#thanks for the ask phi!

[phantom-of-the-501st]

for the send me a character ask (im gonna give u multiple names lolol)

Jesse

Echo

Rex

Okay so I'm going to try and do all of these simultaneously which is probably a bad idea but we'll see what happens :D

Jesse, Echo, and Rex

Favourite thing about them

This one is probably a universal thing across all of them so I'm going to lump them together for this. I absolutely love their drive to do what's right and to protect their brothers. They want to help people in whatever way they can and I think that is incredibly admirable. Also gonna throw in a bonus for Echo's bond with Omega. It's adorable.

Least favourite thing about them

Errrrrrrrrrr... Fuck. That's difficult. I'd say for Jesse that I don't know how well I'd get on with him in real life. I'm sure we could be friends, but in a "we're on different wavelengths" kinda way, does that make sense? I'm reaching here tbf.

For Echo, probably his complete inability to control his facial expressions in some situations. Don't get me wrong, I absolutely love Echo's facial expressions, but sometimes I think he could dial it back just a little bit. 🤏 Mainly thinking about that bit with the Wookiees in TBB where he looks at the soup like it's gonna kill him. They're trying to be hospitable!

Do I have something I don't like about Rex? Idk. I'd say sometimes I'm a little bit like "why are you doing this?" because I think it's a bad decision (e.g. following Krell's orders) but normally I can understand what his reasoning is, even if I don't love his choices.

Favourite line

Jesse: "Where there's a farm, there's usually a farmer"

Echo: "It's not about that. It's about fighting for our brothers."

Rex: "Gives us clones mixed feelings about the war. Many people wish it never happened. But without it, we clones wouldn't exist."

brOTP

Jesse and Kix, Echo and Fives, Rex and Cody

OTP

None for any of them

NOTP

Once again, none for any of them, but I guess them with any other clone

Random headcanon

Jesse was so shocked about making ARC trooper that he got a little more emotional over it than he thought he would and cried.

Part of the reason why Echo was constantly reading the reg manuals is because they had to be updated every time the Domino Twins caused chaos by exploiting loopholes in them.

Rex is a really annoying patient when he's in the medbay. He spends most of the time insisting he's fine and trying to discharge himself even though Kix has told him on numerous occasions that it's a bad idea.

Unpopular opinion

This question is always so hard. I'm not sure about Jesse and Rex, I may swing back to that at a later time, but I'd say I have a couple for Echo. 1) He still would have joined the Bad Batch is Fives was alive. 2) His ending should have been in the Bad Batch regardless of what it was. I'm sure they'll back to it at a later date, but imo it should have been in that show.

Song I associate with them

Jesse: Jessie's Girl by Rick Springfield

Echo: Back From the Dead by Skillet

Rex: We Don't Run by Bon Jovi

Favourite pic of them

*looks at album full of clone pics and sweats nervously* Here are some of my faves.

Jesse in the back of this shot:

Echo:

Rex:

[pharawee]

"If you step out of this house, I will assume that you and I are no longer brothers."

[misspickman]

aoi and clover for the uhh character breakdown thing

aoi

How I feel about this character: normal

All the people I ship romantically with this character: im v fond of aoilight, i think aoi/junpei is really fucking funny but thats mostly all i think about it

My non-romantic OTP for this character: the kurashikis are everything to me. But also as britta said he and hazuki would be the bitchiest office coworkers ever and i would like to see it. I dont think he and clover get along on account of the kidnapings but i believe they could get there and itd be funny

My unpopular opinion about this character: his outfit rules and i do think thats just how he dresses. I keep seeing people go what if hes just doing it for the bit in the game and he usually wears normie business clothes and imo these people are just boring cowards. Every time i see aoi in a suit i go why would you do that to him. Its his company he can do what he wants!

One thing I wish would happen / had happened with this character in canon: I wish he'd been mentioned more in the other two games... Specifically i would've liked more kurashiki siblings stuff. Akane tell me where your asshole brother is

clover

How I feel about this character: I LOVE HER shes my best friend. The fact that the game is constructed so that you cannot get the true ending until junpei befriends and is genuinely nice to clover is genius. Its very sweet in a subtle way i feel. And i will always support siblings killing for each other she won me over instantly with that one

All the people I ship romantically with this character: alice is an obvious answer, i wish i had more but i dont really.. i did like them more than i thought i would. the alice ending really pulled through

My non-romantic OTP for this character: her and junpei and obviously her and light. I would like to see more of her and akane tho.. I do just really think that as the four kids from the first nonary the two sibling pairs could have some insane and compelling dynamics

My unpopular opinion about this character: Apparently some parts of this fandom decided she and her brother are white on? Account of their names i guess? And this makes no sense to me. Like her name in the japanese version of the game is not spelled clover its yotsuba. Also shes a gyaru which is a japanese subculture afaik so idk i think its kinda weird. Or was it the international license comment that inspired this? Either way i think its weird

One thing I wish would happen / had happened with this character in canon: i wish she'd been written better in vlr... Dont get me wrong i loved her, i took 10000 clover screenshots, her stupid puns were great, but i feel like she came across as a lot more idk ditzy and incompetent than she had in 999. Would have loved to see more of her being a secret agent that isnt just her messing up and telling people shes a secret agent (funny, and i do love that she consistently cannot keep a secret, but that being p much the only secret agent thing she does really paints her as just incompetent, and we know from the first game that shes not). And i know that seducing sigma was an act but we really could have done without it. Also! Would have loved if we'd gotten a clover update in ztd

[stormyoceans]

I agree. only inthap. In my native language there is a word "tapochki" meaning slippers😹 when I hear "thapin" I think of slippers. No matter how comfortable and cute "slippers" jimmysea are my ears gets uncomfortable not only from the associations but also from how ugly it sounds😅

btw you see ohm's tiktok with sea? 🙃 when I suddenly see these two together I can't stop thinking about sea's role in dentist 🤡

INTHUTHAPFAH (OR INTHAP) SUPREMACY LET'S GOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

im really happy you agree with me, anon!!!!!!! i remember when my magic prophecy was first announced and we got confirmation of jimmy playing thapfah and sea playing inthu that some people on twitter were saying they were sad we would now have to call the ship 'thapfahinthu' (since it doesn't sound as nice as 'inthuthapfah') and i was like. we don't??????? have to call it that???????? if we don't like it???????

the ship names order being based on who's the (perceived) top and who's the (perceived) bottom between the characters or, worse, the actors who play them is kinda ridiculous anyway, we should always just go with the name that rolls off the tongue better or, in the rare cases it sounds nice no matter what, follow the alphabetical order like AO3 does (this is also how we should decide which surname to give a newborn imho but that's another story)

although the fact that 'thapin' reminds you of the word for 'slippers' in your language is sooooooo cute to me!!!!!!

ALSO I HAD TO LOOK UP THAT OHMSEA TIKTOK YOU MENTIONED BECAUSE I HAD NO IDEA IT HAPPENED AND NOW MY CLOWN SHOES ARE ON MY MAKE UP IS IN PLACE MY WIG IS SECURED WE ARE SO GETTING THAT SEA TAWINAN'S CAMEO IN THE DENTIST SHOW LIKE WHY WOULD OHMSEA BE TOGETHER IN WHAT LOOKS LIKE A DRESSING ROOM OTHERWISE?????

YOU KNOW WHAT THIS MEANS THE SIGNS ARE SIGNING LET'S GO CLOWNS LET'S GOOOOOOOOO 🤡🤡🤡🤡🤡🤡🤡🤡🤡🤡

[rafescvntyclubgf]

⭐ Republished ⭐

𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐓𝐲𝐩𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐏𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧 - 𝐑𝐚𝐟𝐞 𝐂𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐨𝐧 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟏 𝐨𝐟 𝟑

𝟿.𝟼𝙺 𝚃𝚘𝚝𝚊𝚕 𝚆𝚘𝚛𝚍 𝙲𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝

3.8k

+18 𝓜𝓲𝓷𝓸𝓻 𝓓𝓝𝓘

𝙿𝚎𝚛𝚟𝙵𝚛𝚊𝚝!𝚁𝚊𝚏𝚎 𝚡 𝙲𝚘𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚐𝚎𝚂𝚝𝚞𝚍𝚎𝚗𝚝!𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

📖 Rafe is your boyfriend… You just don’t know it yet.

⚠️ warnings contain spoliers ⚠️

swearing, Stalking, pet names, degradation, namecalling, public masturbation, dark!rafe, mean!rafe, perv!rafe, mentions of cum play, mentions of unprotected P in V, ownership kink, mentions of rough oral, violence, threats, blackmail, fighting, blood, gore, mentions of sextortion, Rafe sneaks into the reader’s room, panty stealing, panty sniffing, takes pictures of the reader’s private images, cum tasting, oral male receiving, oral female receiving, twist dark reader, mutual obsession, rough oral, gagging, kissing, reader doesn’t ask rafe if he wants to go further than oral but he does and she starts anyway, messy sex, squirting, praise, drinking, smoking, mentions of drug use

✨ “Just do it, baby girl,” I moan, watching as she pinches her top button. I grab mine as well, tugging it open with her. I hiss at the sensation of my rock-hard cock in my hand, feeling some relief. This is the first time I’ve touched myself all day. I was edging myself as I studied her Instagram and TikTok page, saving my favorites to my phone. When I saw her in the parking lot, I swear I could have cum untouched. ✨

Rafe’s POV:

“So, class. What does its structure contribute to the poem “Do Not Go Gentle into That Good Night?” The professor drones on, sliding her reading glasses down her nose as she looks out onto the lecture hall. I shrink in my seat slightly, along with the other boys, doing my best to avoid her gaze.

Required reading, my ass. Did she honestly expect us to read this shit on a Thursday night? Barely drug my ass outta bed for class. Thank fuckin’ god. I relax in my seat as one of the front-row nerds saves the basic population who doesn’t give a fuck.

“Repetition. The poet used it to stress his key theme for his readers.”

I nod, scribbling a little line of nothingness on my paper, keeping up with the facade. That shit went in one ear and out the next. “Hey, Cameron.” My frat brother elbows me on the side. “You good for the kegs?”

“Yeah, sweetheart. What else can daddy get you?” I sneer as I roll my eyes at Billy, who laughs and scoffs. “I get paid back first, plus 10%. Get me a bottle of Pappy Van Winkle; I ain’t drinkin’ Coors, and I ain’t pickin’ that shit up either.”

“Thanks, daddy,” he responds in a breathy voice, snatching the wad of cash off my hands. “We need ten kegs between the Deltas and Phi Mu… You good for that-”

“Fuck you, ‘Am I good for that’?” I cut him short through a breathy laugh. “You’re holdin’ the cash in your hands, bitch. Stop askin’. Add an extra 5% for questionin’ me-”

“Rafe.” My stomach sinks as my professor’s eyes zero in on mine. “Am I interrupting something?” The old bird cocks an eyebrow, her annoyance visible, matching my own.

“No,” I answer simply, crossing my arms across my chest and relaxing at my desk.

“Splendid. I assume you know the answer then. Correct?” She challenges me, trying to catch me off guard. A smirk pulls on her lips as she does just that. Cunt.

“I agree.”

“The key insight about death in the poem is, ‘I agree’?” She belittles. I stare at her blankly, blinking a few times to let her know she’s wasting her time. She’s not gettin’ shit out of me. I’ve got an A in this class, bitch. What’re you gonna do about it?

She chuckles weakly, shaking her head at my resistance. “Am I wrong, ma’am? I have a bit of conversational anxiety… If you’d like to repeat the question, I’d love to try again,” I ask through a shit-eating smirk, letting my sarcasm drip all the way through, irritating her even more.

“Anyone else?” She invites in a shrill voice as she dismisses me, looking around the room to find another. Some of my frat brothers snicker in the back, making the professor’s features even more rigid. “Miss. Y/n?” Her demeanor changes instantly, shaking off my defiance, moving on to another one of her perfect pets.

Who’s that?

Holy shit. I swallow hard, feeling my mouth dry up as I see her. She twiddles her fluffy pink pen, acknowledging the teacher with a smile. Y/n? Jesus fuckin’ Christ. How have I never seen her before? I watch as a football player shuffles down the row of the lecture hall. My question, answered in a moment as his broad shoulders cut off my line of sight. No. I stretch back, cranking my neck to get her in my sights again.

“The key insight’s that death should be fought against, even though it is inevitable.” Her beautiful voice fills the lecture hall like a song. The teacher smiles at her again, praising y/n for her correct answer. Y/n grins and nods, averting her eyes as she catches the room’s focus. Her cheeks blush the prettiest shade of pink, matching her glossy lips.

Those lips… I lick my own, thinking about the way they would look wrapped around my cock, drool running down her chin as she deepthroats my dick. I’d grip that little ponytail like a handlebar, using her mouth like a toy. I chuckle at myself, still surprised that my mind went there almost instantly, but I know myself too well. I am who I am.

Y/n looks so goddamn innocent… Not for long. She’s a slut for praise. I can tell. I can work with that.

My eyes work lower, following the curve of her cleavage in her low-cut shirt. Fuck, I can’t wait to get her on top; watch ‘em bounce in my face. I’m gonna cum all over her perfect rack. Tiddie fuck her while she cries for daddy’s dick. Smear that shit- “Earth to Rafe?” I grit my teeth as I’m torn from my fantasy. “Buddy, you good?” Billy chuckles, his voice taunting as he follows my focus to her. “Mmm… Y/n,” he sighs blissfully. “So fuckin’ hot, bro. She’s a Phi Mu girl.”

“No shit?”

“Mhmm… Transferred from LSU. Smart, funny, sexy… But she’s mine, buddy. Aight? Been layin’ down groundwork all semester.” He elbows me playfully, chuckling to himself, actually believing his own words.

“All semester, and you haven’t made a move?” I spit, eyes rolling in his direction. This whole conversation is laughable. Has he been sitting on this all semester? Really? She was mine the second I looked at her, buddy. You’re done.

“Long game,” he defends himself.

“Long game?” I scoff. “Doesn’t sound like you got any game at all...”

