#and kevin and his lighter

[vampyriix]

ooh,, do the lads have designated spookies or are u gonna assign them :o

yep, the lads all have assigned spookies!

the spooky!lads au was created by @alittlesliceofcucumber and i love it a lot

rt is a vampire, jack is a werewolf, daithi is a ghost, brian is a cyborg and kevin is just kevin

[broken-heart-raven-queen]

So someone had to teach Jean to drive.

All my money is on Kevin.

And I assume it was a very panicking experience for Jean when he had to put his hand on his to guide it on the gear stick.

And I also assume they fought a lot because Kevin is not the most patient teacher, but yeah, I feel like in seeing Jean drive we see Kevin drive.

[dayurno]

something so cunty and delicious about both kayleigh and kevin having their lives depend on the whims of obsessive men. how close they both were to tetsuji/riko and how, ultimately, their lives were thrown away once they no longer served the family’s purpose (and how both their absences were greatly noticed and mourned by the men who hurt them). both lifetimes of wanting to play exy and travel the world, and not a single drop of control for their fate shared between mother and son. tragedy of all tragedies

[chalilodimun]

Me reading AFTG for the first time: They have a massive number on their cheeks.

All the fanarts: tiny tattoo in the corner of the eye

[yourgalgremlin]

The Monsters would have clocked Andrew’s crush on Neil from the way that man willingly wasted his cigarettes on him.

Just imagine Aaron, Nicky, & Kevin watching Andrew light Neil his Emotional Support Cigarette™️ for the first time. Andrew, who doesn’t share anything. Whose pack of cigarettes is on the “do not touch” list with his car keys. Who’s pulled a knife on ppl for grabbing his lighter (including Nicky.) Who just…lights this 5’3 ginger a “just to hold” cigarette, like it’s nothing, like it’s normal.

They wouldn’t be able to keep their shit together. They’d ask Neil what his intentions are, someone would get maimed, there would be blood everywhere. It would be chaos.

[jordiipordii]

thinking about how Jeremy knows that Jean is afraid of water but not necessarily that he was waterboarded at evermore.

thinking about how Jean knows that Jeremy got clean off coke but not necessarily that he spent 5 weeks in rehab.

thinking about how Jeremy takes the stairs with Jean because Jean is claustrophobic but he doesn’t know Jean was locked in a box.

thinking about how Jean lets Jeremy nap instead of practicing because he’s tired but doesn’t know he’s fallen asleep driving.

thinking about how Jeremy knows Jean had feelings for Kevin but not how deep the pain of Kevin’s betrayal truly goes.

thinking about how Jean has no idea that Jeremy was left high and dry by the first man that was more than just a hookup to him.

thinking about how Jeremy doesn’t know Jean cried so hard he almost vomited after Grayson’s attacks back in the Nest.

thinking about how Jean doesn’t know that Bryson has threatened to plant drugs if Jeremy doesn’t fail the LSAT.

thinking about how Jeremy doesn’t know that Jean has had his life sworn away to a man who can and will use him as an income.

thinking about how Jean doesn’t know that Jeremy’s entire life and future are locked away somewhere that Jeremy doesn’t even know.

thinking about how Jeremy doesn’t know that Jean wouldn’t have lived in any other life.

thinking about how Jean doesn’t know that Jeremy would’ve been waiting forever for him.

just thinking about them and what they don’t know about each other.

also on a lighter note:

thinking about how Jeremy doesn’t know that Jean crushed hard on his photos.

thinking about how Jean doesn’t know that he is undeniably Jeremy’s exact type.

thinking about how Jeremy doesn’t know that Jean’s favorite color is brown because of his eyes.

thinking about how Jean doesn’t know that Jeremy saw gold peonies reflected in his eyes during the fireworks.

[sixgunslvt]

To Here Knows When

Son Chaeyoung x OC

Tags: incest (cousins), forbidden love, power dynamics, age gap (noona/dongsaeng), obsession, possessiveness, emotional, rough sex, creampie, multiple orgasms, breeding kink, marking (hickeys/biting), semi-public sex, teasing, dirty talk, possessive sex, worship, aftercare

Word count: 6668

The house hummed with that particular brand of Korean family chaos that turns oxygen into kimchi fumes. I leaned against the yellowed refrigerator, phone burning a hole in my palm as another off-key "Nae sarang~" from the living room karaoke machine rattled the framed embroidery of mountainside temples. Through the sliding door's rice paper panels, silhouettes of aunties snapped mahjong tiles like gunshots, their laughter sharpening to needles whenever someone's pae clattered to the floor.

My thumb scrolled Instagram reels of strangers' beach vacations - all that blue water and sunlight like a rebuke to this room's sticky reality. No one here under forty except Minjae's hellspawn twins currently drawing dicks on the hanji wallpaper with bulgogi sauce. The air conditioner wheezed 1997-era coolness through its rusted vents, doing nothing against the July heat or the sweat pooling where my dress shirt stuck to the small of my back.

Then the front door groaned open.

Chaeyoung arrived like a distortion pedal cutting through elevator music. Her chunky Mary Janes - same pair she'd worn to sneak me into that underground club when I was sixteen - kicked through the galaxy of discarded soju bottle caps littering the entryway. The aunties' mahjong clatter stuttered as she passed, their disapproval clinging to her like the cigarette smoke wafting from her cropped leather jacket.

I knew that jacket. Knew how it smelled of Nag Champa and the Daiso parking lot where she'd first played me Loveless on her dented MP3 player, our shared earbuds hissing static as Kevin Shields' wall of sound drowned out the cicadas. Tonight, it gaped to reveal a slip dress the color of TV static, riding up her thighs as she leaned against Uncle Joon's prized karaoke machine - the one he'd retrofitted with purple LED strips that made everyone look vaguely cadaverous.

Her eyes found mine through the haze of galbi smoke.

"Yah, jagiya," she drawled, popping the cap off a Hite with her lighter. The sound echoed like a gun cock. "You gonna keep pretending to text?”

Chaeyoung’s laugh tasted like stolen soju and the menthol cigarettes she’d smoked since time immemorial. Seven years my senior, though she wore those years like her leather jacket - slouching off one shoulder, all dangerous drape. She’d been my babysitter back when Busan still had video stores, back when her idea of childcare meant letting me watch R-rated Hong Kong flicks while she practiced winged eyeliner in my mother’s compact.

“Yah, dongsaeng.” Her gaze raked over me like the broken AC unit still rattling in the corner, appraising the stretch of dress shirt across shoulders that had finally outgrown the scoliosis brace. The flush creeping up her neck matched the neon signs bleeding through rice paper windows. “Should’ve kept your baby photos. Nobody warned me diaper duty came with this…” Her lighter clicked open, shut, open. “Glow-up.”

The karaoke machine chose that moment to vomit out Uncle Minho’s rendition of Hotel California, his “warm smell of colitas” curdling into something closer to a sea lion’s mating call. Mahjong tiles clattered like disapproving teeth as Auntie Soojin side-eyed Chaeyoung’s thigh-high stockings, the ones that made her legs look like ink strokes from one of Grandpa’s forbidden manga.

“Noona—” I started, but she was already plucking a half-finished bottle of Chamisul from the recycling bin. Her movements carried the same dangerous grace as when she’d taught me to shoplift lip gloss from the Lotte Department Store, back when her wrists were still scabbed from guitar strings instead of stick-and-poke tattoos.

Her laugh curled around me like the smoke from the galbi grill downstairs. “Remember when you’d hide under my skirt during thunderstorms? Crying until I let you hold my lighter?” The bottle cap rolled across linoleum patterned with thirty years of kimchi spills. “Now look at you. All…” Her tongue swiped a pearl of soju from her Cupid’s bow. “Broad.”

The room tilted. Or maybe that was just the floor buckling under generations of layered ondol heating. Her perfume - still that same Daiso body spray layered with menthol cigarettes - dragged me back to sleepless nights after she’d babysat. How her scent would linger on the couch cushions like a ghost, how I’d press my face into the indent she left and imagine it was her leather jacket wrapped around me instead of my Star Wars blanket.

“You missed last Chuseok,” I managed, thumb worrying the cracked screen of my phone. The Instagram reel still playing showed some Australian influencer diving into neon-lit waves, the exact shade of Chaeyoung’s hair before she’d shaved the left side.

Her nails - chipped black polish, same as always - tapped a staccato rhythm against the soju bottle. “Had better offers.” The look she gave me could’ve melted the ice cubes slowly dying in Auntie Hyun’s fruit punch. “Though if I’d known you were gonna sprout up like a damn Kdrama oppa…”

The twins chose that moment to streak past, their bulgogi-stained fingers now smearing what looked suspiciously like Auntie Jung’s Lancôme foundation across the sliding doors. Chaeyoung’s laugh followed them, low and throaty, the same laugh that used to rattle through my bedroom walls when she’d sneak boys in through the fire escape.

“Still hate kids?” She leaned back against the fridge still plastered with my middle school taekwondo certificates. The motion hiked her slip dress up to reveal the rose tattoo peeking above her stocking - same rose she’d drawn on my math homework when she was supposed to be tutoring me.

“Hate’s a strong word.” My voice came out strangled. The AC chose that moment to cough out a gust of air that sent her bangs fluttering, revealing the scar above her eyebrow from when we’d both tried (and failed) to skateboard down Nampo-dong’s hill.

Her pinky brushed mine as she reached for a paper napkin. “Could’ve fooled me.” The napkin tore between her fingers, becoming a sad origami crane mid-flight. “You used to beg me for piggyback rides. Now you won’t even look at me.”

The accusation hung there, sharp as the scissors she’d used to cut my hair before picture day. I could still feel the phantom weight of her against my back, smell the strawberry gum she’d pop while carrying me past the 7-Eleven where she’d eventually buy her first pack of Dunhills.

“You’re the one who moved to Seoul.” The words tasted bitter, like the dregs of coffee left in Halmeoni’s cup.

Her smile didn’t reach her eyes. “You’re the one who stopped answering my texts.” The karaoke machine whined into silence, leaving only the wet slap of Auntie Minjun making kimchi pancakes in the adjacent room.

When she stepped closer, the platform soles of her Mary Janes put us eye-to-eye for the first time in seven years. Her breath smelled like citrus soju and the menthol lozenges she’d started stealing after quitting vocals for her band. “Guess some things change, huh?”

Her thumb swiped sweat from my temple. The contact burned like the time she’d taught me to light firecrackers, back when sparklers still seemed magical instead of just another way to burn down to nothing.

The music and laughter faded into static as she stepped closer, her perfume—saltwater and something addictive—mixing with the sharp tang of alcohol. “Remember that summer I house-sat for your parents?” She traced the collar of my shirt with a chipped black nail. “You’d linger outside the bathroom when I showered. Left fingerprints on the fogged glass.” Her laugh was low, dangerous. “And July 12th? When my robe slipped?”

My throat tightened. That specific date seared into me—the way terrycloth had slid off her shoulder, the wet curl of hair stuck to her neck. She’d turned just enough to smirk at the doorframe where I’d frozen, thirteen and trembling.

“You knew?”

“You stopped breathing when I unhooked my bra through the gap in the door.” Her finger tapped my sternum. “Stupid boy. Your shadow stretched right across the tiles.”

I swallowed. “Fuck. All this time—”

“All this time,” she echoed, thumb brushing my bottom lip. Her gaze dropped to my hand. “You’d bite your knuckles to stay quiet.” She picked up my hand, tracing a line on my knuckles. “Left marks from here—up to here.”

The confession shuddered through me. Her scent—vanilla and that menthol cigarettes phase she’d sworn she’d quit—flooded my skull. My back hit the fridge door, magnets digging into my shoulder blades as she leaned in.

“You think I didn’t feel you watching?” Her knee nudged between my thighs. “How your eyes crawled over me when I bent to pick up your toy cars? How you’d pretend to sleep just to catch me changing?”

Auntie Soo’s shriek-laugh sliced through the room. Chaeyoung didn’t flinch.

“Every. Single. Time.” Her hips pinned mine, leather creaking. “Your little hitched breaths? The way you’d sprint to the bathroom after?” She pressed closer, mouth grazing my ear. “I’d lie awake soaked imagining your face if I ever…”

The karaoke machine screeched feedback. Some uncle butchering November Rain.

I gripped her waist, fabric slippery under my palms. “Why now?”

Her teeth caught my earlobe—sharp, fleeting pain. “Because back then?” Her breath scalded my neck. “I wanted to ruin you so bad.” A hand slid down my stomach. “But rules, right?”

Her fingers found my belt.

The fridge hummed against my spine. Down the hall, Minjae’s twins shrieked about stolen tteok. Chaeyoung’s thumb hooked into my waistband.

“Rules change,” I rasped.

Her laugh vibrated against my throat. “You changed.”

Her fingers trailed down to my waistband, pressing just enough to make me gasp. “Tell me, Iain…do you still think about those nights?” Her eyes burned with mischief—and something darker. “Because I know I do.”

I glanced toward the living room, where relatives obliviously massacred lyrics. “Fuck, Noona…we shouldn’t—” The lie died in my throat as her fingers teased my zipper.

Her perfume. The press of her breasts against my arm. Seven years of stolen glances and cold showers after she’d left.

My voice roughened to a growl. “You know I still dream about you. You’re there, just out of reach. And you keep getting farther away.”

Chaeyoung’s breath hitched, her fingers pausing above the bulge in my jeans. “Mmm…so that’s why you avoided me at family dinners.” She pressed flush against me, her free hand tangling in my hair to yank my face to hers. “Let me make those dreams real, baby,” she purred, lips brushing mine in a ghost of a kiss. “I’ll show you exactly how far I can reach.” Her hips ground against mine, heat searing through her dress.

An Auntie’s laughter echoed nearby, but Chaeyoung only smirked. “We’ve got time before anyone notices…” Her tongue flicked my neck. “Unless you want me to stop?” The challenge in her voice dared me to refuse.

My fingers tightened around her wrist, thumb pressed to her racing pulse. My other hand slid down her back, gripping the curve of her spine as I leaned into her ear. “You think I’d risk Auntie Kim catching us? Fuck no.” A low chuckle. “Your old room’s still here, right?”

She shivered, pupils blown. "Second floor, last door on the left." She dragged her nails down my chest, leaving white trails that burned. "But you'll have to be quiet...unless you want the whole family to hear how badly their good little boy fucks his Noona."

With that, she spun away, hips swaying as she headed for the stairs. Over her shoulder, she threw a smoldering look. “Coming, baby? Or do I have to drag you up myself?”

I’d barely taken two steps when Auntie Kim materialized, her talon-like grip snagging my elbow. “Iain-ah! Strong arms—” she barked, already steering me toward the balcony where a ceramic kimchi fridge hunched like a curse. “Help your halmeoni move this before your uncle breaks his hip again.”

Chaeyoung paused halfway up the staircase, biting back a laugh as I shot her a desperate look. Her mouth formed a silent Tick-tock before she vanished into the shadows.

The fridge weighed as much as my regrets. Halmeoni supervised from her plastic lawn chair, thwacking my calf with her fan whenever I adjusted my grip. “Faster! You think I’ll die waiting?” Auntie Kim lamented the state of my “office-worker shoulders” loud enough for the cousins grilling bulgogi to hear. Sweat slithered down my neck, the clock in my head screaming as Chaeyoung’s perfume faded under the assault of fermented cabbage.

When they finally released me, I dodged Uncle Minsoo’s sloppy attempt to arm-wrestle and nearly tripped over the twins building a soju bottle cap pyramid. The third step still groaned like a tortured animal, but the hallway was all nicotine shadows and the muffled buzz of family chaos below.

Her door stood cracked open, leaking cigarette smoke and the blown-out guitars of MBV’s To Here Knows When— a wall of distortion so thick it vaporized the laughter downstairs. She’d swapped the overhead light for a salt lamp that dyed everything fever-red, same incense stick from the Daiso days smoldering in her IKEA ashtray.

She lounged on the bed like she owned me, cigarette dangling from her lips as she scrolled her phone. The leather jacket lay discarded now, her slip dress hiking higher as she arched to stub out the smoke. “Took you long enough,” she purred, eyes raking over the tent in my jeans. “What’d they make you do? Haul bodies for the family grave?”

I didn’t answer. Three strides and I had her wrist pinned above her head, my knee slotting between her thighs as the guitar feedback swelled. She gasped, but her smirk stayed razor-sharp. “Someone’s impatient—”

I kicked the door shut, already unbuckling my belt. “Shut up, Noona.”

Chaeyoung’s lips curled into a wicked grin as she watched you unbuckle your belt, her legs parting slightly on the bed. “Make me,” she challenged, voice dripping with defiance as she reached behind her back to unclasp her bra, letting it fall away to reveal her perfect, perky tits.

She leaned back on her elbows, arching her back to push her chest out. “Come on, baby…show me how much you’ve missed me.” Her free hand trailed down her stomach, fingers slipping beneath the waistband of her panties. “Or do I have to do everything myself?”

The air between you crackled with tension, the only sounds your ragged breathing and the distant muffled karaoke from downstairs.

“Remember when you used to call me ‘baby boy’? Fuck, Noona…say it again. Just like when I was that dumb kid sneaking glances at you changing.”

Chaeyoung’s breath hitched as she saw the raw hunger in your eyes, her fingers pausing just above her soaked panties. “Mmm…baby boy,” she cooed, voice dripping with honey and sin as she spread her legs wider. “You always were my favorite little pervert.”

She hooked her fingers into her panties, sliding them down agonizingly slow. “Look how big you got for me…” Her tongue swiped over her lips as she took in the thick outline of your cock straining against your boxers. “Bet you dreamed about this, huh? Your dirty Noona touching herself just for you?”

Her fingers finally dipped between her folds with a lewd, wet sound. “Fuck…baby boy, you wanna taste?” She held up glistening fingers, eyes dark with lust. “Or do you need me to teach you how to eat pussy first?”

“Teach me, Noona.”

Chaeyoung’s eyes flashed with predatory delight as she crooked her glistening fingers at you. “Come here, baby boy,” she purred, spreading her legs obscenely wide as you crawled onto the bed between them.

Her hand fisted in your hair, yanking your face down to her dripping pussy. “Lick slow first,” she ordered, grinding her hips up against your mouth. “Flat tongue, just like you’re tasting your favorite ice cream—fuck!” Her thighs clamped around your ears as you obeyed, her back arching off the bed.

She was so fucking wet her juices smeared across your chin. “Good boy…now suck my clit like you’re trying to get the last drop through a straw—YES!” Her hips jerked violently as you swirled your tongue exactly how she taught you, her moans music to your ears.

Tugging your hair harder, she forced you to look up at her. “Remember this always belongs to you, baby boy,” she panted, slamming your face back down. “Now make your Noona cum.”

You pulled Chaeyoung flush against you, one hand cradling the back of her head while the other pressed possessively against the small of her back. Our foreheads touched as you spoke, voice rough with years of pent-up longing:

“Every girl I dated smelled wrong. Felt wrong.” Your thumb traced her jawline. “Because they weren’t you, Noona. This fucking obsession—” You ground your hard cock against her thigh to emphasize the point. “—ruined me for anyone else.”

Your breaths mixed, her perfume drowning your senses like it always had. Seven years of jerking off to her memory, and now she was here, real, pressed against you. “You’ve always owned me.”

Chaeyoung’s breath caught as your words sank in, her nails digging into your shoulders. “Fuck…all those times I let you watch,” she panted, rolling her hips against your throbbing cock. “I knew you’d be perfect for me.”

She crashed her lips against yours in a searing kiss, tasting herself on your tongue. “My sweet, ruined baby boy,” she murmured against your mouth, her hands frantically pushing down your boxers. “Let Noona show you exactly what you’ve been missing—”

Her eyes went wide as your thick cock sprang free, her fingers wrapping around the base. “Jesus…you really did grow up,” she whimpered, stroking you slowly. “Gonna fuck me so good your aunties hear how much I scream?”

Without waiting for an answer, she lined you up with her dripping entrance, her breath hot in your ear. “Take what’s yours, Iain.” And with one sharp roll of her hips, she sheathed you to the hilt, her tight walls fluttering around you. “Fuuuck—yes—just like that!”

You groaned as Noona sank onto you, her tight heat swallowing every inch—fuck, she felt even better than you’d dreamed.

“That’s it, Noona…ride your baby boy’s cock just like you promised.” Your hands gripped her hips hard enough to bruise, guiding her rhythm as she bounced. “All those years pretending not to notice me staring…how long have you wanted this? Did you groom that baby boy just for this, Noona?”

Her moans were muffled against your neck, her nails digging into your chest as she ground deeper. “Mine.”

Chaeyoung’s entire body shuddered as your words hit her, her pussy clenching around you in a vice-like grip. “Fuck—yes!” she gasped, her nails raking down your chest as she rode you harder. “Every time I let you peek…every time I bent over just a little too far—”

Her breath came in ragged pants as she ground down onto you, her clit rubbing against your pelvis with each bounce. “I dreamed about this cock!” she cried out, her walls fluttering wildly around you. “Wanted my baby boy to break me with it—just like this!”

