#anyway in my head i was calling this black and white week^_^(it was only four posts. it was not a week. i used gray and red as well. wrong)

[scapinoz]

MY MAD DOG (ALL MINE).

yandere male oc x male reader

mob boss x guard dog reader.

— chapter three.

anyways, im still alive (unfortunately) and i did completely forget about my tumblr account, and the fact that i was posting my writing here. being honest, i didn’t get much writing done, at all. i’ve just been day dreaming about my oc’s.

i’ve already planned three different universes in my head. anywhore, here’s the third chapter. im typing this during a sermon, on my mobile, and my fingers are numb.

i’ll write illarion and Y/N kiss as an apology later.

warnings— straight marriage? illarion. Y/N. Y/N being a whore. mentions of prostitution. brothels. i don’t know much of what’s here.

previous chapter - chapter two.

series master list - my mad dog (all mine).

It was winter in name, not in breath—February in the city, the air pale with chill but softened by the haze of low sunlight bleeding through the tall windows of the Volkov estate. Illarion Lucero, heir of empire and sin, arrived in a car the color of spilled ink, flanked by men who never spoke unless necessary. The iron gates parted like theatre curtains.

The Volkovs were already waiting. A kingdom of polished smiles and cold perfection.

And then she stepped out.

Alexandra Volkov.

Tall, sculpted, with frost-glass skin and eyes like the edge of a blade dulled only by self-control. She moved with the grace of a girl born to be watched, but never touched; her silk dress whispering secrets against marble as she descended the stairs. Her hair was braided like an empress’s, thick and dark and intricate. And her expression—calm, unreadable, the precise detachment of a woman who had known from birth that love would never be a luxury in her world.

Illarion watched her, hands in his pockets, a cigarette tucked behind his ear though he wasn’t smoking. He wore black on black. No tie. No warmth. Just the quiet fire of someone who had built his name on ruin, and now was expected to bring someone else into the architecture of that ruin and call it legacy.

“Mr. Lucero,” she said, extending a hand.

He took it. Her fingers were ice, and somewhere far away, it reminded him of another touch—warmer, bloodied, knuckled by violence, not diplomacy. Y/N’s hands. The ones that dragged men to their graves like Orpheus dragging Eurydice backward into hell.

“Alexandra,” Illarion replied, voice low, velvet-laced but empty.

Their first words hung in the air like a contract sealed in breath.

Her father, a white-haired man with gold-rimmed spectacles and a faint accent made for boardrooms, gestured them inside. Discussions began—mergers, alliances, security protocols, the wedding. A union of titans, orchestrated like war, dressed up in flowers and lace. Illarion gave all the correct nods, offered the occasional opinion when asked, but his gaze strayed.

Out the window. To the street where, a week ago, Y/N had beaten a man half to death for information. To the velvet skyline behind Alexandra’s shoulder, where Acheron’s red sign blinked like a heart in cardiac arrest. To the ring on his finger, too heavy, too new.

Alexandra, for her part, watched him in turn. She knew men like him. Sharp smiles. Soft threats. The kind of man who could quote Sappho and slit your throat in the same breath.

“You’re thinking of someone else,” she said when they were finally left alone.

Illarion looked at her then—really looked. She was not cruel. Not kind. Just honest. Raised to read the room before she read books.

“And you’re not offended by that?” he asked.

“Not yet,” she replied. “I don’t require your love. Just your name.”

He almost laughed. Almost.

“And what do you require from love?”

“Control,” she said simply. “And a kind of cruelty that doesn’t rot.”

Their silence stretched.

She poured herself a glass of champagne. He declined. And in that moment, Illarion thought—this is not a woman I will destroy. This is a woman I will share a house with, a life with, a thousand quiet mornings like this one. But she will never taste my rage, my ruin, my fever.

That, he saved for Y/N.

He thought of Y/N’s voice—monotone, dry, cruel with affection. He thought of the way he leaned against walls like a god bored by the mortal world, of the scent of gunpowder and Acheron perfume that clung to him like bruises. He thought of the first time he bled for him. The last time he kissed him. How he hadn’t yet tasted his name in full.

Alexandra set her glass down. “You’re still thinking about him.”

Illarion met her eyes.

“Always.”

And though she said nothing, she offered him a faint smile—not of sympathy, but of understanding.

There would be no tragedy between them. Only agreement.

They were allies, not lovers. Royals, not romantics.

But outside, in the cold city dusk, another kind of tragedy waited. One with cigarettes and blood and brothel perfume. One named Y/N.

And Illarion Lucero had already chosen his war.

It was past midnight.

The city hummed like a sleeping god, electric and unknowable, its lights flickering like half-remembered sins across the rain-slick pavement. The air smelled of iron and storms, as if the sky itself was holding its breath.

They were in Illarion’s study, a room lined with books no one read and weapons no one dared to touch. A room of control. Of ancient order. The walls whispered the names of every man Illarion had ever betrayed, and the floor was quiet under the weight of unspoken things.

Y/N stood by the window, a cigarette in one hand, the other stuffed in the pocket of a leather jacket that had seen blood, sex, and too many nights at Acheron. His face was half-shadowed, the streetlights slicing across his cheekbone like a wound carved by light. He hadn’t said much all night. Just followed. Just watched.

Illarion sat at the edge of his desk, a glass of something amber and old in his hand. He swirled it, watching it catch fire in the lamplight.

“Volkov,” he said softly, as if tasting the name.

Y/N didn’t turn.

“She’s not like what you think,” Illarion continued. “Sharp. Controlled. Born to rule.”

“And?”

“I agreed.”

Y/N’s breath caught almost imperceptibly—almost. But Illarion saw it. He always saw it. The faintest shift of his shoulders, the twitch at his jaw. Like Achilles when Agamemnon took Briseis—not in rage, but in something deeper. The betrayal of being expected to endure.

“You’re marrying her,” Y/N said flatly. It wasn’t a question.

“Yes.”

A pause.

Long enough for the city to shift on its axis.

Y/N turned finally, cigarette burning low between his fingers, ash dripping like snow. He looked tired, and tired on him was beautiful. He wore his exhaustion like war paint—hollow eyes and bitten lips, violence just under the surface.

“And what,” he said, voice low, like thunder buried in the dirt, “do you want me to do about that?”

Illarion looked at him the way gods look at their favored mortals—pained, amused, cruel.

“Nothing.”

Another pause. Then a slow, deliberate drag from Y/N, his eyes never leaving Illarion’s.

“Convenient,” he murmured, smoke trailing like prophecy.

Illarion stood, closing the distance between them in three quiet steps. The air between them thickened. Memory pressed in—shared nights, broken men, blood on each other’s hands. The way Y/N had once bled in his arms, laughing, saying, “You’re gonna look so pretty at my funeral.”

Illarion had kissed him after that.

“I want you to stay,” he said, barely above a whisper.

Y/N tilted his head. “As what?”

Illarion didn’t answer.

He didn’t know how to answer.

Patroclus. Weapon. Ghost. Beloved.

Instead, he said, “You’re the only one I trust.”

Y/N laughed, bitter and quiet. “You’re marrying someone you don’t trust. Classic.”

“Don’t make this ugly,” Illarion snapped, voice cracking like thunder on the sea.

Y/N dropped the cigarette and crushed it under his heel.

“I’m not the one making it ugly.”

Illarion’s breath caught in his throat. Something in him wanted to kneel. Something in him wanted to grab Y/N by the collar and ruin him again. Like old times. Like always.

“You knew this would happen,” Illarion said.

“I hoped it wouldn’t.”

There it was. The confession. No flowers, no poetry. Just ruin spoken plainly.

“I hoped you’d choose me.”

Illarion stepped forward, so close now they shared breath. “I did.”

“No,” Y/N whispered, eyes flickering with something raw, something terrible. “You chose power.”

A silence, louder than any scream.

Illarion’s hands twitched at his sides.

“Are you in love with her?”

“No,” Illarion said too quickly. Then, “She’s necessary.”

“And I’m not?”

“You’re a goddamn limb,” Illarion snapped. “You’re my right hand. My shield. My fucking shadow. I’d kill without you. But I’d die with you.”

Y/N didn’t flinch. Just blinked slowly, like an animal too tired to run from the blade.

“Then die,” he said. “Or live honestly.”

He turned, ready to leave.

Illarion’s voice followed him. “I still dream of you.”

Y/N paused at the door.

“Then go to sleep,” he said. “It’s the only place I’ll belong to you now.”

The door closed like a tomb.

And Illarion Lucero, heir of rot and ruin, stood alone in his empire of cold.

His bride would arrive tomorrow.

But tonight, he belonged to a ghost named Y/N.

The night whispered like a secret through the velvet drapes of Acheron, perfumed with sin and softened by shadows. Beneath its jeweled lights and honeyed laughter, the city’s filth came to be absolved—masked in silk and satin, the wounded and the wicked alike passed through its doors. And Y/N was no stranger to it.

He sat now with that same quiet gravity, ice melting in his untouched drink, boots streaked with dried blood from an evening that demanded neither reflection nor remorse. His shirt clung damply to his side, stained red beneath the black. A kill done clean, another name gone silent. Another night checked off in service to Illarion.

The same Illarion who had, not an hour ago, told him with the precision of a blade: “I’m getting married.”

And Y/N—Y/N had only blinked.

“Convenient,” he had said, as if he’d been told the weather, or the price of petrol, or that there was another body to bury in the woods.

It wasn’t cruelty. It was indifference honed into armor. He had learned long ago that caring came with a price. That attachment made corpses of men like his father. That even someone like Rylan—the ghost who raised him—had once been soft before love gutted him like a deer.

And Illarion—well. Illarion was not exempt from such ruin. He too would rot from the inside out, chained to duty, devoured by something he tried to name as empire.

Y/N had already buried that kind of hope. He didn’t mourn what was never his.

So now, beneath Acheron’s ceiling of stars that never burned, Y/N let the night bleed on. He wasn’t here for lust or longing. Just… stillness. Noise that wasn’t the crack of bone. A warm body that didn’t scream.

That’s when he saw her.

Lynelle.

New. Too fresh-faced for this place, like she’d been carved out of a world that hadn’t yet learned to bruise. Her hair was undone, lips painted in a color that reminded him of pomegranates—of Persephone before the fall.

She was trying not to tremble when he gestured to her with a flick of his fingers.

The Madame caught the glance and nodded, whispering something in Lynelle’s ear before nudging her forward. Y/N had already taken a key from the counter, and she followed him up the stairs, as silent as a mouse in the dark.

The room was gold and amber and still.

She stood by the door, spine straight, arms folded over her chest like a prayer waiting to be denied.

“You nervous?” he asked finally, slumping into the armchair and kicking off his boots.

Lynelle blinked. “A bit, sir.”

He laughed—dry, smoky. “No need to be. Not gonna touch you.”

She blinked again, uncertain. “Then… what would you like me to do?”

“Sit,” he said. “Just sit. And don’t look at me like I’m about to bite.”

Awkwardly, she lowered herself to the edge of the bed, hands clasped in her lap, still waiting.

He let the silence stretch, head tilted back. The city’s music filtered through the walls like a memory he couldn’t quite hold onto.

“You know who I am?” he asked after a beat.

Lynelle nodded. “They say you’re the Knife. That you kill people for Mr. Lucero.”

He smirked, eyes half-lidded. “Charming title.”

“And that you don’t talk much,” she added carefully.

“Maybe tonight’s an exception.”

He looked at her—really looked. There was something in her posture, her pulse fluttering at her throat, that made him ache for a version of himself that might have once been innocent, too.

“You a student?” he asked.

She blinked again, surprised. “Yes. Medicine. Final year.”

He whistled low. “Bright. So why the hell are you here?”

She looked down. “Debt. And… I needed somewhere to breathe.”

He nodded as if he understood—and maybe he did.

“I used to have dreams,” he said. “Then they put a gun in my hand and told me I was good at killing. Never looked back.”

“Do you still dream?” she asked quietly.

He gave her a ghost of a smile. “Only when I drink too much.”

A pause.

“You love him, don’t you?” she said suddenly.

Y/N blinked, startled.

She flushed. “I mean—Mr. Lucero. You look like someone who’s bleeding for someone who doesn’t bleed for you.”

There it was. The unspoken carved into flesh.

He exhaled, leaned forward, arms resting on his knees. “I don’t bleed anymore,” he said. “And he’s getting married. So none of it matters.”

Lynelle tilted her head, studying him. “But you still come here. You still talk about it.”

“Because you’re the first person who doesn’t want something from me.”

That silenced her.

He stretched out on the couch like a lion tired of hunting, eyes fluttering shut.

“You remind me of someone,” he murmured. “My mother, maybe. She was too good for this world. Ended up dead for it.”

Lynelle’s lips parted, a softness entering her gaze. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he said. “Just… stay a while. Don’t be scared. I just needed quiet.”

And so they sat.

Two strangers in a golden room, beneath a world that demanded their ruin. Her, a Briseis unbought but borrowed. Him, a Patroclus with bloodstained hands, retreating into a silence Achilles could never follow.

Downstairs, the world burned on.

And somewhere else, Illarion Lucero stared into a mirror, wondering why Y/N hadn’t come home.

The night had folded itself into velvet. Somewhere, in the quarters of an old ancestral home, men sharpened knives and women painted on the illusion of civility, but far from it all—where marble bled into shadows—Y/N found his father in the greenhouse, pruning vines like it was a penance.

Rylan never looked up. He spoke first, always did.

“Should’ve burned this place years ago,” he muttered, snipping a dead orchid. “But it kept your mother’s scent. Jasmine and smoke.”

Y/N leaned against the doorway, bleeding quietly into the dark. He was a silhouette of war: dried blood on his collar, bruises blossoming like dark peonies across his jaw, a gash on his palm that still wept.

“You came here to mourn flowers?” Y/N asked, voice low, dry.

“No,” Rylan said. “I came here to remember what it cost me not to mourn properly.”

Y/N said nothing, and that silence stretched like old silk between them.

Rylan finally turned. His face—lined but steady—bore no tenderness, only the grave sort of fondness reserved for ghosts and sons who don’t know they’re still boys.

“You look more like her when you bleed,” Rylan said, gaze slipping to Y/N’s temple. “She used to come home like that, too. Bruised. Silent. Carrying sins she didn’t commit.”

Y/N’s mouth twitched, something between a smirk and a wound.

“She was a whore, wasn’t she?”

“She was more than that,” Rylan said evenly. “But yes, she was. Proudly. Soft-spoken. Smarter than anyone in that godforsaken brothel, especially the men who thought they owned her.”

“Did you love her?” Y/N asked, not because he cared, but because he needed to hear what regret sounded like.

“I did. Too late to matter,” Rylan replied, plucking a leaf. “Just as you’ll love someone one day and break their heart like a sacrament.”

Y/N looked out the glass wall, at the moon caught in the water basin like a drowned god.

“She died young.”

“They all do,” Rylan said. “The ones who burn too long for someone else’s warmth.”

A long silence again, broken only by the crickets beyond the pane. Then:

“He told me he’s getting married,” Y/N said, quiet.

Rylan glanced at him. “And you feel nothing.”

“I never do.”

“That’s not true,” Rylan said, moving past him to toss the clipped leaves into a brass basin. “You just refuse to call it by name. That’s the difference between you and me—I gave it a name and it devoured me. You won’t even look it in the eye.”

Y/N chuckled bitterly, “So you think I’m still like you.”

“No,” Rylan said, pausing in the doorway. “You’re worse. Because you could still be kind, but you choose not to.”

Y/N didn’t follow him. He stayed there, under the stifled breath of green things, haunted by a woman he barely remembered and a man who looked too much like his own shadow.

Above them, somewhere in the distance, the wedding bells were already being forged—golden, cold, and loud enough to drown the sound of fate knocking on the wrong door.

And the gods, those old cruel poets, smiled.

and there we go, the third chapter’s out now. what do we think? a bit shorter and rushed, but I’ll edit this later.

also would y’all read if i release another series? a bit of a historical, fantasy setting. some wlw sprinkled in. so much angst, y’know. basically— emperor x foreign concubine x empress.

i’ll probably write something later this week and post it around thursday.

[jaggybot3000]

CHONNY'S CHARMING CHAOS COMPENDIUM FAUX ALBUM+BACK COVER!!!!!!!💥💥💥💥

AKA CONCEPT ART OF AN ALBUM COVER FOR A CONCEPT ALBUM OF A COVER ALBUM!!!!

(aka a final for an illustration class:])

some mockups+ illustrations without text:3

[kitten4sannie]

ᴋɪꜱꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ᴛᴇʟʟ

ᴘᴇʀᴠᴇʀꜱɪᴏɴ/ᴘʀᴀɪꜱᴇ ➠ ʏᴜɴɢɪ

pairing: bf! mingi x gf! reader x roommate! yunho

genre: smut

summary: there’s something irresistible about your boyfriend’s roommate.

w.c: 3k

warnings: established poly relationship, switch! mingi + reader, dom! yunho, lots of perverted activities going on (panty sniffing for one…), voyeurism/exhibitionism, mxm, mostly pet names + praise <33, glasses kink idk i really like glasses if you couldn’t tell,, a tiny amount of false praise/name calling, kissing (including a three way kiss 🫣), manhandling, instruction giving, masturbation, oral (receiving), cum eating/swapping, cockwarming, dp in one hole, brief tit play, bulge kink, breeding kink, squirting, creampies

a/n: DON’T YOU LOOK AT ME 🫵🏼 i had to write this okayyy it was the only way to quell the brainworms uwu esp after that dance challenge yuyu posted ohmygodohmfhwwh and migiii GRRRRRRRR BARK anyways, i’ll return to my enclosure now 😔 if you enjoyed plz lemme know~~

song rec: kiss & tell by ethan low + gen neo

ᴘʀᴇᴠ | ꜰꜰꜰ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ | ɴᴇxᴛ

It only took a week of dating your boyfriend to know that he had a special relationship with his roommate. The both of them could deny it all they wanted, but you weren’t blind. You didn’t even mind it, either — in fact, it intrigued you. The more the merrier, after all. Now that you had just moved in with them, you expected to see it first hand, but you would come to realize that there was a lot more to the story — and you were a major part of it. 

“All we did was jerk off together, Y/N, it was one time, maybe two…” Mingi explained to you over the sound of running water, as if that even helped his case, handing you the plastic plate he had just washed. 

“Riiight, and I only scissored my bestie once or twice, right after the group orgy,” you replied sarcastically, wiping the dish with a rag and putting it back into your shared cabinet. 

Mingi almost dropped your favorite cat mug into the sink. “Y-you didn’t tell me you were into group sex.” 

You quickly took the mug from his grasp, holding it to your chest. “I was just joking, Min, so that you could see how silly you sound.” You reached up to caress his cheek with your cold hand, making him shiver. “Who cares if you’re attracted to your roommate. You know I don’t mind.” 

Mingi’s eyebrows screwed upwards, looking down at you with wide eyes. “B-but, he’s a dude.” 

“And?” 

He bit into his plump lip. “He’s got a dick.” 

You nodded your head. “Even better.” 

Mingi turned off the sink. “He’s my best friend, Y/N…” 

“I don’t see why that’s a problem, Min. You can’t control who you like.” 

“I-i don’t like him!” your boyfriend protested weakly, his rosy cheeks betraying him. 

You sighed, accepting defeat for now. “Okay, baby, I hear you.” 

Mingi suddenly cornered you against the sink, his hands on each side of the counter. He towered over you. “Why are you so interested in Yunho, huh? Do you want him?”

Now that the tables had turned, it was your turn to blush. “Wh-what?” 

Mingi slowly pressed himself into you, his body warm against yours. He was hard. You could feel it. “You heard me.” He leaned down to whisper, “You want to fuck my roommate, don’t you, baby?” 

Just then, the front door opened, a set of heavy footsteps making their way through the corridor until the very roommate you were speaking of appeared in the kitchen. “It’s raining cats and dogs out there,” Yunho chuckled softly, pulling his heavy black coat off, along with his foggy glasses, before shaking his head like a dog, his dirty blond bangs sticking to his forehead. 

Mingi had positioned you in front of him to conceal his boner, trying his best to look casual with his arms wrapped around you, his chin resting on the top of your head. “I told you to bring an umbrella, dumbass.” 

Yunho dropped his stuff down onto the kitchen counter, tugging at the thin white turtleneck he was wearing, the soaked material rolling up his waist. It had been soaked through, leaving little to the imagination. The both of you gulped audibly from where you stood. “You’re right, like always, Min.” Humming, Yunho used the loose material of his sweatpants to wipe his glasses clean, putting them back on, his gaze softening at the sight of his two favorite people. “Silly me.” 

“You’re going to catch a cold like that,” you whined, trying not to focus on the way his top clung to the ridges of his abs, or how his heavy sweatpants began to fall slightly from his hips. “You should take a shower, Yunho.”  

You weren’t the only one sizing him up, though Mingi wasn’t quite as capable of being subtle, instead biting straight into his lip, his deep-set eyes scanning lower until he could see the prominent outline of the very cock he was just talking about a few minutes ago. “Yeah, Yun. You’re soaked…” 

Yunho’s eyes formed half moons. His roommate and girlfriend were just too cute. He wanted nothing more than to fuck the living daylights out of the both of you, preferably in front of the other. Yunho couldn’t even keep track of the amount of times he’s jerked off to the thought of what you’d both act like when he was turning one of you out. He wondered which one of you would cry from being fucked full of cum, who could throat his cock the best, whose hole was the tightest, the list went on. These days, he’s even gone as far as to steal your panties, or Mingi’s boxers out of the laundry basket, just to wrap them around his dick and jerk himself off inside your shared room when the both of you were at work. And, as soon as he brought the soiled undergarments to his nose and inhaled your pretty scent, he blew his load all over your bed, like clockwork. Then, he almost always slipped in the hallway on the way to throw your blankets into the wash. It was getting bad.

He observed the splotches of water that had soaked into your own top and Mingi’s shirt alike, his lips curling up into a small smirk. “Looks like the both of you are wet too. Maybe we could all use a shower.” 

“M-maybe,” you choked out, worried your cover was blown by how flustered you looked. 

“You can go first though, bro,” Mingi finished for you, just about finishing in his pants from the thought of showering alongside Yunho, with you in between them. 

Yunho simply ran his long fingers through his wet hair, letting out a small sigh. “Your loss.” And with that, he made his way down the dark hallway to the bathroom. 

You didn’t even have to say anything for Mingi to know where your head was at, not when his other one poked into your abdomen when you turned around to face him. “Min…” you whispered, wrapping your arms around his neck.

“Bed, yeah,” Mingi breathed out, lifting you up from the floor and carrying you down the same hallway to your bedroom, the one that just so happened to share a wall with the bathroom. 

-

Beads of water slipped past the edge of Yunho’s tensing jaw, dripping past his contracting abdomen, and collecting inside the palm of his hand, aiding him in the pursuit of getting off, jerking himself off to the sound of Mingi piping you down. He could always tell when his best friend was about to cum; Mingi’s breath would get caught inside his dry throat and his words would start to come out jumbled. You were similar in that aspect, growing breathless, except you would always voice your desperation, that is, until all you could do was whine just before your insides were painted white. Knowing you were coming undone together in such proximity to Yunho made him so dizzy, he had to squeeze around the base of his cock to keep himself from cumming too soon. However, it was far too late, already letting out a sudden groan, leaving a few hefty splatters of cum on himself and the shower wall. Seeing white dots around his vision when he blinked, Yunho fought to catch his breath, pressing his cheek to the cool shower wall.

“Haven’t had enough, baby? Bet you need Yunho inside you next. Isn’t that right?” he heard Mingi ask you, finding it hard to swallow. Was he hearing right? 

“Yeah, I need him, Min, please–” you whined from underneath him, your thighs starting to tremble from being so close. 

“Ask him, princess,” Mingi cooed inside your ear, too drunk on lust to truly consider how his actions could backfire, bringing one sweat-covered arm to knock his fist into the wall, his hips smacking relentlessly into yours. “He’s right there.” 

Yunho jumped at the sensation of Mingi knocking through the wall, reaching over his body to turn the shower water off, his heart thumping loudly inside his chest. Finally, it was his time.

“Y-Yun, please, come here..!” Yunho heard your muffled plea, and that was all it took for him to burst through your door, a small, useless towel clinging desperately to his hips, gazing at the both of you with hunger in his hazy eyes.

“Y-you actually came.” Mingi swallowed hard, his thrusts growing sloppy, about to climb off of you, but staying while when Yunho slowly shook his head in disapproval. 

“I did. Now, you’re going to cum for me,” Yunho told him in a low voice, slowly climbing onto the bed, reaching down to run his fingers along his arm, leaving light, feathered touches over your collarbone next, sending a shiver through the both of you. He licked at his lips. “You’ll let me see, won’t you?” 

Neither you nor your boyfriend needed to have a discussion about the budding development of your relationship with Yunho. It just felt right. You immediately hooked your thighs around his waist, Mingi responding by pounding eagerly into your cunt until the both of you began to cry out. 

Yunho hovered behind Mingi, his wandering fingers closing around his friend’s waist, controlling the rate of Mingi’s strokes until he began to shudder, Yunho’s leaking cock rubbing along the other’s heated skin. He chuckled softly at the sound of Mingi’s whimpers, holding him still. “You’re cumming, aren’t you, Min? Inside your pretty girlfriend?” 

A bit of drool leaking from his lips, Mingi nodded weakly, as though his head was too heavy to lift, letting Yunho push his hips further and locking him in place, coating your pulsing walls with his seed. “F-fuck, I’m filling her up, Yun, it won’t stop…”

Humming in approval, Yunho gently coaxed Mingi to the side to access your body next, grabbing ahold of your nearest thigh and lifting it up and out of the way. “What do we have here? Mmm, no protection, huh?” He observed closely as his roommate’s load began to leak out past your fluttering hole. “I didn’t know your girlfriend liked it raw, Min.” He smiled perversely at Mingi, suddenly lifting your hips up in the air until you were folded in half like a paper doll, blowing a bit of air onto your cunt just to see you squirm. “Do you like having your little used pussy eaten too, baby?” 

“Y-yes, Yuyu,” you gasped, not used to having your ankles near your head like this, your filled hole on full display. It was so embarrassing, being looked at by your boyfriend and his roommate like they were going to eat you alive, but you couldn’t help but want more of their attention. You reached up, spreading yourself open, feeling Yunho’s heavy breaths against your skin. “Hurry, before it all spills out…” 

Groaning, Yunho dipped his tongue in between your slick lips, licking a long stripe up to your swollen clit with his tongue laid flat, languidly gathering up your combined arousal, repeating this action over and over, earning moan after wanton moan from you. Yunho opened his eyes to see how Mingi had positioned himself behind you, sitting on the opposite side of him, Mingi’s ringed fingers groping at your tits. They eventually shared heated eye contact, both growing harder at the mere sight of one another. 

“How does she taste?” Mingi’s voice is gravelly, low, and dripping with lust. “Tell me, Yun.” 

“Like heaven,” Yunho sighs out onto your hot skin, tonguing at your wet hole and pushing the tip inside. It slips out when you tighten up around it, but Yunho doesn’t give up, forcing it back in, much to your approval, flicking it in and out, in and out, until his chin is soaked with your arousal. He couldn’t help but chuckle with delight, licking his lips clean. “Your princess is making a mess.” 

Mingi couldn’t help but run the pad of his thumb over his twitching cock head, spreading the abundant pre-cum along the rest of his length. “Keep going, and she’ll make an even bigger one…”  

Taking that as a challenge, Yunho dove back in, with even more enthusiastic drags of his tongue this time around, aggressively guiding your hips to his favor. 

You tossed your head back, broken moans and expletives falling from your lips. You instinctively reached out, wanting to hold onto something: Yunho’s shaggy hair, your boyfriend, the warm sheets, or something, anything, when Mingi took hold of your wrists and held you still, his fingers slowly moving down to interlace with yours. “Oh my god–fuck, please…!” 

“Yes, that’s it, baby,” Mingi encouraged softly, giving your hands a gentle squeeze or two. “That’s my girl, being so good for us…”

Yunho’s hum vibrated through your lower half, his nose only bumping into your clit one more time, before a spray of arousal hit his moving tongue. It wasn’t until he could hear your juices splatter down onto his bare skin and the bed that his eyes rolled underneath his fluttering eyelids. “Oh my god…” He was so dizzy with lust, he was going to bust at any second, if he wasn’t careful. Just then, he noticed Mingi pulling you up into his arms, your back to his chest. He watched Mingi tilt your head until your lips met, throbbing at the sight of his tongue disappearing into your mouth. 

With Mingi’s arm snaking around your middle, his hand  cupping your sensitive cunt and his tongue down your throat, you opened your eyes to gaze at Yunho’s lips. Wanting to taste yourself, you lazily broke the kiss with Mingi, pulling Yunho closer to you, so close that you could still see drops of your arousal stuck to his glasses. “I taste like heaven, huh?” 

