#so they all have to remind him that they’re there and they love him

[dollishmehrayan]

# “HOLD UP, POSE!” ── .✦ ( model!reader x batboys s/o kinda requested ˚⟡˖ )

a/n: so sorry for the break and how i traumatized half of you guys with my rant (if I suffer you gonna do too && let’s move on now ) and it’s lowkeyy funny ngl but omgg, I’m finally back though soo yeah but I’m finally taking requests again for a bit too so about that yeah and also make sure to go vote on the poll, we’re at 600+ votes already for my 1k event!! Tags: (batboys x model!reader)

© dollishmehrayan — ( all rights reserved to me. These works cannot be reposted, translated, or modified. Thank you for understanding dollies! )

DICK GRAYSON ── .✦

Your biggest fan, no contest. He has a folder on his phone labeled “My Gorgeous Girl” filled with all your magazine covers, runway shots, and candid photos he’s sneakily taken of you (even the ones where you’re eating pizza in sweats).

Loves to drop the fact that you’re a model into conversations. Someone says something even remotely related, and Dick is like, “Oh, that reminds me of the time yn walked for Valentino. She looked stunning. Anyway, how’s your dog?”

Flirty but lowkey jealous. He’s all smiles at your shoots, but if a photographer or fellow model gets a little too friendly, he’ll sidle up behind you, wrap an arm around your waist, and casually go, “Hey, babe, everything good here?”

Runs your fan page in secret. He denies it every time, but you know it’s him posting like archive photos of you? with captions like, “Truly the most breathtaking woman alive.”

Always hypes you up. You’re stressing before a runway show? He’s holding your hands, looking you dead in the eyes, and saying, “You’re going to kill it, just like always. They’re not ready for you.”

JASON TODD ── .✦

Pretends not to care, but he’s secretly obsessed. You’ll catch him flipping through your magazines with a bored expression, but the dog-eared pages of all your spreads say otherwise.

Gets grumpy when he has to share you with the world. “Do you really have to fly to Milan again? Can’t they get someone else to wear the fancy coat?” But he’s the first one to text you after your show with a “You looked amazing. Miss you, though.”

Always lurking at your events. He doesn’t do red carpets, but you’ll spot him in the back of the after-party, leaning against a wall with a drink in hand, watching you like you’re the only person in the room.

Jealous but funny about it. If a male model gets paired with you for a shoot, Jason will grumble, “You know I could wear that suit better, right?”

Says he doesn’t care about fashion but definitely critiques it. “They put you in that? Really? That’s what they think is high fashion?” (Meanwhile, he still owns a leather jacket he’s had since he was 17.)

TIM DRAKE ── .✦

The low-key proud boyfriend. Tim doesn’t brag about you… unless someone else brings it up. Then it’s a full PowerPoint presentation: “Oh, you didn’t know she walked the Paris Fashion Week finale? Let me show you.”, “it’s not that serious Tim.”

Forgets how famous you are sometimes. He’s so focused on his work that when he accompanies you to an event, he’s always surprised when people scream your name. “Wow, they’re… really excited to see you, huh?”

Pretends to be chill but panics at your shoots. If you’re wearing something too revealing, Tim’s sitting in the corner like, “Does she really need to wear that? I mean, it’s fashion, I guess, but still…”

Shows up to all your shows with coffee. He knows your schedule can be brutal, so he always has your favorite drink ready and a warm smile. “Long day, huh? Here, you’ve earned this.”

Accidentally goes viral as your boyfriend. Someone snaps a picture of him holding your bag while you’re doing a fitting, and now he’s trending as “hot model’s mystery man.” Or “Drake Spotted With L/N?”

DAMIAN WAYNE ── .✦

Thinks modeling is beneath you. Not because he doesn’t support you, but because he genuinely thinks you’re too good for it. “Tt. Why waste your time parading around in someone else’s designs when you could rule the world instead?”

Still shows up to your shows like a proud dad. He won’t admit it, but he’s ridiculously proud of you. He’ll sit front row, arms crossed, looking annoyed until you walk out. Then his face softens, and he claps (but only once).

Hates everyone in the industry. Photographers, stylists, agents—he side-eyes them all. “Do they have to touch you so much?”

Quietly supportive in his own way. You come home exhausted, and he’s already brewed your favorite tea and laid out your comfiest pajamas. “You should rest. You’ve worked hard enough today.”

Keeps all your clippings. You find a scrapbook in his study filled with your covers, tear sheets, and event photos. When you ask him about it, he just mutters, “I didn’t want them getting lost.” And even keeps some fan letters that you keep or lost along the way.

BRUCE WAYNE ── .✦

Thinks it’s “adorable.” Bruce can’t help but chuckle whenever you mention your modeling career. “You really enjoy this, don’t you?” But he’s not teasing he genuinely admires how passionate you are.

Surprisingly knowledgeable about fashion. He knows every major designer, can spot couture from a mile away, and will occasionally surprise you by saying things like, “That’s Galliano, isn’t it? From the ‘06 collection?”

Makes every event feel like a power couple moment. When you walk a red carpet together, it’s like the world collectively gasps. He keeps his hand on your back, whispers sweet nothings, and makes sure you’re the center of attention.

Defends your career to anyone who dares question it. Someone makes a snide remark about modeling being “shallow,” and Bruce immediately shuts them down with, “Actually, it’s an incredibly demanding profession that requires both discipline and skill. You should try it sometime.”

Buys your agency. You’re stressed about a bad contract or a difficult agent? Suddenly, Wayne Enterprises owns the company, and Bruce is like, “Problem solved. You can thank me later.”

[hyunsuloves]

can we get more myung gi/ player 333 oneshots/hcs plsss (if u can)💕💕

boyfriend myung-gi in the games.

warnings … there may be some typos, i apologize

lovely notes … ask & you shall receive ml 🙂‍↕️

꩜ [ 600 words ]

boyfriend myung-gi who cherishes the small moments with you. the moments after games, moments right before lights out, and even the minuscule moments like when he makes direct eye contact with you from across the room.

boyfriend myung-gi who lets you get in line before him because you’re his top priority, always.

boyfriend myung-gi who always gives you a share of his food. he doesn’t care about you saying you “don’t want it”, he insists that you stay more fed than him. he’ll put your well-being before his every time.

boyfriend myung-gi who is wary of all the other contestants, even more with you in the games with him. he doesn’t trust them, nor does he want you to blindly trust them.

boyfriend myung-gi who makes a silent vow to himself to protect you at the start of every game. he puts your welfare before his every time, so he will defend you with his entire life.

boyfriend myung-gi who always has a vice grip on your hand. whether you’re in a game, waiting to vote, or doing something so mundane such as sitting next to one another. he likes to feel you at all times, it anchors him in a way

boyfriend myung-gi who squeezes your hand just a bit tighter when thanos or nam-gyu walks by. they’re the last people he wants to get near either of you, so of course he feels a need to protect you.

boyfriend myung-gi who always moves your head to rest on his shoulder when sitting next to one another. or he places his head to rest on your lap. he just wants to be near you, is all.

boyfriend myung-gi who always wakes up before you. you sleep in his bed, and he can’t help himself but wake up a few hours before you. he enjoys the mere moments when he can have you in his arms without any concerns.

boyfriend myung-gi who’s the first to acknowledge you when you walk into a room. his eyes immediately shift to you when he’s in the same vicinity as you. it was like a magnetic force pulled his eyes to you every time.

boyfriend myung-gi who covers your eyes when other participants die. if possible, he’s going to shield you from the horror that is the reality of the death game you’re in. the last thing he wants you to see is lifeless bodies dropping left and right.

boyfriend myung-gi who randomly says “i love you”. he wants to remind you of his unwavering love all the time, of course.

boyfriend myung-gi who’s only level-minded around you. you’re the only one who can ground him because god knows how unbalanced he’d get without you.

boyfriend myung-gi who’s constantly near you during every game. red light, green light? you’re behind him. six-legged pentathlon? you’re obviously on the same team as him. mingle? you’re in every single group with him. other participants may see it as clinginess, but both of you see it as myung-gi protecting you with his everything.

boyfriend myung-gi who would quite literally fall to his knees if you got injured. he wouldn’t be able to forgive himself if you got wounded under his observation.

boyfriend myung-gi who has the most extravagant plans for when the both of you get out of the games. he has dozens of date plans just for when you make it out.

boyfriend myung-gi who sometimes feels like he doesn’t deserve you. you’re the only constant in the cruelty that you both found yourselves in. and he feels so undeserving of you and your tenderness so often.

[hiiikiko]

𝖘𝖕𝖎𝖉𝖊𝖗-𝖒𝖆𝖓!𝖊𝖑𝖑𝖎𝖊 𝖍𝖊𝖆𝖉𝖈𝖆𝖓𝖔𝖓𝖘n [2]

🕷️spidey!ellie who goes through pairs of converse and glasses like they’re gum.. it’s gotten so bad that she now just wears contacts

🕷️spidey!ellie who can’t help but swing by your usual spots… but hey, it’s totally not stalking if she’s doing it for your safety and out of concern… right??

🕷️spidey!ellie who kind of hates her suit… she can’t tell if it’s because it reminds her of that horrid deadpool girl or if it’s because the colours are so unintentionally patriotic..?

🕷️spidey!ellie who’s room is filled with fan made gifts.. she can’t bear to get rid of them, her favourite gift is one that she got from a little girl that she saved from the ‘scary lizard man,’ it’s a drawing of spidey and her at the park eating ice cream.. it was the first gift that she received from a fan and she has it framed on the wall above her bed

🕷️spidey!ellie is adored by the grandmas in her neighbourhood, they think she is the perfect hero, helping them carry groceries, carrying them across the street, beating the thief’s who try to steal their purses to a blood pulp.. she is loved by many

🕷️spidey!ellie who dies a little inside whenever she sees herself on the front of a newspaper.. or a magazine cover… or the evening news… or on tshirts… or your phone…and it’s not a bad thing, she just doesn’t see why everyone thinks she’s such a ‘hotshot’ when really, she’s just a broke chem major who’s side hustle is taking pictures for a shitty newspaper

🕷️spidey!ellie who constantly reminds herself that ‘great power comes with great responsibility’ but can’t help but use her abilities for other things… like tripping abby, stealing the ball in a basketball game because those jocks were pissing her off, stealing a chair out from under Jesse, stealing the remote from tommy… and… god, there’s just so much

🕷️spidey!ellie who likes to graffiti subways when no one is looking, she may be a hero but she’s an artist first… even if that art is defacing public property and is technically a crime.. but hey! that spider on the side of the subway is pretty cool, right?

🕷️spidey!ellie who used to have longer hair but got sick of having to put her hair up in a cap every time she put on her mask, so she ends up just asking tommy to cut it which he did…. almost shaving her bald the first time until she stopped him by knocking the razor out of his hand which caused him to groan and go on about how he was in the military and if she wanted to play hero, she ended the proper haircut… a buzz cut, she’s just lucky that most of it had grown out when she met you because before it was an undercut and she wasn’t a fan.

🕷️spidey!ellie who LOVES the avengers, she has all six avengers keychains on her backpack, she collected them with joel

🕷️spidey!ellie attracts spiders and it kinda makes her mad but at the same time she never kills them like she did before, now they’re family… family that you take back outside into the cold…

🕷️spidey!ellie who’s read fan fiction about herself and she’s gotta admit, even she swooned a bit

🕷️spidey!ellie who hates hates hates public gatherings for her, like when the mayor let her cut the ribbon for the new library? she could’ve died right then and there, she didn’t like all the cameras, the girls screaming for her, the attention.. all she wanted was to leave and escape back to her room and read that new comic she picked up last week…

🕷️spidey!ellie buys you spidey merch.. even before she tells you that she’s spidey, she buys you merch just because she loves the way you look wearing her, it makes her feel a little possessive

🕷️spidey!ellie has sharper canines that most

🕷️spidey!ellie who carries her backpack around with her everywhere, even as spidey, she has stash spots all over the city, safe places to store her backpack for when she can actually study

🕷️spidey!ellie she likes to study on really tall buildings, she puts her headphones in and opens her notebook, enjoying the scenery and she also has a police scanner next to her, listening out for her cue to pack up and kick some villain butt

🕷️spidey!ellie who when she gets really stressed out.. turns back to smoking, she had quit when she decided to take on the hero gig so that her lung capacity wouldnt be fucked but she can’t help it sometimes, especially when the Daily Bugle is pushing out anti-spidey propaganda, the police chief has a warrant out for her arrest, and you not knowing who she is yet

🕷️spidey!ellie who can be so calm under pressure but the second you’re within her spidey senses perimeter, she loses all her swagger and becomes a clumsy, stutter mess who can’t even control her spidey senses or her powers

🕷️spidey!ellie who gets a little nervous going on dates with you… so her webs come out and stick to everything.. she can’t help it and it pisses her off, so for the first couple of dates she completely avoids touching you and if you bring it up, she’ll get red in the face and stutter about how she has sweaty hands… and then when you’re like “oh… uh..” and she sees you looking kinda like ‘ew’ she’ll internally kick herself and then try to explain that it’s not like excessive but you just make her nervous which makes you giggle, eliciting a blushing reaction from her

🕷️spidey!ellie who thinks you’re completely out of her league like she isn’t built, attractive, smart, funny, sweet, and a literal fucking superhero??

🕷️spidey!ellie who uses her powers to sneak back into the schools laboratory after hours to do homework… that’s it.

🕷️spidey!ellie who shivers a bit whenever she sees deadpool merch… the memories come flooding back…. (fic coming soon :P)

[a/n: if you liked this, please consider checking out my spider-man!ellie series linked here]

[lizziesangel]

This is a request if that’s ok!! But will you be able to write nerd!Rafe and sweetheart!reader where they’re both in the same class and the reader gifts Rafe a Valentine’s Day gift for being such a gentleman💝💝

thank you for your request, angel! ughhhh, i love this!!

also, thank you for 2K followers and all the support i receive from all of you!

rafe was used to feeling out of place. the textbooks, lectures, and glaring fluorescent lights of the classroom weren’t exactly his comfort zone, but having you by his side made it all manageable. the way you’d always flash him that sweet, reassuring smile or sneak little notes his way—it reminded him that he wasn’t alone. you believed in him, and that was enough to keep him going.

today was valentine's day, and while the class droned on about derivatives, rafe kept sneaking glances your way. you were taking diligent notes, your lips quirking up at something the professor said. you had no idea that just being here made his heart feel ten times lighter.

when the lecture finally ended, the shuffle of books and chatter filled the room, but you turned to him, your eyes were twinkling.

“hey, wait a second,” you said, fishing around in your bag.

he raised a brow, his curiosity piqued. “what are you up to?”

“close your eyes,” you commanded, your tone sweet but firm.

he hesitated, his cheeks already starting to flush. “oh, c’mon, seriously?”

“yes, seriously!” you giggled, and the sound alone made his chest tighten. “just trust me.”

reluctantly, rafe shut his eyes. he heard the faint rustle of tissue paper and felt something soft and warm being pressed into his hands.

“okay, open them.”

rafe blinked down at the small gift in his hands—a neatly wrapped box with a red bow on top. tucked into the ribbon was a card that read, to my favorite gentleman.

his heart stuttered as he opened the box to reveal a knitted scarf in his favorite color and a box of his favorite chocolates.

“you got this for me?” he asked, his voice softer than usual.

“of course,” you said, your smile bright and proud. “you’re such a sweetheart, baby. i just wanted to do something to show how much i appreciate you. you’ve been so kind and thoughtful… you deserve it.”

rafe’s cheeks turned a deep shade of pink, and he looked down, fiddling with the edge of the scarf. a lopsided smile tugged at his lips, but he couldn’t meet your gaze.

“you didn’t have to do this,” he mumbled, his voice tinged with both shyness and gratitude. “it’s… wow, thank you. i mean it.”

you leaned closer, resting your hand on his arm. “you’re welcome. but there’s no need to be so shy about it, baby. you deserve nice things.”

he chuckled awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck. “i, uh, actually got you something too,” he admitted, his smile turning sheepish. “it’s just… back at home. i didn’t bring it because i didn’t know if we were doing, you know, the whole valentine’s day thing in school.”

you laughed softly, your heart swelling at his awkward charm. “it’s okay. i didn’t do this to get something in return. but now i’m curious…”

rafe glanced at you, finally meeting your gaze. His blush deepened, but his grin was brighter than ever. “guess you’ll just have to wait and see, sweetheart.”

you laughed, and he swore he’d never heard a sound so beautiful. for the rest of the day, rafe wore his new scarf, his chest warm with more than just wool. and that evening, when he handed you his gift—a heartfelt letter and a delicate bracelet—you realized you’d never been happier.

because awkward, blushing rafe cameron was yours—and that was the best gift of all.