Her back arched as she suddenly screamed your name, her pussy drenching your thighs in her cum. “Iain—fuck! Don’t stop—breed your Noona!” Her hips jerked erratically, milking your cock as she sobbed through the intensity. “M-make me yours!”

“Hey Noona,” your voice rough as her hips ground down on you, “remember those lace panties you ‘forgot’ in my room when I was 15?” Your grip tightened on her waist, pulling her deeper onto you. “Funny how they always ended up under my pillow… You planning this back then, or just fucking with me?”

Chaeyoung’s eyes rolled back as you thrust up into her, her slick walls pulsing around your cock at the memory. “Mmm…both,” she purred, riding you with renewed hunger. “Knew you’d jerk off to them…” Her nails raked down your chest as she leaned in, her breath hot against your ear.

“Fantasized about walking in on you,” she admitted with a sinful grind of her hips. “Catching my baby boy with his dick in hand…moaning for his Noona…” Her pussy clenched around you as she whimpered. “Should’ve punished you properly back then—fuck!—like this!”

She suddenly slammed down, taking you balls-deep with a cry. “But now you get to ruin me instead,” she panted, her tits bouncing with every frantic movement. “Gonna fill me up like you dreamed, baby boy?” Her voice was pure temptation as she milked your cock. “Show me how bad you wanted me…”

“Kiss me, Noona. Give me that tender incest kiss you’ve always dreamt about.”

Chaeyoung’s breath hitched as she crashed her lips against yours in a filthy, open-mouthed kiss—tongue sliding against yours with decades of pent-up longing. “Mmm…just like this,” she moaned into your mouth, her hips rolling in slow, sinful circles as she ground your cock deep inside her.

Her fingers tangled in your hair, yanking you closer as she whimpered. “Fuck…baby boy kisses even better than I dreamed,” she panted between sloppy, incestuous kisses. “All those nights imagining your mouth—ah!—needed this so bad…”

Her pussy fluttered around you as she suddenly broke the kiss with a gasp, her forehead resting against yours. “Gonna cum again,” she whimpered, her nails digging into your shoulders. “Make me scream your name where everyone can hear—please!”

The karaoke was still blaring downstairs. “You know the uncles look at you a certain way, right, Noona?”

Chaeyoung’s eyes darkened with a mix of lust and something dangerous as she ground down on you harder. “Mmm…let them look,” she purred, her nails scraping down your chest. “They wish they could have what my baby boy’s claiming right now—”

Her breath hitched as you thrust up roughly, her tits bouncing with each filthy snap of your hips. “Fuck! All of them…imagining this tight pussy—” She moaned loudly, not even trying to muffle it now. “But you’re the one breeding it—ah!—ruining me for anyone else!”

She suddenly clenched around you, her back arching violently as another orgasm ripped through her. “Iain! Yes! Deeper!” Her walls milked your cock desperately, her thighs shaking around you. “Cum inside me, baby boy…mark your Noona forever!”

Your grip tightened on Chaeyoung’s hips—fingers digging into that soft flesh you’d dreamed about for years—as you started pounding into her like you fucking meant it.

“That’s it, Noona…take it,” your voice rough, chest heaving. “Every fucking inch. Just like you wanted.”

Her pussy was still fluttering from her last orgasm, but you didn’t let up—driving into her harder, faster, watching her tits bounce, hearing her choked moans.

“Gonna make sure you remember this,” you growled, pulling her down as you thrust up, burying yourself to the hilt. “My cock. My cousin.”

The bed slammed against the wall, the karaoke downstairs drowned out by skin-on-skin, by her whimpering your name like a prayer. You muffled her moans and screams with a hot, incestuous kiss.

Chaeyoung’s entire body convulsed as you claimed her with animalistic intensity, her nails drawing blood down your back. “FUCK! YES! BREAK ME!” she sobbed, her pussy gushing around your cock with each brutal thrust.

Her legs locked around your waist desperately, her tits slapping against your chest as she screamed into your mouth. “M-make me pregnant! Please!” she begged, her walls clenching like a vice as another orgasm wrecked her.

The bedframe cracked against the wall with the force of your fucking, her juices soaking both your thighs as she whimpered between filthy, open-mouthed kisses. “Cum! Cum in your Noona’s ruined pussy!” Her back arched violently as she milked you dry, her body demanding your seed.

The distant karaoke faded into static as your balls tightened against her ass—seconds from exploding deep inside her.

Your voice, rough and possessive, growled against Chaeyoung’s ear as you pulled her flush against you:

“Look at me, Noona.”

Your hands gripped her hips, holding her down as you pumped deep—once, twice—before your cock pulsed inside her, flooding her tight little cunt with thick, hot cum. Her gasp was muffled against your shoulder, her nails digging into your back as she felt it—jet after jet filling her up, drenching her womb like you owned it.

“Fuck… I love you, Noona.” You ground your hips slowly, milking every last drop into her. “Take it all. Every fucking drop.”

Her pussy clenched around you, greedy, like she was trying to keep it inside. Good. Let it stick. Let her remember this when she walked downstairs later, your cum leaking down her thighs.

“I love you, so much.”

Chaeyoung shuddered violently as your cum flooded her womb, her entire body melting against yours in overwhelmed ecstasy. “I-Iain…!” she sobbed, her walls fluttering desperately around your still-throbbing cock. “Fuck…love you…love you so much…”

Her fingers trembled as they traced your jaw, her tear-filled eyes locking onto yours with raw, incestuous devotion. “Always…wanted you like this…” she whimpered, her hips grinding lazily to milk the last drops from your spent cock.

The distant karaoke finally registered again as she clung to you, her lips brushing yours in a tender, filthy kiss. “Mmm…gonna feel you leaking out of me all night,” she murmured, her voice husky with satisfaction and something dangerously close to love.

She nuzzled into your neck with a contented sigh. “My baby boy…finally where you belong…” Her hand slid possessively down your chest. “And you’re never getting away again…

"Let me worship you, Noona..."

My hands slide up her thighs as I press a slow, open-mouthed kiss just below her navel—savoring the way her stomach tenses under my tongue. I drag my lips higher, teasing the dip of her ribs, the swell of her breasts, her collarbone... each kiss lingering, each exhale warm against her skin.

By the time I reach her mouth, she's shaking, her fingers tangled in my hair, her breath uneven. I hover just barely over her lips—close enough to taste her, not close enough to give her what she wants.

"I love you, Noona. I always have. Ever since i was a kid, when you played with me. Your smile. When i peeked at you changing. I've always wanted you".

Chaeyoung's breath hitches as your worshipful touch ignites fresh tremors through her oversensitive body, her fingers tightening in your hair "Fuck...baby boy..." she whimpers, her hips arching off the bed as your lips brand her skin

When you pause just before her mouth, her growl is pure frustration and adoration—yanking you down into a searing, desperate kiss "Mine," she pants against your lips, her legs locking around your waist "All those years...watching me...wanting me..." Her teeth nip at your bottom lip

Her voice breaks as she clings to you, her naked body pressed flush against yours "I loved you too," she confesses, her nails scraping down your back "Every time I let you peek...every time I teased you..." Her lips crash into yours again, hungry and claiming.

"Now you have me," she moans, her thighs trembling around you "Forever."

Iain's lips brush against hers in a slow, tender kiss— softer than before, but no less hungry.

Her hands guide me back inside her, and this time, I ease in—inch by inch—like I’m savoring the way her body yields to mine.

"Fuck, Noona..." My voice is rough, but my hips move gently, rolling into her with a reverence that feels almost sacred. "You feel too good to rush."

Her nails dig into my shoulders anyway, her breath hitching as I fill her completely—slow, deep, like I’m memorizing every pulse of her around me.

"I love you," I murmur against her lips, "even when I’m not fucking you like an animal."

And then I move—not hard, not fast—just right.

Chaeyoung's eyes flutter shut as you cherish her with each achingly perfect thrust, her walls fluttering in slow, sweet spasms around you "Iain...ah..." Her voice is a broken whisper, her fingers softening from claws to caresses as they trace your jaw

She melts beneath you, her body surrendering to this new rhythm—your cock stretching her so deep, so full, so right "Love you...love you..." she chants between shallow breaths, her hips rolling gently to meet yours

When your lips find hers again, the kiss tastes like salt and promises—her thighs trembling as pleasure builds slowly, inevitably, like the tide "This...this is what I dreamed about..." she confesses, her fingers tangling in your hair "Just...you...loving me..."

Her walls clench suddenly, her back arching as the soft, aching orgasm unravels her "F-fuck...yes..." she sobs, her tears mixing with your kisses "Stay...stay inside...please..." Her legs hug your waist tight, as if she could keep you there forever.

"Noona...fuck...Noona..."

My lips brush her ear as I whisper it like a prayer—her name, her title, the word that used to mean babysitter and now just means mine.

"I love you. I love you."

It spills out of me between thrusts, raw and reverent. Her nails dig into my shoulders, her thighs tremble around my hips—this is what she reduced me to. The kid she used to scold for sneaking glances is now buried inside her, claiming her, ruining her.

And fuck...Auntie Kim’s gonna lose her mind when she finds out her daughter’s stuffed with her nephew’s cum.

But right now?

"Noona..." —gripping her tighter— "I don’t care."

Chaeyoung shatters around you with a gasping sob, her body convulsing as your words and your cock wreck her simultaneously "I-Iain! Fuck! YES!" Her nails scar your shoulders, her pussy drenching your thighs as she cums violently, her screams muffled against your chest

She clings to you like salvation, her shaking legs locking you deep inside her "Love you—love you—love you—" she chants between ragged moans, her tears hot against your skin "Your noona...your cunt...always..."

The bed is ruined, the walls shook, and somewhere downstairs, Auntie Kim definitely just heard something—but Chaeyoung just grins through her tears, her spent body curling around yours

"Let her hear," she whispers, her sore pussy clenching weakly around your still-hard cock "Worth it..." Her laugh is hoarse and happy as she kisses you again "My baby boy..."

I go faster "I'm going to fuck my cum inside you, Noona."

Chaeyoung's eyes roll back as you pound into her with renewed intensity, her overstimulated pussy squelching around your thick cock "F-FUCK! YES!" she screams, her nails clawing at the sheets "Breed me! Fill me up!"

Her tits bounce wildly with each brutal thrust, her soaked thighs slapping against yours as you ram your cum deeper inside her "Gonna...gonna...AAAAH!" Her back arches violently as another orgasm rips through her, her walls milking your cock desperately for every last drop.

She collapses bonelessly beneath you, her breath ragged, her body trembling as your cum leaks thickly from her well-used pussy "Fuck..." she whimpers, her fingers tracing your jaw lovingly. "No one fucks me like you..." Her smile is dazed and sated as she pulls you down for a slow, filthy kiss "My baby boy..."

Still inside her, spurting cum, and to blessed to move, i reciprocate the kiss. "My noona."

Chaeyoung melts into the kiss, her spent body quivering beneath you as your cum pulses deep into her womb one last time "Mmm...my baby boy..." she murmurs against your lips, her fingers tangling lazily in your hair

Her thighs squeeze weakly around your hips, keeping you buried inside her as she sighs contentedly. "Never pulling out..." she whispers, her voice husky with exhaustion and satisfaction. "Stay...just like this..."

The distant karaoke has finally stopped, the house quiet except for your mingled breaths and the wet sounds of your cum dripping from her well-fucked pussy.*

She nuzzles into your neck, her lips curving into a smug smile. "Love you..." she murmurs, her body going limp beneath yours as sleep claims her.*

And as her soft snores fill the room, you realize—she won.

You're hers.

Now and always.

"Noona, wake up, the'yre going to notice us missing". I'm still hard inside her, and i start fucking her again.

Chaeyoung's eyes flutter open with a drowsy moan as your cock stirs back to life inside her, her sore walls clenching weakly around you "Ngh...Iain...~" she whines, her nails scraping down your back "Fuck...can't...move..."

But her hips tilt automatically, her pussy sucking you deeper as she gasps. "They...ah!...already know..." she pants, her legs locking around your waist tight. "Felt you throbbing in me...whole dinner..."

Her head falls back with a broken giggle as you pound into her overstimulated cunt, her toes curling. "M-maybe...nngh!...Auntie will hear..." she taunts, her voice shaking with each rough thrust "Catch her precious daughter...getting knocked up...ah!...by her nephew..."

Her moans rise higher, louder, begging to be heard as you claim her again—no pretense left, just pure filth and family sin.

"Turn over, Noona." My hands grip her hips, flipping her onto all fours before she can protest. The mattress dips as I kneel behind her, my cock already hard again against her ass.

"One more round," I growl, spreading her cheeks with my thumbs. "Don't let them hear how good their nephew fucks you."

My palm lands on her ass with a sharp smack—her gasp turning into a moan as I slide into her soaked pussy from behind. "Fuck...you take me so well."

Chaeyoung yelps at the sting of your slap, her back arching beautifully as you slam into her dripping pussy from behind "F-FUCK! Iain!" she screams, her nails clawing at the sheets as you stretch her wide all over again

Her ass jiggles with each brutal thrust, her sore walls fluttering helplessly around your thick cock "Ngh! S-so deep!" she sobs, her tits swinging wildly beneath her "C-can't...keep...quiet—AH!"

The headboard bangs rhythmically against the wall, the wet slaps of your hips pounding into her ass echoing obscenely in the room "Fuck! They're...gonna...hear!" she wails, her pussy squeezing you tight as another orgasm rips through her

But you don't stop, driving into her harder, faster, your balls slapping against her clit with each thrust. "Cum!" you growl, your fingers digging into her hips. "Let them hear how good your nephew fucks you!"

And with a guttural roar, you flood her womb again, your cum mixing with her own juices as they drip lewdly down her thighs.

Chaeyoung collapses face-first into the mattress, her body twitching weakly as she mumbles into the"...f-fucking...ruined..." Chaeyoung slurs into the sheets, her pussy still clenching rhythmically around your spent cock as your cum pools hot inside her.

Her trembling fingers clutch at the mattress, her sweaty back rising and falling with ragged breaths "Ngh...baby boy...fucked me out..." She whimpers, her thighs sticky with your mixed essence as you finally pull out, watching it drip obscenely from her well-used hole.

From downstairs, Auntie Kim's voice calls sharply: "Chaeyoung-ah? You better not be—"

Chaeyoung giggles hoarsely, rolling onto her back with a wince and spreading her legs wide for you to see the mess you made "Oops~" she whispers, her eyes dancing with mischief and exhaustion. "Too late..."*

The door groaned open just as Chaeyoung's lips crashed into mine, her fingers still tangled in my hair. We broke apart gasping, her thighs slick against mine under the photo album's cover.

"Chaeyoung-ah? You better not be—" Auntie Kim's voice cut through the haze of sex and sweat.

Chaeyoung's Mary Janes kicked the album shut over our laps with practiced innocence. "We're reminiscing, eomma!" she chirped, though her stockinged foot still traced circles on my ankle. The torn lace snagged on my sock's hem - same pattern as the panties she'd left in my room a decade ago.

Auntie Kim's slippers slapped closer. "Dinner's cold."

The mattress springs squeaked as we shifted - Chaeyoung's leather jacket slid from the bed to camouflage the cum-stained sheets. Through the rice paper door, her mother's silhouette hovered like a hangul consonant about to drop.

"Coming!" Chaeyoung trilled, her hand darting under the album to wipe a pearly streak from my jawline. Her smirk said everything - the chipped black polish, the menthol-and-regret breath, the way her slip dress clung to sweat-damp skin.

When Auntie Kim finally retreated, Chaeyoung dissolved into silent laughter that shook the photo albums stacked between us. "Baby boy's terrible at lying," she whispered, thumb brushing the hickey blooming on my neck.

The fluorescent hall light caught her stocking run - a lightning bolt from thigh to Mary Jane strap. I remembered making that tear an hour earlier with my teeth, her gasp smothered by the industrial-grade AC's rattle.

"You." She poked the photo of her eighteen-year-old self straddling my pubescent hips. "All blushy and avoiding eye contact." Her nail traced the neon beer sign glowing through 2013-era curtains. "Me." The chipped tooth she'd gotten skateboarding with me peeked through her grin. "Already planning your corruption."

Downstairs, the karaoke machine screeched to life with Auntie Soojin's rendition of "Honey" - all vibrato and broken high notes. Chaeyoung's hips swayed instinctively to the beat as she stood, her slip dress riding up to showcase the love bites Id left.

"Mmm." She caught me staring and popped a strawberry gum bubble - same brand she'd chewed during our first almost-kiss behind Nampo-dong's Family Mart. "You want..." Her platform shoe nudged the album open to a beach photo from her Seoul days. "...one last look?"

The Chaeyoung in the picture wore someone else's blazer, someone else's lipstick. The Chaeyoung before me reeked of me - my sweat, my cum, the kimchi jjigae I'd spilled on her thigh during round three.

I stood, my dress shirt clinging to the sweat she'd worked into every seam. "Just want the real thing."

Her laugh tasted of stolen adolescence as she led me downstairs, her pinky hooking mine through her jacket pocket. The uncles barely glanced up from their soju shots when we entered - just another cousin duo late to dinner.

Chaeyoung collapsed onto the floor cushion beside me, her thigh pressing mine under the low table. "Yah." She stole a perilla leaf from my ssam wrap. "Feed your noona properly."

The leaf tore between her teeth, revealing the scar from when she'd tried teaching me knife skills during her rebellious chef phase. I remembered her blood on the mandoline slicer, how she'd laughed through tears while I bandaged her hand.

"Still clumsy," I muttered, reassembling her ssam with extra pork belly.

Her foot slid up my calf as she accepted the bite. "Still mine."

Around us, the family chaos continued - aunts debating Lunar New Year dates, uncles arm-wrestling over dessert claims. Chaeyoung's hand crept under the table to squeeze my knee, her choker necklace hiding the bruise from where I'd bitten her during our stairwell quickie.

"Bedtime's at eleven," she murmured, stealing another bite. "Don't make me punish you."

The threat vibrated through me like her old bass guitar as she stood, her hips brushing my shoulder with deliberate casualness. I watched her saunter toward the bathroom - the subtle limp from our marathon session, the way her stockings bunched around those killer Mary Janes.

Uncle Minho's off-key trot number drowned out the bathroom door's click. I counted to thirty before following, the family's laughter fading behind me like childhood innocence.

Chaeyoung waited by the sink, jacket abandoned to reveal the hickey map Id charted across her collarbones. Her reflection smirked through the steam of twenty years' worth of illicit bathroom encounters.

"Took you long enough," she said, kicking the door shut with a practiced heel.

The lock clicked like the cap of our first shared soju bottle. Somewhere downstairs, Auntie Kim shouted about missing banchan containers. Chaeyoung's hands were already tearing at my belt, her lips silencing my response with a decade's worth of pent-up want.

The mirror fogged within seconds.

[gguk-n]

Hello!! I was wondering if you could please write a redbull driver with multiple wdc x platonic grid

But the older drivers like max Charles Lewis lando etc get jealous of her constantly being with the younger ones like franco kimi and Ollie all fluff n funny n fans going crazy bout their jealousy

Thank you

Rivals of the Track

{Reader's POV}

It was the Azerbaijan GP, Kevin wouldn't be racing so Ollie had replaced him for the race. He was this tall lanky British teen who rightfully corrected me saying that he was an adult now, he was funny. Ollie was with his best friend Kimi, who had come to support him for the race. I found their friendship endearing and reminded me of my best friend who would try to come to as many races as she could. The other drivers would argue about who my best friend was, but I knew who my best friend was and it was Y/BFF/N.

"Y/N, did you colour your hair?" Kimi asked. "You can tell?" I asked slightly shocked, "I just went for a lighter shade of burgundy than the last time" I elaborated. "Yeah, you look prettier" Ollie chimed. "Thank you. You boys are so sweet, unlike some people I know" I said looking at the other drivers who were stood a few feet away who were very confused when I asked them if anything was different about me. "You're always pretty" Franco added. "Okay, okay, flattery will only get you so far" I laughed. "We're being honest. Having some one as talented and beautiful on the grid that we can learn from is an honour" Kimi said solemnly. "Okay, is there a body you boys wanna hide?" I asked laughing. They laughed back.

"Can you introduce us to Lewis?" Franco whispered while we were stood there waiting for the media interviews. "Sure" I said. "He's so cool and we aren't sure if he'll talk to us" The other two boys added. "Oh, no, my babies, he's a sweetheart. You could just walk up to him and start talking. I was scared of him when I first joined too but we're pretty good friends" I explained. The 3 boys smiled at me, nodding in agreement.

Every time I would be talking to these 3, trying to make them feel at home like all the times the others did, I could feel eyes on me. I wasn't sure why they were all glaring at me.