“Hey. Fuck off… I know she wants me. Her bedroom faces mine and she doesn’t even close the curtains when she changes anymore; she texts me all the time. See?” He gloats as he thumbs through his phone. I don’t even bother myself with the semantics. Why the fuck does that shit matter? What’s he gettin’ at? “I’m gonna help ‘em after class. They have some car wash fundraiser downtown.”

Is that so? “I like the sound of that,” I smile, feeling my cock growing stiff in my jeans at the thought of seeing her in next to nothing, wet and soapy no less.

“You can’t just take her from me, Rafe,” Billy mutters in annoyance. A laugh rumbles in my chest as I take in his empty words. “I’m not fuckin’ around. She’s mine.”

My head turns slowly in his direction as he bends in mine. I mean, the guy’s big, but I’m bigger. He can fight, but he’s not willing to see that shit through. Billy’s got that moral compass that urges him to stop where I couldn’t care less. And he knows it.

He balls his hands up in fists at his desk, jaw tightening as he does his best to intimidate me one last time. My boy’s a bitch.

“Mine.”

I study her movements as she glides through the halls. Her hair bounces with each step brushing along her backpack, half-hiding her perfect ass. Her bum shakes a little as she walks, just a tease for me. Y/n slight skirt grazes just a few inches below her ass, leaving her bare legs on display.

I wonder what they’d look like over my shoulder… Spread wide on my bed as I devoured her perfect pussy. Damn. I bet she makes some pretty sounds. I can’t wait to hear that, to see her face, as she squirts all over my mouth and cock.

Where are you going, pretty girl?

She hooks a left, heading toward the coffee shop. I continue to follow my girl, watching as she strolls inside. Y/n walks toward the line, stalling next to the case of pastries, eyeing the bottom. Do it for daddy, baby. C’mon. There you go… She drops down, surveying the options. That goddamn ass… Does she know I’m watching? She’s gotta know. The paisley material tugs higher on her thighs, a peek of her round ass poking out the bottom.

She stands up again, taking another step, moving with the traffic flow. Y/n reaches into her purse, pulling out her phone. She smiles as she looks at the screen. Billy Hargrove 💕. I feel my heart pick up pace, my breathing quickening; rage boils inside me.

I gave him an order. This shit’s not up to him. I roll the tension out of my neck, fingers twisting into fists of my own. Where’s the fucking loyalty? She bites her bottom lip and smiles at the message, making me physically ill.

I’ve got distracted by her… Say somethin’ to make her forget about that.

“Uh, hey,” I rasp. Y/n continues to type up a little message. “Y/n?” I reach out, resting my hand on her arm.

“Oh, hi… Umm, Rafe?” She says my name, making everything stand still. I look down at the beautiful eyes and soft, pouty lips, the corners of which curl into a sweet smile.

“Uh, yeah,” I answer, trying to level my tone. “We’re in class together.”

“Yeah… She’s kind of a bitch. Right?” Y/n asks weakly as her eyes soften on mine, showing me pity like my feelings might have been hurt by that little exchange between the professor and me.

“Yeah, she sucks,” I laugh lightly, tossing my head down in fake shame. “The boys and I got a little rowdy last night. I didn’t read that shit. Did you? I mean, obviously-”

“On my way to class,” she giggles as she looks around playfully for our professor.

My mouth falls into an open smile. “Naughty girl. Coast is clear, by the way,” I rasp through a little laugh.

“Good,” Y/n sighs as she tucks some hair behind her ear.

“You’re really smart.” I praise, watching her cheeks blushing again, this time closer than before, making my heart bang in my chest.

“Thank you. Oh, umm, you’re a Delta. Right?” She asks, solidifying her answer as she eyes the embroidery on my polo.

“I am. And you’re Phi Mu?” Y/n grins as she nods in reply. “I’m headed over to your car wash after this.”

“Awesome. Yeah, Lyndsey was worried that the University might question where the money came from if we made anything off selling beer tonight.”

“A cover-up?” I smile down at her as I stuff my hands in my jeans.

“Mhmm,” she breathes. “The party’s gonna be huge. Do you think we’ll get busted?”

I chuckle at the sweet nativity of her question. “‘Course we will. Over 500 students in one place… But it’s a block party. Right? So they won’t be able to pinpoint anybody. Not usin’ the frat’s money directly. Cash. The boys are gonna pay me back as they sell cups. Untraceable.”

“Aww. That’s so nice of you,” she smiles. Her demeanor hasn’t faltered since we’ve spoken. She doesn’t seem to care about the material shit; my Breitling watch, the gold rings on my fingers. Her face didn’t light up when I dropped the fact that I would buy beer for the masses. She just said it was nice… Fuck, she’s perfect.

“I try… But, if we get busted, I’ll blame it on some beautiful Phi girl I know.”

She gasps playfully, smacking me in the chest. “You wouldn’t!” Everything tenses in my body as I fight back my arousal, covering the growing excitement in my slacks with my notebook.

Y/n looks over my shoulder, catching the girl’s eyes behind me as she tells us to move forward. “Sorry,” Y/n sighs apologetically, clearing the open space between us and the register. Y/n steps up to the counter, ordering a latte and a muffin before reaching into her purse.

“Oh, shit. No. Sorry! Let me,” I breathe as I hurry to her side. “I’ll pay for whatever she’s havin’ and a coffee for me: one cream, one sugar. Thank you.”

“Wow. Thank you, Rafe. You didn’t need to do that,” she coos.

“No problem, y/n.”

Gifts… That’s what my girl likes.

Well, shit. She’s gonna need a grand gesture. I can sneak into her room tonight. Check the essentials: dress size, music taste; the little things she enjoys.

I’ll take a look at her nightstand. How could I not? Gotta know what she uses to please herself so I know what I’m working with and what it takes to get her there. I want to know her better than she knows herself.

I follow along, trying to keep my eyes on her face, but I can’t help but roam her body. I’ve never seen anything like it, never seen anything so perfect for me. I never wanted anything so bad.

The barista walks over, setting down my coffee. I suck my teeth, regretting my choice, knowing if I got the same shit as her, I could have stayed. But I shouldn’t. “I’ll come by. Yeah? Don’t kill me… I gotta big ass truck, and she’s dirty as shit.”

“No worries,” she smiles sweetly. “I’ll see you there, Rafe. Oh, and thanks for the coffee again.” She reaches out, resting her hand on my arm.

“Of course, sweetheart.” I test a pet name, watching her smile widen. Just gorgeous.

I step away, walking towards the door. Looking over my shoulder as Y/n pulls out her phone, that same smile for Billy setting on her perfect lips.

He’s fucking dead.

I pull up toward the parking lot, falling into the line of cars; a caravan of dicks with their windows already rolled down. Fuckin’ dogs. I lean out as well, surveying the scene looking for her. Jesus fuckin’ Christ. I watch the gaggle of girls prancing around in their bikinis, excitement building as I frantically look for her.

My heart skips as I see her sporting the most clothes, donning yet the sluttiest outfit of them all. She’s an absolute fuckin’ tease in her cut-off jean shorts and white t-shirt, soaked with water. The material clings to her curves, teasing me with her little triangle top, gathered slightly, barely covering her tits.

She leans over and reaches into the bucket, pulling out a sponge before ringing out the soap. A guy rolls down the window of his Mercedes, bending his neck to watch as she washes the side. I can already tell where this is goin’. He smirks, watching her ass as she leans down, cleaning the rear fender. “Aww, sweetheart,” he soughs, “Uhh…You missed a spot.” Y/n smiles sweetly, lowering to where she was before, making me huff out an aggravated breath.

Her friend walks over with a hose, spraying down the suds that y/n left behind. Tori Clarence, a late-night Delta regular. She says something that makes Y/n laugh. Y/n claps back, teasing her sister through a wicked smile. Tori lifts the gun, spraying y/n with a stream of water, hitting her directly on her tits.

Y/n gasps as her shirt turns from milky white to practically see-through, the chilly water running down her perfect body, making her nipple hard. She panics to get warm, reaching for the bottom of her shirt. Holy fuck. Holy fuck. Holy fuck. She pulls it over her body: soft skin, perfect boobs, and wet hair. Little lines of water cascade down her bare skin, rounding her curves catching on the denim of her shorts. Her eyes fall down her body, eyeing her damp state.

“Just do it, baby girl,” I moan, watching as she pinches her top button. I grab mine as well, tugging it open with her. I hiss at the sensation of my rock-hard cock in my hand, feeling some relief. This is the first time I’ve touched myself all day. I was edging myself as I studied her Instagram and TikTok page, saving my favorites to my phone. When I saw her in the parking lot, I swear I could have cum untouched.

I start to fist my cock as she leans over the trunk, her body perfectly positioned like I’m taking her from the back. Goddamn. I’d snake my rough hand up her soft skin, following the curve of her arched spine, drifting into her hair. I’d pull it back, feeling her pussy clench around my big dick. I’d spank her, cracking her tight little ass with the palm of my hand, leaving her red and bruised. Just one of the many ways I’d mark my girl. “Fuck, Y/n,” I moan her name as heat radiates through my body.

She walks along the side of the next car, letting me see her little triangle top: light blue, thin material, the blush of nipples visible. I roll my hand over my tip, whimpering at the sensation, imagining myself hitting the back of her throat as tears pool in her pretty, innocent eyes. Y/n looking up at daddy, mascara running down her cheeks as she throats me like the slut I know she can be. I’d hold her head in my hands, using her mouth to stroke my cock. My perfect little toy…

Fuck. I got a Fleshlight with her name on it. I’m gonna use those pictures when I get home… Gotta get myself ready for tonight. She has no clue what she’s in for. What I wouldn’t give to have my cock in her hand instead of my own. I’d make her jerk me off as she pleaded for my dick deep in that pretty tight cunt. I bet she’s so goddam wet. So, so fuckin’ tight.

“I know, baby. Daddy’s gonna give you his dick. Don’t worry,” I mumble, feeling my breathing start to increase with my pleasure. I thrust into my hand, fucking up into my fist as I watch her undo the loosened side strings of her bikini, tightening it again.

I eye the sign, catching the time. 11-4 PM. Yes… They’ll be here all afternoon. Just need to make a pit stop. Grab a pair of panties. Whatever I can get. I need to taste her. Stuff ‘em in my mouth as I study my prize. My hips stutter as I feel myself about to bust, imagining just how sweet she’ll taste. I work myself quicker, taking hold of my steering wheel as I rut into my hand.

‘Rafe. Rafe. Rafe.’ I can hear it now. See my little whore creamin’ on my cock as I give it to her over and over again.

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum, baby girl. Where do you want it?”

‘Deep in my pussy… Please, baby’. She’ll whimper and beg, pleading to get stuffed full. I’m gonna brush my fingers over her swollen clit, making her gush all over my cock and thighs, wetting everything around us until I’m pumping her full of my cum.

I’ll watch it drip out of her puffy pink hole, fucking it right back in, cleaning the rest off with my tongue before spitting it in her mouth.

My perfect cumslut.

I need it drippin’ out of her for days. Watchin’ my little angel walk into class, knowing just how good I dicked her down. I’ll watch her from my seat as she cleans the little cum tear off her inner thigh, slipping it between her lips as her eyes flick to mine, sucking it clean.

No one will have her again. “She was made for me.” The thought alone has my hand faltering; jaw falling slack. My stomach sinks, eyes doubling as she looks in my direction, matching my gaze. “Fuckkk…” My eyes roll back in my skull, toes curling, head thrown to the headrest as I cum harder than I ever have. Shit. I don’t even care if she saw. If she’s any girl of mine, she’d want to see it anyway.

My dirty little whore.

I look down at my jizz covered hand and lap. Goddamnit. I clear the gap between my car and the next before ripping off my shirt and wiping away my mess. I flip my hat on, snagging my protein shaker bottle from the passenger’s seat floor as I try to disguise the real reason I’m covered head to toe in sweat. I do my best to control my breathing, still running high from my climax, hit with the post-nut clarity that she may have seen it all.

She looks happy to see me… Real happy. Y/n smiles, making my heart race again as I meet her gorgeous eyes. She greets me happily, trotting up to my truck. “How are you doin’, sweetheart?”

She dunks her hand into the soapy bucket, grabbing a sponge. “Livin’ the dream,” y/n smiles, moving closer than expected. I take in her perfume, already so familiar to me, the smell of it revving me right up again.

“Sorry. I’m a sweaty mess,” I sigh. Her gaze falls down my body, studying me with a bashful smile.

“Just got done with a workout?” She asks.

“Mhmm…” I smile and nod in reply. “Pay now? Pay later?” I invite as I snag my wallet.

“Now,” she sings. “Donation based, so whatever you’re willing to give.” I thumb through my wallet, plucking out $200.

“Rafe…” She breathes, taking it off my hands. “Are you sure? This is a little much.” Y/n looks down at the cash in her hands before meeting my eyes again.

“Positive,” I assure.

“Well, that is very nice, Rafe Cameron,” she coos. Y/n uses my last name, making my stomach drop. She wouldn’t have known my last name unless she did some digging. I didn’t give it to her; I never said anything in class before today. She must have looked me up on Instagram or Snapchat… Maybe she asked one of her sisters about me.

I fight off a wide smile as she gets started on the car. She takes her time, putting in a little more effort than the cars before. She walks to the front of the cab, leaning over, breast jiggling as she swirls and circles the sponge on the hood. She rises a little higher on her tippy toes, unable to reach the rest.

“Here you go, babe.” Her friend sets down a ladder for Y/n. She bends over once more, the angle alone making my cock rock hard again as I imagine us fucking raw. Tonight… I’ll bend her over on the bathroom counter, just like she is now, the bass of the party on the street not even loud enough to cover her cries and my moans. I’ll pound into her as the slaps of our skin fill the bathroom. Her eyes shift to mine, catching my stare. She doesn’t drop focus, keeping her eyes on me as she continues to scrub. A smirk spreads on her lips, mirroring my own.

Baby girl…

Y/n steps down from the ladder before walking to her friend, grabbing the hose off her hands; taking her job instead. She sprays down the truck, cleaning off the suds. The light breeze catches the flow of water, sending little beads of it flying, catching on her perfect skin. My mouth waters as I imagine licking the glaze of it off her skin. Fuck… I don’t think I can take this.