[estellan0vella]

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

WC: 19.5K

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

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

General Masterlist SKZ Masterlist

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Felix looks intrigued. “Women?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The room dissolves into a mix of laughter and groans.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The room explodes with laughter again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Promises, promises, Ryu.”

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

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

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

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

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

Jeongin smirks. “But sluttier.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’re crying.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Minho hums, waiting for him to go on.

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

Minho’s brows knit together. “Crying?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He raises an eyebrow. “Sounds fancy.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Minho-”

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

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

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

Minho nods. “Yeah.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Minho raises an eyebrow. “Why?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You follow his instructions, lifting your foot slightly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You blink at him. “Wait, why?”

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

“Fuck it up how badly?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey,” you reply, your voice quiet.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your brow furrows. “How do you mean?”

“Girl,”

“Boy,”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jisung groans from beside you, his hand sliding down to palm himself through his trousers. “Fuck, that’s so hot.”

Minho pulls back just enough to glance at Jisung, his lips curling into a smirk. “Bad Jisung,” he scolds, his tone mockingly stern. “Do you want to get frostbite on your dick?”

Jisung grins unapologetically, his eyes dark with heat. “I’ll happily risk it.”

Minho sighs, his forehead resting against yours as he brushes his thumb across your cheek. “We’re going out for food later, remember?”

“Oh yeah!” Jisung exclaims, perking up instantly as he sits up. “Dinner plans. Can’t forget those.”

Minho chuckles, finally pulling back but not before pressing a soft kiss to your temple. “C’mon,” he says, standing and extending a hand to help you up. “We’ve got plenty of time for everything else later.”

Your cheeks burn as you let him pull you to your feet, your thoughts swirling. They weren’t kidding about the whole not casual thing and now, you’re not sure how you’ll survive the rest of the night.

The restaurant is tucked into a quiet corner of the city, its understated exterior hiding the cosy luxury inside. The three of you are escorted to a private room, the soft glow of hanging lanterns creating a warm and intimate atmosphere. At the centre of the low table is a built-in grill, the heat already radiating faintly.

You settle into the plush cushion across from Minho and Jisung, smoothing the fabric of your jumpsuit as you adjust your pearl necklace. The room is quiet except for the faint hum of conversation from other private rooms, giving you the perfect bubble of privacy.

Jisung leans back with a grin, pulling the menu toward him. “Alright, here’s the deal,” he says, his tone conspiratorial. “Minho’s love language is cooking. So just let him do everything, because if we try to help, he’ll hiss at us like a fucking feral cat.”

Minho raises an eyebrow, not bothering to deny it as he rolls up his sleeves. “I’m not that bad.”

“Bullshit,” Jisung says, pointing at Minho with the corner of the menu. “You’re worse. You’ll even feed us because that’s how you express love. But, and this is important, if you try to touch the chopsticks, he will swat your hands away. It’s like trying to take food from a tiger.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “Got it. No chopsticks. Let Minho do his thing.”

Jisung nods approvingly and waves down the server. “We’ll take the bibimbap ingredients and a platter of assorted meats for grilling. Also, soju for me and her, and soda for the chef over here.”

Minho snorts as the server leaves, setting the table with plates and utensils before disappearing. “I like how I’m reduced to chef.”

Jisung leans over, kissing Minho’s cheek. “You’re my sexy chef.”

Minho rolls his eyes but smiles as he starts arranging the grilling tools. When the server returns with the soju and soda, Jisung pours a generous shot for you and himself, raising his glass. “To surviving ice skating with minimal injuries.”

“And to your future culinary masterpiece,” you add, clinking your glass against his before taking a sip.

Minho sets the platter of meats on the grill, the sizzle filling the room as the aroma of seasoned beef wafts through the air. He works methodically, flipping the strips of meat, his expression calm and focused.

Meanwhile, Jisung turns his attention to you. “Alright, random question time. What’s your favourite colour? And if you say blue just because you’re wearing it, I’m calling bullshit.”

You laugh, swirling your soju. “Green, actually.”

Jisung gasps dramatically. “Minho! Green! She’s practically your soulmate. Your plants would love her.”

Minho glances up from the grill, his lips twitching into a smirk. “I think my plants would approve.”

Jisung continues firing off questions. Your favourite ice cream flavour, your go-to karaoke song, your weirdest hobby. Somewhere along the line, the conversation shifts, and he dives headfirst into the Princess Diana conspiracy theories.

“So, hear me out,” Jisung says, leaning forward like he’s about to drop the secret of the century. “What if it wasn’t an accident? What if one of the British MI-”

“Oh, please,” you interrupt, waving your chopsticks. “Jeongin and I have been over this a million times. It was too convenient. The paparazzi were just a cover.”

Minho shakes his head, flipping the meat. “Are we really doing this?”

“Yes,” you and Jisung reply in unison, making Minho chuckle despite himself.

As the meat finishes grilling, Minho picks up a perfectly cooked strip with his chopsticks and holds it out to you. You instinctively reach out to take it, but Minho swats your hand away with a sharp flick of his fingers.

“Uh-uh,” he says, his voice amused. “Open.”

You blink, momentarily surprised, but you do as he says. Minho gently feeds you the meat, his eyes watching yours as you chew. It’s tender and flavorful, the perfect bite.

“Good?” he asks, his tone soft.

“Perfect,” you reply, feeling warmth bloom in your chest.

Jisung claps his hands together. “Alright, chef, my turn!” He leans forward eagerly, and Minho rolls his eyes but obliges, holding out a piece of meat for him as well.

Two hours and several bottles of soju later, the three of you spill out of the restaurant. The night air is cool against your flushed skin as you giggle uncontrollably, your arm hooked tightly around Minho’s. On his other side, Jisung stumbles, nearly tripping over his own feet before Minho steadies him with a firm grip.

“You two are ridiculous,” Minho mutters, but there’s a soft smile tugging at his lips as he watches you and Jisung dissolve into another fit of laughter.

“You love it,” Jisung says, slurring slightly as he leans heavily against Minho. His gold chain glints under the streetlights, and his grin is unabashedly cheeky.

“I think I like you, Min,” you declare dramatically, clutching his arm like he’s your lifeline.

“You’re adorable,” Minho replies dryly, his tone betraying the affection in his eyes. “Now let’s get you both into the car before you faceplant on the sidewalk.”

With one of you on each arm, Minho expertly guides you both to the car, his patience saintlike as you and Jisung trip over your own feet. By the time you reach the car, you’re hiccupping with laughter, and Jisung is humming a song that doesn’t seem to have an actual melody.

Minho sighs, opening the back door and gently manoeuvring Jisung inside first. “In you go, jagi,” he says, pushing him into the seat.

Jisung flops back with a dramatic groan, throwing an arm over his eyes. “This is so comfy,” he mutters.

Minho turns to you next, his hands firm but careful as he helps you into the seat beside Jisung. “Your turn,” he says, buckling your seatbelt like you’re a tipsy toddler. “Try not to kill each other back here, okay?”

You nod solemnly, which would be more convincing if you weren’t giggling the entire time. Minho finally shuts the door and rounds the car, sliding into the driver’s seat with a long-suffering sigh.

As he starts the engine, he hears a faint click from the backseat. Glancing in the rearview mirror, his eyes widen at the sight. You’ve unbuckled your seatbelt and climbed onto Jisung’s lap, your hands tangled in his hair as your mouths move together in a heated kiss. Jisung’s hands are on your hips, guiding them to rock against him as he groans into your mouth.

Minho bites his lip, his grip tightening on the steering wheel as he feels a rush of heat pool low in his stomach. “Fucking hell,” he mutters under his breath, his eyes flicking between the road and the mirror.

Jisung’s fingers slide down to your ass, gripping it tightly as his other hand tangles in your hair, tilting your head to deepen the kiss. The sound of your soft whimpers and Jisung’s quiet groans fills the car, and Minho feels his self-control slipping with every passing second.

“You’re our girl now, yeah?” Jisung murmurs against your lips, his voice rough with want.

You nod silently, your breath coming in short, desperate gasps. Jisung’s grin is wicked as he presses another searing kiss to your lips, pulling you closer and making your hips grind harder against him.

From the front seat, Minho exhales sharply. “So much for romancing it,” he says, his voice strained as he adjusts himself in the driver’s seat.

Jisung pulls back just enough to smirk at Minho in the mirror. “I think she likes this way,” he says, his tone teasing as his hands tighten on your waist.

Minho tightens his grip on the steering wheel, his knuckles white as he forces his eyes to stay on the road. But the sounds coming from the backseat are impossible to ignore.

Every soft whimper, every muffled groan, every wet, needy kiss reaches his ears and sends a sharp thrill through him. Despite himself, his gaze flicks to the rearview mirror, and what he sees makes his breath hitch.

Jisung’s hands are firm on your waist, guiding your movements as your hips roll against him. His head tips back briefly, a low, guttural groan escaping his lips as his hips buck up in time with the motion. You’re straddling him, your hands buried in his hair as your lips move together in a desperate, messy kiss. Your soft whines are muffled against his mouth, your body arching as you cling to him like he’s the only thing grounding you.

Minho swallows hard, the heat in his chest spreading lower. “Fucking hell,” he mutters under his breath, his voice barely audible over the sounds of your shared desperation.

Jisung shudders, his chest heaving as his grip on your hips tightens. “Fuck,” he groans, his voice rough and breathless. He presses his forehead against yours, his dark eyes glazed with need as his fingers dig into your skin. “You’re so fucking perfect.”

Minho forces himself to look away, his jaw clenched as he focuses on the road. The tension in his body is palpable, his breathing heavier than he’d like to admit. But just when he thinks he’s regained control, another sound from the backseat pulls his attention back to the mirror.

Jisung’s hips stutter beneath you as he lets out a strangled moan, his body shuddering as his grip on you falters momentarily. You follow seconds later, your head falling against his shoulder as a high-pitched whimper escapes your lips. Both of you slump against each other, your chests heaving as you come down from the high.

Your lips move lazily against Jisung’s in the aftermath, the kisses slow and sloppy but no less hungry. Minho exhales sharply, shifting in his seat as he struggles to ignore the heat coursing through him. “You two are going to fucking kill me,” he mutters, more to himself than anyone else.

Jisung glances up briefly, a satisfied smirk tugging at his lips. “Eyes on the road, Min,” he says, his voice rough but teasing as he presses another kiss to your temple.

Minho grits his teeth, refocusing on the drive. But the image of the two of you tangled together is seared into his mind, and he knows it’s going to be a long night in more ways than one.

Minho pulls into the driveway of the Alpha Phi frat house, parking neatly before cutting the engine. Without a word, he gets out and opens the back door, ushering you and Jisung out with a roll of his eyes as both of you stumble slightly, still giggling and leaning on each other for support.

“Upstairs,” Minho commands, his voice firm but laced with amusement as he hooks an arm around Jisung and places his other hand gently on the small of your back, steering you both toward the door. “Before you embarrass yourselves in front of anyone else.”

“We’d never,” Jisung protests, though his slurred words and tipsy wobble say otherwise.

Inside the house, the late hour has left the main floor quiet, and Minho takes advantage of the calm to herd you both up the stairs to his room. The cosy space smells faintly of fresh linen and the faint citrusy scent of his cologne. Minho flicks on the bedside lamp, casting a soft glow across the room.

“Clothes,” Minho says, rummaging through his dresser and pulling out two oversized t-shirts and pairs of sweatpants. He tosses one set to Jisung, who catches it with a wide grin, and holds the other out to you. “Put these on before you fall asleep in your fancy shit.”

You glance at the clothes, then back at him. “Do I have to?”

“Yes,” Minho replies, his voice exasperated but fond. “I’m not dealing with you whining about creased jumpsuits in the morning.”

You sigh dramatically, setting the t-shirt and sweatpants on the bed before reaching behind you to unzip your jumpsuit. Jisung is already halfway undressed, pulling the t-shirt over his head as his trousers drop to the floor. But when you peel off your jumpsuit, revealing a matching green lace bra and boyshorts, both Minho and Jisung freeze.

Minho’s lips part slightly, his eyes trailing over the intricate lace hugging your figure, the green contrasting beautifully against your skin. Beside him, Jisung groans audibly, his hand twitching at his side before it cups himself through his sweatpants. “Fuck,” Jisung mutters, his voice thick. “You’re so-”

“Don’t finish that sentence,” Minho cuts in sharply, though the edge in his tone is undercut by the way his gaze lingers.

You pretend not to notice as you pull on Minho’s t-shirt, the fabric falling just below the tops of your thighs. The sweatpants remain untouched on the bed. “Too warm for those,” you say, pointing at the pants as you climb onto the bed.

Jisung lets out a breathy laugh, tugging on his own t-shirt before flopping down beside you. “You’re killing us, you know that?”

Minho sighs, dragging a hand down his face before slipping off his beret and tossing it onto the dresser. “Okay, you two,” he says, his tone firm. “Bedtime.”

Jisung grins mischievously, crawling up the bed and pulling you with him. “Minho,” he says sweetly, his voice lilting with suggestion. “Let us help you.”

You nod in agreement, your eyes wide and teasing. “You deserve it.”

Minho’s lips twitch into a grin as he lets out a low chuckle. “Fine,” he says, climbing onto the bed and lying back against the pillows. “Go on, then.”

Jisung giggles as he turns to you, his hands sliding up to cradle your face as he pulls you in for a kiss. It’s soft at first, almost tender, but it quickly deepens as his lips move against yours with a growing urgency. The kiss is intoxicating, leaving you breathless as your fingers tangle in his hair.

Minho watches from beneath half-lidded eyes, his chest rising and falling steadily as his hand drifts to the waistband of his trousers. He palms himself lazily, his touch light as he watches you and Jisung kiss, the heat in his gaze burning brighter with every soft whimper and muffled groan.

Jisung’s lips leave yours for a moment, his breath ghosting against your cheek as he murmurs, “She’s perfect, isn’t she, Min?”

“Fucking perfect,” Minho replies, his voice low and rough as his hand presses harder against himself.

Minho lies back against the pillows, staring at the ceiling, his breathing still heavy and his body far too aware of its unmet need. The bed shifts slightly as Jisung and you snuggle closer to each other in your sleep, soft snores escaping both of you. He glances over and nearly chokes on a laugh at the sight.

You and Jisung, curled up like contented cats, are completely dead to the world. Your lips are slightly parted, your body curled instinctively into Jisung’s side. Jisung has one arm thrown haphazardly across your waist, his face smushed into the pillow, and both of you look blissfully unaware of Minho’s predicament.

“This is fucking ridiculous,” Minho mutters, though his lips twitch with amusement. The situation is absurd, he’s rock hard, practically squirming, while his boyfriend and new girlfriend are passed out like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

A giggle escapes him, soft at first but quickly escalating into a full-body laugh. He claps a hand over his mouth, his shoulders shaking as he tries not to wake you or Jisung. The harder he tries to stop, the funnier it all seems, and soon he’s burying his face in the pillow to muffle the sound.

Eventually, Minho gives up on willing his problem away. “Jesus Christ,” he groans, sliding out of bed as quietly as possible. He grabs a clean towel from the dresser and pads into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him with a soft click.

The warm spray of the shower does little to soothe him at first, his mind racing with images of you and Jisung in the car. He leans one hand against the tiled wall, the other sliding down as he exhales shakily.

The way you’d straddled Jisung, your hips rocking against him, the breathless sounds you’d both made. It all plays in his mind like a vivid, erotic film. Minho bites his fist, stifling a groan as he gives in to the memory. His breath comes in uneven pants, the heat of the water cascading over his shoulders doing nothing to cool the fire coursing through him.

“Fuck,” he mutters under his breath, his movements quick and desperate as he chases relief. His mind is a whirlwind of you, Jisung, and the heat that had radiated off both of you. It doesn’t take long before he shudders, his knees nearly buckling as he leans heavily against the wall.

The water washes away the evidence of his release, and he exhales deeply, feeling the tension finally leave his body. “Better,” he murmurs to himself, shaking his head as he shuts off the water.

