#table basse orange

[queenmycrofts]

Living Room - Library

Large eclectic enclosed living room library photo with brown walls, a brown floor, and wainscoting. There is no fireplace or television in the room.

[valonychroms]

Paris Library Ideas for remodeling a mid-sized, contemporary, carpeted family room library with white walls

[bubblesymphony]

Contemporary Deck - Deck

Example of a large trendy rooftop deck design with no cover

[nanni-art]

Uncovered Paris Inspiration for a mid-sized modern rooftop remodel with an open rooftop deck

[mazerimmer]

Contemporary Deck - Deck

An illustration of a sizable, modern rooftop deck without a roof.

[deepdarkdungeondubstep]

Large trendy rooftop deck photo with no cover

[lizziesangel]

RAFE CAMERON ⟢ you're perfect

x FEM!reader ⟢ MASTERLIST

SUMMARY: based on this request

WORD COUNT: 4473

GENRE: angst

CONTENT WARNING: talks of insecurity, if this is too triggering please do not read, my dms are always open

the bass of the music thudded through the house, reverberating in your chest as you stepped through the packed crowd. you had come with your friends—kie, jj, john b, sarah, and pope—but it didn’t take long for everyone to scatter. parties were always like that, a chaotic mess of faces and fleeting conversations.

you weren’t here for the party, though. you were here for rafe.

he’d mentioned he’d be around tonight, and despite your better judgment, you couldn’t help but want to see him. you hadn’t texted him yet—part of you wanted the thrill of stumbling upon him, a magnetic pull drawing you closer until you found him.

jj was somewhere near the beer pong table, obnoxiously yelling about sinking a cup. sarah and john b had disappeared upstairs, and you’d last seen kie and pope heading toward the kitchen. so now, it was just you, weaving through the maze of bodies.

as you made your way toward the back of the house, you heard a voice from around the corner.

“she’s so desperate, though,” one girl said, laughing.

your footsteps faltered.

“i mean, come on. you’d think she’d have some self-respect,” another chimed in. “following rafe cameron around like a lost puppy? it’s pathetic.”

“rafe doesn’t even like y/n. he’s just playing with her. you know how he is.”

“did you even see her? as if anyone would go for a girl like that,” one of them spoke up, causing a few girls to snicker.

your stomach twisted, an icy rush spilling down your spine. you stayed behind the wall, frozen, unable to move. they couldn’t see you, but you could see them—three girls in skimpy dresses, plastic cups in hand, giggling like their words weren’t slicing through you.

your first instinct was to roll your eyes. they didn’t know you, didn’t know anything about you and rafe. you were sure of that. but their words stuck, digging deeper than you’d like to admit.

you blamed the alcohol. that’s what it was. you’d had a couple of drinks, and now everything felt amplified. it wasn’t like their petty gossip meant anything. right?

shaking off the unease, you turned away and kept moving. you weren’t going to let them ruin your night.

the heat from the bonfire stung your skin as you went outside , the flickering orange light casting long shadows on the backyard. rafe was still standing there with topper and kelce, laughing over something that was probably way less funny than they thought it was. a few other people were hanging around the fire, drinking and chatting in their own little world.

as you neared them, you caught sight of two girls standing just a little too close to rafe. one of them was leaning in, a flirtatious laugh escaping her lips as her hand brushed against his arm. she was dressed in a tiny, skin-tight dress, her hair styled to perfection, her eyes fixed on rafe as though the entire world was invisible to her.

you didn’t mean to stare. really, you didn’t. but your feet felt like lead, and your heart began to race in your chest.

rafe was looking at the girl, but it wasn’t the way she was looking at him. his face was a mask of indifference, a slight smirk playing at the corner of his mouth, but his eyes didn’t linger on her. He didn’t flirt back. he didn’t lean in. he was just there, as if waiting for the interaction to pass.

still, the moment felt suffocating. your chest tightened, a sick feeling spreading through your stomach. you tried to breathe through it, but every breath felt shallow. the alcohol in your veins wasn’t helping, either. it was supposed to loosen you up, to keep you confident, but right now, it just felt like a weight pressing down on you.

you couldn’t tear your eyes away from them—the girl, smiling too wide, touching his arm as if she had some claim on him, and rafe, standing still like a piece of furniture, polite but distant.

what am i doing here?

you swallowed, the bile rising in your throat. yout hands clenched at your sides as you willed yourself not to cry. not now, not in front of everyone, especially not in front of him.

the girl laughed again, leaning in a little closer, and the world around you started to blur. you blinked hard, trying to steady your thoughts. focus. you’re fine. you’re okay.

but you didn’t feel okay. you didn’t feel fine at all. the girl’s flirtation, the way she was trying so hard to get rafe’s attention, felt like a punch to the gut. it wasn’t the way he was looking at her—it was the way it made you feel. like you didn’t belong here, like maybe you weren’t the one he cared about at all.

as much as you hated yourself for it, you felt small. invisible. disposable.

you could hear laughter in the distance, people shouting across the yard, music thumping from inside the house. but all you could hear was the rapid beating of your own heart in your ears. the world around you felt too big, too loud, and you didn’t want to be part of it anymore.

you turned away without even realizing you’d made the decision, your mind already made up.

it wasn’t like you wanted to leave, but you didn’t want to be here. not anymore. not while that girl was touching him. not while you felt like a stranger in your own skin.

you didn’t want to cry. you couldn’t let anyone see you break.

so you walked away, quick, almost a blur of movement, dodging between bodies, weaving through groups of people. you kept your head down, ignored the music that pounded in your chest, and just focused on getting to the front door.

when you pushed through it and stepped into the cool night air, the tears you were holding back finally spilled over. you didn’t let out a sob or anything loud. you just blinked quickly, wiping your face as the tears soaked your cheeks.

you just needed to get home.

you don’t know exactly how you managed to make it to your car. you just did, a mixture of emotion, alcohol, and numbness driving your every step.

the keys felt slippery in your hand as you fumbled to unlock the door. you wanted to tell yourself you were being ridiculous, that none of this mattered, that rafe wasn’t even interested in those girls—but the truth was, you couldn’t shake the feeling that maybe, just maybe, you weren’t enough.

you slid into the front seat and slammed the door behind you, sinking into the leather. you stared at the steering wheel for a long moment, the soft thrum of your heartbeat the only sound you could hear.

no matter how hard you tried to push it away, the sick feeling in your stomach wouldn’t fade.

the drive home was a blur. you gripped the steering wheel. the streetlights flickered by in a haze of orange and yellow, but you hardly noticed. every thought in your head felt like a tangled mess, too many voices fighting for attention, none of them kind.

what did you think was going to happen? he doesn’t care about you like that. they’re everything you’re not.

you swallowed hard, trying to push the thoughts away. the cool night air through the cracked window was supposed to help, but it didn’t. nothing helped. the pit in your stomach only seemed to grow deeper with each passing mile.

you pulled into the driveway, the headlights casting long shadows across the yard, the house looming in front of you. it was too quiet, too still. your parents were never home on nights like this. always out, always too busy with their own lives.

you didn’t mind the silence. usually, it was your refuge, a place where you could think, breathe. but tonight, it felt suffocating.

you grabbed your bag from the passenger seat and stepped out of the car, your legs feeling like they were made of lead. your feet moved automatically, leading you toward the front door. the house was dark, silent. no comforting voices, no footsteps echoing through the halls. it was just you.

you dragged yourself up the stairs, the house creaking underfoot as you made your way to your room. you closed the door softly behind you, locking it for good measure, just in case.

the room felt cold, sterile, as though the four walls were closing in around you. you let your bag fall to the floor, kicking off your shoes as you went straight to the bed, sinking into the plush mattress. you needed a moment, just to breathe, to think.

but thinking made everything worse.

you squeezed your eyes shut, clutching the blankets tight in your fists. you’re fine. you’re okay. you repeated the mantra to yourself, trying to remind yourself of the strength you had built over the past few years.

you weren’t that girl anymore. the one who let herself get trampled on. the one who let someone crush her confidence, making her feel small, insignificant. that was the girl your ex had torn apart—leaving you with nothing but self-doubt and confusion. but you had rebuilt yourself. you’d found your strength again, slowly and painfully.

but now? now, it felt like it had all come undone in a single night.

the thoughts kept spiraling, gaining speed. the image of rafe with that girl, her hand brushing his arm, her laugh like nails on a chalkboard. it wasn’t just her, though. it was the way rafe didn’t seem to care about her at all, but it made you wonder—does he care about me like that?

you took a deep breath, but it only made things worse. the tightness in your chest returned, squeezing harder this time. your breathing became shallow.

no, no, no… don’t do this now.

but it was too late. the panic had already begun to set in. the tightness in your chest, the dizziness in your head—it all collided in a wave of panic that left you gasping for air.

you gasped again, but it didn’t feel like enough. you couldn’t breathe. you couldn’t get a single breath deep enough to steady the wild pounding of your heart. it was like your whole body was rebelling against you, refusing to let you be calm.

you slid further down into the bed, curling into yourself, your knees pulled to your chest as you pressed your hands against your face, trying to hold it all in. you could feel your heartbeat in your throat, your chest, your fingertips. every pulse felt louder, faster, as though the world was closing in, and you couldn’t escape it.

it felt like you were suffocating. like everything you had worked so hard for had been ripped away in an instant. the confidence you’d spent the last three years building up—piece by piece—after your ex had destroyed it… it felt like it was slipping through your fingers.

the anger, the hurt—it wasn’t just about rafe. it was everything. you had fought so hard to be strong, to never feel the way you did back then, but here you were again. vulnerable. weak.

your chest heaved as you tried to calm yourself down, your body trembling with the effort. you squeezed your eyes shut tighter, trying to force the tears away, but they came anyway, hot and fast, stinging your skin.

why does it hurt so much?

you buried your face in the pillow, muffling the soft sobs that shook your body. you didn’t want to be seen. you didn’t want anyone to know how badly you were falling apart inside. you couldn’t even understand why it hurt so much, but it did.

the clock on the nightstand ticked steadily, but you couldn’t stop the overwhelming weight in your chest. your panic attack felt like a slow-motion car crash, like there was nothing you could do to stop the destruction. you were losing yourself again, losing the strength that had been so hard-won.

it’s just a party. it doesn’t mean anything. he’s not like that.

but even as you told yourself those things, the tears kept coming.

the next few days felt like a blur. each morning, you woke up with that same pit in your stomach, the same weight pressing on your chest. everything felt heavy, even your thoughts. you couldn’t stop replaying that night in your head—the words from the girls at the party, the sight of rafe talking to that other girl. it felt like the world was closing in on you, like you were drowning in things you couldn’t control.

each class was a blur of noise and movement that barely registered. you kept your head down, focused on the words in front of you, even though they didn’t make sense. every now and then, your mind wandered back to the party—the way you’d left without a word, the way your thoughts had spiraled into something ugly and self-doubting.

and now, rafe was everywhere.

at school, you kept your distance from him. you couldn’t even bring yourself to look at him, not without that feeling creeping up again, making your heart race. every time rafe tried to talk to you, you found an excuse to slip away.

one morning, you were heading to your locker, trying to focus on getting through the day. and then you felt his presence behind you, just a little too close. you could tell he was about to say something, his voice barely above a whisper, but before he could even open his mouth, you cut him off.

“i can’t right now,” you muttered, barely glancing back at him. you didn’t give him a chance to respond, walking quickly down the hallway, your heart hammering in your chest.

the next time, it was in the cafeteria. you were sitting with kie, jj, pope, and sarah, trying to pretend everything was fine, trying to ignore the emptiness that followed you everywhere. rafe slid into the seat next to you, his hand almost brushing against yours as he leaned in.

“hey,” he said softly, his voice filled with that warmth you once loved, the one that made everything feel okay. “can we talk for a sec?”

you couldn’t breathe. it felt like the walls were closing in on you. you forced a smile, a fake one, and gave a quick glance to kiara. “i need to go to kie,” you said, standing up abruptly. you didn’t even wait for him to respond as you walked away, not sparing him another glance.

it wasn’t that you didn’t care. you did, more than you’d like to admit. but it was easier to keep him at arm's length. easier to shut him out before you had to face the things you were feeling—the doubts, the insecurities that had risen to the surface after that night.

you couldn’t handle being vulnerable right now. not with him.

but rafe wasn’t backing down. every time he saw you, his expression shifted from casual indifference to something else—something you couldn’t quite place. he’d give you a small smile, almost like he was trying to reassure you, but you just couldn’t bring yourself to respond in kind. you weren’t ready to talk.

and then came today. the tension was unbearable. rafe’s presence was suffocating, and you were so, so tired of pretending everything was fine when it wasn’t.

you were walking down the hallway after fifth period, deep in thought, trying to figure out how to survive the rest of the day when you felt someone grab your arm. you froze, spinning to face him.

“hey,” rafe said, his voice steady but with an edge of concern you couldn’t ignore. “can we talk, again?”

you pulled your arm back, forcing a smile that felt unnatural on your face. “i really can’t right now, rafe,” you said quickly, looking anywhere but at him. “i need to go meet kie for lunch.”

you could hear the frustration in his voice, even though he tried to hide it. “come on, stop avoiding me. what’s going on?”

you swallowed hard, your chest tight. the last thing you wanted was to unravel in front of him. the last thing you needed was to let the tears you’d been holding back slip out.