“Mm-hm…” Yunho pressed in closer, sandwiching you in between him and your boyfriend, his hands moving downwards to explore the closest expanse of skin, whether it was yours or Mingi’s. “I’ll show you.” 

Yunho’s tongue slid into your mouth before you had a chance to properly taste his lips, letting you taste your warm arousal instead. Just then, Mingi lifted your hips up and back down onto his stiff cock, not even moving, just wanting to feel the way you stretched open to accommodate him. It felt so good, he couldn’t help but throb, eyes shutting tight from the pleasure, immediately kissing back when your lips were back on his. You turned your head slightly to kiss each of them, your boyfriend and roommate taking turns swallowing each and every moan you let out, that is, until your lips and tongues met in the middle. 

Soon, you pulled away to take a much needed breath, unable to catch it, especially now that you realized the two men didn’t seem to stop like you did, instead tilting their heads in opposite directions to deepen the kiss, drool dripping along their chins. They both gripped your hips from either side, mutually guiding them up and down, just as Mingi began to thrust up into you, Yunho’s cock rubbing along your clit at the same time. Once your cunt squeezed around Mingi’s cock, he knocked his head back, forcing the string of saliva that connected their lips to break apart. “Fuck, baby– princess, you’re squeezing so tight…feels so good…” 

“Is she? I bet she’ll squeeze even harder with me inside,” Yunho panted near your ear, his head spinning, swearing all the blood in his body had traveled to his heavy cock. 

“What are you waiting for? Give it to me..!” you gasped out, unable to control the volume of your voice, not when Mingi was slamming into you like a short-circuiting sex machine.

“Give it to her, Yun,” Mingi encouraged raspily, lifting your body up and lowering you back down, feeling your cunt slowly stretch open to fit the both of them inside and swallow them up completely. Once Yunho bucked his hips up, Mingi joined suit, their slick cocks rubbing along one another so quick, they would occasionally slip out, though they simply pushed back in and fucked you harder than before. “Oh, that’s it…oh, god…”

“I’m gonna–nnnngh,” Yunho cut his announcement off with a moan, gritting his teeth tight, pumping what seemed to be an endless load into your already used pussy. “Fuck, it really won’t stop…I’m gonna knock up your girlfriend, Min…” 

Just when you thought you would pass out, Mingi wrapped his arms tight around your middle, his hands laid flat against your stomach, swearing he could feel his roommate’s cock underneath the pads of his fingers. “What’s mine is yours,” Mingi sighed out, pulling out for a moment, just to force himself back in, shooting thick ropes of cum deep into your womb. Panting heavily, your boyfriend’s hands slid down along your abdomen, only having to pinch and rub at your clit for a moment, before you completely unraveled in between their heaving bodies. 

Yunho pulled his glasses off, tossing them onto the bed. “You really mean that, Min?” he asked, leaning in closer. Not only did he have free rein with his roommate’s pretty little girlfriend, but Mingi seemed to be up for grabs as well. If this was a dream, he never wanted to wake up. “Does that include you?” 

Mingi scoffed, his cheeks hot to the touch, hoping Yunho couldn’t feel how hard he just got. “Now, let’s not get carried away.” 

© kitten4sannie, 2024.

fff taglist: @yutasbutterfly02 @wisejudgedragonhairdo @dawn-iscozy @bbdeongi @multistanbaby @cr4zyf0rm @kittenfrostt @magicshop1913 @enbysforhongjoong @londonbridges01 @mingisdimple @motherseonghwa23 @wwooyology @everyonewooeverywhere @leo-seonghwa @yourfatherlucifer @hwallazia @vampzity

[chromehoney]

AT THE SAME DAMN TIME, chap one, chap two, chap three, chap four, chap five.

synopsis; After a messy, short-lived situationship with Stack—reckless, flirtatious, and all the wrong kinds of possessive—you swear you’re done with hood boys who can’t keep up. But when you drop something off at his mother’s store and find both Stack and his older twin brother Smoke inside, something shifts.

Two weeks passed.

Fast, but heavy.

You hadn’t seen Stack since the pool party—not in person, not online, not even on accident. Word in the group chats was that he was “back on” with Mary, whatever that meant. You didn’t care enough to ask. Not officially. But every time you slid through Ms. Moore’s shop lately, it was Smoke sitting by the register, not Stack.

And Smoke?

He’d been showing you attention like he had time to make up for. Late-night texts turned into all-day conversations. Good morning messages that sounded deeper than friendly. You found yourself laughing at your phone more than you meant to. Thinking about his hands when they brushed yours. Replaying that poolside kiss in the back of your head like a favorite song.

He didn’t move fast. But he moved with intention. Which is why it felt so weird when, today, you pulled open the beauty shop door and saw Stack behind the counter. Not Smoke. Not Ms. Moore. Him. His eyes snapped up before the bell even finished jingling.

He froze.

You stopped mid-step, but it was too late to turn around now.

He looked the same—white tee, black jeans, chain glinting under the soft yellow lights. Only difference was… his energy. He looked at you like you weren’t supposed to be there. Like you’d messed something up just by walking in.

“Oh,” you said dryly. “Didn’t know you were here.”

“Clearly,” he muttered, eyes narrowing.

You walked past him anyway, hips swaying more than usual out of spite, and headed straight to the haircare aisle just as Ms. Moore came out from the back. “My favorite girl!” she smiled, arms open. “What you doin’ back again, baby?” “Needed more of that aloe oil,” you said, hugging her. “My scalp been actin’ up.”

She nodded knowingly and handed you a jar without hesitation. You two talked for a few minutes—hair textures, protective styles, whether or not you should try copper highlights this summer. The whole time, you could feel Stack’s gaze on you from behind. He wasn’t even subtle. His jaw was tight. His hands flexed against the counter like he wanted to say something but didn’t know how to say it without cussing.

Eventually, Ms. Moore was called to the back by a client, promising she’d be back in five. You were halfway to the register when Stack finally moved.You didn’t hear his steps—you just felt him near.“So,” he started, low and rough behind you. “What’s up with you and Smoke?” You blinked. Turned halfway. “What you mean?” “I mean,” he stepped closer, “he been smilin’ lately. Textin’ all the damn time. That ain’t like him.” You crossed your arms. “You keepin’ tabs on your brother’s moods now?”

“Nah, I keep tabs on you.” That made your brow arch. You scoffed. “Go be with Mary. Mind her business instead.”He kissed his teeth hard. His hand reached out, fingers brushing your waist, warm and too familiar.

“Cut that shit out wit’ me.”

You frowned. “What—?”

“Cut that shit out,” he repeated, stepping closer, voice lower, darker. “You tryna act like I ain’t ever mean nothin’. Like you ain’t still think about me. Like you cool just givin’ that mouth to my brother.” You froze. His grip on your waist wasn’t tight—but it was there. And it was him. All over again. That same heat. That same pressure. That same familiar pull.

“Stack—”

“You think you gon’ play me to the side and play house wit’ Smoke? That what you think this is?” His voice was so close to your ear now. You could smell the mint on his breath. Could feel the jealousy sitting behind his teeth. “Touch me again and I’ma scream,” you said, soft but sharp.

He let go. But his eyes didn’t back off.

“You just gon’ throw all that away, huh?” he muttered. “For him?” You straightened your top and stepped away. “You already threw it away. I’m just finally done holdin’ it.” Stack didn’t respond. Just watched you with that same bitter grimace as you walked to the counter and rang yourself up. Ms. Moore returned just in time to hand you a sample bag and a smile.

“See you next week, baby.”

“Yup,” you said, eyes pointedly avoiding Stack’s. “Hopefully Smoke’ll be back by then.” And then you walked out. Not flinching. Not looking back. Even if your stomach was doing flips.

who yall think she gone end up wit? and don’t mind how short this shit is, i just wanted to put something out before the fourth of july andddd before my birthday since it is next week! and i ain’t gone be thinking bout writing while i do my birthday festivities! as always ignore errors.

@cursed-carmine for the dividers!

taglist for this series! @thickianaaaa @gwenda-fav @spicypiscesssss @d1gitalb4rbie @prettyisasprettydoes1306 @queenofklonnie22 @gunznroses4life @mjustag1rl @maniifesto @nikkitheunpredict @yana3sworld @katezy2x @kqmbr1a @5starsirl @bl3ssyn

[cloudtransprncy]

One Night Only - Directors Cut

Jennie Kim X Male Reader | 8k words

One night. That’s all you ever get. By morning, she’ll be gone. You’ll tell yourself this was the last time. You’ll both know it’s not.

AN: Ya’ll might remember this if you followed me last year. Spent the last few weeks reworking it—call it the director’s cut. Also Jennie is still my ult and so her coming back into the light is great.

Consequence. The word sits heavy in your mind as you watch the city from your hotel window. Thirty floors below, New York keeps moving. Never stops.

You flick ash from your cigarette. Every choice has weight. You know this. You called her anyway.

Jennie's mouth is on yours, soft and demanding at once. She tastes like cherry lip gloss and expensive gin, sweet and sharp. Her full lips part against yours, tongue sliding against your bottom lip. Her fingers pull at your hair, just rough enough to send shivers down your spine. Between kisses she breathes, "This is stupid," but her body presses closer, breasts pushing against your chest, hips finding yours.

Commitment. You've spent years avoiding that word. Being tied down always felt wrong. You need movement, new cities, different faces. Maybe that's why things fell apart—she saw what you couldn't admit. You'd always choose the road over staying still.

Her skin burns under your hands, smooth and impossibly soft. When you slide your palm down the curve of her waist to the flare of her hip, she sighs against your neck, her breath hot on your skin. "I've missed this," she says quietly, like she's admitting something she shouldn't. You back her against the wall, pinning her with your body. She arches into you, head tilting back in invitation. You feel her pulse jump beneath your lips when you kiss her throat, right at that spot that always makes her grip your shoulders tighter.

The hotel room is all clean lines and empty space. King bed with white sheets. Bathroom with too many mirrors. Mini-fridge you've already raided. View of the city that probably costs extra. Your record label covers it, so you don't care.

As a kid, you'd search for Virgo in the night sky. Stars were constant when nothing else was. Jennie's like that. No matter how far you go, you always circle back to her.

In the half-dark, her eyes catch the light from outside. She's always seen through you, always known the parts you try to hide from everyone else.

---

She'll come. She always does.

You know she's with someone else now—an actor with a jawline made for billboards. In her world of flashbulbs and red carpets, he makes sense. But you were there first, and somehow, you're still not gone.

It's been a year since you ended things, if you can call it an ending. When you call, she answers. When she texts, you drop everything. Some connections don't break clean.

Stop. Go. Stop. Go.

A day between Chicago and Toronto shows up in your tour schedule. When you hear she's in New York for some event, changing your plans feels inevitable.

At sunset, you text her from your hotel room. The message is simple: Here for the night. Room 3045.

She replies with just a question mark. Your conversations have become this—shorthand that only works because you share history.

"I'm in the city for one night," you say when you call her. The silence on her end isn't hesitation; it's calculation. Background noise filters through the phone—glasses clinking, people talking.

"I got a room, for me and you" you add. "One night only." You hang up knowing she'll decide whether to come. You also know what that decision will be.

The knock comes at 12:17. Three quick taps.

When you open the door, your breath catches in your throat. Jennie leans against the frame, champagne glass dangling between her fingers, but it's her body that has your full attention. Her black dress hugs every curve like it was painted on, stopping mid-thigh to reveal legs that seem endless. The material stretches tight across her hips, then tapers at her waist before swelling to accommodate her breasts. The neckline dips just low enough to make your mouth go dry.

"Started without me?" you nod toward her drink, trying to sound casual while your pulse hammers in your ears.

"Needed something to get me here," she says, her lips curving into that smile that's haunted you for months. Her eyes are dark and knowing, lined with perfect black wings that make them look even more dangerous.

Jennie walks in like she owns the place, hips swaying with each step. Those knee-high socks hug her calves, leading up to a thin garter belt that disappears beneath her dress—a promise of what waits underneath. Her skin glows warm and golden against the black fabric. Her dark hair tumbles in loose waves past her shoulders, the kind of perfectly tousled look that makes your fingers itch to grab it.

Her perfume wraps around you—roses with something darker underneath, expensive and intoxicating. The scent that's followed you to hotel rooms across the country, lingering on your sheets and clothes long after she's gone.

She finishes her drink and sets the glass down with deliberate slowness. Her red-painted nails catch the light as her hand moves to your chest. "We shouldn't keep doing this," she says, but her fingers are already working your shirt buttons, knuckles brushing against your skin with each one. Her touch leaves heat trails down your torso. "It's not fair."

"When has anything been fair?" you ask. Her mouth curves into the smile that's always meant trouble.

"Never," she agrees, pressing her hand against your chest. "So we might as well take what we can get."

When she kisses you, it feels like she's taking something back, something she left with you months ago. Tonight, in this room, she's not the girl from magazine covers or someone's girlfriend. She's yours again, temporarily.

"It's been a while," she whispers against your mouth.

"Too long," you admit.

The door clicks shut behind her. You have until sunrise.

Something electric sparks between you the moment the door clicks shut. The air feels different - charged with memory and want. Your bodies remember each other before your minds can catch up.

You're on the couch in minutes, her weight settling into your lap like she belongs there. This kiss is different from the ones you remember - hungrier, more desperate. Her tongue slides against yours, and you taste gin and desire. Her body presses against yours, soft in all the places you've missed.

Your hands find her curves through the thin fabric of her dress. You squeeze her ass, pulling her closer until there's nothing between you but clothing. She moans into your mouth when you press your hardness against her. You can feel her heat even through layers of fabric.

Jennie breaks the kiss, a thin strand of saliva connecting your lips for a second before it breaks. Her eyes are dark pools reflecting the city lights outside. They hold yours with an intensity that makes your throat tight.

"I've missed this, Owen," she whispers. Her voice is rough at the edges. She grinds against you, slow and deliberate, the friction making your breath catch. Her fingers tighten in your hair, pulling you back to her mouth. This kiss is deeper, messier, with teeth and tongue and need.

Your hands slide under her dress, finding warm skin. The sound she makes when you touch her bare thighs shoots straight to your groin. You push the fabric higher, revealing more of her, inch by inch. Her breathing quickens as her hips roll against yours. Her nipples are hard points pressing through the fabric, rubbing against your chest.

She lifts her arms as you pull the dress over her head. You toss it aside, forgotten before it hits the floor.

Moonlight spills through the windows, painting her skin silver. She's all smooth curves and shadows in the half-light. Her body is a map you once knew by heart - the slight curve of her waist, the fullness of her breasts, the dip of her collarbone. You take it all in again, relearning her.

Your hands can't stay still. You need to touch every inch of her, remind yourself that she's real. Her skin is impossibly soft under your fingertips, warm and alive. Each touch makes her shift against you, seeking more pressure, more contact.

The sounds she makes are better than any song you've written. Small gasps when you squeeze her thighs. A sharp intake of breath when your thumb grazes her nipple. Low hums of pleasure when you find a spot she likes. Each sound builds on the last, creating a rhythm that guides your hands.

You need to taste her. Starting at her collarbone, you press your lips to her skin. Salt and sweetness and expensive perfume fill your senses. She sighs, her head falling back to give you better access. You work your way across her shoulder, down her arm, learning the texture of her skin with your mouth.

When you reach her breast, you feel her whole body tense in anticipation. The skin here is softer, more delicate. You circle her nipple with your tongue, feeling it harden further. Your hand finds her other breast, thumb rolling over the stiff peak.

"Oh my god," she moans when you take her nipple into your mouth. Her back arches, pushing more of her into your face. The taste of her skin goes straight to your head like strong liquor. Her chest rises and falls rapidly with each breath.

Your free hand slides down her stomach, fingers spread wide to feel as much of her as possible. You trace the edge of her panties, feeling the lace against your fingertips. She rocks against your hand, seeking more pressure. You cup her between her legs, feeling the heat and dampness through the thin fabric. Jennie gasps, her thighs trembling as you press your palm firmly against her covered pussy.

"Fuck," she breathes, grinding down on your hand. Her fingers tighten in your hair, pulling hard enough to make your scalp tingle. The slight pain only makes you harder.

You move to her neck, dragging your teeth along the sensitive skin below her ear. When you bite down - not hard enough to mark, but enough to make her feel it - she whimpers, her whole body shuddering. Your thumb makes slow circles against her covered clit while your teeth work at her neck, finding the spots that make her grip your shoulders.

"I forgot how good you feel," you say against her skin, your voice rough with wanting.

"I want to feel you too," she says, eyes locked on yours. Her pupils are blown wide with desire. Her hand traces up your arm, across your shoulder, around to your back. Her nails dig into your skin, leaving trails of sensation. She tugs at your shirt, impatient now. You let her pull it over your head.

Her hands are everywhere at once, exploring your chest, your shoulders, your back. Her touch starts gentle but quickly turns hungry. She leans down to kiss your neck, her lips hot against your pulse point. Her teeth graze your skin, just hard enough to make you hiss.

As her mouth works its way down your chest, a thought flickers through your mind - does she do this with him? Does she make these same sounds, move in these same ways? The thought knifes through the pleasure for a split second before her touch pulls you back.

Nothing exists outside this room. Not her boyfriend. Not your tour. Just her hands on your skin and her breath in your ear.

"Fuck! I need your dick in my mouth," Jennie says, her voice thick with desire. She slides from your lap in one fluid motion, her body moving with practiced grace. She settles between your legs, her knees pressed against the hotel carpet, thighs spread slightly apart. Her hair falls forward, framing her face as she looks up at you through her lashes.

In the half-light, she's a vision – lips parted and swollen from kissing, chest flushed and rising with quick breaths, her breasts full and nipples still hard from your attention. The garter and stockings against her bare skin create a contrast that makes your mouth go dry.

She runs her hands up your thighs, fingers pressing into your muscles. Her red nails stand out against your skin as she hooks her fingers into the waistband of your sweatpants. There's something almost reverential in how she tugs them down – slowly at first, then with growing urgency. Her eyes never leave yours, even as she licks her lower lip in anticipation.

The fabric slides past your hips, and your cock springs free, hard and aching. A small smile plays at the corner of her mouth as she takes you in. She leans closer, her breath warm against your sensitive skin. When she finally looks up at you, her eyes are dark pools of hunger and something deeper – a look that's always been reserved just for you.

"You can have it tonight," you say, your voice rough as her hands wrap around your cock.

"All of it?" Jennie asks with a smile that's pure trouble. Her eyes don't leave yours. You nod, unable to form words.

She leans closer, parts her lips, and lets a strand of spit fall onto the tip. The warm wetness makes you twitch. She uses her fingers to spread it down your length, coating you. Her hand starts moving in slow strokes that make your breath catch.

Jennie sweeps her hair to one side, giving you a clear view. She doesn't break eye contact as she moves closer. Her breath hits you first, warm against sensitive skin. Then her tongue, wet and soft, circles the head of your cock. Your hands grip the couch cushions.

When she takes you into her mouth, the heat is shocking. Her lips stretch around you as she slides down, taking you deeper than you expected. Her tongue works against the underside, finding spots that make your thighs tense. The wet sounds fill the quiet room.

She pulls back, only keeping the tip in her mouth. Her tongue swirls around it, teasing the sensitive spot just underneath. Then she moves down again, a little deeper this time. The rhythm is maddening – not enough to get you there, just enough to keep you desperate for more.

Jennie pulls off completely, her hand still working you in slow strokes. She looks up, studying your reaction. Her free hand moves to your balls, cupping them gently, then rolling them between her fingers. The touch is unexpectedly tender compared to the hunger in her eyes.

"You like that?" she asks, knowing the answer. Her thumb traces circles at the base of your cock while her other hand continues its exploration. "You always did."

She leans down and runs her tongue from base to tip in one long, wet stroke. Then does it again on the underside, where you're most sensitive. Your hips lift off the couch involuntarily. She smiles at your reaction, clearly enjoying the power she has over you.

Jennie takes her time, alternating between her mouth and her hands. Sometimes she focuses just on the head, sucking gently while her hand works the shaft. Other times she takes you deep, then pulls back to circle the tip with her tongue. There's no pattern to follow, nothing to prepare you for what comes next.

Her hand slides lower, massaging your balls again before moving even further back. The unexpected pressure makes your whole body tense. She watches your reaction with dark, knowing eyes.

"Hold my hair," she says, pulling off for a moment. She grabs your hands and places them on either side of her head. "I want you to watch."

With your hands holding her hair back, you have a perfect view of her face, of her lips as they stretch around you again. She takes you deeper this time, her eyes watering slightly at the corners. The sight alone nearly pushes you over the edge.

She pulls off but keeps stroking you with her hand, tight and slick with spit. With her hair pulled back, you can see everything – her flushed cheeks, her bare shoulders, the tops of her breasts rising and falling with each breath. She looks like something from a dream you've had too many times.

"You just can't stay away, can you?" she says, her voice low and teasing. Her hand never stops moving on you. "Always calling me back. Always wanting one more night."

She takes you back into her mouth, just the tip, sucking hard before releasing you with a pop.

"You think about this when you're with other girls?" She speeds up her strokes, twisting her wrist in a way that makes your vision blur. "Bet you do. Bet none of them do it like I do."

Her words hit something deep inside you – a truth you don't want to admit. You tighten your grip on her hair, pulling just enough to make her eyes flash. She smiles, knowing she's struck a nerve.

"That's why you keep coming back," she continues, dropping her head to lick a slow circle around the base of your cock. She moves lower, taking one of your balls into her mouth, sucking gently while her hand keeps working your shaft. The dual sensation makes your legs shake.

When she looks up again, there's challenge in her eyes. "Tell me I'm wrong."

Before you can answer, she takes you deep into her mouth again, all the way until you hit the back of her throat. She holds there, swallowing around you, her eyes never leaving yours. The sensation is overwhelming – wet heat and pressure and the sight of her taking all of you.

"Fuck," is all you can manage, and she hums in satisfaction around you.

Jennie works you with perfect focus. Sometimes she takes you deep, her nose nearly touching your stomach, staying there until she needs to breathe. Other times she pulls back to use her hand with her mouth, twisting her wrist in a way that makes spots dance behind your eyes.

Every few strokes she pulls off completely, gathering more spit, making everything wetter, messier. Saliva coats your cock and her chin now, catching the dim light. It should be gross but it's the hottest thing you've ever seen.

Time stretches and blurs. It could be minutes or hours. There's just Jennie's mouth, her hands, the heat building at the base of your spine.

She changes her approach, focusing just on the head, sucking harder while her hand works the shaft in quick, tight strokes. The new sensation makes your leg muscles jump. You feel yourself getting close.

"Fuck, Jennie, I'm—" you try to warn her, reaching to pull her head back. You want to make this last, to feel more of her tonight.

She slaps your hand away, hard enough to sting.

"You're giving this to me now," she says, voice raspy from having you in her throat. "And you're giving me more later." Her tone leaves no room for argument.

Jennie doubles down, moving with new determination. One hand squeezes the base while her mouth works the rest. Her other hand slides between your legs, fingernails lightly scratching your inner thigh. The unexpected touch makes you gasp.

She takes you deeper again, moaning around you like she's enjoying this as much as you are. The vibration, the suction, the sight of her – it all becomes too much.

The orgasm hits you like a punch. Your vision blurs at the edges as waves of pleasure roll through you. Jennie doesn't pull away, keeping perfect suction as you come. She swallows around you, the motion extending your pleasure until you're gripping her shoulders to stay upright.

She keeps going until you're too sensitive, until you have to gently push at her shoulders. Only then does she finally release you, looking up with satisfaction in her eyes. A small drop of white clings to her bottom lip before her tongue darts out to catch it.

She reaches for your discarded shirt and wipes her mouth and hands, casual as if she'd just finished a meal. The sight of her using your clothes like this only adds to the intimacy.

Jennie rises to her feet in one fluid motion, her body unfolding before you. She's petite but perfectly proportioned - slim waist, delicate shoulders, toned legs that seem to go on forever despite her height. Standing there in just her knee-high socks and garter, her small, perky breasts catch the dim light. Her skin has a golden glow against the darkness of the room.

She steps between your legs, looking down at you with hooded eyes. Her slender fingers reach for your chin, tilting your face up to meet hers. The gesture is possessive, almost commanding. She leans down, her straight dark hair falling forward to frame both your faces, creating a private world. Her lips find yours, softer now but still hungry. You taste yourself on her tongue, salt and skin.

"I'm not done with you," she whispers against your lips. "You brought me here. We're gonna make the most of it." Her fingertips trace your jawline before she steps back, grabbing your hand to pull you toward the bed.

As you follow her across the room, the city sounds filter through the windows – car horns, distant music, the constant hum of life that never stops. The soft lighting catches on her skin, giving it a warm glow that makes you want to touch her all over again.

As you follow her across the room, the city sounds filter through the windows – car horns, distant music, the constant hum of life that never stops. The soft lighting catches on her skin, giving it a warm glow that makes you want to touch her all over again.

Jennie moves onto the bed with natural grace. The curve of her spine draws your eye down to where her waist narrows before flaring into her hips. The small black thong she still wears cuts across her skin, the thin fabric disappearing between her cheeks in a way that makes your mouth go dry.

She positions herself in the center of the bed, her movements deliberate and unhurried. She folds her legs into a 'W' shape, showcasing their length despite her petite frame. The knee-high socks create a striking contrast against her bare thighs. The entire pose is an invitation you could never refuse.

Her hands begin to move across her own body, touching herself with slow confidence. She traces circles around her small breasts, fingers dancing across her skin with a self-assurance that's hypnotic to watch. In the dim light, every movement feels like it's meant just for you.

You notice how different she looks now compared to when she arrived at your door. Her carefully applied makeup is smudged around her eyes. Her hair, once smooth and perfect, is wild from your hands. She looks beautifully undone, more real somehow, and even more stunning for it.

She runs a finger across her lips, still swollen from taking you in her mouth. Then trails it down her neck and over her chest, drawing your eye along the path.

"Come here," she says, her voice low but commanding. She rolls onto her back, her body a landscape of curves and shadows in the half-light.

Though still wearing her thong, the thin black fabric does little to hide what's underneath. As you move closer to the bed, she hooks her thumbs into the waistband and slides it down her legs with deliberate slowness. The last barrier between you disappears as she kicks it aside.

With the same unhurried confidence, Jennie reaches down and uses her fingers to part herself. The gesture is both vulnerable and bold – showing you exactly what you've been missing all these months. Even in the dim light, you can see how wet she is, glistening with want.

You climb onto the bed, feeling the expensive sheets against your palms. The fabric is cool and smooth, a stark contrast to the heat building between you. The mattress gives slightly under your weight as you move between her legs.

Jennie is breathtaking beneath you. Her skin has a slight sheen in the low light, catching the glow from the bedside lamp. Her dark hair fans out against the white pillows, framing a face that's haunted your dreams for months. Her chest rises and falls with quickening breaths, her small breasts topped with hardened nipples that beg for your touch.

But you're not rushing this. Not after all these months apart.

You start at her ankles, where the knee-high socks still cling to her calves. Your lips press against the delicate bone there, feeling her pulse beneath the skin. She watches you through half-lidded eyes as you work your way higher, placing open-mouthed kisses up her calf.

When you reach the top of her sock, you peel it down slowly, revealing more of her skin inch by inch. The newly exposed flesh gets special attention – your lips, your tongue, even the gentle scrape of teeth that makes her shiver.

"What are you doing?" she asks, but there's no impatience in her voice, just wonder.

"Appreciating the view," you murmur against her knee. "Been thinking about this body for months."

You move to her other leg, giving it the same treatment – slow, deliberate kisses that make her skin prickle with goosebumps. Your hands slide up her thighs as your mouth follows, feeling the muscles tense and relax under your touch.

Her inner thighs are softer, more sensitive. When your tongue traces the crease where leg meets hip, she gasps, her fingers flexing against the sheets. The scent of her arousal is stronger here, making your mouth water.

You detour, moving up to kiss her stomach, the dip of her navel, the subtle ridges of her ribs. Each breath she takes makes her abdomen rise and fall beneath your lips. You work your way to her breasts, taking your time with each one – circling the nipple with your tongue before sucking it into your mouth, feeling it harden further.

"Owen," she sighs, arching into your touch.

Your hands never stop moving, exploring every inch of her like you're memorizing her by touch alone. The curve of her hip, the dip of her waist, the softness of her sides – all of it perfect, all of it Jennie.

You make your way back down, leaving a trail of kisses from her sternum to her stomach. Her breathing quickens as you move lower, anticipation making her shift restlessly beneath you. When you reach the neat strip of dark hair between her legs, you pause, looking up to meet her eyes.

"You're fucking beautiful," you say, your voice rougher than intended.