Minho dries off quickly, pulling on a pair of soft sweatpants before heading back into the bedroom. The sight that greets him pulls a small smile to his lips. Jisung and you are exactly as he left you, tangled together in a heap of limbs and blankets.

Carefully, Minho tucks the blankets around the two of you, his hands gentle as he adjusts the covers. He hesitates for a moment, watching your peaceful expressions, before climbing into the bed on your other side. He manoeuvres himself so that you’re nestled between him and Jisung, the three of you forming a warm, protective cocoon.

As he drapes an arm over your waist, his fingers brushing against Jisung’s, a wave of contentment washes over him. The night has been chaotic, messy, and entirely unexpected but it’s also felt right in a way that Minho hasn’t experienced before.

He presses a soft kiss to your temple, then to Jisung’s shoulder, before settling in. “Goodnight, loves,” he whispers, his voice barely audible over the rhythmic sounds of your breathing.

The sun streams through the windows of the Alpha Phi frat house, casting golden light across the hallway where Jeongin, Chan, Changbin, Hyunjin, Felix, and Seungmin are gathered, whispering and snickering like schoolchildren. They’re huddled just outside Minho’s door, their curiosity about the previous night reaching a fever pitch.

“You think they fucked?” Hyunjin asks, his voice barely above a whisper but filled with mischief.

“Of course, they didn’t,” Seungmin mutters, rolling his eyes. “Minho’s too much of a perfectionist. It’d have to be candles, music, and some five-star hors d'oeuvres first.”

Felix giggles, clutching Jeongin’s arm. “But what if they did? Imagine the chaos.”

Chan, ever the ringleader, presses a finger to his lips to silence them. “Shut the fuck up,” he hisses, pushing the door open just a crack to peek inside.

What he sees makes him freeze for half a second before a wide grin spreads across his face. He motions for the others to look, and one by one, they peer through the door, their laughter barely contained.

Inside, you’re sandwiched between Jisung and Minho, still fast asleep. Jisung’s arm is draped over your waist, his face tucked into your hair, while Minho’s hand rests protectively on your hip, his body curled against yours. The blanket is haphazardly thrown over the three of you, and the peaceful scene is both heartwarming and hilarious given the frat’s usual chaos.

“Oh my God,” Jeongin whispers, pulling out his phone. “We need pictures. This is too good.”

One by one, they start snapping photos, their phones clicking softly as they try to stifle their giggles. Hyunjin nearly drops his phone when Changbin elbows him, his laughter threatening to burst free.

Suddenly, Jisung stirs, his face scrunching as he lets out a low groan. “What the fuck…” he mumbles, blinking blearily as he turns toward the doorway. His hungover brain processes the scene slowly, but when it clicks, he frowns deeply.

“What the fuck are you guys doing?” Jisung grumbles, his voice hoarse. He shifts slightly, making sure the blanket covers you properly, shielding your barely dressed form from prying eyes. “Piss off.”

“Good morning, sunshine,” Chan teases, snapping one last picture before ducking out of sight.

Jisung groans again, rubbing his temple. “I hate all of you.”

The commotion is enough to wake Minho, who sits up with a start, his sharp eyes narrowing as he takes in the scene. He spots the group of frat brothers clustered outside the door, phones in hand, and his jaw tightens.

“Jeongin!” Minho barks, throwing the blanket off as he leaps out of bed. “You little shits!”

Jeongin squeals, bolting down the hallway with the others close behind. Minho snatches a handful of tissues from the bedside table as he gives chase, his bare feet slapping against the wooden floor.

“Minho, no!” Jeongin yells, laughing so hard he nearly trips. “It was Chan’s idea!”

“You’re all dead!” Minho shouts, his voice echoing down the hall.

He catches Hyunjin first, tackling him to the ground and straddling him with surprising ease. “Open wide,” Minho says, his voice deceptively calm as he shoves the tissues into Hyunjin’s mouth.

“Mmmph!” Hyunjin protests, flailing his arms, but Minho grabs his wrists and pins them to the floor.

“You should’ve thought about this before you joined the fucking paparazzi,” Minho says, his tone dripping with mock menace.

“Min!” Jisung’s voice calls from the bedroom, cutting through the chaos. “Can you start on coffee and breakfast? You’ve got two hungover lovers in here!”

Minho freezes, his expression shifting from murderous to begrudgingly affectionate in a heartbeat. “Of course,” he shouts back, releasing Hyunjin with a pat on the cheek. “You’re lucky,” he mutters before heading back toward his room.

Jisung’s voice follows him. “We’ll be down in ten!”

Minho shakes his head, chuckling softly as he makes his way downstairs. He pulls out ingredients from the fridge, eggs, bacon, and bread for toast, moving with practised efficiency. As the smell of sizzling bacon fills the kitchen, he feels a sense of contentment settle over him.

Minho is in the kitchen, carefully plating up scrambled eggs, crispy bacon, and golden toast. The coffee pot hums softly as it finishes brewing, and he pours two steaming mugs, knowing full well his hungover partners are going to need it. The sound of shuffling footsteps and soft groans pulls his attention to the doorway.

Jisung appears first, his hair a chaotic mess and sunglasses perched on his nose despite the dim lighting inside. Behind him, you shuffle in, similarly dishevelled and wearing one of Minho’s oversized basketball shorts, the waistband tied in a haphazard knot to keep them from falling. You’ve also got sunglasses on, though they don’t quite hide the exhaustion etched into your features.

Minho sets the plates down with a smirk. “Look at you two,” he coos, his tone dripping with faux sweetness. “My poor, hungover babies.”

“Shut up,” Jisung mumbles, collapsing onto the couch and immediately reaching for one of the coffee mugs. “I can hear colours right now, and I don’t like it.”

You flop down beside Jisung, groaning as you grab the other coffee. “Min, why did you let us drink so much?”

“I didn’t let you do anything,” Minho replies, amused, as he carries the plates to the coffee table and sits beside you both. He starts eating without ceremony, entirely unaffected by the previous night’s chaos.

You and Jisung nurse your coffee in silence for a moment before Jisung looks over at Minho, squinting through his sunglasses. “Hey, Min,” he starts, his voice scratchy. “What did you do last night? We fell asleep pretty early.”

Minho glances at him, entirely unbothered, as he sips his coffee. “Jerked it in the shower.”

Both you and Jisung burst into laughter, the sound unrestrained but quickly turning into groans as the movement jolts your heads. You clutch your temples, wincing. “Fuck, it hurts to laugh,” you complain, leaning into Minho’s shoulder for support.

Minho chuckles, setting his mug down. “That’s what you get for overdoing it.” He stands and walks to the window, pulling the curtains closed to block out the offending sunlight. “Better?”

“Much,” Jisung says, his voice muffled as he leans back against the couch, coffee mug still clutched in his hands.

The three of you settle into the couch, the aroma of breakfast wafting around the room. You and Jisung pick at the food, your movements slow and deliberate, while Minho continues eating with the precision of someone who didn’t wake up feeling like death.

When the food is gone, you and Jisung instinctively lean into Minho, your bodies slotting against his like puzzle pieces. He wraps an arm around each of you, pulling you closer as he grabs the remote. “How about we put on something soothing?” he suggests, scrolling through the options until he lands on Bridgerton.

“Scandal and corsets,” Jisung mumbles. “Perfect.”

The room falls into a comfortable silence, the soft sounds of the show mingling with the occasional hum of Minho’s approval as he strokes both your heads. His fingers are gentle as they thread through your hair, the motion lulling you and Jisung into a haze of comfort.

One by one, you both fall asleep, your breathing evening out as you curl into Minho’s chest. He glances down at you and Jisung, his expression softening as he adjusts the blankets to ensure you’re both covered. His arms tighten around you, his touch protective and tender.

“You two are going to be the death of me,” he murmurs quietly, his lips brushing against the crown of your head.

Despite his words, there’s no trace of complaint in his voice. Minho sits there, holding you both like you’re the most precious things in the world, the quiet hum of contentment filling the space.

For the first time in a long time, everything feels exactly as it should be.

General Taglist: @nightmarenyxx

[martygraciesversion381]

BLOWING SMOKE

charles leclerc x reader

Part2 of this

Warnings!: angst like always, alexandra being the mean one (NO HATE I LOVE ALEX WITH ALL OF MY HEART SHES A GODDESS), smau, crying and that's all!!

a/n: idk what happened with me with these two fics they’re extremely sad while normally I just put happy endings well enjoy this and I’ll hope that my stories will get happier like❤️‍🩹this is extremely short! (from Gracie’s song blowing smoke) 

1 year ago. That was the last time you talked to Charles after you broke up. He put you through so much pain and you cut all the contact with him not to get hurt again. You stopped following him on social media, blocked his number and stopped watching his races. You keep telling everyone that you’re fine even if it’s not the truth.

 f1gossip: Charles leclerc the famous formula 1 driver gets a new girlfriend Alexandra Saint-Mleux

This was the first notification you saw this  morning on your phone. You looked at the pictures and saw Charles and her holding each other and leo and you couldn’t help but feel hurt at the reminder that you once were this girl. You were tempted to text Charles and that’s what you did. 

 Was all you sent to him. You got ready and headed to your work. While walking you bumped into someone much taller than you. "Sorry it’s my fault I wasn’t looking" you apologise before looking at the stranger’s face and meeting those eyes the ones that made you fall in love and broke your heart. Charles. The picture of him holding her played nonstop in your mind and you wanted to throw up. 

You immediately walked away before Charles could say anything and noticed a girl walking past you and his way. Alexandra. She glanced at you before going to her boyfriend. Your work day was extremely exhausting and when you came back home you showered before ordering a pizza and watching a random tv show. 

Your phone buzzed with a message and you looked at it realising that it was a text from charles.

The text said then, a dm on instagram from Alexandra popped up on your screen and you read it.

You were nearly shocked by it but then remember how girls tended to be overprotective when they were with Charles. You didn’t want to answer her directly, instead you posted a picture of you on your couch.

It was clearly directed to Alexandra. Charles liked your post clearly not understanding the real meaning. 

A few days after, you were at a bar waiting for Charles. He asked you to talk to try and become friends again. You saw him from afar and smiled at him. When he smiled back with his dimples full on display, you could swear that you saw your heart jumping out of your chest. 

"Hi" he said sitting in front of you. "Hi" you said back smiling at him. "How are you? How’s it going with Alexandra?" He hesitated before answering. "I’m not that good but Alexandra's helping me keeping my head up so yeah things are good between us." You smile softly. "You deserve happiness Charles…I hope on day I’ll find it to." He smiled at you sadly. "She’ll be happy to meet you y’know" he said attempting to lighten the mood. "I’ll be happy to see you more too." He leaned a bit closer. "We…we can’t Charles you have a girlfriend" you say before storming away. 

You got to your house and decided to make an instagram post to clarify to everyone that it wasn’t really over between you and Charles for you that the pain was still here. 

Charles phone buzzed with a notification. He looked down at it and opened it to see a picture of you crying with mascara staining your cheeks.

Once he read it he realised that your story wasn’t going to end like that. That another chapter could change everything.

a/n: guess what’s coming? Another chapter! 

tagglist:

@swiftlyconehead @g00d--vibes @carloswinner @paulinegba @f1addict3 @gorgeusreputation16 @motorsportbarbie13

[jjungkookislife]

Quarterly Fic Recs 2024 #4

2024 has come to an end so here are some wonderful fics I enjoyed reading the past few months. I hope you enjoy them and as always please read the warnings of each fic and consider reblogging or commenting on a fic you enjoyed :)

Seokjin

good graces @hueseok

summary: kim seokjin doesn’t believe in luck. he’s someone who knows that in order to have good things coming your way, you have to work damn hard for it. however, that might not be the case when it comes to bad luck, because after a video of him goes viral wherein it looks like he’s screaming at someone’s grandma, he begins thinking maybe luck does exist—and it just so happens that he’s now being subjected to a lot of unluckiness.

got me all messed up @ugh-yoongi

what a line @minisugakoobies

hating you, craving you @yooniivrse

summary: you don’t exactly remember how the man you hate most ended up between your legs, but you’re not complaining.

buy me presents @muniimyg

summary: in which you and your boyfriend, jin, do a gift exchange… you get him a new game console and he gifts you his credit card

oh christmas tree @bangtanfancamp

summary: you’re looking for a fresh start and a Christmas tree when you unintentionally stumble across the worlds most attractive dimples and the sweet, gigantic, bumbling man attached to them

Yoongi

i will always love you @redrose10

minted @kithtaehyung

summary: all you do is wake up, sell your fruit on the dusty streets below your flat, and go to sleep. but everything changes when a customer you always look forward to seeing turns out to be dangerous. really, really dangerous.

a christmas miracle @hongcherry

summary: “The last person Yoongi expected to be at his friend’s party was his childhood best friend, who he had lost contact with over the years but greatly missed.”

blackthorn ch. 16 @sweetestofchaos

summary: Prince Yoongi and Princess Keena have been friends for as long as they can remember. But finding out they’re promised to one another in marriage isn’t the only obstacle they must overcome as war threatens their home.

slipping through my fingers @citrustan

summary: you’ve always thought you had it way too easy. all of a sudden, your life seems to be taking a few unexpected turns. it’s time your luck ran out.

bouquet @yooniivrse

summary: every day with you serves as a reminder that you are, in fact, the best thing that has happened to him

not yet @newmittens

summary: Yoongi’s last fan video call doesn’t go as expected…

Hoseok

grinchly yours @artaefact

summary: Christmas time is around the corner, everyone is celebrating to their heart’s content, but not you. No, you despise Christmas and the joy it brings. That is, until a friendly florist decides to pay your bookstore a visit.

day 5 @minisugakoobies

summary: Your brother’s best friend Hoseok really likes your cookies

two hundred and nineteen days @oddinary4bts

kinktober day eleven @euphoricfilter

home for christmas @augustbutwinter

summary: not being able to go home for the holidays takes a toll on you.

Namjoon

eternal reign @hisunshine

dangerous pairing @hobeemin

summary: they were never meant to be together somehow, their lives intertwined, setting in motion a chain of events that would forever change the course of their lives and the people connected to them.

don't get caught @yoonmetogether

the morning after @7ndipity

summary: Namjoon’s reaction to you waking up sore after a night together.

birthday girl @camixiez

kinktober day 14 @euphoricfilter

Jimin

a lover's redemption @writtenwhalien

summary: Blood, business and betrayal is all that Park Jimin has ever known, but when you cross paths again, the stakes are raised even higher and he finds himself battling his conscience, and his heart.

taste of you @divinelyparkjimin

summary: getting yourself off to your childhood friend’s sexual escapades was definitely not on your radar, but seems like it should’ve been a long time ago.

if only it was you @oddinary4bts

good for you @candlewaxandp0lar0ids

summary: Jimin can’t help the way he drowns himself in you. Why should he anyway?

Taehyung

sweetest thing @liveyun

the holi-date @kpopfanfictrash

summary: When your ex-boyfriend becomes engaged to his new girlfriend at your annual Holiday party, you admittedly are not in the best place. Which explains why you down six shots of alcohol, enthusiastically drop it low on the dance floor and – oh, yeah – tell everyone you are also dating someone. The only problem? You are obviously not. Good thing your neighbor happens to be cute and in need of a ride to work every morning.

candy cane @hamsterclaw

summary: You wake up with your head in Taehyung’s lap, and he shows you how his dick is as sweet as candy.

talk @gukslut

summary: Finals week is kicking your ass, thank goodness you have a friend to help you relieve some stress. It’s a great arrangement, as long as no one finds out... as long as you don’t catch feelings. What could go wrong?

see you @gimmesumsuga

summary: Taehyung notices you at a concert, and can’t help but want to see you again.

between the lines @btsgotjams27

summary: the boy you have a crush on loves to draw between the lines of your notebook.