“i’m fine,” you said, voice clipped, stepping back. “really. i just… i need some space.”

rafe’s brows furrowed, his lips pressing into a thin line. he wanted to say something, but you didn’t give him the chance. you turned on your heel and walked away, your heart pounding in your chest.

the rest of the day passed in a blur, but somehow, you knew this moment was inevitable. rafe wasn’t going to let you keep shutting him out forever. he couldn’t. and you couldn’t keep avoiding the truth.

when the final bell rang and you were making your way to the parking lot, you saw him again. this time, there was no dodging him. he was standing in front of your car, waiting. his arms were crossed, and the look on his face was more serious than you’d ever seen it.

you stopped, heart racing. your stomach flipped. there was no escaping this now.

“rafe,” you began, your voice barely above a whisper, “please, not now.”

he shook his head. “no, this is getting ridiculous. you’ve been pushing me away all week. what’s going on? what did i do?”

you took a shaky breath, feeling the weight of everything pressing down on you. just say it. your mouth was dry, but you forced the words out.

“i think we need to break up.”

rafe’s eyes widened, confusion flashing across his face. “what? what do you mean? why? is it something i—”

you cut him off before he could finish. “it’s not you, rafe. it’s me.” the words were like a punch to your own gut as they left your mouth. you could see his jaw tighten, his brows furrowing as he tried to understand.

his face fell, his expression unreadable as he stepped closer, almost like he was trying to reach you. “what? no, we don’t—”

“i just… can’t. i’m sorry,” you interrupted, forcing the words out.

before he could say anything else, before he could try to fix it or ask why, you turned away. the door to the hallway was just a few steps away, and you didn’t look back. you couldn’t.

“don’t do this,” he said, his voice softer now, almost pleading. “i don’t get it. just… tell me what’s going on. we can talk through this, we—”

you left him standing there, his voice calling after you, but you didn’t stop. you just kept walking.

your hands were shaking at your sides. you couldn’t stand there and explain it. you couldn’t tell him how the doubts, the insecurities, and the hurt from that night, and many more, had eaten away at you. you couldn’t admit how broken you felt.

“i’m sorry,” you whispered

you slammed the door behind you as you walked out of the school building, your chest tight with emotion. you hadn’t wanted to hurt him. you hadn’t wanted any of this. but it was easier to push him away than face what was really happening inside of you.

as you drove home, the silence in the car felt louder than ever. you wiped your eyes, feeling the tears burn, but you didn’t let them fall. you couldn’t. not now. not when you’d just made the hardest decision of your life.

the weekend felt like a stom. a quiet, lonely and depressing storm that dragged on and on, leaving you completely drained. you stayed in your room, avoiding anyone and everything. you couldn’t stop the thoughts that kept eating away at you—about rafe, about yourself, about everything you had tried to ignore. the silence between you two felt suffocating, and every time you thought about him, your chest tightened, your stomach twisted into knots.

you hated how you felt. it felt like the pieces of you that had been so carefully put together over the past few years were slowly falling apart. the self-doubt, the insecurity, the overwhelming sense of not being good enough—it all came rushing back, drowning out everything else.

you hated the way your skin seemed too tight, like you were trapped in a body that didn’t feel like your own. you couldn’t even look at yourself in the mirror. every inch of you felt like a disappointment. your hair, limp and lifeless. your skin, pale and dull. your eyes, tired and red from crying too much.

you hadn’t realized how much of your worth had been tied to him until now. all those times you’d spent together, feeling special, feeling like you mattered… now it just felt like you were invisible again, like nothing about you was enough.

sitting in your room, you stared at the mirror, barely recognizing the person looking back at you. your hair was messy, your eyes tired and swollen from crying. you just felt... ugly. it wasn’t just the way you looked, but the way you felt in your own skin. everything felt off, like you were a shadow of who you used to be.

why did i do this? you thought, running your hands over your face, wiping away the last traces of tears. he deserves better than this... than me.

the thoughts wouldn’t stop, and the heavier your heart felt, the more you wanted to retreat from the world. i should’ve never broken up with him. he’s probably better off without me.

just as you were about to bury yourself under the covers, you heard a knock on your door.

“hey, it’s me.”

his voice floated in, barely above a whisper. “can i come in?”

your heart skipped a beat, and for a moment, you couldn’t bring yourself to open the door. you had no idea what to say to him, no idea how to explain what was going on in your head. but when the door creaked open a little, rafe stepped inside, looking hesitant but determined. his eyes softened when he saw you sitting on your bed, your posture slumped, your gaze avoiding his.

his eyes searched you with a mix of concern and something else you couldn’t quite place.

you didn’t move. you just sat there, feeling small and fragile. you didn’t want to talk. you didn’t want to explain. but rafe wasn’t going to leave without answers.

he walked over to the bed, sitting at the edge, but not too close. he was careful, like he didn’t want to invade your space.

“why’d you do it?” his voice was quiet, but there was no hiding the hurt in it. “why’d you break up with me?”

you couldn’t meet his eyes. you couldn’t find the words, not without feeling like you’d fall apart. instead, you just shook your head, staring at your hands in your lap.

his voice was soft, but there was a hurt in it that made your chest tighten. “i don’t understand, y/n. we were… we were good, weren’t we?”

you squeezed your eyes shut, a wave of guilt crashing over you. you wanted to tell him everything—everything that was going on in your head, all the reasons you felt like you weren’t enough. but the words felt stuck in your throat.

“i… i just…” you started, but the words failed you. you didn’t even know how to explain. you were a mess, lost and confused.

rafe sighed, running a hand through his hair, clearly frustrated but still patient. “hey, look at me. please.”

you didn’t want to, but you did. you couldn’t stand the hurt in his eyes, couldn’t stand the fact that you were the one causing it.

when you finally met his gaze, his expression softened. “i don’t know what’s happening, y/n, but i can’t help if you won’t tell me.”

you opened your mouth, but the words just wouldn’t come. everything felt so overwhelming. the pressure in your chest, the weight of everything you were feeling, and the fear that rafe would see you for what you really were.

“i just… i wasn’t..." you took a deep breath, you felt like you needed to throw up. your stomach was turning, “i’m not okay,” you whispered, your voice shaky. “i thought i could fix myself, but i can’t. i feel like... like i’m not good enough, rafe. for you. for anyone.”

rafe didn’t say anything at first. you could hear him breathing, steady and slow. then, his hand reached out, gently touching yours. you flinched at the contact, but he didn’t pull away. instead, he gave you a reassuring squeeze.

“you’re wrong,” he said quietly. “you’re more than enough. more than anyone could ever ask for.”

“you are good enough,” he said, his voice firm but gentle. “you are everything to me. don’t you see that?”

you felt the lump in your throat grow, your eyes welling up again. you wanted to believe him, so badly, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that maybe you weren’t.

you shook your head, tears welling up in your eyes again. “you don’t get it,” you muttered. “you deserve someone better than me. someone who isn’t a mess, someone who actually has their shit together.”

“stop.” rafe’s voice was firm, but not harsh. “you’re not a mess. you’re human, y/n, and that’s okay. i don’t need you to be perfect. i just need you to be you.”

you closed your eyes, his words sinking into you like a balm to a wound. why did it hurt so much? you thought, still shaking with emotion.

“i’m sorry,” you whispered, barely able to speak through the tears. “i’m so sorry for pushing you away. i don’t know how to fix this.”

rafe didn’t say anything at first. he just pulled you into his arms, holding you close, his warmth surrounding you in the darkness of your room. he didn’t ask for explanations, didn’t try to make you feel better with empty words. he just held you.

“i don’t know how to stop feeling like this,” you shook your head, tears running down your face. “i feel so, so disgusted, by myself. and i don't even know why.”

“you don’t have to fix it,” rafe said gently. “you don’t have to be anything other than yourself. i’m not going anywhere, okay? i just want to help you through this.”

you looked at him, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you saw the softness in his eyes. the care. the concern.

you still felt too broken to believe it, but for the first time in days, you let yourself feel like maybe, just maybe, it could be okay.

[incorrect-hakuouki]

Contemporary Sunroom Idea for a large, modern sunroom with ceramic tile flooring but no fireplace and a flat ceiling

[screenpastel]

Contemporary Deck Large trendy rooftop deck photo with no cover

[ourhees]

THIRSTY ── PSH

PREC𝓲S ｡｡ 𝗌𝗂𝗇𝗄𝗂𝗇’ 𝗆𝗒 𝗍𝖾𝖾𝗍𝗁 𝗂𝗇 𝗒𝖺 ✦──𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖻𝗈𝗒𝖿𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗇𝖽 𝗂𝗌 𝗁𝗂𝖽𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺 𝖽𝖾𝖾𝗉 𝖽𝖺𝗋𝗄 𝗌𝖾𝖼𝗋𝖾𝗍

박성훈 ／⠀ female reader ── slight suggestive + non idol au ｡｡ my princess mils did something similar >< fic twins !! . . . more

tonight was decelis academy’s yearly haunted party, the biggest night at school and almost everyone’s favorite party. you were never one who enjoyed parties, but after meeting your now boyfriend sunghoon at one, you looked forward to these parties every year.

this year you and sunghoon decided to dress up as vampires, the costume suited him almost too perfectly. his pale skin and piercing eyes made him the perfect vampire.

the bass could be heard throughout the walls of the building, lights flickering purple and orange. your heart pumped as you and sunghoon walked farther into the party, blending in perfectly amongst the other whom wore costumes and chattered with each other.

you grabbed a drink from the drink table, settling down by a few other friends. “i’ll be back.” you told sunghoon as you got up, going off to find one of your other friends. sunghoon sat quietly, not engaging in any conversations or interactions.

you and jake caught up for a little, sipping on your drink lightly as you brushed past all your classmates. “is sunghoon okay?” jake asks, subtly pointing at sunghoon. sunghoon was pale, a little more pale that usual.

“isn’t that how he always looks?” you ask jake, your eyes still on sunghoon as you watched him. sure he was pale, but as you squinted, you realized what jake had meant. “oh..”

you went back over to the area sunghoon was in, sitting beside him as you took in his pale figure. “you okay? you look a little more pale than usual..”

sunghoon looks up from the floor, his eyes glaring at you. “i’m fine..” his voice strained, lacking its usual edge tone. “just a little tired.”

he looked away slowly, but he looked at you again, his eyes were softer and you knew something was wrong. a few drops of sweat rested on his forehead, his once calm demeanor was cracking away slowly.

“tired?” you raised your eyebrow. “we’ve barely been here for an hour.”

sunghoon’s lips pressed together, almost as if he wanted to say something, but couldn’t. instead, he was fighting the urge to sit up right.

you frowned, placing an arm on his hand. “you’re not fine.. wanna step outside for a minute?” you asked, hoping he’d say yes, instead of fighting it.

sunghoon hesitates for a second, before nodding. you and sunghoon walk out to the front of the school, a small little bushy area with a white seating area.

sunghoon sat down and you sat beside him, he closed his eyes for a second, his jaw tightening before he finally spoke. “there’s something i need to tell you..” he paused, finding the right words to say. “i don’t know how you’ll take it.”

your pulse quickened. “what’re you talking about?”

he exhaled softly, opening his eyes to meet your figure. sunghoon’s eyes were darker than usual, almost glowing in the dim lights that rested on the school’s building. “i’m not like the others here…i’m not human.”

his words made your breath hitch. “what..?” you looked up him, searching for some sort of answer. “what do you mean?”

“i’ve been trying to hide it… to prevent you from leaving.” he said, his voice strained. “but i can’t hide it anymore. this party… being around all these people…it’s too much for me now.”

his fingers trembled, the veins under his pale skin were standing out more than usual. his teeth are sharper than you could recall.

“sunghoon…?” you whisper, slowly moving away.

“i’m a vampire.” he admitted, his words hanging heavily in the atmosphere, sunghoon left room for you to leave. “i can’t hide it anymore.”

a series of chills ran down your spine, not out of fear, but disbelief. his odd behavior, and distant stares.. it finally made sense.

“why didn’t you tell me sooner?” you asked, your heart racing.

“i was afraid you’d leave me if i told you.” sunghoon ran his hand through his hair, looking awfully pained. “i’ve never felt this weak.. but tonight, i can barely control it.”

“control what?” you looked at him, feeling as if the ground shifted beneath your feet.

his eyes met yours, there was hunger in them and it made your pulse quicken. “i’m starving…”

you froze, the realization sinking like ice. sunghoon wasn’t talking about food, he was talking about you.

“i don’t wanna hurt you..” he added quickly, desperation breaking through his voice. “i’ve been trying to hold back, but i can’t anymore.”

you swallowed hard, the tension between you two felt suffocating. “what if you didn’t hold back?”

sunghoon’s head snapped up. “what?”