Her eyes soften for just a moment before that familiar challenge returns. "Are you going to stare all night, or are you going to do something about it?"

You answer by settling between her legs, pushing her thighs wider. You can't help but stare at the view before you. There's something almost reverent in how you look at her – taking in every detail, every curve and shadow. Her thighs part further, an invitation that needs no words. Between her legs, you notice she's not completely bare – a neat, dark landing strip of hair points down like an arrow, the contrast of it against her skin making your mouth water.

The scent of her hits you first – warm and musky and distinctly Jennie. You breathe her in, letting it flood your senses and cloud your thoughts. Nothing exists but this bed, this woman, this moment.

You lower your head slowly, maintaining eye contact until the last possible second. The first broad stroke of your tongue makes her gasp. You take your time, exploring her with long, flat licks that cover her entirely. Her taste is familiar yet new – sweet and tangy and addictive. You could drown here and die happy.

"Fuck," she breathes, her hips already lifting slightly to meet your mouth.

You switch to softer, more focused touches, tracing her folds with the tip of your tongue. Each pass draws different sounds from her – soft sighs that gradually build to more urgent moans. You map her with your mouth, relearning what makes her breath catch, what makes her thighs shake.

When you find her clit, you circle it slowly, teasingly, not giving her the direct pressure you know she craves. Her fingers find your hair, tightening in frustration.

"Don't tease me," she warns, but there's no real threat in her voice – just desire strained to its breaking point.

You smile against her before giving in, wrapping your lips around her clit and sucking gently. The reaction is immediate – her back arches off the bed, a strangled curse falling from her lips.

Your free hand slides up her body, finding the toned plane of her stomach. You press down firmly, holding her in place as your mouth works against her. The contrast of your hand on her abs while your tongue explores her most sensitive areas makes her writhe beneath you.

She's getting wetter, her arousal coating your chin as you work. You move your tongue in circles, then switch to quick flicks across her clit that make her thighs tremble. Each change in pressure or rhythm pulls new sounds from her throat.

"Oh god, right there," she gasps when you find a particularly sensitive spot.

You slip a finger inside her, feeling her heat clench around you immediately. She's impossibly tight and wet, her body welcoming the intrusion. You curl your finger to find that spot that always drove her crazy. When you find it, her whole body jerks like she's been shocked.

"Right there," she gasps. "Don't stop."

You add a second finger, stretching her gently while continuing to work her clit with your mouth. The combination makes her hips buck wildly against your face. Her hands tighten in your hair, pulling almost painfully.

With each thrust of your fingers, you quicken the tempo, driving deeper into her. Her muscles clench around you rhythmically, like she's trying to pull you further in. Your tongue never stops its assault on her clit, alternating between broad strokes and focused attention.

"Owen," she moans, her voice breaking. "I'm so close."

You pull back just enough to look up at her, your fingers still working inside her. "You still think about this when you're with him?" The question slips out before you can stop it. Your thumb replaces your tongue, circling her clit as you watch her face.

She glares down at you, but her body betrays her, clenching around your fingers. "You're such a dick."

"But you're here anyway," you say, curling your fingers against that spot that makes her whole body jerk. "In my bed, not his."

Her breath catches. "Shut up."

You lower your head again, sucking her clit between your lips while adding a third finger. The stretch makes her gasp, her back arching. You can feel her getting closer – her thighs tensing, her breathing becoming irregular. Her entire body is flushed with heat, a thin sheen of sweat making her skin glow in the dim light.

You establish a relentless rhythm – fingers pumping while your tongue works her clit. The wet sounds of your movements fill the room, mixing with her increasingly desperate moans.

Just as she's about to peak, you ease back, slowing down just enough to keep her on the edge.

"Tell me you missed this," you say against her inner thigh, your breath hot on her wet skin.

"Don't stop," she pleads, hips lifting to chase your mouth.

You stay just out of reach. "Tell me no one does this like I do."

Her hands tighten in your hair, trying to force you back down. "I hate you," she says, but there's no conviction in it.

"No, you don't." You circle her entrance with your fingers, teasing but not pushing in. "Say it, Jennie."

She fights it for a moment, pride warring with desire. Then breaks. "No one does it like you do. Now please—" her voice cracks with need, "please don't stop."

The desperation in her voice sends heat through your entire body. You give her what she wants, diving back in with renewed hunger. Your tongue circles her clit rapidly while your fingers press firmly against that sweet spot inside her. The dual sensations push her toward the edge fast.

Her legs wrap around your head, thighs clamping against your ears as her body tenses. Your free hand reaches up to find her breast, pinching her nipple between your fingers. The added stimulation makes her cry out, her voice cracking with pleasure.

"Owen," she warns, her voice tight and strained. "I'm gonna—"

"Come for me," you command, increasing the pressure, the speed, giving her exactly what she needs.

Her breathing turns ragged, her moans more frantic. The muscles in her stomach tense under your hand as her body coils tight, ready to snap. Her inner walls clench rhythmically around your fingers, the first tremors of her orgasm beginning.

"Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh—" Her words dissolve into a broken cry as it hits her. Her back arches high off the bed, her body going rigid. Her thighs shake violently around your head as waves of pleasure crash through her.

"Oh my God!" The words tear from her throat as her fingers pull painfully at your hair. Her body convulses beneath your mouth, wave after wave of pleasure washing over her. "You're so good at that, Owen."

She bites her lower lip hard, her neck straining as her hips jerk uncontrollably against your face. You don't let up, working her through the peak, extending her pleasure until she's gasping and writhing from the intensity.

The aftershocks ripple through her body like tremors, her skin flushed and damp with sweat. Only when she weakly pushes at your head, too sensitive to take any more, do you finally ease back. You place one last gentle kiss against her before resting your cheek on her inner thigh, looking up at her wrecked expression.

Her chest heaves as she tries to catch her breath, her eyes closed, lips parted. She looks utterly spent, flushed and beautiful in her satisfaction.

After a moment, Jennie gathers herself, her breathing slowly returning to normal. She looks down at you, her gaze dropping to your obvious arousal. Without a word, she reaches forward and spits on it, her saliva glistening as she begins to stroke you. You groan at the contact, your body responding instantly to her touch. You don't let up, working her through the orgasm, only easing the pressure when her hand pushes weakly against your head, oversensitive.

You place one last gentle kiss against her before resting your cheek on her inner thigh, looking up at her flushed face. Her chest heaves as she tries to catch her breath, her eyes closed, lips parted. She looks wrecked in the best possible way.

After a moment, Jennie gathers herself, her breathing slowly returning to normal. She looks up at you, a predatory gleam replacing the post-orgasm haze in her eyes. Without warning, she reaches for your cock and spits on it, her saliva mixing with the wetness still coating her lips from going down on you earlier.

"Now," she says, voice raspy and demanding, "I'm going to fuck you."

She doesn't wait for your response, just straddles your hips and positions herself above you. Her thighs flex as she hovers, teasing you with the heat of her center just inches away from where you need it.

"Tell me how bad you want this," she demands, one hand flat against your chest for balance.

"Just get on my dick already," you growl, grabbing her hips to pull her down.

She resists, maintaining control. "Say please," she taunts, her eyes challenging you.

You nearly laugh. "Fuck you."

"That's the idea," she says with a wicked smile, then finally sinks down in one swift movement, taking you to the hilt.

"Jesus fucking Christ," you hiss as her heat surrounds you. She's impossibly tight after her orgasm, still pulsing slightly from the aftershocks.

"You're so fucking big," she gasps, adjusting to the stretch. There's no sweetness in her voice – just raw appreciation for how you fill her.

Jennie starts to move, not with gentle rises and falls but with demanding, forceful motions. Her thighs flex powerfully as she lifts herself almost completely off before slamming back down. Each drop makes a slapping sound that fills the room, punctuated by her sharp gasps.

The sight of her riding you is mesmerizing. Her small breasts bounce with each movement, nipples hard and dark against her golden skin. Her stomach muscles visibly tighten with each rise and fall, showing off the definition in her abs that she works so hard for. Her hair, now completely wild from your hands, whips around her shoulders as she moves.

"Touch my tits," she commands, grabbing your hands and placing them on her chest.

You squeeze roughly, pinching her nipples the way you remember she likes. Her head falls back, exposing the elegant column of her throat, a string of curses falling from her lips.

"Fucking hell, your cock feels so good," she says, grinding down hard. "Tell me you've missed this pussy."

"Every fucking day," you admit, thrusting up to meet her movements. The force of it nearly bounces her off you, but she adjusts her balance, her strong thighs gripping your sides.

She leans forward, her hands braced on your chest. The new angle lets her grind her clit against your pubic bone with each thrust. Her nails dig into your skin, leaving crescent marks that burn. Her face hovers above yours, her hair creating a curtain around you both. Sweat beads along her hairline, one drop sliding down her temple to her jaw.

"No one fucks me like you do," she admits, the words sounding torn from her. "No one."

With a surge of need, you move between her thighs, pressing her into the mattress. Her legs wrap around your waist, drawing you closer. Your eyes lock as you drive into her, taking control of the pace.

"Fuck, I missed this tight pussy," you growl, watching her eyes flash at your words.

"Shut up and fuck me harder," she snaps back, digging her heels into your lower back.

You slam into her, setting a brutal pace that has the headboard cracking against the wall. Each thrust jolts her body up the bed, her hair splaying across the pillows like spilled ink. Her small breasts bounce with the impact, nipples hard and begging for attention.

Your hands move to her waist, fingers nearly meeting around her small frame. The contrast of your large hands against her tiny waist makes your head spin. You can feel her hip bones under your thumbs, the delicate architecture of her body beneath your palms.

"Like that? This how you want it?" Your voice is rough, almost unrecognizable with need.

"Yes—don't fucking stop," she gasps, her nails raking down your back hard enough to leave welts.

You lean down, capturing her mouth in a bruising kiss. Your tongues battle for dominance as your bodies slam together. The taste of her—sweet with a hint of salt from her sweat—fills your senses. You break away to trail bites down her neck, leaving marks that will remind her of this night long after you're gone.

She arches into you, offering more of herself. You take advantage, moving to her shoulder, then her arm, leaving a trail of bites and kisses along her skin. The salt of her sweat makes your head spin. When you reach the sensitive skin of her inner arm, she lets out a surprised gasp that turns into a deep moan.

"Oh fuck, don't stop," she pants as you run your tongue along the delicate skin of her armpit, tasting the most primal part of her.

In this position, you can see everything—her face contorting with each thrust, the way her stomach muscles tighten when you hit deep, how her lips part on silent screams when you find the perfect angle. Her hair sticks to her temples with sweat, dark strands clinging to her flushed skin.

Sweat makes your bodies slide together, the hotel room filling with the obscene sounds of skin slapping against skin. You grip her thigh, pushing it higher, opening her wider. The position stretches her leg up toward her chest, showing off the flexibility from her years of dance training.

"Harder," she demands, her voice breaking as you comply. "Fucking wreck me."

You reach down, gripping her jaw, forcing her to look at you as you pound into her. Her eyes are wild, pupils blown with arousal. "This what you came here for? This what you needed?"

Her breathing changes, becoming more ragged. You recognize the signs—she's close again. You adjust your position slightly, hitting that spot inside her that you know drives her wild.

"There!" she cries out, her nails digging crescents into your shoulders.

You maintain the angle, the rhythm, watching her face as pleasure builds. Her eyes are squeezed shut, her bottom lip caught between her teeth. Her body tenses beneath you, on the edge but not quite there.

"Let go," you urge, your thumb finding her clit. "Come for me again."

She shakes her head. "Not yet—not without you."

Something snaps in you at her words. Without warning, you pull out completely and flip her over in one rough motion. She gasps, surprised by the sudden movement as you manhandle her onto her hands and knees. Your hand lands hard on her ass, leaving a bright red handprint on her skin.

"Fuck!" she cries out, more in arousal than pain.

You grab a fistful of her hair, yanking her head back as you position yourself behind her. Sweat drips down your chest, landing on her back as you line yourself up. You can hear her panting, waiting, her thighs trembling slightly in anticipation.

"This what you want?" you growl against her ear, your chest pressed to her back, cock teasing her entrance.

"Yes," she hisses. "Give it to me."

You slam into her without further warning, burying yourself to the hilt in one brutal thrust. The sound she makes is primal—half scream, half moan. Her arms nearly buckle under the force, but you hold her up with your grip on her hair.

"Fuck!" she cries out, her fingers clawing at the sheets.

You establish a punishing rhythm, each thrust making her entire body jerk forward. Her hair is wrapped tight around your fist like a leash, forcing her back to arch at a severe angle. Sweat makes your bodies slide together, your skin slapping against hers with obscene wet sounds. The musky scent of sex fills the air, heavy and intoxicating.

"Look at you taking it," you say, giving her ass another sharp slap that leaves a fresh handprint. "Always said you were made for this."

She looks back over her shoulder, her face a perfect picture of pleasure-pain, mascara smudged at the corners of her eyes. "Fuck you," she pants, but pushes back harder against you, contradicting her words.

The sight of her is overwhelming – her narrow waist flaring out to perfectly rounded hips, the elegant curve of her spine dipping then rising, her hair tangled in your fist. From this angle, you can see everything – the way her back hollows out, how her ass bounces against your hips, the glistening evidence of her arousal coating you both.

You lean forward, running your free hand up her side to roughly grab her breast. The position pushes you deeper, making her gasp. Your fingers find her nipple, pinching hard as you maintain your relentless pace.

"Oh god," she moans, her arms shaking from supporting her weight. "Don't stop."

Her body is covered in a fine sheen of sweat, making her skin glow in the dim light. You can see the muscles in her back shifting beneath her skin with each impact, the way her shoulder blades move as she braces against your thrusts.

"Owen," she warns, voice strained with need. "I'm so close."

Her words push you closer to the edge. You increase your pace, chasing both her pleasure and your own. Each thrust now has purpose, driving deeper, harder. You can feel the pressure building at the base of your spine, your control slipping with every sound she makes.

"I'm close too," you admit, rhythm becoming erratic. "I'm gonna cum."

Her body tenses beneath you, muscles tightening as she approaches her peak. You can feel it building—the way she clenches around you, the trembling in her thighs, her increasingly desperate sounds.

"Oh my God, Owen!" she cries out, her voice breaking on your name. "Fill me up!"

Her orgasm crashes through her—you feel it in the way her body convulses, in how she rhythmically tightens around you, in the broken sounds that escape her throat. The sensation of her pulsing around you pushes you over the edge.

Your release hits with an intensity that whites out your vision—powerful, overwhelming, unstoppable. You empty yourself inside her, every pulse accompanied by a wave of pleasure so intense it borders on pain. Her body milks you, drawing out every last sensation until you're both trembling from the force of it.

As the intensity fades, you collapse beside her on the bed, pulling her close against you. Your arm wraps around her waist as you press gentle kisses to her neck and shoulder. Her body still trembles with small aftershocks, her breathing gradually slowing to normal.

For a moment, neither of you speaks. The only sounds in the room are your labored breathing and the distant city noise filtering through the windows. Sweat cools on your skin, making you shiver slightly. Despite the roughness of what just happened, she turns toward you with unexpected tenderness, her small hand coming up to cup your cheek.

She presses her forehead against yours, eyes closed, just breathing you in. A small, almost inaudible snort escapes her as she tries to catch her breath – a startlingly human sound that cuts through the haze of post-sex euphoria. It makes her seem more real somehow, more Jennie than the polished celebrity the world knows.

Her chest still rises and falls rapidly, her heartbeat a quick rhythm you can feel where your bodies press together. Her fingers trace idle patterns on your skin, moving from your chest to your shoulder and back again. It's these quiet moments that always feel more dangerous than the sex – this gentle intimacy that makes you think of what could have been.

"Shit," she finally whispers, a small laugh bubbling up. She looks slightly dazed, her makeup completely ruined, hair a tangled mess. "I forgot how good we are at that."

You brush a strand of hair from her face, tucking it behind her ear. The gesture is too tender for what this is supposed to be, but you can't help yourself. "Some things you don't forget."

She looks into your eyes and you see a complex mix of satisfaction and something deeper—a longing that mirrors your own. Her hair sticks to her face in damp strands, her skin flushed and glowing in the dim light. Even like this—especially like this—she's the most beautiful thing you've ever seen.

As she lies in your arms, her breathing gradually steadying, you can't help but think about what might have been between you in another life—one where you could stay instead of always leaving. One where "one night only" wasn't all you ever had.

---

Hours later, once you’re sure she’s asleep, you slip out of the bed. The sheets make a soft sound as you untangle yourself from her limbs. She doesn't stir.

The hotel room feels different at 3 AM. Quieter. The luxury that seemed impressive earlier now feels hollow, just expensive emptiness. You find your sweatpants on the floor where she pulled them off you hours ago.

The balcony door slides open with a whisper. Thirty floors up, the city spreads out like someone spilled light across black velvet. You light a cigarette, cupping your hand against the wind even though there's no one here to see the brief flare of your lighter.

Inside, Jennie sleeps. Her small body barely disturbs the white sheets. In the dim light filtering from the bathroom, you can see the marks you left on her neck, her shoulders. Evidence that you were here. That this happened.

She belongs to someone else now. The thought should bother you more than it does. Maybe you're just used to it - this pattern of coming together briefly, then separating again. Maybe you've convinced yourself it's better this way.

You take a deep drag, feeling the burn in your lungs. It's cold out here in just sweatpants, but the chill feels necessary after the heat of her body against yours for hours.

You've never been good at staying. It's not a point of pride, just a fact, like your height or the sound of your voice. Commitment feels like drowning to you, always has. You've tried to explain this to her before. She said she understood, but the way she looked at you afterward told a different story.

Below, taxis crawl along streets like yellow insects. People spill out of late-night bars, laughing too loud. The city that never sleeps. You'll be gone from it tomorrow. Another show, another hotel room indistinguishable from this one.

You wonder if her boyfriend knows where she is tonight. If he senses something when she slips back into their shared life tomorrow. If he can somehow smell you on her skin despite the shower she'll take before going home.

The cigarette burns down to your fingers. You flick it over the edge, watching its orange tip tumble into darkness.

Jennie knows you better than anyone. This is the thought that keeps you up at night in cities whose names you sometimes forget. She knows your body, your sounds, the things that make you come undone. Worse, she knows the parts of yourself you try to hide from everyone else.

A melody forms in your head. Something slow and hazy, like smoke curling off a cigarette. Words follow naturally - about being in town just for one night. About needing her. About the room you got for just the two of you.

You mouth the words silently, testing how they feel:

I'm in town for one night,

one night only

I came around to put it down, for one night only

Your fans will think it's just another song about sex. They won't know about the way Jennie looked at you when she came. How her body felt like coming home. How you're already planning when you can see her again, even as you tell yourself this was the last time.

Just one night

Got a room for me and you, for one night only

You wanna ride for a lifetime, this is one night only

The song takes shape in your mind, already feeling like a hit. Your producer will love it. Your label will push it. No one will know it's about her. No one except Jennie, if she ever hears it.

The city is turning blue at the edges when you finally go back inside. Morning approaching. Soon you'll have to leave for the airport, for the next city, the next crowd.

Jennie hasn't moved. You slide in beside her, your skin cold from the night air. She makes a small sound in her sleep and shifts toward your body heat, instinctively seeking you out. Her hand finds your chest, rests over your heart.

You wonder what she'd say if you asked her to come with you to Toronto. You won't ask. You both know the routine by now.

One night only. It's never enough. It's all you can handle.

END.

[lostalioth]

𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐝 𝐩𝐫𝐨 𝐛𝐨𝐧𝐞

→ premise: forgetting your money for your dealer for the first time in a year sounds like a stroke of bad luck. only for you it seems quite the opposite.

→ pairing: eddie munson x fem!reader

→ warnings: smut | 18+, high sex (just eddies high), bribery/sex as payment? (I did intend to write it as actual bribery than idk what happened), nicknames [favorite customer, dirty girl, baby], drugs [mention, use, buying], unprotected sex, sex outside/in the woods

→ a/n: kinktober

Now technically you didn't actually need more weed, you had bought enough last time to last you the week. But god did you really badly wanna see your dealer. Eddie munson, everyone else called him a freak because of a game club he had and the way he dressed. But to you he was just so pretty you couldn’t help it, you wanted to see him again, and you didnt wanna wait til next week. In your haste and dazed state daydreaming about your pretty dealer while getting ready, you space out and forget the most important thing. Your stupid money. It was a rookie mistake that you hadn't made sense the very first time you bought from Eddie. You were so nervous that remembering to bring your money left your head. He was so sweet about it, a small smirk on his face as he handed it to you anyway. “It’s on the house, first time customer and all, hands down the prettiest too” he winked playfully at you and you think you've been smitten with him ever since.

You had found out later on, Eddie never gave anybody weed ‘on the house’ first time buying or not. You were still so lost in your head, excited to see him again that as you sat down at the meeting spot you had yet to realize you left your wallet on your dresser.

“There's my favorite customer” he beamed softly at you “I know I call you that but two deals in one week? That's a record for you” he chuckled lightly, his voice breaking you from your thoughts as he emerged from the woods. You smile coyly at him in embarrassment. Your thighs clench together slightly at the sight of him, he had ditched his usual hellfire t-shirt for a black hoodie, keeping his regular black jeans. His eyes lidded with a slight red hue around them, making you realize you probably interrupted him in the middle of his session. As he sits down at the rundown picnic table he sets his regular lunchbox on the table. The idea of him always keeping his drugs in an old metal lunch box was funny to you, and oddly adorable. But you’d probably find anything he did cute, it was getting harder and harder to hide the massive crush you had on him. The flirty banter back and forth between the two of you only intensifies it tenfold.

“Yeah I ran out a little faster than I thought I would” you cringe a bit at how easily the white lie slipped through your teeth. It felt oddly wrong lying to Eddie. He tilts his head in a way that makes you think he doesn't believe you. Before you can jump to your defense he’s opening the metal box and pulling out the lunch baggie of your regular order from him. You didn't notice the missing wallet until it came time to look for it after he had handed over the little baggie. You barely took a glance at it, tucking it in a pocket of the bag you brought that laid on the ground leaning on the leg of the table.

“Oh fuck…” you cruse under your breathe and start double checking all your pockets though you didnt have many with the outfit you had on. You even check the few the bag had. No wallet to be found.

”Left the money at home huh?” He questioned, cocking an eyebrow at your frantic searching of your clothes. In defeat after remembering it was last sitting on top of your dresser you sigh. “Yeah.. fuck im sorry Ed’s” you pout slightly, you were always good about remembering it. You’d even slip him cute, sometimes flirty little notes with the money for him to find when he’d get home. Back to being lost in your head you don't hear him getting up or coming around to sit next to you on your side of the table.

“You know…” his voice startled you slightly, both the new unfamiliar tone to it as well as its proximity. He was leaning in closer, your body slowly on its own turning in his direction aching to be even closer. ”You could pay me in another way..” his hand was now drifting to rub over and up your thigh, his eyes flickering down to your lips.

You were fine just giving the baggie back you had enough left from the last deal or quickly running home for the money. But understanding quickly what he’s implying, you decided that his payment plan was a more enjoyable idea. You’ve been dying to kiss him, to get even just a little further with him than all the teasing flirty looks and words. Realizing you haven't stopped him, he finally leans in fully, his free hand coming up to grab your chin pulling your mouth against his. The kiss sparking a fire in the pit of your stomach as his lips molded with yours. With a small mumble, the words lost in your lips Eddie pulls you even closer, hands falling to your hips to pull you off the wooden seat and onto his lap.

In the heat of the moment your hips seem to have a mind of their own, absentmindedly rocking against Eddies. He pulls away slowly, leaving you with parted lips and lidded eyes panting softly. You could feel him under you growing harder by the passing second, he wanted you just as badly. Eddie felt like his skin was on fire everywhere your bodies were touching, his hazy and cloudy head from his high causing his senses to be heightened. Your own head still full of your fantasies and daydreams from earlier that you were desperate for something more. Running your hands down his chest they land on his belt and waist band of his jeans.

“Need more Ed’s…” you whine, your pupils nearly just as dilated and blown as his, though for different reasons.

“Oh fuck it” he grunts and starts frantically undoing his belt buckle and the button to his jeans. Helping him along you lift your body off him, hovering still as you help him pull his pants halfway down his thighs.

You were smart enough to wear a skirt though this was the last thing you expected to happen. You just knew Eddie loved peaking at your ass as you walked away, so you always wore them when it was warm enough to meet up with him.

Pulling the bottom of his hoodie up a bit and pushing down his boxers after his jeans, he finally frees his cock and god it was just as pretty as you imagined. A happy trail leading down to it, the tip pink and leaking, a patch of black hair nestled at the base. Thoughts of moments like this fueled more than a few nights with your hands between your thighs. His hands return to your body, hiking your skirt up your hips he gawks at your soaked panties. “Look at my favorite customer being such a dirty girl, mighta thought you planned this all out if I didn't know any better” he groans, running his thumb through your slick folds, over your underwear. “Wore a tiny little skirt and the prettiest panties for me, and look at em’ all soaked and ruined already” he chuckled and leaned in closer, his forehead pressed to yours, eyes fixed on yours. “I've barely touched you baby” he coos and rubs small circles on your clit through the fabric.

“Need you Eddie, please~” you huff out and gasp in pleasure at the little amount of attention he was giving your throbbing bundle of nerves. His hands on your body were giving you a better high than any drugs you had ever bought off him before, and were far more addictive. “Tell me dirty girl, what exactly does my favorite customer need huh? I always aim to please” his voice has a sweet yet taunting edge to it, his thumb not stopping its teasing circles. His head shifts and his lips are ghosting over your own now. “Especially you…” he whispers as though it was a secret and there were other people around, though you both knew there wasn't anybody for miles in every direction.

“I need you inside me Ed’s, need ya’ to fuck me so bad please” you whine and plead against his mouth as you try leaning forward to feel his kiss again. You let out a sharp gasp before you even make it to press your lips to his again. While you were begging, Eddie had pulled your panties to the side and with a sharp thrust he pushed all the way in to the hilt.

“Holy fuck” he hissed through his teeth as your welcoming heat consumed his cock, your walls already squeezing around him. He sets his hands back up on your hips, trying to hold you still to give himself a second to calm down. It was pathetic but he knew he wasn’t gonna last that long, especially not with how long he's wanted this coupled with all his nerves on high alert from the weed in his system that wasn't wearing off any time soon. Wrapping your arms around his neck, you finally lean all the way forward and kiss him frantically and deeply. Hips rocking against his, the thick vein running along the side of his shaft dragging along your walls as your hips rise and drop. Teeth clashing together as you make out, tongues sliding around and fighting for dominance. Your one hand travels up threading your fingers through his mess of hair.

“Just like that baby” he groans in the kiss, fingers digging into your hips as he does his best to hold out. You already weren't all that far behind him, his cock throbbing and pulsing inside you tightening that knot in the pit of your stomach faster and faster.

Eddie pulls away from the kiss to catch his breath, his eyes squeezed shut as his head falls back when your hand comes down and nails scratch over his exposed lower stomach.

“Fuck why havent we been doin’ this every time you buy from me huh?, feel s’good” he grunts and thrusts his hips up to meet yours as you bounce down. Your ass bouncing off his thighs making an obscene and filthy slapping noise that drowns out the melodic sounds of nature. “Screw money baby, just want this pussy as payment instead. Want it all the time god~” he rambled off as you continued riding him, your hips moving fast and frenziedly chasing your high.

“Gonna- fuck im gonna cum Ed’s, baby shit” you let out a wanton moan when he starts abusing your clit with his thumb, rubbing circles like before though this time with no barrier. “Cum baby, cum on this dick dirty girl come on” he eggs you on as he speeds up his thumb making your legs shake slightly and the bouncing and rocking of your hips falter.

With a moan loud enough you swore you scared birds away, the knot in your stomach snaps and your climax crashes over you. Your cunt squeezes Eddie's cock and as he watches your body shake as you cum, his own climax hits him like a truck. Thick ropes of cum spilling deep inside you.

After a few moments pass, letting the two of you catch your breaths and your high’s wash over you. Eddie speaks up. “You know, I was only intending the different payment to be a kiss” he chuckles softly, his cheeks flushed. Your eyes snap up to his, your mouth agape. “I- well” you try speaking but he cuts you off with a belly laugh. “Baby it's all good, this was much better payment. Pay me like this from now on okay?” He lowered his voice again, the softness making your body turn to mush in his arms that he wraps around you.

“And uh hey could you pull the baggie i gave you out again, there's something you missed about it” he sounded nervous all of a sudden. You give him a questioning look before leaning over a bit and pulling it out of your bag that laid on the ground.

As you pulled it out you noticed writing that you hadn't before on it. The bag read ‘wanna go out on a date with me?” In Eddie's chicken scratch version of a handwriting.