“Alright, Mr. Cameron. You’re all set,” she smiles as she eyes her work. I bite my lip and nod.

“Thank you, princess. See you tonight.”

I pull forward, watching her from my wing mirror as she greets the next car. Her excitement fades as she welcomes the next. Good fuckin’ girl.

Next stop, Phi Mu.

𝓟𝓪𝓻𝓽 2

tag list and masterlist on my pinned post

@starkeysprincess @rafesthroatbaby @gri959 @loserboysandlithium @sabrina-carpenter-stan-account @akobx @darlydixon83 @hyperfixationgirl @savayvayblr-blog @oxpogues4lifexo @rafesgiirl @sleepiibunniiii

[girliism]

nerdy!art who based on his physique and good looks should be getting any and every girl he wants but instead he chooses to hide away in his books. he’s top of all his classes and does extra credit work for fun on the weekends, according to his roommate patrick he’s kind of a loser that needs to get out more. patrick invites him out to a lot of parties but art just ends up in the corner nursing only one drink before leaving early.

you were the opposite everyone on campus knew you. you went to every party thrown but you weren’t some slut you just liked being around people. now you weren’t stupid by any means but you also weren’t top of your classes.

“what do you mean i’m failing.” you looked at your math professor who just told you that if you don’t pass this upcoming test you’d fail his class. “i don’t think you’re understanding the material very well that’s why i assigned you a tutor.” a tall blonde with thick rimmed glasses walks up to your professors desk. “this is art, i’ve asked him to help.” art gave you a small wave. you’ve seen art around campus sitting under trees reading or stuck in the corner at a party. he was quiet only spoke when spoken to, you had no idea he was even in this class.

art cleared his throat. “you can come by my dorm tomorrow if you’re free.” art held on the door for you to walk out of. “tomorrows fine with me. you’re patrick’s roommate right?” art nodded “cool! i can get your dorm number from a friend of mine.” you smiled big at him. art gave you a closed mouth smile back before you guys waved goodbye.

“can you please not be here when she comes over.” it was saturday the day of yours and art’s tutoring session and he’s been cleaning up their dorm. “right i forgot you’re having a girl over.” patrick says raising eyebrows up and down before placing his cereal bowl in the sink not bothering to wash it. art pushes his glasses back up his nose bridge. “we’re just studying.” he mumbles going to wash patrick’s dish. patrick ended up leaving so art had the dorm to himself when you showed.

you sat on the couch in their dorm studying the place instead of the math problem art was trying to explain. “you got lucky pairing with zweig this dorm is partially an apartment.” art stopped talking to look around his dorm before shrugging going back to teaching you. “ugh i’m so jealous i’d kill for a dorm this big-” “you like to distracted yourself from your work when you don’t understand it.” art said cutting you off. you just stared at him not knowing what to say. art senses the awkward tension he created. “i’m sorry i didn’t mean to make you feel bad just if you payed attention i think you could really get it.” art spoke softly and you just nodded finally shutting up and listening to him.

studying with art was kinda fun. every saturday you’d meet at his dorm and listen to explain more in depth what your professor didn’t. at first art was very rigid but after a while you got him to loosen up. he now laughed openly with you and made stupid math jokes.

“ART!” you ran over to where he was sitting under a tree. art closed his book standing up when he saw you rushing toward him. “look what i did.” you shoved you test paper in his face smiling. “a B congratulations you’ve officially passed.” you couldn’t contain the squeal that came out of you when you pulled art into a tight hug. “no thanks to you. how will i ever repay you.” you pouted. art just shook his head saying there was no need. you gasp. “delta phi is having a party tonight you have to come and hang out with me.” the second art heard the frat name he was already declining. “parties aren’t really my thing.” art scratches at the back of his head. “bullshit dondalson, you saved me from failing which mean we have to celebrate. you’re coming weither you like it or not.” you gave art an excited smile and he gave you a nervous one back.

(a part 2 will be happening 🙏🏽) part 2.

[whytheylosttheirminds]

june gloom - part 2: is this gonna end ever?

(Rafe Cameron x pogue!reader, 6.9k words)

part 1

summary: Six months after Rafe walked out of your life, you're finally picking up the shattered pieces he left in his wake. When you accidentally find yourself working at his wedding, your thrown right back into the chaos you thought you were free from.

content: angst/smut, 18+ minors do not interact!, mentions of alcohol abuse and drugs, mentions of cheating, what could be considered infiedelity

a/n: as a fair warning, the angst only gets worse in this one. however, I promise the third and final part will see a satisfying and happy ending for these two if you stick with me. also, this one got wordy, but after struggling with it for a while i'm very happy with how it turned out. thank you to this anon for inspo and for everyone's support on pt. 1.

₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:･˚₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:･˚₊ *˚˚₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:･˚₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:･˚₊ *˚˚₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:･˚₊

Crickets chirped a chorus around you as you laid back on the flannel blanket, the grass beneath making a soft pillow for your head. Your lips wrapped around the blunt, lungs expanding to welcome the smoke. You hummed in pleasure as the high-end strain went down way smoother than any of the trash you would usually get on The Cut.

“God, this is good shit,” you said with a lazy smile.

“Only the best for you,” Rafe smirked, leaning over on the blanket to pull the joint from your lips so he could join in your revelry.

He took a long drag and let it go in a smoke ring that rose above you and disappeared into the starry sky. You tried and failed to stifle your laugh.

“What’s funny?” He asked, eyes glazed over with his high.

“Nothing,” you chuckled. “Just…what frat house did you learn that in?”

“Shut up,” he teased back, making you laugh harder.

“No, I’m sure the sorority girls found that very sexy,” you continued.

“They did actually, thank you,” he joked. “You would’ve too.”

“Yeah right, I’d make a great Phi Beta Whateverthefuck,” you huffed sarcastically.

“Did you go to college?” He asked.

You’d known Rafe for about three months, spending nearly every night together since you first met at that club. You had talked about just about everything under the sun except yourselves, you were caught off-guard by this excavation into your history.

“Um, no,” you answered, taking the blunt back from him.

“Why not?”

You shrugged, taking another hit, “didn’t wanna.”

“Do you regret it?” He continued.

You sat up and pulled your knees to your chest, looking down at him with a frown.

“What?” He questioned.

“Why the sudden interest?” You said, harsher and less playful than you’d intended to.

Rafe sat up next to you, pulling his knees towards himself to mirror you. His eyes were intense on your face as he mumbled, “you don’t want me to get to know you?”

Truthfully, you wanted that and so much more, but you couldn’t tell him that. You knew this was just a way for him to pass the time until he could get you in bed again, and maybe you were okay with that. You decided you’d entertain the line of questioning, just this once, not knowing then that this was just the first of many deep, meaningful conversations you’d share with him.

You took a deep breath and said, “what do you want to know?”

He looked up at the stars as he considered the answer to that question. You took the opportunity to admire the way the moonlight reflected off of the sharp angle of his jaw.

He decided on “what’s your biggest dream?”

You bit your lip and looked down at your bare feet, digging them into the blanket, not used to this kind of conversation and yet feeling curiously comfortable opening up to him.

“I want to go to India,” you answered honestly. “I read a book when I was a kid about a little girl who grew up in India and I’ve wanted to go ever since.”

Rafe nodded in approval, “that’s a good one. You should go.”

“Yeah, as soon as I win the lottery, it’ll be my first stop,” you joked bitterly.

“Or I could just take you,” he shrugged.

You smiled at him, incredulous. 

“What?” He asked, genuinely unsure of the meaning behind the look you were giving him. You realized he might actually be serious, even though you knew it would never really happen.

“Nothing. That’s sweet,” you smiled. “But I want to get there on my own. I wanna earn it.”

“I can respect that,” he conceded. 

“Anytime you wanna lend me that private jet, though, just hit me up,” you teased.

Rafe chuckled, eyebrows raised, “oh I see…you’re using me.”

“I thought that was obvious,” you smiled coyly. 

“Uh-huh,” Rafe said, playfully shoving your shoulders so you fell back onto the blanket. 

You giggled as he climbed over you, caging you in between his arms as he held himself up, looking down at you, tucked perfectly beneath him.

“I think I’m okay with that.”

He leaned down and kissed you, his tongue sweeping over your bottom lip tenderly, lowering himself down until you were chest to chest…

“Are you listening to me?”

Your friend waved her hand in front of your face, trying to get your attention.

“Sorry, what?” You were pulled from your thoughts.

“I said they want us there at four this friday,” she showed you an email on her phone.

“Oh,” you blinked, coming back to the moment. “Where is it?”

“Some mansion on Figure 8. It’s a wedding, but they're doing like a whole weekend thing, so it’s Friday through Sunday. Last time I worked one of these I made over five hundred.”

When she first told you about the catering gig this weekend, you turned her down. You’d been carefully avoiding the north part of the island for the last six months, and a whole weekend would be a high-risk endeavor. However, you didn’t have to check your bank account to know you were near broke, and Figure 8 was where the real money was made. You agreed and ironed your white button down and black slacks, your go-to outfit for catering gigs.

As you pulled up to the address your friend had sent you, you cursed under your breath. The estate was huge, the old house immaculately kept and towering proudly under a crystal blue sky. You turned down the radio as your beat up car sputtered its way up the long, grand drive.

“We’re definitely not on the south side anymore,” you joked to yourself. 

You pulled around back to the service entrance as directed by your friend’s text and tracked her down in the crowd of other blue collar workers. Everyone was moving quickly, arranging the massive party space according to the wishes of some unseen bride and groom. 

You were put to work right away, polishing silverware and arranging it as instructed by the very specific, color-coded diagram you had been given. Tonight was only the rehearsal dinner, and there were two-hundred names on the guestlist. You chatted with your friend as you did various other chores, speculating about who could possibly be the owner of this massive property.

“Maybe it’s a crime lord,” your friend joked. “Like some mafia type shit.”

“Maybe it’s a celebrity,” you guessed. 

You didn’t have to wonder for long. 

“Hey! A little help here!” A delivery driver called to you as he struggled to lift something large and rectangular out of his truck, the mystery item protected with a large, black sheet.

You ran over to give him a hand, and he directed you to a big easel he had set out, “picture of the happy couple,” he explained. You called your friend over, informing her you were about to have all your questions answered.

Once you had set the canvas down, you asked the delivery driver if you could remove the sheet. “I don’t give a fuck, my job’s done,” he said, hopping back in his truck and driving off. You and your friend giggled as you did a little countdown and drumroll routine. You pulled the sheet away and her mouth fell open

“Of fucking course,” she immediately took out her phone to take a picture.

You stepped back to look at the giant, blown up portrait. Every muscle in your body tensed and the blood drained from your face, you grabbed the back of a nearby chair for support. 

There on the oversized canvas, smiling that perfect, crooked, arrogant, beautiful smile, was Rafe Cameron.

He had his arm around the woman you recognized to be the one he’d left you for, calling off your whirlwind love affair in pursuit of something more optically appealing to his family. He’d found it; they were gorgeous together.

Six months had passed since you’d last seen him. The first few months were the hardest you’d ever faced. At first, you went out almost every night, needing to stay shitfaced to keep your mind from wandering to him or your fingers from dialing his number. Eventually, you had to delete him from your phone, not trusting yourself in those late night moments when you missed him so much you thought you might die. No amount of booze or weed could make you forget the feeling of his hands on your body, the sound of his voice, the look in his eyes when he fucked you that last time. Your friends started getting worried. You blacked out so often, you couldn’t keep a job. After three or four months of your reckless behavior, they called a sort of intervention and convinced you to calm down. 

You decided if you were going to be alone, you’d make yourself good company. 

You stopped drinking, and even gave up cigarettes. It took several false starts, but the patch got you through it. You picked up good habits, too, starting your mornings with yoga and meditation. You were planning to go back to school, tired of career-hopping through dead-end minimum wage jobs. You stopped eating take out so much, started grocery shopping and saving every spare cent you had for a travel fund. You even cut and dyed your hair, finding freedom in the ability to change whenever you wanted, in the fluidity of answering to no one but yourself. You were still untamed, but for the first time in your life, you felt a semblance of control. You decided you’d build a beautiful life even if you had to scratch and claw your way to it. And you’d do it all by yourself.

Slowly, and with the most effort you’d given anything ever, you were finally starting to get over Rafe Cameron.

Or so you thought. Now, standing in his backyard, decorating for his wedding, you felt like you were right back where you were that night in June, lying naked on your bed while he walked out of your life forever.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” A high-pitched, angry voice startled you, pulling your eyes away from the picture.

You whipped your head around to see her, even more stunning than she was in pictures, her wide Disney-princess eyes shooting daggers at you. Your first and most irrational thought was that she somehow knew who you were. The delusion of that concept was quickly made apparent.

“The picture was supposed to stay covered until tonight,” she barked at you and your friend, who looked at you with wide-eyed panic. “Aren’t you the fucking caterers? Why are you even out here?”

“S-sorry,” you stammered out, your mind reeling as it tried to connect to your reality. You picked up the sheet off the ground. “We’ll cover it back up.”

“No, don’t touch it! Where’s your manager?” She demanded, her hands on her hips. “They need to know about this. What are your names?”

Your friend looked at you with wide eyes, you knew she needed this job even more desperately than you did. Plus, she’d stuck her neck out to get you hired and now she’d lose the money and her credibility.

“It was me,” you blurted out. “Not her. Don’t worry, you don’t need to get anyone fired, I’ll just leave.”

It wasn’t a big sacrifice, considering you were already thinking if you stayed another minute you might have a full blown panic attack. At least if you threw yourself under the bus and got fired, your friend would have no reason to question why you ran from the property crying.

“Fine, whatever,” she dismissed your act of loyalty with a wave of her manicured hand while your friend looked at you with grateful eyes. “What’s your name then?”

“Don’t worry about it,” you handed her the sheet, which she snatched from your hands irritably. “I’ll just go.”

You tried to keep your composure as you walked back toward the house, praying you’d remember your way back to your car. Your heart was pounding, your anxiety and shock threatening to bubble over, you could feel tears springing up and your hands shaking.

You rounded one of the many corners of the massive house, finally out of her line of vision, and broke into a sprint. You passed through another courtyard, where more preparations were underway. There were far too many eyes on you. If you remembered correctly, there was only one more turn before the part of the property you were parked on.