“you need it right?” you said, softly, scooting closer to him. “if you’re in this much pain, maybe i can help you.”

sunghoon looked at you, almost as if you were offering the world, a bit of fear rested in his eyes—fear of losing control, of doing something he knows he shouldn’t.

“i don’t wanna hurt you..” he repeated, his voice weakened more and more.

“you won’t..” you whispered, your heart racing as you reached to brush his pale cheek. “i trust you.”

for a quick moment, he stared at you. his eyes flashed with mixes of hunger and hesitation. “i don’t know if i can stop once i start..” sunghoon muttered, his voice trembled.

you leaned in, your lips brushing past his ear as you whispered. “then don’t.”

that’s all it took, in an instant, sunghoon pulled you onto his lap, moving your hair away from your neck. his lips made its way to the curve of your neck, his breath ragged against your skin. his hands trembled, as they gripped your waist tightly.

“if it hurts… tell me to stop..” he whispered against your neck, leaving a gentle kiss along the area his teeth would soon sink into.

“i will.” you replied, your breathing getting heavier by the second.

with a sharp inhale, sunghoon sunk his teeth into your neck, consuming any ounce of blood he can get. the pain was sharp, but quickly replaced with something warm and electric. you gasped softly, your fingers tangled in his hair as his hold on you tightens. his body trembled with need, as he drank from you.

sunghoon slowly pulled away, his lips stained with your blood, and his eyes darkened with satisfaction. “are you okay..?”

you nod, getting a second to catch your breath. “yeah i’m okay..

his fingers brush against your neck, sunghoon looked at you in disbelief, he couldn’t believe what had just happened. “i didn’t hurt you right?”

you nod. “you didn’t hurt me hoon..”

sunghoon exhaled in relief. “i’m sorry..” he whispered. “i didn’t want it to happen.” you quickly placed your mouth over his, a deep yet intimate kiss. you pulled away, smiling softly. “it’s okay.. i wanted to help you.”

💌 : the way me and mil had the same idea 🙂‍↔️ i think it’s a sign idk guys … i think @kairoot wants me !! october = vampire sunghoon.

[unstablexbalor]

Uncovered (Paris)

[amathslutsguidetofandom]

You just moved in the house next door to Bucky’s and when he welcomes you to the neighborhood, he completely forgets what he was going to say cause he’s stunned by your beauty and he eventually asks you if you want to hangout with him and Steve which you immediately accept🥰

Never Been More Sure

PAIRINGS: Construction Worker!James "Bucky" Barnes x Reader

WARNINGS: FLUFF, overworked reader, reader needs a break, loud music. Grumpy Bucky

WORD COUNT: 1,644

*not proof-read*

ENJOY!

His grip on the hammer tightens as he hears the base from the house next door increases.

“Jesus,” he mutters, Bucky looks at his watch as see that’s it three in the afternoon. He then looks at Steve, “who the hell would be listening to music this loud at this time of day?”

Steve looks up from the blueprints and squints his eyes at the house next to the one they’re working on and hears the bass he’s best friend was talking about. “Dunno man,” he shrugs.

The house flipping project was not knew to Bucky’s experience, but it was albeit different from his usual construction work, but when the man who own the company, who also happens to be his best friend, tells him he needs some help, Bucky’s up and ready to help.

He enjoyed renovating the house, but what he did not enjoy was the loud music playing from the house next door.

It would always be the same playlist every day, at the same hour, at maximum volume.

He’d always grit his teeth as he felt the vibrations through out the entirety of the house.

***

He parks his truck in the driveway and steps out, Bucky looks up into the sky and see’s the orange hue of the rising sun tainting the blue sky.

He sighs and walks into the house gets all the equipment up and ready for action.

Steve arrives a little while later and sets up too, they talk about random updates on their lives when Steve stops to a specific topic.

“Oh, and the person next door, the one that blasts the music is apparently new to the neighbourhood too,” he says as he uses a hammer to nail in some wooden floorboards.

Bucky pauses as he holds some tiles under his arm, “yeah?”

To which Steve nods too, “yeah.”

***

There is it, again.

The bass.

Bucky shakes his head in annoyance and rubs the bridge of his nose trying to push away the oncoming headache.

Steve had to go and get some caulk for the bathroom, so it was only Bucky working out some things.

“Fuck this shit,” he drops his tools and walks out of the house in his beige construction boots.

He was on the sidewalk to the house next door; he sees the plants on the porch and the little metal porch table and chair on the corner. With each step towards the house, the bass gets louder.

Walking up to the door he clenches his jaw as he hears his heart thumps to the beat of the base, he clenches his knuckles and knocks on the door a bit too loudly.

***

Your mind was too focused on working on your code and trying to find your bug and trying to understand why your program runs on an infinite loop, that you almost did not hear the loud knock on your door.

Your mind reels itself back into the real world, where Freddie Mercury screams through your house about some woman being a killer queen.

You walk to your front door, as you do you feel the base course through your body, providing you’re tension some sort of release. You open the door to see a 6’ something beefy man with hair till his shoulders, the bluest eyes you’ve seen, and a pair of construction vest and a hard hat.

You, however, are cladded in a tank top and red flannel pyjama pants.

“Uh hi, may I help you?” you look at him confuse, like you weren’t totally checking him out a few seconds ago.

I mean you really can’t blame you, when he is doing the exact same thing as you were: checking you out.

***

Bucky taps his foot impatiently waiting for the door to be opened, and when it does the string of cuss words that he had planned to use evaporates from his tongue.

He takes in your messy hairdo and the glasses that perch on your nose.

His heart stutters for a sec, he can’t even bring himself to answer the question you asked. And when you repeat it again, he just lets out a serious of “uh’s” and “um’s”.

You look at him questioningly, wondering what a construction worker would be doing around these parts. Then you remember the house that’s being renovated on your left.

“Oh you the guys working on house next to mine, yeah?” You say as you lean against your doorframe.

Bucky stands straighter and gets himself together. “Uh, yes ma’am,” he nods he scratches his stubble.

“I’m sorry for knocking so loud, ma’am. But I’ve been working on the house for a few weeks now and I can’t help but hear the…. music from your house,” he says looking into your eyes and stuffing his hands into the hands of his cargo shorts.

You blush immediately, “shit. Oh my god, I’m so sorry it’s just when I get locked into my work. I just need some loud base so it does get loud in the noggin’,” you say and tap on your temple, and then cringe.

WHO THE FUCK SAYS NOGGIN

To your luck, Bucky chuckles at your little stunt and nods.

“What work needs music so loud that it can break the sound barrier,” he crosses his arm and gives you a smirk.

Your legs almost turn to jelly at his smirk.

“Well, um, I code…...A lot. I work in Machine Learning,” you say as your wring your hands and laugh nervously.

Bucky raises a brow, impressed at your revelation of what you do for a living.

“Impressive. Well then, I really shouldn’t say anything that would affect your work-,” he starts but you cut immediately.

“No, no, no, it’s my fault I’ll reduce the volume. I should’ve done it sooner, but I was just seriously locked in. I’m like running on five cups of coffee, it’s literally insane. My boss thinks that I am able to code an entire authentication system in two weeks, and that’s where she her screws are loose in her head. Cuz, no one in the entire world can build an entire TWO-WAY authentication system in two weeks. Like who does she think I am Mark Zuckerberg, I can’t-,”

You pause as you realise, you’re going on a rant. Bucky’s eyes are slightly raised in shock.

“Sorry I really shouldn’t be rambling about my job to some stranger, I’ll lower the volume Mr…,” you drag the last bit hoping he’ll finish it off you.

“Barnes, James Barnes. But my friends call me Bucky,” he sticks his hand out and asks for yours, which you tell gladly.

“And don’t worry, we all have those days,” he says giving you a little nod of sympathy.

You smile softly at his efforts and thank him before giving a tight smile and a “See you later” and closing the door of your humble abode.

***

Bucky notices the reduced volume of the music in the following days, he smiles as he can only hear the traces of the 80’s/90’s music you play from your home.

Steve see’s the look Bucky has as he watches your house.

“Have you met ‘em?” Steve asks as he continues to tile the kitchen.

Bucky, without looking away from the house, responds with a yes.

Steve chuckles, “you gave ‘em a piece of your mind? Threaten ‘em? Is that why their music is barely audible now, hmm?”

Bucky shakes his head, “she’s gorgeous, Steve.” He remembers how you were dressed with you first opened the door and it made his heart flutter again.

“Yeah?” Steve asks, with a smirk on his face. Bucky death glares at Steve, to which Steve chuckles at.

The blonde looks at his watch as sighs, “well it’s time for lunch, wanna clock out?” To which Bucky nods to.

Soon they make it to Bucky’s truck and Bucky can’t help but stare at your house.

“Ask her if she wanna join,” Steve pushes Bucky in your direction.

“Should I? I dunno man,” the brunette scratches the back of his neck. Steve just rolls his eyes and shoves Bucky to the stairs leading up to your porch.

***

You excepted there would be a bug in your code. But what you didn’t expect was your doorbell to ring.

You got up and felt your grey sweats unstick from your thighs, you shudder at the feeling.

You make your way to the door and open it up to reveal the man you were secretly hoping it would be.

Bucky.

“Hey Bucky, gosh I hope the music isn’t loud again,” you laugh nervously to which Bucky shakes his head and reassures you.

“It’s perfect, doll. Greatly appreciated,” he smiles giving a soft smile.

You return with your own and then a confused look glazes your face, “oh, great. Then, why are you…?”

Bucky helps you finish the sentence, “My co-worker and I were heading to grab some lunch, just wanted to check in and ask if you wanted to join us?”

“Oh,” you look behind him and see and equally handsome blonde man waving in your direction with a 100-percent-typical-American-golden-boy smile. You nervously wave back and look back at Bucky, “Oh I don’t wanna impose.”

Bucky huffs and chuckles, “you ain’t imposing, Doll. I’m offering.” He raises a brow in question, waiting for your answer.

“How long have you been at your computer?” he asks straightforward. You reel you head back in slight confusion at the sudden change of topic, “uh, since this morning?”

Bucky nods and replies, “you need a break.”

That you didn’t disagree with, since you are desperate for one.

But you feel as though you’d disturb Bucky and his friends lunch.

“You sure I won’t be imposing?” you ask him as you bite your lip.

“Never been more sure of anything else in my life, doll.”

💌💌💌

Hey Lovelies! this has been sitting in my drafts for a while now, and I FINALLY finished it. My deepest apologies @sergeantbarnessdoll for not completing it sooner, it isn't the same as you asked I hope that's all good 🤧🤧🤧.

This was also a fix I was planning to make! ( a fix that included a construction worker Bucky Barnes’s, cuz that AU is soooo underrated)

Lemme know what y'all think!

Till' then,

Stay Coquette-y,

Anya 🫶🏽🕊️🎀

[ineylesian]

— FELL ON BLACK DAYS

AVENTURINE X FEM! READER

AO3 | NAVIGATION

WORD COUNT — 9.5k

WARNINGS — spoilers for penacony’s storyline, enemies (??) to lovers, slowburn fr (it gets good i promise) mentions of genocide, mentions of child exploitation (not explicit), weapons & violence, smut, fem anatomy reader, sub!aventurine, mentions of traumatic events, one bed troupe

SUMMARY — Risk. It’s the word Aventurine lives by, a motto that claws at your heart when he’s gone. A reality that spills tears when he closes the door to your apartment, leaving only the ache of your heart in his absence. A danger that never guarantees the next time he chases his destiny will not be his last. 

You will never fight to change it, because that’s all it is. Destiny.

AUTHOR’S NOTE — AHHH i love aventurine so much he made me write again <333 i will defend this man to the end of the earth i swear. also holy word vomit, this is officially my longest piece!!

“BREAKING NEWS: Reports incoming that the International Peace Corporation has been seen with an employee suspected of Avgin origin from the planet Sigonia-IV. All habitants from this world were thought to have been wiped out or lost to the galaxy, so the appearance of this mysterious individual has grasped the attention of–”

The broadcast slowly fades into the background, overtaken by the synth and snare of a song that lightly shakes the ground at your feet. 

Sometimes you’re better of dead–

“Oh, you think you’ll be an asset? You’ll have to learn to make tough decisions on the go here if you want to succeed, so tell me…”

There’s a gun in your hand, it’s pointing at your head–

“You want to help this clan? Help claim this world and rid it from the remaining filth that roams?”

There’s a piercing screech amidst the bar, the high pitched wail of the speaker blasting the music fighting against the volume. A few seconds pass before the song picks back up again, a few lyrics skimmed through.

Which do you choose, a hard or soft option? (How much do you need?)

In a West End town, a dead end world, The East End boys and the West End girls–

“...”

“Before your initiation, you must make a prayer to the winds and mountains. Do you swear to devote your thoughts and beliefs to them, and reclaim the glory of Sigonia-IV?���

We’ve got no future, we’ve got no past

Here today, built to last–

“I swear.”

The bass fades and you’re left standing amidst a crowd of chatting people, some high on buzz, others passed out beside the restroom. Your eyes slowly fix forward, coming to a halt as the masses shift in formation, curving in a circle around the biggest table in the casino. Lined with forest green felt and red chips, hands bang against the surface joined in a cry of frustration. 