A big smile spreads on your face and you look back up at him. “Well?” He questions, a nervous edge to his voice still, did he really think you'd say no? “Eddie, what do you think the answer is” you motion down with your eyes to where your bodies are still connected, his limp cock still buried inside you twitches a bit.

“So it's a yes?” He smiles softly and leans up ready to kiss you once again, he never wants to stop now that he gets to. You give him a nod and chuckle softly.

→ a/n: yes this is the cliché ‘you can pay me another way’ typa fic lol. i just really liked the idea, the name is also a play on quid pro quo if you didnt get that.

[prythiansprincess]

baby, won't you be my girl?

pairing: theodore nott x reader. song inspiration: only girl by stephen sanchez. author’s note: theodore nott, the man that you are. please enjoy my favorite flirty yummy slytherin boy 🐍 part two: stop the world i wanna get off with you.

Theodore Nott was not the jealous type. 

Jealousy required emotions, which Theo found so terribly unrefined. He was a Slytherin, for Salazar’s sake. Not some hotheaded Gryffindor incapable of keeping his anger in check. But as he glared daggers at the back of some pathetic little beater who was currently flirting with you across the common room, Theo couldn’t help but feel downright murderous. 

The worst part was that he could’ve prevented all of this. If he had just manned the fuck up, Theo would’ve been the one pressed close against you, whispering his signature suggestive comments in your ear and making you smile. 

But Theo—absolute tosser that he was—didn’t realize his blunder until it was too late. 

Earlier that week, the two of you had been studying in his room. Well, you were studying. Theo, on the other hand, was smoking enough pot to sedate a hippogriff. He inhaled deeply, watching with a slight smirk on his face as you frowned into your Charms textbook. You were laying on your stomach at the edge of his bed with notes strewn all around you. The combination of your slightly unbuttoned white blouse, dangerously short black pleated skirt, and green and silver high knee socks affected him more than the drugs he was currently inhaling. 

There was something incredibly sexy about a beautiful woman laying in his bed and completely ignoring him in favor of a dusty old tome. Or maybe it was just you. To be fair, Theo found everything about you quite sexy. Even your infamous lectures regarding his drug habits, which you were due to give him in three…two…one….

You huffed indignantly, the action ruffling the feathers on your quill. “I will never understand why you voluntarily choose to put that rubbish into your body.” 

Theo shrugged, blowing a puff of smoke towards the ceiling. “It’s relaxing.” 

“What could you possibly be stressed about, Teddy?” 

He smiled at the nickname. If anyone else called him that, Theo would’ve hexed the life out of them, but he liked the way it sounded when you said it. Especially when you were a little bit annoyed at him. 

“I’ve got a lot on my shoulders, love.” He took another drag and sighed dramatically. “Being rich and handsome is incredibly tiring work.” 

You snorted. “You’re an absolute twat, you know that?” 

Theo held the blunt between his slender fingers and plopped down next to you. “A rich and handsome twat.” 

“A rich, handsome, and dead twat if you don’t get that blunt away from my textbook.” Theo smiled sheepishly before putting out the cigarette on the ashtray by his bedside table. You rolled your eyes and tapped the end of your quill against his chest. “You should really quit. That shit’s terrible for your lungs.” 

Theo turned, cocking his head at you. His watercolor eyes bored into yours as a smirk curved against his lips. “What will you give me if I do?” 

“Theodore Aurelius Nott,” you chided. Despite the blush creeping into your cheeks, you managed to keep your voice steady as you glared at the perfectly coiffed prick. “Do not make me stab you with my quill.” 

He grinned. There was nothing Theo enjoyed more than making his best friend flustered. “I’ll take a light stabbing if it means that you’ll start paying attention to me again.” You laughed at his childish pout. “What are you studying so hard for anyways?” 

“We have a Charms exam on Friday and you know how brutal Flitwick is.”

“Scheduling an exam on the same day as a quidditch game should be a crime punishable by wizarding law.” Theo complained with a groan. “A game against Gryffindor, no less.” 

“Not everything revolves around quidditch, Theo.” 

“Try telling that to Malfoy,” he said with a sigh. “The bloody git’s been running the whole team ragged. For the past three weeks, Draco’s been forcing all of us to wake up before sunrise. I’m losing my precious beauty sleep, Y/N.” 

You pouted, pinching his cheeks. “Poor Teddy bear. How will you ever recover?” 

"Smartass," Theo said with a smirk.

"Top of the class, baby." You rolled over and winked at him. "I really am that witch."

"I think I'm rubbing off on you, love."

"In your dreams, Nott."

He chuckled. "Oh, I'm definitely rubbing off on you." Theo snatched the quill out of your hands. "Enough studying. I'd rather talk about how I'm going to crush those Gryffindor brutes, which I can only do with you cheering me on from the stands."

You took the quill back, tapping its feathery edge against Theo's nose. “You know that watching all that flying makes me nauseous. Plus, I can’t even enjoy myself because I’m too worried about you taking a bludger to the head.” 

“I promise not to let anything ruin my pretty face. I know how much you enjoy the view, after all,” Theo said with a wink. “If you promise to come.” 

“I don’t know, Teddy…”

He pouted, giving you his best puppy dog eyes. “Please, Y/N. I need my good luck charm. Plus, you look cute in my jersey.” 

“My eyes are closed half of the time from sheer terror,” you pointed out. Theo watched as you fiddled with the end of your quill. “Besides, wouldn’t it be weird to wear your jersey and cheer you on?” 

Theo’s brows furrowed. “Why would it be weird?” 

“Because,” you said matter-of-factly. “Those are things a girlfriend would normally do.” 

“Well, yes, traditionally. But you’re my best friend,” Theo explained. “It’s not like that between us.” 

The minute the words came out of his mouth, Theo knew it was the wrong thing to say. You stiffened beside him, your body language turning as tense as a bowstring. 

“Right,” you said in a tight tone. “It’s definitely not like that between us.” 

“No, that’s not what I meant. I just—I mean you’re not like the other guy’s girlfriends. We’ve known each other for ages. We just don’t see each other that way.” 

Theodore Nott, idiot extraordinaire. If looks could kill, he’d be at the bottom of the Black Lake waiting to become a delicious feast for the merpeople. 

“Of course not,” you said with humorless laughter. “We’re just friends. It would be mental for anyone to think that we’d ever be in a relationship, right?” 

There was a challenge behind those words. Despite the fact that his dorm was deep within the dungeons, Theo could hear a slight ringing in his ears, like the howl of the wind as he raced past on his Nimbus, heart beating against his chest as he prepared to hurl the quaffle with all his might. Only now his target wasn’t a goal hoop.

It was you. His best friend. The girl he had been head over heels in love with since the moment you pushed Adrian Pucey into a bush at Malfoy Manor for making fun of five year old Theo’s lisp. 

He should say something, anything, but for once in his life, Theodore Nott had no witty comeback in his arsenal. Stupid, pathetic coward that he was, all he could manage was a nod. 

“Right,” he licked his lips nervously. “Just friends.” 

The disappointment in your eyes felt like a punch to the gut. Worse than when he’d broken his arm in third year. Worse than when Mattheo dragged him into a brawl with those brawny Durmstrang guys in fourth year. He would have gladly taken another meaty Bulgarian fist to the face rather than face you right now.

Theo watched helplessly as you rolled off the bed and stuffed your studying materials into your leather satchel. “Wait, Y/N. Are you leaving? I thought you wanted to study?” 

You slipped your shoes on, averting his gaze. “I do, which is why I’m gonna head to the library. I’m more focused there, anyways.” 

Theo was still utterly confused as he scrambled after you. “Let me at least walk you to—”

“That’s really not necessary,” you said, cutting him off. “I’ll see you later, Theo.” 

Theo, did not, in fact, see you later. 

If avoiding him was a sport, you would’ve won the bloody Triwizard cup. The fact that you memorized his schedule for him since he couldn’t be trusted to actually remember to show up to class probably helped. Theo didn’t realize how accustomed he had grown to having you around until you weren’t there. 

When Enzo obliviously rebuffed a Hufflepuff’s attempt to flirt with him at breakfast, Theo turned to your usual spot beside him to nudge you only to find the space empty. When Potter & Co. prattled on about whatever martyr cause they’d picked up that week, Theo found himself searching for you across the Potions classroom to share an eyeroll, but caught a glimpse of your retrieving back instead. The last straw had been when Elizabeth Burke’s portrait refused to let him into his own dorms because Theo couldn’t remember the passcode. He never had to since you always came in together.

In other words, Theo was absolutely fucking miserable. Even the team’s win against Gryffindor failed to lift his spirits. He knew that it had only been a week, but he missed you so fucking much that it actually hurt. 

The sight of you walking into the common room filled him with instant relief. For about half a second. Until he saw that you weren’t alone. 

Then, Theo had reverted back to his sulky self, choosing a shady spot amidst the raging party to drown his sorrows with a bottle of firewhisky. He had gone through at least half of the Ogden’s while chain smoking like a Hungarian Horntail. 

“Oi, what’s got your wand in a twist?” Mattheo asked while snatching the cigarette out of Theo’s mouth. He took a deep inhale and blew a puff of smoke directly into Theo’s face. “Aren’t you supposed to be celebrating our victory? Why’d you look like someone pissed in your soup?” 

“Fuck off, Riddle,” Theo muttered in response as he took back his cigarette. The smoke made the room hazy, but not enough to block you from view. 

The beater—the fucking twat—leaned in to whisper into your ear. Whatever he said made you burst into laughter, which once again filled Theo with pure, unadulterated rage. 

“Someone’s in a mood,” Enzo remarked, plopping down on the sofa beside Theo. A circle of third years hovered at the edge of their group, but as usual, Berkshire remained utterly oblivious to their presence. Bloody hell, he was even worse than Theo. 

“I bet ten galleons that Nott bashes Murdock’s head in before the end of the night,” Draco said.

“Murdock, is it?” Theo grunted. “What do we know about the prick?”

Blaise rolled his eyes. “Absolutely nothing. He’s not even worth gossiping about,” he announced dismissively while sipping his drink. Imported French wine, probably. Zabini would never partake in something as common as beer. 

Mattheo’s lips curled in amusement. “Besides the fact that he’s making a move on Theo’s girl.” 

“She’s not my girl,” Theo said defensively. 

“Really?” Malfoy drawled, raising a pale blonde brow. “So you wouldn’t mind if I asked Y/N to dance?”

“Don’t even fucking think about it, Malfoy.” 

The Slytherin boys laughed. For them, the week had been amusing as all hell. They had never seen Theo this wound up before. A few days without Y/N and their usual sassy, sarcastic mate had turned into a complete basket case. 

Pansy sighed. “For Salazar’s sake, Theo. Either man the fuck up or stand down. Y/N deserves to have a good night, too. Who she has it with is entirely up to you.” 

Pansy Parkinson was a pain in the arse, but she was also right. 

With that, Theo put his cigarette out on the ashtray and stood from his place on the sofa. It only took three strides for Theo to get to you. Four for you to startle as he casually put his arm around your shoulders. 

“There you are,” he whispered into your ear. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

You froze in place as Theo pulled you close. The scent of expensive cologne and cigarette smoke enveloped you, drawing you in like a moth to a flame. 

Under normal circumstances, you would’ve flown straight into the fire that was Theodore Nott, but tonight you were in no mood to get burned. You’ve already endured enough pain and humiliation from your last conversation. 

Just friends kept replaying over and over in your head like a broken record. You felt like an absolute pillock. For years, it felt like the two of you had been teetering towards…something. All that shameless flirting, the lingering touches, the late night conversations. You had been stupid enough to believe in the possibility that Theo felt for you what you felt for him. 

But maybe it was all in your imagination. 

“Theo,” you said, slinking out of his reach. Hurt flashed in his eyes as you faced him. “Congrats on the win. Christoph said it was a good game.” 

“It would’ve been better if you were in the stands,” Theo said softly. 

“I was busy.” 

“Yeah, I can see that,” he eyed Christoph with disdain. “Listen, can we go somewhere and talk? I haven’t seen you all week.” 

You crossed your arms. “We just got here.” 

Theo was not well pleased by your use of ‘we’ as if you and Murdock were suddenly now a thing. He barely spared the sodding prick a glance. You couldn’t actually be attracted to this prat, could you? He was all wrong for you. Murdock had a stocky beater build and short blonde cropped hair. You hated beefy guys and you were definitely not a fan of blondes. Case in point: Draco.

No, you liked tall sarcastic brunettes with messy hair and a slight nicotine addiction. 

You liked him. 

So Theo stayed put, meeting your gaze with equal intensity. There was no way in hell he was backing down. 

For good measure, he pouted slightly and fixed his eyes on you. “Please, Y/N.” 

He saw the exact moment when your resolve broke. Your expression softened and your shoulders relaxed, slumping in defeat. You sighed before turning over to Murdock. “Do you mind giving us a moment?” 

Christoph nodded. “I’ll fetch us some more drinks.” 

Theo watched him walk away, or rather, he glared at his back until Murdock was out of sight. 

“Really, Y/N?” Theo asked incredulously. “You're slumming it with that benchwarmer?” 

You wheeled towards him, eyes blazing with fire. Oh, he was truly in for it now. “First of all, I’m not ‘slumming it’ with anyone and even if I were, it’s none of your bloody business. Second of all, Christoph is actually a really nice guy.” 

Theo scoffed. “Yeah, because you’re suddenly into really nice guys now.” 

“Well maybe I got tired of hanging around pricks.” 

Ouch. That one definitely hurt. Even if it was well deserved. 

“Is that why you’ve been avoiding me all week?” Theo asked, stepping closer. “You’ve been busy with Murdock?” 

Merlin’s beard, Theo was ridiculously tall. He towered a good foot over you, cornering you against the wall. His eyes were stormy and dark like a predator watching its prey. 

“Careful, Theo,” you warned, meeting his gaze. “You almost sound jealous.” 

The tension was so thick you could cut it with a knife. Neither one of you were backing down from this little standoff. Theo braced himself against the wall, his face inches away from yours. 

“What if I am?” He challenged, his eyes dipping to your mouth. “What if I told you that it’s taking every ounce of self control I have not to rip Murdock to shreds?” 

A shiver skittered down your spine. Theo wasn’t a violent person. Sure, he’d been in a fight or two, but that was mostly Mattheo’s doing. Your best friend wasn’t the aggressive type, so to hear him threaten Christoph took you by surprise. 

“You have no reason to be jealous, Theo.” You countered. “After all, we’re just friends.” 

“No, we’re not,” he said. “We’ve never been just friends, Y/N.” 

“Then why did you—”

“Because I’m an idiot and a coward,” Theo said with a sigh. “Because I had a beautiful girl in my bed and I had no idea how to tell her that I’ve been in love with her since I was five.” 

All the anger and hurt you’ve been carrying around for the past week instantly dissolved. A little smile tugged at the corner of your mouth. “You’re in love with me?” 

“I thought that much was obvious, love.” 

“Hmm,” you hummed in response. “Theodore Nott, infamous playboy and shameless flirt, is in love with me. What an interesting development.” 

Theo groaned. “Now is not the time to be a smartass, Y/N.” 

“I think it’s the perfect time—” 

You didn’t get the chance to finish your sentence. Suddenly, Theo’s lips were on yours. He tasted like peppermint and whiskey, and he kissed you like his life depended on it. You sighed into his mouth, melting against his touch as he cupped the side of your cheek. This was definitely not a just friends kiss. It was a butterfly inducing, head in the clouds, sweep you off your feet kind of kiss. 

Theo's hands snaked around your waist as your fingers found purchase in his shaggy brown hair. He pulled you flush against him like he couldn't get enough. Merlin's pants, Theo really knew how to kiss. His lips were soft against yours, but there was a roughness in his actions that told you that his restraint was hanging on by a thread.

Like he'd been waiting for this for far too long.

You knew the feeling all too well.

"Darling, if you keep kissing me like that then this party will receive a show they didn't ask for."

You stuck your tongue out at him. "You started it."

"Shall I end it too, love?"

"You're an absolute twat, Theodore Nott." You rolled your eyes, kissing the tip of his nose affectionately. “A rich, handsome twat that I'm in love with."

Somewhere across the room, the hoots and hollers of your friends ignited a deafening cheer. Mattheo and Enzo clapped Theo on the back. Blaise raised his glass in approval. Draco smirked and exchanged galleons with Pansy. You didn’t even want to know what that was about.

“Fucking finally,” Mattheo remarked. “Notty boy here has been impossible to deal with this entire week. I never noticed how much of a wanker he can be when you aren’t there to balance him out, Y/N.” 

You chuckled. “It couldn’t have been that bad.” 

Enzo grimaced. “You weren’t on the receiving end of his quaffles,” he said, eyeing Theo. “He nearly took my head off.” 

That only made you laugh more. “Teddy bear wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

“No, it’s true. Nott went absolutely mental.” Draco confirmed, draping an arm around your shoulder. “I’ve never seen him play like that. He wiped the floor with those pathetic Gryffindors. You should ignore him more often, Y/N." 

Pansy wrinkled her nose. “Please don’t. Looking at his miserable face put me off my meals for an entire week. I couldn’t even bear to eat any of my special Belgian chocolates. I missed out on Belgian chocolates, Y/N!” 

“You lot are overexaggerating,” Theo said, pulling you in by the waist. “I wasn’t that bad.” 

“Please, you were an absolute mess without Y/N,” Blaise added. 

“More like an absolute wanker,” Mattheo supplied. 

“An absolute supreme mega wanker,” Draco agreed. “Even by my standards.”

“It was pretty brutal,” said Enzo. 

Theo glared at all of them before taking your hand. “Let’s go, Y/N. I’d rather not stand around and get insulted all night.” 

“Sure thing. But I should probably tell Christoph that I’m…indisposed.” 

Mattheo grinned mischievously. “Oh, I wouldn’t worry about Murdock.” 

You narrowed your eyes at him. “What did you do, Riddle?” 

“I didn’t do anything,” he said innocently. “The boys and I just let him know that he should set his sights elsewhere.” 

“We also might have implied that we’d turn him into a horned bullfrog if he ever hit on you again,” Enzo said with a smile.

“The audacity he even had approaching you is frankly insulting,” Malfoy remarked. “Everyone knows you’re off limits.” He smirked. “Unfortunately.” 

Theo fell right into Draco’s bait. “Don’t hit on my girl, Malfoy.” 

Blaise raised an amused brow. “Oh, she’s your girl now, is she?

“Of course she is,” Theo said. He linked his fingers with yours and flashed those pretty eyes at you. The perfect mixture of blue and green, just like the ocean during a storm. “If she’ll have me.” 

You smiled, wide and bright. “Come on, Teddy. Your girl wants to dance.” 

[hyunsvngs]

𝐛𝐚𝐝 𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐚! - stepdad!bang chan x fem!reader

wc: 10.2k

cw: chan is your mother's boyfriend and you want to fuck him, chan is 30 and reader is described to be younger & in college, lix is a menace, changbin is a moral compass, you do not care about morals, SMUT MDNI.

synopsis: you're home for the holidays, and your mother - who you can't stand - has a new, young, hot boyfriend. it's such a good idea trying to seduce him.. right?

a/n: it's so here <3 my first commission! i hope u all love it <3 smut warnings under the cut ofc. i also tried a new format with this fic so pls let me know what u think?!?

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

sw: dirty talk, breeding kink, mutual masturbation, daddy kink, unprotected sex, creampies, degradation, cumplay if u squint?, humiliation if u squint?, anal fingering (f rec), oral (f rec), edging maybe briefly, sex with feelings

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

You hated going home for the holidays.

You were a rich kid, to put it simply. Your mother loved to leech off the men that she was with, marrying them quickly and trying to suck as much money as she could out of them in gifts and straight up cash before they eventually clued on and left her. It had been why your father had left when you were a mere infant, but you’d always lived in luxury due to the incessant payments that he was forced to give. You’d never met him, but there was a plus side - he was paying your college tuition, where you met your best friends.

Perhaps if you thought about it a bit more you’d realise that the only reason you went to college was to get away from your mother. She pissed you off, sauntering around the house in silk kimonos with a maid trailing behind her, pausing to look in mirrors so that she could choose where her next round of botox would hit. She frustrated you beyond belief, but you still had to go home for Christmas. Annoyingly early, too, because she had a surprise for you.

Okay, well, it wasn’t a surprise. She’d FaceTimed you a week earlier, an irritatingly wrinkle-free face popping up on the screen as she sipped mulled wine and revelled in your absence. She had a new boyfriend, she said. You’d love him, she said. Your opinion matters most to me, she said. The last one you knew to be a lie. God, you hated her. 

Still, you lugged your suitcase through the front door and huffed, booting the side with your foot to try and shake some of the snow off. No surprise, she hadn’t helped you in from your taxi. She hadn’t even come to get you from the airport a mere twenty minute drive away. You dropped the suitcase on the floor, giving it another kick just for good measure, and then you were trudging into the kitchen. You’d heard voices from there, so it had to be them.

“Oh, honey!” Your mother chirped upon seeing you. You couldn’t see the face of the man washing dishes behind her, his white shirt sleeves rolled up and back facing you. You didn’t care anyway. “You made it home safe, then.”

“Yeah. The taxi driver was super nice and let me call him mum,” You quipped. She furrowed her eyebrows, lips pursed. 

“Okay, you’re being weird already,” She mumbled, and then shook her head, shrugging it off. She walked to the man by the sink, spinning him around by his slender waist to display him to you. “This is Chan!”

You felt silly, stood in the kitchen doorway in oversized clothes and covered in ivory snow. The man’s eyes found you, shocked by your mother’s harsh manoeuvring, and he blinked with surprise at your figure. You blinked with surprise, too.

Chan was hot. Incredibly so, actually, and he looked young. Younger than your mother, with a big nose you wanted to ride and plush lips parting as he raised one hand to wave at you, still wet with soapy dishwasher. You wanted to lick him clean. The white shirt he wore stretched across broad shoulders, and the sleeves were fit to burst around incredibly toned biceps. You allowed your gaze to wander down, eyes focusing on the thick thighs in the black dress trousers he wore. 

There was no way this was real. “Okay,” You burst out laughing, eyes darting between Chan and your mother. “And, who is Chan? A friend? A colleague? He’s not your boyfriend.”

Chan’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “No, I am. I’m your mother’s boyfriend, sweetheart.”

His voice was deep - too deep, deep enough to haunt your dreams and those late night sessions you had in your bed with your trusty vibrator. This was going to be trouble. You were going to be trouble.

“You’re shitting me,” You couldn’t get the amused smile off of your face. No fucking way. Your mother hadn’t bagged that. “You’re fucking with me. You have to be. Mum, he’s closer to my age than he is to yours.”

“I’m thirty, actually,” He mumbled, looking sheepish. Your mother stared at you in shock, jaw dropped at your brazenness. 

“I rest my case,” You concluded, nodding decisively. When the two of them just continued to stare, you bristled slightly, starting to hop from one foot to the other. Awkward. “You… are you actually together?”

“Yes, honey,” Your mother confirmed, still looking shocked. You scoffed.

“Okay, I really need to go, actually,” You gushed, turning around to leave the kitchen. “I’m- I’m going to my room. Really nice to meet you, Chan, really.” 

Shooting upstairs, you completely ignored your suitcase still leaking snow all over the hardwood floors and darted into your bedroom. It still looked exactly how you’d left it, band posters all over the walls and teddies littering the end of your bed. You threw yourself on top of the mattress, fingers yanking your phone out of your pocket and clicking the button on the most recent group call on FaceTime. Immediately, your college best friends picked up.

“There’s already a problem?” Felix scrunched his nose up, face way too close to the camera. Changbin was on the other side, face looking confused in the little square designated to him on your phone screen.

“I just met my mother’s boyfriend.”

“Oh, right, how did that go?” Changbin questioned, tilting his head to the side. You caught sight of your face in your own little square, flushed and appalled.

“He is thirty years of age, Changbin,” You began. Felix gasped, tiny hand moving to cover his mouth. “He is thirty years of age, and he is really fucking hot.”

“Oh my god,” Felix mumbled, muffled behind his hand. “Oh my god, you have to fuck him.”

Changbin choked on air. “She has to- No, Felix, no!”

“No, I can’t do that. It would be fucked up,” You mused. Or.. “Wait, would it even be that fucked up? He is closer to my age. I hate my mother.”

Felix’s hand fell, and he giggled before speaking in his trademark goblin voice - “Fuck him.”

“Don’t!” Changbin shrieked, his phone shaking in his hand. “I really think this is a bad idea.”

“I think it’s a great idea,” Felix grinned, looking smug. “I’d do it.”

“There’s not a lot you wouldn’t do,” Changbin retorted. Felix stuck his tongue out at him. You, however, were silent, musing on the situation and staring at your wall. Could you do it? Changbin noticed, sighing. “Baby, please no.”

You licked your lips, nodding. You could do it. You wanted to do it - needed it, even. Those biceps were going to plague your life forever otherwise. “Operation fuck my mother’s boyfriend is a go.”

Felix screamed in delight. Changbin ended the call.

SATURDAY

It was time. Your mother was out at brunch with some friends, and you had plans to invade Chan’s personal space because you had a feeling he’d be too polite to tell you otherwise. You knew he’d set up the spare room as his own home studio, because your mother had delighted in telling you how Chan was a super successful music producer and was often tinkering away in there these days. You were going to let yourself in, try to get to know him a bit.

The knock you landed on the door was anything but subtle. Your fist rapped on the door and you heard a little hum in response, so you swung open the door, eyes landing on Chan hunched over his desk. He looked even younger like this, beanie pulled down over dark curls and headphones positioned on his head. He continued to stare at the file on his computer, head bobbing absentmindedly, so you strode up to him and tapped him on the shoulder.

He spun around on his computer chair, blinking confusedly at you. “Oh, hello.”

“Hi,” You beamed. “Sorry about last night. I was rude. I was feeling kinda weird, y’know, with the travelling.”

“No, I completely get it,” Chan put his hands up as if to diffuse the atmosphere. You nodded, still smiling. Chan stared at you when you didn’t respond instantly, and you crossed your hands behind your back, pressing against the plaid pattern of the dress you’d chosen for today. It was all part of the plan - the tight, short dress was perfect for seduction. He looked down at your chest, before clearing his throat, reverting his gaze to your eyes. “Um… did you need something, by the way?”

You gasped, as if remembering. “Oh, yeah! I did. My mother told me you were a music producer, and I was really curious. I was wondering if you’d show me some stuff…?”

It was Chan’s turn to smile, nodding excitedly. “Of course. Here, put these on.”

He linked two fingers around his headphones and handed them to you, to which you obediently put them over your ears. He was quieter now, but you could still slightly hear him mumbling as he found a spare chair for you to sit on. Your eyes scanned the files, eventually fixating on a file titled Drive. That one had to be dirty.

“Okay, so. I have this one, it’s my most recent one, and-”

“I want to listen to that one,” You cut him off, pointing at the song. When you turned to look at him, he was biting his lip nervously, pink tinting the ends of his ears and his cheeks. “What is it, Chan?”

“You- that one is a little, uh… heh. A little inappropriate.”

Unsurprisingly, you darted over his desk to grab the computer mouse and double click on the file. Chan squealed, but you ignored him, listening to the song. You were right. It was dirty, the two singers crooning about something that was a thinly-veiled innuendo about driving. It took you a second and then you clicked. One of them was Chan. This was Chan singing, on a song about sex. God, could he get any hotter?

You slid one of the ear cups off of your ear, turning to Chan with a shit eating grin. “This is you singing? You’re really good, Chan.” You weren’t lying. He was really good, and it had you wondering why he was a producer and not singing.

“Yeah, well, it was just an experimental track. Me and my mate were just messing around,” Chan mumbled shyly, hand scratching the back of his neck. You tried to avoid staring at the way his biceps tensed in his tight t-shirt at the movement. He was still blushing, but you had to kick it up a notch.

“It is kinda inappropriate, though, isn’t it?” You chirped excitedly. Chan’s lips parted, as if he was looking for something to say. His eyes stared into your own, piercing and dark and all-consuming. “I think you’re a little dirty, Channie.”

Chan’s eyebrows furrowed at your use of the nickname. “That’s- you can’t say that. That’s inappropriate.”

“What?” You feigned shock-horror. Play dumb. “I can’t call you Channie? Why not?”

“That’s not what I meant, and you know it,” Chan groaned, pointing an accusing finger at you. You giggled anyway, jumping up and slipping the headphones back onto his head. You made sure to trail your fingertips down his neck after doing so. He shivered noticeably. You smiled.

“That was super good, Channie, thank you.”

You didn’t miss his groan of disbelief as you bounded out of the room. You had him, and it was easier than you’d expected it to be.

SUNDAY

Something was happening. You weren’t sure what, just yet, but something was happening. Chan was acting a little weird after what happened the day before, and you’d already caught Felix and Changbin up on the nonsense plan you had. 