Jungkook

can I keep you? @mikrokcsmos

sucker for love @jvngkook97

summary: in which your best friend happens to be a vampire and the only time he’s able to be himself in the world is during Halloween night. OR you’ve been in love with your best friend for a long ass time and want him to bite you for a change and not a random person, which for some reason, he refuses to do. they say love hurts, and damn it all that you want it too.

killing me softly ^

summary: you wake up from a night of fun, yet one you barely remember. your vampire bff ghosts you and your past comes to haunt you in the worst way possible. OR they say that blood is thicker than water, but what do you do when the person you trust most turns out to be the monster you’ve always been warned about?

clingy @bonny-kookoo

summary: In which Jungkook is a professional hybrid heat-partner who just wants to do his job

nervous @jeonbunnie

summary: Jeongguk runs into his ex-girlfriend over the holidays.

tailored @flurrys-creativity

summary: In need of a new suit you visit your trusted tailor shop again. Kim’s Tailor Shop. Though when you enter the shop the usual face of Seokjin can’t be found, instead the unfamiliar face of a young man greets you. A man, who isn’t aware of your secret, which makes getting a tailored suit way more complicated than it should be. Can you protect your secret and still get the suit in need or will your cover be blown?

diet pepsi @yooniivrse

summary: stuck in the rain, jungkook can’t resist the sweetness of your lollipop—or the taste of your lips.

baby please come home @letsbangts

summary: when he’s the only thing you want for Christmas

warm up ^

summary: when you help him warmup

server room @mister0ctopus

summary: Your new IT guy is quiet and shy. But when you accidentally caught him doing something in the server room, while moaning your name, you just had to pretend you didn’t see that, right? Even if you can’t help but feel something, like, help him?

Multiple Members/OT7

petrichor @purpleyoonn

summary: You had been working at Bangtan Corporation for almost two years now, and not once have you ever laid eyes on your bosses. That was, until you met them when out with some of your coworkers. Now, you almost wish you hadn’t. Almost.

bts as situationships/fuck buddies: a speculative headcanon @kkaetnipjeon

alpha goes first @hollyhomburg

summary: Each pack has its own set of traditions and standards and as the newest omega in bangtan’s pack- you have more than a few things to learn. things come to a head when the youngest alpha tries to breed you before your pack alpha does. Seokjin doesn’t like that one bit.

before I leave you ch. 79 ^

summary: It’s Hoseok’s turn to breed you through your heat, but Namjoon won’t let him have it easily.

when you least expect it @johobi

summary: You’re in love with your childhood friend, Taehyung. The problem is, you treasure your friendship with him far too much to ever risk losing it. Oh, and he’s quite the Casanova. At your wits’ end with feelings you can no longer hide as diligently as you once did, you ask him to set you up with someone, anyone, in a last ditch attempt to avoid a heartbreaking conversation.

[anonymousewrites]

Lavender for Royalty; Sage for Wisdom (Book 1) Chapter Twelve

Kyoya Ootori x Reader

Chapter Twelve: Arborvitae for Friendship

Summary: The Host Club collaborates with the Newspaper Club.

Attention: I will be going on a brief hiatus until the 22nd of January due to being abroad. I hope you guys have a great January!

            “The cherry blossoms are so beautiful,” sighed (Y/N)’s guest.

            “I love this color pink. It’s so sad they’re not around all year,” said another girl.

            “Cherry blossoms are symbols of rebirth and new beginnings,” said (Y/N). “The fact they appear only once a year makes that special. It reminds you that every day is a new start.”

            The girls sighed dreamily. “So romantic…”

            “Haruhi, duck!”

            Everyone looked over at Tamaki. He jumped through the air and pulled Haruhi to the side as a ball rocketed past her head—kicked, of course, by the twins.

            “You idiots!” said Tamaki. “You almost extinguished the flame that is Haruhi’s life!”

            Haruhi groaned from where she lay on the ground. (Y/N) knelt and helped her up.

            “My life is already in danger,” she huffed.

            “Boss, it’s your fault for not catching it,” said the twins, shrugging. “It’s disgraceful that the Hikaru Genji of Ouran can’t play ball properly.”

            “Come again? Then try stopping this!” Tamaki wound up his leg. “Starlight Kick!”

            He kicked the ball, and it shot up into the air. Everyone’s jaws dropped open. It was so fast. …And so of course.

            “Farewell!” said the twins, waving as the ball disappeared over the trees.

            Crash!

            Kyoya sighed. (Y/N) winced. Haruhi groaned.

            “Oops…” said Tamaki.

l

            I’m sorry! Please accept my sincerest apologies!” said Tamaki, bowing to the newspaper club.

            The president, third year Akira Komatsuzawa, winced at his words. Chikage Ukyou and Tomochika Sakyou stood on either side of him.

            “Oh, it’s okay,” lied Akira. “It was only a window that shattered and my head that received a direct hit.” He had a nasty bump and a giant icepack on his head. “But it was good timing. We were hoping that the Host Club would allow us an interview.”

            “I didn’t know there was a newspaper club,” said Haruhi, frowning.

            “They only produce this—” Hikaru and Kaoru picked up a paper. “The so-called OU-Spot. It’s a tabloid that exaggerates love affairs between students, class divisions due to family rivalries, and so on. Their fabrications have gotten so wild that no one reads it anymore.”

            “It’s just a gossip rag,” said (Y/N), nodding.

            “Sure…in our quest for readership, we lost sight of the truth,” said Akira, sighing. “But with the imminent closure of our club, our eyes were opened. Please lend us your aid! For the spring special, we’d like to reveal the truth about your charm in ‘In the Footsteps of the Host Club; 24/7!’ ”

            “Really?” Tamaki’s eyes widened. “You mean it? You want to capture how I corner violent criminals and reveal my daily efforts in stopping criminal activities?”

            Akira frowned. “What? It has nothing to do with ‘Police 24 Hours.’ ”

            “We accept your request!” said Tamaki.

            “No, we don’t,” said Kyoya, pulling Tamaki back with a cold smile.

            “Kyoya, you don’t know how touching that show is!” whined Tamaki. “Besides, it was my fault he got hurt!”

            “I’m sorry, but our information is restricted to customers only,” said Kyoya.

            “Don’t worry. You won’t incur any medical costs. The Boss’ll pay for it,” said the twins to Akira.

            “Tamaki, we’re not contributing to a newspaper that makes up scandals for it’s own gain,” said (Y/N), hands on their hips.

            “We can’t erase our past mistakes after all,” said Akira, “swaying” and nearly collapsing from his wound. “I regret that we must shut down our club…”

            “That’s not true!” said Tamaki. “People can always get a second chance! Alright, leave it to me! The Host Club will go all out and help rebuild the Newspaper Club!”

            “No way,” said Hikaru and Kaoru.

            “We’re not,” said (Y/N).

            “What?!” said Tamaki.

            “If we went along with all your altruistic endeavors, there’d be no end to it,” said Hikaru, shrugging.

            “It’s tiresome. Let’s go,” said Kaoru.

            “Tamaki, we’re not discussing this anymore,” said (Y/N).

            “Come on, Tamaki. Back to the clubroom,” said Kyoya.

            “Don’t you guy have a heart?! They’re shutting down! Their family is breaking up!” Tamaki huffed. “This is a presidential mandate. You can’t refuse!”

            “We refuse,” said the twins. (Y/N) and Kyoya still had their arms crossed.

l

            “He’s upset,” said Kaoru. “He’s still in costume.”

            “It’s just like the way kids give each other the silent treatment,” said Kyoya.

            “Pouting,” agreed (Y/N).

            “That’s because Tamaki hates to be alone,” said Honey.

            “Someone should tell him he looks stupid,” said Hikaru.

            “Is it that wrong to help out the Newspaper Club?” said Haruhi, tilting her head.

            “Haruhi, that’s odd—you’re taking the boss’s side?” said Hikaru and Kaoru.

            “No, but…” Haruhi sighed. “If we leave him alone, I have a feeling he’ll eventually start looking at us like a puppy, and we’ll be forced to give in. It’s strange, but I know it for sure…”

            (Y/N) grimaced. “You’re not wrong.”

            “I thought you two would’ve gone for it,” said Haruhi, looking at the twins.

            “This time it felt tiresome. Boring. Been there, done that,” said the twins.

            “Honey, Mori?” said Haruhi.

            Mori didn’t reply, and Honey grinned. “I’m eating cake!”

            “(Y/N)?” said Haruhi.

            “I don’t like people prying into my life,” said (Y/N).

            Haruhi sighed.

            And then Tamaki looked over with big giant puppy eyes. Everyone winced. He looked back, eyes even bigger than before. Everyone groaned. He looked over a third time, and Kyoya snapped his notebook closed in frustration.

            “There will be conditions,” said Kyoya. Tamaki brightened like a dog, and Kyoya went forward. “We will provide a plan for the special feature. And the interview is forbidden. Customers must not be bothered, so the service scene is out.”

            (Y/N)’s shoulders dropped. They were still suspicious of the newspaper club, but at least boundaries would protect from prying.

            “Got it, everyone?” said Kyoya.

            (Y/N) nodded. “Sounds fair.”

            “If Kyoya says so, we’ll go along,” said the Hitachiins.

            “Okay!” said Honey. Mori nodded.

            “Right! Let’s start planning now!” Tamaki had already returned to his confident, happy self.

l

            “Tamaki Suoh must have established the club to show off his power to the other students,” said Akira as he planned (plotted).

            “But the students hardly ever complain,” said Chikage.

            “Female students keep their mouths shut. Male students who know Suoh are evasive,” said Tomochika.

            “You’ve seen it yourself,” said Akira. “He pretends to be a nice and sweet idiot. Tamaki Suoh…I wager he’s an exceptionally shrewd man. I’m betting he has a dark side!”

            “So are we only paying attention to him?” said Chikage.

            “No, we need more than that…We need him to have brought in more bad influences to Ouran,” said Akira, narrowing his eyes. “Like the scholarship students. Undoubtedly, he forced the first-year to join. And the second year? They’re suspicious. They’re rapidly climbing the ranks of power…That shouldn’t be possible for a commoner. We’ll find out what’s truly going on with this Host Club, get a great scoop, and show this school the power of the Newspaper Club!”

l

            “Greeeenlight, redlight!” Tamaki whirled from the tree, but the Hosts were still and weren’t still approaching. He hadn’t caught them. “Greenlight, redlight! Greenlightredlight!” Each time, the twins were posed differently.

            The newspaper club watched in shock. This was…a children’s game. They were expecting something more refined at the very least.

            “It’s no wonder you’re surprised,” said Tamaki, smiling at the other club. “This is a traditional game of the common folk. There are many other fun games commoners play without spending a dime.”

            “I see…” said Akira doubtfully. “But what has it got to do with our article?”

            “Friendliness!” said Tamaki with force. “Friendliness is critical for wiping away the newspaper’s club negative image and gaining back the readers! According to our calculations, it will work. ‘Handsome Hosts Play a Commoner Game!’ An outdoor game will let you capture the image of spring in the background. It’s so elegant—perfect for a front-page article! It will be the perfect event!” Happily, Tamaki returned to the game and promptly “spotted Kyoya moving.”

            “You’re Fujioka, right?” Akira walked towards Haruhi, who looked at him in surprise. “Why did you join the club?”

            “On account of my own carelessness,” said Haruhi.

            “Oh?” Akira leaned forward in interest.

            “Haruhi, focus on the game,” said (Y/N), moving while Tamaki wasn’t looking and pushing Haruhi away from Akira. They smiled “politely” at Akira. “Apologies, no interviews, remember?”

            “We need some background for the piece,” said Akira, gritting his teeth. “For instance, why did you join the club?”

            “It sounded interesting,” said (Y/N), barely paying attention to him.

            “Yes, but it’s helped your status, hasn’t it? As a commoner, being relationships with the powerful is important. Is that what you get out of this?” Akira leaned in. “Gold-digging for connections?”

            (Y/N) narrowed their eyes ever-so-slightly. At Tamaki’s side, “out” of the game, Kyoya raised a brow as he saw Akira speaking to them. He looked at the twins and nodded. It was time for their plan to be put into action.

            “Hide and seek time!” said the twins, jumping between Akira and (Y/N).

            “We didn’t finish the game!” said Tamaki.

            “We’re bored, Haruhi, hide with us,” said Hikaru and Kaoru, grabbing Haruhi’s arms.

            “Hey!” Tamaki ran to them, grabbed Haruhi’s hand, and pulled her away. “Hide with me!”

            “I’ll count!” said Honey cheerfully, and, while the rest of the hosts pretended to hide, the newspaper club stormed away. Little did they know where the club had gone to hide.

l

            “This is ridiculous!” said Akira as he stormed through the halls of Ouran Academy. “We can’t participate in this farce! Let’s go back to our clubroom and finish the article!”

            “But, President,” said Chikage. “Writing a gossip column on Suoh without proof—”

            “Even if we don’t have proof now, all we have to do is write an article that forces his hand,” snapped Akira. “I went out of my way to get that ball and fake an injury. What a waste! Anyway, let’s take him and all his pesky hosts down tomorrow with a front-page article—” His eyes widened as he opened the door of his clubroom.

            “So. It’s just as we thought.” The Hitachiin twins, sitting on his desk, smirked.

            “It was so obvious,” said Kaoru.

            “Boss was the only one who didn’t notice. He’s pretty dense when it comes to himself,” said Hikaru.

            “Let me tell you this,” said Kaoru. “If you do anything to the boss or anyone else in this club, you won’t get off free. Not just the Hitachiins, but every family of our club will become your enemy. Are you prepared for that?”

            “As I thought, you’re using your family powers!” said Akira. “And Suoh ordered you to do it!”

            “Wrong. Tamaki would never do that.”

 ��          Akira jumped as Honey spoke and whirled. In the doorway stood Kyoya, Honey, Mori, and (Y/N).

            “We love Tamaki. That’s why we won’t let anyone bully him,” said Honey, smiling. Mori nodded.

            “Even though he’s an idiot,” said the twins, though they were agreeing.

            “We all have our own family names, too, if we wished to go that route,” said Kyoya. He looked at Akira coldly. “Not that we would need to. We’re respectable, unlike some.”

            “Not all of you have family names!” said Akira, glaring. “Your scholarship students, they’re there for a reason! Either Suoh forced them into it or they’re going to use his name—”

            “Haruhi and I are making our own way in the world,” said (Y/N) sharply. “Tamaki is our friend.”

            “Gold digging commoner—”

            “I’d suggest you stop speaking,” said Kyoya. He pressed on a hidden button on the first aid kit he had so graciously delivered to Akira. The president of the newspaper club paled as Kyoya retrieved a disk from within the case. “Otherwise, who knows what we may do with this disc that has proof of your plot and precisely what slander you were planning on spreading about Tamaki, (Y/N), and Haruhi?”

            Akira, Chikage, and Tomochika let out strangled cries. They had lost.

l

            “I’m glad they won’t be bothering us again,” said (Y/N), sighing.

            “We humored Tamaki, and we handled an issue.” Kyoya sighed. “As long as he doesn’t drag us into helping another disreputable club, we should be fine.”

            “It is Tamaki we’re talking about,” said (Y/N), smiling.

            “Perhaps.” Kyoya smirked. “But Komatsuzawa was right about one thing—we do have power to throw around if necessary.”

            “You guys, maybe,” said (Y/N).

            “I—We wouldn’t let your reputation be harmed,” said Kyoya. “You haven’t done anything.”

            (Y/N) paused, and Kyoya looked at them.

            “I haven’t. But…my family.” (Y/N) grimaced. “My reputation can be harmed by association.” Kyoya was silent as he waited for them to speak again. “My aunt and uncle, they’re kind. They’re good people. You’ve met them. But they’re fostering me for a reason. My parents—” they sighed “—they had substance issues. They were in jail for most of my childhood. I have no idea where they are now. But my aunt and uncle raised me.” (Y/N) looked at Kyoya. “I’m not ashamed of them. But I know that people will look down on me if they find out, and I am trying to make a name for myself.”

            Kyoya nodded. He already knew all of that—he ran serious background checks—but that didn’t change the way he looked at (Y/N). They were still the person he had grown to truly care for, the one he had feelings for. (Y/N) was intelligent, ambitious, tenacious, and a genuinely good person on. Whoever their parents were, whatever they’d done, it had nothing to do with (Y/N).

            “I understand,” said Kyoya simply. “You are more than the reputation of your family.” He understood the desire to show your own worth independent of one’s family—particularly of one’s brothers, in his case.

            “Thank you, Kyoya,” said (Y/N), smiling.

            “(Y/N)?”

            They glanced at him.

            “If someone attempts to use your class or family against you, tell me,” said Kyoya. “I will handle it.”

            “I don’t need you to fight my battles for me,” said (Y/N). They knew that if they intended to move up in society and make a name for themself, they would have to get used to condescension from some.

            “I am your friend, (Y/N),” said Kyoya. “I wish to help.”