“God damn it. This is rigged!” A player screams, hot-faced and teeth grit. “YOU!”

He stomps his way around the table, stopping at the dealer’s chair, failing to gain any attention despite the magnitude of his boots on the floor. In retaliation, the man takes a fistfull of the dealer’s hair, spinning him violently around and grabbing the collar around his neck.

Seldom have there been times where you didn’t see him in this sort of setting, a man with glasses that carried the same orange tint as the drink in his hand, die mounted between his fingers as he speaks with a wealthy patron. His words weave like velvet on a fine tailored suit as he invites you to play a game of chance, and before the game has even begun, you’ve lost.

His name is Aventurine, and, just as his reputation precedes him, the corners of his lips turn upward as you enter his field of view. He is never one to be down on luck.

“Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to exit the casino. The drinks have riled you up a bit too much, and I’m afraid you’re no longer sober enough to keep playing.”

The smell of outlandish alcohol hits your nose in a foul wave as he turns, rudely shrugging your hand off of his shoulder. 

“And who do you think you are? Protecting this weasel like that.” You take a step back as he advances, completely abandoning his grip on Aventurine as his gaze focuses on the emblem tailored to your shoulder. “You’re in on this scam too, aren’t you? Fuckin’ IPC, always looking to take money from people.” A sizable crowd has gathered at this point, and with that, guards are quick to stand at your side. You tilt your head to the side, extending a hand to gesture at the coat draped over his empty chair.

“You may gather your things and leave now, sir. Refusal to comply will result in you being forcibly removed.” 

A few more seconds of seething stares pass before he grumbles an insult toward you and rushes to gather his things, attempting to push the guards following him away. You sigh, turning to the dealer, who is now comfortable in his chair, feathered hat placed neatly on his lap as he shuffles the pool of cards pushed his way.

“Alright folks, now that’s over with, how about another–”

“Mr. Aventurine unfortunately won’t be able to join you all this round.” You quickly cut him off, laying the newly layered deck of cards onto the table. “May I have a word, please?”

The blonde takes a glance between you and the rest of the patrons at the table before nodding, allowing a charismatic smile to decorate his face as he slides the cards forward. 

“Of course. Miss Antonia, would you please find another dealer to step in for the remaining games?”

He gathers a kind nod from a nearby waitress, before turning to follow you outside of the casino. As the door opens, strong drafts of icy wind blow against your face, and you hear a shiver from behind.

“Sheesh, couldn’t we at least have talked inside? I didn’t come prepared to stand in the cold…”

You send a look his way, and Aventurine’s hands rise, lips pursed in faux apology. He pushes his glasses farther into his nose bridge as you lean against the casino’s exterior wall, shielding yourself from the chill. It’s clear he’s not taking you seriously, stifling out a yawn and rubbing his eyes before he even spares you a glance.

“Here to lecture me about the, wait…” His eyes suddenly narrow, honing in on your uniform. “Who are you?”

You remain silent, watching as he taps a few fingers against his forehead, thinking. The talisman of the IPC’s Strategic Investment Department sits firmly laid into your uniform. A smoothly carved onyx, inferior to the cornerstone you know he possesses and certainly lacking in power. His eyes linger on the stone for a few moments, biting the inside of his cheek as he tilts his head back up.

“Never seen that stone before..” He says after a few seconds, voice substantially lower. “What rank are you?”

His gaze is opaque, on guard. You resist the urge to bite your lip, figuring lying in this kind of situation wouldn’t be the best decision. Subconsciously, you bring a hand up to your stone, adjusting your coat flap before bringing it back down. 

“P39.”

His eyebrows form a sharp line, but his lips remain flat. The lens behind thick shades linger on the stone, burning into the lights that reflect off of the darkness. He’s never seen someone who isn’t a part of the Ten Cornerstones wear something like this, so who are you?

“If you’re here to try and convince me to do something, I’m not interested. I’ve had enough orders drilled into my head since I came to Jarilo-VI.”

His forefront is confident, but you can see the hand that lingers at his side, struggling to stay put. It reeks of mild uncertainty, and a lack of security. He doesn’t feel safe when he’s not in control.

“I’m here to tell you that your assignment’s changed.” Your response is straight and to the point. There’s no room to betray any underlying feelings of guilt you may have from years passed. “You’ll be with me and my team, we’re going to the Loufu in three days to sort some business out. I suggest you finish your deals here before we go.”

“Well then.” Aventurine clicks his tongue, mild annoyance riding the smile that forms on his lips. “Let’s acquaint ourselves then, shall we? You must know who I am, so please allow me the pleasure of returning the favor.”

A small passage of frosty air rises into the atmosphere as he breathes, hand extending in formality. You take it, slowly shaking, taking in the defensive rise of his shoulders. It seems he has zero tolerance for strangers.

“Nice to meet you, Aventurine. They call this stone the onyx.”

–

The Interastral Peace Corporation only takes workers to be strong-minded and just as toughly willed. In the Strategic Investment Department, greed is a virtue, and wanting nothing but it all is a prayer. Those who earn their spot as a cornerstone will stop at no means to chase their desires. 

Aventurine values risk, but he always loves to have control in his corner. Without control, the chips in his hands are of no use, and his bargains crumble beneath him. 

A gambler's true nightmare, sitting right between his eyes.

Your relation to him is a true mystery, despite all of the digging he’s been doing after arriving at the Loufu. Despite the numerous deals you’ve closed together, he still fails to know anything about you, other than the fact that you have quick wit and fascinating knowledge of the universe. He won’t dare approach you directly, his inhibitions are too high and he knows too little.

However, there’s something off about you and that stone of yours. It’s unlike anything he’s ever seen before.

“Does the IPC really need that many funds to perform a vitality check on the Sky-Faring Commission? From what I remember, this is nearly triple the amount of last year’s fee.”

“Well, Helm Master, from what our reports say, you had agreed to the accumulation of interest based on reports of safety in the Loufu. Based on recent events, there has been a substantial raise in alarm concerning the safety of the citizens here. We hope you can understand.”

Aventurine unfolds his hands, sliding a glossy black dossier over to the woman known as Yukong. After skimming over the first page of analysis, she sighs, and places her hand over the cover.

“Is it possible that we could touch bases on this later this week? I need time to look over these documents and discuss them with my team before making any decisions.”

Biting back a groan of exasperation, you nod, politely shaking her hand and bowing your head when she stands. What you thought was going to be a quick excursion of debt collecting had turned into two long weeks of debate, and you’re starting to lose sleep. After Yukong exits, you run a hand through your hair, allowing the flow from the outside to flood your ears..

You can admit, the place they chose is certainly impressive in its theatrics, blooming with tall fountains of pristine water and a live band of foxians playing classical music on a mahogany stage. 

After a few minutes of jotting down notes you find yourself leaning against the bar’s edge, elbows cool against smooth wood. Your thoughts swirl like the vibrato of the woman singing a cover of a local song in a language unknown to you, but it’s calming, and you begin to itch with the desire to order a drink.

The waiter polishing glasses near you seems to pick up on your wants, quietly gesturing with her hand that she’ll take your order.

“A Rose in Rain, please.”

She makes your drink at an astonishing speed, sliding the glass next to your hands with a smile. You stare at the royal blue liquid sitting at the rim, contemplating if the hangover will be worth it.

Aventurine eyes the finger that rests along the base of the glass, humming quietly to himself. He figures there’s no better way to get to know someone than through a few drinks.

“You gonna drink that or keep staring at it?”

You turn your head, watching as he slides onto the barstool next to you. He raises his three outer fingers, ordering a small glass of Wintry Garden before turning to face you.

It’s been a long month with the Cornerstone. His approach remains restricted, evident in his snippets of sarcasm that he still doesn’t trust you. Your situation is… unusual, so you tolerate it. However, there still lies a fear within that he’ll go deeper than what’s for his own good.

“Do you usually drink? Or are you afraid to spill your guts?”

His words drip with conviction, blindly accusing you with the corners of his mouth tilted upward. It’s been too long, and he still doesn’t know a damn thing about you other than the stone you wear. He needs to flip this in his favor, fast.

Aventurine’s fingers drum against the bar’s edge as he picks up his drink, taking a small sip. The slight tilt of his head inclines you to start yours too, drinking half of the tall glass in one swig. His eyebrows raise in surprise when the drink hits the table, taking all but a few seconds to completely down the entirety of its contents, a resounding clink following.

When you don’t rush to finish your own drink, Aventurine chuckles, crossing his arms as he turns to face you fully. He’s eyeing you, daring smile plastered on his face.

“What, scared?”

He’s challenging you. And it works, since your drink is empty and you’re ordering a second round in a matter of seconds. Fizz sluggishly bubbles down your throat, followed by rich spots of thick, clear syrup.

A few drinks is all it takes for you to begin feeling lightheaded, pressing a palm into your eye to try and alleviate the nausea. Aventurine is at least 6 drinks in, setting down his next with an exaggerated sigh. Raising his hand for another, he lightly dings his glass against yours, the scent of redsunset sauce high on his breath.

“Let’s talk, Onyx.” He remarks, placing his hands on the table as the bartender comes over. “What’s the real deal with you? How come I haven’t seen you anywhere in the IPC and you show up in my faction one random day?”

You cough, attempting to clear your throat before you answer. It’s tough to keep your resolve with the amount of alcohol in your system.

“Maybe you’re just not perceptive enough, I’ve always been around.”

It’s clear he doesn’t like your answer. Another drink down.

“How many years have you worked for the IPC?”

“Almost 4 now.”

“What’s the entrance project that got you into the Strategy Department?”

You hesitate, and he grins, satisfied. This interrogation is going as planned.

“Well then? I’m sure it couldn’t have been that bad, unless you’re more dangerous than you seem.”

It’s your turn to down a drink, wiping a small trace off of your chin as you think.

“Izumo.” You answer, short, watching as his fingers clasp tighter around the glass in his hand. Surprise.

“You really expect me to believe that?” He scoffs, a tinge of fire evident in his voice. “No one goes to Izumo any more, not after the slash.”

“You’d be surprised at the sheer amount of people that go to Magatsu no Morokami to uncover history. The IPC has their eyes set on valuable relics left behind from the war.”

He leans forward, dangerously close to your face. Past the thick orange lens of his aviators, you can see the irate spark in his eyes, alight with a plethora of shades you’ve never seen before.

“It’s not wise to lie to your superiors.”

You back away, sliding your card across the counter to the bartender. The moment Aventurine gets up to follow, you stop in your tracks, holding a small drive in his direction. You have some tricks up your sleeve, too.

“You’ll change your mind.”

He pauses, slightly bent over in a stupor of alcohol. 

“Best keep your cards close to your chest, Aventurine. Snooping in places you don’t belong bodes bad fortune.”

His mouth opens, but no words come out. Slowly, he takes the drive from your hand, leaning back onto the bar’s surface, eyebrows knit in thought. The world is suddenly too loud and amidst a flurry of harmonic bellows and blinding lights, you disappear. 

—

INTERASTRAL PEACE CORPORATION, STRATEGY INVESTMENT DEPARTMENT HQ | ONE MONTH LATER

“I guess I should apologize.”

Several weeks of absence. You look up from the papers on your desk, watching as Aventurine places your drive back on your desk. He straightens back up, waiting for you to respond.

“Understandable.” You answer, finalizing a document with a quick signature. “I would have had my apprehensions too.”

“Still do, but it’s better to work with someone you tolerate, right?”

You look up. He shrugs, eyeing the papers you have scattered around.

You had given him a flash drive with your report on Izumo, or, at least, a report on it. Sometimes things are left best buried. Still, Aventurine is certainly not stupid, and you know that. The final version of the report is vague and full of small incidents that contrast the planet’s true history There are inconsistencies, but he seems a little less hostile for the time being.

“Whatever you’re hiding from me, I intend to find out in due time. But I can’t do that if we’re at odds.” A hand is extended your way, held a little less straight and professional. “Let’s just try and hate each other a little less, huh?”

Fighting the urge to roll your eyes, you take his hand and shake it for the second time. Aventurine smiles at you, a little less pointedly, but still on guard.

“Friends it is, then.”

His grip tightens slightly at the proclamation, leaving your veins seared and eyes wavering. As if you just made a deal with the devil. Your gaze drags along the fancies of his coat, figuring this is just another gamble he’s won. Something closer to certain death; the passion for it intrigues you.

Sooner or later you’ll suffer the consequences of a lie, you tell yourself. There’s no good outcome when striking up an agreement with a gambler, especially one like Aventurine.

Especially when the gambler is holding a knife to your throat.

The blade is cool, barely holding back from your trachea. Leather gloves hold a fistfull of your hair, shoving you down onto the filing cabinet you were sifting through moments before. Your eyes dart around, only able to see the edge of his shoe pressing against your ankle and the papers you dropped scattered across the floor.

“Just as I thought we were getting along.” His spits, words slithering around your chest and settling around your neck. “It was only a matter of time before you slipped up.”

Confusion spreads across your features, and Aventurine scoffs. His shoe digs deeper into your achilles, and you stagger against the metal. 