“I think you need to accept that this is just down to you having a fat crush on him and severe daddy issues,” Changbin mused, and you gasped. He was right though. This wasn’t completely about getting back at your mother in a sick, twisted way. You wanted him.

Phase two of your plan was underway as soon as you caught sight of him on the sofa. He was watching some cheesy Christmas movie, your mother tinkering away in the kitchen - when had she ever cooked? - so it was prime seducing time. He had one of the thick throw blankets over his lap, fingers playing with the fluffy fabric absentmindedly. You hopped into the living room in your short pyjamas, frowning at Chan when you felt the goosebumps on your legs.

“Whatcha watching?” You asked, making him jump when he realised your presence. He smiled nonetheless, motioning to the seat next to him, and you took it. You perched and ensured that you left no room between you both.

“Some cheesy film. The woman’s marrying a prince, I think.”

“Sounds awful. I can’t wait to watch it,” You smiled, and Chan chuckled, relaxing on the sofa. You managed to make it five whole minutes before you were rubbing your hands up your legs, trying to create a semblance of warmth. 

Chan turned to you, frowning. “Are you cold, sweetheart?”

“Yeah,” You whined, pulling your legs up into your chest. “‘S cold in here, right?”

“C’mere,” He mumbled, reaching for the end of the blanket and throwing it over your lap. You hummed contentedly, inching a little closer under the guise of the cold weather. The blanket was warm. You were kind of jealous he’d been in such comfort this whole time while you’d been thinking of ways to get his cock inside your mouth. 

“Thanks, Channie,” Chan only nodded, continuing to watch the film. You had a feeling he was pretending to be so focused on it, given you weren’t sure he even knew the plot before your arrival. 

You squirmed on your seat, thrashing each way until you found yourself comfortable, hand splayed over Chan’s knee. He tensed under your touch. 

“You’re touching me, sweetheart,” He warned, his voice low and deep. You shivered, turning to him.

“Am I?”

“You are. You’re touching my leg underneath the blanket, aren’t you?”

You hummed. “Is that okay, Chan?”

Chan turned to you, his eyes not even holding any sign of shock. He knew what game you were playing, you realised, and maybe he was playing along. He licked his lips, head back against the sofa, and then he shrugged dismissively. 

“It doesn’t bother me.”

You left your hand there for the whole film. 

MONDAY

The showers at home were something you’d missed. The ones in college didn’t quite cut it - not even now that you lived with Changbin and Felix in your own student home. All three of you were young adults, after all, and that came with you being a little too messy.

At home, you didn’t have to worry about mess. Your mother had cleaners employed with your dad’s money anyway. Admittedly, you realised you were being a little spoiled, so you’d learned to clean up after yourself. The showers were still better, though. Bigger, and the water pressure hit you just right. 

Especially when you detached the shower head and pressed it to your clit. You felt pathetic. You’d only tried to seduce Chan for two fucking days, and there you were, legs shaking at the thought of him. Maybe it was the chase that got you feeling hot, or maybe it was the fact that you might actually be getting somewhere - you might actually be getting close to fucking him, muscles bulging as he ploughed into you. 

It had you pressing the shower head harder, your spare hand coming up to pinch your nipple. You whined, bucking your hips into the water stream. The steam was all over the bathroom by now, staining the shower with condensation and making your skin feel pruned and flushed. Or did you feel flushed from the thoughts of Chan? Maybe he’d fuck you the way you liked. He must have experience, you assumed, being a few years older than you. You thought about how he’d make you feel, how he’d touch you, and how you’d feel in his arms. You thought about how you’d feel when you came, and what it would be like to be with him. You wanted to feel him so badly.

Was he as big down there as he was everywhere else? Sure, he’s not too tall, but he’s every part a man. That much was clear. Would he bend you in half, pushing you into a mating press and fuck you raw the way you liked, cumming inside and letting you call him daddy and-

You wailed, legs trembling with one last buckle before you were cumming. You felt wet, too wet even just from the shower, and you belatedly realised you’d have to wash again. Ugh. This plan needed to end, like… yesterday. 

Coming out of the shower freshly washed, you wrapped a towel around your figure and checked the time on your phone. Your thumb slipped around the screen from the condensation in the bathroom, but the plan was going well. If you left the bathroom now, then hopefully Chan would be heading to bed, and he’d catch you in your towel. Ideally, he’d be so hot for you that he’d just have to have you, and then you could get the thoughts of him out of your head.

You burst out of the room in a flurry of steam and movement, almost tripping over your own feet when you noticed that it had actually fucking worked. Chan stood stock still at the other end of the hallway, his eyes fixated on the way the towel wrapped tightly around your chest, at risk of falling. You smiled, waving innocently, and he stalked towards you. He was seeing red. You could tell from the way he cornered you, crowding around you with the small advantage he had on your height.

“You need to stop this,” He mumbled, eyes looking at your mother’s bedroom door. He was playing a dangerous game. You were, too, and you both knew it. “I’m dating your mother. You need to stop this, sweetheart.”

“Stop what?” You tilted your head, acting confused. “I just had a shower.”

Chan scoffed, shaking his head. “I fucking heard you in there.”

Oh. You couldn’t hide your smirk that time. “Yeah, I missed that shower head. Why were you perving on me, Chan?”

Chan rubbed his temples. He wasn’t wearing a beanie today, only a hoodie and baggy joggers. You liked it. You could see his hair like this, dark and curly and frizzy on his head. He looked cute. Wait, what?

He took a deep breath. His eyes moved to fixate on you, tongue running over his teeth. “Why would I be perving on you?”

“Oh, don’t lie,” You crossed your arms over your chest. Chan’s eyes moved down to stare at where your tits bulged over the towel. “I bet you stood there for ages, cock hard in your cute joggers, listening to me moan in the shower. That’s a little fucked up, no? Thinking about your girlfriend’s daughter like that-”

You were cut off by him pushing you to the wall, lips slamming into yours. He bit into your mouth instantly, letting out a deep groan and hands moving to grab your ass through the towel. You let your lips part in a whimper, pushing your tongue into his mouth and running your hands through his hair. It was a filthy exchange of tongue and teeth, and by the end of it, you were gasping, grabbing him by the waist and trying to pull him closer. You pulled away, breathing heavily and your eyes still locked on each other. You both stood there, not speaking, as you both processed what you had just done. You both knew it was wrong, but you wanted it so bad.

Chan stepped back, breathing out a heavy sigh. “Goodnight, sweetheart.”

You watched in shock as he turned around, walking into your mother’s bedroom and leaving you there. You were wet again. This was getting ridiculous now. 

In your room, Felix screamed so loud you had to turn the volume down on your phone. Changbin choked on air again. 

TUESDAY

You hadn’t seen Chan all day. You presumed he was in his studio, working away on another track while your mother was in work. You were bored. Felix had been spending time with his family, and Changbin was out doing rich kid things that you could sympathise with. Thrashing around on your bed, annoyed and huffing, you decided you were just going to go and annoy Chan. It was your newly favourite pastime to get under his skin.

Stalking down the stairs to his studio, you paused when you heard a voice. Not just one voice, two voices. Was your mother there? No, no way. She never goes into that room, it’s his work room. You’d been in there though. You tried to suppress a grin at that realisation. 

The other voice was a man’s. Chan had a call on speakerphone, judging by the tinny effect covering the unknown male’s voice and Chan humming every so often. Who was the other man? A colleague, or just a friend?

“It’s fucking ridiculous, mate,” Chan groaned. You could barely hear him, and you held your breath, coming closer to the closed door. “I want her so bad, and it’s so wrong. I- I kissed her last night, Minho.”

There were a few yells from the other end of the phone. “You kissed her?! Chan, you fucking animal. You want her so bad, just fuck her. She’s clearly hoping that’s the outcome here.”

You grinned. You were.

“She’s- it’s outrageous. She walks around in practically nothing, and she’s got such a tight fucking body, man. She makes my dick so fucking hard, I’ve never felt anything like it before. Even when I met her, in the kitchen, she was-”

Chan cut himself off with a sigh. ‘Minho’ hummed, waiting for him to continue.

“She’s so bratty. She’s exactly the type of girl I would’ve gone for, before I met her mother.”

“Seriously?” Minho questioned, and Chan agreed. “You have to do it.”

“Minho-”

“No, Chan. I’m serious,” Minho’s voice was firm. “If she’s fucking you up this bad, you can’t have liked her mother that much, yeah? Just do it. You know it’s going to happen anyway.”

“It’s-” Chan began. You could imagine him rubbing his temples in distress behind the door. “She’s younger than me. I don’t want her to feel as though I’m taking advantage, y’know? The ball’s in her court.”

The ball has always been in your court.

“It sounds like she wants you to take advantage, to be honest,” Minho erupted in a fit of giggles, and you found yourself almost laughing along. Minho was annoyingly right. You only hoped he could get rid of that stick up Chan’s ass and get you a good dicking down.

It meant it was time for the next phase of your plan. You assumed Chan had wanted you, embarrassingly so, but you weren’t quite sure until he’d kissed you the day before. After hearing this conversation? Well, you had to do it.

You returned to your room, scribbling a quick note on a piece of paper. If Chan found this, which he would, it meant that he’d come to your room tomorrow night and you could maybe talk about what the fuck was going on. The sexual tension was too much for you, and now you knew he felt the same. Why were you beating around the bush? You had to make something out of this.

You ignored the stuttering of breath you heard when you slid the note under his door, and returned back to your room with a cocky grin.

WEDNESDAY

Chan hadn’t mentioned the note. You didn’t think he would, but you felt disappointed nonetheless. You’d woken up in the morning, eaten breakfast with him and your mother - cringing when he kissed her on the cheek when she left for work - and you’d even done the dishes yourself, letting him slip off to do some work in the studio. It was prime time for him to mention what you’d written, and he hadn’t. It was pissing you off.

Still, good things come to those who wait. You were confident. Felix had been egging you on all day over text, Changbin had been sending random upset emojis. It was perfect. 

Settling on your sheets at night, you felt a little pathetic. You’d lit a few candles, left the curtains just right on the window so that the moonlight billowed in, and Chan hadn’t arrived. Maybe he hadn’t received your note. No, there was no way - you practically heard his response through the door when he saw it slid under. He got the note. Perhaps you’d made him uncomfortable, made him withdraw from you despite all the progress you’d made. Why had you put in so much effort? You didn’t like him, not like that. Or did you? You felt ridiculous, almost like a child waiting for-

A knock on the door brought you out of your self-loathing thoughts, and you jumped up, swinging the bedroom door open. Chan immediately crowded inside of your bedroom, pressing the door shut softly. You stood there in silence, taking him in. He looked cosy, in a baggy hoodie and plaid pyjama bottoms. It was hard to believe he was dating your mother, especially when he looked so vulnerable like this - dark, curly hair still slightly wet from his shower, and his eyes blown wide with an unreadable emotion while he looked at you.

Chan sighed. “You’re really playing with fire. Do you know how this could look, me coming into your room at night? Do you know how wrong this is?”

You faltered. For the first time since meeting Chan, you felt as though he was angry at you. “I- I heard you on the phone, Channie. I thought you wanted me too.”

You watched in awe as Chan crossed your bedroom, groaning and throwing himself onto the bed. He was hard, erect in his bottoms. You blinked confusedly. He was hard just from being in here?

“I do want you,” Chan said, but it was muffled, hidden behind his hands that he had placed over his face in distress. He let them fall to his sides, staring up at the ceiling. “I want you so bad that it’s pissing me off beyond belief. I know what you’ve been doing too, trying to seduce me. It’s so pathetic it makes me feel hot, y’know?”

You giggled, following his journey across the room and settling next to him on the bed. You sat cross legged, comfortable in your long pyjamas. The candlelight flickered, casting a glow over his face, and he turned to look at you. He licked his lips, and then he let out a laugh, shaking his head in disbelief.

“This is ridiculous-”

“It’s ridiculous that you haven’t fucked me yet,” You responded, quick as a flash. Chan leaned up on his forearms, raising an eyebrow at you. Now was the time. You had to say it. “You know how bad I want you. I touched you up on the sofa, and you let me. You wanted me to, I think. Correct me if I’m wrong, and I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable, but-”

“You didn’t make me uncomfortable, and you’re not wrong,” Chan admitted. You could see the blush on his cheeks despite the dimly lit room.  He took a deep breath before continuing. “I want you, too.” 

Chan shot across the bed, leaning in and kissing you deeply, his hands tangling in your hair. It made you wet beyond belief that he just felt like he knew what he was doing, hands travelling down to your waist to softly press you into the sheets. His tongue swept into your mouth, pressing against yours and you whimpered, making him groan into the kiss. When his hands went up to your hair, he intertwined his fingers in the strands and pulled, making you gasp and let out a heady, hot breath. He pulled away, lips parted when he stared at you. 

“You are such a horny little thing, it’s so hot,” He mumbled, lips pressing to your neck. He bit your skin sharply, making you keen and spread your legs, allowing him to position his hips between your thighs. The movement pressed his bulge into your core, and you tried not to shift and move your hips in a rhythm of pleasure. His fingers traced over your skin, and he chuckled, a low, sexy sound that made your heart race. He pulled back, leaning back on his legs and staring at you, eyes blown wide with lust. “I want to see you touch yourself.”

You paused. “What?”

“I want to know what you like. Show me how you make yourself cum, and I’ll fuck you tomorrow night. How’s that sound?” He was propositioning you, teasing you, and you were falling for it - hook, line and sinker. 

You gave him a nod. Right. Touching yourself for him - that was something you could do. This was just another Wednesday for you, you loved putting on a show, especially for a man who was rock hard and obviously desperate for you. But with Chan… why did you feel so fucking nervous all of a sudden? You'd spent your whole day waiting to fuck him, and he’d taken back the power, thrown a wrench into your plans.

You leaned back on your bed. How did you sit sexily? You were stuck in your own head.

Chan moved backwards, hand moving over his clothed erection. He’d spread his legs, thick thighs parted for you to see the promising bulge between them. "Pretend I'm not even here, sweetheart," he said, eyes blown wide with lust. You almost rolled your eyes. Easier said than done, when he was sitting there with his dark curls and his thick, kissable lips and his impossibly huge bulge. “Touch yourself like you’ve done before. Show me how you make yourself cum, and I’ll fuck you tomorrow, I promise.”

Fuck it. You'd never let an attractive man break you down yet, and that wasn't going to change. You nodded timidly, hands moving to grip your breasts through your shirt. It made you sigh, and Chan responded with a noise of his own when you impatiently rucked the fabric up to above your chest. Sucking two fingers into your mouth, you whined when you traced the wet digits around your pebbled peak teasingly. 

“Ah, ‘s- I’m sensitive there, Channie,” You mumbled, and he nodded as if he was making a note for it for later. You trailed your fingertips across your nipples, pinching and twisting them almost painfully just to make your hips cant up into thin air. You were too impatient to do this how you normally would, so you scratched your fingernails down your tummy and shoved a hand in your pyjama bottoms. You were met with slick, wet folds, fingers sliding around in the mess you made. 

“Show me,” Chan said, eyes trained on where your hand disappeared beneath the fabric. “Show me that pussy. You’re meant to be showing me everything, remember?”

“Show me yours and I’ll show you mine,” You huffed, and Chan shook his head in disbelief, grinning. You were shocked to see he actually listened, though, pushing his joggers down to his thighs and letting his erection spring out. It was impossibly hard, pearlescent drops accumulating on his cockhead and you licked your lips subconsciously. “I wanna-”

“No,” Chan cut you off, hand moving to wrap around his cock in a tight fist. He was long, thick and heavy between his thighs and you felt your pussy clench sadly around nothing. “Show me your pussy. I’m not asking again, let me take a look at it.”

You whined, pushing your pyjama bottoms down to reveal your slick core. Your clit was swollen, throbbing with need just from a few kisses and Chan’s general presence, and you could feel a rivulet of wetness sliding down between your lips. Chan groaned in approval, hand quickening on his cock just slightly.

“Spread it, show me your hole,” Chan said, and you moved your thighs further apart for him. Reaching down with two fingers, you moved them into a v-shape and spread your folds for him. Your hole quivered under the inspection, leaking more wetness and Chan’s eyes were hyper fixated on it. “Oh, baby. That looks tight. Has no one ever fucked that little pussy right, huh? Tell me.”

“N-No,” You shook your head, thighs quivering when you finally let two fingers rub over your clit. You started with a blistering pace immediately, making your toes curl into the sheets and your back arch upwards. “No, I- it’s only boys from college, I don’t-”

“Ah, I see. You need someone older, yeah? More experienced?” Chan questioned, his breath coming out heavy with every tightly fisted movement on his cock. You whined, nodding, and then you were breaching your hole with two fingers immediately. The stretch made you groan, head falling back against the pillow. “Is that why you tried to seduce me, yeah? Wanted to have my cock stretching you out just right, wanted to call me daddy while I made you cry?”

God, he’d got it. He was right on the mark. “Yes, y-yes, I- I wanted to, oh, I wanted to call you daddy, and- and feel you inside me, and oh, Channie, please-” You cut yourself off with a moan, perhaps too loud as you curled your fingertips up against your g-spot. Chan threw his head back, letting out a grunt as he pinched his cockhead almost painfully. 

“Say it then, baby. What’s stopping you?” He polished the head of his cock, moaning before he took it into his tight grip again. His precum served as lubrication, his hand now making wet slick sounds on his thick length. You gasped when he moved his free hand to his balls, rubbing calloused fingertips over them and letting out his own gasp. “Beg me for my cock. I know you want it, look at you. Fuckin’ desperate, yeah? Beg daddy for his big cock.”

“Oh, daddy,” You whined, moving your free hand to rub over your clit. Everything was so wet, sliding around your pussy and you were honestly surprised you could feel anything - but it felt so fucking good, having him watch you like this, learning what you liked so he could replicate it. “Fuckin’- daddy, daddy, please, can I have it? Been good, doin’ what you asked, I- hnnng, daddy, oh my god-”

“No,” He smiled, a cocky grin while he rubbed one hand over his cock and the other over his heavy balls. “No, baby. Not tonight. Make yourself cum tonight, and daddy will help you tomorrow.”

“I- need more, need more, I-'' Chan surged over the bed, leaning over your figure to press his lips against yours. His tongue dominated your mouth again, and you could feel his closed fist hitting your stomach as he worked himself to his orgasm. The sensation had you whining against his plush lips, fingers thrusting quicker into your pussy and your other hand sliding around your clit messily. When he pulled away, lips digging into your bottom lip teasingly, his lips were quick to move to your neck to suck some dark purple marks into the skin. You felt yourself trembling, your body tense as you felt yourself getting closer to the edge. Your fingers stroked your walls faster, pussy fluttering around your digits in delight, and your mouth opened in a gasp as you felt your body tense and tremble with pleasure. “I’m g’na- g’na cum, gonna cum, please, can I? Can I, daddy? Can I cum for you, please?”

“Yeah, baby,” He huffed, eyes rolling back into his head. He was practically drooling onto your skin, lips parted against your neck as you whined and thrashed on your bedsheets. “Cum for me. Been good for daddy, haven’t you? You can cum, baby, c’mon. Show me how pretty you are when you cum.”

You fell apart around your own fingers, your orgasm crashing through you like a wave. Your thighs tensed with your orgasm, your pussy clenching down impossibly tighter around your hand and flooding down to your knuckles with your cum. You begged and pleaded, your voice a barely audible babble as your body shook with the sensation. 

Finally, when you’d just felt like you were coming down, Chan pulled your wrist away from your pussy. The movement left you empty, your walls still clenching down except now it was around nothing, and you whined, bottom lip quivering in need. 

“Hands off,” He sighed, hand slowing down on his cock. He was trying to last longer for something - you weren’t sure what, but you let your other hand drop from your clit obediently. “Daddy’s gonna cum on this wet little hole, baby, okay? You gonna let me cum here, mark you as mine?”

“Yes,” You moaned, nodding. You couldn’t think of anything better, actually. “‘M yours, I’m yours, daddy, gimme.”

“Dirty thing, perfect little girl,” He grunted, and then he was positioning his cockhead at your hole. With a few more movements, increasing in speed, you watched as his face screwed up in pleasure. His hips bucked, and with a final thrust, he came. You felt his cum drip down your hole as he groaned through his orgasm, thick white cum plastering your pussy. It was definitely the sexiest thing you’d experienced, but you still felt a little disappointed - why couldn’t he have just done it inside you?

“Wan’it,” You whined, pulling your legs back. Chan chuckled upon seeing the pout on your lips. “Why couldn’t you- in me, wanted it in me, daddy.” 

“Greedy bitch,” He mused, and then he was delving down to your core. Your mind went blank when his tongue licked fat stripes up your folds, collecting all of his cum and your wetness in his mouth. You briefly thought you could cum from this, very quickly judging by the way he knew what he was doing, but he simply leaned over you and grabbed your jaw. 

Oh. You let your lips part, tongue lolling out of your mouth obediently, and he spat the mixture of your cum into your mouth. You felt him lick into your mouth again, groaning at the taste of your pussy and his load. He smiled against your lips and pulled away, your eyes wide as you tried to process what had just happened. 

Chan’s lips curved in satisfaction at your state, your chest still heaving with a blotchy rash that bore the truth of what you’d been up to. He ran his thumb over your bottom lip, and then he was standing up and leaving the room, bottoms barely pulled over his hips. You laid there, feeling an intense mix of pleasure and confusion.

What the fuck just happened?

THURSDAY

You hadn’t even processed what had happened last night. In all honesty, you’d run out of the house in the morning under the premise of a coffee date with friends you didn’t even have. You just sat in the cafe on call with Changbin and Felix and screamed way too loudly for a public area. The whole cafe knew of your predicament by the end of it.

Upon your return home, you’d beelined to your room and kicked the door shut as quietly as you could. Unfortunately, your foot slipped on the floor and you’d ended up face down with a groan.

Turning over onto your back, you huffed at the offending item that had caused your decline to the ground. A piece of paper met your eyes, neatly folded and written on with what looked like black Sharpie when you’d finally unravelled it.

Three words. Three words that changed your life and let you know that what occurred the night before had really happened. No, not ‘I love you’ - it was simple, a scrawled ‘your room, tonight’. It did happen. You touched yourself in front of Chan, and he was planning on coming back to your room to continue what you’d discussed.

You wanted to squeal and kick your feet, but beneath it all, you felt panicked. This plan had gone too far, and you’d perhaps started to think about spending time with your mother’s boyfriend - actual time, not just sexually charged meetings. It hurt a little bit, a pang in your chest when you remembered that what was happening really was just sexual. Your little arrangement being anything else just wasn’t fathomable.

Chan was interesting. He was a fucking music producer, for god’s sake. That was just straight up cool. That, and he was older than you - you did have raging daddy issues like your friends had said, after all. His friend had sounded funny on the phone, which meant he had to be funny, too. 

All things serious, you didn’t really know much about him, but you wanted to know. Felix had encouraged you to find out, and you felt like you owed it to him - or yourself, you weren’t sure. 

The knock on your door once the evening fell brought you out of your reverie. Chan didn’t wait for a response, swinging your bedroom door open and walking straight in as if he owned the house. You huffed at his demeanour, yet your eyes were still fixated on the way he walked over to your bed with intent. You threw your phone to the side. Felix would have to wait for your half-typed text message. 

“Back again so soon?” You quipped, and he raised an eyebrow. He was only in grey joggers, the thin material highlighting his thick dick imprint between his legs. The fabric hung low, showing off the body that you knew he worked so hard for. His chest was honey toned, yet covered in light, sparse freckles - you wanted to make yourself acquainted with every single one. You felt a little overdressed in just an oversized t-shirt and shorts.

Seeing the frustrated expression on your face, Chan’s own face fell. “Do you not want me here?” He said, voice no more than a whisper. “I can go, if you don’t want to see me tonight. I just thought-”

“I do,” You nodded, finally raising yourself from your position lying down to sitting up cross legged. Chan laid on the bed in front of you, one arm propping his head up. He gazed at you for a few moments, and you could see the relief in his eyes at your words. “I do want to see you tonight. I want to see you like… a lot. Don’t you think it’s weird though? I’m your girlfriend’s daughter, Chan, and we’ve kissed and- and done other stuff, and-”

He scooted over so that he was next to you, and you leaned into him subconsciously. He pulled you in with his arm around your shoulders, broad and muscled. You felt content, comfortable and most of all safe. It was a feeling you’d never felt before.

“I don’t think it’s weird,” Chan hummed, his chest vibrating beneath where you’d landed when he pulled you in. He chuckled, then, his hand moving to your hair comfortingly. “Okay, maybe it is a little weird. I’m just very interested in you. I know you heard me on the phone to Minho, and yes, you are my type - I want to know more about you. Like, even beneath the sexually charged tension, heh.”

Oh. You licked your lips, eyes fixated on a random spot in your wall. “You do?”

He nodded. “I do.”

You couldn’t help yourself. You raised your head, surging over Chan’s body to press a kiss to his lips. His hair was soft when you ran your hands through it, despite random curls getting caught in your nails and causing him to groan at the pain flooding through his scalp. His hands went to your waist, licking into your mouth while he effortlessly pulled you on top of him. The show of strength had you whimpering into the kiss, hands moving down to his jaw. It clenched and unclenched while he had full control over your mouth despite you being on top. 

You pulled away with a wet sigh, moving downwards to kiss at his neck. He groaned underneath his breath at the sensation of your lips on his skin. Your bed squeaked awkwardly as you moved down it, too quick for the old springs to handle. It felt naughty, kissing him like this in your childhood room - it felt even dirtier than the night before had, and you hadn’t done anything yet.

“I need you, Chan,” You whispered, nipping at his collarbone. “Need you. Please.” 

He gasped as he felt your tongue trace the outline of his collarbone. He flung one bicep over his dark eyes with a deep sigh, allowing you to kiss and bite all over his skin. He looked like he was trying to control himself. You didn’t want him to.

Your hips started to grind against him, and you placed your palms flat on his chest. Both of Chan’s hands moved back to your hips with a surprised noise, but he didn’t stop you. His dick was hardening in his joggers, and it was providing the best clothed friction to your aching, needy clit below your pyjama shorts. You saw how big it was before, yet the length of it still shocked you when you slid your clothed core up and down the shaft.

“Daddy,” You whined, hips starting to buck frantically. You were sure that you had never felt this needy in your life. “Daddy, daddy, I want you so bad. You turn me on so bad, make me feel so hot, please-”

“Baby,” Chan groaned, his head falling back against your pillows. The soft pink bed sheets juxtaposed completely with what you were doing, and juxtaposed completely with him - Chan, the muscled man with dark hair who wore black and grey clothes constantly. It was as if he was corrupting you, and he was in a sense, being so much older. “Baby, c’mere, come and lay on the bed. Let daddy eat you out, yeah?”

“No,” You shook your head, hips still moving on his erection. Chan’s chest had started to accumulate a thin layer of dewy sweat, slick on his skin and making you want to lick it off. “I want your cock. I don’t wanna wait, I don’t wanna wait, please, just put it in, I’m wet enough, I promise.”

He knew you were babbling, incoherent in your haze of lust, but he still entertained you enough anyway. You spread your legs wider when his hand met your thigh, and then he was pushing two fingers beneath your shorts. He was met with your slick folds, and you gasped at feeling the touch of his fingertips, calloused from years of working with music.

“Oh, fucking hell. Dirty girl, dirty fuckin’ girl,” Chan moaned, his eyes almost rolling back into his head. “This pussy’s so fuckin’ wet, baby. All we did was kiss. Are you that much of a slut for me? Are you that much of a slut for your mother’s boyfriend? That’s filthy.”

“Yes!” You wailed, nodding. You reached down, canting your hips backwards a little bit so you could spread your thighs wider before hooking your fingers in your shorts and pulling them to the side. The movement revealed your pussy, clit swollen at the top of soaking wet folds, covering your drippy hole. “I wan’it so bad, so bad, so bad, please, please. Just push it in, make it hurt, I don’t care-”

Chan shoved the fingers of his spare hand between your parted lips, effectively shutting you up. “Shut up. You’ve got to prove to me you deserve it, baby.”

With those words, he was pushing a finger past your entrance. It breached your hole easily, the digit sliding through your wetness and curving up past your g-spot. Chan shook his head in a mixture of disbelief and shock, and then he was pulling his finger out. With a quick movement, he’d yanked his joggers down and let his cock spring out. The coarse hair was trimmed above his long, thick shaft and you couldn’t help but imagine the type of friction that would give your clit - you couldn’t wait.

“You were right. That slutty pussy is wet enough,” He mused, pulling your hips over his bare cock. Your pyjama shorts were slightly in the way, and you pulled them aside even more, letting your folds leave wetness over his shaft. “Lower yourself on it. Stretch yourself out. Slowly.”