I was doing my post quali media after qualifying P4. "So, what a race? Are you expecting a win or a podium?" The interviewer asked. "Obviously going to go for the win, podium isn't too far away either, let's see, I have a Ferrari and a McLaren to fight off though" I laughed. "We've seen you hanging around with the younger drivers, do they remind you of your rookie days?" she asked. "Yes, they are so nervous and scared but full of energy. They are fun to hang out with too" I said. "Does this mean you find the older drivers boring?" she prodded. "Never said that" I tsked. "I'm just trying to make them feel at home" I said. "Well, the fans are eating your interactions up. They find it so cute, you're like the mother duck and they are your ducklings" she said. "I wouldn't say that they are wrong" I chuckled. "I interviewed your teammate Max a while back and he didn't seem too pleased with your blossoming friendship. Why is that so?" the interviewer pointed out. "We're all competitive. I guess they are competitive about friends too" I shrugged. "It was nice talking to you, can't wait to watch you on the podium" she stated. I smiled and talked away.

I met the others in my drivers room. "I think this is a confidentiality breech to have all the other teams here" I laughed. "We're staging an intervention" Max stated. "For what? I don't have an addiction" I pointed out. "Since we're losing our bestie" Lando said. I couldn't help but laugh, "Who?" I asked. "You, you dumbass" Charles said. I sat on the chair that was unoccupied. "What's up my fellow drivers?" I asked. "We aren't only your fellow drivers, we're best friends" Lewis said. "Arguable but okay" I shrugged. "Are we not best friends?" Daniel fake cried. "My best friend is Y/BFF/n. You guys, I tolerate at best" I laughed. I could see all them visibly pout. "We don't like it" they said in unison. "What do you not like?" I asked. "You hanging out with the younger drivers or that we aren't best friends. Are we too old for you?" Carlos asked. "I'm as old as you guys. They just remind me of my siblings, they are like my ducklings and I'm their mother duck" I chuckled reminded of the analogy. "So, you aren't replacing us?" Oscar quipped. "Obviously not, they are my children. You guys are my friends" I said face palming myself. "Group hug?" Yuki asked and then we all huddled together. "What about us being best friends?" Max asked. "Still Y/BFF/N. I don't feel like a girl when I'm around you guys, she reminds me. We all have something special, we're competitors and friends" I said. They all seemed to nod in agreement.

After an abysmal race, I was laying in my hotel room going through twitter when I saw people talking about how I had taken the younger drivers under my wing and how they would follow me around like lost puppies while you could see the others stare daggers at them. At some point in the weekend, Max did almost carry me away from them, out of jealousy it seems and the gif was circulating all over the internet. I laughed at the tweets, my friends can get jealous, they would be jealous when I hang out with Y/BFF/N but I do need a get away from all the testosterone, but they are nice people, just bad at communicating.

[allforthegaymes]

Andrew sat in the fbi interrogation alongside Neil, stuck between trying to decide wether to keep his wary eyes on the agents sat across from them or to keep his eyes locked on Neil, as if he’ll disappear again if he loses sight of him at any point.

Instead he keeps a finger hooked around one of Neils belt loops and sets himself to memorizing every word out of Neils mouth, keeping a watch on the agents to make sure they dont make a sudden attempt to go back on their words.

Which means he gets the first hand sight of how other people would react to hearing about what Neil’s gone through. And while he’d accepted every word from Neils mouth without a facial reaction, watching how the agents react make him think maybe he shouldve.

(The whispered thanks from Neil afterwards about Andrew not looking at him differently changes his mind)

The only part that really makes him freeze is when Neil begins the talk of his mothers death. Andrews all too familiar with dead mothers in cars, but hearing about the gun wound, the vinyl seats sticking to a half burnt away body, the bone burial along the beach. Neil stutters only once during his recounts, where he slips and mentions the smell.

He compares it to the scent of cigarettes, used Andrew’s one marlboro reds as a reference and suddenly all those rooftop rendezvous together makes more sense.

Neils half smoked cigarettes, never stubbed out but left to continue burning on the concrete next to them while they sit and talk. The way he only does stub them out when talking about his parents, or when Andrew mentions something about his own mom, or when Andrew says anything about the earlier days with Aaron.

Neil stops talking for a moment after that. Lost in thought.

And as always, Andrew follows him half a step behind.

Neils adamant claims during their zombie apocalypse walks with Renee around the track that he would always burn their friends bodies to make sure they dont come back from the dead.

The way he always leaves the room when they watch the newest episode of that stupid viking show that Aaron and Kevin like to watch and theres a burning boat funeral.

The way he-

And then Neil starts talking to the fbi agents again and Andrew is forced to tune back in and tuck away those thoughts till later.

He tells them about what happened in Baltimore.

The torture from Lola. The dashboard lighter pressing seared wounds into his skin. Over the tattoo, scattered across his arms, the faint marks from where she tried to burn holes through his jeans to get to his thighs. Saved only half as well as they were by the fact he’d worn a pair of the carhartt work pants Andrew had bought for him and not a pair of the threadbare thrift store jeans he usually wore.

Andrew makes the mental note to stop using his own dashboard lighter to light the cigarettes he smokes in the car. And to swap cigarette brands. And to stop smoking in the car.

And then its about the trunk of the car, the way Lola had held onto him and the comments she made in the car, the basement, the offhanded mention about how Nathan was barefoot when he walked down the stairs.

The little details that only someone who’s truly grasping for any recollection in a traumatic moment would retain. The way even when Nathan was walking down to tear Neil limb from limb, Neil still couldnt bring himself to look at his fathers face. The face that Neil shares. The face Neil still avoids looking at when he walks past the mirror in the hall in Columbia.

And he thinks about the way Neil shied away from Wymack in the beginning, the way he now searches for Wymacks face whenever they get separated from their coach at away games.

The gun shots during the Hatford raid, the way even though Neil was bruised and battered he still found himself with a smile on his face when he saw Lola’s body get blasted apart by silenced guns.

The way he knew even if they got a proper funeral no one down there would get to have an open casket. The evidence in their bullet shattered bones that their bodies would never rest peacefully. That people in a thousand years would know from the unmarked graves and their remains that they deserved whatever ended them.

And then he claims it goes dark, he says it with the same way Neil lies about everything else, with his body forced relaxed to not twitch and give himself away, but he breathes a little heavier when he calmly tries to describe the way he came to and found himself being helped by the emergency services, feigning he doesnt know what theyre actually called, playing into the runaway kid sent on the road too young and not knowing completely how the world works still.

Andrew wishes he didnt know Neil well enough to know its only half real. Wishes he didnt know Mary probably only taught Neil how to recognize and run from EMT’s, and never actually explained what EMT was meant to stand for.

Andrew knows first hand how hard it is to gain sympathy from government officials, but Neil’s got them eating out of his hand with the way he words his story, their final nail in the coffin to take down the Wesninski trails in Baltimore and beyond.

Neil knows they need him and he knows how to play them to believe whatever story he deems they’re worthwhile to hear.

[lushleona]

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ slytherin boys as minions

after having a very random chat with @pizzaapeteer, i wanted to make this post connecting mattheo, theo, and enzo to the main minions in the minions movie 🤭 so now here we are…. if you haven’t seen the minions movie, what are you doing with your life?

mattheo riddle ⤑ bob!

mattheo is so bob-coded it’s not even funny. he’ll punch someone in a hallway and then cry about a sad cat video 5 minutes later. like yeah he tries to act all tough and mysterious with the whole “i could kill you with my pinky finger” vibe, but deep down? he’s just bob. emotionally attached to random objects, maybe a hoodie or a lighter he found on the street. needs constant reassurance. would absolutely carry around a stuffed animal if he thought no one was watching. gets way too excited about the smallest things and then tries to play it off like he didn’t just light up like a golden retriever. chaotic but in a “please love me” way. has no idea what’s going on 80% of the time but will fight to the death for his friends (and win). he’s got that unhinged loyalty mixed with baby brother energy. everyone’s like “don’t let mattheo do that” and he’s already doing it with a grin and zero regard for consequences. bob in combat boots, basically.

theodore nott ⤑ kevin!

theo is literally kevin with a wand. he’s the tall older sibling of the group who didn’t ask for this but somehow got stuck with the responsibility anyway. constantly cleaning up mattheo and enzo’s messes while muttering “i hate it here” under his breath. gives off “i’m above this” energy but will absolutely throw hands if someone messes with his friends. looks calm but is internally screaming 24/7. if he loses his book or his peace and quiet for even a second, it’s over. like, kevin is brave and protective, but also dramatic as hell when things don’t go his way. wants to be the hero, but ends up babysitting bob and stuart 24/7, just like theo with matt and enz. poor guy. reluctantly the dad friend. someone get him a stress ball. and send help. or coffee.

lorezno berkshire ⤑ stuart!

lorenzo berkshire is stuart in human form and there’s no convincing me otherwise. he’s got that chaotic middle-child energy—too cool to care, but somehow always in the middle of the drama. probably owns five guitars he can’t actually play and flirts his way out of detention. the type to accidentally set something on fire and say “oops” with wide eyes and zero remorse, then run away and blame someone else. lives for the bit. you think he’s not paying attention but he hears everything. gets bored in 2.5 seconds and starts annoying theo just for fun. somehow both the problem and the vibe. just stuart with better hair and abs tbh.

navigation. dividers by @kodaswrld

[andreilscat]

‘Kevin dropped this off earlier,’ Andrew said, motioning towards the small cake that was sitting on their kitchen table. ‘Jean made it.’

‘He knows I don’t celebrate,’ Neil murmured. His fingers trembled slightly as he pulled the chair to sit in front of the cake. He took his time observing it, a small smile tugging at his lips. It was white and devoid of any sort of decoration, with one single candle waiting to be lit on top. He was never one to go out of his way and actually buy a cake for himself, nor did he like when others did it for him. He thought it unnecessary. Yeah, yeah, he was alive and a year older, no need for over-the-top celebrations or sweet treats to prove the point.

His heart tightened in his chest when Andrew moved to stand behind him, resting his hands on Neil’s shoulders. Neil leaned back, thankful for Andrew’s presence. He appreciated the way Andrew leaned against him, his touch making him feel grounded.

‘Kevin said that he made it healthy, whatever that’s supposed to mean,’ Andrew said, giving his shoulders a light squeeze. Neil couldn’t see his face but he imagined him rolling his eyes at that.

‘Weirdo,’ Neil mumbled, shaking his head. He was so happy he feared his heart would burst. That stupid, stupid French boy, is he really going to make him do this?

‘Would you light the candle?’ Neil said, turning around slightly to look at Andrew.

Andrew held eye contact for a moment, making sure that this was what Neil really wanted before fishing out a lighter from his pocket. He leaned over Neil and lit the candle.

They stood in silence for a moment. Neil closed his eyes, focusing on the way Andrew’s body pressed against his back. He blew the candle without making any wishes. That would have been too much.

‘Want a slice?’ Andrew said, taking the candle out of the cake, and placing it to the side. He moved swiftly through the kitchen, getting everything ready before sitting down next to Neil.

‘Not now,’ Neil answered, observing how easily Andrew cut into the cake before placing a piece onto his own plate.

‘Suit yourself,’ Andrew mumbled, stuffing his face with a mouthful of cake. Neil’s eyes lingered on the frosting that sat in the corner of Andrew’s mouth and he fought the urge to lean in and clean it with his tongue. Andrew noticed though. Of course he did.

‘Want a taste?’ He said, moving the plate away, his eyes reserved for Neil only.

‘Yeah.’

Andrew slowly leaned in and took Neil’s face into his hands. He ran his thumb over his cheekbone before connecting their lips. The kiss was painfully slow and the sweetness made Neil’s head spin. He went limp, completely melting in Andrew’s arms.

Andrew pulled away slightly, only to leave a small kiss on his forehead before closing the distance once again.

Lemon, Neil thought, running his fingers through Andrew’s hair. He could get used to this.

[estellan0vella]

The Romantic Trials and Tribulations of Han Peter Jisung: H.JS Han Jisung x fem!reader (College AU)

WC: 19.3K

CW: Panic Attacks and Anxiety, Sexual Harassment and Assault Attempt, Violence and Physical Assault, Jisung falls fast and hard, Discussion of mental health issues, Language barrier difficulties (reader is Brazilian-Korean), Jisung is a yapper, strangers to lovers, CurlySung with a little manbun General Masterlist SKZ Masterlist

The living room is a mess of blankets, snack wrappers, and bodies sprawled across the couch and floor. You’re wedged between Chan-hee and Kevin as the bluish glow of Twilight plays on the TV. You barely even care about the movie, half-listening as Edward broods over Bella while the real entertainment unfolds in front of you.

Juyeon and Jacob are wrestling like their lives depend on it, grunting and cursing as they roll across the floor, limbs flailing. The cause of their battle? A single, lonely piece of kimbap sitting on the coffee table, the last remnant of the meal you cooked earlier. 

“You two are fucking ridiculous,” Chan-hee says, shoving a handful of popcorn into his mouth. “It’s one piece of kimbap.”

“It’s the last piece,” Juyeon grunts, trying to pin Jacob’s arm behind his back. “And Y/N made it. That makes it sacred."

Kevin throws his head back with a dramatic sigh. “Just fucking split it.”

“No,” Juyeon and Jacob yell at the same time, their voices muffled as they continue to struggle.

Kevin rolls his eyes and throws a popcorn kernel at them. It bounces off Jacob’s head. “You guys are fucking exhausting.”

Jacob finally manages to wriggle free, lunging for the kimbap, but Juyeon is quicker. He snatches it up, shoving it into his mouth before Jacob can stop him. 

Jacob lets out a horrified gasp, flopping onto the floor like he’s just been stabbed. “You’re dead to me,” he mutters, face buried in the carpet.

Juyeon chews triumphantly. “Worth it.”

Kevin claps his hands together. “Okay, children, now that that fucking disaster is over, tomorrow, movie marathon?”

You shift uncomfortably, tucking your hands into the sleeves of your jumper. “I... um... I can’t,” you mumble, your Portuguese accent thick as you struggle to piece the sentence together. “I, uh, plans with Minho.”

Chan-hee’s head snaps toward you so fast you think he might get whiplash. “Excuse me?!”

Kevin gasps, clutching his chest like you just personally betrayed him and you sink further into the couch. “He, um, needs help, with, uh study. Marine life.”

Chan-hee stares at you, utterly scandalized. “We’re not even classed as your best friends, are we?”

Your eyes widen in panic. “You are! You are! Just different. I know Minho longer. Like, um,  since I born longer.”

Jacob, Juyeon, and Kevin all let out dramatic gasps, clutching at each other like the revelation is too much to bear. Juyeon strokes Jacob’s hair like he’s comforting a grieving widow. “We’ll get through this,” he murmurs.

You groan, burying your face in your hands. “You all are dramatic.”

Kevin leans in, grinning. “Remember how he threatened us when you moved in?”

Everyone falls silent for a moment. Then, as if on cue, they all shudder.

“Oh, fuck,” Juyeon mutters.

“I still have nightmares,” Jacob adds.

Chan-hee rubs his arms like he’s suddenly cold. “He didn’t even have to yell. Just stared at us with that fucking psychotic look, like he was planning where to hide our bodies.”

Kevin nods solemnly. “Yeah. That was terrifying.” He turns back to you. “So what are the plans for you and Mr. Murder Stare?”

You hesitate, already regretting saying anything. “Um, going to frat house. Meeting his, uh, friends.”

The room falls dead silent before Kevin and Chan-hee both let out twin gasps of pure horror.

Jacob scrambles to his feet. “We need the sage.”

“Now,” Chan-hee agrees, already digging through the mess of the coffee table.

Juyeon stands, nodding gravely. “I’ll get the lighter.”

You blink in confusion. “Uh, what?”

Kevin grabs your shoulders, shaking you slightly. “Y/N, you’re stepping into Alpha Phi territory. That place is cursed.”

“They’re demons,” Chan-hee adds. “We have to cleanse you before you go in.”

Jacob returns with a bundle of sage, holding it like it’s a weapon. Juyeon flicks the lighter open, flame dancing.

You sigh. There’s no arguing with them when they get like this. “Okay. Do... whatever.”

Kevin grins. “Oh, this is gonna be fun.”

Chan-hee waves his hands dramatically. “Everyone, gather around! We must protect our dear Y/N from the hellfire she is about to walk into.”

Juyeon lights the sage, the scent of burning herbs filling the air. Jacob starts humming some kind of ominous chant, waving his hands in circles.

Chan-hee presses a hand to your forehead. “Be gone, evil spirits of Alpha Phi! May the ghost of marine biology protect you!”

Kevin stifles a laugh as he moves behind you, making a cross over your back with the sage. “We anoint you with the power of sanity, so you do not lose yourself among the testosterone-ridden fiends.”

Juyeon walks in circles around you, waving the sage like a priest performing an exorcism. Jacob throws popcorn in the air like it’s holy water.

You sit there, letting them do whatever the fuck this is, fingers playing with the hem of your jumper. Your face is warm, a mix of embarrassment and amusement bubbling up as they take it all way too seriously.

Kevin finally steps back, nodding in satisfaction. “Alright. She’s protected.”

Jacob pats your head. “If you feel possessed, let us know.”

You shake your head, exhaling slowly. Your anxiety is still there, humming beneath your skin, but they always make things feel a little lighter. Even if they’re fucking insane.

Chan-hee flops back onto the couch. “Now, let’s finish this fucking movie. And someone make more kimbap before Jacob kills Juyeon.”

Minho stands in the middle of the Alpha Phi frat house living room, a spatula in his hand, smacking it against his palm with slow, deliberate force. The rhythmic sound echoes through the space, a sharp snap against his skin, a warning. He doesn’t say anything at first, just lets the repeated slap of silicone against flesh set the tone.

Hyunjin, sprawled half-asleep on the couch with his buzzed head resting against a pillow, blinks sluggishly. “What the fuck is going on?”

Minho lets the spatula land one more time, tilting his head slightly. “All of you have a chance to live past tomorrow as long as you listen to what I say right now.”

Seungmin leans forward from his spot in the armchair, adjusting his glasses. “The fuck does that mean?”

Minho finally stops hitting his palm and plants the spatula against his hip. “My best friend is coming over tomorrow afternoon.”

Chan looks up and sighs, tossing his phone onto the coffee table. “Min, you have people over all the time. We literally hear you fucking them. So what if you’re fucking your best friend?”

Minho freezes. A visible shudder runs through him before he lets out the most guttural, agonized gag. His entire body convulses, and he violently dry heaves, doubling over, hands on his knees. The sound is disgusting like he’s about to vomit all over the carpet.

“Dude, what the fuck-”

Felix, who has been sitting quietly on the couch with Jisung nestled between his legs, presses his lips together, watching with faint amusement as Minho continues to gag like he’s choking on pure horror.

Jisung, still fidgeting with his cube while Felix braids tiny sections of his hair and shoves random clips into it, looks up. “That was a really strong reaction. We should unpack that.”

Minho abruptly straightens, eyes burning with rage. He strides over to Chan and smacks him across the shoulder with the spatula. Hard.

“Ow, what the fuck?!”

Minho smacks him again. “This is not like that, you absolute fuckhead!” Another smack. “She’s my best friend. Only a friend.” Smack. “And everyone here knows I prefer cock anyway!” Smack, smack, smack.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Minho!”

Minho finally relents, shaking the spatula at the rest of them. “She’s coming over because I have a marine life portion of my veterinary science course, and she studies marine biology and she has crippling anxiety.”

Seungmin gestures lazily to Jisung. “He also has crippling anxiety.”

Jisung, still on the floor, barely looks up, too focused on clicking his cube back and forth as Felix continues to mess with his hair, now twisting the strands into uneven sections and securing them with tiny hair ties.

Jisung hums. “Yeah, but mine makes me hyper as fuck. I can’t sit still. I can’t stop talking. My brain is like a YouTube autoplay button that someone forgot to turn off.”

Minho exhales sharply, running a hand through his honey-blonde hair. “Exactly. You and her have very different presentations of anxiety. You’re a chihuahua on crack cocaine.”

Jisung grins. “Aww, thanks.”

Minho ignores him. “She can’t talk to new people. I have to do that for her. If I don’t, she just shuts down.”

Felix frowns. “Are you sure bringing her here is a good idea?”

Minho presses the spatula against his palm again. “No, which is why I am giving you all this talk now and why all of you shall have the fear of Minho put in you.”

Jisung glances up, blinking. “Isn’t the saying fear of God?”

Minho points a finger upwards. “God, if you believe, is up there.” He slowly lowers the finger and points directly at Jisung. “I am right here. Much, much closer.”

Seungmin smirks. “Yeah, because Satan came to earth and took on the name Lee Minho.”

Minho shrugs. “Maybe. Now, listen the fuck up. She doesn’t like loud noises or sudden loud noises. They make her panic, so being quiet is fucking necessary.” He stops and turns to glare at Chan, Changbin, and Hyunjin. “So all three of you stay the fuck out of the kitchen. No fire alarms.”

Chan scowls. “Hey-”

“No.” Minho raises the spatula again. “I swear to god, if that fire alarm goes off, I will fucking end you.”