Dirt crunching under your feet, you slid around the corner and straight into something hard and large. You let out a sharp “ouch” as your face burned with the force of the collision. To your horror, you realized you’d run into a person. You kept your eyes low, looking at the man’s feet as you held a hand over your face, wondering for a moment if you’d broken your nose. Then, a familiar scent flooded your senses, and you felt a large hand rest on your shoulder. 

“Woah, I’m sorry, are you okay?” Rafe’s voice asked, clearly unaware of who he was talking to, you looked so different than you did six months ago.

You raised your wide eyes to look at him, hand still cradling your throbbing nose. You took him in through rapidly blinking lashes, begging yourself not to cry. His face shifted slowly from concern for a stranger to recognition of someone all too familiar.

He pulled his hand from you in shock, his mouth opening and closing and opening again, trying to form words that just weren’t coming. You knew you needed to get out of there before they did.

“I’m fine,” you said firmly, hoping he understood you were talking about more than just your injured face.

You sidestepped him and kept running, leaving him standing wide eyed and ashen faced as he watched you get into your car and peel away from his home, and away from him. 

₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:･˚₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:･˚₊ *˚˚₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:･˚₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:･˚₊ *˚˚₊ ˚ ‧₊

The key rattled against the lock, your hands shaking as you tried to get into your apartment. When you finally got the door opened, you peeled off your clothes quickly, as if they were covered in something radioactive. You pulled on a tank and some sleep shorts, fully ready to get in bed and stay there for days. Everything in you was unraveling. The sight and sound of him undoing the steel backbone you had built for yourself. You climbed under the covers, curled into a ball, and sobbed.

You cried so hard, it knocked you out. Without trying to, your body fell into a hazy, uneasy kind of sleep, haunted by images of Rafe. When you woke, blinking confusedly at the fuzzy outline of the time on your alarm clock, it was dark outside. The clock read 11:03pm. You pulled yourself from your bed with a groan, craving something to comfort you in your post-meltdown emptiness.

As you stood at the sink, filling the kettle for some tea, your mind replayed the events of the day. He’s getting married tomorrow. The rehearsal dinner that you helped set up for was probably over by now. You pictured him saying goodnight to her with a kiss, hanging his tux for the morning, making sure he had the rings ready. You already knew you’d lost him, but the permanence of tomorrow’s events felt like a boot on the neck of the small part of you that still wondered what if.

Your phone rang out loudly on the kitchen table, making you jump, so startled you almost dropped the tea kettle, the water now overflowing. You set the kettle down on the stove and turned on the burner before looking at your phone screen, which read “unknown number.” You hit decline and let it go to voicemail. After a minute, you poured your tea and sat at the table, watching as your phone lit up again with notification of a new voicemail. You unlocked it and pressed play.

You knew the voice immediately, though it was coming out slurred and strained. You clutched the phone to your ear with both hands to hear better.

“Heyyyy baby. It’s me. I’m sorry for calling so many times, blowin’ up your phone and you’re probably out somewhere, looking fuckin’ gorgeous like always. Shit there’s probably guys lined up to take you home. Do you remember when we met? Fuck you looked so hot. I thought if you said no to going home with me I might literally die. But you said yes! You said yes and you took me home and we, fuck…god…it was so good, you’re so good. Not just the sex. I mean, yes your pussy is so perfect, but…shit it’s raining…but you were- you are…jesus Rafe get it together. I can’t remember what I was saying. I’m so drunk, I- ouch, fuck!- I miss you, baby. It's cold out here but I don’t care, I couldn’t be there anymore. I couldn’t listen to them talk about this fucking wedding. Fucking flowers and table settings and shit I don’t care about any of that…just, please…baby…I need-”

Your phone beeped loudly, the voicemail cut off for length. You replayed it, twice. Outside your kitchen window, you could see the rain getting heavy. The low was in the 30s tonight, and it was supposed to keep raining for hours. You couldn’t hear much in the background behind Rafe’s drunken rambling, but you could tell he was outside. You pictured him stumbling into a ditch somewhere. He had hurt himself on the voicemail, did he fall? You couldn’t stand the thought of him alone, out in the cold rain, hurt.

Despite every instinct, you pulled up the number he called from and texted him.

Today 11:14pm

Where are you?

Today 11:16pm

‘Unknown’ shared their location with you.

You grabbed your coat and keys and ran out the door before you had time to second guess yourself. You found him lying on the beach, his clothes soaked through from the rain that was still falling heavily. He’d clearly thrown up, just a few feet from where he was laying now. You ran to his side and quickly checked that he was breathing.

“Jesus, Rafe,” you recoiled at the overwhelming aroma of booze radiating off of him.

His eyes flew open at the sound of your voice. 

“Baby?” he groaned.

“We gotta get out of here, Rafe,” you struggled to help him up.

With an enormous amount of effort, you got him into your car. He leaned his head against the cold window as you drove, his breath fogging up the glass with each exhale. You looked over at him every few seconds to make sure he was still conscious. 

Once in your apartment, stumbling through the door with his arm over your shoulder, you led him into the bathroom, guiding him to sit on the edge of the tub while you ran the shower, water heating slowly.

You tapped his arms. 

“Up,” you instructed. He lifted his arms obediently and looked up at you through half-lidded eyes as you peeled off his wet polo, doing everything you could to avoid staring at his bare torso.

“Think you can do the rest yourself?” You motioned to his lower half.

“No,” he said with a smirk.

“Rafe,” you warned, not playing around.

“I can do the rest myself,” he said with his hands up in defense. 

You left him in the bathroom fumbling with his belt. While he showered, you brewed a pot of coffee and poured two steaming mugs, sitting uneasily at the table when he finally emerged from the bathroom. He was in only his boxers and you blushed aggressively, as if you hadn’t seen him naked a hundred times before. He caught the redness in your cheeks as you looked down at your hands, swallowing hard.

“Sorry,” he said earnestly. “My clothes are still wet.”

You pushed back your chair and walked to your bedroom, returning with folded clothes in your hands. He looked suspiciously at the men’s t-shirt and basketball shorts you gave him, cocking his eyebrow at you. You just glared back at him, tilting your head slightly as if to say I dare you to give me shit about where I got them. He didn’t push it, pulling them on wordlessly.

“Coffee?” You offered once he was dressed.

“Please,” he slumped into the chair across from you, sipping the coffee with a sigh.

“Feeling better?” You asked.

“Much better, thanks,” he said. “Never mix rum and redbull.”

You snorted, “I could’ve told you that.”

“Well you weren’t there were you?” The sentence started playfully but ended with a bite.

You sipped your coffee, wondering who would be first to acknowledge the elephant in the room. You sat in silence for a few minutes, both drinking your coffee and letting the air grow thick between you.

Finally, he caved and spoke first, “why’d you leave?”

“Why would I stay?” You responded, voice dripping with spite.

“I- I guess I don’t know.” Now it was Rafe avoiding your eyes.

“Does she know…about me?” You asked timidly.

“No,” he mumbled, before sipping up the last drop of his coffee.

“And where does she think you are right now?” 

“My bachelor party.”

“We should get you back there, then.” You stood and collected both mugs, bringing them to the sink.

Rafe scoffed, “you’re kicking me out again?”

“I never kicked you out, Rafe. You left,” you said, clutching the edge of the sink, bracing for an argument.

But he didn’t argue, he just let the silence settle between you for a long moment before finally saying, “I wish I hadn’t. I miss you.”

You turned, expecting to find him still slumped over the table, but he had stood and was now startlingly close. You jolted, squaring your shoulders in defense as he got closer to you.

“Don’t say that,” you pleaded. “I can’t do this with you.”

“Then why’d you come get me?” He asked, his eyelids low as he looked down at you. “Why’d you bring me here?

“Why’d you call me?” You asked back.

“I asked you first,” he said, no playful smile to match his childish words.

“Why does it matter?” You sighed.

“‘Cause it does, it matters to me, please just give me a reason,” his voice grew more desperate as he stepped even closer to you, his looming body caging you against the sink. He searched your face as he waited for you to respond, needing an answer you couldn’t give him.

“Are you gonna marry her?” Your words tightened the tension already growing between you, causing Rafe to close his eyes in frustration.

“I don’t want to talk about her,” he shook his head. 

Rafe lifted his hand slowly, placing it on your waist. He squeezed gently at the soft skin of your side. You leaned into his touch for just a second before coming to your senses.

“Are you? Going to marry her?” You repeated stubbornly.

“Yes,” He said, eyes falling from your face to his hand on your side.

“Then you shouldn’t be touching me,” you grabbed Rafe’s hand and lowered it from you. “I won’t be a mistress. I won’t be that dirty pogue who fucks a married guy, I wanna be something better than that.” 

You slipped out from between him and the sink, pacing to the other side of the room, but his body turned aggressively to follow you.

“You are. You’re so much better,” his voice cracked with urgency as he rushed to reassure you.

You shook your head in anger, raising your voice as you snapped, “then why are you marrying someone else?”

“Because I have to!” He matched your heated tone, as if he was the one to have something to be mad about.

“We’re going in circles, Rafe! We are in the exact same spot we were six months ago! Except I’m a different person now. It changed me, losing you. I got better, I got healthy, I got sober. I got over you!” You were yelling now, searching for the words to make him understand that he wasn’t the only one who had something to lose now.

“Well I didn’t get over you,” he stated simply.

“No, you got engaged,” you pointed out.

“Fuck that, fuck her, you know I don’t love her!” He scoffed. “You saw her today, you know she’s a bitch.”

“That’s really nice, Rafe, you should put that in your vows,” you huffed sarcastically.

“Oh c’mon, she doesn’t love me either,” he rolled his eyes. “She still fucks around, everyone knows it.”

He said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world, but it took you by surprise. You searched his face for a sign as to whether it was true or just something he made up to make you sympathize with him. The way his eyes fell to the ground and the apples of his cheeks blushed slightly told you it was true, she cheated on him, and he was ashamed of it. It made you sick, the thought of someone having him so close and caring so little. The only thing worse than the thought of her treating him like that was the thought of him accepting it as if it was what he deserved. You should’ve felt sad for him, but it just made you angrier.

“Then why, Rafe? Why?” You knew you were becoming a broken record but you just could not wrap your head around his choice. “Why are you still with her?” You hated the way it made you sound like you were blaming him for her actions, but you needed to understand.

“Because I’m going to have to end up with someone like her anyway, I may as well just get it over with,” he said with a resigned shake of his head.

“That’s fucked up, Rafe,” you said, even though you knew he already knew it.

“It is what it is,” he shrugged, defeated.

Your eyes caught the clock on your stove. It was almost 1am. Rafe was supposed to be saying his vows in twelve hours, and you knew if he stood here in your apartment for another minute, looking at you so helplessly, you’d crumble for him.

“I think you should go home,” you said, trying and failing to mean it.

“Not yet,” Rafe said, his tone implying there was something more he was waiting for.

And even though you wanted to, you just couldn’t give it to him. 

Mustering the last of your pride, you took a deep breath and said, “If you’re waiting for me to ask you not to marry her, we’re both gonna be disappointed. I’ve been doing good, Rafe. I got my life together, and I won’t be responsible for ruining someone else’s. It’s not on me, you have to decide. If you don’t want to marry her, then don’t marry her. But do it for you, because I’ve got me covered.”

Rafe considered your words, standing completely still as they washed over him. He had to choose. He could either ruin his reputation and potentially lose his family to be happy with you or keep the lifestyle he’d grown so accustomed to and be miserable with her. He looked so sad, and you desperately wanted to ask him what he was thinking, but you stayed silent, wanting him to say what he was feeling all on his own for once. You needed a simple answer.

But Rafe Cameron never did anything the simple way.

He didn’t say anything,  he just started walking toward you. Once he was close enough to touch you, and your back was against the wall, he reached up to touch your face gently with one finger, silently asking if you were still in pain from your collision earlier. When you didn’t wince or push him away, he leaned down, bringing his lips dangerously close to yours.

“Just one more time, please. Don’t kick me out, be with me one more time,” he whispered against your skin.

You shook your head slowly, whispering back, “I won’t kick you out, but I also won’t let you touch me and then marry her.”

“Fine, I won’t touch you.” 

Rafe leaned back, only slightly, pulling his face away so you were level with his chest. He folded his hands behind his back to show you he meant it. You could smell his familiar musk, his chest so close to your face you could hear his heartbeat as you looked up at the pulsing veins in his neck. His hair, still wet from the shower, flopped messily over his forehead. A single drop fell from his bangs and landed on your collarbone. Rafe’s eyes darkened as he tracked the droplet rolling across your exposed skin, down your chest, over the curve of your tits and finally disappearing into your tank top.

Eyes locked to Rafe’s, you lifted your hand slowly, placing it over the spot the water had fallen, sliding your fingers delicately down the drop’s path. When you reached the neckline of your tank top, Rafe’s eyes consuming every movement, you reached up with your other hand and lowered one of the straps of your top slowly. You dragged your hand down further, cupping your breast through your lacy bralette and biting your lip at the pressure.

Rafe’s jaw clenched. He put one hand on the wall next to your head to steady himself, bringing his body impossibly closer while still not touching you. His other hand fell to his side, moving dangerously close to his dick.

“You better not touch yourself either, or I swear to god I’ll stop,” you warned him.

“Don’t stop,” He brought the drifting hand up to the wall on the other side of your head. “Please, baby.”

Butterflies erupted in your stomach at his voice, raspy and strained with need. With two hands on the hem of your shirt, you pulled it slowly over your head, leaving you in just the see-through undergarment. 

“Take that off too,” Rafe tried to sound dominant, but his voice cracked, betraying him.

“You’re not in any position to make demands,” you scolded with a shake of your head. “And you’re not going to see me naked. You have a fianceé for that.”