You did as he asked, lowering your body onto his length. You felt the stretch immediately. You moaned, loud and ringing off of your walls. You didn’t give a shit if your mother heard. Fuck, you needed this. You wanted to bounce all over his cock until there was nothing left and your hole could do nothing but remember the tight fit. Trying to sit down quicker, Chan grabbed your hips, stopping you while only half his length was in you.

“You're gonna hurt yourself like that, sweetheart. That hole is so tight around me.”

“Please, daddy,” Your head fell into the nape of his neck. You wriggled yourself in his tight hold, trying to get more of his length in your pussy. He shook his head against you, chuckling.

“You want it? Fine, but don't fucking cry to me when it hurts,” Chan said, letting go of your ass. You realised he'd been holding you up, and within a millisecond you'd slammed down onto him. You wanted to scream, the stretch more than you could take. He laughed again, raising his eyebrows at you mockingly. “Too big?”

"N-No, perfect," You retorted. He moaned, spreading his legs and placing his feet flat on the mattress. More. More. Fucking more. You began to raise on him, expecting to ride that perfect cock, but he started to thrust up into you at an unrelenting place straight away, his balls slapping against your ass. You moaned incoherently, almost babbling, hands digging into his toned biceps. He leaned up to nip at your neck, and then he was pulling your t-shirt off of your body.

“No fucking bra?” Chan laughed in disbelief. His mouth went straight to your nipples, biting and sucking on the hard peaks. You jostled on his lap with his thrusts. You wanted to rub your clit, but you felt like he probably wouldn't let you. “Knew you were fucking filthy, sweetheart. You didn't even care about me going raw, did you? You want my load in that dirty hole. And now I find out these pretty tits were only one layer away from me…”

His voice trailed off. You whined, leaning down to try and kiss him again. He shoved his two fingers back in your mouth, making you suck on them. His bruising sucks caused your nipples to hurt, and you fucking loved it. You knew he was marking you up and you'd just have to deal with it.

You tried to start riding him. He didn't let you, manhandling you off of his cock.

“Daddy!” You whined in protest. Chan chuckled. He lifted you and manhandled you so your back was facing him on your bed, and you immediately repositioned yourself so you were face down, ass up. He reentered you in one swift thrust, causing you to jolt in surprise.

“Fucking tight pussy,” He groaned, thrusting into you with the same vigor as before. You almost screamed, but managed to just moan incoherently. The mattress creaked, the sound of old springs ringing around the room. “Fucking dirty hole. Listen to that, sweetheart. Can you hear how wet your cunt is for daddy's cock? For your mother’s boyfriend’s cock?”

You tried to stop whining and moaning to hear what he was pointing out to you, hearing wet slaps. Your cheeks burned with humiliation, fingernails digging into the mattress. You knew you were dripping for a fact now. You could hear it, you could hear everything, his balls slapping against your clit as well as the wet noise of his heavy cock reentering you. 

You threw your ass back against him, trying to get the tip to hit that special spot inside of you. 

“I think that asshole needs me too, sweetheart,” Chan laughed mirthlessly, his hands resting firmly on your ass, encouraging your bouncing. You moaned in response, clenching your pussy tight. He was going to ruin you for everyone. You'd have to just keep coming back for more. “You want daddy's finger in there? You want me to finger your asshole?”

Oh, yes. “Please, daddy, need to be full,” You said, wiggling your hips against him. You vaguely registered him reaching around you and making you suck on the fingers that had previously been in your mouth. He was going to fill both of your holes, and he moaned loudly at the sight of you sucking his fingers. There was no way that the whole house hadn’t heard you both by now. You hoped they were sleeping.

You sighed in ecstasy, feeling the fingers begin to move inside your ass. His thrusting was now hitting your g-spot in your pussy, given the added pressure from being full in both holes. You felt the orgasm finally begin to build. You liked the way he wasn't rushing you to cum, not like those younger college boys. He was taking care of you and just having good fucking sex. “Feels so fucking good, daddy. Feels so good.”

You were now semi-incoherent, your words all joining together in one long moan. Chan loved it, judging by his moans. His cock was pulsing inside you. You wondered if he was close. You wanted him to fill you up to the point where it was dripping out of you. 

He pulled out of you again, grabbing your leg with one strong hand and flipping you onto your back. You were out of breath from the exertion, despite him doing all the work, and he looked fully composed save for the thin sheen of sweat on his body.

“Feels good, baby?” He asked, looming above you. You squirmed feeling your sweaty back rubbing against the blanket uncomfortably, but you nodded anyway. You wanted to please him. He looked down at your writhing body, letting out another groan. “So fucking sexy. You don’t know how much you fucking killed me, teasing me like that. Touch that pussy for me again, show me.”

He started pumping his shaft quickly, still staring down at you. You reached down with one hand and immediately pressed two fingers against your entrance, collecting the slick gathering outside before diving straight in. You curled your fingers against that spot inside of you, whining out. It wasn't enough. Not after having that fat cock in you. He definitely had ruined you for everyone else, including yourself. Nothing was ever going to feel the same again. 

“Mmm. Looks so wet, sweetheart. Daddy wants a taste, is that okay?” Chan questioned, moving back onto his knees. You pulled your fingers out and tried not to cry at the loss.

“Please, daddy. Wanna cum in your mouth,” You slurred out, pushing his head towards you. He moaned into your pussy, taking his fat tongue and licking one wet stripe up your slit. He pulled your pussy back, exposing that throbbing clit to him, and placed one lick directly onto your button. "Fuck, daddy, feels so good! Suck it, please, suck it. I - please - need to cum so bad!"

“Need to cum, huh, sweetheart? I'll make your little pussy throb for me and then I'm putting my cock right back in that tight hole, where it belongs,” He spoke. He thrust two fingers into your slit, much thicker and longer than yours. You spread your legs, holding them up against your chest. You literally almost purred when he started moving his fingers, curling them up into that spot and sucking on your clit whilst he did so. It wasn't going to take long. The man was clearly amazing at every part of sex. 

You focused on the feeling of his wet tongue rubbing up against your clit and writhed, feeling closer and closer to the edge. He knew what he was fucking doing. Your thighs started to shake, taking everything in you not to just let them go from your hold and clutch around Chan’s head. You wanted him to permanently live between your thighs. Your eyes clenched shut, a deep sigh leaving you. 

“Fuck, I'm g’na cum,” You mumbled out, chest heaving and flushed a shade of crimson. Chan pulled away, causing you to whine. You pouted, reaching up to grab his shoulders. "No, no! You said I could. You said you would help me.”

“What I said was that I'd make it throb for you and then I'm sliding back right in here, sweetheart. Be good for daddy, you'll get to cum,” He positioned his length at your core again, sliding right back into home. You both moaned, and he was fucking you in a mating press this time, almost as if you were a couple in love. You wished you were, and realised this was definitely your favourite position so far. The man fucked like an animal and now he was fucking you like he was going to breed you, and you loved it. He reached down with one hand to rub your clit rapidly, trying to bring you to the edge. “This is my fucking pussy. My favourite fucking pussy, my only girl, the only pussy for me, okay?”

“Fuck!” You cried of overstimulation, hands still wrapped around your legs. “G’na... getting close again, gonna-”

“Cum then, sweetheart, flood my cock. Make a mess for me, come on, do it," Chris encouraged, breathing heavily next to your ear. His eyes were focused on where he was entering you over and over again, taking note of the white ring of slick that had formed around the base of his cock, soaking the hair that rested there. You scrunched your eyes shut, feeling overwhelmed with bliss. “That's it. That's my good girl.”

White hot ecstasy overtook your body. You wanted to squirm, but with the pressure of the muscular man on top of your body, you had nowhere to go. You focused on the feeling of his slick chest rubbing against your sensitive nipples, whining and moaning as the orgasm coursed through your body and made it feel like you were being electrocuted. 

“Fucking clenching on my cock, shit,” Chan groaned, his hand falling away from your clit once your breathing had began to calm slightly. His hands went down to grab your hips, and before you knew it, he was lifting your hips up and fucking you senseless, treating you like a toy. “W-Wanted to be soft with you for our first time, sweetheart. I'm not normally like this, not at all, but this fucking pussy is driving me insane, fuck... I need to fill you up. Will you let daddy fill that pussy with my cum, sweetheart? Let me breed you, make you mine?”

You nodded quickly, unable to speak at this point. Your hole felt raw, sensitive and fucked open, but you needed his cum in you. You thought you might die if you didn't get it soon. His tip jabbed into your g spot incessantly, almost causing you to cum again, but you subconsciously knew you couldn't take another orgasm at the same level as the previous one. You might die. 

“Fucking- g’na breed you, sweetheart. Gonna make you mine. G-Gonna give you a baby, g’na fill you up, fuck!”

With an animalistic growl, Chan’s head dropped to your neck, biting into the skin there and definitely leaving a mark. You felt his hips still and cum flooded out of the tip of his length, flooding your hole with a new sense of wetness. You sighed with content and laid there until Chan’s breathing calmed, his body weight fully on top of you and yet not uncomfortable. 

“I have to be honest about something,” Chan sighed. You looked up at him from your position on his chest, and he looked down at you with an apprehensive look. He looked a lot shyer than he did moments before, when he was fucking you senseless and calling you a slut - he was blushing now, embarrassed. You were sure that’s what you liked about him. “You’re- it’s like you were made for me. I don’t know what the fuck to do, heh. I’m falling for you, I think.”

You blinked, leaning up to rest inches away from his face. Got him. You’d got him. “Well, that’s okay, Chan. You’re closer to my age anyway, right?”

[supernovafics]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐆𝐀𝐌𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄

pairing: steve harrington x fem!reader

word count: 11.7k words

summary: in which you and steve have the brilliant (and slightly insane) idea to try to get your bosses to date because maybe it’ll make your jobs and lives easier 

warnings: modern!au, explicit language, one too many clueless references, drinking/alcohol mentions (drunk!reader and drunk!steve moment toward the end)

note: i didn’t expect this to become as long as it did but here we are now<3 set it up nation please rise! this is very much inspired by that movie (that is in fact one of my favorites) and i was rewatching it a few months ago and it made me want to do something similar-ish. enjoy<333

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。

UPSTAIRS WORK NEIGHBOR: i bet you ten bucks my night is going worse than yours 

YOU: that’s definitely impossible so i will happily take that bet and your money 

UPSTAIRS WORK NEIGHBOR: remember how i’ve been doing todd’s son’s science project for the past week?

YOU: yeah because the kid sucks at science

UPSTAIRS WORK NEIGHBOR: i finally finished it and gave it to todd today. he hated it and ripped it to shreds right in front of my face (i kinda blame this dumbass juice diet he’s on for him being much more of an asshole than usual). anyway, now i’m gonna have to spend all night doing a new project 

YOU: holy fuck

YOU: you win

UPSTAIRS WORK NEIGHBOR: i would like cash please 

UPSTAIRS WORK NEIGHBOR: what bullshit are you being subjected to right now? 

YOU: at 8 kristen said she didn’t want dinner because she wasn’t going to be “staying late tonight.” and then twenty minutes ago she asked me where her dinner was and gave me the most annoyed look when i said i didn’t have it….

YOU: now i’m waiting in the lobby for a delivery guy to get here with pasta :)

UPSTAIRS WORK NEIGHBOR: ouch

UPSTAIRS WORK NEIGHBOR: want some company down there?

YOU: are you just asking that because you want your money?

UPSTAIRS WORK NEIGHBOR: maybe….

YOU: evil man!

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。

“The joke’s on you because I don’t have ten bucks right now, so you’ll have to wait until tomorrow for your money,” You told Steve when he walked into the lobby. 

“I was lying. I don’t care about the money. I really came down here to keep you company,” He said as he joined you by the front door. 

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes at him. “Oh, whatever.”

He only smiled at you. “So, how much longer until the delivery guy gets here?”

You took another look at your phone and then showed it to Steve. “Less than a minute. His car’s down the street.”

“How annoyed is Kristen?”

“She got pulled into a Zoom call with the team in LA right after scolding me, so I’m ninety-five percent sure she hasn’t noticed I’m gone yet.”

“That’s good.”

“Is Todd gone for the night?” 

You kind of had a feeling that you already knew the answer to your question because Steve looked more relaxed than normal; his white button-up shirt was untucked from his nice black dress pants and the tie that was around his neck and tucked under the collar of his shirt was loosened too. 

“Yeah, he left right after destroying the science project.”

You shook your head in disbelief. “I still can’t believe that happened.”

Steve let out a tired sigh that you were certain wouldn’t be his last of the night. “What’s another suitable project for a fifth grader?”

“Sorry, but I’m not brushed up on the current fifth-grade education system,” You joked, giving him a teasing smile. When he didn’t match it, you held up your hands in mock surrender. “Okay, sorry, I’ll save all my jokes for when this is no longer a problem for you.”

His lips twitched upward in the smallest amused smile. “How many do you have?”

“Oh, a full stand-up set pretty much, but I’ll save it for tomorrow,” You said, trying to make your voice sound as serious as possible. 

He smiled wider then and seeing him look at least a little less stressed felt like a success in your book. You knew that he would’ve done the same for you if the roles were reversed in this moment, and there were many times when he had done the same. Made a joke when you didn’t even know you needed to hear one, but it still made your day better, or told you a random story about nothing when you needed a breather from thinking about work. 

This friendship you two had made your job feel a thousand times more bearable, and you were so glad that you met him eight months ago. That abrupt introduction had been another middle-of-the-night lobby situation like this one; when it seemed like everyone in the building was done and gone for the day, except for you two and your workaholic bosses. Both of you were waiting for meals from the same diner, which you didn’t even realize until your separate delivery drivers almost mixed up the orders. It was a mix-up that was luckily fixed before it descended into a bigger issue with your respective bosses. 

You two ended up talking a lot on the elevator ride up to your floors and found out just how much you two had in common— both of you being assistants to insane bosses— and the rest was history. 

“Thank you. That’s very considerate,” Steve said to you now, placing a dramatic hand over his heart, which made you laugh.

Before you could say something to keep this playful banter going, you noticed the car pulling up in front of the building. You met the delivery guy halfway and let out a quick “Thanks” when he handed over the food to you. You did a quick look through of what was in the bag and smiled in relief when you saw that everything was there. 

“How long do you think you’re gonna have to stay tonight?” Steve asked you on the elevator ride back up. 

“No idea,” You took a look down at your phone. “She’ll probably eat this once her Zoom call ends in thirty minutes, and then hopefully want to leave for the night.”

“Nice, then you’ll actually be able to get more than four hours of sleep.”

“Fingers crossed.”

The elevator came to its stop on the fifteenth floor and the doors opened, which marked your cue to leave. 

You took a few steps and then turned around to face Steve again, giving him a quick wave. “Good luck tonight, Harrington.”

“Thank you. I’m gonna need it,” He responded, waving back as the doors finished closing. 

You avoided looking at all of the empty cubicles that took over the space in the office— desks that had been left hours ago— and simply went to your desk that sat right outside Kristen’s office. You could faintly hear her talking through the shut glass door. 

You used the downtime to busy yourself with random work rather than doing anything remotely interesting or simply taking a break and doing nothing. You double-checked what Kristen’s calendar schedule looked like for the next few weeks and made sure that everything was in order, and then you went to your work email although nothing new had come in in the last thirty minutes. 

When the time hit 10:03pm and you heard the door open and then saw Kristen walk out, you stood up from your chair and grabbed the bag with the food off your desk. 

“Hi, I have your dinner here.”

She gave you a confused look and it was then that you noticed that her coat was on and her purse was hanging on her shoulder. “I don’t want that. It was supposed to be an early night, remember? I’ll see you in the morning.”

You nodded immediately at her words instead of doing anything else. You, of course, did not tell her that she had asked you to get her food, and you of course definitely did not ask her if ten o’clock could really be considered an “early night” given that the night was pretty much already halfway done and it was basically Friday. 

Nope, you didn’t say any of that, because even though Kristen was nothing but contradictory at times, which made your job absolutely suck, you still liked having one at the end of the day. 

“Okay, got it. See you tomorrow,” You told her, forcing a smile. 

She nodded at you and then her eyes fell to her phone as she walked off. 

You let out a tired sigh once you were certain she was out of earshot and then sat down once again. You could’ve grabbed your own jacket and bag and followed suit, leaving for the night and getting more than four hours of sleep just as Steve had mentioned and you had crossed your fingers in the elevator hoping it would happen. 

However, you didn’t slip on your coat or reach under your desk to grab your bag. Instead, you pulled out your phone.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。

YOU: kristen’s gone for the night

YOU: do you want help with the science project?

UPSTAIRS WORK NEIGHBOR: please yes. definitely. thank you.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。

You and Steve stared at the blank tri-fold poster board as you two ate the Alfredo pasta that had been meant for Kristen. 

The idea for the project had already been decided; it was some sort of chemical reaction thing, seeing how food coloring and dish soap react to being put in different types of milk. Steve showed you a video about it and it actually seemed really cool. 

After finishing the pasta, doing the experiment itself took less than thirty minutes because everything you needed for it was luckily spread about both of your break rooms and then it was just a matter of typing everything up and making the poster board look nice. 

“So, where does this situation lie on the worst things Todd has ever made you do? Is it breaking the top three?” You asked as you stood next to the printer on Steve’s desk and he typed away on his laptop. 

“Definitely,” He didn't hesitate to answer. “I think this takes the third spot that was previously held by him making me drive to the airport two hours away to pick up his mom.”

“Fuck, I always forget about that,” You told him. “If we knew each other when that happened a year ago, I would’ve happily gone with you. I love a long car ride.” 

“And I would’ve definitely taken you up on that offer because that was the worst drive ever.”

“God, how did you survive before we knew each other existed eight months ago?” You asked jokingly and hearing his initial laugh in response made you smile. 

“It was really hard, I honestly don’t know how I managed,” He responded playfully, making you smile wider. “Has your top three with Kristen changed recently?” 

“Nope, the third is the cheese incident, the second is the dog thing, and the first is still all of the shit I had to do the day she interviewed her favorite director for the website.”

You still considered that the worst day you ever had being Kristen’s assistant. She had wanted to make sure that everything was perfect for that interview she had been working for months to get with the infamous Matt Scott, so you had gotten stuck with doing a bunch of tedious tasks. It was still hard for you to look at Skittles and not feel immediate disdain because you had to sort through so many packs of them that day since he weirdly only liked the red and yellow ones. 

The only good thing that came out of that day was that the interview went really well and it was what skyrocketed the website into how big it currently was, and it was still growing. 

You remembered when you randomly stumbled upon the website three years ago. It was a mix of reviews, essays, and articles discussing movies and television shows, all of which interested you a lot, and you liked the website so much that you continuously kept up with it. And the day that you found out that the woman behind the entire thing needed an assistant, you jumped at the opportunity. It didn’t take you too long to realize that you hated being an assistant, but you were really good at it and you also really loved being a part of that environment; surrounded by other people who loved movies and TV and were actually making a living out of writing about it. 

“I just learned that Todd loves one of the horror movies that that director did. ‘The Damned’ something I can’t remember the full title of it,” Steve said, not looking up from his laptop and continuing to type as he talked. He was a weirdly good multitasker; you’d learned that early on in your friendship, but it still always really impressed you. 

“The Damned Rabbit,” You told him as you started cutting out the pictures on the pages you just printed. “That’s Kristen’s favorite too. I can usually stomach most horror movies, but that one was way too gory for me.” 

“Do you think I would like it?”

“Didn’t you say that you got scared watching the Goosebumps show when you were a kid?” 

Steve looked away from his laptop and at you then. “I honestly don’t remember telling you that, but yeah that’s true.” 

You shrugged. “I remember all conversations we have regarding any TV shows or movies.” 

His head tilted a bit and he gave you a look that you didn’t take notice of because you were focused on properly cutting out the pictures. “And I’m assuming you’re using that information to judge me and my taste.” 

“No, of course not,” You told him, making your voice sound completely serious, and then you smiled. “I already know you have shit taste in movies, so there’s no need for me to collect any more data about that.”  

He placed an overdramatic hand over his heart. “Ouch, that hurts. Truly. Badly.”

You couldn’t help but laugh as you finally looked at him. “Sorry, that was mean.”

“Very much so,” Steve agreed with a nod. “Please take that back and admit that I have the best taste ever.”   

You shook your head as you smiled. “I’d rather not lie to you right now.”  

He playfully rolled his eyes at you and then went back to focusing on his laptop. He finished typing out everything and then printed it all and you helped him cut everything out once you were done with the pictures. You two then set everything up in what felt like good places on the tri-fold and glued it down. The project definitely looked rushed, but it also looked like a fifth grader did it, so in your eyes it was perfect. And by the time one in the morning rolled around, both your and Steve’s tired eyes and lack of sleep thought it was the best thing either of you had ever done. 

“I can’t wait until Christmas comes and he goes to New Jersey to visit his family,” Steve said as you two began the cleanup process. “I think I’m gonna go into hibernation for that entire week.”

You nodded in agreement, balling up scraps of paper and tossing them into the garbage and deciding against reminding him that Christmas was over two months away, and then you remembered something. “Kristen’s also from New Jersey.”

“Small world,” Steve said. “Y’know our bosses are actually really alike. Even aside from them being assholes a lot of the time, they kinda have a lot in common. From the same state, same favorite movie, same favorite food place.”

You nodded along to his words again, thinking about the fact that them both loving that small mom-and-pop diner twenty minutes away was the reason why you and Steve had met in the first place. “Yeah, you’re right.”  

“Honestly, they’d probably be perfect for each other,” Steve joked with a laugh. 

And even though you knew he was joking, you immediately didn’t see it that way. 

“Oh my god,” You stopped what you were doing and looked at Steve, who was now looking at you very confused. “You’re right.” 

His eyebrows furrowed as he shook his head. “I was kidding.” 

“Yes, I know you were, but you’re actually so right. They would be perfect for each other,” You told him. “We should set them up.” 

Steve only shook his head again. “Alright, I think the sleep deprivation is getting to you because you’re saying insane things right now. We’re not gonna get our bosses to date.”

You ignored his words. “I can’t believe we didn’t think of this idea before. It’s just like Clueless.”

“Okay, I have no idea what we’re talking about anymore.” 

“You haven’t seen Clueless?”

“No.”

“Wow, and you wonder why I say your taste in movies is bad,” You said and then shook your head. “So, there’s this one part where the main girl decides to set up two of her teachers because one of them is a hard grader. And once he’s happy and in love, he starts giving all of the students good grades and whatever, whatever. Anyway, all of that to say, if we set up our bosses and they’re happy and in love with each other then they probably won’t be assholes to us anymore.” 

After a few moments of considering your words, Steve nodded. “Honestly, that’s kind of a good idea.”

“Exactly,” You said and smiled. You were still very tired, but you were now also hit with a random burst of energy at the thought of your job maybe becoming a lot less annoying.

“So, how do we do this?” Steve asked.

You considered his question for a second. “Okay, so as far as we both know they’ve never met each other, which means that we need to get them to meet and we need to give them a good meet cute.” 

“Okay…” Steve started, thinking of something as he sat back down in his desk chair and you leaned back against the desk. He looked up at you. “What about the elevator? Maybe we can figure out a way to get them stuck in it together? That’s a classic ‘meet cute,’ right?”

“That’s good, but it doesn’t feel like enough,” You said, looking away from him and trying to think of romcoms you liked, and then it hit you. “Oh, what if we got them on the kiss cam at like a basketball game or something?” 

The amused look that Steve gave you in response was immediate. “Okay, now I definitely know that the sleep deprivation is getting to you because doing that would be impossible.” 

“Yeah, but maybe not if we…” You trailed off, hoping that the rest of the idea would come to you, but it didn’t. “Shit, you’re right. It would be impossible. Elevator it is.” 

Steve nodded. “I actually know the maintenance guy that works here, so it’ll probably be easy to get Todd and Kristen stuck together.” 

Your eyebrows knit together in confusion. “How do you know the maintenance guy?”

“Long story,” He answered and you decided against questioning him further on it right then. 

“If it wasn’t one in the morning, I’d love to hear that,” You said, and then you almost asked him when you two should put this plan into motion, but you realized something. “Wait, shit, we can’t just get Kristen and Todd into an elevator and hope for the best. We need to, like, ‘plant some seeds’ first. Make them aware of each other and these few things that we know they have in common.” 

“Oh, okay, yeah, that makes sense.”

“So we just need to subtly mention to both of them that they’re from the same state and that they have the same favorite movie and food place,” You continued. 

Steve’s confused look returned. “And how do we do that?”

“Great question,” You said and for a second you considered trying to think of an answer right then, but your brain was too tired to come up with any ideas. “I’m not sure yet, but we’ll figure it out.”

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。

UPSTAIRS WORK NEIGHBOR: todd liked the science project this time

YOU: thank god 

YOU: i hope that means he’ll be extra nice to you today<3

UPSTAIRS WORK NEIGHBOR: solid joke

YOU: thanks. i try

UPSTAIRS WORK NEIGHBOR: do you think you’re gonna have to stay late again tonight? 

YOU: i am almost certain of it (sadly)

YOU: kristen’s been extra stressed today which means extra scary which means i live here now

UPSTAIRS WORK NEIGHBOR: ouch 

UPSTAIRS WORK NEIGHBOR: have you thought more about how we should do this set up thing?

YOU: no. i’ve had like a thousand things thrown at me since getting here at eight and i haven’t had time to think about anything else

UPSTAIRS WORK NEIGHBOR: same here 

YOU: wow we’re really good at this

UPSTAIRS WORK NEIGHBOR: haha i agree

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。

The printer was on its last few days of life. You were certain of it, but you just needed it to survive a few more minutes before it completely croaked out on you. 

“Please just ten more pages and then I promise you can go into retirement.” 

“Are you talking to the printer again?” Steve asked from where he was currently sitting at your desk. 

After Todd left for the night at ten, Steve showed up at your floor, knowing that Kristen had been gone for the last hour, but you were still stuck in the building and working on preparing everything for a meeting on Monday.

You looked over at him. “Sometimes Jerry needs some words of encouragement.” 

“Got it. That makes sense,” He responded teasingly with a nod. 

“I don’t appreciate the sarcasm tonight, Steven,” You said as you turned your focus back on the printer, and Jerry was printing out the final few pages. 

“Doesn’t me helping you right now cancel out the sarcasm?”

You promptly shook your head. “Not after the science project last night.”

“Alright, that’s fair,” He responded and once you sat down next to him after everything was finally printed out, he looked at the stack of papers in your hand. “How many packets do you have to make?”

“Twenty,” You answered. “And then I need to do the name cards and set everything up in the conference room.”

“Okay. Let me get half of the stack,” He said and you handed over half of the papers in your hand. 

You two easily fell into a routine for the next thirty minutes, a comfortable silence lingering as you focused on the mundane task at hand and let your mind wander a bit. The initial excitement you had toward the “set up” idea had worn off by the morning and instead your non-sleep deprived brain was now thinking about it all from a much more logical standpoint.

“Do you think it would actually work?” You asked once you two were in the conference room, you placing name cards down and Steve setting out the packets. “Us trying to set them up?”

He gave you an amused smile. “You’re second-guessing things already? I thought I would be the one to do that.”

“I don’t know,” You shrugged. “I’ve just started thinking that maybe it will be a waste of time.”

You decided against adding that your reasoning for thinking that way was because your and Steve’s life wasn’t a movie and maybe this idea did sound a bit too good to actually end up working as well as it did when it was a plot point in any film. And the thought of Kristen somehow figuring out what you and him were doing and firing you because of it kind of scared you too. 

“Okay, yeah, maybe it won’t work,” Steve said. “But, why not try, right?” 

You considered his words for a moment before ultimately nodding. It felt a little unexpected, but also completely reassuring, that he was entirely on board with the idea and didn’t seem to have any second thoughts about it. “You’re right. Maybe we’ll at least get a week or two of them being decent to us.”

Steve nodded in agreement. “Yeah, exactly, and that would be great.”

You shook your head and let out a quiet laugh as you thought of something. “Jesus Christ, I can’t believe the bar is so low that the thought of our bosses being nice to us for a week or two sounds amazing.”

Steve laughed too, a quick one that matched your own. “Shit, yeah, that’s actually a little sad.”

It would be a thousand percent sadder if you didn’t have each other through this shitty nonsense, but you didn’t tell him that right then. Instead, you gave him a small smile and placed down the last name card you had in your lap.

“I have some ideas about how we should ‘plant these seeds’ and get them to learn about each other without them knowing that we’re doing that,” Steve said after he set down the last packet. 

You were technically officially done for the night, but neither of you made any move to leave the conference room just yet. You sat down in one of the rolling chairs and Steve took a seat in the one across from you. 

“I kinda love that the tables have turned and you’re the one that’s super into this whole thing and I’m being slightly hesitant,” You told him, the smallest amused smile on your face. 