            (Y/N) felt their heart pound as he spoke, and the myriad of reasons they liked him—his kindness beneath all his coldness, his watchful eye for danger, his sharp mind, his respect for them—came to their mind.

            “Yes. We’re friends,” said (Y/N). This was the first time they’d said it out loud. They smiled. “You and me.”

            Kyoya quite liked the sound of that.

Taglist:

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[minyards-pipedream]

Cunt or Cryptid?

Welcome to the post where I tell you which of the Foxes serve Cunt and which are just Cryptids.

(The term cryptid is being used because it sounds cute with the title. This post may also contain things that are considered to be on the side of folklore.)

Dan Wilds

Cunt, obviously. She is their fearless leader and not afraid to absolutely annihilate a man’s chances of fathering children with her heels.

Kevin Day

Cunty Cryptid. He’s giving Loch Ness Monster. Everyone knows him, everyone wants to see him, but he knows what he’s good at and stays in his lane. I also think Kevin would enjoy that Nessie has such a long history behind her - the first recorded sighting being written in a biography from the 7th Century.

Andrew Minyard

Now don’t lose me here but CUNT. This is wholly an Autistic Gay Man and he knows what he’s doing to get people wrapped around his fucking finger. He may be the fearless leader of the monsters, but the only monster he’s serving is-

Matt Boyd

Cunt, but Cryptid-adjacent. He obviously serves in both his attitude and choice of girlfriend. However, he is a certified cryptid wrangler as seen with his relationship with both Neil and Seth. He is very close to making the transition from Deer to Not Deer. (A cryptid we will very much be covering later.)

Aaron Minyard

Cryptid. I would make a point about how he’s a collegiate athlete and pre-med student that parties almost every weekend and still manages to hold down a secret girlfriend, buttttt - let’s talk Banshees. Banshees are seen as an omen of death, their wailing cries foretelling of death to come. Aaron Minyard’s actions and words directly lead to the deaths of both Tilda Minyard (he was the one desperate to connect with Andrew and the abuse he received was the reason Andrew killed their mother) and Drake (see above, so they all go to visit, we know Aaron kills Drake). BUT what we don’t talk about is that Andrew went to college FOR Aaron to become a doctor, which means Aaron’s wishes were why Andrew eventually came to pick up his two strays. Neil gets caught by his father’s people because he stays at Palmetto with Andrew’s promise. Stuart and his men kill Nathan and his people saving Neil. Butterfly effect - Aaron also got *all* of those people killed. Banshee. Rant over lol.

Seth Gordon

Serving a secret third option : Corpse

Allison Reynolds

Cunt. She invented Cunt.

Nicky Hemmick

Cryptid. Huan Cat. Chinese folklore states that they’d be kept around the house to ward off evil spirits - like how Nicky came home to protect the twins from his parents. To give them a home where they’d be safe and loved. Huan Cats are also known for their mimicry, which reminds me of how Nicky can slot in with either the monsters or the rest of the team depending on need.

Renee Walker

Cryptid, Renee is our lovely Not Deer. Not Deer are said to appear like normal deer until you get a little closer, and look a little harder. They move differently, limbs appearing to be double jointed, and their faces and antlers contorted - which I think is a great way to allude to Renee’s inner demons that she’s working to grow past. Not Deer are also said to be entirely unafraid of humans, often approaching them when they’re alone and in the dark. This harkens to her relationship she cultivated with Andrew. She may appear normal at first, but upon further inspection, she may have more in common with the monsters than most.

Neil Josten

Cryptid, obviously. I’d like to give him Fresno Nightcrawler. He gives off their strange little man vibes, and no one can quite decide who he is or what they are. (Aliens? A pair of pants blowing on a loose clothes line? A new species of armless primate? It’s giving Alex? Stefan? Chris?) They’ve also been sighted all over the world, often running away from people. (Fresno, Yosemite, Poland.) And for these reasons, Neil Josten is being assigned as a creepy lil’ dude.

[bluejaysandblackbats]

Keepsafes

Fandom: Batman, DC Comics

Summary: AU where Martha and Bruce survive, and they adopt the batkids.

Chapters: 10/?

Characters: Bruce Wayne, Thomas Wayne, Martha Wayne, Alfred Pennyworth, Harvey Dent, Dick Grayson, Cassandra Cain, David Cain, Talia al Ghul, Damian Wayne, Jason Todd, Tim Drake

Relationships: Thomas Wayne/Martha Wayne/Alfred Pennyworth, BruHarvey, BruTalia

Additional Tags: Canon Divergent AU, Hurt/Comfort, Bruce Wayne is Not Batman, Angst, Alfred Pennyworth Knows All, Bruce Wayne Only Has One Child, Bruce Wayne is Not An Only Child, Bi Bruce Wayne

Chapter Ten: Truth and Secrets

After Harvey left for his debate, Martha asked Bruce to stay in and talk to her. Bruce hugged his knees on the couch as he looked at Alfred and his parents. “Please don’t say Harvey can’t stay here. I know he’s always here, but he’s—.”

“Sweetheart, we love Harvey. He’s practically family… And we have no problem with you talking to him about this because I don’t expect you to keep secrets from your best friend,” Martha interrupted. 

Bruce relaxed, but he kept hugging his knees and rocking back and forth. “What’s this about then? Is this about me forging Dad’s signature on the fast-track independent study form?” Bruce asked. Martha and Thomas looked at each other. 

“Why would you forge my signature on—? Hold on… Fast track is for kids who want to graduate early,” Thomas whispered, “Why wouldn’t you just talk to me about that? When are you trying to graduate?” 

“Junior year,” Bruce replied, “You didn’t know about that?” 

“No… Maybe you should listen for a minute to find out what we’re talking about before you dig yourself into a hole, chum,” Thomas suggested. Bruce hid his mouth and nose in his crossed arms. 

Martha took a deep breath and pushed her bangs out of her face. “The other night, Miss Martha came out of my bedroom,” Alfred reminded him. 

“Yeah… Mom was drunk, but it’s no big deal. She explained—. You lied,” Bruce realized in real-time. Thomas reached out. “Dad, do you know what they’re talking about?” 

“Yeah… That’s what we wanted to tell you. Don’t interrupt because it’s not as bad as you think. Remember how I told you Alfred’s been by my side since I was in college?” Thomas questioned. Bruce nodded. “He’s been a bit more than that to me all this time. We fell in love in Lyon when we were on vacation… And then we met your mom. It was competitive between us at first, but we all realized that—. In simple terms—. Would anyone like to butt in?” Thomas asked. 

“I found out about Alfred and your father, and we all talked. Thomas proposed the idea that we all stay together, and Alfred insisted that I marry Thomas to make sense of it all to the public since we were already in love. It wasn’t a matter of choosing who I loved more, it was about choosing which marriage proved to be the best opportunity for the three of us… And then you came along,” Martha explained. 

“Is Alfred my—?” 

Thomas shook his head. “We know for sure. Trust me on that,” Thomas replied.

Bruce looked at Alfred. “So, you were—? Why are you telling me all of this now? Are you guys gonna move into one room now?” Bruce asked. “Do you want me to call Alfred dad, too?” 

“Master Bruce, nothing’s changed. I have always cared for you, and I—.” Alfred stopped talking and gestured to Martha, who finally looked at Bruce straight on. 

“When you were born, I stayed in the hospital for a full two weeks. I was exhausted, and Alfred and Thomas took turns looking after us. 

“But it was the night you were born, and Thomas was in the bathroom. Alfred thought I was asleep, and he picked you up and held you in his chair. He sang to you. I’d never heard Alfred sing before… And then I heard him say it for the first time. He said he loved you. 

“And Alfred has never asked you for anything. He never expected you to say it back, but he has always been a parent to you if you look at it from our perspective,” Martha explained.

Bruce hugged himself with tears in his eyes. “I love you guys, but you’ve gotta understand this feels crazy. I’m not angry or anything, I think I’m just confused. I feel guilty for—.” 

“No, no—!” Martha, Alfred, and Thomas shouted at the same time as they stood up and ran to console him. Bruce sniffed and a laugh escaped his throat. He covered his mouth out of embarrassment, but he couldn’t stop laughing. And they laughed with him. 

Once he collected himself, he leaned forward and ran a hand over his face. “Three parents. And you guys are cool with Harvey hearing about this?” Bruce asked. “I guess it’s not as weird. It’s kind of punk actually.” 

“Huh?” Thomas asked. 

“I’ll explain it to you later, dear,” Alfred whispered. Bruce raised an eyebrow. 

“ Waitaminute . Can I ask something?” Bruce questioned. “You don’t always call Mom and Dad Master Thomas and Miss Martha?” 

“No. That’s part of the illusion,” Alfred explained. 

**

Harvey lay on Bruce’s bed while Bruce used the computer and explained what he had missed earlier in the week. “No way,” Harvey whispered. Bruce nodded. “So, your dad likes guys, too… That’s progressive.” 

“Yeah, I guess so. I mean, I never thought about it like that, but I—. I’d be too scared to go there… It’s not even like a—. It’s not like a masculinity thing. It’s just—. Have you ever thought about it? What if like—? Say you and me for example. Say one of us had feelings for the other. Wouldn’t you be scared to even see what that means?” Bruce asked as he spun around in his chair. And then he saw Harvey’s face. “What?”

Harvey exhaled and flopped back on the bed. “Nothin’,” Harvey answered. 

“No, not nothin’ . You made a face. What was it? The scenario? Do you think the scenario is weird?” Bruce questioned.

“You do this all the time, Bruce. You ask a hundred questions and freak out over something little instead of just taking answers at face value. Also, Bruce, if I was gonna fall head over heels for a guy it’d probably be a movie star,” Harvey replied. Bruce stood up and flopped on his stomach next to Harvey. 

“Who?” Bruce asked. 

“I don’t know, Bruce. I don’t like guys,” Harvey sighed. 

“Come on. I know you’ve thought about it. Every guy has,” Bruce replied. 

Harvey turned on his side and looked Bruce in the eyes. “Okay… Who?” Harvey asked. 

“Who have I thought about? Um… Don’t laugh,” Bruce replied as he rolled over to meet eyes with Harvey. “Swear you’re not gonna laugh.” 

“You better be serious. I swear I won’t laugh,” Harvey promised. 

“Richard Gere,” Bruce answered. 

“You could literally not be more transparent in your intentions,” Harvey smiled. 

Bruce sat up and looked down at Harvey. “Huh?” Bruce asked. 

“ Huh? Just say you want me,” Harvey teased. Bruce hit Harvey with his pillow. 

“You are no Richard Gere. Now name yours,” Bruce replied. 

“That one guy from Angels in the Outfield. The guy with the nose,” Harvey gestured. 

“Adrien Brody? Now who wants who?” Bruce replied as he made a pig-nose-face at Harvey. 

“You wish!” Harvey laughed as he hit Bruce with a pillow. They wrestled until they heard a knock on the door. 

“Come in!” Bruce shouted as he held Harvey in a headlock. Martha opened the door before laughing and turning her back to collect herself. 

“What’s going on?” Martha asked as she doubled over laughing. “Mail. Three letters for Bruce. Two for Harvey. Oh, and some girl keeps calling asking for Apollo?” 

Bruce let go and fell back on the bed laughing. “I told you it’d catch on!” Bruce exclaimed. 

“Shut up,” Harvey whispered as he threw his pillow at Bruce. “Mrs. Wayne, that’s for me. I’m sorry about that. Bruce is trying to set me up with some girl, so I’ll go to the winter formal with him.” 

“Why don’t you two just go together?” Martha asked. 

Bruce and Harvey sat up straight and shook their heads. “That’s a no-go, Mom,” Bruce replied, “Mom, look at it from a vapid teenage perspective. If you were in high school and you saw two guys show up at the dance with no date…”

“Okay… Yeah, but you boys are adorable. Just ask the first girl you could think of,” Martha advised, “Don’t be so shy. Why don’t you ask Sandra? This is what? Your third or fourth letter from her?” 

“Uh… She’s not my type,” Bruce replied. 

Harvey laughed and elbowed Bruce in the ribs. “Richard Gere,” Harvey mumbled under his breath, and Bruce tackled him. 

“Shut uppppp, ” Bruce laughed. 

“Dinner’s almost ready. Don’t kill each other yet, okay?” Martha smiled.

[miss-tc-nova]

With Reckless Choices - Leona Kingscholar x Reader Pt 11

We might be getting a smidge repetitive here, but I really REALLY wanted to break some things. I like this one though :3

Anyway, welcome to the New Year yall!

Premise: Leona goes to a party he should not have

Words: 1,155

Music Inspirations: WITHOUT YOU - The Kid LAROI

~~~Our Rightful Places~~~

               The Kingscholars wait their turn to be announced at the ball. Though he cares not for his appearance, Leona endures the fussing of his sister-in-law over his outfit. Though she’d normally scold him for his lackluster effort, she’s being abnormally kind. Likely out of pity. Not that he cares.

               No, Leona Kingscholar is only here for one thing.

               His own pathetic feelings.

               The ones that showed him true happiness. The ones that showed him unconditional love. The ones that left him gutted and empty. The ones that confined him to his room for months.

               The ones that broke him.

               Even so, in his broken, sorry state, Leona could not stay away. Even as his head told him it was pointless and wrong, he hesitated not a single second to accept his brother’s invitation to join them. His family is none the wiser to the damage he’s about to wreak on his own heart; they’re just happy he’s left his room.

               The gentleman announcing the guests speaks briefly with Falena before nodding and stepping inside the ballroom.

               "His Majesty Falena Kingscholar and Queen Consort Sanaa Kingscholar of the Sunset Savana, accompanied by his Royal Highnesses Prince Cheka Kingscholar and Prince Leona Kingscholar.”

               The second that they step inside, whispers infest the room—all regarding Leona. Sure he may be all dressed up in custom formal attire, but he looks like shit. No doubt his clothes are loose on him due to the lost weight and it probably shows in his face. There’s no more shine in his hair and his skin is somewhat pale. Yet for the way Leona looks, he feels significantly worse.

               However, he gives no heed to the gossip filling the room. Instead, his gaze is glued firmly to the back of his brother’s head. He’s struggling to keep it there. Feeling that aura, however, knowing that the person that ruined his life is at the head of the room, is killing him inside.

               The group stops at the far end of the room. Falena congratulates the guest of honor on his nation’s behalf as servants bring in the gifts prepared by the Kingscholars. The family bows in reverence and moves out of the way for the next guests.

               As his back straightens, that’s when Leona lifts his head. Their eyes meet. He notes something distinctly not the hatred he expected. He discerns nothing else before he follows his family out of the way.

               Leona waits beside his family as the welcoming continues. He notices frequent glances in his direction, only through glances of his own as he tries to simply keep his head down. He shouldn’t be here.

               The Master of Ceremonies thanks everyone for attending on behalf of the Draconias and invites everyone to indulge in conversation, refreshments, and dance. Falena and Sanaa begin to mingle with others and, again Leona hears the murmurs not to him, but about him. This is where he excuses himself from the socializing.

               His wandering gives him time to attempt convincing himself to leave. Coming here itself was a bad idea that he shouldn’t be tempting—it’s only going to hurt more.

               He finds his way out onto a balcony, the cool air caressing his skin. Moonlight showers the city below, looking elegant in its celebratory decoration. It sort of reminds him of last time he was here.

               “It’s been a while.”

               Oh Seven, he could just jump the balcony now. Muscles go rigid, trying desperately not to turn around. Meanwhile, his heart crawls into his throat, threatening to suffocate him.

               “How have you been?”

               His jaw clenches tighter. He can’t speak—who knows what he’ll say.

               “Leona?”

               He hears the footsteps approach and turns to back away. Where he expected fury and disgust, he finds sorrow. Somehow, it hurts more than the hatred.

               “Oh my clever kitty.” The pity burns.

               A hand reaches out and while Leona yearns to feel that touch again, his logic jerks him back. Clenching fists shake at his sides and ears lie flat against his skull. He feels like a cub again—learning his place in the hierarchy and knowing he can’t have the crown.

               Pain sparks in those eyes, but the hand retreats.

               A crack sneaks into the words. “This isn’t what I wanted.”

               Finally, something strikes.

               “This isn’t what you wanted?” His voice rasps. “This isn’t what you wanted when you called me a lazy, petty piece of shit? When you went about your happy perfect life while I spent the last year in hell? This isn’t what you wanted me to become?!”

               “Leona—”

               “Save it! I shoulda just stuck to the plan and dumped you the moment I got that kiss!” The recoil inflicted reflects just a fraction of the pain he feels. “At least then—!"

               “Is there a problem here?” Of course that fucking lizard would show up at a time like this.

               “No,” Leona snaps back.

               “Are you sure? It seems to me that you still harbor some shameful feelings.”

               Those words rake claws against his bleeding heart. That along with a guilty grimace is all Leona needs to know what happened.

               “You knew.”

               “Of course I knew.”

               Defeat tastes like bile. “And you just let it happen?”

               The dragon almost seems bored. “I was curious to see to what ends you would go for something so trivial.” Seeing the fae's hand draw in the one he loves makes him want to fight. “But such trifles could not continue once we were wed. This is my derolyle after all.”

               Derolyle…Derolyle.

               He’s heard that before.

               Oh.

               His teeth bare. “That’s what your partner means to you? That’s all you see?” His wrath turns on the one that broke his heart. “And you! You’re gonna stay with this bastard who views you as just some thing?! You were willing to throw away everything for this bullshit joke of a marriage?! And for what?! Because some stupid monarchy told you to?! Because the crown dictates your fate?! I—”

               This anguish is squeezing down on his lungs, but he swallows his next words. Instead, sand swirls at his feet. The dragon's head raises in warning. In his arm, the fae royal pulls closer his spouse while his other hand draws the staff he’s fully prepared to use. But Leona is broken. He has nothing left to lose and dragging his claws across a dragon’s face sounds like a good way to go.

               “Leona!”

               There’s still a hold on him; no matter how much he wishes there wasn’t. The fear in his name causes him hesitation.

That is his undoing.

               Hands against his chest shove him back. Feet stutter and elbows scrape against the floor. When his eyes open, he sees the worry manifested on the face that haunts his dreams. Worst of all, it’s pity that looks down on him as the portal between them disappears, leaving the wounded lion in his room in Sunrise City.

               Abandoned.