Rafe was pained by this, his nostrils flailing as he clenched his jaw in frustration. You ignored him and put your hands back on your body, palming both of your tits again before trailing lower over your stomach. Rafe’s tongue darted out of his mouth and licked his lips as he watched the way your stomach flexed with anticipation, hands finally landing on the waistband of your sleep shorts. One hand pulled the elastic back while the other slid beneath it slowly. When your fingers ran over the fabric of your panties, teasing your clothed clit, your head fell back against the wall and your jaw fell slack. Rafe ran one of his hands through his hair as he watched pleasure flood your face, desperate to touch something, anything. The hand still on the wall closed into a fist. You started rubbing circles over your clit through your panties, the fabric already soaked through, wet since the sight of him in his boxers. Your breath hitched when you found the perfect rhythm and you closed your eyes tight, a melodic moan rising from your throat.

“Fuck baby, you’re so fucking sexy,” Rafe growled through gritted teeth.

Your eyes flew open and you pulled your hand from your shorts, suddenly very aware of the lack of space between you and the vulgarity of what you were doing. You slid under his arm and hurried to the other side of the kitchen.

“You should go,” you whispered, wrapping your arms around yourself and shivering at the sudden loss of his warmth.

Rafe stayed still, trying not to spook you. His head dipped low, looking down at his ringing hands.

“I missed you,” he mumbled helplessly.

“You mean you missed fucking me?” You asked spitefully.

One agonizingly slow step at a time, Rafe crossed the room. You turned from him as if to push him away, literally giving him the cold shoulder. But he wasn’t deterred, he just got closer and closer until he was right behind you, close enough for his breath to sweep across your shoulder as he said, “yeah, what if I do? I miss it so much. There’s not a day that passes without me wishing I was here, fucking you so good you scream my name.”

His arrogant words made you so fucking angry, and so fucking wet.

What little resistance you had mustered disappeared. Breathless, you whispered, “what else do you miss?”

“I miss your little moans,” he continued, the corner of his lips raising slightly at the sight of the goosebumps that shot up your arms. “I bet you still cry out for me when you make yourself come, don’t you? I want you to show me.”

“We can’t do this,” you shook your head.

“No, I can’t do this,” he corrected you. “You can do whatever you want.”

No fight left, you took his suggestion, and soon you were laying back on your bed, your shorts thrown on the floor, your hand moving feverishly under your panties. Rafe laid next to you, his body drawn in as close as it could possibly get while keeping his promise not to touch you. You’d made no such promise, the hand you weren’t rubbing over your slick folds gripping his arm for purchase as you moaned at your own touch.

“Talk to me,” you begged.

“Yeah?” He said excitedly, as if he had been waiting for permission. 

You nodded desperately, bringing your eyes to his as one of your fingers dropped down to enter yourself.

“You remember the first time we fucked?” He began. “Right here on this bed. I took you from behind. You were so tight around my cock, like you were fucking made for me.”

You added a second finger, driven by his filthy words. His jaw clenched, restraining himself with more effort than he’d ever given anything as he watched you writhe.

“Keep going,” you whined, eyes squeezed shut.

“I had to turn you around, I had to see that pretty face when you came for me for the first time,” he recalled. “God, I bet you wish it was me stretching you out right now, don’t you? You wish it was my cock pounding you into the mattress until you can’t breathe, huh?”

“Mhm,” you nodded, lips pouting, overwhelmed by the memories and your need to feel him.

“Best pussy I’ve ever had,” he groaned, feeling himself twitching in his pants, desperate for his own release but committed to yours. “I need to see you come, baby, one more time. Please come for me?”

You cried out as you clenched around your own fingers, their size so inadequate with him so close, knowing what he could be doing to you. But you meant what you said, you couldn’t let him touch you, not while his bride was sleeping just across town, no idea her groom was in some pogue’s bed, begging her to come for him. Maybe it was sick, but the thought of him being so desperate for you that he was risking everything with her made your thighs clench around your hand, nearing the edge.

“Tell me about the first time you saw me,” you pleaded, the rasp in your voice warning him you were close. 

“Holy shit, baby, you were so fucking sexy,” he said, rising up from the bed and propping himself on his arm to hover over you, the proximity throwing you into even more of a frenzy. “Dancing in that club, the way you move, shit, I wanted to lay you down on that dancefloor and fuck you right there. So did every other guy in there. But they didn’t get to have you, I did. And I’ve never been the same since I first touched you.”

It was all too much, his words, the memory, the sensation of your fingers sliding in and out so easily, the way he was talking making you so wet. Your high crashed into you like a truck, your back arching off the bed, your chest bumping into his as you came with his name on your lips.

“There she is, that’s my girl,” Rafe exhaled as you rode out your high. Eventually, your muscles gave out from the pleasure and you slumped back into the bed.

He watched you in rapture as your chest rose and fell with labored breaths, struggling to recover. Neither of you knew what to do next, the shock of what just happened washing over you. Your body was so exhausted from the chaos of the day and the aftershocks of your orgasm, all you wanted was him, and you were too tired to fight it.

“Rafe?” You whispered into the darkness of your bedroom, the light of the moon the only thing illuminating the small space.

“Yeah?” He whispered back.

“Can you hold me?” Your voice sounded so small, and you hated the vulnerability of your request, but at this moment the only thing you wanted in the world was to feel his arms around you.

“I thought you didn’t want me to touch you?” He teased gently.

“I said I’m getting better, not that I’m perfect,” you smiled, turning your body towards him. “And I want to know what it feels like to fall asleep in your arms. Just once.”

“Is it gonna be an issue?” He asked. You knew what he really meant was, “are you going to regret sleeping with an engaged man?”

The answer was yes, but you didn’t care.

“Just let me be a little selfish,” you said, turning around so your back was against his chest, pulling his arm around you. “I had you first.”

“You still have me,” he whispered against your neck, pulling your body into his.

“Shhh,” you said, lifting your fingers gently to his lips. “Go to sleep, Rafe.”

He smiled and did as he was told.

₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:･˚₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:･˚₊ *˚˚₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:･˚₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:･˚₊ *˚˚₊ ˚ ‧₊

The sunlight landing on your face is what woke you from the deepest and sweetest sleep you’d had in six months. Your first instinct was to smile, humming in satisfaction as you stretched your well rested muscles.

Your second instinct was to reach for him. 

You shouldn’t be surprised, shouldn’t pull your knees to your chest, shouldn’t be crying alone in your cold bed. Of course he left. He was always going to leave.

Some small, pathetic voice in the back of your mind said, “maybe he just went to break things off with her.”

Even though it made you feel like the most pitiful girl in the world, you checked his location, still available from the night before. He was on Figure 8, the address you had gone to yesterday. He was at his wedding. 

He had wanted you to ask him not to marry her. He never would’ve said it, but you could see it on his face. He had too much to lose, too many people depending on him, too much weight on his shoulders. But maybe he would’ve given it all up, if only you’d asked.

You threw your phone across the room in frustration. Maybe you should’ve just asked him to stay with you, maybe you should’ve put your pride aside this one time, maybe this was all your fault. 

You were up and out of bed before you had time to talk yourself out of it. You pulled on your catering clothes from the night before. Surely, they wouldn’t let you in the gate if you looked like some wedding crashing pogue, but maybe you could slip in undetected if it seemed like you still worked there.

You don’t even remember driving there, your stomach on fire with nerves and something that might even be excitement, as you raced across the island. The clock in your car read 1:03pm, and you prayed to whatever god was listening that the ceremony had started late.

As you planned, they let you right in the gate when you said you were with the caterer. You didn’t even bother to park at the service entrance, your tires squealing as you came to a stop right in front of the house, leaving the engine running as you ran towards the ceremony site. You could hear music playing in the distance, hoping it was the processional. 

But when you turned the corner, you heard a large crowd break into applause. You came to a halt, backing up to hide under the cover of a tree a few yards from the end of the aisle. You watched as Rafe appeared, his beaming bride on his arm. He dipped her low, giving her a kiss as the crowd cheered again, the gold ring on his left hand glinting in the sunlight.

You were too late.

₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:･˚₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:･˚₊ *˚˚₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:･˚₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:･˚₊ *˚˚₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:･˚₊ ˚ ‧₊

pt. 3 coming soon

[withahappyrefrain]

FRAT TASM!PETER WITH

“I had a dream about you last night. Woke up hard/wet. Wanna hear about it?”

THIS IS SOMETHING THAT COCKY ASSHOLE WOULD SAYYY OH MY GOD

This is how blonde frat Peter returns bless you

Warning: language, frat Peter being a cocky little shit, female reader, I think that's it!

"Hey, you made it after all."

You audbily breathe in through your nose, trying to ignore the fumes of vodka and who knows what else was in this God forsaken jungle juice.

Anything to give you the strength to face Peter Parker.

You turn around to find him leaning against the door, a joint tucked behind his ear, hands in the pocket of his black hoodie, bleached blonde hair somehow perfectly messy.

"Don't get ahead of yourself Parker. I'm only here to support my roommate," you scoff, turning your attention back to the game of beer pong. Not that you were truly interested.

But you couldn't let him know that.

You regret being late to the first day of your Science Diplomacy & World Health class. Had you known it would have left you no choice but to sit next to Peter Parker, you wouldn't have hit the snooze button for your alarm five times.

It wasn't even like you had asked to borrow a pencil from him. He seemed drawn to you, like a moth to a flame.

"Y'know, I feel like I would have remembered a face like yours. You a transfer?" He asked, as if you two weren't in the middle of a lecture.

Thanks to your roommate being in the sorority that paired up with his frat, you had heard all about Peter Parker. The infamous parties. How he dyed his hair blonde at the beginning of sophomore. How he's the biggest flirt that Delta Lambda Phi had.

You didn't even look at him when you responded, "We've been in the same class since freshman year. But I came here to get a degree, not to party."

Ever since that day, he wouldn't leave you alone. At first it started with ridiculously over the top pick up lines.

"Are you made up of copper and tellurium? Because you're cute."

All you could do was roll your eyes at every line, mustering all the strength you had to not smile. You had eyes, the guy was cute. But you also knew his type.

So when he extended a personal invite to the latest frat party, you simply turned him down, like you had for countless of other parties.

Of course, as luck would have it, it was exactly the party your roommate wanted to go to.

You hoped to avoid him, hoped that your roommate would find whoever she was looking for so you could leave.

But it was as if Peter Parker had a sixth sense for you specifically. His inability to find you in libraries, dinning halls, and the university's coffee shop (bc fuck Starbucks) had now extended to frat parties.

"You know Parker, stalking is a serious crime," you scoff, refusing to look at him. The ever present scent of cinnamon alerted you that he was now standing next to you.

"It's not my fault you have a beautiful face that I could pick out from a crowd," He mumbles, a stark contrast to the usual cocky bravada you're used to.

"Excuse me?" Without thinking, you turn to face him, making contact with those big brown eyes.

The corner of his pink lips jerk upwards as he leans in, brushing a piece of hair out of your face. His touch is gentle, something you weren't expecting at all.

"You heard me." The cocky smile had returned, causing you to roll your eyes.

"Hey, don't gimme that. I know you love how cheesy I am."

Unfortunately, it was true. He was never crude and it somehow sounded genuine, despite being accompanied by a worn snapback.

"It's not crass, unlike your fellow brotherin. I'll give you that Parker." You would have taken a step back if you could, but you were now up against the wall. But he still had space to close in on you, not that he did. He always kept enough distance that you could walk away.

Come to think of it, you hadn't seen or heard him flirt with anyone since the first day of classes.

"Y'know, I got an offer from Delta Chi. It could be way worse." His comment earned a laugh from you, a feat Peter was quite proud of.

"You're right, I guess I should give you that."

"I think you can give me a lot more," He leaned in, closing some of the distance between you two but not all the way, "If you want."

The ball was in your court. His lips looked so soft, no doubt from the vanilla chapstick he used. God, why did you know that about him? And why did he always smell like cinnamon instead of Axe body spray? That's what he should be using, it would certainly make it easier for you to discourage your own feelings about the guy.

Tired of denying, tired of putting up a wall, and not kissing anyone in the last four months caused you to grab at his hoodie, your lips crashing onto his.

You vaguely register the sound of the dropped plastic cup, as your fingers thread through his hair to find it soft, despite all the hair dye and bleach.

Peter's hands feel large as they skim your sides, landing at your hips. When his tongue slid across your bottom lip, you could feel your knees begin to go weak. As if he could sense it, he pushed your back firmly against the wall, one of his large hands going down to your thigh to help steady you.

Fuck, his lips were soft. There was muscle underneath that hoodie, you could feel it.

His lips trailed down to your jaw before settling on your ear.

"I had a dream about you last night. Woke up hard. Wanna hear about it?"

Desire burned at the pit of your stomach, your fingers gripping the strands of his hair.

"Where the fuck is your bedroom Parker?"

[endless-ineffabilities]

Chemical Override (bonus chapter)

Ewan Mitchell x actress!reader

a/n: surprise! Something to tide you guys over until the heart-wrencher that is part five!! Y'know, gotta have some laughs before everything blows up 💣 or something like that :)

previous chapter ▪︎ series masterlist ▪︎ main masterlist

What happens when your castmates decide to have a drinking game based on yours and Ewan's interviews? Chaos. Absolute chaos.

"Is it just me or does my head look abnormally large in this?" comes Tom's query as they sit on the floor around the low table in Phia's living room.

Phia, Tom, and Olivia are snug on the carpet, legs strewn in varying postions, their attention on the laptop on the table.

"No, just you, mate," Phia responds.

"Nah, look at 'im," Olivia counters, "Looking like a right old egghead."

"I knew it," Tom clicks his tongue, smiling at the jab.

The friends were just having a nice time catching up in Phia's apartment, and after several coffees and rolled cigarettes, they found themselves nestled on the floor, beers in hand.

Someone made a suggestion to check up on the interviews being released as part of the media rollout. And so they watched the cast's interviews, already having done with the one from Wired, MTV, and the Buzzfeed Puppy Interview.

"I loved those pups," Olivia remarked jokingly. "But they didn't love me back. Story of my life."

"Oh, I love you, Liv!" Phia had exclaimed, pulling her friend in for a hug.

"Aaanyway," Phia says, reaching forward and scrolling through the suggested videos, "how about this one next! I miss those two." She clicks on an interview you and Ewan had done together, in that long press day where you guys were paired by the media team.

"They look adorable, don't they?" Tom says. "Here's to hoping the lad's finally made a bloody move."