Changbin groans. “That was one time.”

“One time my ass. You nearly burned the whole fucking kitchen down.”

Hyunjin throws his hands up. “Okay, yeah, that was bad, but-”

“Do you want to die?”

“No.”

“Then stay the fuck out of the kitchen.”

Felix squeezes Jisung’s pec absentmindedly as he glances up at Minho. “So basically, we just have to be on our best behaviour?”

Minho tilts his head, considering. “No. You all need to know the consequences of fucking up.”

Seungmin sighs. “Here we go.”

Minho cracks his neck. Then, slowly, he levels his gaze at Chan first. “If you say anything that makes her uncomfortable, I will personally drag you by your stupid curly head of hair and drown you in the fucking toilet.”

Chan raises an eyebrow. “That seems excessive.”

Minho ignores him and moves to Changbin. “If you yell near her, I will rip out your vocal cords with my bare hands and string them up like decorations.”

Changbin snorts. “Creative.”

Next, Hyunjin. “If you scare her in any way, I will take that ugly fucking buzzcut of yours and carve a smiley face into the back of your head with my pocket knife.”

Hyunjin gasps, hand flying to his hair. “Bitch!”

Felix is next. “If you touch her without permission, I will break all ten of your fingers and then feed them to you.”

Felix pouts. “I wouldn’t touch her-”

Minho moves on. “Seungmin.”

Seungmin sighs dramatically. “Let me guess. If I insult her, you’ll shove my head into the oven?”

Minho shrugs. “Actually, I was thinking of locking you in the laundry room and filling it with spiders, but the oven is a solid alternative.”

Lastly, Jeongin. Minho crosses his arms. “If you do anything stupid, I will throw your entire fucking sewing machine out the window.”

Jeongin gasps, clutching his chest. “That’s fucked up.”

“Wait a second.” Chan gestures vaguely at the group. “You didn’t threaten Jisung.”

Minho turns to Jisung, who looks up from his fidget cube with curious eyes. “I will take your consoles,” Minho says. “And then I will gently tuck you into bed, and I will make you take a nap if you scare her with your rambling.”

“That’s fucking favouritism!” 

“What the fuck?!” 

“Are you kidding me?” 

Jisung sputters, eyes wide. “No, wait, that’s not favouritism! I hate naps more than anything!”

Felix ruffles his hair, snickering. “Aww, poor baby.”

Jisung flails. “No, seriously, I fucking hate naps! I’d rather be waterboarded!”

Minho smirks. “Sucks to suck, buddy.”

Jisung groans, collapsing against Felix’s legs. “I fucking hate this house.”

Minho lets the chaos settle for a moment, rolling his shoulders before fixing them all with another pointed look. The spatula, still firm in his grip, smacks against his palm once more. It’s almost a reflex at this point.

“Also, there’s something else you need to know,” he says, his tone measured, but firm enough that it silences the lingering murmurs of complaint about favouritism. “Her Korean is very broken. She spent most of her life in Brazil. Technically, her first language is Korean, but she has spoken Portuguese for so long that she’s basically relearning the language now. She’s got a strong accent, and sometimes it takes her a few seconds to translate. She also uses her hands a lot when she talks, she gestures to try and figure out what she’s trying to say.”

Felix immediately nods. “Oh, yeah. I get that.” His fingers absentmindedly smooth down one of Jisung’s messy little braids. “I did the same thing when I moved here. It’s fucking hard. Your brain works twice as much trying to make sure you don’t sound like an idiot.”

Jisung perks up. “Oh! I was like that when I lived in Malaysia! Learning Malay was fucking hard, dude.” He clicks his fidget cube rapidly, his knee bouncing as the energy spikes in his chest. “Like, okay, so, I was already speaking English and Korean, right? But then I get thrown into this whole new language, and it’s like- fuck- what’s the word? Overload! Yeah, like, my brain was constantly buffering. And then when I finally got used to Malay, I had to start learning Mandarin too because everyone around me spoke it, and let me tell you, the tonal shit? A fucking nightmare.”

Changbin nudges Jeongin. “He’s going off.”

Jeongin smirks. “It’s kinda impressive how his mouth can keep up with his brain.”

Jisung barely pauses to breathe. “Oh, and don’t even get me started on writing! The characters, the sentence structure, the grammar, it’s a whole fucking process. Sometimes I’ll write something and realize I mixed up three languages in one sentence, and I have no idea how the fuck it happened. And then, like, my brain is just constantly flipping between them, and-”

Minho sighs. “Come on, Ji. We’ll get you some decaffeinated tea to wind you down, and I’ll sort out that mess on your head before Felix ruins your hair permanently.”

Jisung bounces to his feet instantly, almost knocking over the coffee table in the process. “Okay!” He scurries after Minho like an excited puppy, his fidget cube still clicking away in his hand.

Once they’re in the kitchen, Minho flips the light to a lower setting, the glow dimming into something softer. Jisung’s energy is still at its peak, but Minho knows the drill.

Jisung plops himself onto the counter, swinging his legs. “You know, I’ve been thinking about trying boxing more seriously. Not just for cardio, but like, an actual thing.” His fingers drum against his thighs. “Like, you know how we go to the gym and spar sometimes? What if I did that, but, like, a couple more times a week?”

Minho grabs the kettle and starts filling it with water. “Try the tea first.” He sets it on the stove, turning to face Jisung with a raised brow. “If you can sit through one sensory video without bouncing off the fucking walls, we’ll talk about increasing your gym time.”

Jisung narrows his eyes. “You drive a hard bargain.” He twists his fidget cube in his palm, considering. “What video?”

Minho leans against the counter. “One of those animated ones.”

Jisung claps his hands. “I love those. My favourite is when they change faces, and I’m like, ‘Aww, smiley peas,’ and then they switch, and I’m like, ‘Awww, smiley banana!’ And when they line up like a rainbow? Fucking art.”

Minho just shakes his head, amused, as he sets a mug on the counter. He brews the tea, setting it in front of Jisung before pulling out his phone to queue up a video. The screen fills with soft, satisfying animations, fruits and vegetables bouncing, colours shifting in rhythm with calm background music.

Jisung picks up his mug, blowing on the tea before taking a cautious sip. His shoulders drop slightly as the warmth spreads through him, the combination of the video and the drink working its magic.

Minho stands behind him, carefully undoing the mess Felix created in his hair. His fingers work gently, untangling knots and loosening the haphazard braids.

“You let him get really carried away this time,” Minho murmurs, combing his fingers through Jisung’s hair.

Jisung hums, watching as the fruit on screen morphs into another shape. “He likes playing with it. And honestly? It feels kinda nice.”

Minho chuckles. “You’re such a fucking cat.”

Jisung shrugs. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

The kitchen is quiet for a few minutes, the only sounds being the soft music from the video and the occasional sip from Jisung’s tea. His knee still bounces, but slower now. The energy isn’t gone, but it’s settled, softened around the edges.

Minho finishes untangling the last braid and smooths his hands over Jisung’s hair. “There. Good as new.”

Jisung sighs dramatically. “You’re the best, Min. Seriously. What would I do without you?”

Minho smirks, tossing the fidget cube back to him. “Probably combust.”

Jisung catches it easily, already clicking it again. “Yeah. Probably.”

The summer heat clings to your skin as you step up the worn stone steps leading to the Alpha Phi frat house. The sun hangs high, casting long shadows against the pavement, and your fingers twitch against the chain strap of your black quilted shoulder bag. Your silver anxiety rings spin under your thumb, a nervous habit you can’t seem to break.

You inhale deeply, adjusting your fitted black cropped turtleneck, the fabric snug against your torso while your wide-leg grey trousers billow softly with each movement. The material is light, breathable, but you still feel the weight of your own nerves pressing against your chest.

You reach the front door, hesitating for only a second before pressing the doorbell. Your eyes widen as Love Me Like This by NMIXX rings out at full volume, echoing across the porch and probably into the street. 

Before you can fully process the absurdity, the door swings open, and Minho is standing there, smirking. The sight of him eases something tight in your chest.

His eyes flick to your expression, the slight tension in your posture, and his smirk softens into something gentler. "Hey," he says, and before you can overthink it, he pulls you into a hug.

You let yourself relax for just a second, your face pressing briefly against his shoulder. The familiar warmth of him is grounding, and when he pulls back, you manage a small smile.

"How have you been?" he asks, watching as your fingers fidget with the strap of your bag.

You hesitate for a moment, translating in your head before answering. "I got project partner," you say slowly, your Korean clumsy, the sentence structure awkward. "Beom-Seok. He, uh, he is something."

Minho’s eyes narrow instantly. "Need me to fight him?"

Your eyes widen, shaking your head quickly. "No! No!"

Minho just exhales, giving you a look. "You ready?"

You nod.

"You don’t have to speak if you don’t want to, okay?" His voice is quieter now, just for you. "I’ll just tell you their names, and then we’ll head up to my room."

Another nod and Minho steps back, motioning for you to enter. You toe off your white Converse at the doorway, leaving you in your black ankle socks, and step inside. The air is cooler, the scent of something vaguely fried lingering in the space.

Then, suddenly, seven heads appear from the living room doorway, stacked on top of each other like a fucking totem pole of nosy idiots.

Minho groans. "Are you fucking serious?"

The heads remain stacked. A curious, synchronized tilt. You instinctively step slightly behind Minho, peeking out cautiously.

Minho gestures vaguely at the group. "Y/N, meet Chan, Changbin, Hyunjin, Felix, Jisung, Jeongin, and Seungmin." He points them out one by one.

You nod, heart pounding, and manage, "Nice to meet you."

The accent is unmistakable, thick and foreign, the syllables slow as you carefully piece them together. The words don’t flow naturally, each one feeling like a small mountain to climb.

You glance at Minho, silently asking if you said it right and he nods approvingly. "You got it. Pronunciation was great."

Felix grins. "Super impressive. It took me way longer when I was learning Korean."

"Oh!" Jisung practically vibrates where he stands. "That’s so cool! You’re, like, bilingual. Or trilingual? Do you speak anything else? Because that’s fucking sick. Oh, right, I should introduce myself properly. Han Jisung, at your service. Investigative journalism major, criminal psych minor. Also part-time nuisance, full-time genius. And, like, I totally get the whole language struggle thing. I lived in Malaysia for a while, right? So I had to learn Malay, and it was so fucking hard, like, the sentence structure? The way verbs change? Fucking insane. And then I came back here, and my Korean was rusty as shit, so I had to relearn a bunch-"

"Jesus Christ, someone stop him," Seungmin mutters.

Chan sighs, reaching out to slap a hand over Jisung’s mouth and Jisung nods in thanks, eyes still buzzing with energy.

Minho sighs, shaking his head. "Let’s go," he murmurs to you, leading you away from the mess and up the stairs.

The sound of the others talking fades as you follow Minho to his room, the walls lined with posters and books, a desk cluttered but organized in a way only he would understand. The scent of fresh laundry lingers, familiar and oddly comforting.

You glance at him, hesitating before saying, "Jisung is cute."

"He’s single, you know. You could get that chronically anxious dick."

Your foot immediately swings out, colliding with his shin and Minho yelps, stumbling back, clutching his leg dramatically. "You little-"

Before he can finish, you snatch a magazine from his desk and swat him over the head.

He wails. "Violence!"

You huff, crossing your arms and Minho groans, rubbing his shin. "Fine. No more comments about Jisung’s dick. Jesus."

You glare for a second longer before tossing the magazine back onto his desk.

Minho exhales, shaking his head. "You and your fucking kicks."

A small smile tugs at the corner of your lips.

He notices but doesn’t say anything, just nudges your arm lightly.

"Come on," he says. "Let’s actually study before we end up talking about Jisung’s fucking anxiety again."

You nod, settling onto the floor with him, feeling just a little less on edge.

As soon as Minho and you disappear upstairs, Jisung spins around dramatically, clutching his chest like he’s been physically struck. His eyes are wide, sparkling with something unhinged, and his mouth falls open as if he’s about to recite the most poetic sonnet of his life.

“Love at first sight,” he breathes, staggering slightly as if the sheer weight of his emotions is too much to bear. 

Jeongin’s head snaps toward him so fast it looks like he might get whiplash. “Minho’s friend?!”

Jisung nods rapidly, his whole body vibrating like an over-caffeinated bobblehead. “Yes! Yes! Yes! Minho’s friend! The most beautiful creature to ever grace this filthy frat house! The embodiment of grace, of elegance, of shyness so devastating it makes my heart fucking ache! The little peek from behind him? The way she barely spoke but when she did, the accent, Jeongin! The fucking accent!”

Changbin stares at him, horrified. “Do you have a fucking death wish? Do you want to die? Because that’s exactly what’s going to happen if you try to pull anything with Minho’s best friend.”

Chan squints at Jisung like he’s just grown a second head. ��Jisung, I know you’re mentally ill, but are you fucking insane?!”

Jisung throws his arms in the air, his fidget cube clattering onto the couch. “I can’t control it! My heart! It’s not mine anymore! It now beats for her! She had a halo, I swear to god! A halo! And a sexy accent! And she studies marine biology! Marine biology, Chan! Do you know how much I know about ocean life?! Too much! An unhealthy amount! I have years of marine documentary knowledge just rotting in my brain, waiting for the perfect moment to be used, and this is it! This is my moment!”

Seungmin pinches the bridge of his nose. “This is the worst thing you’ve ever said.”

Jisung, completely unfazed, keeps going. “Did you see her?! Did you see how fucking delicate she was? Like a little fairy? Like, holy fuck, I swear I saw wings. All quiet and pretty and soft, like a book character that just came to life. Like, I know she’s shy, and I know she has anxiety, but holy shit, that just makes her even more unreal. Like, I have anxiety, but it makes me feel like a coked-up raccoon, she has anxiety, and it makes her look like a fragile porcelain doll that I want to protect with my life! It’s a different kind of anxiety! It’s the kind of anxiety that makes my soul yearn-”

Seungmin groans. “You need to be medicated.”

Changbin shakes his head. “No, he needs a fucking lobotomy.”

Jisung keeps talking like he doesn’t even hear them. “And her outfit? The black turtleneck, the wide-leg trousers? That’s the kind of effortless fashion that’s just unfair. Like, she could’ve worn a trash bag, and she still would’ve looked like an ethereal being that descended from the heavens just to ruin my life! And the way she held her bag? Like, the little fiddling with the strap? That was the cutest fucking thing I’ve ever seen in my entire existence, and I watch baby animal compilations at least once a day!”

“Shut him the fuck up,” Hyunjin mutters.

Chan doesn’t even hesitate. He lunges forward, smacking Jisung upside the head.

Jisung yelps, but he barely stops talking. “-and don’t even get me started on her rings, because holy shit, there’s something about silver jewellery that just does something to me, and- ow, what the fuck, Chan-”

Hyunjin joins in, smacking the other side of Jisung’s head. “Shut the fuck up!”

Jisung shrieks, ducking as Changbin swings at him next and Changbin finally gets him, jabbing him in the ribs. “MINHO IS GOING TO FUCKING MURDER YOU.”

Felix, watching the absolute carnage unfold, simply tilts his head. “I think it’s sweet.”

Jisung gasps dramatically, clutching Felix’s wrist like he’s just been given a lifeline. “Thank you, Felix! Someone here actually appreciates romance.” He composes himself, straightening his spine. “I need a plan.”

Felix nods solemnly. “First, you need a sword to defend yourself against Minho.”

Jisung nods back, equally serious. “Right. A sword.”

Changbin gapes at them. “Are you two fucking dumb? A sword?! Against Minho?! He’ll just take it from you and stab you with it!”

Jisung waves a hand. “Details, details.” He places a hand over his heart again. “I am willing to risk it all for love.”

Felix tilts his head. “Honestly? If Minho were to let anyone here date his friend, it’d probably be Jisung.”

Jisung’s eyes widen. Slowly, a grin spreads across his face. “Gentlemen, welcome to the romantic trials and tribulations of Han Peter Jisung.”

The quiet room is a sanctuary. A place where the hum of voices, the constant shuffle of students, the relentless buzz of the outside world all fade into the background. It’s one of the few spaces on campus where only a handful of students have access, those who need silence, those who require a place to breathe.

You exhale slowly, adjusting the volume on your laptop as the Korean narration of the marine biology documentary plays quietly. The Portuguese subtitles flicker at the bottom of the screen, your eyes following each word carefully. It’s the best way you’ve found to strengthen your Korean, forcing your brain to process both languages at once.

Your fingers toy with the anxiety rings on your hands, silver bands spinning as you jot down notes in your notebook. The documentary covers coral ecosystems, the way the reefs function as an underwater city teeming with life. You’re completely engrossed until the door opens.

Jisung stands in the doorway, holding up his access pass like he’s proving he has a reason to be here. His fitted black zip-up jacket hugs his frame, the high neck zipped up just below his chin, and his light-wash, wide-leg denim jeans hang loosely over his black combat boots. There’s something effortlessly cool about him, but the nervous energy buzzing around him makes him feel more approachable.

His expression is open, a small smile tugging at his lips. He doesn’t look like he’s here to disturb the quiet, though his very presence carries an air of movement, of something constantly in motion. He hesitates just slightly, eyes flickering toward the empty seat next to you.

“Can I sit with you?”

You nod and Jisung’s smile widens as he settles into the chair beside you, leaning in just enough to peek at your laptop screen. “Ooh, I love that documentary. They’re talking about coral life, right?”

You nod again, fingers still fidgeting with the rings on your hand.

Jisung glances at the screen again, tilting his head slightly. “Can I watch with you?”

Another nod. He seems completely unbothered by your silence, instead resting his arms on the table as he scans the subtitles. After a second, he furrows his brows. “What language are the subtitles?”

You hesitate for a moment, mentally piecing together the sentence before speaking. “Uh, Portuguese? Is that how you say?”

Jisung hums thoughtfully. “Close. You put too much emphasis on the initial consonant and not enough on the vowel.”

“Oh.” You repeat the word, trying to correct it.

Jisung grins. “Yeah, you got it.”

You smile, just a little.

He doesn’t seem to expect you to talk much, which is a relief. Instead, he starts filling the silence with easy chatter, his voice animated but careful, slow enough that you can follow along. 

“I love marine biology documentaries. I mean, I love all documentaries, but marine life is especially cool. Did you know octopuses can change colour not just to blend in, but also based on their mood? Like, they literally express emotions through their skin. That’s insane. And don’t even get me started on mimic octopuses. They can literally impersonate other sea creatures. Like, full-on cosplay. They can pretend to be sea snakes, lionfish, crabs. It’s like if I just shapeshifted into Minho whenever I wanted to scare someone.”

You do know. You know everything he’s saying, but you let him talk. Jisung watches your expression as he continues, testing how much you understand. If you look even slightly lost, he slows down, repeats certain words, and if that doesn’t work, he pulls out his phone, opening a translator app and speaking directly into it.

You blink in surprise when the app suddenly speaks in Portuguese, perfectly clear and easy to understand. 

Jisung grins. “I use it a lot. Seoul has a ton of tourists, and I like helping people if they need it.”

You don’t know what to say to that, so you just nod again.

He keeps going, keeping his voice soft so he doesn’t disrupt the quiet of the room. “Also, jellyfish? Some of them are basically immortal, like, they just revert back to their younger form and start their life cycle over. Which is kinda cool, but also terrifying because imagine if humans could do that? Like, if you hit eighty and just decided to turn back into a baby instead of dying. That’s some horror movie shit.”

Your lips twitch, amusement flickering across your face.

Jisung notices immediately, his grin widening. “Oh, I saw that. I made you smile. That’s a win for me.”

Jisung leans back slightly, staring at the screen as the documentary shifts to a segment about symbiotic relationships in the ocean. “Oh, clownfish and anemones! Classic duo. Everyone thinks of Finding Nemo, but the wild part is that clownfish can actually change sex. If the dominant female in the group dies, the largest male will turn into a female to take her place. Like, full biological transformation. That’s commitment.”

“You know lots.”

Jisung shrugs, fidgeting slightly with the sleeve of his jacket. “I get hyper-fixated on stuff sometimes. Documentaries are my comfort zone.”

You understand that more than he realizes.

Jisung tilts his head. “You’re really quiet.”

Your fingers twist the rings on your hand. “I do not know what to say.”

“That’s okay. I talk enough for both of us.”

You huff a quiet laugh, and Jisung grins like he just won something.

The documentary continues playing, but you find yourself paying more attention to Jisung’s presence beside you. He’s restless, always moving in some way, bouncing his knee, tapping his fingers, adjusting the zipper of his jacket. But it doesn’t feel disruptive. It feels natural.

He doesn’t press you to talk, doesn’t expect you to meet him at his energy level. He just exists beside you, comfortable in his own whirlwind of movement, and for the first time in a while, you don’t feel the pressure to shrink yourself down.

Maybe, just maybe, Jisung isn’t as overwhelming as you first thought.