~~~~~

Part 12 (Coming Soon)

Nova’s Twisted Wonderland Masterlist

[fangdokja]

Fleeing is futile. The hunt has only just begun.

❤︎ Synopsis. As they claim you piece by piece, the silence of your resistance is the sweetest melody to their madness.

♡ Book. Forbidden Fruits: Intimate Obsessions, Unhinged Desires.

♡ Pairing. Yandere! Granger x Fem. Reader, Yandere! Gusion x Fem. Reader, Yandere! Aamon x Fem. Reader, Yandere! Xavier x Fem. Reader

♡ Headcanons. When Love Kills - Part 1

♡ Word Count. 3,966

♡ TW. non con, psychological manipulation and conditioning, suggestive themes, fear play, emotional manipulation and abuse, hints at rough play and sex, forced relationship, psychological and emotional trauma, isolation, monitoring, lack of boundaries, non con kissing and touching, implied kidnapping, bondage and restraints, stalking, BDSM

♡ A/N. Why can't I find any quality reader insert for my favorite game of all time. Gusion + Granger + Xavier combo wohhh. I've now fulfilled a childhood want. So gonna do this again, I don't care if it's fanfic underrated. Granger's cooked so hard.

♡ Granger.

The shadows of the dimly lit room press against your skin like the cold fingers of death itself. His gaze—piercing, calculating—lingers on you with an intensity that makes your breath catch. Granger does not speak; words have never been his forte. It’s the weight of his silence that crushes you, the unspoken symphony of violence and desire that thrums between you like an electric current.

You stand there, your arms bound, the rough cords biting into your wrists, a grotesque imitation of the violin strings he cherishes so dearly. He leans against the far wall, the red scarf draped over his shoulder like a swath of blood, his pale hands meticulously cleaning the barrel of Dirge. The metallic sheen of the weapon glints in the low light, and for a moment, you wonder if the cold steel of the muzzle will touch your temple tonight, a kiss of death laced with his deranged affection.

He has always been methodical, deliberate. Granger does not rush, for he finds no pleasure in haste. His every movement is a calculated note in the sonata of your despair. His leather gloves creak softly as he sets the gun aside and steps closer, his boots echoing ominously in the confined space. The smell of gunpowder and faint, acrid sweat follows him, a scent you’ve come to associate with your cage—both physical and emotional.

His touch, when it comes, is featherlight, a mockery of tenderness. His fingers trace the curve of your jaw, tilting your face upward to meet his shadowed eyes. They’re not cruel, not overtly violent, but they burn with a simmering hunger that no amount of carnage could sate. He studies you like he’s dissecting a prey he’s already gutted, curious and detached yet filled with a predatory satisfaction.

"You think you can scream," he murmurs, his voice a low rumble that vibrates through your bones. "But here... no one hears. No one comes. This silence—" he leans closer, his lips brushing the shell of your ear—"is the sweetest part of the requiem."

The violin case rests nearby, its ominous presence a constant reminder of his duality. Inside lies Requiem, a weapon that has sung the dirge of countless demons, yet in his hands, it becomes something more—a symbol of his madness, his grief, his obsession. You’ve seen him caress the case with more reverence than he’s ever shown another human being. It’s as if his soul, fractured and jagged, resides within its confines.

His hands trail lower, the leather of his gloves scraping against your skin, leaving a path of gooseflesh in their wake. You shudder, but it’s not from the cold. It’s the way his touch feels like ownership, like a brand searing into your flesh.

Granger is not gentle. He doesn’t believe in softness. The world has never been kind to him, and he sees no reason to extend that courtesy to anyone, least of all you. Yet there’s an artistry to his cruelty, a methodical precision that speaks of his inner torment. You are his audience, his instrument, and tonight, he intends to play you until you break.

His lips curve into a faint smirk as he tilts your head back, his gloved hand gripping your throat with just enough pressure to make your pulse quicken. "Do you know," he whispers, his tone almost conversational, "why I keep you alive?"

You don’t answer. You can’t.

"It’s not for love," he continues, his voice dark, melodic. "It’s not for affection or warmth. Those are luxuries I cannot afford. No..." His thumb brushes over your racing pulse, savoring the way it flutters like a trapped bird. "It’s because you make the silence bearable. Your fear, your resistance, your tears—they’re the melody that drowns out the noise."

And then, with the same eerie grace that defines him, he steps back, leaving you gasping for air. He retrieves the violin case, opening it with the care of a man unveiling a sacred relic. The instrument gleams in the dim light, its polished surface unmarred by the bloodshed it has witnessed.

He plays for you sometimes—not out of kindness, but to remind you of the life you’ll never reclaim. The mournful notes fill the room, echoing off the walls like a dirge for the living. It’s beautiful, haunting, a stark contrast to the violence that defines him.

As the final note fades, he sets the violin aside and turns to you once more. His eyes gleam with a dark satisfaction, a predator surveying his prey.

"You won’t leave," he says, his voice soft but firm, like a command written in stone. "Not because you can’t... but because deep down, you know. You belong to me."

And as the darkness closes in, you realize with chilling clarity that he’s right.

────────────

♡ Gusion.

The moon hung over Castle Aberleen, a luminous scythe against the abyss of the night. Its light seeped through the jagged cracks of the ancient stone walls, pooling on the icy floors in fractured streams. The chill that crept through the air was unnatural, a biting presence that clung to your skin and made your breaths visible, each exhalation dissipating like ghosts lost to the void. In the suffocating silence, he waited, cloaked in the shadows that seemed to bend to his will, as though even the darkness obeyed his command.

Gusion watched you from the far corner of the room, his lean figure blending seamlessly into the dimness. There was a precision to his stillness, a calculated tension coiled in his frame like a blade poised on the verge of unsheathing. His eyes, sharp and unforgiving as cut glass, traced the fragile contours of your form. Every rise and fall of your chest as you slumbered, every shift of your limbs under the thin blanket, was etched into his memory with surgical exactness.

He had always been fascinated by fragility—how effortlessly it could break, how its destruction revealed the truth beneath. You were no different. Soft, vulnerable, utterly unprepared for the monster that had breached the sanctuary of your quarters. You were an enigma he sought to unravel, a riddle written in the language of skin and bone, breath and pulse. And oh, how tempting it was to solve you.

You stirred faintly in your sleep, your lips parting as a muted sigh escaped. The sound was nearly imperceptible, but to him, it resonated like a siren’s call. His fingers twitched at his sides, where faint tendrils of light magic flickered like the dying embers of a fire barely restrained. It would take so little to touch you—to mark you—and leave behind evidence of his existence in the hollows of your being.

“You sleep so peacefully,” he murmured under his breath, his voice a low cadence of menace and reverence. The words were not meant for you to hear, yet they seemed to hang in the air, heavy and undeniable. He stepped closer, his movements so deliberate, so unnervingly silent that not even the creak of the floorboards betrayed him.

The room itself seemed complicit in his intrusion. The faint scent of lavender that clung to your skin mingled with the metallic tang of the cold, creating an intoxicating blend that muddled his senses. He stopped mere inches from your bed, his gaze devouring every detail of you. The delicate curve of your neck, the vulnerability in the way your fingers curled loosely against the sheets—all of it was an invitation, whether you realized it or not.

“Do you have any idea how dangerous this is?” he whispered, his breath brushing against the shell of your ear. His words were a scalpel, slicing through the stillness with surgical precision. You stirred again, a faint whimper escaping your lips, but his hand was already on you, firm and unyielding, pinning you to the bed before consciousness could fully grasp your predicament.

Your eyes snapped open, wide and glazed with panic as they met his. The sheer intensity of his gaze rooted you in place, a predator’s focus locking onto prey. He loomed over you, his presence overwhelming, suffocating, as though the air itself had been stolen from your lungs.

“Shh...” His voice was deceptively gentle, a soft croon that barely masked the razor edge beneath. “Don’t scream. You wouldn’t want to make this harder than it needs to be, would you?”

His fingers brushed against your jaw, tilting your chin upward with an unsettling tenderness that belied the bruising force of his grip. The juxtaposition was calculated, designed to disorient and unnerve. His touch was cold, clinical, yet imbued with a possessiveness that sent a shiver racing down your spine.

“You’re trembling,” he observed, his lips curving into a smile that was equal parts amusement and malice. “Is it fear? Or something else? I wonder…”

Your body betrayed you, trembling under his scrutiny even as your mind screamed for escape. The struggle only seemed to amuse him further, his expression darkening with satisfaction as his hands began to roam. Every movement was deliberate, methodical, as though he were dissecting you with his touch alone.

“So fragile,” he murmured, his voice laced with something akin to awe. “So exquisitely breakable. It’s almost poetic, really.”

The faint hum of his magic grew louder, a pulsating rhythm that resonated in your very bones. The light it emitted cast eerie shadows across the room, distorting reality into something nightmarish. He leaned closer, his breath hot against your skin, as his lips ghosted over the sensitive curve of your neck.

“Did you think you could run from me?” he asked, his tone conversational yet dripping with menace. “Did you truly believe you could hide?”

His teeth grazed your skin, a fleeting threat that sent a jolt of terror coursing through you. The pressure increased, sharp enough to draw blood but not quite enough to break the skin. He reveled in your reaction, the way your body stiffened, your breaths coming in shallow, desperate gasps.

“You belong to me,” he growled, the words a binding oath that echoed through the room. “No one else will ever touch you. No one else will ever have you. Do you understand?”

The air was thick with the scent of blood and magic, an intoxicating blend that blurred the line between pain and pleasure. His hands tightened around you, his fingers digging into your flesh with bruising intensity. The room seemed to close in around you, the walls pressing in like the jaws of some monstrous beast, trapping you in this twisted tableau.

“Stop struggling,” he hissed, his voice a venomous command that left no room for defiance. “It’s pointless. You’re mine. You always have been.”

When he finally pulled away, his expression was one of dark triumph. His fingers trailed down your body one last time, leaving behind a searing heat that felt like a brand, marking you as irrevocably his. The faint glow of his magic lingered in the air, a haunting reminder of his presence.

“Remember this,” he said, his voice low and dangerous. “No matter where you go, no matter how far you run, I will find you. And when I do, it will be as though you never left.”

As he disappeared into the shadows, leaving you trembling and broken in his wake, the echo of his words lingered, a sinister promise that etched itself into your soul. And in the oppressive silence that followed, you knew with chilling certainty that he was right.

────────────

♡ Aamon.

It begins in the silence of Castle Aberleen, where the cold moonlight filters through stained glass, painting the stone walls with fractured colors of blue and crimson. Aamon, the Duke of Shards, watches you with an expression carved from ice and fire. His pale eyes are unreadable, glinting like his conjured mana shards—beautiful, sharp, and merciless.

To him, you are not just a curiosity but a challenge—a test of his resolve, his discipline, his control. Yet control is a tenuous thing, a thread stretched too tight. He doesn’t break it outright; no, breaking things is for common men. Aamon unravels control strand by strand, methodically, purposefully, until there is nothing left to bind him but his own desire, raw and unrelenting.

You never asked to be caught in his orbit. Perhaps it was your misfortune, or perhaps it was his. He doesn’t care to decide. He only knows that you are here now, your shadow crossing his domain like a streak of sunlight piercing the abyss, and that alone is enough to condemn you. Not to death—no, death is too fleeting, too easy—but to him. To the cage he will forge from his affection, his obsession, and his cruelty.

When he first touches you, it’s almost gentle, almost tender—a gloved hand brushing against your arm as he leans close, his breath cold against your ear. He whispers something, words meant to soothe, but the undertone is unmistakable. It's a warning, a claim, a promise. His lips curl into a faint smile, but his eyes betray him. They are dark, bottomless, promising horrors you can barely fathom.

You try to resist, of course. It’s in your nature, as much as it’s in his to pursue. Resistance makes it sweeter for him. He thrives on the dance, the back-and-forth, the tension stretched so tight it threatens to snap. Each time you pull away, he tightens his grip, his patience fraying but his desire sharpening. Aamon is not a man to be defied lightly, and you learn this in ways both subtle and brutal.

In the shadows of the castle, he strips away your defenses with a precision that speaks of his training. His words are daggers, cutting through your resolve, leaving you raw and exposed. He speaks of duty, of loyalty, of love twisted into something unrecognizable. His voice is a low murmur, smooth as silk and just as binding. "You don't understand," he tells you, his tone almost mournful. "Everything I do, everything I am, is for the ones I love. For you."

But love, in his hands, is a weapon. He wields it expertly, slicing through your will until there’s nothing left but your trembling submission. When he finally claims you, it is not an act of passion but of possession. His touch is scorching, his hands roaming your body as if to memorize every curve, every shiver, every desperate gasp. He moves with calculated grace, his strength tempered by an unyielding need to dominate, to control. Every kiss, every caress, is a mark of ownership, a declaration that you are his and his alone.

He takes his time, savoring each moment, each sound you make, each futile struggle. His voice, low and commanding, pierces through the haze of fear and desire. "You belong to me," he says, his tone leaving no room for doubt. "Every breath, every thought, every inch of you. Mine."

And yet, there’s a fragility to his madness, a crack in the armor. In the quiet moments, when the heat of his rage and desire subsides, he looks at you with something resembling vulnerability. He doesn’t apologize—he never would—but there’s an unspoken plea in his eyes, a desperate need for you to understand, to accept him for what he is.

But acceptance is not your choice. He has stripped that from you, just as he has stripped away your freedom, your dignity, your sense of self. What remains is a hollow echo of the person you once were, a reflection of the man who has claimed you.

Aamon is not kind. He is not gentle. But in the rare moments when he allows himself to be soft, it is almost worse. Because in those moments, you see the man beneath the monster, and it becomes all too clear: he is not beyond redemption, but he chooses this path, this darkness. And he has chosen you to walk it with him, whether you will it or not.

And so, the Duke of Shards keeps you close, his most precious possession, his most exquisite torment. He watches you as he would a star in the void—something beautiful, distant, and entirely his.

────────────

♡ Xavier.

The silence drips like blood, thick and suffocating, pooling around the dim chamber where you stand paralyzed. Shadows lick at the edges of the barrier Xavier has erected, its stark light casting cruel illumination on the scene. His eyes—blue, sharp, and cold as a blade—are fixed on you, and though his lips curl into the faintest approximation of a smile, there’s nothing but venom beneath it. He looms over you, impossibly tall, broad-shouldered, and clad in the pristine vestments of his station. A contradiction: the embodiment of light, yet soaked in a darkness that seeps from every pore.