"What about the goss on that girl you all were with? The one at the pub?" Olivia curiously asks, not kept in the loop due to her holiday abroad.

"All bull. You know how the tabloids are. She was sweet and everything but Ewan was practically side-eyeing her all the way into oblivion when she kept clinging on his arm. Poor girl." Tom smirks, the memory still fresh in his mind.

"Awww, look! Ewan's looking at her all gooey-eyed. Even then!" Phia simpers, leaning against Olivia.

"Of course, I was extremely excited and nervous to join the cast for season two," you can be heard saying, "being a huge fan of the book and the first season... I mean, it was such a tall order for me to step into this world but you know - "

"She did it so flawlessly," Ewan says to the interviewer. "We were so lucky to have her join the show."

"Oh, come on," you can't help but blush and shake your head. "Everyone was so welcoming, really."

"Well, it's safe to say that the audience loves your character!" the interviewer says kindly.

"Thank you so much, I'm glad to hear that," you beam in return.

"What a character, indeed," Ewan says, looking at you again.

Tom giggles, swinging his beer, "The look on his face, oh my days! Ewan is whi-ipped, I'm telling you. Just look at those stars in his eyes, you'd think she's an angel or somethin."

"She is an angel," Phia muses.

"Lovely girl," Olivia agrees.

"Oh!" Tom sits upright suddenly, leaning forward on his knees, "How about this? They've got a couple interviews up, right? Drinking game then, shall we? A shot each time Ewan looks at her or pays her a compliment!"

Olivia laughs nervously, but she's more than game to participate. "A swig of beer or... "

"Nah!" Tom scrunches his face in response. "Say, Phi, have you got vodka or tequila or whatever?"

"I... think I've got some leftover tequila," she ponders. "Are you proposing a shot of tequila every time Ewan fawns over her? Isn't that a bit dangerous? Should we stick to beer?"

"It'll be fun," Tom reassures, already getting on his feet to fetch the bottle from the kitchen. "Ewan's a professional," he says, when he returns with tequila and three shot glasses. "Surely he maintained his focus during all of that. Can't be more than - what, three or four shots each?"

Oh, how wrong he is.

It only takes another interview for them to realise that they might have been overzealous in taking on the challenge.

Most Likely To with the cast of House of the Dragon, the screen displays. You and Ewan pop up in intervals, and they eagerly await your clips with shots in hand.

"Most likely to be late on set?" you say, raising your hands when you answer with, "I'm happy to say that it was not me."

"No?" Ewan asks.

"Nope, early each day," you smile at him.

"I believe you, I mean, I wish we actually had scenes together," Ewan says, smiling right back, eyes lingering on you when you add something more to your answer.

"Shot!" Tom exclaims. The trio's faces crunch up when the burning liquid slides down their throats.

"Fuck's sake," Olivia mutters. "Ewan better keep his googly eyes to himself."

"Don't get your hopes up," Phia says, knowing the both of you well.

"Most likely to accidentally date a serial killer? What the hell is this question?" Ewan snorts, eyebrows shooting up.

"Are we even in the right show for this?" you joke, and Ewan laughs harder, his hand finding your forearm and squeezing briefly.

"Shot, I suppose," Phia mumbles. "I mean, look at his face, the sweetheart."

Another round, and everyone feels warmer and more lightheaded.

"Wouldn't be me, I don't know about you?" you ask Ewan.

"Oh, I wouldn't. I don't think Aemond would either, he would see right through that."

"Next, most likely to show up in a stunning outfit," you read from the prompts off-camera.

"Hmm," Ewan muses, "I would say maybe Liv Cooke... she's had really good outfits on the carpet lately..."

"I agree," you nod enthusiastically. "Liv's killing it."

"And you, definitely," Ewan turns to you again. "I mean, stunning would be an understatement."

"Shot!" Olivia half-yells. "And bless her, look! She's turned all red from Ewan's flirting."

"Thanks, mate," you say, tilting your head at him. "You as well! Your stylists have outdone themselves this press tour, for sure."

"Half a shot cause she gives something his way?" Tom suggests, comically shrugging. By the end of the video, the group had done three and a half rounds of shots, all growing redder in the face, their laughter turning unhinged.

"I'm actually scared to do another interview," Olivia groans. "Can those two just shag each other already? Goodness!"

"Who knows? Maybe they have? Would be about time," Tom cheekily says, ever the agent of chaos.

"Ewan did fly out to see her," Phia nods. "They're both in America right now, my darlings."

"Another interview!" Tom gets to clicking, landing on the one you and Ewan did with Rotten Tomatoes.

"We ask everyone this question - can you tell me your favourite movie from this year?" is what the interviewer starts with.

"That's a good question," Ewan says. "Uhhmm, well, it isn't from this year I think but her film - " he gestures to you, " - is one of my all-time favourites. I think it came out late last year, if I'm not mistaken?" He looks to you for confirmation, and your flustered self manages to hum a response. "I just think the whole film was brilliant. It definitely showcases her talents and solidifies her as one to watch."

"Oh, for fuck's sake," Tom sighs, and they all bring the shot glasses back to their lips.

"Guys, I might pass out by the end of this." Olivia stands to fetch herself a glass of water. "Ewan's a menace!" she calls out from the kitchen.

"We shouldn't have done this," Tom shakes his head.

"You suggested it!" Phia punches his arm, laughing.

"I guess I underestimated the degree of whipped that Ewan is. That cheeky lad."

Four more rounds of shots later, and the group has their tally up to eight and a half.

Yet another interview plays on the screen, and when Ewan - with all his bloody audacity - pushes a lock of hair away from your face on camera, Tom's eyes nearly bulge right out of his head.

"Oh my god!" he cries out. "He's trying to kill us! I think I'm actually going to puke."

"I quit." Olivia slumps against the base of the velvet couch. "I can't drink any more. Ewan wins."

Phia giggles at the screen, at the sight of her two dear friends slowly but surely falling in love right before the audience's eyes. In some show of celebration, she takes another shot, the last player left in the game.

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

Meanwhile across the Atlantic...

"Hey, darling," you hear Ewan's voice on the other line. "I just settled in my hotel in New York."

"That's good! Did your flight go well?"

"Mhmm, my meeting's tomorrow afternoon so I've got time to prepare," he takes a breath, before softly saying, "I miss you."

You laugh, "So you keep telling me, Mitchell."

"We're still on that huh, darling? Shouldn't you be calling me something more... personal, by now?"

"Like what?"

"I don't know, you tell me."

"Well... the internet does call you their babygirl."

"Oh come on," he complains, smiling nevertheless.

"What is it, babygirl?"

"That's how you want to play it, bunny?"

"Ewan!" you groan. "Okay, okay."

"Anyway, darling," he says. "I really do miss you. I can't wait to see you again.'

The longing is clear in his voice and it tugs at your heart so much that you need to pause and collect yourself, before finally saying, "I miss you too, baby."

Cheers to all of yous who voted here! Baby it is ~

In the meantime...

Update! ~ part five

Taglist: @sprinklesprinkle888 @namelesslosers @skymoonandstardust @valyrianflower @luckyfirebasement @omgsuperstarg @elissanatok @callsignwidow @sinistersnakey49 @darkwriteracademia @yyrzmomo @queenofshinigamis @luvaerina @shamelessblazecrown @mirandastuckinthe80s @elleinex0x0 @pierrotlu @aegonswife @strangersunghoon @lunampacheco @writer-ann-artist @gaiaea @of-swords-and-words @ateliefloresdaprimavera @m00n5t0n3 @helaenaluvr @peachysunrize @annie-ruk @luvly-writer @ananas26t @athenafaes @lovelyteenagebeard @mamawiggers1980 @moongirl27 @katherine93 @barnes70stark @justbelljust @cloudroomblog @somestufftoday @esposadomd @girl-in-the-chairs-void @insideyourimagination @hotdismylife @vyctorya @wildrangers @livcookesgf @dracaryxzs @aemondwhoresworld @aisselasstuff @onlyrealjoy

[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

[puripurin]

— "Mama, why isn't the baby ready yet?" Mero scrunched up his face as he stared at your growing stomach with such intent. Phi was also curious as she simply caressed your belly.

"For humans, it takes about 9 months for a baby to be fully developed inside the womb." Mero and Phi made an '0' shape with their mouths as they took in the info.

"Well, Phi and I were spit out by a magical plant!" You nearly burst out laughing before you remembered that they were alien, so you had a 50/50 chance of it being thta fact that Zephyr lied or they 100% came out of a plant.

"Mama, can i be born from you? I don't want to only be from Daddy." Phi mumbled as she gripped your loose gown. Mero started climbing up on the chair so he could sit next to you.

"Haha... no, unfortunately, no. Oh, what if we just leave out, Daddy?"

"Planning to escape with the twins again?" Zephyr hummed as he let his front bangs tickle your cheeks.

"It wasn't me. It was them." You raised your arms in defense. Zephyr chuckled as he narrowed his eyes slightly.

"Ah, you're the adult here, no?" He had a little smile as he watched Mero and Phi hugging your body with the most fiercest look a child can give.

"Touch my mother, and you shall die." Phi growled at him. Your eyes windened at her words as her father burst out in laughter.

"Phi, that's no way to talk to your father." You sigh before being momentarily starled when Zephyr pulled your chin to make you face him and gave you a kiss.

Zephyr pulled away and gave Phi a smile. Phi started screeching, and Mero grabbed his hand and started gnawing on it. You layed back on the couch and sighed.

'Fml...'

I wrote this shii like 3 diff times. I deleted the first one and lost the ask so srry abt that. Its been so long since i wrote for any of these mofos. Also, updates will only be on Saturdays and Sundays. I hv a lot of work to do to prepare for an important exam next year.

Thanks to the lovely anon who req this. I hv another yan that will hopefully be posted soon.

[achilles-rage]

Good Luck Charm: Chapter 20

college football player!buck x plus size!reader

summary: you go back to school early to attend a new year’s eve party.

word count: 3.5k

previous chapter

series masterlist

a/n: the last chapter!!! screaming crying throwing up fr. i’ll definitely post an epilogue though, and maybe some other short drabbles because i’m gonna miss them :// i also wanna thank everyone who reads this fic, i appreciate it so much!!! anyway, enjoy<3

warnings: a hint of smut, no use of y/n, fem!reader, plus size!reader, race inclusive!reader

MDNI- 18+ only!

Two long weeks later, it’s finally time for you and Evan to go back to school. You continued to sneak into Evan’s room each night, and had managed not to get caught each time his hands started to wander, innocent touches becoming something entirely different.

While you did tease him about keeping his hands to himself the first night, you were a little surprised when his hands traveled down your soft tummy and traced the waistband of your panties. You almost stopped him; the fear of getting caught clear in your mind, but your words were cut short when his hand dipped under the fabric and ghosted over your clit. His lips were on yours before you could make a sound, and when he finally pushed his cock into your dripping cunt, his lips were replaced with his hand as he whispered how good you were being into your ear.

This morning is no different. You wake up early; earlier than either of your parents, Evan’s bare chest against your back warming you up immensely.

“Are you sad to be leaving?” he whispers, his hot breath hitting the back of your neck. You hum softly, shrugging as you think about it. You turn in his grip before you answer, unable to fight back a smile as Evan’s face studies yours with a lovesick expression.

“I love my parents, but I think I get along with them better when we’re apart. Spending some time with them is nice, but I’m glad I’m not living here all the time.” you tell him in the same hushed tone. He nods, seeming to understand where you’re coming from. When he’s at school, sometimes his parents call to catch up, and he can almost pretend that he’s close with his parents when that happens.

“I’m glad. Because now we can go to the New Year’s party at Delta Phi.” he says in a teasing tone. You roll your eyes, laughing softly. He practically begged you to leave a couple of days early so you’d be back for the party once he found out that the theme of the party was to celebrate the university’s sports teams. “Now I can see you in my jersey again. Like old times.” is how he put it when he asked, and you couldn’t say no.

It had been a while since you were able to wear his jersey, and the last time you had, he ended up in the hospital, so a part of you was eager to get some better memories of wearing it.

“You really do like to party, don’t you?” you tease, laughing as he scoffs.

“Come on, they’re fun. You can’t tell me you didn’t like the parties I brought you to, other than the first one.” he says, his jaw clenching when he speaks about the first party you went to a party with him. He still has to see Jared at practice, but for the most part, Jared tries to steer clear of him, and he’s thankful. As much as he wants to fucking kill him for what he did, he knows that wouldn’t be the best idea.

“Alright, they’re not as bad as I thought they’d be. But that doesn’t mean I’d pick going to a party over, like, a movie night. But I like when you get all protective.” you tease, leaning in to kiss him softly. You can feel his fist clenching at your side, where he was holding your hip, and you know what he’s thinking about. You’ve stuck close to Evan at every party since then, and he always has to have a hand on you. Either an arm around your shoulder, or his hand in yours, or on the small of your back. He won’t let you leave his sight.

“Gotta protect my girl. Always.” he tells you earnestly, his hand unclenching as he lets out a breath. He knows he’s more upset about the situation than you are, even though it happened to you, but he can’t help it. He still feels a little guilty for even losing you in the first place.

“And you always do. From people and from the dark.” you tease, and he chuckles. Then in an instant, he moves to pin you to the bed, his body positioning itself between your legs, making you squeal softly in surprise as you giggle. He shushes you softly, lowering his face to the crook of your neck as his hands pin your wrists to the bed beside your head.

“Gotta be quiet, baby. I’ve gotten through two weeks without your dad hating my guts. Can’t start now.” he murmurs against your neck before beginning to trail kisses across your skin. You bite your lip as you tilt your head back, reveling in the feeling of his lips on you. Truth be told, your mom has caught you a couple of times in his room, not that either of you have been awake to notice. She stands near the door with a smile on her face each time, seeing you cuddled up together. She thinks it’s sweet, and she’d never tell your dad, anyway. This is not one of those mornings, evidently.

“We can’t have that.” you whisper, meeting his gaze as he pulls away from your neck. He smirks, moving your wrists up above your head and grabbing them with one hand, then his other moves down to push your shirt up over your plush tummy and chest.

Once your shirt is bunched up above your tits, his eyes trail down your body as he licks his lips. He’s so glad you only ever sleep with an oversized shirt and panties, like you’re just begging him to take care of you.