“What the Hell are you talking about?” Your words come out choked, gasping for air against Aventurine’s hold.

“That man, the one you had a long conversation with at the meeting tonight? You two seemed to get along.” Aventurine’s breath runs short out of anger, grip scalding against your skin. “You know him, don’t you?”

You close your eyes, tracing the night’s events back several hours. You only recall shaking two men’s hands, one being the esteemed Doctor Ratio’s, and the other the reason why you were down in the IPCs archives. He was dressed nothing short of what a gentleman would wear, offering you many commending words as he spoke of the recent inflation concerning the astral economy. However, you didn’t miss the brilliant stone embedded in the shell of his tie, reflecting vibrant colors you’ve only seen once in your lifetime. And neither did he.

“Pretty stone isn’t it?.” Aventurine continues, pressing your hands against the wall you’re shoved against. “I’ve seen it a lot throughout my lifetime, but I’m sure you know that already. Silly me, forgetting how easy it is to conceal them.”

He reaches for your shoulder, and you push back, using the slightly stagger of his feet to grab the blade’s edge, violently smashing your head into his and spinning him around. His blade traded for your stone. 

“I’d like to know…” His fingers flip the stone around, taking in the colorless mass, like a void amidst the stars. With a quick swipe of his hand, a lighter is held to it, engulfing the black in a dance of pale fire. Aventurine shakes the rising smoke off of him after a few moments, and your eyes narrow.

“...Why you have this?”

Turquoise meteorite, a brilliant blue stone infused with veins of a green just as bright. A kind of beauty that could only be found on Sigonia, tailored in a way only an Avgin could. The crafter spoke of a tactic that could hide the stone’s true color, while keeping its spirit alive with you still. 

Blood drips from your hand, staining your clothes a deep crimson. Gritting your teeth together, you slice a sleeve of your dress shirt off, slowly wrapping it around the wound. 

Aventurine stands, still, fury riding his waterline. His glasses sit beside his feet, hues of purple and blue wavering in the dim light. His hand slowly clenches, in and out, smoothing the cooled piece over his palm.

“What now, Katican?” His voice is quiet, gently ricocheting off of concrete walls. “Came to settle one last score, fulfilling your dream of tracking down the last Avgin? Oh, I bet you’re itching to use that knife right now.”

You step to the side, shaking bloodstained papers off of your feet. The knife drops to the ground, scraping cruelty against the ground as you kick it to a corner far out of your reach. A sharp intake of breath follows, and he steps back.

“I’m no Katican.” Your tone is low, locking eyes with Aventurine, his gaze darts from the knife to you. “The stone was a gift from an Avgin I saved during the second extinction.”

The air is stale, prickling with fear as you pass. Aventurine stands tall, but you know all too well that his greatest fear has come alight in this very room. The thought of coming face to face with a Katican chases him in his nightmares each dusk, a terror looming over his head akin to a raging storm. For once, he’s speechless, completely dumbstruck, mind racing to comprehend all that you’ve bestowed upon him. So little said, yet so great a burden unveiled. 

You would be right in telling him that such information is better left buried. Yet Aventurine knows only how to shatter the destiny that calls for him, and monumental change has left in its wake.

He opens his mouth to speak, yet words fail him. The hand holding the stone sits slotted behind his back, holding on to it as he would a birthright. A piece of his past that would never bless him again, sitting in the shade of Sigonia’s darkest nights, mimicking a color that does not belong to it. He wants to scream, take his knife and shove it so hard into your chest that it comes out on the other side. 

“I am on your side, Aventurine. I always have been.”

After forcing himself to swallow, he straightens up, but you’re already gone.

Distantly, a heavy thud hits the floor.

–

TUMBLEWEED, SALSOTTO.

“I’m Daisy, here this morning with Tumbleweed’s daily weather report. As usual, there’s sun about. However, a rude awakening is coming at around 6pm, as a pretty hefty thunderstorm is coming our way. Make sure you carry your umbrellas! And remember, as our beloved Fleetworld Marc says, thunder only happens when it’s destined.”

Destiny. The word lingers in your head as a pang of hunger hits your insides. Placing your last suitcase beside your bed, you set off for your hotel room’s kitchen. Reaching over and opening a cabinet, you groan when it reveals itself to be empty. 

Shrugging your coat over your shoulders, you pocket your room card. However, when you open your door, you’re quick to step back, feeling your heart rate spike instantly in shock. 

“Uh…” You take a few short breaths, regaining your composure. “Can I help you?”

The man standing before you is no other than Aventurine, chin receding as he looks at you with evident confusion.

“Can I help you?” He retorts, flipping his hotel card up to the light. “This is my room.”

You pull the exact same card out of your pocket, and the two of you share looks of bewilderment. After reading over the numbers on your card for what felt like the 50th time, Aventurine sighs, long and drawn out. 

“Well, this isn’t what I imagined when the front desk told me they could fit a room in for me.”

“I’ll go ask–”

You’re cut off with a swift wave of his hand.

“Don’t bother, I already did. They’re fully booked for the next week.”

Before you know it, both Aventurine and his bags are heading into your… your room. Exhaling, you mutter a quiet “okay..” and follow him inside. However, he’s quick to stop you once you make it past the bathroom, exaggeratedly pointing toward the wall to your right.

“This has to be some kind of joke, right?” Aventurine laughs, pulling his glasses off as if attempting to see better. 

His gaze is fixed on the bed sitting across from you. The single bed, accompanied with a single nightstand and a TV. In that moment, you both share a second groan, and Aventurine palms his face.

“I’ll figure this out.”

In a matter of moments, he’s gone, suitcases set haphazardly on the ground beside you. After a few minutes of thought, you head to the bathroom, soaking your hands in cold water. A brief inhale follows the icy chill that drags over your face, and you silently curse destiny. 

A few hours pass before Aventurine returns, shirt slightly ruffled, annoyance clearly displayed upon his features. The click of boots melds into the soft step of socks as he enters the kitchen, and you silently pass a bowl of fried rice you had been able to scavenge from a local grocery store over. Running a hand through his hair, he nods your way, sliding into the stool across from you and stopping the bowl with his fingers.

“As you could have guessed, there are zero people in this whole building willing to switch rooms with us.”

“Ah, yeah. Tourists are usually snobby.”

A hum signifies his response. Silence encompasses the room as a blanket would, save the soft clangs of silverware on bowls. You fix your gaze on the granite countertops, following intricately woven lines of mixed stone and drawing patterns in each section you come across. Becoming so immersed in the cracks, you don’t even notice when Aventurine passes you twice, once with his bowl, and once without. Seconds turn into minutes as you stare at the sheet of stone, only taken away from thought when he returns to the table, dressed in a black set of silk pyjamas. 

“What’s your story?”

Your eyelashes flutter, taken aback by the sudden inquiry. Raising your head, you push the now cold rice to the side and glance at the man across from you, fingers interlocked in wait. 

You’re shocked at the simplicity of it. The lack of accusations are a breath of fresh air when it comes to his words, typically cold fronted and dripping with malice. You would expect him to be angry still, perhaps even worse, giving that you lied, but you can feel the genuine curiosity lingering within. He seems to want to understand.

“I joined the IPC when I was young, almost ten years ago.” You start, fighting the urge to snap away from his gaze. “In my second year, word was out that there was trouble on Sigonia. It was thought that the IPC had it under control, but everyone knew there was something else coming.”

You pause. Aventurine remains quiet, attentive.

“I took it upon myself to convince my superiors to send me to Sigonia, despite their warnings. But… the work we did there, it wasn’t enough. I could help no one under the bounds of the IPC, so I sought out the Katicans. No more bounds. I was on the inside, where I could do things my own way.”

“Such lovely people, weren’t they?” He questions, apathy leaking from deep within. “Didn’t have a single care in the world other than themselves. They wanted to see everything burn, the women, children.”

“I have never seen a deeper hatred than what lies within them.”

You stop, again, toying with your fingers. Aventurine’s silence beckons you to proceed.

“I could only help so many, and they all ended up dying anyway. There was no escaping them, they were ruthless.” Your voice trails off, shaking your head slightly at the recollection of dark days in the wasteland they call Sigonia. No horrors match the ones that took place there. “I couldn’t imagine what you went through, any of you. And still, you’re alive.”

A word softly chants in your head. Destiny.

“Ever since I was born, I knew what was made out for me was never good.” Aventurine says, a hint of irony in his voice. “I fell on black days without knowing what it was like to live on the other side, and it’s been like that since.”

Flashes of your past mix in with current thought. You remember them, the Avign children, clinging to scraps of life even when it was evident their lives would soon end. Their eyes, just as brilliant as his, drowned by crashing waves, yet afloat on the prayer of hope. You imagine Aventurine was just like them, and you understand. Anger breeds and it seethes.

“How do you control it?” Such a simple question, yet so many answers. 

“I put it all into risk. Every single last bit of it. I gambled, and I won.” His pointer finger gently hits the table, and he raises his hand to wave it through the air. “I survive, and I bet again.”

“A bold motto, I must say.”

A small smile graces his features, shrugging lightheartedly.

“Luck seems to be on my side.”

You look to the side at the sound of a crack, noticing that rain has started to fall. The sky is obscured by deep grays, and the rumble beckons you to the sliding door separating you from the balcony. The crash of drops on concrete is soothing to your ears, bestowing a peace upon your heart you’ve failed to find for a while now. The serenity thickens as Aventurine steps to your side, the hues in a ring of his eyes reflecting the storm outside.

“I didn’t rain much back then.” He muses, gaze following the slow drizzle of fallen streaks on the balcony’s edge. “A privilege I can keep alive, now that I see it so often.”

You look to the side, meeting Aventurine’s eyes halfway. The corners of his lips turn up as he looks past you, covering his mouth as he stifles a yawn.

“Almost forgot about the bed.” He laughs, running a hand over his lower face. “You can have it, I’ll be okay on the floor.”

“Absolutely not!” You counter, head tilting in defiance. “I’ll be fine on the floor.”

“That would be extremely impolite of me.”

“As it would be for me…”

“Will you please just sleep on the bed?”

“I brought extra pillows! I’ll be more comfortable than you on the floor.”

Aventurine stops, sending you a half lidded look. You walk over to your suitcase, swiftly pulling the two large pillows you packed out, holding them at your sides. He walks over to you, snatching a pillow out from one of your arms before walking toward the bed.

“Or, how about this?” He shoves your pillow on top of the hotel provided one. “We put the extra pillows on the bed, and we both take a half.”

You purse your lips, and shrug in reason. After patting your pillow into place, you climb onto the bed, turning on your side to ensure you’re only taking up half of the bed. 

As you land on your other shoulder, you nearly touch noses with Aventurine. He chuckles, eyebrows raising in a teasing manner.

“It’s not often someone gets the chance to be this close to me.”

You groan, tugging the coarse blanket to your chest as you flip to your front. Stifling a few chuckles, Aventurine turns so his back is facing you.

Within a few minutes, quiet snores begin to drift through your ears. You sigh, and roll your eyes. And yet, only peace visits you in your dreams.

–

There have been few nights of your stay in Salsotto without rain. You’ve grown accustomed to the melodic pad of morning to the erratic roar of the night. This night is different, however, as dew is high in the air but the clouds of the afternoon are white, tainted with swirls of pink that bode better weather. 

You fumble with the pearls on your neck, carefully positioning them so they rest on your collarbone. All IPC events require a clearance of wear that is above the standard grade of formal, nothing short of extravagant, explaining the fine tailored suit you wear over your dress. Ivory on cream, a palette that bodes well when making business deals. 

Heels click on pavement, Tumbleweed’s National Museum in sight. Golden lights cast the establishment in an elegant glow, and the stream of classical cello welcomes your ears as you approach. Welcoming smiles are given your way as you enter the building, and you start a long night of shaking hands and business chatter with the esteemed mechanical aristocrat Screwllum. 

Leisure chats of the Genius Society’s next project flow in and out of wine chutes, with gentle opera joining new deals of funding. Another hand shake bodes your farewell to a philanthropist from the Herta Space Station, and you take a seat at one of the tables nearby, attempting to gather your thoughts. Sipping on a glass of sparkling rose, you start jotting down tonight’s business proposals onto your phone.

“Having fun?”

You look up, offering a smile toward your temporary hotelmate as you pull the chair next to you back.

“Was wondering when I’d run into you, Aventurine.” You say, clinking glasses with the blonde. “How many deals have you clinched tonight?”

“More than you, I bet.” You scrunch your nose, folding your arms after sliding your phone his way. Aventurine takes a look through your notes, smile expanding on his face as he progresses.

“...And it seems I would be right.” He exclaims, holding up two full hands. “Don’t feel bad. It’s the natural charm.”

“Mhm. Super natural, and not annoying at all.” You quip, earning a light jab in the shoulder.

Your past two weeks with Aventurine had proved to be an easier feat than you had thought. Beside the snoring (that you had learned to tune out), he had served as a good source of company, squandering your worries of lingering grudges as you spent more time around one another. You were grateful he had the will in his heart to see the reason behind what you had done, although you were a little surprised to see that he had forgiven you with such ease. 