“Did you think,” he begins, his voice a measured hum, low and dangerous, “that you could slip from the light’s grasp? Even shadows are born of its radiance.”

You flinch against the searing gaze that seems to strip you bare, his power coiling like a serpent around your chest. The mystic energy that crackles in the air is suffocating, a living thing that laps hungrily at your skin. Each breath you take feels stolen. He has caged you here, the walls of light forming an inescapable prison—your last, bitter sanctuary. His presence dominates the space, a crushing inevitability that consumes the very concept of escape.

He steps closer. The sound of his boots on the stone floor echoes with deliberate finality, each step a nail driven into the coffin of your freedom. The heat radiating from him is overwhelming, oppressive, and alive with a silent promise. You try to look anywhere but at him, anywhere but at the man who stands as both executioner and savior. But his gloved hand is there, tilting your chin with a gentleness so at odds with the storm raging behind his eyes.

“Look at me,” he orders, and the authority in his voice strikes something primal within you. Reluctantly, trembling, you obey. His sapphire eyes gleam with an unholy intensity, a fire that threatens to consume you. “That’s better. I prefer seeing the truth written on your face.”

His thumb brushes over your lower lip, slow and deliberate, as though testing the boundary between what is his to possess and what he has yet to claim. The contact burns, not with heat but with the cold inevitability of a man who has decided he will not be denied.

“You defied me,” he whispers, his tone threaded with something more dangerous than anger—a quiet, simmering madness. “You spat in the face of everything I’ve sacrificed. Do you understand what that means?”

You want to answer, to plead, to scream, but his grip shifts faster than thought. In one smooth motion, he’s seized your wrists and pinned them above your head, his strength inhuman, unyielding. The barrier at your back thrums with energy, and its light burns against your skin. You can feel his breath against your cheek, warm and steady, even as yours comes in ragged, panicked gasps.

“Ten years,” he growls, the words rasping out like a confession to the abyss. “Ten years of serving hypocrisy, of fighting for a world unworthy of salvation. Ten years of losing pieces of myself, piece by bloody piece.”

His voice breaks, but only for an instant. The mask slips, revealing the depth of his despair before the cruelty returns, sharper than before. He leans closer, his lips brushing the curve of your ear.

“And now you dare to defy me? You, of all people?”

The question is rhetorical; he’s not interested in answers. His other hand, gloved and steady, moves from your chin to trail down your arm, each touch a cruel mimicry of affection. Your body reacts against your will, muscles trembling under his predatory attention. There’s nothing soft about his touch—it’s clinical, calculated, the touch of a man dissecting his prey to savor its fragility.

“You’re afraid,” he observes, his voice tinged with something akin to delight. “Good. Fear suits you. It’s honest.”

There’s a glint of amusement in his eyes as he tightens his hold on your wrists, forcing your body flush against the barrier. The light behind you flares, casting his features into stark relief. He is beautiful, impossibly so, but it’s the kind of beauty that scars—the razor’s edge of a man who has abandoned all pretenses of humanity.

“Do you want to know what I’ve learned in all these years?” he asks, his tone softening to something almost mournful. “Righteousness is a lie. Justice, mercy, hope… illusions spun to keep the masses compliant. There is no light without darkness, no salvation without sacrifice. And you—” he pauses, his lips brushing against your temple, “—you were supposed to be my solace. My tether.”

His words hit like blows, each one carving a deeper wound in the fragile armor of your resolve. Tears prick at your eyes, unbidden, and he notices. Of course, he notices. A cruel smile spreads across his face, and his thumb brushes away the first tear that falls, smearing it across your cheek.

“But solace is a luxury I no longer deserve,” he continues, his voice dipping into something darker, more intimate. “So instead, I’ll take what I need. What I’m owed.”

The mystic energy in the air thickens, the barrier behind you pulsing in time with your racing heartbeat. He presses closer, his body a furnace against your trembling form. There’s a hunger in his eyes now, an all-consuming need that has nothing to do with the righteousness he once championed. He wants to break you, to carve his name into your soul, to make you his in every way that matters and some that don’t.

“You can struggle,” he murmurs, his lips so close to yours that the words seem to linger between you, “but it won’t change anything. The light consumes everything it touches, and you… you are too exquisite to remain unclaimed.”

His lips brush yours, a ghost of a kiss that’s more cruel than tender, leaving you gasping. His grip on your wrists doesn’t falter, even as his free hand moves to cradle your jaw, forcing you to meet his gaze. You search his face for humanity, for some shred of the man he once was, but all you find is the abyss staring back.

“Hate me if it makes you feel better,” he says, his tone almost gentle. “Fight me. Curse me. In the end, it won’t matter. You’ll belong to me.”

The barrier flares one last time, bathing the room in blinding light. For a moment, you’re weightless, untethered from everything but the reality of his presence. Xavier’s lips curve into a smirk, and his voice drops to a whisper that cuts deeper than any blade.

“One way or another.”

────────────

If you want to be added or removed from the tag list, just comment on the MASTERLIST of Forbidden Fruits: Intimate Obsessions, Unhinged Desires. Thank you.

General TAG LIST of “Forbidden Fruits”: @uniquecutie-puffs , @ikevampharem , @tnsophiaonly , @mokingbrd78k , @cooldeermagazine , @mimitk , @xileonaaaa , @acacia-koi , @purple-obsidian , @waterfal-ling , @jjune-07

[nobodyfamousposts]

Scarlet Lady Top 10 Favorite Characters: Number 10

For @zoe-oneesama

Okay, I realized as I was writing these that there is way way WAY too much to each of these and why to be able to put them all into one post, so I'm breaking them down into individual essays focusing on each one to keep them palatable.

So without further ado....

Number 10: EVERYONE

Yeah, I know it may be cheating but at this point it was the only choice I could make.

I came to regret making this list, specifically because I couldn’t seem to make up my mind as far as who all would be on it. I reread the entire series. I kept switching people in and out as I was reminded of characters or scenes I loved. And I came to a realization that there is no character in the whole of this series I didn’t enjoy to some extent that they didn't deserve some love in this list and I kind of wish I could have added all of them just to give them all some spotlight.

Yes, it is partly because everyone is vastly improved compared to Canon. But as I reread the series, it came to mind that if Canon didn’t exist and I didn’t have the comparison between the characters, I still very much would have loved this series and everyone in it.

Cause and Effect Exist

It's important to have a setting in which the characters and their actions make sense for the world they live in. When the setting is supposed to be modern day earth, we need the people to be able to show that they are capable of surviving in it on a day to day basis without being so massively incompetent that they would do something like accidentally ingesting poison. Or forgetting how to breathe.

I would think it would be obvious, but sometimes Canon makes me wonder. Which is never a good look for a show that is supposed to have some level of seriousness and involve superheroes.

Here’s the thing Canon can’t seem to get: when a majority of the things that go wrong in a plot are because of everyone having to be stupid to make the plot work, you have a problem with the writing. Changing the material in a story so that younger people can enjoy it does NOT mean dumbing down the characters and throwing in arbitrary lessons with no real reason to them. Even if the show itself is geared towards kids, you can’t treat the audience like they’re stupid.

In Scarlet Lady, the people aren’t stupid.

Silly, yes. Wrong, often. Overdramatic, definitely. But while they may make stupid choices sometimes, they aren’t so dumb that anyone should have concerns about their ability to function at a higher level than an overcaffinated 2 year old.

They’re fooled initially the way many of us would be with a biased story that hits the news first. Oblivious to the problems in a situation that they logically wouldn’t have much direct insight into. Prone to making mistakes and incorrect judgement the way that anyone would. That's normal. That's expected.

But they’re not so incapable as to forget things that happen right in front of them between one day and the next. Or even between one scene and the next.

Things carry over. We see cause and effect. We see consequences—bad and good. And those consequences extend not only for the episode or season but for the entire series.

Aurore KNOWs Alec cheated her before and maintains a tight control over him and prevents more of his antics.

Adrien and Alya maintain a cold attitude towards Lila for some time after her reveal as a liar. And it even remains a point against her as used by Chloe as herself and as Scar to discount what she says.

The boys of the class remember Adrien’s “love letter to Marigold” and try to win him her merch because they’re bros like that. 

Adrien himself remembers the instances of his dad being a massive prick and instead of being surprised and “sad boi uwuwu” each time it happens like it’s supposed to be a surprise that the massive prick would choose to be a prick, he very clearly moves through the stages of grief to the point of a sort of acceptance that involves planning around and even for him.

Gabriel’s horrible parenting and general lack of concern for Adrien or his wellbeing as he ends up a casualty of various akuma attacks was played off for laughs when such incidents occurred. Then they were brutally called out against him in the Finale as a way to counter his claims of doing everything for Adrien’s sake. And the big reveal of the Birthday Scarf…utilized in the last way anyone would have wanted.

And Chloe is perhaps the biggest example as her antics ARE NOT forgotten or ignored by anyone. The classmates still interact with Chloe and are relatively nice to her, but they don’t just forget that she’s treated them horribly. They don’t act surprised when she does anything horrible. Nor does anyone just laugh it off or excuse it as “just who she is”. We see follow up to her behavior—the class fully expecting her to cause trouble and actively try to plan around it. People calling her out on past behaviors. And even bigger consequences as time goes on. Such as Adrien breaking off the friendship. And a blink and you miss it fridge logic moment in Ikari Gozen when you realize that when they said she was banned from all future Gabriel-involved competitions, they meant it.

The fact that by the time the big reveal happened that Chloe was Scarlet Lady, no one was shocked.

Story-wise, this is showing the passage of time and the effect the events of the story are having. It’s showing that there is lasting impact and that what happens to the characters matters.

Meta-wise, this is Zoe rewarding us for paying attention.

Continuity exists in Scarlet Lady. Time exists. The people exist. When anyone does anything, you get the sense that they aren’t operating in a vacuum. The things they do matter. There are consequences. There is an impact. And if there is an impact in the story, there will be an impact on the audience.

Which leads to…

Character Depth/Character Growth

Usually in TV shows of this nature, if there ARE character arcs for the side characters, they only occur over the course of a single episode devoted to focusing on them before moving on elsewhere. 

Canon didn’t give us that much at all in favor of having every episode that should focus on other characters learning and growing instead forcing Marinette to be wrong in some way and learn an arbitrary lesson that often would have better served for someone else.

In Scarlet Lady, the arcs we get are impressive for all that they’re relatively unobtrusive. They aren’t big. They aren’t world-ending. And the thing is, most change in life isn’t. It can just FEEL that way.

Like the way it felt for Kim when he first found out Ondine liked him and then had his confession to her screwed up.

And the way it felt for Kagami when she lost that first match against Adrien.

Then there’s the way it felt for Chloe when she was dismissed by her mother, had her popularity go downhill, and ended up losing her Miraculous.

…or the way it felt for Adrien when he discovered his dad was Hawk Moth.

The reactions we witness are in a great part due to actions outside of the characters’ control, but are ultimately a result of the experiences they have had and the ways they have changed as a result.

The question becomes: are the characters that we meet at the beginning pretty much identical to how they are at the end? Is the world?

The answer in Scarlet Lady is no.

Whether because the characters themselves change or our perception of them does, we can see that they have all undergone some sort of events that create a difference between the start and end points.

Not all of them HAVE to undergo some big emotional arc. Not all of them NEED to. But the characters still mostly go through some sort of growth by the end that I feel make them stronger and healthier people.

You’ve got the big life-altering changes like Lila and Sabrina.

You’ve got the little changes like Nino and Ivan.

You’ve even got the most minuscule, beginning stages of change in Chloe.

You’ve got growth that creates such perfect setup with Mylene when she starts off scared and traumatized by how things went with Stoneheart then is the one who confronts him in the end. And the parallel between the finale and the beginning when she returns him to normal by kissing him just like they did in that first episode to change him back then, too! (Just….GOD, I CANNOT GET OVER THIS!)

You’ve got them reaching out and making friends and relating to people they hadn’t before.

And by the end of it all, we get characters who feel like people rather than props.

They don’t all have to change. They don’t necessarily need to go through an entire emotional arc and back again. They just need to be part of the world they’re in.

Nino doesn’t just pop into existence when Adrien or Alya need someone to interact with. Kagami isn’t just a non-horrible or non-evil love rival for Adrien or a stepping stool for him to “practice“ at being in a relationship before it’s time for him to try the “real thing” with his endgame pairing. Luka isn’t just a decent guy who is the only actual form of support for the female lead and yet only lacking that precious “male lead” title or all around just not “Adrien enough” to fill the role.

Adrien isn’t just a “sad boy” meant to be a main love interest, Villain’s Morality Pet, and the one everyone idolizes and chases after just cuz he’s the male lead and that’s how you show he’s desirable I guess. Marinette isn’t the atlas keeping the story alive because no one else is apparently capable of learning lessons and changing, or even just the bare basics of functioning as individuals. Chloe isn’t just there to be horrible for no reason and get away with it so she can continue to be horrible until the writers suddenly need her to be sympathetic.

And the rest of the classmates aren’t just some Greek chorus there to fill the background.

We see them interact. We see them making jokes or jabs. We see them even…*gasp* having different opinions!

And on something as major and life-controlling as feelings about the “Hero of the City” no less! Why, that’s the sort of thing that would break up friendships and determine who you can sit next to at the cafeteria! The horror! The scandal!

And…oh hey. This puts the characters in different groups. It links them with characters other their Canonically designated pairings and groups. This lets them disagree on things and not need to vilify any of them. This creates implications that add depth to the story and to the people in it.

The characters can disagree without being enemies. They can be wrong without having to be evil. They can make mistakes without having to be stupid. And they can change and grow—both for better and worse.

And we see both and in different ways. SO many different ways.

Adrien goes from excited and impulsive to buckling under the forced responsibility and weight of a partner who hinders more than she helps.

Lila goes from selfishly bad and self-serving to selfish but friendly with better direction of her talents in a less self-serving way.

And Chloe just goes from selfish and bad to selfish and worse..

I mean, it says something that the combination of Lila’s growth and Chloe’s fall from grace resulted in Hawk Moth being unable to use Lila as a tool for his Heroes Day plot like he originally intended.

The key is that whether they necessarily grow or become better people, these characters are still IMPACTED by the events around them and AFFECTED as a natural result of the world they live in. 

You can’t help but feel for them in some way as a result. It’s part of why I love them.

The other part of why I love them is a bit more epic though…

Crowning Moments of Awesome

If there’s one thing I love, it’s seeing characters be awesome. I love it when characters get to be awesome. I would love to see more of it. Especially when the ones involved are characters you wouldn’t normally expect or get to see have a chance to shine.

And it’s when you see these characters be awesome that you really get the sense that yes, this character would work as a hero.

Seeing Max help against Robustus. Seeing Kim help against Odine. Alix stepping in during Pharaoh, calling out her brother’s fan fiction, and helping the heroes escape the security system at the Lourve. Alya stepping in during Copycat to clue Chat in to what’s going on and later keeping Anansi distracted to keep her away from Chat while he’s trapped. Rose kicking Nightmare!Chat in the face to defend Marinette even when she’s on the run from her own nightmares in Sandboy. Luka leading groups twice to stepping in and helping the heroes deal with akumas. Nathaniel standing up for Marinette and Sabrina when they’re accused in Rogercop and then helping the heroes in Reverser.

These little moments of support make such a big different and really make it make sense that the heroes would trust these people with magical jewelry to help them in battle.

And the little moments of characters being petty or strong or smart or turning the tables or just showing off what they’re capable of. Even without superpowers.

Adrien getting petty revenge for Nino and finding a tactic to counter Gabriel in the future.

The Police Force in Rogercop just saying “Nope” to obeying an obvious akuma. 

Zoe manipulating akumas twice to help the heroes. Her two Reasons You Suck Speeches to her mom and Bustier.

Every instance of payback that Tikki gets against Chloe.

Everyone in the Finale. Just…EVERYONE in the Finale. The characters who manage to avoid akumatization by either spotting the flaws in the illusion or refusing to give in to fear and even protecting others. Nora smacking any akuma that enters the home. Claudie pulling off Power Mom and ordering Max to stop attacking the city then helping to calm him down. Prince Ali and Juleka freeing Rose by kissing her! Chris, Ella, Etta, and Manon saving Mylene! Mylene saving Ivan with a kiss in a direct callback to how they first got together in Stoneheart! (Yes, I am still stuck on that!) Ondine saving Kim! Lila and Sabrina saving Alix! Luka facing Riposte alone and unarmed and then Kitty Section saving Kagami! ALL of the Heroes making a final comeback to help take down Hawk Moth for good! Just—AAAAAH!