He leans down and gives you a short, but passionate, kiss, then moves down to your neck again. You bite your lip as his kisses move further down your neck, and he moves his face away for just long enough to move below your shirt, then begins to kiss down the valley of your breasts to your round tummy. He hums softly as he presses featherlight kisses to the skin littered with stretch marks, nipping and sucking softly as he goes.

He loves marking your tummy; he loves seeing the marks that are for his eyes only, and he likes the way it makes you squirm, but he also loves it seems to make you feel more confident. He loves your soft belly, and he’ll keep leaving marks across it until you love it completely, too.

His hands move down to your hips, grabbing and harshly pulling your panties down your legs with a low grunt, now leaning back on his knees to look at all of you.

“God, I love you.” he whispers once you’re left in nothing but your bunched up shirt, his fingers moving up your inner thighs.

You inhale a shaky breath as he leans down until his face is directly in front of your core. He smirks as he keeps eye contact with you, and the last thing he says before his tongue makes contact with your slick folds is “My gorgeous girl. I’m gonna ruin you.”

You get back to your apartment at around 6, which is still much earlier than when you have to go to the party, but after waking up early and driving all day, you feel like you need a nap before you get ready. Buck dropped you off, and after insisting on carrying your bags up for you, he gave you a sweet kiss and told you he’d be back around 10:00 before he went back to his place.

Your eyelids flutter open an hour or so later, and since you showered this morning, and you know you’ll probably get some form of alcohol spilled on you tonight, you don’t bother showering. Since you now have some time before Evan picks you up, you drag yourself out of bed and into the living room, flopping down onto the couch your roommate isn’t currently sprawled out on.

“How was your break?” she asks innocently, although her expression is anything but. She knows you brought Evan to meet your parents, and she has been patiently waiting since you left for any little detail of your visit. You didn’t want to tell her over text, so you kept telling her you’d update her when you got back. And since she got back four days before you did, she had begged you to tell her, claiming she was too bored and lonely all alone to wait.

“Well, my dad doesn’t hate him.” you tell her with a smile. She laughs, rolling onto her side to face you with a smirk.

“Tell me everything right now.” she urges, and you roll your eyes. She watches you intently as you begin to tell her, leaving out the parts about you sneaking into his bed every night, for the most part.

Just like promised, Evan buzzes your apartment intercom at 10pm, and your roommate lets him in, as you’re still finishing up your makeup. It’s nothing crazy, just some mascara and lip gloss, but you waited a little too long before you started to get ready; instead spending your time catching up with your roommate.

He walks into the bathroom, eyes trailing down your figure as you bend over the counter to touch up your lip gloss. You’re wearing your favourite pair of jeans and a white long sleeve shirt, knowing you’ll get cold in just Evan’s jersey on the walk to and from the party. You jump slightly in surprise as Evan lets out a low whistle, turning to see him leaning in the doorway. He’s wearing a white hoodie under his own jersey, and you can’t help your eyes traveling down to his broad chest. God, how did you get so lucky?

“You’re trying to kill me, aren’t you?” he asks in a teasing tone, closing the distance between you and dropping your jersey onto the counter before he pulls your hips against his. He meets your lips in a kiss, and you whine softly as you pull back, frowning.

“I just put on lip gloss.” you say, fighting back a smile as you look up at his lips, now shiny and glittery. You reach up and wipe it off with your thumb, and he chuckles softly once you pull your hand away.

“And you can put on some more. I wanna kiss you.” he tells you sternly, then leans in for another kiss.

“Your teammates are gonna make fun of you if you keep doing that. You’re gonna walk into the party with lip gloss all over your face.” you tease once you lean back again, but letting him kiss you for longer this time. You wipe off the lip gloss again, then push him away by putting your hands on his chest. He rolls his eyes, but lets you push him back, then watches you intently as you turn back to the mirror and fix your makeup.

Once you’re finished, you grab the jersey off the counter and throw it on, tucking one side into your jeans so it doesn’t look so awkwardly long.

“You ready, princess?” he asks once you turn to face him. You smile, nodding as you grab his hand and maneuver around him to lead him out of the bathroom. You meet your roommate near the door, ready to walk over with both of them. She’s going to the party anyway, and you’d rather her walk with you and Evan than walk over alone, even if she’s meeting some of her other friends there.

It’s a quick walk over, as your roommate is already a little drunk, and cannot seem to keep her mouth shut. You walk hand in hand with Evan as she walks in front of you, barely even paying attention as she rants on and on about the party.

“Is she gonna be okay once we get there? I kinda don’t want to leave her alone.” Evan whispers to you as she keeps talking. You look up at him, your heart swelling in your chest. You know he’s protective of you, but him being protective of your friend as well makes your heartbeat quicken.

“She’s meeting a few friends there; she should be fine. One of them is staying sober too, so she can keep an eye on her.” you tell him, and he nods slowly. Although this calms him, he still feels a little nervous about it.

“And, her friend’s boyfriend is on the lacrosse team. He said he’d keep an eye on them.” you tell him, and he nods, letting out a breath. That makes him feel a lot better.

“Yeah! He’s gonna set me up with a hot lacrosse player! It’s a sports party, and I don’t have a jersey. Gotta get one somewhere.” your roommate tells you as she turns her head to look over her shoulder at you two. You both let out laughs as she smirks and raises her brows a few times.

“I have faith in you.” Evan responds, and you roll your eyes, shaking your head. You watch as she turns on her heel and walks up to him, forcing you both to stop in your tracks. She raises a hand and puts it on his shoulder, looking up at him with a serious expression.

“You don’t know how much that means to me.” she says, swaying gently side to side. Evan furrows his brows as he lets out a confused laugh while you laugh loudly. Her head snaps to you as you laugh, then takes her hand off of Evan’s shoulder and puts it on yours.

“You’re so lucky you already have a jersey. I love you guys.” she tells you, then throws herself at you, wrapping her arms around your shoulders. You stumble back, shaking your head as you wrap your arms around her torso, hugging her back.

“Alright, let’s go get you that jersey.” Evan says in a teasing tone, making eye contact with you over your roommate’s shoulder. He winks at you as she finally pulls away, mumbling a quiet “good idea” as she turns and starts walking towards the party again.

The party is in full swing once you drop your roommate off with her friends and Evan says hi to a bunch of his teammates throughout the party. You’re staying close to Evan, getting jostled around as people sway to the music and shove their way through the crowd around you. He keeps his arm firmly wrapped around your shoulder, only letting you go when he grabs both of you a beer. You aren’t a huge fan of the taste, but you take it with a smile, figuring that you’d rather be a little buzzed and deal with the taste than have to endure the lights and noise around you sober.

Just like clockwork, Evan starts to get more handsy when he’s a few drinks in, keeping his front pressed against your back as he holds you close to him. His arms are firmly wrapped around your waist, and his chin is resting on your shoulder as he sways you back and forth with the music.

“Have I told you how good you look in my jersey?” he says in your ear, practically having to yell in order for you to hear him over the music. You laugh softly, rolling your eyes. You’ve had a few drinks, but you’re nowhere near drunk, not as drunk as him, and his clinginess makes your face heat up.

“Yeah, a couple times.” you respond in a teasing tone, turning in his grip to angle your face towards his. He grins, then leans down and gives you a sloppy kiss on your neck, mumbling a “good” as he does. You tilt your head to the side as he kisses you, grinning as you shake your head.

You continue to dance with him until it’s almost midnight, and you only stop when the party around you starts to feel even more chaotic, if at all possible. You turn in Evan’s grip, wrapping your arms around his neck once you’re face to face with him.

“Hi, baby.” he says over the music, and you giggle softly.

“Hi, my love. It’s almost midnight.” you reply, tilting your head to the side as he continues to sway you both back and forth.

“Yeah? What’s that thing people usually do at midnight, again?” he asks in a slightly teasing tone, then gives you a wink. You roll your eyes, shaking your head.

“I’m not sure, why?” you tease back, laughing more when he scoffs.

“I’m gonna kiss you so hard.” he says with a cocky tone, smirking. You rest your forehead on his chest as you laugh, closing your eyes. He’s such a dork when he gets like this, but you wouldn’t change it for the world.

“Whatever you say, baby.” you tell him once you look up at him again, a smile spreading across your face. He’s about to reply when everyone begins to countdown, and he grins, moving one hand up to your jaw, tilting your head up further.

“I love you.” he whispers right as the clock strikes midnight, and then he meets your lips in a searing kiss. You smile against his lips, hands gripping the front of his jersey as you rise onto your toes, momentarily forgetting that you’re in a room full of people, not that anyone notices, or cares.

You keep one arm around his torso as you both walk up the walkway to his house, his arm wrapped around your shoulder as he leans against you. You fish his keys out of his pocket and unlock the door, which proves difficult as Buck leans against you from behind, hands and lips attached to you, and finally get him to his room. You push him back onto the bed, and he falls back with a low grunt, then smirks as he sits up on his elbows.

“I like where this is going.” he says, licking his lips as he eyes your soft figure. You roll your eyes, then walk over to the edge of the bed, urging him to sit up. You pull his jersey and hoodie over his head in one go, and he raises his arms to help you as you do. You then grab his hands and pull him to stand in front of you, telling him to take off his pants so he can change into sweats to go to bed.

“What are you doing to me? I am not that kind of girl.” he tells you sternly, but his hands move to make quick work of the button and zipper of his jeans. You giggle, watching him pull his pants down and then lay down to let you pull them off of him completely.

“No? Not even for me?” you ask in a sweet voice, a smirk on your face. He shrugs, pursing his lips as he studies your face, then after a moment, a smile erupts on his face.

“Alright. Maybe for you.” he murmurs. You hum softly, then grab a pair of his sweatpants from his closet and toss them at him. He puts them on haphazardly, then stands up and reaches for the hem of the jersey across your chest. “Your turn.” he mumbles as he begins to pull your jersey and your long sleeve shirt up and over your head.

Once your shirts are off, his hands move to your jeans, tugging them down. He watches as you step out of them, and then he grabs your jersey off the bed and puts it back on over your head, humming softly as it falls down your body.

“Perfect.” he murmurs, then cups your cheeks with his hands and kisses you sloppily. You kiss him back, hands resting on his chest as you part your lips, and he eagerily pushes his tongue into your mouth. Once his hands start to wander, grabbing your ass and pushing you against him, you break the kiss, looking up at his puffy lips and blown pupils.

You push him away, muttering a soft “lets go to bed.” He exhales a loud sigh, but obliges, laying down on his back on the bed, and holding his hand out for you to take. You grab it and let him pull you down onto him, resting your cheek against his chest. Once you’re comfortably laying on him, and your leg is thrown over his legs, he sighs in contentment.

“I think I’m gonna keep you forever.” he drawls, his eyelids beginning to grow heavy as he feels his body sinking into the bed and his sheets enveloping him in warmth. You smile, humming softly.

“You better.” you whisper, and he squeezes your thigh softly in response. You can hear his breathing becoming more steady, and you can tell he’s almost asleep, but you speak once more before he falls asleep.

“I love you.” you whisper.

“You know I love you, princess.” he mumbles before sleep finally overcomes him.

next chapter

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[zooliminology]

Announcements and Other Things

Greetings research fellows!

We are aware that this blog has been underutilized for some time and we apologize for that. There are big things in the work for YouTube and after that is complete, we will be at more liberty to post our findings here.

For now, though, we have two announcements.

The first of which is that Zooliminology now has an official website. It will catalogue all entities and areas among other things as they are released. It is in the first draft stages and will be expanded upon in the future, but for now you can check it out here.

For the second announcement, many people have been asking for this so we have delivered. Zooliminology now has a merch store via Fourthwall with images of your favorite sedentary entity (among other things) plastered on random objects. You may get highly sought after items such as the “Golbra,” which is a sports bra with golbo’s image upon it, and the “Golbo Dwimsuit” which is the same thing but with a one piece swimsuit.

To increase our budget we have also included a promo code, you may use code “GOLBO” to get 20% off of your purchase for the first two weeks the store is up.

If this sounds appealing to you, you may find the store here.

We are currently in the process of working on the store and prints of Phi’s photographs will be coming in the near future.

Thank you for the support that you have shown our Project thus far. We hope to deliver much more to you in the future.

[cupidbedsy]

☼ don't ruin it ; walking on sunshine

➪ summary: ophelia has a rough day but is determined to not let it ruin luke's draft day

➪ warnings: none :)

➪ word count: 1.5k

➪ cupid's notes: guys i literally love them so much. i hope you guys like this and i'm excited for the next one. feel free to send in your thoughts!

© cupidbedsy ; do not copy, repost, or translate my work and designs on any other website or here

She arrived at the Hughes’ an hour later than she had wanted to, Trevor having left on time compared to when she did. She knocked softly on the door as she waited for someone to answer, looking around at the greenery that surrounded the house. She rocked back and forth on her heels and then the door opened and the familiar face of her brother came into view, “Phi! You’re here. What took you- hey you okay?”

She blinked rapidly, trying to get rid of the tears that were starting to form once again, “Yeah. Um, I just- don’t say anything, okay? I don’t want to ruin his day.”

Trevor frowned, opening his arms for her. She all but dove into them, letting her small sobs escape. They heard footsteps quickly after that and she pulled away, turning around to wipe her tears before looking to see who it was, “Hi honey.”

“Hi Mrs. Hughes, how are you?”

“Anxious, of course. But come in, come in. Can’t believe Trevor was just making you stand out here.” Ellen ushered her inside and Ophelia laughed a little at her words, poking fun at her brother, “Yeah Trevor.”

He rolled his eyes, placing a hand on her back in comfort when he noticed the far-off look in her eyes. While he wanted to know what was wrong and what had made her fall apart in his arms, he respected her wishes of not wanting to ruin Luke’s day. He watched as she conversed with his best friend’s mom before walking away to find Jack again. 

“Do you want a glass of water, sweetheart?” Ellen asked gently, turning to one of the kitchen's counters with cups on it. 

She toyed with the small gift she had in her hands and nodded, “Yes please.”

After a few moments, the older woman handed her the class causing Ophelia to move the box into her other hand, “Thank you.”