Now, to you, he seemed to be an easy soul forced to carry burdens that were undeserving of him. 

“Hey.”

You’re roused from your thoughts by the gentle tap of Aventurine’s foot against your heel. He cocks his head, and you’re suddenly aware of the soft serenade filling the room, sung by an artist famous for this piece.

“Let’s get our minds off of business for a while. Care to dance?”

He straightens his jacket before standing up, beckoning you to do the same. You accept the hand outstretched, threatening to roll your eyes as Aventurine lays his other on your back, guiding you to the floor.

“Trying to show off?” 

Aventurine slowly spins you into a shroud of spotlight, laughing when your eyes go wide from the precision of his arms slowing you back down. 

“Of course.”

A look is shared between the two of you, and the dance begins. You recognize the piece, Seid Umschlungen, Millionen! (Be Embraced, You Millions!), and fall into a sort of waltz, slow, quick, slow. Your feet move in a symphony of chirping violin and cello vibrato, swirling carefully around other dancers as you step from box to box. 

The music quiets in a moment of repose, and you slow, winding your hands around his neck as you sway, in wait. 

“What’s with the long face?”

The question catches you off guard, as you weren’t aware that your thoughts had reflected off of your face. Lips pursing, you wonder whether taking the chance and ruining the moment is worth it, but the question nags deep within, festering like a cancer that will not cease until it is freed. 

“Do you forgive me?”

Strings echo and rise; Aventurine fits a hand behind your back before spinning you into dance. His eyebrows are furrowed lightly, as if your question had caught him off guard in some sort of way, but you both knew it was coming. Trust is an uncertain entity, not easily won or wagered, never certain in whether it’s attained or lost. Forgiveness is a trial for trust, and within inquiry lie a question of deeper truth that never made it to the surface

Do you hate me, Aventurine?

There have been many times in the passing days where you’ve been questioned about your time in Sigonia-IV. A test to determine whether your actions deserved merit. Recounting stories of countless lives you worked tirelessly to save at the risk of your own. Gallons of blood stained on your hands from the guilty, those whose karma ran the empty river beds of the desert red. 

So much, and yet nothing at all. It’s as if life is out to play some game of twisted fate, as you see all of the lives you could not save in the man right before you. The brand slightly hidden by his collar and wispy blonde, jewelry glittering at his wrists, irises that shine in the darkest of nights. Bewitching, yet so alive. 

“There’s nothing to forgive.” He says, after some time. “You did a brave thing, I would be a fool to condemn you for it.”

Elation. It’s the feather touch of his hands, graceful in the way they dip you, nearly stopping time as you lay suspended. Your eyes lock, and you nearly drown in the glow of lavender and maya that stare back. Slowly, you feel one of his hands leave your back, dipping in his suit pocket and coming to rest in your vision. 

“Their memory is always alive somewhere. It’s up to us to keep it.”

You’re lifted to stand, and, amidst a rather slow spin, Aventurine pins the turquoise meteorite you’d thought was long gone onto the span of dress fabric above your chest. The resounding smile shared is trust.

You twirl and sink until the song comes to an end, stopping in a hold of hands and interlocked legs as orchestra is overtaken by voice. In the midst of fading spotlight, your breath evens out, and you find yourself following the gambler’s hand to escape the noise, elbows brushing on a balcony railing as you stare out into the fading daylight.

The sky is tinged with the baby blue of afternoon, arising into a deep interweave of violet and blush. A small, red casino chip flips between Aventurine’s fingers, rolling to sit between his pointer and thumb in short pauses.

“Got any tricks up your sleeve, gambler?”

Aventurine tilts his head to the side, invigorated by the rise of your lips, challenging, daring. The game you propose has risk, but what is life without taking leaps blind? Aventurine is sure he can see you now, after all.

With a flip of the chip and a wave of his hand, the red disappears, and a cool sensation lands firmly on your lips. His face is inches away from yours, fingers gently pressing against the chip that severs the distance between you.

“There are tricks to any risk, as long as you know what you’re doing.”

You raise your hand, sliding the chip from your mouth and palming it. When he doesn’t move, you tug on his collar, chin tilting upward to press your lips to his. The sensation is warm, gentle, as if you tread on ice that threatens to shatter. Honey sears your tongue, and you revel in the touch of his lips, soft as the velvet of his tie.

The moment is all too short, yet your mouth feels numb as you break away. In a moment of silence, you take the hand that sits lightly clamped around your wrist, sliding the chip in his palm and closing his fingers.

“I think I’ll be gambling a lot with you, Aventurine.”

His face moves closer, and you look down for a moment, noticing the hand that sits behind his back.

“I look forward to it.”

–

INTERASTRAL PEACE CORPORATION, STRATEGIC INVESTMENT HQ | TWO MONTHS LATER

Knock, knock.

“Coming.”

The door opens in fluid motion, revealing a room cast in gloom, tan shade, blinds drawn. 

“Hey, Aven.” You sigh, placing a chaste kiss on the blonde’s cheek. “Long day?”

“Long day.” He mirrors, offering to take the stack of papers off of your hands. You accept, slipping into the chair across from his desk. “Are you done for today?”

“Mhm.” 

Aventurine sits in his desk chair, shrugging the navy coat he sports onto the back. You stretch your arms behind your back, watching as deft hands undo the cross hatched tie representing the cornerstones from his collar. As he sets the piece down, his office phone starts to buzz, and he groans.

“Hello, this is Aventurine… Uh huh, what time?” He draws circles into ebony, holding the phone to his shoulder as he reaches for a notepad. However, as he clicks the pen in his hand, he nearly drops the phone, clearly startled. “Can you repeat that? Si- okay. I’m coming.”

In a flurry of movement, he stands, tie and coat snatched. 

“We have to go, right now.”

His tone is impatient, brimming with anxiety and unwilling to contest. You blink a few times before following him out of his office, grabbing his coat to hold onto as he fits his tie back to his shirt. The walk is silent, save a quiet “thank you” when you hand the coat over and the click of shoes on tile. Your nerves rise as you move, watching the way he frets with his gloves, tugging on the ends repeatedly. 

In a matter of minutes, you arrive at the boardroom of the IPC’s Strategic Investment Department, stopping at the edge of the table as Jade turns around, followed by a concerned looking Topaz.

“Ah, Aventurine. What a surprise, I was sure not to include your name in the list of attendees tonight.“She sends a look to the white haired cornerstone, before directing her gaze to you. “Unfortunately, ranks below P40 are prohibited from attending this meeting. Guards, please see her out.”

You push against the guard that seizes your wrist, but are unable to resist as more come to his aid. After having the door shoved in your face, you’re dragged to the hallway outside of the meeting hall, forced to sit in wait. 

30 minutes. Another 30. An hour before the doors open, with Aventurine first, Topaz following close behind. He rushes past you, eyes on the ground, gone within seconds. Concern etches your features as Topaz runs up to you, lips pursed in distress,

“Aventurine-” She pauses, hand on her chest as she catches her breath. “Please go after him. You’re the only one that he’ll see now, after what just happened.”

“What happened?”

At your inquiry, she shakes her head, nodding her head toward the direction Aventurine took off in.

“It’s best you hear it from him. But, please, go see him tonight, he needs someone who’s close to his heart.”

Worry is quick to seep into your features, but you nod. A quick visit to his office and you’re off, taking the next jet off of Pier Point, to Klimt Republic. Weaving through streets and bullet trails full of life, you arrive in the heart of Klimt just two hours later, standing on the penthouse floor of an apartment complex worth more than the entire block you’re on.

Knock, knock.

Silence. You hesitate, and knock again. 

The shuffling of feet hit the floor, and you wait in anticipation, hands firmly at your sides as the noise stops. After a few moments, the door slowly opens, and you sigh in relief.

Aventurine stands, slightly hunched against the doorframe, hair disheveled, eyes red and irritated.

“Aven, what happ-”

A pair of hands seize your wrist, tugging you inside and slamming the door behind you. 

“Not now.�� Your eyes widen at the plea in his voice, whole with a basal need that makes your chest tighten. “Please, just, make me forget about it right now.”

He looms over you, yet the shadow he casts is the antonym of threatening. Fear reeks off of him like vodka, as tears brim on his waterline. The feeling spreads to your skin like wildfire, and you feel him shake as you take his face in your hands, breathing shallow and scared.

The first taste of his lips is sweet, but the salt of his tears is quick to sink in. Clumsy and trembling, your bodies rock and hit walls as you make your way to his bedroom. You throw his coat to the side as he does yours, pushing him down onto his bed as you break for air. 

Aventurine’s hair flows out around him as he falls onto the mattress, shrouding him as a halo would. You chase after him, littering his neck with soft bites that elicit soft groans from the skin beneath. You unbutton half of his shirt before diving for his collarbone, reveling in the whines that respond as you nip and bruise. 

His hands reach for your pants, and you stop him before he can reach for your panties. 

“Ah-ah, hands behind your head.” Your voice pools out smooth, running a hand down his shirt. “Just relax and let me take care of you.” 

Gently pinning his hands above him, you let go, and he complies. You reward him with a kiss, messy and careless, pulling a string of saliva between your lips when you leave them. Your free hand pushes hair out of his eyes while the other works on the zipper of his slacks, watching as his fingers lock together as you apply pressure.

A shudder leaves Aventurine’s lips as you pull his boxers down, hand gently running along the length of his dick. Teeth tug at lips as you spit on your hand, working at his cock while running your free fingers along your folds. His neck lifts up as your hands move faster, and you grin, choking the noises that threaten to spill from your mouth at the display before you.

A sight like heaven, an angel laid out for worship. Aventurine’s skin is coated in a soft sheen of sweat that shines in the dim light, hand laid over one eye whilst the other remains barely open. Under the mix of hues that resemble wild fields of flowers, blush coats his cheekbones, a light to the darkness that blooms on his neck. The vulnerability of it makes your heart soar, and you feel a fire ignite in the depths of your being that fails to stoke.

The hand that toys with your clit lifts, prodding at Aventurine’s mouth as you lower yourself on his cock. Muffled whines vibrate around your fingers, and you moan at the fullness that envelops you. You swirl your fingers in his mouth, biting on your cheek as his tongue wraps around them, sucking on the sweet taste of you. 

His hands abruptly reach up, fingers winding and tangling in hair as they pull you down, replacing fingers with lips. The sensation is hot, as if an unquenchable balm has set your skin alight. 

“Feel good?”

“What kind of- ughh- question is that?” 

You clench around him as if it's instinct, and Aventurine calls your name as he would a prayer. His moans are akin to song, divine in melody, alluring in a way that shuts your mind off from anything else but him. One of his hands leaves your hair, fingers clumsily clamping around your own, holding you like fine china. 

The stretch of his dick does little to quench the hunger within, you crave more, a devout worshiper crying a hymn of need. Your motion becomes erratic, a twist of limbs and friction that siphons tears that streak down your cheeks, falling to mix in with the sweat on your lover’s face.

“Gonna-” Aventurine chokes on his own words, eyes shut harshly as he blinks back ecstasy. “Cum.”

Your words are lost to you, only managing to groan in response as Aventurine pulls you back to him. His lips seal over yours in a searing kiss, arms winding around your back to hold you still as your orgasm shakes you. White light flashes through closed eyes as you spasm around his dick, mixing with the cum that leaks inside of you. 

The room is quiet, save the howling wind of night and the dance of unstable breath. Blankets shuffle as you drop to Aventurine’s side, allowing him to drape your discarded shirt over your bare chest. Time seems to cease as you meet his gaze, touch serene as the plains of distant worlds as he encourages you to come closer. You accept, eyes closing for a moment, feeling the warm fan of his breath over your nose.

“The IPC is funding a project to excavate Sigonia.” The silence breaks, peace shatters and your eyes snap open. “Turquoise meteorites are rare, so they’ll scrape the whole planet dry until every last piece is gone.”

Your face falls, corners of your lips pulling downward. Aventurine’s eyes are half lidded, seemingly already accepting the fate of the planet he calls home. He refuses to look your way, eyes focused somewhere past you, the sorrow spreads and leaks into your soul as it opens further. A place so full of hatred and loss, yet a place that he will never be able to let go of. It burrows within the deepest neurons, refusing to snap and forget.

“You have to say something, Aven.” You pull at his face, forcing him to meet your gaze. “Whatever you have to do, I’ll help you.”

“The IPC doesn’t have time to listen to Avgin.” He sighs, hope stale on his breath. “Not even if it's the last one alive.”

You still, fingers falling to rest against his cheek. Aventurine’s eyes close, brows furrowing lightly against pale skin.

“Sigonia will fall, and only Kakavasha will remain.”

Defeat. It seems that what events occurred in that meeting room left no room for conversation. Guilt flows through your veins like it’s replaced the red, and your chest aches, latching onto the horror that no doubt holds sovereignty in his head.

Kakavasha. Blessed by the heavens yet cursed by the living world. Such a beautiful name that deserves no hell it endures. 

Amidst the quietude, Aventurine’s hand slithers under the blankets, latching onto your wrist. He traces skin, knuckles brushing against your own, coming to rest intertwined.