How could Miraculous have peaked with this in Season 2 when this is Grand Finale material? Because there are few things more awesome than getting to see ALL the characters the heroes met and befriended and helped throughout the course of the story stepping up at the final battle to help take the Big Bad down!

Like…can we just take a moment to appreciate how everyone gets a chance to stand out in some way? Not all of them necessarily good, exactly (looking at you Andre). But still stand out and be memorable. Even characters who didn’t originally get much focus. Especially characters who were originally functioning as cardboard cutouts to fill a scene.

Anyone remember Aurore? How for the FIRST akuma in the pilot of the series and one who is quite frankly the most interesting and noteworthy, we don’t really get to see her again except in the background.

In Scarlet Lady, we got to actually look in to the contest and how she lost as well as the aftermath. She wasn’t some arrogant showoff who deserved to lose to the “sweet down to earth rival”, she was a girl who legitimately tried her best and had valid reason to be upset. Seeing her get revenge on Alec for cheating and humiliating her on live TV was well worth it.

Or how about the Photographer? Just there to take photos of Adrien in the park for a photo shoot or be the school photographer, but otherwise has no personality and is only remembered for his weird “spaghetti” line.

In Scarlet Lady, his role is two-fold. He acts as a sort of supporter for Adrien in his crush. Taking really good pictures of him being happy with the girl he likes. Taking more class photos at the behest of this girl for the sake of a friend who missed out on the class picture. And then there’s his OTHER role as a sort of antagonist to Chloe. He becomes one of the only ones in the early seasons willing and capable of dismissing her tantrums.

They’re both given more character. They get moments to stand out and BE awesome. So is everyone.

EVERYONE. From the classmates and big named characters we see regularly to the side characters who only appear once or twice. They all get some good scenes and focus that give them their own identities. All of them are memorable. None of them can really be ignored or forgotten. And part of what made making this list so difficult was that I found myself getting attached to pretty much everyone as I came across each of them that I couldn’t quite make up my mind.

Everyone in this fic has done something to make me happy and warrant my approval. Even the characters I normally wouldn’t like at all had their moments to shine and elicit an “okay, that was cool” from me.

Thus I grant this spot to everyone. To all the characters I don’t get the chance to mention. To all the ones I like albeit somewhat less than others. To all the ones I know are horrible but can’t help but like regardless. To all the ones I fought with myself for THREE MONTHS over which one would get this spot.

I love all of them.

[alrightbuckaroo]

Mood Ring: the moodboard tag game

The rules: Either: choose one of your published fics (or a WIP if you'd prefer), create a moodboard for it and share it along with a snippet. Or: Create a moodboard for your fave episode of the show, fave character, or a fic someone else has written that you love, and share it with some sentences about why it's a fave! (And tag people!).

29 Going on 30

During a trip to New York City to celebrate TK turning 30, TK and Carlos stumble upon a list of things TK always wanted to do before he turned 30, all of them being references to romantic comedies he loved so much growing up.

While TK is fine with leaving the past in the past, Carlos thinks there's no better time than the present. He thinks that TK deserves to feel the same type of love he loved watching on the silver screen, so he devotes the rest of their trip to just that.

Told through a tale filled with everlasting love, a never-ending trek across New York City and the occasional painful reminder of the past, Carlos learns a little more about the city TK once called home and TK learns a little more about himself.

Here's a snippet 💕

“TK,” Carlos turns to TK, the skyline forgotten and TK follows his motions. “In my vows, I said that you are the dream I would not allow myself to have, and every time I wake up next to you, I feel like I’m still dreaming. Every time I wake up next to you, I think this feels too good to be true.” TK wonders where this could be going, if they’re both afraid of the same thing and if so, what could that mean. “But,” Carlos says. “That’s what I love about it. Every day with you it’s like I get to experience falling in love for the first time all over again. I get to feel the euphoric rush of realizing I’ve found the one and I get to feel that again and again and again.” “I think that part of living life is finding new ways to left love in,” Carlos continues. “Learning that love can be an afternoon serenade, a hideous sweater that you still found a way to look good in or the realization that the love that feels too good to be true is the love that you’ve been deserving of all along.” TK is quiet for a beat; a medley of mixed emotions overtaking him. Love that feels too good to be true is the love that you’ve been deserving of all along. Maybe Carlos is right, maybe he needs to let himself finally feel comfortable with the idea that this type of love isn’t meant to crumble. He won’t have to dig through the remains of what’s left to restore himself. This love has a foundation that’s meant to last. Quietly, he asks, “You still think I’m a dream?” “So much I almost can’t believe my eyes,” Carlos replies with a smile.

Is now a good time to say that I've started working on an unofficial sequel titled 30 Going on Forever where they go back for Carlos' birthday, which is during Pride, and they do all the queer things teenage Carlos never thought he'd get to do (let alone with the love of his life)? I'm excited 💕

Thanks for the tags @heartstringsduet and @carlos-in-glasses for thinking up this fun game! Also thanks to this user for the divider!

[taelophone]

OKOKOK WAIT WAIT WAIT. I made that analysis so we could try and understand Luigi better as a person and have better material to write w, not so we could speculate about some woman who might not even know Luigi 😭🙏🏽 guys I love you I really do but I don’t wanna probe into someone’s personal romantic life especially with the little tidbits of information I’m being brought from all different angles !!

I promised you guys a little surface dive into his love life and romantic behavior, which is coming, but that doesn’t mean I promised to scrub the lives and pages of women involved with him🙂‍↕️ maybe love life wasn’t the right word to use, my bad. I am not stepping into his potential partners pages, because they’re not the topic of interest and they deserve privacy😭

just a gentle reminder that not everything you read on the internet is true! People lie, and shit spreads v v quickly. Just as people ran w the idea that Luigi’s close woman-friend was his gf, when she was in fact MARRIED.

[synthapostate]

@lastdaysofwar, Day 2 - Mistakes/Language/Apologies (Newt/Hermann, Lars Gottlieb)

Note: Fair warning, I took “language” to mean the F word.

It’s lunch time, and Newt couldn’t be happier. Not so much because of the meal, though, which bears a vague resemblance to garlic noodles as interpreted by an alien that once had the concept of flavor described to it by an anthropologist. Which is to say, they’re still working through the rations that came out of some army supply warehouse years ago. But that’s okay. Because he’s having lunch with Hermann.

Okay, so there’s nothing new and different about that. They’ve been eating together every day for years and years. They’re not even having a wildly different conversation today. Hermann is holding forth on the incompetence of some people, who can’t even be bothered to get a name right on a simple shipping label, and the Shatterdome’s own mailroom staff, who should have been able to work out on their own that “Dr. M. Gibraltar, K-Science” must be intended for one of the two of them—after all, there are only two left to choose from!—instead of letting it sit unclaimed in the warehouse for over a week.

“What if it had been something perishable?” Hermann insists, further incensed by the giant grin Newt can’t wipe off his face.

“It wasn’t. It’s fine.”

“It might have been! They didn’t know it wasn’t!”

“Yeah…” Another time, even just a couple of weeks ago, Newt would have been all over the guy, reminding him of every mistake he’s ever made. Where does Mr. Dr. Perfect here get off taking out his frustrations on whatever minimum wage warehouse worker couldn’t spell—whichever name Hermann tried to give them?

But there is one thing different these days. Now they’re dating! Instead of being mad at Newt all the time, Hermann is pissed off on his behalf, because he’s mad the mailroom screwup made him late giving Newt a birthday present, which is just, like. Nice. Newt wasn’t even expecting a present, but Hermann got him one because he like cares and stuff, it’s really sweet. Also, Herms is hot as hell when he gets all worked up like this. Also-also, Newt is just absolutely, hopelessly, disgustingly in love with him.

“Fuck those guys anyway,” Newt says, with an even bigger, dreamer smile. Hermann’s shoulders go stiff.

“Really, Newton, must you be so vulgar?”

“Yeah, babe, it’s what I do. Maybe you should act your age for once. Use it as punctuation like a normal millennial.”

“I’m normal!” Hermann stabs a fork into his noodles, lips petulantly pursed. He is so not normal, but Newt loves that about him, too.

“You can’t even say ‘fuck,’” Newt teases. “I don’t know how you can do it if you don’t even know how to say it.”

“I can say—” Hermann takes note of the volume of his voice, and the crowded setting of the mess hall. He shoots Newt a dirty look and says, more calmly, “I know how to swear, of course, I just don’t use that sort of language without good reason. It’s unprofessional.”

“But it would be hot,” Newt says innocently, batting his eyelashes. Hermann’s cheeks instantly take on a hint of pink.

“A-ah,” he stammers. “Would it?”

“Yeah, man. If you said ‘fuck’ right here and now for everyone to hear? I don’t know what I’d do. Probably couldn’t contain myself. I’d have to start tearing all my clothes off, right here in the mess hall.”

“Newton,” Hermann protests. “That—that is—” He lowers his voice to barely more than a whisper. “That is fucking uncouth.”

“Fuck, yeah!” Newt loosens his tie, which was already pretty loose to begin with, and tosses it aside. For saying it so quietly, that’s all he gets.

“You are a fucking nightmare,” Hermann says, a little louder.

“Ooh!” With an exaggerated shiver, Newt pops the top button on his shirt. Hermann leans toward him across the table, less nervous now, even though the blush has spread all the way to his ears.

“I would like to take you back to my room and fuck you until you can’t walk straight.”

“Guh—n-not—that’s not punctuation,” Newt chokes out, fumbling with the rest of his buttons. It’s actually like. Really warm in here all of a sudden.

“To hell with punctuation,” Hermann says. “I’ll swear however I fucking like.”

“You are so fucking sexy.” Newt wriggles out of his shirt and drops it on the floor behind him. Down to his undershirt, he sets his elbows on the table and waits for Hermann’s next move.

“You have all the maturity of a juvenile fucking delinquent,” Hermann says, struggling now not to smile.

“Yeah, and you fucking love it!”

“I sure fucking do.” Hermann is practically yelling now, loud enough for everyone to hear, and Newt is going to have to actually take his pants off, or else throw his boyfriend over his shoulder and carry him off to bed. They may be just playing around here, but at the same time, fuck it’s hot when Hermann lets loose.

“Fuck, Herms,” Newt groans.

“Fuck, Newton,” Hermann agrees.

“Fuck.”

“Fuck!”

“Fuck!”

“Fuck!”

“Doctors,” someone says sharply from just behind Newt. The hint of a smile slides right off Hermann’s face.

“F-father,” he stammers, looking guilty as a kid caught sneaking out after curfew. Newt turns, silently begging for this not to be happening, but sure enough, Old Man Gottlieb is staring down at them, as stern as Hermann’s ever been, but in a way that’s deeply, deeply unsexy.

“You call your son Doctor?” Newt says without conscious decision. He turns back to Hermann. “When I say that about my mom, it’s a joke.”

“What are you doing here?” Hermann asks, ignoring Newt completely.

“I wanted to speak with you. I must admit, I never expected to hear my own son using such language in a public place.”

“Ah.” Hermann looks like he’s about to throw up. Newt reaches across the table to take his hand, which, for just one second, makes him look a hundred times worse. Then he looks at their entwined hands, squares his shoulders, and scowls up at Dr. Gottlieb with such withering disdain, it’s amazing the old guy doesn’t spontaneously combust. “I never expected to see my own father throwing his support behind such an asinine project as the Wall of Life, but here we are.”

“I see. Is that why you won’t return my calls? Out of some misplaced—”

“Not misplaced,” Hermann interrupts coolly. “My loyalty to Stacker Pentecost and the Jaeger Program was never misplaced. Even you must admit that’s true.”

“Yes, I can see your ideals were borne out in the end,” Lars concedes.

“Really?” Hermann is on his feet so fast, his chair clatters halfway across the aisle behind him. And since they’re still holding hands, Newt is jerked to his feet along with him. “You can’t just say that I was right? It’s not that I knew what I was talking about all this time, oh no, how could I ever? I’m just a foolish idealist who happened to put his faith in the winning team by sheer dumb luck!” He starts off at a dull roar, and works his way up to possibly the angriest Newt’s ever seen him. And that’s saying something.

Newt tries to stagger over to his side in a suave, I’m-dating-your-son-and-I-support-him kind of way, not in a rag-doll-thrown-around-by-a-tantrummy-toddler way. Not that it really matters. Neither Gottlieb is apparently aware of his presence at the moment.

“Hermann, stop making a spectacle of yourself.”

“A spectacle? Oh, that’s rich!”

“I did not travel halfway around the world to argue with you!”

“Then why did you come? You’re not wanted here, and I can guarantee I’m not the only person in this room who feels that way!” He gestures around at their colleagues, most of whom are pretending to ignore the show. But more than a few are openly preparing to throw rotten tomatoes at the dickbucket who hijacked their funding and almost cost them the war.

Wait. Tendo has an actual, literal tomato in his hand. Where did he even get that?

“I came here to talk to you.” For the first time, Lars Gottlieb sounds like an actual human being. Looks like one, too. Like a real father reaching out to his son.

Hermann squeezes Newt’s hand even tighter. Ow ow ow ow ow ow—

“I have no desire to talk to you. Sorry you’ve wasted a trip. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have rather a lot of work to do. Come, Dr. Geiszler.” He strides out of the mess hall. Newt follows along in his wake.

“My shirt,” he says, once they’re out in the hall.

“I’ll buy you a new one.”

“No, it’s okay.” Someone will probably grab it for him, or else he can go back and get it later. What’s more concerning is that they left their noodles, and now that Hermann’s all upset, it won’t occur to him to eat anything else. Newt will have to get him some snacks for later.

“I am terribly sorry about this.” Hermann slows as they approach the elevators. The dude can book it when he really wants to.

“You didn’t do anything.” Newt checks behind them to make sure Lars hasn’t decided to follow them before he pulls Hermann to a stop and asks, “Are you okay?”

“Yes, of course. Perfectly all right,” Hermann says, which is, of course, what he always says when he’s not.

“If you want, I’ll run interference until he goes home. You don’t have to see him, you don’t have to talk to him, and whatever he’s here for, he can’t have it.”

“He wants my forgiveness,” Hermann sighs. “He’s left voicemails. I couldn’t help listening.”

“Oh,” says Newt. That’s…good, right? The old man is sorry, and ready to admit that he was wrong. He’s been stubbornly devoted to making nothing but bad choices, and on a personal level, he should be horribly ashamed of the way he’s treated his own son, but now he’s trying to make a change. Right?

“Don’t let me change my mind,” Hermann urges. “If I decide to give him another chance, lock me in my room and sit on me.”

“You’re giving me permission? That’s awesome!”

“Newton.”

“Well, it is. I’ve always wanted to sit on you.”

Hermann grimaces and hits the elevator button with his cane hand. The other is still clinging to Newt’s, so Newt raises it to his mouth and kisses the first finger he can get to. Some of the doom and gloom clears from Hermann’s expression.

“I really mean it, Newton. I don’t want to hear an apology from that man, because I will be stupid enough to accept it. And I don’t want to forgive him. It’s disrespectful to the dead.”

“Hey. You’re not stupid.” Hermann opens his mouth to argue, but Newt shuts him up with a finger to his lips. “It’s not stupid to want your own father to be better than he is. It’s not stupid to expect him to be decent. Okay?”

“Newt—”

“Okay?”

“Hrm.” The elevator doors slide open, and Hermann steps inside without giving him an answer. Not cool.

“You don’t have to forgive him,” Newt insists. “But maybe you deserve to hear his apology, just for you.” He kisses Hermann’s hand again. “Hey, if it makes you feel any better, nobody around here will ever let him off the hook for his part in prolonging the war. And I never liked the way he talked to you, even when I had my head so far up my ass I couldn’t even be your friend. I hope you don’t decide to forgive him, but even if you do, I won’t.”

“Thank you, darling, that’s very kind. I…think.”

“Nothing kind about it! I can hold a grudge for both of us. You know I’m good for it.” Newt waggles his eyebrows as dramatically as he can until Hermann stops looking like a world-weary old man and rolls his eyes like an irritable teen instead.

“By Jove, Newton,” he sighs. Then he looks down at their clasped hands until he’s finally forced to smile. “You are marvelous, you know. By fucking Jove.”