“Yeah, you corrupted me and now you’re backing out.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at how playfully serious his voice sounded. “I promise I’m not backing out. Tell me all of your ideas, Harrington.”

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。

MONDAY 

UPSTAIRS WORK NEIGHBOR: i “accidentally” emailed todd the video of the interview kristen did with the horror movie director guy and he ended up watching the entire thing

YOU: solid work

YOU: and on my side of things, i mentioned the new jersey thing to kristen when she brought up thinking about going home for the holidays and she actually found it a little interesting

UPSTAIRS WORK NEIGHBOR: also solid work

TUESDAY

YOU: okay kristen said she wants to get food from the diner for lunch. what about todd? 

UPSTAIRS WORK NEIGHBOR: he wants it too. it surprisingly took very little convincing to get him to quit the juice diet

YOU: great. i’ll see you in the lobby in 30 minutes

YOU: wait i’m just now realizing how horrible this can go for us if we switch their lunches just for them to learn that they have the same favorite restaurant. maybe we should just say that the lunches “almost” got switched and still make the comment about how the person that it almost got switched with really loves the place too? that’ll let them know that they have the same fave restaurant without them getting mad at us for fucking up their lunches

YOU: or maybe i'm just overthinking this

UPSTAIRS WORK NEIGHBOR: no you're right. that’s a better idea 

WEDNESDAY

UPSTAIRS WORK NEIGHBOR: slight change of plans. we have to push the elevator thing to tomorrow 

UPSTAIRS WORK NEIGHBOR: the maintenance guy’s not here today

YOU: okay

YOU: i was gonna ask if we should take this as a sign to not do it at all but i’m not gonna say that actually…

UPSTAIRS WORK NEIGHBOR: it’s not a sign 

YOU: good thing i didn’t say it was then :)

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。

You made it to the maintenance room before Steve. Mainly because you were a little nervous to see how all of this would end up playing out, and being two minutes early somehow helped ease your worries a bit. 

When you walked in, you immediately saw a guy with long curly hair wearing a black t-shirt and dark jeans and sitting at a desk with two computer screens; you assumed he was the maintenance guy Steve talked about. 

You gave him a quick wave and then held out a hand. “Hey, nice to meet you.”

His hand shook your outstretched one and quick introductions were said where you learned his name was Eddie and he and Steve went to high school together and were now friends; which wasn’t as long of a story as Steve had initially made it out to be. 

“So, you’re the infamous ‘girl from work.’”

You let out a laugh at Eddie’s words. “Steve’s mentioned me before?” 

Eddie nodded. “Oh, he talks about you a lot.”

Before you could say anything in response to that, Steve walked into the small room.  

“Sorry, I’m late,” He said, even though he was actually right on time. He looked at Eddie and a confused look crossed his face. “Where’s Wayne?”

“He still has the flu, so he wanted me to cover for him today,” Eddie answered. “But, he told me what you guys wanna do, so I got it.”

“Okay,” Steve nodded and then he gestured between you and Eddie. “You two met?” 

“Yes, and I just learned that you allegedly talk about me a lot,” You said and gave him a teasing smile. 

You immediately noticed his face flush at your words, which actually kind of surprised you and for the briefest second you wondered what that reaction meant, but then he was playfully rolling his eyes at you. “It’s only so my friends know that I don’t completely hate my job.”  

“Glad to know that I’m the only one who makes your job somewhat tolerable,” You said, smiling wider at him. “The feeling’s very mutual.”

You looked away from him then and focused on the computer screens. Eddie had now pulled up the video feed of the security camera in the lobby on one side and the hallway where the main elevators were on the other screen. 

“So, Kristen should be getting back from the coffee shop down the street any second now,” You told Steve. “She always likes going right before they close for some reason.”

He nodded at your words. “Okay, and Todd is still in the lobby talking to Martha about getting a new building ID, and they should be done any second too.”

“I still don’t get how you managed to get her to call him down for that.” 

He gave you a smile. “The ladies at the front desk love me.”

“Honestly, that makes a lot of sense,” You responded. “You are the type of person that old ladies would love.”

“I’ll happily take that as a compliment.” 

“Remember how all the moms in town were completely obsessed with you during your lifeguard days?” Eddie chimed in, a grin on his face. 

Steve rolled his eyes in response, and you laughed while saying, “Of course, you were a lifeguard. That makes so much sense too.”

His eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “How?”

You shook your head. “I don’t know how to explain it, but just know that it does. And I mean it in a nice way.”

Steve tilted his head and squinted at you. “I don’t know if I believe you.”

“Trust me, I’m your best work friend. I’d never lie to you,” You said, holding a solemn hand to your heart, and he couldn’t help but let out a laugh. 

You looked at the screen again and saw that Todd was still talking to Martha, and Kristen was still nowhere to be seen. 

You tapped Eddie on the shoulder to grab his attention. “If one of them gets to the elevator before the other is there, is there any way that you can not let the elevator come?”

He nodded. “Yeah, that’s fine.”

Luckily, and surprisingly enough though, it didn’t have to come to that. Because finally Kristen was walking back into the building and heading toward the elevators, and seconds later Todd’s conversation with Martha was coming to an end and he was heading in the direction of the elevators too. 

Kristen pressed the up button and then her eyes went down to her phone in her hand, and Todd joined her in waiting after a few moments. Absolutely nothing was said between the two of them, not even when the elevator arrived and they got on together. Which, honestly, made sense to you because you rarely ever talked to the strangers you ended up in an elevator with. 

“How do you stop it?” You asked Eddie after he switched the camera to the one in the elevator. 

“There’s something to press that stops them for emergencies,” He explained as he got up from his chair and went over to a panel on the wall. “And there’s also an intercom here to talk to them so they don’t freak out or start panicking.”

He then pressed the stop button for the elevator Todd and Kristen were on. “Did it work?” 

You and Steve both responded with a quick “Yeah” at the same time. You noticed the confused looks cross your bosses faces and you saw Todd reach out to press the emergency button, but Eddie was speaking through the intercom before he could. 

“Hey, sorry about that, guys. It’s just an electrical issue and it should be fixed in about fifteen to thirty minutes.” He looked at you and Steve again. “Alright, let’s see if your matchmaking thing works.”

It was quiet at first. So quiet that you couldn’t help but wonder if this was actually the worst idea ever. You and Steve were “playing cupid” for two people who only had a few things in common, and it was all for entirely selfish reasons. 

“I’m just now realizing how insane this whole thing is,” You told Steve, looking away from the screen that showed Todd and Kristen still not talking to each other.  

“You’re just now realizing that? That was pretty much the first thing I told you when you suggested this,” Steve reminded you. 

“I know, I know,” You started. “But now seeing it actually happen is making me understand that.” 

Eddie turned around in his chair and looked up at you two. “Do you guys want me to start the elevator back?”

Both you and Steve had the same immediate answer of, “No.” 

You kept going after a second. “This will either be the best thing ever or the complete opposite, but I think we should just see it through, at this point, right?”

In this moment, it seemed like things were leaning more toward the “absolute worst” side of the spectrum, but it didn’t make you entirely change your mind about doing it, and it didn’t make Steve disagree with you either. “Right.”

“Okay,” Eddie shrugged as he turned back around. “For what it’s worth, I don’t think this is that fucked up of an idea.”

You nodded, even though he couldn’t see you. “Okay, cool, so we’re not completely terrible and manipulative people for doing this.”

“Well, I didn’t say that,” Eddie responded and Steve whacked his arm. 

You didn’t say anything and instead looked at the computer screen again. 

“Come on. Talk,” You mumbled. “Talk to each other.”

“They can’t hear you,” Steve jokingly whispered to you. 

Before you had the chance to make a sarcastic comment back to him, there was finally something coming from the computer’s speaker.  

“Hey, you did that interview with Matt Scott, right?” Todd asked Kristen.

She nodded. “Yeah, I did.” 

“I just watched it a couple of days ago. It was really good,” He said, and at that, Kristen smiled. 

From there, it felt like the equivalent to watching a movie; and you could inwardly recognize how weird that sounded. They introduced themselves to each other and then continued to talk about that horror movie director they both loved, and they eventually bonded over the few things that you and Steve had told them about one another too. 

Thirty minutes passed quicker than expected and you and Steve ended up sitting in two folding chairs that were in the small room and sat next to Eddie as you watched your bosses have what seemed like a really good conversation. It didn’t seem as if it was coming to any sort of an end just yet, but you and Steve still had Eddie start the elevator back up again. And before Kristen got off on her floor first, they exchanged phone numbers— which shouldn’t have at all been surprising, but it still kind of was. 

You looked at Steve once the doors closed and it was just Todd left in the elevator. “Woah.”

He nodded, agreeing with your one word that said a lot more than just that. “Wow.” 

Eddie laughed a little. “Nice work playing cupid for these two.”

You felt relieved, but not entirely so. “We’ll see if it actually works.”

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。

Incoming call from UPSTAIRS WORK NEIGHBOR

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。

Steve rarely ever called you. 

It just never made sense with how crazy your jobs were, so you two always settled for texting. Apparently, this moment was different, though. 

However, before you could make any move to answer your phone, you were getting called into Kristen’s office, and your heart was abruptly falling into your stomach because suddenly the timing of Steve's phone call felt like it had something to do with whatever conversation you were about to have with Kristen. 

“Hey,” You said, trying to make your voice sound as normal, and not worried, as possible. “Is everything okay?”

She looked up from her phone and then smiled at you. “Everything’s really good, actually. I’m going to be leaving early today, so you can head out too.”

That wasn’t at all what you were expecting her to say, but you attempted to hide your complete shock. 

“Oh, okay,” You ultimately responded. “Are you sure?”

You regretted asking the question the second you said it, but this entire moment felt like some sort of trick or test, so you felt the immediate need to question it.  

“Yeah, it’s Friday,” She said as if that explained everything, which it did not. “You can have a half day for once.”

You were convinced that this had something to do with Todd, but you still wanted some sort of confirmation. “Special occasion?”

“Remember yesterday when I told you about getting stuck in the elevator for half an hour?” She asked, and when you nodded she continued. “Well, I exchanged numbers with the guy I was stuck with because we had a really nice conversation when we were in there, and five minutes ago, he called asking to go to lunch and then to see this movie that we talked about in the elevator. It’s the last day it’s playing at that small theater on the other side of town.”

You nodded along to her words. “That sounds great.”

“Oh, and funnily enough, it’s the guy that you mentioned a few days ago who works upstairs and is from Jersey, and our food almost got swapped from the diner,” She laughed a little— happily, dreamily— like a woman with a crush. “Isn’t that crazy?”

There was absolutely nothing about how Kristen said those words that should’ve made you think she knew what you and Steve had done, but still, you couldn’t help but think it. 

Which made you force a nervous smile as you once again nodded. “Yeah, so crazy. Small world. Or, well, in this case, I guess small building.” You laughed awkwardly at your non-joke and then immediately kept going. “Anyway, I hope you have a fun time with him today. See you Monday.”

Kristen’s eyes were back on her phone, smiling again as she waved at you in goodbye and you proceeded to quickly leave her office. 

You called Steve back the moment you were at your desk again. He picked up on the second ring and the first thing he said was, “It actually fucking worked. He asked her to go to lunch.”

“I know,” You whispered, even though all you really wanted to do in that moment was let out the happiest sound ever. “Where are you right now?”

“Todd’s letting me leave since he’s leaving, so I’m about to head down to the lobby.”

“Okay, I’ll meet you there. I’m gonna grab my stuff and immediately run away from my desk before Kristen can call me back into her office and tell me that this was all some sort of elaborate prank,” You said and then hung up, stuffing your phone in your pocket and grabbing your bag from underneath your desk. 

You waved happily at Steve when you exited the elevator in the lobby and barely a second later he was pulling you into a hug. Even though that was something that had never happened before, you didn’t hesitate to return the action, wrapping your arms around him too and smiling into his shoulder. 

“You’re a genius for this idea,” He told you, words hitting right at your ear. 

“Technically, you came up with it,” You reminded him when you two pulled out of the celebratory embrace. 

“Okay, in that case, I’ll happily take the credit for all of this then,” Steve said and smiled at you. 

You playfully poked his arm. “What I meant is that we both should get credit for this plan working. You kinda came up with the initial idea and I came up with all the nitty gritty stuff.”

He shook his head. “That’s not entirely true, actually. Who came up with the elevator meet cute?”

You knew that he wanted you to say him, but you refused to give him the satisfaction so you simply shrugged instead. “A shitty Hallmark movie, probably.”

“Ha ha, good one,” He said as he rolled his eyes at you. 

“Thank you, I’ll be here all week. Actually, that’s not true because we finally just got a day off,” You smiled as you and Steve headed into the lobby. “This is the first time I’ve had a Friday off in the past two years of working here, I honestly have no idea what to do now.”

The thought of spending the rest of the day, and then night, catching up on sleep sounded very tempting to you, and it only felt a little sad that you’d be completely sleeping away a Friday when you finally had the opportunity to do something even the tiniest bit fun. 

“Do you want to come to a birthday party for my best friend/roommate tonight?” Steve asked. “We’re having it at our place and I thought I’d have to miss it because I was gonna be stuck here all night, but now I won’t be, and you should come.”

Initially, you smiled at his offer and you felt the urge to accept it on the spot. But then your brain couldn’t help but consider what saying yes would mean. You and Steve had never hung out outside of this building, and the few food spots that were on the same street as this building, before. Although you two were friends, you couldn’t lie and say that it didn’t pretty much start and end at work; mainly because that was what consumed most of your time. 

“Wouldn't that be kinda weird?” You ultimately asked, deciding against verbalizing exactly what you were thinking about. “I don’t think I’d want a random girl from my best friend’s workplace to be at my birthday party.”

“You’re not a random girl. I talk about you all the time, remember?” Steve said, reminding you of Eddie’s words from yesterday, and the playfulness in his tone made you smile.

Instead of asking more questions— like what it would mean to take your work friendship into normal friendship territory, and whether it would even easily happen— you were simply agreeing and saying, “Okay.”

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。

YOU: what should i bring tonight?

UPSTAIRS WORK NEIGHBOR: just yourself 

YOU: that feels wrong. it’s literally a birthday party 

UPSTAIRS WORK NEIGHBOR: for someone you don’t know 

YOU: that doesn’t matter

YOU: so what do you need? cups? some sort of side dish? more cake?

UPSTAIRS WORK NEIGHBOR: don’t bring anything

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。

“I brought alcohol,” You said when Steve opened his door and then you held up the two bottles of tequila you bought on your drive over to his apartment. 

He shook his head at you but still smiled as he pushed the door open further to let you in. Seeing him out of his typical professional work clothes and in a simple white t-shirt and jeans was a nice surprise that honestly shouldn’t have been all that surprising. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“It’s physically impossible for me to show up to places empty-handed,” You looked around the decently sized space as Steve closed the door behind you. There weren’t that many people in the apartment yet, you only noticed two girls leaning back against the small kitchen island and talking. You turned to look at Steve. “Shit, am I too early?”

Your hands were full so you couldn’t pull your phone out of your denim jacket pocket to check the time, but you had a feeling what it would say. After working for Kristen for the past two years, it was pretty much ingrained in you to never be late anywhere, and most times you inadvertently ended up being early. 

“A little bit, yeah. But, that’s fine,” Steve told you with a shrug. “I’m glad you’re here early. It’ll probably make it easier for you to meet everyone.”

He then introduced you to the girls talking in the kitchen; his roommate and best friend Robin and her girlfriend Vickie. 

“Hi, you’re my new favorite person,” Robin told you when she noticed the alcohol in your hands.  

“Thank you,” You laughed a little as you set it down on the counter, joining the other bottles that littered it. “Happy Birthday.” 

“Thanks,” She smiled at you. “How are your karaoke skills?”

The randomness of the question slightly surprised you. “Absolutely terrible, but when I’m drunk I love doing it.”

“Perfect,” She said. “You and Steve have to do a duet when we go to this karaoke bar later. The last time we went, he got so drunk he sang Footloose three times in a row.”

“I will admit, each time was very great,” Vickie chimed in. 

“Yeah,” Robin agreed. “He surprisingly has a really good voice.”

You smiled and tried your hardest not to laugh at the thought of the Steve you’d grown to know over the past eight months getting drunk and singing karaoke. “Please tell me there’s video proof of that.”

“Oh, of course,” She nodded and went to pull her phone out of the pocket of the high-waisted pants she was wearing. 

“Okay, and before things get even more embarrassing for me right now,” Steve reached out to grab your hand and pull you out of the conversation. “Let me give you a quick tour of the apartment.”

You were laughing as you let him drag you away from his friends. “You’re suddenly such an attentive host.”

He pointed out the bathroom and Robin’s room down the hall and then led you to his room. 

“It’s clean,” You said, pointing out the obvious. His bed was made and there weren’t any clothes or other random things littering the floor.

Steve let out an amused laugh at your words. “I’m scared to know what you expected it to look like.”

“I don’t know, honestly,” You shrugged as you leaned back against his dark wood desk that was tucked in a corner. “You definitely wouldn’t want to see my room right now. It’s a complete mess from me trying to decide what to wear tonight.”

You had ended up settling for the first things you had pulled from your closet— a long sleeve black shirt and a brown plaid skirt that was shorter than you had remembered but still really nice— so the clothes that had ended up making your bed a mess and floor a tripping hazard felt like a sad waste of time. And now knowing how early you had shown up to the party, you probably could’ve prioritized cleaning up before you left your home in a rush.  

“You look nice,” Steve told you, and you didn’t expect to feel so affected by his words— which you knew were just a simple compliment by a friend— but you did. “Do you want me to take your jacket?”

“Yeah, sure,” You pulled off the dark denim jacket you were wearing and handed it over to him, and he went to place it on the hook behind his open door. 

“So, what did you do after we were set free?” He asked as he sat at the foot of his bed. You got the sudden urge to join him, but you didn’t, deciding to stay right where you were at his desk. 

“I had the best four-hour nap of my life and then I played really dumb games on my phone while still in bed,” You answered. It had been the most perfectly boring evening. “What have you been up to with your past free hours?”

“I also took a nap, and then I watched Clueless.”

A smile immediately started to tug at your lips. “No, you didn’t.”

“I did,” He nodded. “It felt like good timing.”

“I think good timing would’ve been if you watched it before we did the plan, but better late than never,” You said and then asked the important question. “Did you like it?”

He gave you another nod. “Yeah. A lot more than I expected to, actually.”

“Nice, I knew there was a part of you that had, at least, a kind of good taste in movies.”

“I’m still very offended that you think it’s mainly bad.”

“You told me that one of your favorites is the first Fast and Furious movie, and that was all I needed to know,” You said and then gave him a smile. “It’s honestly funny because an article about the entire series was actually the first thing I read on Kristen’s website.”

“And did it speak highly of the franchise?”

You nodded, holding back a laugh. “For the most part, yes. Surprisingly. I’ll find the link later and send it to you.”

“Thank you,” He said and then a beat of silence lingered before he asked, “Hey, is that why you work for Kristen? Because you eventually wanna write for the website?”

“Yeah, kinda, yeah,” You started with a quick nod. “It didn’t initially start that way. I just loved the website and wanted to be a part of it in any way I could. But, the thought of actually writing has only become more and more interesting to me, and yeah I think I wanna do that sooner than later.”

“You should let me read something you’ve written.”

Your head shake was immediate. “No way.”

“Why not?”

“One, because that’s embarrassing. And two, because I haven’t even finished anything yet because of how busy I always am.”

“Well, we’re gonna start having a lot of free time on our hands, so it’s the perfect time for you to actually finish something,” Steve told you. “And also the perfect time to let me read it once it’s done.”

“I’ll think about it,” You ultimately conceded and then proceeded to shift the subject away from yourself. “What about you, though? Why do you work for Todd?”

“Honestly, I don’t really know. My dad helped me get the job, actually, which is a long story in itself. I initially hated it a lot more than I do now, but I knew that my dad would give me shit if I quit. And he probably still would,” Steve explained. Just from the brief way he talked about his dad, you could sense how tense that relationship was, and you really wanted to know more about it, but you didn’t push further in that moment. “I don’t even like this finance stuff, but I still don’t really know what I really want to do, so I’m kinda okay with dealing with Todd and all of his bullshit.”

You nodded understandingly. “That makes sense. You never once gave me ‘finance bro’ vibes.”

Steve tilted his head at you amusingly. “What does that mean?”

“You’re not an asshole mixed with a huge hint of douchebag.”

He let out a laugh which made you smile. “Thank you. That really means a lot.”

“You’re very welcome,” You told him, still smiling and matching his playful tone. “Okay, okay, enough work talk. We need to use our freedom to its maximum potential.” An idea was hitting you as you stood up from his desk. “Let’s get drunk.”

Another brief amused laugh fell from Steve’s lips, but he still nodded at your words. “Solid idea.”

It had been a long time since you drank so your tolerance was terrible. You felt effectively drunk after just two shots— one with Steve to celebrate being free from work and then a birthday shot with Robin that she made everyone do once more people showed up— and you forced Steve to keep up with you, which he happily did. He was five shots in to your three and both of you were on the same level; a level that also exceeded everyone else at the party. 

You learned that the initial plan was to “pregame” here at the apartment for an hour or two and then head to the karaoke bar that Robin had mentioned earlier and spend the rest of the night there. However, you and Steve took pregaming to an entirely different level. 

You two ended up staying in your own little bubble for most of the night— holed up on a spot on the couch as you talked only about non-work related things for the first time probably ever. You wondered if this bubble was because Steve wanted to make you feel comfortable in this space where you didn’t really know anyone aside from him, and Eddie kinda, but you didn’t question it. 

A friendship that had initially felt as if it had started and ended at work easily shifted into something else as you two learned random things about each other and exchanged silly stories that could be deemed as unimportant nonsense, but it didn’t feel that way coming from a person that you really cared about. And it was when you were laughing and telling Steve about the time you crashed into your childhood neighbor's mailbox just one day after you got your license when you were sixteen— a story that you couldn’t remember the last time you told anyone because of how embarrassing it was— you realized that there was something entirely different about Steve. 

What you and he had wasn’t just a work friendship, and even now in this space outside of work, it also didn’t feel like a normal friendship either. Maybe it was never supposed to be limited to something as simple as that. 

There was an unfamiliar feeling that settled in your stomach as you watched him happily stand next to his best friend and hold the cake that she blew the candles out of moments after everyone loudly sang “Happy Birthday” in the kitchen. You quickly pushed the sudden feeling away because it felt easier to not think about it for the time being.

You and Steve ended up back on the couch again after the cake was cut and you two shared a piece, a corner slice that you both thought was the most perfect thing you had ever seen. 

At some point, you couldn’t tell exactly how much time had passed, Robin came over to the two of you. You noticed the amused smile take over her features as she looked at the close proximity between you and Steve; there wasn't an inch of space between you two because you both wanted the plate to balance equally on your laps. “I think you guys have had more than enough to drink tonight, so you should just stay here.” 

“You sure?” Steve asked, looking up at her. 

She nodded. “Yes, I’m positive. If you puke in the karaoke bar and we get banned I’ll never forgive you, dingus.”

“That’s fair.”

You looked up at Robin and smiled. In a way, it felt wrong that your conversation with her had been so limited earlier, she seemed really nice. “Happy birthday again.”

She smiled back at you. “Thanks again.”

The apartment became empty minutes later and the quietness reminded you of when you had first showed up. There was still music coming from the speaker set up in the living room, but Steve got up from the couch to lower it and then it became a soft hum in the background.

“I’m sorry I suggested the getting drunk idea,” You told Steve as you grabbed the now empty plate in your hand and stood up to toss it in the trash in the kitchen; with your drunkenness, it was a task that felt as if it took forever. “I messed up your night with your friends.”

You saw Steve shake his head when you turned to look at him again. He joined you where you were in the kitchen and grabbed a couple cups off the counter to throw them in the trash can. “I’m happy here with you.”

“Is that because you really didn’t wanna do our duet and because I can help you clean up the mess in here right now?”

“Sure.”

You wanted to ask him what he meant by that, because it felt as if there was much more to that one-worded response, and even in your current inebriated state you could see that. Instead, though, you were asking, “Why are we friends?”

His eyebrows furrowed in confusion at the randomness of your question. “Because we met that night in the lobby eight months ago?”

You shook your head. “No, I mean, why are we just friends?”

You weren’t sure why you were suddenly asking this— or even where your abrupt courage was coming from to ask it— but in this moment, with you two standing in his barely lit kitchen, it somehow felt right.

Your question was met with silence, though, and that lack of a response from Steve made you suddenly feel as if you actually shouldn’t have asked that question; because maybe it said way too much. 

“Oh, actually, never mind,” You abruptly said and pulled your eyes away from his, and went to grab the half-full red solo cup off the kitchen counter to toss it in the garbage. 

However, in what should’ve been a short and simple journey to the trash can, you roughly bumped into the side of the counter and spilled the entirety of what was leftover in the cup on yourself. 

“Shit.”

“Shit,” Steve immediately echoed, looking at the mess on the lower part of your shirt and the front of your skirt. “Um, let’s grab you something to change into.”

Wordlessly, you nodded and followed him to his bedroom. You weren’t entirely sure what you were more embarrassed about— you spilling a drink on yourself and now smelling so disgustingly like alcohol or the stupid question you asked him that led to this happening.

“You can grab whatever you want from in there,” Steve told you and pointed toward what you assumed was his closet. “I’m gonna get a towel for you.”  

“Thanks, I’m sorry about all of this. I swear I’m not usually this annoying of a drunk person,” You joked because it felt like the only right thing to do in that moment. 

“You’re not annoying,” You heard Steve say from somewhere behind you. 

You wanted to follow up with another sort of playful and witty response, but you couldn’t think of what to say. So instead, you silently pulled a long-sleeved white button-up off a hanger and turned back to Steve, who handed over a towel for you. 

You headed to the bathroom that wasn’t too far down the hall and as you closed the door behind you and were left alone, you refused to think about what happened in the past few minutes. You focused solely on the mundane task of pulling your shirt off and drying your damp skin with the towel and then moving to take off your skirt. 

You weren’t sure where you thought Steve was, but you didn’t think he was standing right outside the bathroom door, so abruptly hearing his soft voice on the other side of the door made you jump as you slipped on the white shirt. 

“I think we’re just friends because…” He trailed off. “I don’t know, honestly.”

You wished that your question could’ve simply been forgotten about, and you wanted to tell him just that; to forget it. However, there was a small part of you that wanted to push the conversation forward and actually talk about it, and somehow that small part managed to take precedence over logical thinking.  

“Maybe we shouldn’t be friends,” You responded, not outwardly saying what you really meant because you knew that you wouldn’t be able to take it back once the words were out in the open and that was a slightly scary thought, even your drunk brain knew that.  

“I think you’re right,” Steve said, and somehow you could practically hear him nodding. “So, what should we be instead?”

It was obvious what he wanted you to say, and even though the words were on the tip of your tongue, you still couldn’t seem to actually say them. You finished buttoning the shirt and then let out a quiet sigh.

“I don’t know…” You ultimately answered. Selfishly, you wanted him to be the one to say it out loud first. “What do you think we should be instead?”

Hearing his soft laugh made you immediately smile. Somehow, this back-and-forth conversation between two half-drunk people who were beating around the bush about their feelings for one another was becoming more and more teasing, and you honestly didn’t mind it because it just felt so typical of you and Steve. 

“I don’t know, either,” He answered, and for a second, you thought that the conversation was going to come to its end there— without either of you mustering up the courage to actually say the words— but then he continued. “But I’ll admit that whenever I see you, it makes me really, really happy.”

You could only smile wider at his words. “Okay, and I’ll admit that sometimes I like when we’re both forced to stay late at work because it means that I get to spend more time with you.”

You didn’t realize just how true those words were until you were saying them. You had long accepted that Steve being in your life made your job a thousand times more bearable, but you were now finally seeing that it was so much more than that. You were suddenly so certain of the fact that you would’ve quit your job long ago if going to work and dealing with Kristen didn’t mean eventually seeing Steve at some point throughout the day, even if it was just for five quick minutes. 

“Honestly, those late nights are kind of my favorite,” Steve responded to your previous confession and you felt yourself nodding in agreement even though he couldn’t see you.

“I like you,” You told him. Your voice was soft but you knew that he could hear you. “And I don’t mean that in a work friend or regular friend kind of way. And I’m just now fully realizing it tonight, but I think deep down I’ve felt this way for a long time.”

“I like you too,” He responded, voice matching your softness and you could hear the smile in his tone. “And I don’t mean it in a work friend or regular friend way either.” 

Things got quiet for a second and then you were opening the bathroom door and meeting Steve’s eyes. Neither of you said anything at first; mainly because it felt as if the contented smiles on both of your faces managed to say it all. 

