to you as Erin dialed 911.

As she was giving the location as to where the three of you were, a sudden wave of nausea hit you as your head was laying on Alisha’s shoulder.

“I have to throw up.” You simply told her and she immediately turned you to face away from her as you emptied what seemed like everything you ate all the way back from two weeks ago.

All she did was hold up your hair and rub your back as the three of you waited for the paramedics to arrive.

“I’m going to fucking kill that asshole.” Erin said to no one in particular as she was now pacing back and forth.

“Erin, no.”

“Y/N, stop. He did that in an attempt to hurt you for breaking up with his best friend and you cannot tell me any different.”

“I just want to feel better and I want Joey.” You quietly said as a hiccup escaped your mouth.

“I know, babe. I know. I’ll call him once we get to the hospital. We need to make sure that you’re okay, first.” Alisha said as you turned to throw up again.

That was the last thing you remembered before waking up in the emergency room of the hospital not too far from campus.

As you opened your eyes, Erin and Alisha both gave you a small smile, but you could faintly hear two voices arguing.

And it sounded like Joe and your twin brother.

“What happened? And what is happening out there?” You asked the both of them who exchanged looks with one another.

“Well, this will be the last girls night out of the apartment for a while. Okay let’s do the cliff notes version. Cameron slipped something in your drink that caused you to get all woozy. You found us and we took you outside before you threw up and passed out. You got here, they drew blood to find out what he slipped into your system, gave you an IV and fluids. Next when you were somewhat stable, each of us called Joe and Ja’Marr and we did not in fact know that Ja’Marr had no idea that you and Joe were in a relationship. Uh, apparently that uh is why they’re arguing now. Ja’Marr thinks you two hid it from him and Joe is saying that you guys didn’t. And that’s what you missed on Glee.” Erin finished and you sighed as you looked at your arm that had the fluids running through it.

“And that is actually your third bag of fluid. Once you finish that and tolerate eating something you should be able to leave.” Alisha added as the door to your room opened.

Both Joe and Ja’Marr had pissed off looks on their faces.

“Pebbles, I’m happy you’re okay, but I am mad as shit at you right now.” Ja’Marr told you as you looked at him confused.

“Why? I didn’t do anything?”

“You damn right, you didn’t do anything. Since when were you going to tell me that you two were together?!” He asked gesturing between you and Joe who simply had a neutral facial expression.

“What? I thought it was obvious? I also didn’t realize that I had to tell you every single little detail of my life.”

“Are you serious right now? You’re dating one of my friends and didn’t think that it was important to tell me? And you literally tell me EVERYTHING. So what the hell are you even talking about?”

“Ja’Marr, that is literally not even important right now. SOMEBODY DRUGGED YOUR TWIN SISTER IF YOU HAVEN’T NOTICED.” Joe finally said, but he just shook his head at him.

“I can’t believe the two of you. But you’re about to be discharged so I guess I’ll see you whenever.” He said and started to walk back out.

“Bam Bam, get back here.”

He didn’t react, but simply kept going.

“JA’MARR!”

“Just let him go, babe. He’s pissed off right now so just let him cool off.” Alisha quietly said and you couldn’t help but start to cry.

“I just need for this night to be over with.” You quietly said as Joe wiped away your tears.

“Do you know who did this?” Joe asked the three of you and all of you exchanged looks.

“Don’t all speak up at once.”

“Cameron, he’s Trevor’s best friend.” You quietly said and it was at that moment you knew that Joe had begun to see red.

“No, don’t get any ideas. We already filed a police report when we got here.” Alisha told him, but you knew for a fact that he would get his revenge in his own way. It had been happening all semester and you knew that this was going to be the straw that broke the camel’s back.

Joe took a deep sigh before saying anything else.

“You’re okay and that’s the important part. Ja’Marr will come around.” He told you as he placed a kiss on your forehead.

“I hope so, but from the look on his face, I don’t know.”

It was now five in the morning when you had gotten back to Joe’s apartment, took a shower, and was now simply lying down in his bed with your head on his chest as his arms were wrapped around you.

The ride home had been silent, and you were somewhat convinced that he was mad at you. So, in order to not let anything end up in an argument, you simply stayed quiet.

The television was on a low volume when you had finally asked him, not being able to take the silence any longer.

“Are you mad at me?” You asked and Joe looked down at you dumbfounded.

“What?”

“Are you mad at me?”

“Baby, why would I be mad at you?”

“Because I was irresponsible and took a drink from someone that I probably shouldn’t have and look what ended up happening.”

“You had no idea that he was going to do that to you, and no I’m not mad at you. It would be really stupid of me if I was. All that matters is that you’re safe.”

“But my twin is mad at me.”

“He’ll come around, just give him time. I honestly don’t think we hid anything from him, but we weren’t exactly screaming it from the rooftops either.”

“I’ll call him later and see if I can get him to talk to me. Usually if I bring him food, that makes everything better.”

“Just sleep on it. It’s been a long day and night for the both of us and like I said, the most important part is that you’re safe.” Joe told you as he placed a kiss on your forehead before turning off the television.

Two days had passed when Joe along with several other members of the football team made their way into the gym that was located on the southside of campus.

And there he was just like he knew he would be.

Luckily the gym was empty as Joe approached Cameron from behind and waited for him to notice him.

Cameron was looking down as he was working on his biceps, but was in for a surprise when he looked up and saw Joe.

He gave him a small smile before reracking the weight he was using and walking back over to him.

“Can I help you with something?” He asked him and instead of Joe replying with words, he immediately put his hand around his throat and backed him up against the mirror making his head hit it with a thud.

“I heard you were the one who slipped something in my girlfriend’s drink the other day, hmm?” Joe asked and Cameron frantically shook his head no.

“No, it wasn’t me. I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Now Cameron, let’s not lie.”

“I’m not lying, your stupid bitch of a girlfriend is.” He replied as he laughed, but of course Joe found nothing funny.

“Oh, wrong answer.” Joe replied as he motioned to Justin to punch him directly in his jaw.

“Fuck!” Cameron said as he could feel his mouth fill with blood.

“I’ll keep this short and sweet. You and your bitch ass best friend Trevor need to stay the fuck away from Y/N. You understand?”

“Or what? She’s not even…”

“Watch your mouth before I break this mirror using your face. You should know better than to disrespect her in front of me. I don’t want to have this conversation with you again. Good talk.” Joe told him as he finally let him go.

“Don’t let it happen again.”

—

Joey- All good, baby. Trevor and Cameron won’t be bothering you anymore.

You- Uh, babe…. What did you do?

Joey- Nothing 🙂

You- Baby… I told you the police would take care of it

Joey- And it’s my job to take care of you. Where did you want to go for dinner tonight?

You- JOSEPH LEE, stop dodging my question!

Joey- Not dodging it, princess. Like I said, it's my job to take care of you and protect you and make sure you’re good. I love you, see you soon.