Jisung practically explodes into Felix’s room, the door swinging open with such force that it bounces off the wall. Felix, who had been comfortably hunched over his gaming setup, lets out a startled noise, nearly dropping his controller.

“The fuck, Jisung?” Felix huffs, yanking off his headset.

“I spent time with Y/N today!”

That gets Felix’s attention. Immediately, he pauses his game and spins in his chair, his full focus now on Jisung. “Oh?”

Jisung nods so violently that his hair flops in his face, his excitement barely contained. “We were in one of the quiet rooms. Just me and her, no interruptions, just vibes. And we watched a documentary. A marine biology documentary. Felix, do you understand how fucking insane that is?!”

Felix smirks, leaning back in his chair. “Oh, yeah. Wild.”

Jisung is undeterred, pacing the small space as he gestures wildly. “She looked so pretty, man. Like, she was just sitting there, watching the documentary, and I swear to god, she has this ethereal kind of presence. Like, you know when the light hits someone just right and they look all angelic and shit? That was her. She was wearing this really nice fitted bodysuit, deep V-neck, and I am a man, Felix, I noticed, and those high-waisted jeans? Fucking criminal. The way they fit her-"

Felix bursts out laughing, shaking his head. “Jesus, you’re gone, dude.”

“I am!” Jisung agrees, throwing his arms up. “And the jewellery, her little silver rings? I think I ascended when she started fidgeting with them. It’s so fucking cute! Like, she was just sitting there, all focused, twirling the chain around her fingers like some kind of shy goddess-”

Felix raises a hand. “Okay, Romeo, calm the fuck down.”

Jisung stops abruptly, inhaling deeply before exhaling all at once. Felix watches him for a moment before grinning. “Well, it seems like your hyper fixation on documentaries finally did something for you.”

Jisung nods rapidly, his whole body vibrating with agreement. “I know, right?! It’s like the universe finally aligned like this was the moment my excessive knowledge of marine biology was meant for! She didn’t even get annoyed when I rambled. She let me talk! And you know how people usually get all ‘Jisung, shut the fuck up’ when I start going off? She didn’t do that! She just listened! Like an angel! Like the patron saint of patience and marine ecosystems!”

Felix snickers, tilting his head. “So what’s the plan, loverboy?”

Jisung's face splits into a mischievous grin. He dramatically claps his hands together, rubbing them like a cartoon villain. “I have a plan,” 

Felix raises an eyebrow. “Oh yeah?”

“I’m going to write a journalism article on investigating the effects of plastic on aquatic life. And then I’m going to ask Y/N to help me.”

Felix stares at him for a second before bursting out laughing. “That’s actually smart.”

Jisung grins, practically vibrating with enthusiasm. “I know! She’s literally a marine biology major, Felix. This is perfect! It’s academic, it’s something I genuinely care about, and it means I’ll get to spend more time with her!”

Felix shakes his head, still grinning. “Damn, you’re really in deep, huh?”

Jisung groans dramatically, flopping onto Felix’s bed. “Felix, I am drowning. And you know what? I don’t want a fucking lifeboat. I’m just gonna let the ocean of my emotions consume me.”

Felix rolls his eyes. “Alright, Shakespeare, go get started on your research before you combust.”

Jisung sits up instantly, determination burning in his eyes. “You’re right. I need to prepare. This has to be perfect.”

Felix watches as Jisung scrambles to his feet, already pulling out his phone, probably to start researching on the way to his room.

As he reaches the doorway, Jisung pauses. Then he turns back, pointing dramatically at Felix. “Operation Love at High Tide is officially in motion.”

Felix groans. “I fucking hate you.”

Jisung just grins and bolts down the hallway, already mumbling excitedly to himself.

The quiet room is a refuge against the relentless heatwave. The campus feels suffocating, the humidity pressing in from all sides, and your body always feels heavier when it’s this hot, like the warmth drags your energy down until your limbs are sluggish, your mind slower to process. It doesn’t help that Beom-Seok has been more unbearable than usual, his usual annoying flirtations escalating into excessive physical contact, hands lingering far too long on your wrist, your shoulder, even the small of your back. The moment you’d managed to shake him, you’d practically sprinted to the quiet room, seeking out the air conditioning and solitude.

The cool air soothes the tension in your body as you sit at the table, your laptop open in front of you, an article on turtles and microplastics affecting their breeding cycles displayed on the screen. 

Your green maxi skirt pools around your legs as you shift, the material soft against your skin. The white crochet halter top breathes easily in the heat, and the bandana keeping your hair back prevents it from sticking to your skin.

The door swings open and Jisung steps inside. His white Nirvana graphic tee is slightly oversized, hanging loose over his camouflage cargo pants, and his white chunky sneakers make soft thuds against the floor as he moves toward you. A white bandana keeps his hair out of his face, but a few strands still manage to escape, framing his features.

He places his bag on the chair across from you before sliding one of the cups in his hands toward you. “Hey,” he says, his tone easy, familiar. “Figured you’d need this.”

You blink at the iced latte in front of you, condensation already beading on the plastic. Your fingers brush against the cold surface as you hesitate, glancing up at him.

Jisung grins. “I figured you’d want something iced since, you know, death heat.”

Your lips part, struggling for a second to form the right words. “Oh. Uh, thanks.”

Jisung waves a hand, plopping down across from you and taking a sip of his own iced americano. “Don’t judge the outfit, okay? I’m running out of clean clothes because I’m sweating through everything in this fucking heatwave. I think my laundry basket is actually mocking me at this point.”

You tilt your head slightly, glancing at his shirt and pants. “You.. look fine.”

Jisung grins. “See, this is why I like you and I need your help.”

You glance at him, waiting.

“I chose to do a journalism article on investigating the effects of plastic on aquatic life,” he announces, pulling his notebooks from his backpack. “And I thought, you know who can help me? Y/N.”

Your eyebrows raise slightly as he slides his notes toward you. The pages are chaotic, a mess of hurried writing, crossed-out sentences, and doodles.

Jisung rubs the back of his neck. “It’s, uh, not much. And not factual enough. Which is why I desperately need your help.”

You pull the notebook closer, your eyes scanning the pages. You have to read slowly, taking your time to process the Korean and translate it in your head. But as you go through his notes, something becomes increasingly clear, there’s barely anything about plastics and aquatic life. Instead, it’s filled with scattered thoughts, personal opinions, and elaborate doodles of sea creatures.

You pause, a small smile tugging at your lips as you read one of the notes scrawled in the middle of the page. 

Male dolphins should be cancelled. Make a #MeToo movement for female dolphins at a later date.

A quiet laugh escapes before you can stop it. Jisung immediately perks up. “Oh my god, I made you laugh. That means you got to that part, huh?”

You glance at him, still amused. “Male… dolphins?”

Jisung groans, throwing his head back. “They’re rapists, Y/N! It’s awful! I was doing some research, and it turns out they have fucking gangs where they kidnap female dolphins and force them to mate. And it gets worse! They also hump humans! There are actual recorded incidents of people getting harassed by fucking dolphins! Like, imagine going on a nice vacation, swimming in the ocean, and then bam! Sexual assault by a dolphin! I trusted them! We all trusted them!”

You already know all of this. But you let him talk.

“And the thing is, everyone thinks dolphins are these cute, friendly ocean puppies, but no! They’re fucking menaces! And you know what else? They kill for fun! They’ll just murder baby porpoises for no fucking reason! They don’t even eat them, they just do it! Like some serial killer shit! If dolphins had access to land, they’d probably be running underground crime rings or some mafia bullshit.”

You sip your latte, watching him with mild amusement and Jisung slams his notebook shut. “I’m sorry, I just needed to get that off my chest.”

You nod solemnly. “I get.”

Jisung exhales deeply, slumping forward onto the table. “So. Are you gonna help me fix my article so it actually has, you know, real information?”

“Yes. I help.”

Jisung beams. “You’re the best.”

You tap your pen against Jisung’s notebook, eyeing the chaotic scrawl of words and sketches, a mix of actual research and unhinged commentary about marine life. Your fingers twitch slightly as you resist the urge to cross out half of what’s written and start from scratch. 

“You need more, um, fact? More, uh, sources. Not just, your, uh,” You wave a hand vaguely at the dolphin rant section.

Jisung snickers but nods, tapping his fingers against his iced americano. “Yeah, okay, fair. I might have gotten a little carried away.”

You tilt your laptop toward him, opening the article you had been reading before he arrived. The page is filled with data, references, and case studies on how microplastics affect the reproductive cycles of sea turtles. 

“This...” You hesitate, searching for the word before sighing and resorting to miming. You point at the screen, then gesture with your fingers like you’re flipping through pages of a book.

Jisung immediately brightens. “Oh! Research! Like, actual academic sources?”

You nod quickly. “Yes! That.”

Jisung scoots closer, eyes scanning the article as he sips his drink. “Okay, this is actually sick. Sea turtles getting fucked over by microplastics? Not sick. But the amount of data here? Sick.” He tilts his head, reading. “Wait, so the microplastics don’t just mess with their digestion, they actually affect temperature-dependent sex determination?”

“Yes. Uh, how to say...” You gesture vaguely in the air, thinking. “More heat, more...” You pause, then trace the outline of a turtle shell with your fingers.

Jisung watches, amused but also genuinely interested. “More heat makes more turtles?”

You shake your head quickly. “No, no. More, uh, female?”

“Oh shit, it skews the ratio?”

“Yes!” You smile slightly, relieved he understands. “More heat, more female. Less male.”

Jisung whistles, rubbing his chin. “So they’re basically just making future generations completely unbalanced because of plastic. Yeah, okay, I definitely need to fix this shit.” He flips through his own pages, groaning as he lands on yet another doodle of a very muscular crab holding a knife. “Jesus, past Jisung, what the fuck were you on?”

You can’t help but laugh quietly. Jisung hears it and grins, immediately encouraged. “Alright, let’s really get to work. What other sources should I be using?”

You start scrolling, pulling up more articles, explaining them in slow, broken Korean while he listens attentively, nodding along. He asks questions, some smart, some absolutely ridiculous, but he cares, and that alone makes it easier to keep going.

Then, suddenly, you hear it. Beom-Seok’s voice.

Your fingers immediately tighten around your anxiety rings, your whole body going rigid as your stomach twists itself into knots. You hear him somewhere outside, laughing loudly, his voice carrying through the hall. It’s too much, too familiar, and you really don’t want to deal with him right now.

You turn quickly to Jisung, your voice low, urgent. “I... not here.”

Jisung frowns slightly, looking at you properly for the first time. His energy settles just enough for him to catch the tension in your shoulders, the way your fingers tremble slightly as you twist your rings over and over again.

Jisung doesn’t ask questions, he just nods without hesitation. And then, because he is Jisung, he immediately hypes himself up like he’s about to walk into a literal fight. He bounces up on the balls of his feet, shaking out his arms, taking a quick sip of his americano before setting it down like he’s getting into the zone. Then, without warning, he starts throwing quick jabs in the air, shaking his head like he’s about to step into a boxing ring.

You stare at him, blinking until he catches your expression and grins. “What? Minho says I gotta be ready at all times. I could get jumped. You never know.”

Beom-Seok’s voice is closer now, just outside the room. Jisung straightens up, rolls his shoulders, and swings the door open like a bouncer checking for ID. He leans against the frame, immediately raising an eyebrow.

“Pass?” he asks, voice flat.

Beom-Seok blinks at him. “What?”

Jisung gestures vaguely toward the quiet room. “This is a pass-only room, dude. You got one?”

Beom-Seok frowns. “I’m not trying to come in. I’m looking for Y/N.”

“Well, it’s just me and my mental health issues in here.”

Beom-Seok blinks again. “What?”

“You know, it’s actually crazy how much people underestimate the importance of mental health rooms. Like, did you know that excessive stimulation can literally fry your nervous system? It’s actually fucked up. And people assume that just because I’m loud, I don’t get overwhelmed, but oh-ho, my guy, let me tell you-”

Beom-Seok’s brows knit together. “I just-”

“-sometimes the only thing keeping me from absolutely losing my shit is a fidget cube. A fidget cube. Can you imagine? The fragile balance of my entire existence depends on the smooth rotation of a tiny plastic fucking cube. And you know what else is fucked up? The government. But we don’t have time to get into that-”

Beom-Seok’s jaw tightens. “I just want to know where-”

“-and speaking of time, isn’t it wild how time perception changes depending on emotional states? Like, when you’re having fun, time moves fast as fuck, but when you’re stuck in a boring ass conversation-” he gestures vaguely at Beom-Seok “-it’s like time stops completely. Scientists have theories about it, but honestly, my personal belief is that it’s all a simulation, and we’re just pawns in a very elaborate-”

Beom-Seok stares at him like he’s just grown a second head. “Are you on something?”

“I am simply powered by caffeine and anxiety!”

Beom-Seok clenches his jaw, clearly trying to decide whether or not it’s even worth engaging anymore. “Look, just tell Y/N I’m looking for her.”

Jisung tilts his head. “Oh, yeah, sure. I’ll get right on that.”

Beom-Seok stares at him for another few seconds, then exhales sharply, shaking his head as he turns to walk away and Jisung grins to himself, watching him leave before slowly shutting the door.

You peek out from behind the table, shoulders still tight, but relief creeping in. “He... gone?”

Jisung nods proudly. “Yup! He stood no chance against my greatest weapon, insufferable energy.”

You exhale, tension draining from your muscles. “Thank you.”

Jisung flops back into his chair, sipping his iced americano like he didn’t just mentally exhaust another human being into leaving. “Anytime. Now, let’s get back to fixing my disaster of an article.”

Two weeks have passed, and the quiet room has become a routine, a ritual. Every day, you and Jisung escape here, seeking the crisp relief of the air conditioning while the outside world suffocates under the relentless heatwave. The afternoons stretch into evenings, iced coffee sweating against plastic cups, the hum of your laptops a constant background noise.

You’ve been meaning to start Jisung’s article. Really. It’s just that every time he sits down, notebook open, laptop glowing, he gets distracted. It always starts small, he’ll see something in the news while opening his browser or remember something halfway through a sip of his coffee, and suddenly, the conversation veers.

Today is no different.

Jisung leans back in his chair, his sleeveless white top clinging to his skin in the summer heat. His broad chest stretches the fabric in a way that should be illegal, and a black bandana keeps his hair back, but a few strands have escaped, curling against his forehead, and he’s tied part of it in a little bun at the back of his head to stop it from touching his neck.

He’s halfway through an enthusiastic retelling of a Princess Diana documentary, gesturing animatedly with his iced americano in one hand.

You sit across from him, quietly sipping your iced latte. The cream-coloured cropped blouse you’re wearing ties just below your breasts, the billowy sleeves falling loosely over your arms. Your blue maxi skirt pools over your crossed legs, the soft fabric cooling against your skin. A matching blue bandana keeps your hair back, two strands framing your face.

Jisung doesn’t need you to speak. He never does. He just talks, and you listen. And you like it.

“The wildest part? The fucking conspiracy theories. Like, okay. I love a good conspiracy. Did aliens build the pyramids? Maybe. But the amount of people who think MI6 had her killed? The theories actually make sense, which is the fucked-up part. The Royal Family hated her, and suddenly she dies in a crash with zero CCTV footage from the tunnel?”

You blink at him, processing his rant. “You think she was, um, killed?”

“I mean. It wouldn’t surprise me.”

You shake your head slightly, sipping your coffee. “You watch many, uh, true crime?”

Jisung snorts. “Too much. Documentaries, podcasts, YouTube deep dives, all of it.” He takes another sip of his coffee. “You ever watch that one on, uh, what’s his face, Ted Bundy?”

You nod slowly. “Yes. Many...” You search for the word, frowning before miming a camera with your hands. “Many, uh, films?”

Jisung grins. “Movies! Yeah, yeah, there’s been a shit ton.” He leans forward, resting his chin in his hand. “You like true crime?”

You hesitate. “Sometimes.”

Jisung hums, tapping his fingers against his coffee cup. “Fair. It’s fascinating but also terrifying.”

You nod in agreement, twisting one of your silver rings absentmindedly. There’s a comfortable silence between you, the low hum of the air conditioning filling the space.

Then, finally, you clear your throat. “You... should start, uh, making, um...” You pause, struggling to piece the sentence together before settling on the easiest way to say it. “Mind... maps?”

Jisung tilts his head, thinking. “Mindmaps?”

You nod. “To, um... build... up main parts?” You frown, thinking harder before miming connecting dots in the air. “Like, um... break... break research?”

Jisung watches your hands, his grin growing. “Ohhh, I get it! Like, use a research paper, break it into sections, and then use those small ideas to flow into the full article?”

You exhale in relief, nodding. “Yes! That.”

Jisung beams. “Fuck yeah. That makes so much sense.” He immediately unzips his bag, pulling out highlighters, notebooks, his laptop, and a ridiculous number of coloured pens. “We’re about to make this shit art.”

You shake your head but smile, watching as he spreads out his supplies.

He flips open a blank page in his notebook, tapping a pen against his lip. “Okay, so first, we pick a research paper, right? Which one should we use?”

You pull your laptop closer, scrolling through the saved articles. After a few seconds, you tilt the screen toward him. “This? It, um, good?”

Jisung leans in, scanning the page. “Microplastics and their impact on marine food chains. Yeah, okay, this is perfect.” He cracks his knuckles, grabbing a green highlighter. “Let’s fucking go.”

You both start working, reading through the paper and breaking it down into simple ideas. Jisung is surprisingly focused when he wants to be, humming softly as he underlines key points and draws messy bubbles around main topics.

You glance at his notebook and immediately stifle a laugh. His mindmap is chaos. Some sections are neatly labelled, others have tiny doodles next to them. You spot a tiny, angry-looking jellyfish wearing sunglasses in the corner.

Jisung catches you looking and grins. “What? He’s a cool motherfucker.”

You shake your head, laughing softly.

Jisung taps his pen against the page, thinking. “I don’t want this to be a boring-ass report, though. If people wanted to read a report, they’d just read the research paper.”

You tilt your head. “So... add, um, your, uh,” You pause, struggling before pointing at him. “You.”

Jisung blinks. “Me?”

You nod. “You... is funny.”

Jisung beams. “Fuck yeah, I am. How's this?”

His first attempt at a joke is scrawled across the page in slightly uneven handwriting:

Microplastics: because just fucking up the land wasn’t enough, we had to ruin the ocean too.

He glances up, waiting. You blink at the words, considering them for a moment before tilting your head slightly. “It good,” you say carefully. “But, maybe, shorter?”

Jisung grins, flipping the page to rewrite it. “Alright, alright, let me work my comedic genius.” He mutters to himself as he rewords it, scribbling out different variations before nodding to himself and showing you the final version.

Microplastics: land pollution wasn’t enough, so we said fuck it, let’s poison fish too.

You huff out a quiet laugh, nodding. Jisung’s grin stretches wider. “Yes! Okay, that one stays.”

He gets back to work, tossing out different one-liners for various sections of his article. Some make you roll your eyes. Some are so bad you just stare at him until he groans and crosses them out himself. But the ones that make you actually laugh? Those, he keeps.

For the section on the ocean’s rising temperatures, he jots down: The ocean is getting hotter, and not in a sexy way.

You giggle at that one, covering your mouth, and Jisung fist pumps. “See? This is why I need you. You’re my official bullshit detector.”

Another one, for the way microplastics are now showing up in human bodies: Congratulations, you’re now 30% water and 5% plastic. We’re all just one step away from becoming living Barbie dolls.

You snort, shaking your head, and Jisung beams as he underlines it.

Then he gets to the part about dolphins. His eyes light up mischievously, and before you can even process what’s happening, he scribbles down: Male dolphins: proof that even the ocean has predatory men.

You laugh, really laugh, a full-bodied, breathy noise that catches even you by surprise. Jisung gasps, pressing a dramatic hand to his chest. “I knew it! I fucking knew that one would land.”

You shake your head, still smiling. “It... good.”

Jisung grins, practically bouncing in his seat as he scribbles more notes. His energy fills the room, easy and contagious, and for once, you don’t feel overwhelmed by it.

Then there’s a knock at the door. Your stomach drops. You don’t need to hear the voice to know who it is. Jisung groans before standing up and making his way to the door. He swings it open just enough to poke his head out, squinting dramatically at whoever is standing outside.

“You again?”

Beom-Seok stands there, brows furrowed in frustration. “Where’s Y/N?”

Jisung lets out a long, suffering sigh and leans against the doorframe. “Ahh, here we go again. The saga of men who can’t take a fucking hint continues.”

Beom-Seok frowns. “What?”

Jisung ignores him completely, launching straight into another one of his infamous rants. “You know what I don’t understand? Clingy men. Like, bro, why do some guys act like GPS trackers with fucking attachment issues? Like, what happened? Did your parents not hug you enough as a kid? Do you need therapy? A pet? A hobby? Why are some dudes so allergic to leaving women the fuck alone?”