“Oh, what’s that?”

Ophelia took a small sip of her water, “Just something I made for, Luke. Um, actually, have you seen him?”

Ellen went to speak but her eyes trained on something behind her and immediately, Ophelia knew who was behind her. She turned around excitedly and stared up at him, “Lukey!”

Luke brought her into a hug which she returned, Ellen leaving the two in the kitchen, “I’m so glad you made it.”

She handed her his gift and moved to hold her cup with two hands, “It’s really nothing but I wanted to do something for you anyway.”

He smiled at her, “Open it now or later?” 

The girl shrugged, “Whatever you want.”

“Luke!” Both of their heads turned to where Jack was standing in the living room, “Come on. It’s almost time.”

“Later it is, I guess.” He took a deep breath, running his hand through his hair nervously. 

Ophelia placed one of her hands on his arm, “It’s going to be fine, Luke. No need to worry. Now, let’s go get you drafted.”

He chuckled and wrapped an arm around her, leading them both into the living room. Luke sat next to his brother and Ophelia made her way to stand at the back with Trevor, watching everyone else in the room. She had left her glass in the kitchen, not wanting to have to hold it in case she dropped it by accident. So instead she toyed with the sleeves of her cardigan, her hands not knowing what to do with themselves otherwise. 

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Brett broke up with me.”  She mumbled softly. 

Trevor’s eyes widened as he looked down at his younger sister, “He what?”

“Shh.” She looked around as multiple people eyed them from where they were standing, “Can we talk about this later?”

“No, we cannot talk about this later.” Trevor grabbed her arm and dragged her down the hallway to Jack’s room. 

“Why are we in Jack’s room?”

“Because it was the closest place I could talk to you alone. Now why did he break up with you?”

“He was mad that I haven’t been spending time with him lately.”

“Oh, that’s such bullshit. He knows you’ve been busy.”

“And he thinks that Luke and I shouldn’t be friends because we hang out too much.”

“He said that? What a dick!” Ophelia nodded and sat down on Jack’s bed, hands underneath her. 

“I’m fine. It’s fine.”

Trevor eyed her carefully, sitting next to her and wrapping an arm around her shoulders, “Phi, you’re not fine. I know you more than you think I do.”

She immediately broke down at his words, “I thought he loved me.”

“Phi…” He ran a hand through her hair, lightly toying with the ends of it. He frowned slightly but then heard cheering from the living room and the two broke out in a small run to reach the crowd.

Ophelia smiled slightly as she watched Jack and Quinn hug Luke, followed by his parents. Fourth overall, she couldn’t have been prouder of her best friend. She stood in the back, where she had been previously standing before she left, awkwardly fidgeting with her fingers. She made conversation with anyone around her, waiting for Luke to finish his interviews and other things he had to do. 

When he was done he made it his mission to find his best friend. Looking through the rooms, he eventually found her in the kitchen, filling up her cup with more water. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders as he came to stand next to her, “Couldn’t find you anywhere.”

“Well, here I am. Congratulations, Lukey. Not for finding me but for the draft”

“Thanks, Phi. Now about that present…”

She giggled, looking up at him, “You can open it.” Luke jumped up in excitement, dragging her to his room much like Trevor had done earlier. 

He sat down on his bed and pulled her down next to him, wasting no time in unwrapping the present, “You wrapped it nicely.”

She shrugged and watched his reaction carefully, “I hope you like it. It isn’t much, really.”

“You got me a book>” She shook her head, “Open it dumbass.”

And he did. He flipped through the pages, not one uncovered. They all had pictures of the two of them, ones from her softball games, ones from his hockey games, and ones from them just hanging out. Some had little notes on the page, others had just the date of when the photo was taken.

Luke smiled, “It’s amazing, Phi. Thank you.” He gave her a side hug, still flipping through the pages. 

“Of course, Luke. You deserve it.”

A few minutes passed and then he looked at her, “Hey, are you okay? I noticed you were crying earlier.”

She cursed to herself before nodding, “Yeah I’m fine.”

“Phi, come on. Don’t lie to me.”

She sighed, “Brett broke up with me.” His eyes focused on her, “What?”

“Yeah, he um… he didn’t like that I wasn’t spending time with him and- never mind.”

“No, tell me the whole story.”

“He yelled at me for hanging out too much with you.” 

“He didn’t.”

She just nodded and looked at the floor. He frowned and brought her into a hug, tightening his hold on her as much as he could. She allowed herself to break down for the second time that night, but this time it wasn’t because of the breakup. She had promised herself she wouldn’t ruin this night for him and that’s what she did. 

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“I didn’t mean to ruin your night, and now you’re here consoling me when you should be out there talking to your family.”

“Phi, you’re just as important to me as anyone else is. And you didn’t ruin anything.” He pulled her face away from his chest, tucking a piece of her hair behind her ear.

She gave him a watery smile, grateful for his words, “Okay.”

“Come on.”

She watched him confused as he scooted back against the headboard and opened his arms, “Come here.”

Luke smiled as she curled up into his arms and he wiped the tears on her cheeks. He reached over for the remote and turned the TV on, “What do you want to watch?”

“Are you sure you shouldn’t be out there with your family?”

“I don’t care. My best friend just got broken up with so we’re going to watch stupid romcoms and pig out on food together.”

“Thank you, Luke. I’m so happy you’re my best friend.”

That broke his heart a little bit, knowing that he was always going to be her best friend. He smiled at her, nodding, “And I’m happy you’re mine.”

WALKING ON SUNSHINE MASTERLIST ; AU'S

TAGLIST ; NHL MASTERLIST ; NAVIGATION

[reashot]

Red Like Roses... (It's period 🔴)

Warning: fluffness inside. Also really long.

At Beacon during a more peaceful time.

Pyrrha: Hmmm it's quiet, too quiet.

Ren: I agree. It's never a good sign. We should be ready for something.

Jaune: Ready for what?

Nora: Oh you know usually things never stay quiet for long especially when we're right next door to the main characters.

*yang burst into the room*

Pyrrha: And speaking of the devil.

Yang: Quick hide! *brace the door behind her*

Jaune: Oh Shi- okay gangs we trained for this! Quick initiate Pattern Delta Phi.

Nora: Aye, aye dear leader, let's initiate plan hiding under our bed's like cowards.

JNPR: *Bracing for Impacts.*

*Yang holding the door with all her might*

Ren: Wait what are even hiding from in the first place?

Yang: No time to explain. Here it Comes!

A large sounds resembling explosion came from across the hallway. The door starts to violently shakes and rose petals soon violently burst into the room. Even with Yang putting all her strength into the door. Some rose petals still managed to get inside.

Yang: .... I think we're in the clear now.

Pyrrha: What just happened?

Yang: Eh, promise not to freak out?

Jaune: Okay, I guess...

Yang: Good enough. *shows team JNPR the source of the roses*

Ruby: Huee~ *sniffs* huee~ 😭

Jaune: Ruby?

Ren: It seems to be her.

Pyrrha: Wait. Where are Blake and Weiss?

Nora: Found them. They're buried under all of this Rose petals.

Blake: *coughing up a bunch of petals* Eww I got some of it in my mouth.

Weiss: .... I just saw my grandfather.

Jaune: Okay, can someone now please tell us what is going on....

*Cardin burst into the room*

Cardin: Why the Fuck are there Roses all over the damn hallways!?

Russel: Don't try to lie we know it's coming from team RWBY!

Yang: Wow, wow! False accusation, much?

Dove: Well we can't help it. Because whenever something bad happened It's usually always you four.

Sky: Fucking Main characters shit...

Nora: I know right!

Pyrrha: Nora! Which sides are you on?

Nora: Oops my bad... (I mean, I'm not wrong 😒.)

Ren: *shrugs his head* Nora...

Jaune: Can all of you please stop being aggro for just one second!

You're upsetting Ruby for brother's sake.

Ruby: Wah! Wah! Wah! 😭

Jaune: Also can someone please tell me what just happened?

WBY: *looking at each others*

Yang: *sigh* (I guess I'm the one that should tell everyone.)

How do I gently put this? Ruby is in her special time of the month...

Jaune: Oh...

Cardin: The fuck does that even mean?

Russel: the month?

Dove: I see... (Maybe if I silently nod people will not think I'm dumb.)

Sky: (okay, she had her period. What does that have to with anything?)

Blake: Typical.

Weiss: Can you guys be anymore of a dudebros cliche?

CRDL: Hey!!!!

Yang: Let me put it this way. Every time Ruby has her "special month" her semblance's goes all haywire for some reason.

Jaune: Okay I get the gist of it. Team CRDL go outside and clean the hallway.

Cardin: What! Why the fuck should we clean up their mess?!

Jaune: Because I fucking said so. Now go!

Cardin: Geez... Whatever. C'mon boys, we better clean up team RWBY's mistakes. Again!

*slams door*

Blake: Thanks Jaune.

Weiss: Geez Arc, when did you grow a spine?

Yang: I gotta say Vomit Boy. I never knew you had it in you.

Pyrrha: *blush* (So manly.)

Nora: That's our Jaun-Jaun.

Jaune: Blake, Weiss. Please help Cardin & his team with the clean up outside.

Weiss: What! No way. Why should we help those dunderheads in the first place.

Jaune: Because they're right that the mess was started by your team.

Weiss: I'm sorry, our? For the record it's just Rub...

Blake: We're on it Jaune. C'mon Weiss let's help clean up all this roses. *drags Weiss away*

Jaune: Pyrrha, Ren, Nora. I also want you to go out side and help them.

Pyrrha: I understand Jaune. I will do as you ask.

Nora: Oh c'mon Jaune, why us too?

Jaune: Because they're our friends, Nora.

Nora: Well I'm about to go back to my room... *gets yoinked*

Ren: It's okay Jaune. I will get her to help us.

Nora: *grumble* (Fucking Main characters....)

Jaune: Thanks Ren. And Yang I want you to stay and find Ruby's "hygiene" products.

Yang: Wow, wow! Settle down cowpoke. I don't think you being a man is qualified to be the one to help with Ruby's "issue."

Jaune: I have seven Sisters...

Yang: Sweet brothers in heaven!

Uh, I take that back you're clearly overqualified.

At least I don't have to help clean up. But what're you going to do Jaune?

Jaune: I'm going to go back to my room to make a tea for Ruby.

A few minutes later.

Jaune: Here you go Ruby. A sweet herbal tea with plenty of honey and sugar.

Ruby: ... *sniffs* Thank you Jaune. 😢

*sips*

Jaune: It's okay Ruby you don't have to thank me.

Ruby: But I caused so much problems for everyone. *sniffle*😞

Jaune: *headpat*

There, there Ruby it's okay that what's friends are for. And you didn't troubled me one bit. In fact I'm happy to be of use to you. It reminds me that I'm still useful to someone.

Ruby: Jaune please don't think like that. You always were important to everyone.

Jaune: *kiss forehead*

It's nice of you think that Ruby. But I'm not. I'm not special like you. You're destined for great thing while I'm.... Just me.

Ruby: 0-0

Jaune: What's the matter... Ohhh, ohhh no. I'm so-so sorry Ruby I didn't realize that... I usually did that to my little sister whenever she's sad.

Ruby: *blush*

I-I don't mind it at all Jaune. It's just that if you want to do it to me again a little heads up would be nice. 😖

Jaune: I'm so-so sorry Ruby I promise that I... Wait, what do you mean by again?

Ruby: Uhh....

Yang: *clears throat*

I seems to have interrupted something here.

Jaune: Y-Yang!

Ruby: Sis!

Yang: Look Rubes I don't need to say this but remember what dad said. No boys. And Jaune please don't take this the wrong way but please for your sake please don't get any idea with Ruby. It will not end well for you.

Jaune: O-of course. I will never-ever think of Ruby like that. We're just friends after all.

Ruby: Friends... 😭

*starts crying*

Jaune: Oh, what's the matter Ruby?

[donaardaardendrian]

A summary of the endings of Animation Vs Science

At the time of writing this, only the first 3 episodes are out, any follow up will be done in reblogs. Spoilers below.

Let's start with Animation Vs Math (Av∑) :

After discovering the Math Universe, and fighting with Euler's Constant (e), Orange (aka TSC) asks e if it knows an exit to get out of this place, and comes up with a solution :

The terms of that summation are the values of "volume" of 2n-ball (with radius of 1): With n=0, the 0-ball is the point, and there is 1 point in a point (shocking), π^0 / Γ(1) = 1 ; with n=1, the 2-ball is the disk with area π, π^1 / Γ(2) = π ; with n=2, the 4-ball is the hyper-ball with hyper-volume π^2/2, π^2 / Γ(3) = π^2/2 ; and so on...

So TSC gets blipped out of existence through an infinite dimensional ball.

And appear in Animation Vs Physics (Avᴘ⃗ )...

Where after adventuring in a cowboy hat through space thanks to conveniently placed props, he reaches a black hole, a plunge into it.

(Due to time travel shenanigans, TSC goes multiple times through the same period of time, which the video does not show, skipping ahead)

He finds there his future self, who teach him how to manipulate quantum probability, and the flow of time.

Together, they conveniently place props through space for their past selves, and before leaving, by selecting a different universe interpretation, future TSC takes present TSC's hat, making present TSC "past TSC's future TSC" (dear god).

We will now follow TSC after he jumps through the universe as his future self.

Sadly, in Animation Vs Geometry (Av𝔊), he seems to have ended up in a dimensionless universe which he have to expend to move freely, first adding time, then two spacial dimension.

And, with phi (ɸ), after a bit of fleeing from a 4D menace, the Octaplex, they put it in a dimension prison referencing Poincaré's Dodecahedral Space, where space as the same volume as a dodecahedron whose opposite faces are linked after a 36° rotation.

However, we come across a familiar face : Avᴘ⃗ 's TSC looking from the previous universe, which seems to shock our TSC a bit, making him fall in the opposite direction : into the next one.

The universe then reset to a timeless space dot, enter-able by any stick figure that would go through universe... Oh, it moved.

(Since the universe seems to reset itself dimensionless, quitting time until it's restarting, the universe itself is in a timeloop. Thus, the nudge is caused by the same TSC that arrived 9 minutes before.)