“Can we try something?”

You nod, and your hand is slowly lifted to the air, palm against palm between your chests. You’ve seen this motion back on Sigonia, yet it’s always remained distant to you, and the words echo in obscurity. 

“I’ll go through it once, and we can do it together.”

You nod, once more. Aventurine closes his eyes for a moment, reciting a prayer lost to you in time.

“May the Mother Goddess thrice close her eyes for you… keeping your blood eternally pulsing. May your journey be forever peaceful… and your schemes be forever concealed.”

A brief pause passes. You sigh in unison, and lock eyes. A voice whispers within the depths of your mind, and you smile.

The memory is always alive somewhere. It’s up to us to keep it.

“May the Mother Goddess thrice close her eyes for you… keeping your blood eternally pulsing. May your journey be forever peaceful… and your schemes be forever concealed.”

As the last words drift off of your lips, you bend your fingers, slotting them between his. Aventurine shares your sentiment; hope flashed in the gentle smile that graces his lips. Your eyes wander, and notice that a single tear trails down his face, disappearing into his skin as it rolls.

Outside, you hear the crack of thunder. You pull Aventurine in, and in your clutch, the downpour begins.

–

Some months later…

The chatter of voices on the phone rouses you from sleep, rubbing a hand over your eyes in annoyance as you come to. Light spills through drawn curtains and open glass doors, filtering the room in hues of honey and hazel. 

“Mhm. Alright, I understand. Let’s schedule the interview for today.”

Songs of canaries and mourning doves flow through the air, and you sit up, raising a hand to block out the sun’s gaze. Aventurine sets his phone down on the bedside table, stifling a yawn with his hand. You roll onto your side, hand propped up onto your chin as you soak in the sight of your lover.

His hair is slightly ruffled from sleep, bangs astray and cast into his eyes. Only the top button of his sleep shirt is buttoned, leaving lean, sun kissed skin on display. 

“It’s rude to stare, you know.” You roll your eyes, allowing him to pull you in for a kiss. “Morning. Sleep well?”

“Mhm.” You hum, knowing full well tonight has been one of the worst nights you’ve slept yet. Aventurine sees right through you, but chooses to say nothing, opting to pull you forward so half of your body drapes over him.

Today Aventurine leaves for Penacony. And, seeing as he was called in for a meeting, he’s probably leaving even sooner now. 

He seems to read your thoughts, offering a comforting peck to the corner of your lips in apology. Your hands card through his hair, head resting against his collarbone. 

You have your apprehensions about Penacony, having heard whispers on the streets of mysterious disappearances of people in the world’s famous dreamscape. The IPC has had a limited number of run-ins with the family, leading you to assume a recent grounds of suspicion has arised, and Aventurine was chosen as the solution. In his eyes, it’s just another gamble of life or death.

You’re roused from your thoughts by a tap on your cheek, making you look up at him.

“Don’t worry about me, sweetheart.” His words do little to soothe you, but you listen regardless. “The risks I take are always foolproof.”

Risk. It’s the word Aventurine lives by, a motto that claws at your heart when he’s gone. A reality that spills tears when he closes the door to your apartment, leaving only the ache of your heart in his absence. A danger that never guarantees the next time he chases his destiny will not be his last. 

You will never fight to change it, because that’s all it is. Destiny.

His phone rings, and the two of you groan before he gets up and tells the person on the other line that he’s on his way. You watch from his side of the bed as he throws his clothes on, grabbing two packed suitcases from the side of the bed before bending over to give you a kiss. The touch of his lips is bittersweet, nearly taunting as it is over before it even begins. You peck him again, running a hand over his hairline to straighten his bangs.

“Be safe out there, Aven.”

He smiles, so radiant it rivals the sun and all that it shines on. You think yourself blessed to see it survive.

“I will. Luck is always on my side.”

And he leaves. You turn to the window, awaiting the rain.

[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

[valeriianz]

for the blossoming romance prompts, either 14 (looking at their lips while they talk), 19 (talking late into the night), and/or 27 (sharing an umbrella/coat/blanket, etc) for dreamling!!

i chose "looking at their lips while they talk" tags: human au, hard of hearing Dream, hurt/comfort

--------

Dream is always staring at Hob’s lips whenever he speaks.

It’s something Hob has gotten used to… or so he tries to convince himself. Dream is hard of hearing– not quite deaf, though his hearing is deteriorating. He’d met Dream like this, after his hearing loss began so, without really having to explain why, Hob was able to roll with it– with how Dream has always relied on reading lips.

It did become harder– watching Dream’s gaze drop to his mouth– once Hob realized he had developed a crush on his friend.

Nothing ever prepared him for those deeply crystalline eyes to focus on his lips, even during the most banal of conversations. Hob’s pulse would skip and jump, faltering over his words and laughing at himself sometimes. He wondered what Dream was thinking, during those moments when he would stammer and stutter over a sentence for seemingly no reason. It certainly made conversation drag on a little longer, Dream often having to ask Hob to repeat himself with a patient, almost coy smile.

Or– lord help him– if they were in a dark place like a backyard bonfire or a bar, Dream would lean in close, his face scrunching adorably as he tried to understand the conversation happening around him, and Hob would have to speak directly into Dream’s good ear, a hand cupped over it, like he was telling him a secret.

“I can’t hear a thing in this place,” Dream groused in Hob’s ear, both of them leaning against the bar and surrounded by minimal lights and thumping bass lines.

Hob leaned into Dream’s space, the man automatically turning his head to catch his voice.

“Let’s get out of here, then.” Hob’s lips brushed the shell of Dream’s ear and Hob was just drunk enough to not apologize over it, but the brief contact set his skin on fire regardless.

They soon found themselves walking along the waterfront, the temperature dropping in the cool night air and a breeze kicking up to match the waves on the water. Dream tugged on his jacket before stuffing his hands in its pockets, knocking his head back as he took a deep breath, tasting the city air. Hob watched fondly, the street lights they passed under giving Dream’s skin an orange glow, warm and inviting, and he had an easy expression on, the quiet hour giving him some reprieve.

Neither of them spoke, which Hob sometimes preferred… After knowing Dream for nearly a year now, he’d gotten used to these quiet moments, happy to just enjoy each other’s company. Hob liked that the most about Dream, how he was able to find solace and comfort in the silence, rather than feeling the need to fill it with small talk.

It’s late so there aren’t many people out among the scattered benches and picnic tables, as they are properly walking now into a rest area which usually would be bustling in the daytime. Vendors around them closed for the evening or just breaking down.

They come up to one that still looks open, a chalkboard sign boasting snacks like hot dogs and tater tots. Hob slows and points out the open and lit up stall.

“Food?”

Dream’s gaze sweeps over to the sign, his brows lifting in interest and he nods, turning with Hob as they approach the counter.

Unfortunately they no longer have food, the person behind the stall informs sadly, but they are still serving alcohol. With a sideways glance at Dream, Hob gives in and orders a night cap, and Dream follows suit.

So, here’s a funny thing. Hob watches Dream discuss their cider list with the cashier, and his eyes flick down maybe once or twice during the conversation. And, maybe it’s difficult to tell while he’s not facing Dream, but Hob could swear Dream doesn’t have his gaze affixed to other people’s lips while in conversation with them.

Hob of course has no idea how much Dream really relies on reading lips– how the whole interpretation works for him, matching lip movements to the words… but Hob could swear that he never needs to hyper focus on people’s mouths; he always seems to get along just fine without prolonged eye-to-mouth contact.

In fact, now that he is tipsy enough to overthink, Hob is certain Dream hadn’t always stared at his lips. Hob had naively always attributed that to his hearing declining… but that didn’t make sense, as again, Dream never needed to stare for very long when in conversation with literally anyone else. 

Drinks paid for, Hob and Dream walk a little out of the way of the path, finding a bench in a patch of grass and collapsing onto it with matching sighs.

Hob slowly sipped his beer and Dream, from his cider, staring out at the lit up skyline beyond the water. The windows in the skyscrapers were high and far away enough that they resembled stars, reflecting off the water too. It was pretty, Hob always preferred the city when the sun went down. 

Dream did, too. Much of their experience together was shared after hours.

Hob stares at Dream’s profile, how he can somehow still see his long lashes even in the limited light, the point of Dream’s nose, his devastating jawline that Hob has fantasized pressing his lips to, cupping it with his hand, nudging his nose along until he was in Dream’s sooty hair. He wanted to know what it felt like, to tangle his fingers in that hair, comb through it lovingly and also pull it just to hear what sounds Dream would make if he did so, exposing the line of his throat so Hob could latch his mouth onto it. 

Taking a deep breath, Hob set his drink down on the space next to him, and tapped Dream on the shoulder.

Dream turns, his expression curious and only a little faded, muddled from alcohol, though Hob swore Dream had less to drink than him.

Hob’s pulse kicks up once he realizes what he’s about to ask. He licks his lips and doesn’t miss how Dream’s eyes flit down to catch the movement.

“Why are you always staring at my mouth?”

Dream’s brows pinch, looking back up at Hob’s eyes with a patient stare.

“Because I need to?”

“No, why are you always… staring at my mouth.”

Dream doesn’t need to. Hob is certain of it. And Dream tenses up, his own lips parting silently, his gaze sweeping sideways.

After a beat, Hob panics. He hadn’t meant to put Dream on the spot, or make him feel awkward. He shifts to be just a smidge closer.

“I mean, is the way I speak difficult? Do I have some sort of lisp I’m not aware of?” Hob tries to joke, to lighten the mood, to brush off the question like it wasn’t aimed at Dream. 

Dream doesn’t even look at Hob while he speaks, continuing to stare into the middle distance, turning the tin can in his hold around and around.

Finally, Dream sighs, his shoulders going with it as he turns to bodily face Hob, planting one foot on the bench and almost curling around his bent knee pressed against his chest.

“I’m going deaf…”

A sudden lump appears in Hob’s throat at the quiet, defeated way Dream speaks, his eyes downcast, staring at his drink.

“Figured I was, obviously,” Dream takes a breath, tapping a finger on the rim of the can now. “It's genetic, doctors think. No cure yet. My hearing is just…” he waves a hand around his head. “... deteriorating. Fast. I’ll lose it completely in my left ear within the next five years, and then my right will surely go soon after.”

Hob swallows hard, his throat clicking at the tightness in his throat.

Dream looks up and Hob feels his eyes burn at how watery and red Dream’s usual clear, blue eyes are. 

“It sucks,” Dream proclaims with a choked off laugh, averting his gaze again. “No more music, no more podcasts… soon I won’t be able to hear the sound of my own voice…” his gaze tentatively slips back to Hob’s. “... or yours.”

Hob’s lips part, butterflies now twisting his stomach into knots.

“So I’ve been…” Dream’s eyes rove over Hob’s face, as if searching for the words. “... trying to memorize the sound of your voice.” He gives another broken laugh, his chin dipping to his chest.

“The way your lips move is unique, it helps carry your accent.” He pulls his head back up, resting it on his bent knee. “The way your tongue curls around vowels, the way you putter and stammer sometimes, it creates a profile, and I can attribute the sound of every letter to the way your mouth forms the words.”

Hob is speechless, a complicated mix of euphoria and sadness swirling around within him. 

He must take a moment too long to sit on what Dream has just admitted, because Dream’s face falls, apprehension marring his beautiful features.

“Say something,” Dream whispers, his brows going up.

Hob can’t say anything. His pulse is racing and his throat is clogged with emotion. So instead he leans forward, gets his hands– which shake slightly– on either side of Dream’s face, and kisses him.

Dream gasps loudly against Hob’s lips before kissing back, shooting electricity down Hob’s spine, all the way to his feet and back up, clinging now to Dream and pulling him closer.

Hob parts for air and kisses Dream again and again, lips-only, but he can somehow still taste the honey sweetness of him, can smell it on his breath and feel it under his touch. One of Dream’s hands knots in the front of Hob’s sweater, yanking him closer still, holding on as Hob’s lips trail up Dream’s jaw– softer than it looks– peppering kisses along the way.

Dream breathes harshly into his ear, wet and raw, tucking his head into the crook of Hob’s neck, and goes still. Hob holds him there, one hand going around the back of his head while the other finds his hand on his sweater and disentangles it to hold instead.

Hob listens as Dream breathes deeply, collecting himself, his other hand coming up around Hob’s shoulder and just… holding on.

Nothing needs to be said, though Hob’s mind is swimming with words, but he keeps them in, opting to shut his eyes and feel the warmth of Dream around him, caressing his pointy knuckles and combing his fingers through Dream’s hair. This is enough for now, holding on, knowing they have time after this.

And Hob has always enjoyed the silence they shared.

part 2!