Beom-Seok sighs, visibly annoyed. “I just need to-”

“Oh, no, I get it,” Jisung continues, nodding like he’s solving a true crime case. “You’re one of those guys who thinks ‘no’ means ‘convince me,’ huh? Like, ‘Oh, she’s just playing hard to get.’ Nah, my guy. You are the game, and it’s called Leave Her the Fuck Alone Simulator 3000.”

Beom-Seok exhales sharply, jaw clenching. “Is she in there or not?”

Jisung grins, tilting his head. “Hmmm, mystery. The suspense. The drama. What will happen next? Will the creepy guy take a fucking hint, or will he continue embarrassing himself? Stay tuned for the next episode of No One Wants You Here.”

Beom-Seok’s patience is clearly thinning. “Look-”

Jisung keeps going, undeterred. “Also, fun fact? If you keep showing up like this, it stops being persistence and starts being a fucking horror movie. ‘Oh, but I just wanna talk to her’, okay, Michael Myers, then why the fuck are you showing up like an unwanted jump scare? Ever heard of a text? A call? A restraining order?”

Beom-Seok glares at him now. “I don’t even know you.”

Jisung gasps, fake-offended. “And yet,” he says, placing a hand over his heart, “I already know so much about you. The fact that you have the personality of a wet napkin? That’s one. The fact that your hair looks like it was cut by a blindfolded five-year-old? That’s two. And three, the fact that you’re still standing here after I’ve made it so fucking clear that you’re not wanted?” He clicks his tongue. “Tragic.”

Beom-Seok looks about two seconds away from punching him. “Just tell Y/N I was looking for her.”

Jisung raises his brows. “Yeah, I could do that. But I won’t.”

Beom-Seok exhales sharply, shaking his head before finally walking away.

Jisung watches him go, then slams the door shut with a triumphant grin. He turns back to you, flexing dramatically. “And that’s how you fend off unwanted male attention, my dear Y/N.”

You exhale, the tension in your body finally easing. “Thank you.”

Jisung waves a hand. “Anytime.” He plops back into his seat, cracking his knuckles. “Now, let’s get back to roasting the ocean’s biggest predators. And no, I don’t mean sharks. I mean dolphins.”

You shake your head, amused, as Jisung dives right back into his notebook, ready to turn his article into something only he could write.

The quiet room is supposed to be safe. The air conditioning hums steadily as you sit at the table, legs crossed beneath your flowing green maxi skirt, your fingers absentmindedly tracing the edges of your brown cropped blouse, the billowy sleeves soft against your skin. The green bandana holds your hair back, keeping the damp strands from sticking to your forehead.

You don’t move when the door opens, assuming it’s Jisung coming in with his usual chaotic energy, maybe a new documentary to ramble about, maybe another iced coffee for you without you even asking.

"You’ve been avoiding me."

Your entire body goes rigid. The voice is not Jisung’s. You slowly turn your head, dread clawing up your throat as you see Beom-Seok standing in the doorway, his expression unreadable.

Your chair scrapes against the floor as you stand up abruptly, backing away without thinking. Your breath comes quicker now, panic settling under your skin, making your hands shake as you clutch the edge of the table like it’s a lifeline.

Beom-Seok steps inside, closing the door behind him. "It’s not very nice of you," 

He moves toward you, and before you can react, his hand clamps around your wrist, yanking you forward. You stumble, colliding against his chest, the sudden proximity making bile rise in your throat.

"You keep running away. That’s not fair, Y/N. I just want to talk."

His other hand reaches for the tie of your blouse, fingers grazing the fabric. The panic spikes in your chest as you struggle, twisting in his hold. 

"Let go," 

His fingers pull at your blouse, yanking, and the thin fabric tears with a sharp rip. Something in you snaps. You shove at him, hands pushing against his chest, his shoulders, anywhere to get him off of you. His grip doesn’t loosen, and when he leans in, trying to press his mouth against yours, your instincts take over.

You slam your forehead into his nose. Beom-Seok shouts, jerking back in shock, and in that split second, you kick him in the shin as hard as you possibly can. He stumbles, cursing, and you don’t waste a second.

You run. Your feet pound against the floor as you sprint down the hallway, gripping your skirt in one hand to keep from tripping, the other clutching your torn blouse to your chest. Your heart is a drum against your ribs, your breaths sharp and panicked, your vision blurring at the edges.

You don’t stop. You don’t look back. Then, suddenly, you crash into something solid.

Arms wrap around you instinctively as you collide with a warm, broad chest, the impact knocking the air from your lungs. Your fingers tighten into the fabric of a ribbed beige top, your body trembling violently as you cling to the person holding you.

Jisung. His hands steady you, one firm around your waist, the other reaching up to cradle the back of your head.

"Woah, hey, hey, hey," he says, his voice instantly softer than you’ve ever heard it. "What’s going on?"

His body tenses. His gaze flickers to the torn fabric of your blouse, to the way you’re holding it together, to the sheer terror in your wide, unfocused eyes.

Jisung exhales slowly, his grip on you tightening. "Y/N," he murmurs, his voice carefully even, like he’s trying not to scare you more.

But you can’t breathe.  The world is closing in, the hallway spinning, your own heartbeat too loud in your ears. Your chest locks up, your breaths coming in short, frantic gasps, but no air fills your lungs. You grip Jisung tighter, burying your face against him as your entire body trembles violently.

"You gotta breathe, sweetheart," he murmurs, voice low, reassuring. "You're gonna have a panic attack if you don’t breathe."

You can’t. Your gasps turn desperate, your fingers clutching at him like he’s the only thing tethering you to reality.

Jisung  moves carefully, slowly lowering the both of you to the ground until he’s sitting with his back against the wall, keeping you curled up against his chest. His arms stay wrapped around you, one hand stroking your back, the other still resting against the back of your head.

"It’s okay," he murmurs, voice barely above a whisper. "I got you. I got you."

Your breaths are still erratic, your chest rising and falling too fast, your body shaking.

Jisung gently shushes you, his hand running up and down your back in soothing motions. "I know, I know," he murmurs. "It’s okay. Just breathe with me, okay? Just try."

You squeeze your eyes shut, trying to focus on the steady warmth of his body, the way he’s grounding you, holding you together when you feel like you’re going to break apart.

Jisung keeps rocking you slightly, his voice constant, whispering to you, not expecting you to respond, not forcing you to speak. "You’re safe," he murmurs. "I promise. You’re safe now."

Your gasps start to slow, just barely, as you cling to his voice, to the soft, steady sound of it.

"You’re not alone, I got you."

The frat house is an absolute mess. The portable air conditioning unit hums pathetically in the middle of the living room, barely offering any relief against the oppressive heatwave that refuses to let up. The seven shirtless men sprawled around the space are nothing short of miserable.

"This is fucking unbearable," Chan groans, tilting his head back against the couch, eyes closed. Sweat glistens on his skin, his black gym shorts clinging to his thighs. "I feel like I’m melting into the furniture."

"You are melting into the furniture," Jeongin mutters, sprawled out on the floor in front of the AC like a starfish. "You’re going to leave a sweat imprint."

"Shut the fuck up, it’s so hot," Changbin huffs, lying next to Jeongin, arms crossed over his bare chest. "I swear to god, if I hear the words heatwave one more time, I’m punching something."

Felix, leaning against the arm of the couch, lazily fans himself with an old magazine. "It’s so hot my freckles feel like they’re melting off."

Hyunjin, draped across the other couch with his arm over his eyes, groans dramatically. "If I have to move, I’m going to die."

Seungmin shifts slightly, sitting on the coffee table with his elbows on his knees. "I don’t get how some people actually like summer. It’s stupid hot, everything’s sticky, and I’m constantly questioning whether I’m sweating or just wet from the fucking air."

Minho lets out an exhausted sigh. "If we don’t get rain soon, I’m going to start sacrificing you guys to the gods."

The front door swings open and Jisung walks in, and he’s carrying you on his back, your handbag slung over his shoulder alongside his own backpack. His arms are locked under your thighs, holding you securely, and you’re clinging to him.

Jisung crouches slightly, letting you slide off his back, but you don’t step away. You stay close, lingering just behind him, your blouse still torn, the fabric clutched tightly to your chest. Your shoulders are tense, and your eyes remain downcast, your whole body wound up like a tightly coiled spring.

Minho raises an eyebrow. "Since when did you two know each other?"

Jisung clears his throat, adjusting your bag on his shoulder. "Uh, so, she’s been helping me with an investigative journalism assignment, but I was on my way to meet her, and she came running out of the quiet room. It took me a while to calm her down, but I still don’t know what happened."

You shift slightly, still half-hidden behind Jisung. Your fingers twist the fabric of your blouse, your throat tightening. "He… grab me. And he try to-" You pause, struggling, before tapping your lips. "What’s... word?"

Jisung’s entire body goes rigid.

"And he uh..." You gesture to your blouse, still torn, still exposing your shoulder. Your voice is small, but you keep going. "So I uh..." You tap your forehead lightly, then point to Jisung’s nose. "And then I kick. Hard."

"Who?"

You glance up at Jisung, hesitating, and he furrows his brows, realization dawning. "Oh. Oh fuck." He snaps his fingers. "That guy, right? The one who kept showing up? The one that wouldn’t fucking leave? I knew something was off with him. Knew it. You can always tell when a guy’s got that weird creep energy, you know? Like, why do some dudes think persistence is charming? It’s not! It’s fucking terrifying! If a girl isn’t responding, that doesn’t mean try harder, it means back the fuck off! Like, holy shit, it’s not a fucking game, and-"

"Jisung," Minho cuts in, voice low, controlled. "Who?"

You swallow hard. "My project partner. Beom-Seok."

Minho doesn’t speak. He just stands, movements slow and deliberate, walking toward the door. He grabs his shoes. Then his T-shirt. "Are you going to be okay with Jisung?"

You nod hesitantly, still pressed close to Jisung. "Jisung is nice."

Minho nods, something flickering in his eyes. A small smile tugs at the corner of his lips for just a second, he’s glad you’re branching out, that you’re letting someone else in.

Jeongin moves first, rolling his shoulders as he grabs his sneakers. Seungmin follows, cracking his knuckles. Chan and Changbin exchange a glance before moving toward the door without a word. 

Felix ties his hair back, jaw tense. "Where is he?"

Chan pulls his t-shirt over his head. "We’ll find him."

Minho turns to you, stepping forward. His hands are warm as they settle gently on your shoulders, then move up to cup your face. He studies you for a moment, taking in every detail, your trembling fingers, the way your eyes are still wet, the tension in your jaw.

Then he pulls you into a hug. His chin rests on top of your head, and one of his hands gently smooths over your hair, grounding you.

"I’m gonna go fight that fucker, okay? We’re all gonna beat him up. He’ll never come near you again."

You nod against his chest, gripping the back of his shirt and Minho squeezes your shoulders once more before pulling back, his gaze lingering on you for just a second longer. Then he turns on his heel and walks out the door and the others follow.

As soon as the door closes, Jisung leads you into the kitchen, the overhead light flickering slightly before settling into a dull glow. He gestures toward the cabinets, already reaching for a couple of glasses. "Tea? Coffee? Booze?"

You hesitate for a second, rolling the options around in your head before mumbling, "Cachaca?"

Jisung pauses, blinking at you. "Cachaca? I think we have some somewhere. Minho drinks it."

You nod quickly, trying to explain. "Yes, I-" You wave your hand through the air in a dramatic swoosh motion, trying to find the right word.

Jisung watches, grinning. "Posted it?"

"Yes! Posted! Woosh! From Brazil!"

Jisung laughs, shaking his head as he moves toward one of the higher cabinets, standing on his tiptoes slightly as he rummages through the bottles. "Damn, so we’ve got imported liquor in this frat house? Fancy as fuck."

You shift slightly, still holding your torn blouse together, the fabric damp against your skin. Jisung glances at you out of the corner of his eye before setting the bottle down and walking over to the chair and grabbing a jacket. Without a word, he drapes it over your shoulders. It’s too big, warm from his body heat, and the fabric instantly makes you feel safer.

Your fingers automatically slip into the pockets out of instinct and they brush against something inside. You pull out two tickets, frowning slightly as you inspect them. COEX Aquarium. Gangnam. Next week.

Jisung freezes mid-pour, eyes flickering between you and the tickets. "Oh. Uh-" He rubs the back of his neck. "Forget about those."

You glance up at him, raising an eyebrow. "Why?"

He exhales, shifting his weight from foot to foot. "I was gonna ask you to go with me. Like, on a date. But after, you know, that dickhead, I figured you might not want to go on a date right now."

You shake your head immediately, gripping the tickets slightly tighter. "No, no," you insist, struggling to find the right words. "You are... very nice. Not bad like Beom-Seok. "I would like date with you. You are nice. You no care I am bad at Korean. You are good man, Jisung."

Jisung watches you for a long moment, unreadable, before he exhales through his nose. "Don’t feel forced-"

"I no feel forced," you interrupt, shaking your head more firmly this time. "I, uh, would like to go on date with you."

Jisung studies you for a second longer before he breaks into a grin. "Great!" Then he pauses, tilting his head. "So, to summarize what just happened here, you asked me on a date that I paid for?"

You nod, smiling slightly and Jisung snorts. "Okay, well, can’t complain, can I?" He slides a glass of cachaca toward you, ice clinking against the sides before he takes a sip of his own.

The alcohol burns, sharp and familiar as it settles in your chest and Jisung hums contentedly before his eyes light up with an idea. 

"Ooh, wait. Let me show you these videos I like watching. It’s animated dancing fruit and vegetables, there’s one where they dance to Pink Venom."

Jisung pulls his phone out, quickly typing before angling the screen toward you. The video starts playing, a hyper-stylized animated sequence of little fruit characters, their bodies bouncing to the beat of BLACKPINK’s Pink Venom. Tiny, grinning strawberries spin in circles. A smug-looking banana moonwalks across the screen. The entire thing is completely ridiculous.

You stare at it for a long moment before letting out a small, breathy laugh.

Jisung grins, leaning closer. "It's art."

You shake your head, but you keep watching, sipping your drink. Jisung rests his chin in his hand, his smile lazy and content as he watches you instead of the screen.

For the first time all night, the weight pressing on your chest feels just a little bit lighter.

Minho is lying on his back on Jisung’s bed, one arm draped over his forehead, the other resting on his stomach, a small ice pack balanced over his bruised knuckles. His tank top sticks slightly to his skin from the humidity, and his legs are stretched out in a pair of loose gym shorts. He’s tired but he’s also satisfied, his body still thrumming with the remnants of adrenaline from earlier.

Minho cracks an eye open just in time to see Jisung slip out of bed and cross the room to his closet. “What the fuck are you doing?” Minho mutters, shifting slightly to sit up.

Jisung doesn’t answer. Instead, he rummages through his closet, pushing aside sneakers, stacks of manga, and a box labelled Jisung’s Hoard (DO NOT TOUCH, CHANGBIN I MEAN IT) before finally pulling out a riot shield.

Minho stares as Jisung holds it up in front of his body, gripping the handle tightly, his head barely peeking over the top.

“I’m going on a date with Y/N next week,” Jisung announces and then, as if expecting immediate violence, he ducks behind the shield. 

Minho blinks slowly, then sighs. “You’re such a dumbass.”

“Okay, listen, before you say anything, or hit anything, just think for a second, okay? I didn’t plan for it to happen like this, I was gonna ask her in a cute way, but then she found the tickets in my pocket and technically she asked me first so if anything you should be mad at her, actually, wait, no, don’t be mad at her, I take that back, that would be bad, I mean-"

Minho pinches the bridge of his nose. “Jisung.”

"-okay but I swear I'm not a creep, I was gonna take her anyway just as a friend, you know I love aquariums, but then she found them and she wanted to go and she said I’m nice and not a bad man, which was very validating by the way-”

“Jisung.”

“-and I promise I’m gonna be good to her, I’m not gonna fuck around, I mean, I barely date to begin with because most people are annoying and I have trust issues but she’s-”

“Jisung.”

"-different, you know she’s different, you’ve known her forever, I’ve only known her a few weeks and I already know she’s different, she doesn’t make me shut up and she lets me ramble and do you know how rare that is, do you know how many people tell me to just shut the fuck up and-"

Minho exhales loudly. “Jisung.”

Jisung freezes, peeking out from behind the shield.

Minho stares at him for a long moment before shrugging. “Okay.”

Jisung blinks. “Okay?”

“Yeah.” Minho shrugs again, shifting slightly as he repositions the ice pack over his knuckles.

Jisung stays behind the riot shield, just in case and Minho watches him for a second before sighing. “Did you buy that just to break the news to me?”

Jisung straightens slightly, still gripping the shield. “No, I bought it because I thought it’d look cool. But it’s multi-purpose.” He pauses, then reaches into his closet again, pulling out a fucking katana.

Still behind the shield, Jisung holds up the sword. “This is what I actually bought to tell you the news.”

Minho stares at the blade, unimpressed and Jisung wiggles it slightly. “It’s fake, but it looks real enough that I hoped you’d piss your pants.”

Minho snorts. “Idiot.”

Jisung carefully sets the katana down but does not lower the shield. He eyes Minho warily. “You’re really not gonna attack me?”

“No.”

Jisung narrows his eyes. “Why?”

Minho rolls his shoulders, exhaling slowly. “If it were Hyunjin or Jeongin, I’d attack. But not you.”

Jisung frowns. “Why?”

“They’re sluts.”

“What the fuck kind of logic is that?”

“They’d hump and dump, and you wouldn’t,” Minho explains simply. “You care about people’s feelings too much”

Jisung stares. “That’s the nicest and most backhanded thing you’ve ever said to me.”

Minho smirks. “You know I’m right.”

Jisung sighs, finally lowering the shield slightly. “Yeah, okay, fair.” He crosses his arms. “Jeongin always says I’m scared of women, and that’s why I don’t hump and dump.”

Minho snickers. “He’s a little shit.”

“Women don’t scare me. Well, some do. But not Y/N.”

Minho hums, watching him carefully. “You like her.”

Jisung huffs. “No shit.”

Minho doesn’t say anything for a second. Then, slowly, deliberately, he reaches for a pillow.

Jisung sees it and his eyes widen. Minho moves fast, throwing the pillow straight at Jisung’s head. Jisung screeches, throwing the shield up again just in time. The pillow bounces off with a dramatic thump, landing on the floor as Jisung stumbles slightly under the weight of the shield.

Minho smirks. “Just had to do something about it.”

Jisung groans, collapsing onto the bed with the shield still in his arms. “I fucking knew you were gonna do something.”

Minho just chuckles, settling back against the pillows as Jisung exhales, staring up at the ceiling, his heart still racing. He knows Minho isn’t mad, but still, he wasn’t about to risk it. Slowly, his fingers trace the edge of the shield, his mind drifting. He really does like you. And for once, he’s not scared of what that means.

Minho stands in front of your closet, arms crossed, eyes scanning your clothes with the kind of focus most people would reserve for a life-or-death situation. You stand beside him, fingers twisting the silver anxiety rings on your hands, your stomach already tight with nerves.

"It’s 10 a.m. You’re meeting Jisung at 1 p.m. That gives us three hours to pick out an outfit and get you ready, more than enough time. And I’ve even factored in an extra hour for me to give you a calming talk so you don’t freak the fuck out."

You let out a slow breath, nodding and Minho hums, his sharp eyes darting over the options in your closet. "It’s still a fucking heatwave, so you need something light."

He pulls out a black mini-dress with contrasting white trim on the straps. The fabric is soft, the cut simple but flattering, barely reaching mid-thigh. He holds it up against you, tilting his head as he assesses.

You glance at the dress, then back at Minho, nodding in approval. Minho tosses the dress onto your bed before moving to your shoe rack. He crouches, tapping his chin before grabbing a pair of white sneakers and a pair of mid-calf socks. 

"You’ll be walking around COEX, so these are practical," he explains. "And they go with the dress. Simple, clean."

Next, he steps over to your collection of bags, brows furrowing in concentration before he selects a small white handbag. He holds it out, nodding in satisfaction. "Done. Outfit complete. Go put it on."

You take everything and hurry into your bathroom, closing the door behind you. Your hands shake slightly as you set the clothes down on the counter, taking a deep breath to steady yourself.

You change quickly, pulling the dress over your head, smoothing the fabric down over your hips. The material is soft against your skin, breathable and perfect for the oppressive heat outside. You slip on the socks and sneakers, then glance at yourself in the mirror.

The dress is cute, simple but flattering. The white trim adds a soft contrast, and the sneakers keep the whole look casual enough that you don’t feel overdressed.

You step back into your room and Minho turns, eyes scanning you up and down. He nods, satisfied. "It’s perfect. Heatwave suitable, cute, and kind of casual sexy." He gestures toward your vanity. "Now, hair and makeup."

You hesitate, shifting slightly. "I... thought you would no like.... me and Jisung uh date." 

Minho exhales, shaking his head. "I’m protective, not possessive," he says simply. "You can date whoever you like. But if Jisung makes you upset, I will have to de-limb him."

You stare at him for a second before letting out a small, breathy laugh and Minho smirks, nudging you toward your seat in front of the mirror. "Oh, and you need to do my makeup. I have a date with Chan later."

"Chan?"

Minho shrugs, a smirk playing on his lips as he stands behind you, eyes narrowing slightly as he surveys your face through the mirror. He tilts his head, assessing, before reaching for your makeup bag. "Alright, let’s get this done quickly. You need something light and natural, nothing too heavy in this disgusting-ass heatwave."

You nod, sitting still as Minho gets to work. His movements are practiced, efficient, the result of years of perfecting his own makeup routine and frequently doing yours. He applies a light layer of foundation, blending it in effortlessly with a sponge, making sure it evens out your complexion without feeling cakey.

"Close your eyes," he mutters, already reaching for a soft brown eyeshadow. 

You stay still, your fingers twisting your silver rings as Minho moves on to your brows, quickly filling them in with light strokes. His touch is gentle but firm, his expression focused as he works.

"Okay, look up," he instructs. He holds your chin lightly as he swipes a small coat of mascara on your lashes, careful not to smudge it. "You need to be able to survive the day without looking like a raccoon."

You hum softly in agreement, your hands still gripping the hem of your dress nervously.

Minho sighs as he picks up a lip tint. "Relax, Jesus," he mutters, swiping the colour onto your lips. "Jisung isn’t gonna sacrifice you at the aquarium. Now, hair."

He quickly gathers your hair into his hands, pulling it up into a loose, messy bun at the crown of your head. He leaves a few strands out to frame your face, stepping back to examine his work.

"Perfect," he announces, smoothing his hands over your shoulders. "Alright, my turn. Make me hot."

He flops down into the chair, legs spread lazily, watching as you pick up his makeup bag. You pull out a primer first, dabbing a small amount onto his skin.

Minho smirks. "If you make me too pretty, Chan won’t be able to control himself."

You shake your head, smiling slightly as you begin blending his foundation. His skin is already annoyingly smooth, so it doesn’t take much work.

As you carefully contour his cheekbones, you pause, tilting your head. "You no tell me you like Chan."

Minho exhales through his nose, amused. "I didn’t know until I sucked his dick. I’ll know if I love him once I’ve fucked him."

You shake your head, suppressing a laugh as you pick up the highlighter. "You uh, top?"

Minho stares at you. "Yes, duh."

You furrow your brows, concentrating as you sweep highlighter over the bridge of his nose. "No duh. I think you uh, take? How you say?"

Minho tilts his head. "Sub? Bottom? Take it up the ass?"

You nod. "Yes?"

Minho sighs dramatically. "Oh, my sweet best friend who peed on me when she was one and traumatized four-year-old Minho, no, I do not bottom."

You pause mid-swipe, blinking. "What?"

Minho leans forward slightly, voice dropping into a dramatic whisper. "I was four years old, four, and I thought, hey, let me be helpful, let me change the baby’s diaper. And what did you do? You fucking pissed on me. My soul left my body that day."

You stare at him, trying so hard not to laugh. "I... sorry?"

Minho rolls his eyes, but his lips twitch in amusement. "You should be. You ruined my childhood."

You shake your head as you move on to his under-eye makeup, carefully blending out the concealer. "Your nose is so nice."

Minho smirks. "I know."

You roll your eyes, but your fingers are careful as you set his makeup, making sure everything looks smooth. Finally, you swipe a light layer of lip balm onto his lips before sitting back.

"Done."

Minho stands, inspecting himself in the mirror. He tilts his head, humming in approval. "Damn, I do look hot."

You smile slightly, proud of your work.

Then Minho turns to you, expression softening. "Okay," he says, his voice quieter. "Now, listen to me."

You inhale deeply, already nervous.

Minho gently takes your shoulders, turning you to face him. "You look amazing," he says firmly. "And you are amazing. Jisung’s gonna have the best fucking time today because he gets to be with you."

You chew on your lip, your fingers twitching. "I nervous."

"I know," Minho says. "And that’s fine. But this is Jisung we’re talking about. He already adores you, okay? He’s not expecting anything, he’s just excited to spend time with you. You don’t have to be perfect."

You exhale shakily, nodding and Minho squeezes your shoulders. "You got this," he murmurs. "And if anything happens, you call me. Okay?"

You nod again, a little more sure this time.

Minho smiles. "Now, go make that idiot fall even harder for you."

And somehow, you feel like maybe, you can.

The subway station is already busy when you arrive, the hum of conversations, the echoing chime of announcements, and the distant screech of a train pulling in filling the underground air. The sheer amount of people swarming around makes your stomach tighten, anxiety curling in your chest like a tightly wound spring.

Then you spot Jisung leaning against a pillar, hands in the pockets of his light-wash baggy jeans, oversized black graphic sweatshirt swallowing his frame in an effortlessly casual way and his black beret-style cap sits low over his forehead, round-framed glasses perched on his nose. A long silver chain dangles from his neck, catching the dim subway lighting as he shifts.

The moment he sees you, his entire face lights up. "Y/N!"

You relax slightly, just at the sight of him as he bounces toward you, taking a moment to look you over. "Damn," he says, exaggeratedly adjusting his glasses like he’s inspecting you. "You look cute as fuck."

You smile, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. "Thank you."

Jisung grins before offering his arm dramatically. "Shall we, my lady?"

You huff out a small laugh before slipping your hand into the crook of his arm. Together, you make your way onto the subway platform, the train pulling in just as you reach the edge.

Once inside, it’s crowded. You tense slightly, pressing yourself closer to Jisung as bodies push around you. He notices instantly, shifting so that his arm is wrapped securely around your waist. His other hand reaches up, grabbing the overhead handle for balance.

"Hold on to me," he murmurs, his voice light but reassuring.

You don’t hesitate, wrapping your arms around his torso. His sweatshirt is soft against your skin, his scent a mix of fabric softener and something warm and familiar.

Jisung hums. "Sorry about the subway situation. I tried to learn to drive last year, but my instructor suffered a mental breakdown and quit driving forever after my fourth lesson when I ran over a fox and then crashed into a tree."

You blink up at him. "What?"

Jisung nods solemnly. "Tragic, really. Do you wanna hear the full horror story?"

You hesitate, but the subway is already moving, and focusing on him instead of the cramped space seems far better. You nod.

Jisung grins. "Okay, buckle up, lesson one was already a shitshow. So, I get into the driver’s seat, right? I think I’m ready. My instructor is like, 'Okay, we’re just gonna gently ease onto the road,' and I’m like, got it. So, what do I do? I fucking floor it. Almost ran over an old lady in the crosswalk."

"Jisung!"

"My instructor screamed so loud that I thought she was gonna pass out. She made me pull over and just sat there for like five minutes, staring into the void. I had to keep apologizing while she processed the fact that she almost died."

You shake your head, biting back a smile. "Next lesson?"

Jisung smirks. "Lesson two. So, I get back in the car. I think, okay, this time I’ll be normal. But then, turns out, I have a horrible habit of mistaking the gas for the brake. So, we’re in a parking lot, right? Just doing slow practice. My instructor’s feeling confident, she’s like, ‘Okay, let’s try reversing into a spot.’ I try. Instead of gently backing in, I fucking slam the gas. The car flies backwards. Hits a fucking shopping cart. Cart goes flying, hits another car, sets off the alarm. Instructor? Sobbing."

"No."

Jisung nods dramatically. "Oh yes. The store manager comes out, asks if everything’s okay, and my instructor’s just sitting there with her head in her hands, whispering, ‘Why me?’ I thought she was gonna quit right then."

You laugh softly, shaking your head. "Lesson three?"

Jisung sighs. "Lesson three was almost normal. Except, I kept forgetting the difference between the turn signal and the windshield wipers. So, every time I tried to turn, I just aggressively turned the wipers on instead. It was sunny as fuck outside. My instructor started twitching every time I reached for the controls."

You giggle, gripping onto him a little tighter as the subway car rocks. "Okay, last lesson?"

Jisung exhales dramatically. "Lesson four. The one that ended it all. So. We’re driving down this quiet-ass street, everything seems fine. I’m focused, I’m chill, I’m not hitting the gas like an idiot. And then it happens."

You furrow your brows. "What happens?"

Jisung presses his lips together. "I see something dart out from the trees. I think it’s a cat. But no. It’s a fox." 

Your eyes widen. "You hit a fox?"

"I hit the fuck out of that fox."

You gasp, hands tightening slightly on his sweatshirt. "What happened?"

Jisung shakes his head, as if still haunted. "It was so bad. The fox bounced off the windshield. Like, full-on ragdoll mode. There was blood everywhere. And the worst part? Chunks of it got stuck in the grill of the car."

"Jisung!"

"I KNOW!" He throws his head back. "The instructor screams, I panic, I swerve, and guess what? Straight into a fucking tree."

"You crash the car?"

Jisung groans. "Yes. The airbag fucking explodes in my face. I’m sitting there, stunned as shit, and my instructor? She gets out of the car. She walks away. Doesn’t even look at me. Just leaves."

You stare at him. "She quit?"

"Forever!" Jisung throws up his hands. "She sent me a fucking text later, saying she was retiring and that driving was too stressful."

You laugh, covering your mouth. "You bad at driving."

Jisung sighs dramatically, hugging you a little closer. "Yeah. So this is why we’re taking the subway."

You shake your head, still giggling as the train rattles toward Gangnam. Jisung holds onto the overhead handle, keeping you steady against him, his warmth pressing against you in the cramped space.

And somehow, even with the overwhelming noise and the sheer number of people around you, you don’t feel as anxious anymore. Not with Jisung’s arm wrapped securely around you, his voice filling the space between you with ridiculous stories and endless laughter.

The entrance to the COEX Aquarium is bright and bustling, the cool air inside a welcome contrast to the oppressive heat outside. The faint scent of saltwater fills the air, mixed with the clean sterility of glass and metal. People shuffle through the check-in, collecting tickets and brochures, voices overlapping in excited chatter.

Jisung immediately makes a beeline for the check-in counter, grabbing a map from the stand with an eager grin. His round glasses slide slightly down his nose as he reads, and he absentmindedly pushes them up with a knuckle.

“Alright,” he announces, flipping the map dramatically. “So, the tour goes in this order: Rainbow Lounge, then the Story of Korean Fish, Fish in Wonderland, Amazonia World, Marine Touch Lab, Mangrove and Beach, Living Reef Gallery, Ocean Kingdom, Marine Mammal Village, Deep Blue Square, Deep Blue Sea Tunnel, Garden of Jellyfish, Penguin's Playground, and then, boom, gift shop.”

You nod, gripping the strap of your handbag, feeling the smooth material under your fingers as a grounding technique. "Sounds… good."

Jisung grins, tucking the map into his back pocket before reaching for your hand, lacing his fingers through yours effortlessly. "Let's go," he says, tugging you forward. "I need you to tell me all the facts about the creatures, and then I'll tell you my superior facts."

You blink up at him, slightly startled by the warmth of his palm against yours, but his excitement is contagious, and it helps ease the lingering anxiety in your chest. You nod again, squeezing his hand slightly in agreement.

The first exhibit is the Rainbow Lounge, a room bathed in soft blue lighting with massive curved tanks lining the walls. Inside, schools of vibrantly coloured fish glide through the water, their scales shimmering under the lights, reflecting hues of red, yellow, blue, and green. The effect is mesmerizing as if stepping into an underwater dream.

Jisung whistles, eyes wide as he presses closer to the glass. "Damn. This looks like a gay fish nightclub."

You huff out a small laugh, stepping beside him. Your gaze follows the movements of the fish, recognizing different species instantly. You point at a particularly bright fish with long, flowing fins. "That… is uh, people call it Dory fish."

Jisung nods, grinning. "Ahh, Finding Nemo’s sidekick. Got it."

You gesture to another fish with a striking pink-and-purple gradient. "This is… fairy wrasse," you continue, carefully picking your words. "Males... uh.." You pause, miming a size difference with your hands.

Jisung furrows his brows before gasping. "Oh! Males grow bigger?"

You nod, relieved. "Yes! And change colour. When, they, uh," You gesture vaguely, trying to think of the right word.

Jisung tilts his head, thinking, then smirks. "When they’re horny?"

"No!" You swat at his arm, making him laugh. "When they... grow. Mature."

"Uh-huh, sure," Jisung teases, wiggling his eyebrows. "They hit fish puberty."

You shake your head, but your lips twitch slightly in amusement. You move on, pointing at another group of fish with iridescent scales. "These... are neon tetras. They live in... big groups. Uh, shoals." You glance at Jisung to make sure he understands.

He nods enthusiastically. "Yeah! They gotta stick together so they don’t get eaten."

You point at another fish, gesturing with your fingers in a sharp motion. "This one has teeth. It... bite."

Jisung leans in, squinting. "Wait, what?" His voice drops to a whisper. "Biting fish? In the gay nightclub?"

You nod. "Yes. It bite."

Jisung gasps dramatically. "A fish biter? In this economy?" He shakes his head in mock disappointment. "Truly, there are no safe spaces left."

You press your lips together, holding back a laugh. Jisung’s amusement grows as he watches you struggle. "You want to laugh," he accuses playfully. "I see it."

You shake your head quickly, but the small smile on your face gives you away.

Jisung leans against the glass, watching the fish swim in rhythmic patterns. "Okay, my turn for facts," he says, clearing his throat. "Did you know that clownfish are all born male, but if the dominant female dies, the biggest male turns into a female?"

You nod, already knowing this, but you let him continue.

Jisung grins, clearly proud of himself. "Which means that in Finding Nemo, Marlin should’ve turned into a girl and married Dory. Disney lied to us."

You shake your head, amused, as he moves on to another fact. "Oh! Also, parrotfish sleep in their own mucus bubble to protect themselves from predators. Like, they literally spit out a cocoon of snot and sleep inside it. Which is both disgusting and kind of genius."

You nod again, already aware of this, but you enjoy watching him talk. His enthusiasm is infectious, and the way he gestures with his free hand while keeping the other firmly wrapped around yours makes something warm settle in your chest.

Jisung glances at you. "Wait, you already knew that, didn’t you?"

You hesitate, then nod sheepishly and Jisung groans dramatically, flopping against the railing. "Ugh. My documentary knowledge is nothing compared to yours."

You shake your head quickly. "No! It… good."

He lifts his head, narrowing his eyes playfully. "Good, but not great."

You hesitate before nodding again, lips twitching. "Yes."

Jisung gasps, clutching his chest. "You wound me."

You giggle, and Jisung grins, clearly pleased. "Fine, I’ll just keep going until I say something you don’t know."

The entrance to Ocean Kingdom is dimly lit, designed to mimic the deep sea, where only beams of artificial blue light filter through the massive tanks lining the walls. The air is noticeably cooler here, the faint hum of filtration systems and the rhythmic sound of water bubbling creating a serene atmosphere. The exhibit is all sleek glass, towering tanks filled with sharks gliding effortlessly through the water, their movements smooth and eerily silent.

Jisung stops dead in his tracks, gripping your hand tightly. "Holy shit," he breathes. His round glasses reflect the light from the water, his eyes wide with pure, unfiltered excitement. "Okay, this is so fucking cool. I love sharks."

You nod, stepping closer to the thick glass. A massive sand tiger shark swims past, its long, jagged teeth permanently exposed, giving it an almost menacing grin. The blacktip reef sharks follow close behind, their streamlined bodies sleek and agile as they weave through the artificial coral structures.

You glance at Jisung. "You like sharks?"

Jisung nods so aggressively his beret nearly slips off. "Like? Like?! I fucking adore sharks. They’re so misunderstood. They get all this bad press because of Jaws and dumbasses who think every shark is out here just waiting to eat people."

You smile slightly, pressing your hand against the glass as a hammerhead shark swims by. "Sharks, no like eat people."

Jisung gasps, gripping your arm. "See?! You get it!"

You nod, as you point at the hammerhead, then gesture with your hands to show the width of its oddly shaped head. "This is... hammerhead. Their head... is like..." You pause, miming a wide sweep with your hands.

Jisung watches your hands, nodding in encouragement. "Uh-huh, yeah, like a...?"

You think for a moment before snapping your fingers. "Like radar! It... help them find fish in sand."

Jisung’s jaw drops. "They scan the ocean floor?! That’s fucking insane."

"Yes! They sense, uh..." You pause, struggling for the right word, then tap your fingertips together in quick succession.

Jisung immediately jumps in, eyes lighting up. "Movement?"

You beam, nodding quickly. "Yes! Movement! In sand!"

Jisung watches as another hammerhead glides by. "Damn. That’s fucking metal."

You step closer to another tank, pointing at a whitetip reef shark resting on the bottom. "This shark no need to swim."

Jisung blinks. "Wait, what?"

You nod. "Most sharks need swim to breathe. This one can stop."

Jisung looks at the shark in shock. "So it just vibes? Like, it can just take a fucking nap?"

You smile, nodding. "Yes. Nap shark."

Jisung clutches his chest dramatically. "That’s so fucking unfair. If I stop breathing, I die. But this bitch? Just chilling at the bottom of the ocean? That’s some bullshit."

You giggle, and Jisung grins, clearly pleased with himself.

Then it’s his turn. "Okay, my turn for shark facts," he announces, straightening his posture.

You nod, waiting.

Jisung points at a nurse shark in one of the smaller tanks. "Did you know sharks have been around for over 400 million years? That’s older than dinosaurs. Like, these motherfuckers have been thriving while whole-ass species got wiped out."

You nod, already knowing this, but pretending you don’t so he’ll keep rambling. "Wow..."

Jisung puffs up proudly. "Yeah. And get this, sharks have a sixth sense. Like, actual superpowers. They can detect electric fields in the water, which is how they hunt shit hiding under the sand. Like, everything gives off tiny little electric signals, even beating hearts. Sharks can fucking sense it. They’re like ocean assassins!"

You nod again, listening as he moves on to his next fact.

"Oh! And their skin? It’s not smooth. It’s covered in tiny scales called dermal denticles, which literally means ‘skin teeth.’ If you rub a shark one way, it’s smooth, but the other way? It’s like sandpaper. Imagine having fucking teeth all over your body."

You hum, feigning deep thought. "Weird…"

Jisung nods enthusiastically. "Right? And get this, sharks can go into a frenzy when they smell blood. But it’s not like in the movies where they just attack randomly. They’re just curious. They check shit out first. They’re not mindless killers."

You already know this, but you nod seriously, making him feel like the smartest person in the world. "Smart shark."

Jisung grins, squeezing your hand slightly. "Exactly! They’re smart as fuck."

He pauses, watching as a massive tiger shark swims past. The stripes on its body stand out even under the dim lighting. Jisung leans in slightly. "Wait, isn’t that the one that eats everything?"

You nod. "Tiger shark. It eat… uh…" You pause, struggling for the right word. "It eat… anything. Trash. Uh…" You mime throwing something.

"Oh shit, like actual garbage?"

You nod. "Yes! Tires, license plate… even chair!"

Jisung gapes at you. "A fucking chair?"

You nod again. "Yes. It eat… no care. Just… eat."

Jisung stares at the tiger shark with newfound respect. "Honestly? Same."

You giggle, and Jisung grins at you before suddenly tilting his head in thought. "Oh, I have a question," he says. "So, I lived in Malaysia for a bit, right? And had to learn to speak a bit of Malay. Even when speaking Malay, I always thought in Korean first. So, do you think in Portuguese and then translate?"

Your eyes widen slightly. You nod slowly. "Yes… is very… hard. Head… always busy."

Jisung hums in understanding, rubbing circles on the back of your hand with his thumb. "Damn, Y/N, your brain must be on fire 24/7."

You huff a small laugh, nodding. "Sometimes… yes."

Jisung watches you for a moment before giving your hand a reassuring squeeze. "Well, for what it’s worth, you speak Korean really well. Like, way better than I would if I tried to learn Portuguese."

"Thank you."

Jisung grins, nudging your shoulder lightly. "You’re welcome, smart girl."

The Penguin Playground is colder than the rest of the aquarium, the temperature-controlled environment mimicking the frigid conditions of the Antarctic. A light mist hangs in the air, condensation forming on the glass of the massive enclosures where dozens of penguins waddle, dive, and swim with surprising grace. The sound of their squawking fills the room, along with the occasional splash of water as they torpedo through the pool.

Jisung practically vibrates with excitement beside you, his grip on your hand tightening as he tugs you closer to the glass. "Ooh, okay, listen, I watched a whole-ass documentary on penguins last night, so I have so many facts."

You nod, already smiling as he gears up for another intense ramble.

Jisung clears his throat dramatically. "Okay, first of all, people always think penguins are these cute, loyal, fluffy little bastards but no. These motherfuckers are ruthless. Did you know that some penguins fucking cheat on their mates?"

You blink up at him, feigning shock. "Cheat?"

"YES!" Jisung exclaims, eyes wide. "Like, they have ‘mating pairs’ and whatever, but some penguins just go around fucking other penguins on the side. Like, dead-ass homewrecking each other’s little ice nests."