[stellayuta]

Love on The Grid - Formula 1 AU! Yuta Okkotsu - Pt 1.

synopsis: One-night stands were nothing but a necessary painkiller for your inability to cross paths with true love. Your most recent find at a Vegas Club was no different. He was boring, obedient, SLOW! You leave him high and hanging hoping you'd never see him again until you find yourself gawking at a supersized billboard of him on a Vegas highway with the title 'LEGEND RETURNS TO VEGAS'.

genre: smut

content: 18+ only. Formula one driver! Yuta x f! reader, nasty intercourse and everything it includes, swearing, unprotected sex, use of alcohol. and a lot, lot, lot of s*xy stuff(like it's everything, a long list, so not gonna write it), reader is downright filthy ngl

word count: 2.8k

a/n: Ah this is my dream come true and this is totally to feed into my fantasies Dx

WARNING: always use protection!

"A bit to the right." you gasp, biting your lips but unable to hold on for long enough to make way for an uncontrollable moan.

"Ah, fuck! How are you so good at this! I thought you were a virgin?" You gasp, coming on his face with a squeal and taking some minutes to put your dazzled mind back into order. You sit up and clear your throat while the man appears from under the blanket and your thighs, face slick and shining with fluid. You gulp at the sight.

"What made you think I was a virgin?" He asks, smiling at you kindly, as if he didn't just devour your pussy.

"I don't know... really." You say, running a hand through your tousled hair, picturing how you two first met. It was a rave night at one of Las Vegas' upscale clubs. You and two of your friends happened to be bar hopping and ended up there at the recommendation of a previous bar's bartender. This club happened to be hosting a major celebration for an event that took place in Vegas that night and it was filled with howling men and skimpily dressed women, dancing to the heavy bass and vibing through the strobe-rainbow lasers. This was exactly your type of place.

"Tonight's your night Y/N." One of your friends cheered while the other made a tiger claw impression at you. "Go get em' tiger!"

You let your girls handle the drink orders and in a half-high state, wandered through the crowd, trying to look for men to chat up. That's where you saw this man, tucked away into a comfortable corner, with what looked like a nice orangey cocktail in hand. He was surrounded by a few men chatting with some very eager women, but he didn't partake in the conversation. That man was going to be your lay today, you had decided.

You cut through the dazed crowd and approach their group with your martini in hand.

"Hi there, got room for one more?" you say charmingly, the other men smiling encouragingly at you and the women smiling apprehensively. The men are clearly better looking, taller, with posher clothing than the wallflower hiding behind them, but the women can have these men.

"Oh, hey you!" you call out to the man, and he looks at his peers before making eye contact with you.

"Yeah, you." you pout at him. "Come out, I need a partner, I love this music." you reach for his hand, and he takes it hesitantly. You see the girls relax a bit as you seem to have chosen the worst pick of the group instead of the shiny men but you're happy to excuse yourself from their company and take your new arm candy to the dance floor.

"You frequent this place?" you ask the man, in order to break some ice. You have no interest in knowing his name.

"Well, I'm just visiting." He replies shortly, training his gaze to be glued to the dance floor. So, it'll be a challenge.

"Want some of this?" you ask, offering your drink.

"Nah, I'm on a cut, sorry." he replies. You give him a sharp smile trying to mask your immense irritation.

"Why the fuck are you in a club then?" you ask, discarding your martini on one of the drink tables and wrapping your arms around his shoulders, staring into his eyes. You catch a glimpse of his drink it may as well be orange juice for all you know now.

"Well, I -"

"Actually, never mind, don't answer that. Do you have a girlfriend?" you get to the point now. Because if he does, you're going to back off.

"Um, sorry, I don't." He says, confused. He stands absolutely still as everyone around him including you continue to groove to the music.

"Well, if you don't like drinking or dancing..." you smirk at him. "Want to do something more fun?"

You were almost certain this lad would say no but to your immense positive astonishment he agrees, cupping your waist and dragging you out of the club. The rest was history.

*****

"Anyway," you say, eyeing the rising sun out of the window blinds of this random hotel room of a random hotel he picked out. It had been a long night and the two of you had been going at it like rabbits. You started near the doorway with him pounding into you from behind. After you came once, you made him pull out and got down on your knees, sucking him off like a thirsty wreck. Then you had a round in the bathtub of the suite with you on top of him. He wasn't limp yet, so you got on top of him on the toilet again and bounced your way till his climax.

He still wasn't done because you ended up on the bed and he decided it would be a good idea to eat you out. You're just glad none of you were drunk out of your minds and everything happened consensually. He had an amazing dick, perfect girth and just long enough with a wicked curve, it's a pity you'd have to let it go today. Yet, you can't help but eye it hopelessly as it hung limp in front of you, almost begging you to caress it again.

"Aww you little-" You coo at his dick, reaching out in front of you to take it in your hands. You feel its weight and its fleshy texture and relish it. "I just can't leave it alone." you tell his soft length as he smiles at you.

That was one good thing about this guy. He didn't say awkward things. He was to the point, very kind in his after care, naughty but not excessively and oh my god are his groans out of this world. He is a looker too. I couldn't tell in the horrendous lighting of the club but now with steady lighting and even in the majestic rays of the rising sun, this man looks hot as hell.

You slump down to take his warm cock into your mouth gratefully and start sucking on it, feeling the length gradually increase and harden inside your mouth.

"Mmm.." you hum and grab a hold of his ball sack and fondle them, not wanting them to feel left out from the action.

You pay special attention to the underside of his cock as he grabs a hold of your hair with his shivering hands and makes you sink down on his length till it hits the back of your throat.

yummy.

You let his cock feel the merciless squeeze of your throat cavity as you go cross eyed from the sensation of being used like this. You moan and hum some more to add to his pleasure and grab a hold of his thighs with force. You look up at him with teary eyes to give him the green signal to let go and with a gasp, he looks up.

You are able to appreciate how thick and veiny his neck is as his seed paints your inner throat white, shooting warm liquid down your throat. He keeps thrusting and doesn't stop until his balls are dried out. You keep his limpening dick in your mouth for a while longer, collecting some of the cum in your mouth, intending to play with it for a bit when he pulls out.

"God. Just wow." He says after leaving your mouth as he watches you blow bubbles with his cum and let it drip down your lips only to scoop it with your fingers and force it back into your mouth.

"Shit. You'll make me hard again."

You blow a big bubble from his cum and wait for it to pop before speaking.

"Why, you're turned on again?" you ask, with half lidded eyes.

"Can you tell me your name?" He asks hopefully. Does he want this to be something? does he want more of you?

Well, he ain't getting any.

"Mouth's full." You reply teasingly, dodging his question and grinning with your teeth covered in his cum.

Your conversation is suddenly interrupted though by a long beeping noise coming out of your digital watch and you check the time.

6:15AM.

Shit.

Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit!

The man sees your mouth form a big O as you stare bleary eyed at your watch, the cumming almost dripping out of your mouth. At this point he felt it was ridiculous you hadn't swallowed yet, nasty.

But swallow you did, and very quickly. You moved with such pace that it was a blur in front of him... and he had seen many fast things in his life.

"I-I'm sorry." you say, pulling your pants on and buttoning up your shirt. You opt to leave your bra and panties; he can have them for all his good work.

"I gotta go!" you say.

"Hey wait! At least tell me your name... or your number, anything!" He pleads. You make the mistake of turning back to look at him. Blushed, with sleepy eyes and puffy lips, locks of dark hair falling beautifully on his delicate face. He looked so vulnerable and needy that you almost feel bad, but your boundaries were clear from the start.

This vegas trip was your medicine to heal from a broken heart. You weren't going to leech on to someone emotionally again. Never!

"Looks like our time here ends..." you say, trying to sound as sorry as possible.

"I don't know if I'll ever meet you again baby boy, but hey! you made me cum. That's brownie points!" you smile at him encouragingly before fleeing from the hotel room with your phone, wallet, and no underwear.

You take quick steps in your kitten heals and head for the receptionist's desk, hoping and praying that here is no white goo on your teeth. First, you locate where this damn hotel is and next, you ask for a pharmacy which luckily, they happen to have.

You book your cab as your Plan B and water bottle gets billed. You check your clock again. 6:23AM.

Ahhhh!!!

You urge the cab drive to max out on his speed and he tries his level best to achieve super-car levels of pace while you down your plan-b. You make it to the hotel you and your friends were staying in just in time and only get 30 seconds to yourself to wash your wrecked face before you have to hop on to your work meeting on your laptop.

"Hey guys, how's it going? Everyone ready for today's standup?"

As a Principle Software Developer at a Megacorp, it's hard to take days off for Las Vegas on demand, at a short notice. Work from home was the only negotiation.

You grind for the rest of the morning and a large part of the afternoon as your friends and their boyfriends wake up from their sleep at their own pace, ask you about where you've been and grab some lunch for all of you. They have a lot of questions to ask but you're willing to answer absolutely none.

Once you're finally done with the day's work, the sun is beginning to set, and you take a minute to meditate and finally retire to the shower. This is the first time since yesterday morning that you truly have a chance to clean yourself thoroughly and to think clearly.

What were you thinking?

The reality of the situation drones in on you as the unforgiving cold droplets assault your skin. You still feel his dick on your tongue, his cum clumped in your throat, his veiny neck, his firm arms on your hips, his legs intertwined with yours.

God, what did you do?

This is... this is all Megumi's fault. If it weren't for him, you wouldn't be this broken today.

You let a few tears slip out in the gracious masking of the shower.

When you finally emerge fresh, your friends are waiting for you.

"We're going out!" your friend, Momo, exclaims.

"What? Where?" you ask. There were no plans for today.

"Well Noritoshi here wants to see one his fancy car races. Apparently, they do that in Vegas. There's a track and everything." your friend explains as her boyfriend, Noritoshi nods in excitement.

"It's Formula One, Momo! I have been dying to see one race live, at the circuit." He mumbles, more to himself than to us. "Initially, I only booked the tickets for Momo and me but I was able to get three free ones!"

"You guys can come along if you want to." Momo tells me and my other friend, Miwa and her boyfriend, Kokichi.

We all look at each other and before I can protest, they say yes on my behalf too.

Motorsports huh. I've heard of it yes. Though I appreciate a good quality car, I have never been a fan of racing as a sport. Isn't it a rich people exclusive anyway? I mentally scoff at the thought of my cheering on from the stands at a circuit and definitely catch Miwa narrowing her eyes at my expression.

"Dress up well. The crowds are all bigshots." Kokichi tells Miwa. "Not that you don't always look good, babe."

"Oh stop you!" Miwa blushes, putting her cheek on Kokichi's shoulder.

Ugh couples.

All of us get dressed to the best of our abilities with Noritoshi absolutely decking himself out in his formula one merch. He is wearing a teal accented and black leather bomber jacket with the words "Mercedes" stamped on it. He also carries a cute little plushie of what I assume is a current driver. The plushie looks soft and limp just like...

I widen my eyes in lieu of publicly slapping myself. Fucking. Get over it. Y/N!

Kokichi eyes the plushie with disgust.

"Bruh come on. Him, really?"

Noritoshi isn't having it though. "He's one of the greats. If you don't believe it, you're in denial. Thank you very much."

"He's not as great as my man Geto Suguru. The beast in his Red Bull!"

"Suguru, that ass? He's a cheat and you know it-" Noritoshi wants to continue but Momo stops him.

"We're getting late! Let's get going." The five of us leave the hobby and hop into our convertible (Kokichi won't let us rent anything else).

Kokichi drives, with Miwa in the shotgun handling the music. Momo, the shortest sits in the middle with Noritoshi to the right, making sure the tickets and everything else is in place. I am in the left, zoning out, happy to look at the twinkling lights of evening Vegas. This city is like an anti-depressant. Fast acting and temporary.

"Hey, Y/N." Momo suddenly pulls on my arm.

"Mhm?" I ask, keeping my eyes shut.

"How was it last night? With that guy you went off with?" She asks, curious.

"Don't wanna talk about it." I admit. Because I will then never stop thinking about his stupid dick.

"You will have to tell me some day!" She yells in a hushed voice.

"Not that I'll ever see him again, Momo." I remind her.

"You didn't even get his number?" She prods.

"Nah."

"Okay what's his name?"

"...."

"You can't be seriously, Y/N!"

I raise my hand to shut her up for a bit. I don't want to have this conversation after a long night of fucking and a long day of work.

Miwa must be forgetting why I came on the trip because she starts vibing to some slow, romantic song, holding Kokichi's hand as I try to play deaf. I place my head on my folded hands atop the window, gazing out at the passing light poles on the highway, in front of a pinky-purple sky. The sunset today is ethereal.

I almost begin to hear Megumi's voice in my head when Noritoshi suddenly laughs out, holding his plushie in the sky.

"Kokichi, would you look at that!" He says sarcastically pointing in a direction which makes us all turn our heads.

I follow his line of sight and spot a huge billboard approach us. It is so massive that I can clearly see what's on it from like half a mile away. It is made to stand out with blue and teal led lights framing it.

What catches my eye isn't the billboard decoration though. It's what's on it.

I nearly let out a choking sound but catch myself just in time.

On the billboard, larger than life is the human version of Noritoshi's plushie, clad in black and teal with a shining helmet in hand and standing proudly in front of his wicked Mercedes accompanied by the tagline which Noritoshi chants now.

"The Legend of Vegas returns to conquer for the Third Time! KING Yuta Okkotsu!"

Continued here in Part 2

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