You huff a small laugh, nodding as if this is the most shocking news you’ve ever heard. "Bad penguins."

"Right?" Jisung scoffs, shaking his head. "And it gets worse. You know how they give their mates those cute little pebbles, right? Like, oh, here’s a stone, I love you, let’s build a nest together?"

You nod.

Jisung grips your shoulders. "Some of them fucking STEAL the pebbles."

Your mouth drops open. "No."

"YES!" Jisung exclaims, pointing aggressively at the penguins behind the glass. "Some of these sneaky little bitches literally go around stealing the best pebbles from other nests instead of looking for their own. Just straight-up robbery. And you wanna know why? Because the best pebbles get you the best mates. It’s like fucking gold-digging but in the penguin world."

You shake your head, barely holding in your giggles. "Scammers."

"THEY ARE!" Jisung throws his hands up. "They’re fucking criminals! And you know what else? Some of these thieving motherfuckers actually TRADE the stolen pebbles for sex."

Your eyes widen as you process that. "Trade?"

"TRADE!" Jisung yells, clearly outraged. "Like, ‘Oh, you want this really nice rock? That’ll cost you one fuck.’" He turns to the glass, pointing at the penguins. "Who taught them capitalism?!"

You snort, covering your mouth with your hand as laughter shakes your shoulders.

"And listen, if you thought that was the worst of it, let me tell you about their shit habits, literally. Did you know penguins fart? Like, a lot?"

You tilt your head, feigning curiosity. "Fart?"

"So much fucking farting."

You press your lips together, pretending to be intrigued. "Why?"

Jisung smirks, adjusting his glasses dramatically. "Because of their diet, my dear Y/N. These little tuxedo-wearing menaces eat so much fucking krill and fish that their guts are basically fermentation chambers. They store gas like it’s a fucking science experiment, and then, boom, stinky ass farts."

You shake your head, covering your face with your hands as you giggle.

Jisung leans in, lowering his voice conspiratorially. "And it gets worse."

You peek up at him through your fingers. "Worse?"

"Yes." Jisung nods grimly. "Because penguins, my dear Y/N, shit with force. These little bastards don’t just poop. They launch that shit. Like, projectile diarrhoea. Scientists actually did a study to measure how far a penguin can fire its own crap."

You stare at him, struggling to keep a straight face. "Really?"

"Really!" Jisung nods eagerly. "The average launch distance of a penguin’s explosive diarrhoea is about 1.3 meters. That’s like, over four feet of straight-up shit cannon."

You can’t hold it in anymore, you burst out laughing, doubling over slightly as your shoulders shake. Jisung beams, clearly thrilled that he got you to laugh.

"And," Jisung continues, clearly on a roll now, "if you thought we have it bad with public restrooms, imagine being a fucking penguin scientist. These poor fuckers have to sit around in a frozen hellscape, measuring how far penguin shit flies for the sake of science. Imagine going to college and getting a degree, only to end up with a job where you’re literally dodging high-speed bird turds in the fucking Antarctic."

You gasp for air between giggles, clutching your stomach. "Jisung!"

Jisung grins. "What? It’s true! Imagine coming home after work and someone’s like, ‘Hey, what do you do for a living?’ and you just have to be like, ‘Oh, you know, just penguin poop physics.’"

You wipe at your eyes, shaking your head as you finally manage to compose yourself. "That is so sad."

Jisung nods solemnly. "Rest in peace to all the penguin poop researchers." He sighs dramatically. "They were the real ones."

You giggle again, looking back at the penguins. Some are waddling around, pecking at the ice, others diving smoothly into the water, their little bodies streamlined and graceful despite how ridiculous they look on land.

Jisung nudges your arm. "You still think they’re cute?"

You nod without hesitation. "Yes."

Jisung sighs, shaking his head. "Even knowing they’re cheating, thieving, rock-trading, shit-launching criminals?"

You smile. "Yes."

Jisung grins. "Yeah, me too."

You both stand there for a moment, just watching the penguins in comfortable silence. Then Jisung gently tugs on your hand. "C’mon, let’s go buy unnecessary amounts of shit from the gift shop."

The sun is still brutal when you and Jisung step out of the COEX Aquarium, but the heat doesn’t seem as oppressive after the hours spent in the cool, dimly lit exhibits. The matching turtle plush keychains you both bought at the gift shop swing slightly with each step, yours hanging off the strap of your handbag, and Jisung’s clipped to a belt loop on his oversized jeans.

He’d insisted on matching, grinning like a maniac as he dramatically held up the two keychains side by side, saying, "Look, they’re like us, one is shy and the other talks too much."

Jisung stretches, groaning as he rolls his shoulders. "Okay, so what now?" he asks, tilting his head to squint at you behind his round glasses. His hair is slightly messy from wearing his beret all day, but he hasn’t put it back on, letting the slight breeze cool him off. "The date can’t end here. We could go to a cafe or get bubble tea, I am starving. Like, actually starving. I thought the penguins might’ve tasted nice with some rice back there."

You wrinkle your nose, playfully nudging his side. "Jisung!"

"What?!" Jisung grins, rubbing his stomach dramatically. "It’s their fault for being so plump and round! If we were in a survival situation, you’d consider it too."

You shake your head, holding back a laugh. "No. Bad."

Jisung groans. "Fine, fine, I’ll find food that isn’t a penguin." He turns to you expectantly. "So? What do you wanna eat?"

You hesitate, thinking. "We could... go get... cheesecake? Is that how you say?"

Jisung gasps.

You blink at him in confusion. "What-"

"You are a dream woman," he interrupts, placing both hands on his chest as if he’s just been blessed by the universe. "Cheesecake is my fucking favourite. That’s it. That’s the final straw. You have to be my girlfriend now."

You freeze slightly, your brain stumbling over the last word. "Girlfriend?"

Jisung blinks at you before realization dawns. "Oh. Right. You don’t..." He pauses before trying again. "You know? Girlfriend?"

You still look lost, trying to piece it together, so Jisung immediately jumps into action.

He clutches his chest dramatically, swaying like he’s about to faint. "Oh, my love," he sighs, reaching for you as if in a tragic romance drama. "I cannot live without you!"

You blink, watching him curiously and Jisung moves on to the next demonstration, pressing his hands together in the shape of a heart and wiggling his eyebrows. "You know? Love. Romance. Heart-fluttering moments."

You tilt your head slightly, still not entirely sure what he means.

Jisung groans, then escalates immediately. He mimes sex. Your eyes widen as he thrusts his hips dramatically, makes an obscene hand gesture, and moans loudly, loud enough that people turn to stare.

"JISUNG!" you gasp as you smack his arm.

He just laughs. "Now you get it!"

You cover your face with your hands, still mortified. "Yes! I get! I get!"

Jisung snickers, nudging you playfully. "So? You gonna be my girlfriend or what?"

You peek at him through your fingers. "You like me?"

Jisung scoffs. "Duh." He reaches out, gently pulling your hands away from your face so you’ll look at him. "Of course I like you. You’re amazing. You’re smart as hell, you let me ramble for hours, you listen to my dumbass facts, and you even pretend to be impressed even though you already know everything. That’s some top-tier girlfriend material shit right there."

You stare at him, taking in his sincerity and Jisung watches you expectantly, still holding your hands. "So? What do you think?"

You hesitate, feeling your heart pound a little too hard. Then, slowly, you nod. "I like you too."

Jisung grins, squeezing your hands. "Fucking finally," he sighs dramatically. "Alright, now that we’re officially dating, I’m taking my hot girlfriend to get cheesecake."

You giggle softly, letting him pull you along as the heat of the summer sun bears down on the city. But somehow, despite the heatwave, despite the sweat sticking to your skin, being with Jisung makes everything feel lighter.

The frat house is dimly lit when you and Jisung step inside, the air slightly cooler than the humid streets outside. It’s quiet for once, which is rare for a house full of chaotic men, but you assume most of them are either out or recovering from whatever questionable decisions they made last night.

Jisung, however, is still buzzing with energy. He kicks off his shoes, dragging you inside excitedly. “Okay, okay, you need to see my realm,” he announces, gripping your wrist as he starts leading you toward the stairs. “It’s like fucking Mary Poppins’ bag, but a room. I buy so much random shit that I never use. It’s basically a museum of bad financial decisions.”

You raise a curious eyebrow but let him pull you along, his excitement infectious. The stairs creak under your steps as you both make your way up, and Jisung keeps talking, gesturing wildly. “Honestly, I don’t even know half the shit I own. Sometimes I open a drawer and it’s like, oh, hello, cursed object I forgot about.”

You giggle, shaking your head as he finally stops in front of his door. He turns to you dramatically, gripping the handle. “Prepare yourself,” he warns, wiggling his eyebrows. “This is not just a room. This is an experience.”

With that, he swings open the door.

The first thing you notice is that Jisung was not exaggerating. His room is a chaotic explosion of random shit. Posters cover the walls, some of them normal, bands, movies, anime, while others are questionable choices, like a framed photo of Shrek in a Renaissance-style painting.

There are plushies stacked in one corner, a full arcade joystick setup next to his desk, multiple fidget cubes scattered on his nightstand, and an entire shelf dedicated to random collectables. A rubber chicken, a Funko Pop of Michael Scott from The Office, a tiny golden Buddha, and what looks like an actual taxidermied frog playing a tiny violin.

You step inside cautiously, glancing around. "You buy a lot."

Jisung grins proudly, kicking some clothes out of the way. “I know, right? It’s fucking awesome.”

He immediately starts pointing things out, launching into the backstory of every ridiculous item.

“This,” he says, grabbing a tiny, handheld fan from his desk, “was supposed to save my life during this heatwave, but it barely blows any air, so now it just sits here collecting dust like a useless piece of shit.”

You hum, pretending to be deeply fascinated.

He grabs a remote-controlled car next. “Bought this because I thought it would be funny to terrorize the frat house, but then Changbin fucking stepped on it, so now it just drives in circles forever.”

You nod, clearly taking notes on his terrible purchasing habits. Then he picks up a weirdly realistic-looking pigeon figurine.

You blink at it. "Pigeon?"

Jisung grins, shaking the bird at you. “YES. I bought this because I read somewhere that pigeons are government spies, and I thought it would be hilarious to keep one as a double agent.”

You narrow your eyes at him. "You believe that?"

Jisung shrugs. "I mean, not really, but the possibility is funny as fuck.”

You shake your head, barely holding in your laughter as you continue looking around. Then your eyes land on something big and ominous leaning against the wall. A riot shield.

You point at it. "Why?"

Jisung follows your gaze, then laughs, walking over to grab it. “Ohhh, this thing? Yeah, okay, so it looked really fucking cool when I bought it, but then I just never used it. It sat in my closet for months.”

You tilt your head. "But you use?"

Jisung nods dramatically. "Yes, it finally proved useful when I told Minho we were going on a date. I used it to protect myself from his wrath."

Your eyes widen slightly. "Minho hit you?"

Jisung grins. “No, but I wasn’t about to take my chances.”

Then, without warning, he reaches under his bed and pulls out something even more ridiculous, a realistic-looking katana.

Your mouth drops open slightly. "A sword?!"

Jisung nods, holding it up with a completely serious expression. “This, my dear Y/N, is what I actually bought to protect myself against Minho.”

You blink at him, then glance at the sword again. "It real?"

Jisung snickers. “No, it’s fake but it looks real enough to make Minho hesitate for like, two seconds.”

You shake your head, amused but not surprised. Then Jisung suddenly gasps, eyes lighting up. "OH! You need a stone!"

You tilt your head. "Stone?"

Jisung nods enthusiastically. "Like penguins, right? They give each other stones to say, I like you, let’s build a nest, let’s be criminals together.”

You nod, playing along, and Jisung immediately dives into his desk drawer, rummaging through random junk until he finally pulls out a small pebble. He holds it up proudly before walking back over and placing it gently into your palm.

You stare at it, warmth spreading in your chest. "My stone?"

Jisung nods. "Your stone."

You turn it over in your fingers, rubbing the smooth surface before looking back up at him. "You give me nest?"

Jisung grins. “Hell yeah, I give you a nest. We’re in this together now.”

You giggle, gripping the stone a little tighter.

Jisung watches you for a moment, his smile softening. Then, before you can process it, he steps closer, tilting his head slightly as he studies your face. There’s a pause, a moment of quiet anticipation, before he leans in, his hand gently cupping your cheek as his lips press against yours.

The kiss is warm, deep, and unmistakably Jisung, a little eager, a little messy, but so full of feeling that your chest tightens. His lips move against yours with a slow, deliberate pressure, as if he’s been waiting for this, as if he’s been thinking about this moment for longer than he’d ever admit.

His free hand finds your waist, fingers curling slightly against your dress as he pulls you in, his body flush against yours. You feel the slight tremble in his hands, the way his heart races against your own, and you melt into him, pressing up on your toes to kiss him back with just as much uncertainty and want.

When he finally pulls away, his breath is uneven, his forehead resting lightly against yours. He exhales a soft, breathy laugh, his grip on your waist loosening just slightly.

"Well, I guess the romantic trials and tribulations of Han Peter Jisung paid off."

And you laugh, because, somehow, it feels like the truest thing in the world.

Requested by Anon

Han Jisung Taglist: @puppymsworld

General Taglist: @nightmarenyxx @velvetmoonlght @annafee_bou @mlink64 @intoanothermind @furfoxsake22 @daaaph-lol @tirena1 @yu-winchester @cristy-101 @puppymsworld

Proofread by the one, the only, the lovely @hwangjoanna (who has a Squid Game SKZ AU which you should all go and show some love

Dividers by: @enchanthings-a

Curlysung as a result of this poll

Please like, reblog and comment as I researched so much for this story, I researched aquariums in seoul and went on a deep dive on the CEOX aquarium website and all attractions mentioned are attractions that exist at CEOX aquarium and I also did so much research on marine biology, so much

[elene78-blog]

TGR

"You know he's gay, right?"

The question catches Kevin by surprise. Andrew isn't one for gossip (at least, not with him), but Kevin quickly grasps the situation. The plane is about to take off, and Andrew can't smoke. Besides, when they get to Palmetto, Neil will be there. Neil, who lied again.

Normally, Kevin wouldn't indulge Andrew by fueling the gossip, but he understands the need for distractions. That's one of the roles of a teammate for the Ravens… even if he isn't one anymore.

"Of course I know. Everyone knows," he answers calmly.

Andrew doesn't say anything for a while, but there's a glimmer of curiosity in his slightly raised eyebrow.

"What did I miss?"

"A gay orgy with cocaine. His brother committed suicide that same night. He was supposed to be in his care."

There's no point in hiding it. Jeremy was press fodder for months, especially because of who his family was. He barely made it through damage control.

Andrew snorts, surprised.

"We Foxes never get invited to the best parties."

The plane takes off. They start running down the jetway. Kevin spots Andrew's white knuckles on the armrest.

"Doesn't his reputation fuel Moreau's?" he asks.

Kevin wonders if Andrew is trying to distract himself or pass his nervousness on to Kevin. He gets the latter.

"Maybe. But it's also an opportunity for Jean. Their situations have twisted similarities. And it's working. I've never… seen Jean look so good. I guess that says a lot about how he was before."

The plane takes off. This is the most awkward part. Of course, Andrew has saved the worst for last.

"Knox doesn't notice Moreau," he says. "He doesn't notice him like one of the flirts he attracts with a lighter at a party. He doesn't try to attract Moreau like that."

Kevin disagrees. He's no expert at spotting these things, but he's sure Jeremy is noticing Jean, and Jean… well, Jean is about as subtle as taking a rock to the teeth, but the fight with Jeremy's brother was also surprising to him.

"Jeremy likes him," Kevin says, as if he wants to protect Jean from the possibility that Jeremy might not like him.

Actually, that's what happens. Kevin refuses to let Jean not have things he likes. He's had enough of that.

Andrew lets out another snort of annoyance, as if the idea seems ridiculous.

"Of course he likes him. He likes your French boy so much that he doesn't want to screw up, that's why he doesn't offer him the lighter. He respects him too much to try to force him into his own pigsty."

Kevin stares at Andrew as the plane stabilizes in the sky. Calm returns, like his apparent indifference. Andrew doesn't want to say more, but Kevin doesn't want to let it go.

"The voice of experience?" he asks. Andrew stares out the window, ignoring him, but Kevin knows he's listening. "It worked out once. It'll work out again. Wanna bet against it?"

"Don't be ridiculous."

Kevin calms down as if he's fallen into bed for the first time after 10 days without sleep.

If Andrew doesn't bet, it's because he knows it's a losing bet.

[aleclighttwd]

In every single draft before the final one, Jean killed himself to draw attention to the abuse of the Nest. In every single draft, Jean becomes a martyr. The probability of having read the only version of All for the Game where Jean survives is baffling to me. The boy who shouldn’t have lived, but did even if by order alone. In every draft, Jean doesn’t survive and in every draft the ending wasn’t right (because if it was Nora would have published that version instead.) It’s very symbolic to his character and the journey he begins in The Sunshine Court. By all means, Jean has every reason not to live; he’s hanging on by a thread and yet he chooses to endure even if it’s only because he made a promise to Kevin (and I cannot even begin to think about that one draft where Kevin stayed on the line with Jean; someone recommended a fic, please.) That order he gave himself to continue to fight everyday, will one day become lighter and transform into an unconscious choice. A cool evening breeze. Rainbows. Open roads. Friends. In every version but ours, Kevin healed without Jean. In our version, both Kevin and Jean get to heal, and Riko becomes the martyr. There’s something tragically beautiful about clawing your way towards a happy ending.

(And we also received the only version where jerejean live with their two lesbians and cardboard cutout of a dog so a win for the gays!)

[odessa-2]

Have you seen Cait and her siblings in Ireland( marathon pics). ?..lol..We hace a Kevin pic... Mordor can compare if they want ..He is not the ine beside C at the funeral

Hi Anon. I have indeed seen those glorious Marathon pics. I've been a tad MIA lately. Mainly due to life, holiday festivities, personal responsibilities, and SC narrative boredom. I'm feeling rather uninspired to blog due to the ongoing tedious nature of this never-ending saga and the predictable nature of the fandom. Shippers v Antis. It's ever so draining and I couldn't give a rat's arse about what the Antis are saying.

Regarding the juice that are the Marathon pics, it is abundantly clear that Cait's brother Kevin;

1. Is spectacularly tall. Infact, he is a whole lot taller than the 'mystery' gent who had his arm around Cait at The Funerale.

2. Has very dark brown hair with greying around the flanks. The front row and centre funeral man's hair was lighter with a reddish hue.

3. Is exceptionally lean and long necked. Funeral dude. Is broader backed and thicker necked (like a certain someone else we all know and love). It really is a no-brainer!!

Not Kevin👇👇

[iwishiwasavampire]

adult twinyards where in order to bond they have very serious very important hang out appointments, 4 times of the year (bee’s idea, one hang out for every season), where they just try things until they find a “relaxing hobby” to do together, but it escalates into them trying to piss each other off by choosing weird shit. so far they’ve tried:

- ceramics (aaron’s lack of artistic abilities made this one very stressful for him, he just wanted to make a mug for katelyn, it ended up very deformed with a badly painted flower, she loved it anyway. andrew was actually kind of good at it, but hated the texture of dry ceramic paint. he made a mug with a little queen chess piece for kevin and a plate with an orange fox paw for neil) bee’s first suggestion.

- shooting range (aaron was actually really good at it, but he hates the feeling of aggression it caused on him and barely spoke the whole time bc of it, andrew was amused for the first 40 minutes but didn’t like how noisy the whole affair was, he is more of a knife guy anyway) aaron’s first (and only) sincere suggestion

- going to the movies. andrew’s turn to pick, but it was a holiday weekend and everything else was closed. They watched captain america: the winter soldier (they both enjoyed the movie, the first words out of aaron’s mouth when it ended were: “that was kind of…..gay, right?” and andrew was like “yeah.” they had pizza after.

- cat cafe. andrew sent a pic of the cat him and neil bullied kevin into letting them adopt, so aaron thought it would be funny taking andrew to a cat cafe (they both had a good time playing with the cats and eating pastries, this is where they started to develop their joint hater slay, bc aaron made enemies during his first month of residency at the hospital and didn’t want to stress katelyn out about it so he just spends 2 hours shit talking pretty much everyone in the hospital to andrew’s delight).

- going to the Maserati building/american headquarters (?) to discuss a sponsorship deal they were offering andrew (not a real hang out, but they had sooooo much fun annoying executive and making stupid demands, andrew sign the contract only after they added a clause that whatever car andrew gets out of has to have a bunch of modifications for someone who is 5’0 foot tall, with an ashtray, but no dashboard lighter, a specific safe place for a pet carrier and other stuff like that and also aaron also gets one) not a real hang out, but aaron got a fancy car out of it so he won’t complain. (also, andrew’s publicist was there and she came out of it traumatized)

meanwhile neil, kevin and katelyn have a group hat to share whatever weird pictures they receive from their significant others during those hang outs.