“I forgot to grab pants,” Were the first words you said after a minute of comfortable silence. Steve’s shirt on you was long enough and its length matched where your skirt had ended, so nothing new was really revealed. 

Steve laughed a little at your random statement because it made it seem as if a huge thing hadn’t just been admitted by both of you only moments ago. 

“We should probably get you those,” He looked down at your new outfit, or lack thereof, for a brief second and then met your eyes again. 

You gave him a quick nod. “Yeah, I guess that would make sense.”

Neither of you made any move to head toward his bedroom again, though. Instead, another handful of moments passed and then you were silently reaching out and letting your hand find his. You pulled him into the bathroom with you and softly shut the door behind him.

With two people now in it, you were realizing just how small the bathroom was, but this closeness felt perfect to you. And you could tell that the feeling was mutual because Steve’s hands were finding your hips, and then you were being shifted around so that you were pressed back against the sink. Your arms reached up to circle his neck and your hands settled in the hair at the nape of his neck; it all felt so instinctive— as if this was something that had happened a bunch of times before. As if this entire moment was something that had happened a million times before.

Your eyes drifted down to Steve’s lips for a quick second because they were only inches away from yours and you wondered who would be the one to close the final bit of distance between you two, or if you’d simply just meet in the middle and the rest would be history. 

Before anything could happen, though, the annoying logical part of you was taking over and you got the urge to ask something. “We’re not just doing this and saying all of this because we’re kinda drunk, right?”

Your words were whispered and your eyes were closed because you knew that your question had the opportunity to be a mood killer and ruin this moment entirely, and for those exact reasons, you immediately wanted to take it back. But, Steve was answering before you could. 

“No,” He whispered back. It was such a short and simple answer, but it somehow managed to say enough. 

Your eyes opened and you could tell that he was about to say more, but you leaned in to kiss him before anything could be said. It was soft at first, soft and tentative, like you both were testing the waters and trying to correctly navigate this uncharted territory. 

But then it was as if the same switch was flipping for you two at the exact same time because, after the briefest second, you both were simultaneously pushing any and all thinking to the side and simply leaning into what felt right. Steve deepened the kiss and you reciprocated immediately, pushing yourself as close as you could to him and closing any and all space between you two. 

Your hands went from softly tugging at the hair at the nape of his neck, to fisting themselves in his white t-shirt. And then, with Steve’s help too, you pushed yourself up so that you were sitting on the sink counter. It wasn’t the most comfortable position, but you didn’t entirely mind it right then. Steve settled between your now parted legs and one hand was still on your hip, while the other was playing with the hem of your, his, shirt that was now riding further and further up your thighs due to your new position.  

“I can’t believe out of everything, you grabbed this shirt,” Steve said in between kisses. 

You let out a contented sound when his lips moved to your neck. “Why?” 

“Because you look very, very hot right now,” He didn’t hesitate to answer. “And your outfit earlier was really great too, and honestly you always look hot so maybe this shouldn’t even be surprising to me right now.” 

You let out a soft laugh at his rambling. “I’m hot even when we’re at work and I’m wearing a boring cardigan and jeans?”

Steve nodded and pressed a quick kiss against your lips. “Especially then.” 

It was hard not to feel so affected by the two simple words; your heart quite literally stuttered at how certain he sounded, and you leaned in to kiss him again instead of saying anything in response. Your fingers carded themselves in his hair, eliciting a soft groan from him that made you smile into the kiss. And then both of his hands moved to your hips, pulling you to the edge of the counter so that you were flush against him. 

In a way, it felt a little silly that you two were making out in his bathroom when there was a perfectly good bed right down the hall. But, it was a kind of silliness that made sense for you and Steve and everything you two built over the last eight months of knowing each other. 

There was the friendship side of things that happened so effortlessly following that night you two met in the lobby, and now there was this new side that, weirdly enough, so quickly felt the same way. Kissing him for the first time right here, right now made you wish that you two had been doing this a lot sooner because of how irrevocably happy it made you. 

“We’re stupid for taking so long to do this,” You eventually told him when you two were in his bed. You were moments away from falling asleep, but you felt the need to finally say those words. 

The two of you were under his grey covers and you had traded the button up for one of Steve’s t-shirts and a pair of his basketball shorts that were really comfortable. His warmth enveloped you completely beneath the blanket as he pulled you closer, wrapping an arm around your waist and finding your hand to intertwine it with his. 

“Like we were stupid for not getting Todd and Kristen together sooner?”

You nodded, a small smile gracing your lips that he couldn’t see because you were facing away from him. “Yes, exactly like that.”

Steve pressed a kiss against the side of your head and then his lips tickled at your ear. “I agree.”

You hummed in response and finally fell asleep moments later because you were in way too comfortable of a position not to. It was your first time in Steve’s bed, but how at ease you’d felt since you pulled the blanket over you minutes ago didn’t feel new or foreign. It simply felt right. 

And before your eyes slipped shut and you drifted off, you came to the final realization of the night that everything felt right with Steve, it always did, and that was the most comforting thought to fall asleep to.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。

let me know your thoughts<333

[passionxwrites]

Summer Romance 2

Pairings: ModernAU! Elias “Stack” Moore x BlackOC! (Cymone) x ModernAU! Elijah “Smoke” Moore

Warnings: MDNI, Cursing, use of the N-Word, Suggestive language, some flirting

Word Count: 4.0K

Masterlist

Smoke

Bookbag got the big pump

Like high school, you can get jumped

Can’t play me like a weak punk

Bend it over lemme see some

Bitch I’m a monsta, dumpin niggas like a Tonka

GD crazy like my uncle

“And you know what, we shoulda known Punkin was gone have all that body. Her mama had ass too.”

Smoke was snatched from his thoughts due to Stacks dumbass rambling yet again. He hadn’t shut up since the party at the park last week. Granted Smoke was just as in awe as him but damn she wasn’t the only thing on his mind.

She was on his mind though.

He had bigger fish to fry since they had finally bought back the house they grew up in and had officially settled back into being home. Now it was time to take over the city like they always grew up dreaming about.

“Whatever happened to her mama anyway,” Stack asked absentmindedly.

“Last I heard she was on that shit and wouldn’t get clean. Probably somewhere still on it,” Smoke finally answered as he observed his twin in the mirror.

“Make my shit straight bitch ass nigga,” he said to Stack with a smirk as his brother began lining him up.

Stack had always been the twin that was big on appearances so he was the one who learned how to cut their hair after they moved. He also bought most of they clothes cause if Smoke was left alone to get his own shit he would wear white tees and jeans everyday.

“I should make that shit crooked on purpose since you wanna play.”

Smoke let out a low chuckle before the music paused and the sound of buzzing filled the room. His eyes located Stacks phone on the sink counter.

Mary

“Uh oh, it’s the single white female,” Smoke said with a light chuckle knowing it would piss his brother off.

“Shut the fuck up damn,” Stack muttered with an attitude as he snatched his phone from the sink and ignored the call.

“I told you to leave that bitch alone but you wouldn’t listen. Now she obsessed with you.”

“She need to be obsessed with her damn husband and leave me alone. She don’t even live out here no more. Heard he moved her ass to a big ass house in Madison.”

“Gotta stop hitting that button with every woman you lay with potna.”

“Nigga please. I always gotta hit the button,” he said as he proceeded to finish cutting Smoke's hair like what he said was normal.

Smoke only shook his head as he looked at the reflection of him and Stack in the bathroom mirror. Since he was the oldest he always grew up trying to protect Stack whether it was from they own daddy or from niggas in the neighborhood. The problem was Stack could never shut the fuck up for his own good sometimes. He was always running off at the mouth to any and everybody and although now he was old enough to protect himself and could, Smoke was gone always be there ten toes behind him.

“Let’s hurry this shit up so we can meet up with Duke and Boom.”

They had finally found a spot downtown to put their club in and they had a meeting with the old owner to read over the contracts and sign on the dotted line. It was this building that sat smack dab in the middle of the city. It used to be a sawmill way back in the day in the 1930s and it was owned by some white folks. The twins not only wanted the place because of the good business they would get but also because they wanted to be the first black owners of the place. With the help of their childhood homeboy Lawrence “Boom” Jenkins, who was also their lawyer, they knew the building was basically theirs.

“Aight nigga damn. You always rushing sibling bonding time.”

“We can do that shit later. We got business to handle first and after that we need to go by Miss Etta Jean’s and take a look at her dishwasher.”

Stack continued to huff and puff but he eventually finished up Smoke’s cut and they both got dressed and headed over to the sawmill. Once they got there they saw Boom and Duke already standing outside talking.

“How yall boys doin,” Smoke spoke in greeting as he dapped both of the men up.

“Shittt, ready to get this place so we can get this crackin ya feel me,” Duke spoke as he rubbed his hands together in anticipation.

“Yeah, where this man at cause I’m on a tight schedule today,” Boom said while looking at his watch.

“There he go right there.”

The group of men looked up as a sleek all black Mercedes Benz S 580 pulled into the parking lot. Once the car came to a stop none other than Porter Keyes stepped out. Porter was your everyday preppy white boy who grew up with a silver spoon in his mouth from a fortune that was more than likely built off the backs of slaves. The sawmill had been in his family for centuries yet they hadn’t done a damn thing with it. They were instead too busy building up the whiter parts of Mississippi. When Smoke reached out to him about buying the building Porter all but jumped at the opportunity to finally have it off his hands.

The white man eagerly exited the car with his own lawyer in tow, a stuffy looking older white man, and walked up to the four men with a smile etched across his face.

“Gentleman, let’s make some history shall we,” he spoke as he beckoned the group on to go unlock the door.

They entered the building and Smoke walked around as he began picturing the place filled with bodies on the dance floor, people buying drinks and folks just having a good time. This place was everything he could have dreamed of.

“So! Here I have the title and the deed to the building as well as the contract,” shot out Porter as his lawyer pulled all of the documents from his briefcase and handed them to Boom to read over. After about 30 minutes of Boom thoroughly reading the contract and making sure the deed and the title were legit he gave a nod to the twins.

“Let’s sign,” Smoke spoke simply as he grabbed a pen from the table they were all standing around. Him, Stack, and Porter all signed solidifying the deal.

“I can’t thank you guys for finally taking this place off my hands.”

“Nah thank you bruh and don’t worry, we gone take real good care of this place,” Stack said with his signature grin as he wrapped an arm around his brother.

“What y’all plan to do with this old gal if you don’t mind me asking,” Porter inquired as he slid his shades back onto his face.

“We gone make this here a club. Calling it Club Juke after the Juke Joint our grandaddy owned way back,” Smoke said with a lil pride in his chest. His granddaddy was a true business man. Somebody to really look up to and be proud of. The twins had always idolized the man, taking every step they could to be just like him and they had just about done it.

“Hm, a club. Well I hope it works out for you fellas. Any questions just give me a ring,” and with that Porter and his lawyer were out of the door leaving the twins, Boom, and Duke.

“Mannn I’m so excited for this shit here ju. I can picture opening night already! It’s gone be so many bad bitches in here and you know with bad bitches gone come all the niggas wanting to spend some change. This gone be a gold mine,” Duke said excitedly as he all but bounced off the walls.

“We need niggas to spend more than change to make a profit. Before all that we need to get a liquor license, cooks for the chicken, and some employees. You still gone have your boys on security?”

“Yeah I done already prepped em on what they have to do. They just waiting on the word.”

“Good, good. Everything go right and we’ll be in business in about three weeks,” Smoke said as he looked down at his phone to check the time.

“Shit, we need to get over by your grandma. I promised her we would look at her dishwasher since your simple ass broke it.”

Duke immediately huffed at Smoke with a roll of his eyes.

“I told her I aint know nothing bout fixing no dishwasher anyway. I sell drugs I aint no damn handyman,” Duke complained as he stuffed his hands in his pockets.

“Damn shame. Them D.A.R.E niggas would be real disappointed in yo ass. You was they favorite student back in the day,” Stack spoke as he shook his head causing the room to erupt in laughter.

Cymone

Cymone sat upright in her bed as she focused on the tedious task of painting her toenails white. Her favorite nail tech down at the shop was out sick til the next week and she refused to let anybody else touch her feet or hands so she had to lock in and do it herself. Just as she had finished and begun to let them dry the doorbell rang making her cuss under her breath.

“Somebody always coming round here at the wrong time man,” the girl fussed as she waddled down the stairs and to the front door. She looked at the alarm camera that sat on the table next to it and rolled her eyes.

“Of course it’s tweedle-dee and tweedle-dum,” she mumbled while unlocking the door and coming face to face with her two nightmares.

“I heard that shit. Yo ass never could whisper,” Stack said with that same grin on his face. A part of her wanted to slap it off his face but Stack liked to wrestle and she wasn't in the mood for all that.

“Whatever nigga. What y’all want and no we are not donating to the Broke Ass Nigga Fund.”

“Glad it aint no broke ass niggas round here. Yo grandma asked for us to come take a look at her dishwasher. Said it’s leaking water,” Smoke finally spoke up from behind his brother. She put her eyes on him which made her notice they both had recently got a haircut.

They look aight but I’ll never tell em that.

Cymone stayed propped against the door frame as she observed them through the screen door before finally letting them in. They weren’t lying because the dishwasher had been broken for about a month now and it had gotten worse after Duke called himself looking at it two weeks ago. She also knew Ganny had probably asked the twins to take a look because they would always fix on stuff around the house before they left. Cymone was also tired of being the dishwasher so if they could fix it she had no problems with letting em do it. She walked further into the house leading them to the kitchen before turning to see Stack holding a medium sized brown teddy bear and Smoke holding a big ass bouquet of roses.

Did they have that with them the whole time?

She must have been too focused on their faces to notice them obviously hiding something behind their backs. Half of her wanted to coo at the obvious “I’m sorry,” gifts but the other half was still pissed and that half was calling all of the shots right now. Cymone scrunched her face a little as she folded her arms at the two men.

“What? This supposed to soften me up,” she accused as her attitude heightened, ready to start a war if she needed to.

“Nah, you ain't gone never be soft. This just something to say sorry for how we left,” Smoke being the first to speak up.

She continued to hold them under her narrowed gaze before it softened just a little. She leaned forward and took notice of the roses being yellow, her favorite color. They still remembered her favorite color after all of these years. Something in her stomach stirred and she decided to finally end her reign of terror against them. She could never stay mad at em for long anyway.

“Well, thank you. It’s about time y’all learned how to apologize,” she said as her tone lightened up while taking the gifts from them.

“But y’all aint off the hook just yet. Still got a lil mo ass to kiss,” she said as she began to walk the gifts up to her room.

“That’s a lot of ass,” she heard one of them mutter, probably Stack’s degenerate ass, before a pop sounded off.

“Shut up nigga.”

Cymone smirked a little as she finally made it to her room. She sat the flowers on her dresser making a mental note to get one of Ganny’s vases to put them in and she sat the bear in the middle of her bed. Her attention was then drawn to her phone buzzing loudly noticing on her nightstand. Of course it was nobody but Reana calling. She snatched the phone from the charger and quickly hit answer knowing her girl hated to wait long for somebody to answer her call.

“House of beauty this is Cutie,” she jokingly greeted while laying across her bed.

“I’m finna come over so you can help me figure out what to wear on my date,” Reana rambled without even giving a formal greetung. Cymone took note of her flustered tone and the shuffling in her background which was a sign that she was probably running around her room like a chicken with her head cut off.

“What fucking date,” Cymone asked while sitting up in her bed. The two girls had talked everyday and almost every hour of the day and Reana had never mentioned anything about a date.

“Uhhhh soo you know yesterday I was at work and Sammie annoying ass came in there messing with me right?”

“Yes, what that gotta do with anything?”

“Welllll, we might have made a bet that if he could bench press 250 pounds I would finally let him take me on a date. Low and behold his ass is actually really strong for his size.”

Cymone sat there for a second slightly bewildered before she burst into laughter. She was laughing so hard tears were running down her face. Sammie was known around as the town player. He was the type of nigga that changed bitches like he changed his drawls. He was never one to keep a girl around for long but he had been sniffing after Reana something serious for years now. Her girl would never give him the time of day because she knew how he was and she aint have time to be knocking Sammie’s head between the washer and the dryer because he wanted to play with her so she always kept her distance. Cymone knew one day he would finally find a way to get her because he was clever like his cousins and it looked like he had finally succeeded but she knew this date was not gone go how he was probably hoping.

“Stop laughing damn! I’m mad enough,” Reana blew out angrily.

“Girl don’t get huffy with me, it aint my fault. Yo ass need to stop betting people too. You ain’t no damn gambler.”

“Whatever man. I’ll be there in ten minutes,” and with that Reana hung up the phone in her face making Cymone laugh once again.

“Girl always getting herself into something like a toddler.”

Knowing that Reana was on the way, Cymone decided to go downstairs and wait for her and maybe also see how the twins were doing with the dishwasher. You know, just to make sure they were actually down there working.

Once she made it downstairs she rounded the corner into the kitchen to see Smoke leaned over in the dishwasher and Stack standing beside him holding a flashlight. She stepped into the kitchen and walked to the refrigerator deciding to pull out some cut up watermelon. After putting some into a bowl she lifted herself onto the counter and began snacking.

“Y’all know what y’all doing,” she asked knowing full well that they did but it wouldn’t be her if she didn’t find a way to aggravate them in some form or fashion. Smoke was the only one who would seem annoyed by her but say nothing. Stack always wanted to argue back cause he forever had something slick to say.

“You supposed to be sitting on that counter,” Smoke shot back as he looked at her from the corner of his eye.

Cymone rolled her eyes at him before throwing another cube of watermelon into her mouth and then licking her fingers. As she pulled the last finger from her mouth she made eye contact with Stack who had been staring her down since her ass made contact with the counter. She smirked a little before flipping her middle finger at him.

“Take a picture next time. It’ll last longer.”

“You gone stay like that while I go get my camera,” Stack asked as his smirk matched hers causing Cymone to squint her eyes. The nigga literally always had something to say. She continued to stare at him until she heard the doorbell ring indicating that Reana had made it to the house.

“You always running that mouth Stack. Be a shame if somebody put some real use to it,” she said as she hopped off the counter and sauntered to the door while also doing what nobody could ever do, she had Stack speechless.

Stack

“I thought I’d never see the day somebody shut yo ass up,” Smoke said with a chuckle as he stood from the floor.

Stack could only shake his head as a smirk slowly began to form on his face.

“Guess Punkin aint the same Punkin no more like Duke said,” he said as thoughts began to swirl in his head and none of them were clean.

“Nah she aint,” making Stack turn to his brother and squint his eyes.

“Nigga I know that look!”

“Shut yo loud ass up. What fucking look?”

“That you intrigued look. Like you wanna see what Punkin talking bout,” Stack accused as he folded his arms.

“You got the same damn look nigga! If anything yo ass got the you intrigued actions,” Smoke said while walking up on his brother, looking him up and down.

“I’m Stack baby. I’m always intrigued by a woman,” he said with a chuckle making his brother scoff and brush past him heading out of the kitchen.

Stack followed him into the living room where they saw Cymone sitting on the couch and her friend sitting in the middle of the floor with a pair of shoes in each hand and two outfits laid out on the floor. Stack took the liberty to sit on one side of Cymone while Smoke took the other side basically sandwiching the poor girl in between them.

“What y’all in here doing,” Stack asked as he watched Smoke snatch the remote from Cymone’s hand and switch the channel from whatever reality tv show she was watching to a football game. Cymone quickly frowned her face up and thumped him upside the head causing him to grab her hand.

“Don’t put yo hands on me,” he gruffed while throwing her hand back into her lap.

“Don’t come in here snatching shit out my hand in my house!”

“Will y’all shut up damn. Somebody answer my question,” Stack asked again before they could start up into an argument.

“Reana got a date with y’all slow ass cousin.”

“Who? Sammie?”

“Yes,” Reana answered begrudgingly from the floor with a roll of her eyes.

“Don’t do my boy like that. He gone wine and dine ya real nice,” Stack answered with a little laugh knowing how his cousin could get down when he was pursuing somebody.

“That’s fine. A bitch love a free meal but that don’t mean I’m coming off no ass. I will be going home right after we eat,” she stated matter of factly while wagging her finger in the air.

“Yeah, okay. Um, you gone cook something,” Stack asked as he turned his attention back to Cymone while wrapping his arm around her shoulder. The girl immediately turned to him in disbelief.

“Why are y’all still here,” she exasperated while leaning from his arm causing her to lay onto Smoke’s chest.

Just as Stack was about to answer her question with something smart his phone started buzzing in his pocket. He held up a finger at Cymone as he pulled his phone out his pocket and quickly wished he hadn’t when he saw the name on the screen.

Mary. Again.

Stack frustratedly blew out a breath as he hit the ignore button for the umpteenth time just for her to immediately call back causing him to power the whole phone off altogether. He then turned to see Cymone looking at him quizzically being that she was watching him the whole time.

“Why Mary blowing your phone up like that?”

Stack only turned his head and purse his lips cause he didn’t wanna tell her or Reana that he slipped up and fucked Mary, a little too good, right before he left causing the woman to become obsessed. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Reana’s mouth drop and soon after he heard Smoke chuckling. He turned his head back to Cymone to see her leaned further into Smoke with her eyes wide and hand on her chest as if she was offended.

“Did you fuck Mary Elias?”

He cringed at her calling his government name cause she only said it when she was mad or disappointed in him. He could tell in this situation it was definitely the latter of the two. Everybody round here knew the type of girl Mary was. She was one of them white girls that stayed in the hood posted up round niggas hanging on to the lil drop of black she had in her blood cause her granddaddy was mixed. She had already been hit by so many niggas in the hood before him, word was she was tryna have a mixed baby, so he didn’t think she was gone be so hung up on him all these years after.

“Yeah man, damn,” he finally answered as he ran his hand down his face.

“That’s a damn shame you let that squirrel ass hoe get to you. You back here laughing, did you fuck her too,” Cymone asked as she turned her accusatory gaze to Smoke who was still surprisingly cracking up.

“Nah. I’m lactose intolerant,” causing Stack to squint his eyes at his brother.

“It was a mistake and it only happened one time. I don’t give a damn bout that girl and I don’t know why her married ass keep calling me.”

“You must have really put it on her Stack. Gots to be mo careful baby boy,” Cymone said with a fake pout on her pretty lips and she rubbed his back.

“I’m just a man who likes to take care of the woman he lay with,” he remarked as he looked Cymone right in the eyes, noticing her freeze up.

She immediately leaned up and cleared her throat before turning her attention to Reana who had been watching the three of them with a little smirk on her face.

“Girl come on and let’s go upstairs so we can figure out your outfit,” Cymone said and she stood from the couch and all but snatched Reana from the floor to head upstairs to her room.

Stack leaned back on the couch with a grin wide as the Mississippi River. He had gotten her back for her mouth in the kitchen.

“Checkmate.”

Note: Sorry for the wait guys. My plan was to have this part out by Friday but life kept getting in the way chile but here is part 2!! Next part will more than likely only be from Cymone's point of view and she adjusts to her feelings for the twins and not to mention Rashad is still around. Also it’s so hard finding pictures of Michael with hair so just know that Stack has a short fro and Smoke has waves. Let me know what y'all and think I hope y'all enjoy! Also let me know if you would like to be tagged. See ya next time!

Tag List: @angryflowerwitch @cleo92bitch-i-am-old @reci1996 @hoodpr1ncessdiana @cerya @rose-bliss @thickemadame

[myclovernew]

hate you, love you [lee myung-gi]

⟢ pairing: myung-gi x fem!reader (basically replacing junhee as player 222 sorry jo yuri my queen)

⟢ fluff but a little steamy near the end...

⟢ word count: 4k

⟢ a/n: hai everyone this is my first ever fic here on tumblr and i haven't written anything in over four years so i apologize if the writing is terrible LOL squid game and myung-gi brainrot had me down BAD

the annoyingly cheerful music blaring at what felt like 7 in the morning woke me up. the last thing i could remember before falling asleep was getting into a white semi-van driven by a man in a red hoodie whose face i couldn't quite make out. so where in the hell was i now?

blinking a couple times before rubbing one eye, i slowly slid up to the point where i could feel the cold, metal backboard of the bed i was in through the thin polyester jacket i had on. that's when i realized i was in a completely different outfit than the one i had on the night before. looking around, i noticed others slowly waking, everyone in the same outfit as mine with only a slight difference. we were all numbered, and my number was 222.

a guy who was in the bed directly in front of mine started waking up at that moment, mumbling something incoherent to himself and then letting out a huge sigh. the number on the back of his jacket was 333. only when he turned slightly to his left is when i realized; i'd recognize that side profile anywhere.

"lee my-" before i could even finish calling out his name, the speaker sent out feedback indicating the start of something unknown. everyone was awake at this point, walking towards the center pool of people.

that's when an alarm went off, and an automatic door let in a group of eerily mysterious people dressed in pink jumpsuits, their faces covered by black masks with either squares or circles painted on them in white.

"i would like to extend a hearty welcome to all of you," one of the square guards started. i was watching from the foot of my bed, trying to scan the crowd to navigate that piece of shit. i can't believe that asshole is here too, i thought to myself while half paying attention to whatever the square guy is saying.

"everyone here will participate in six different games over six days." games? what are we in, grade school? "those who win all six games will receive a handsome cash prize."

now that's what i wanted to hear. when that salesman looking guy approached me a week ago, he had me play a game of ddakji, which i was a natural at. so of course i beat him on the first round. he gave me 100,000 won as a prize and a rustic brown business card with only a number on the back. i debated on calling the ominous number for days on end, but the final straw was having all 58 of my calls to that asshole myung-gi ignored. he had "borrowed" 500,000 won from me to kickstart a stock he was investing in and just never paid me back. a couple of weeks after was when i found out his dumbass had led a bunch of his stream viewers to invest in the wrong coin, causing a lot of not-so-happy, middle aged men struggling to make ends meet to go after him.

anyway, i was determined to make him pay.

a couple of people from the huge crowd started yelling out remarks, demanding for answers.

"what happened to my clothes?" "did you kidnap us?" "why are you wearing a mask?" "show your face!"

then one person started asking for their phone, insisting that they had to check the crypto market.

"player 333, lee myung-gi," the square guard had declared. my head immediately snapped up, eyes glued to the screen that had just turned on. a video of myung-gi started playing and it was him being embarrassingly bad at the same game of ddakji i had played with the salesman. i couldn't help but laugh to myself as hundreds of people watched him get slapped, how humiliating.

"current debt levels, 1.8 billion won." oh you had to be joking.

that made the measly 500,000 won he owed me look like nothing. no wonder he was ignoring my calls, the loser had absolutely no means of paying me back, let alone getting rid of his own debt.

i lost sight of myung-gi when the guards had us line up and sign what looked like a consent form to play the games. it seemed a bit excessive, but i guess they had to keep it all professional. we then had our photos taken before being led up multiple flights of pink, maze-like stairs.

all at once, three giant doors opened up to a large, sand-filled area. the guards instructed us to go in and stand behind the red line drawn on the ground. at the very end of the field was an enlarged cartoonish doll. what could we possibly be doing here?

i looked around for myung-gi again, hoping to catch him by surprise when he saw my face afters months of ignoring me.

"the first game is red light, green light," a woman's voice iterated through the speakers. red light, green light? i hadn't played that since i was a kid. "cross the finish line before the five minutes are up. if you do, you pass."

this honestly felt like a joke. why were we getting paid to play children's games?

"everyone!" i squinted my eyes to see a middle-aged man, his number being 456, run to the middle of the crowd. "everyone, pay attention!" he was waving his arms like a mad man to try and get everyone to listen to him.

"this is not just a game!" what?

"if you lose, you die!" there's no way that was true. did he mean get eliminated? they wouldn't really kill us, would they? i looked around to watch everyone else's expressions. some started visibly shaking, others shaking their heads in pure disbelief.

at that moment, the robotic doll turned around and put her hand up to her eyes.

"let the game begin."

the first "red light, green light" was said and everyone began to move. as soon as the doll stopped to look around, i stayed as still as possible. the man from earlier was still yelling at everyone to freeze, and something in me started to believe in what he was saying about the game. as i froze in place, i scanned the people around me. 239, 009, 176, 028, and 333. found you.

the next "red light, green light" played and i ran towards myung-gi. he might've been a crypto bro who practically lived at the pc cafe, but damn he was a fast runner. the next couple of "red light, green light's" went off and i was just about a feet behind him now. that's when a loud "bang" echoed throughout the hall. a gun shot. more gun shots sounded, followed by ear-piercing screams. stay still, stay still, i thought to myself.

then it went silent. everyone who was still alive was frozen in their places, not even moving when the doll said "red light, green light." my eyes focused on myung-gi. he was breathing so heavily i could hear him.

"red light, green light." the man from earlier, player 456, was the only one to move as he ran past all of us. "red light, green light." he moved a bit further, with his back facing us.

"the doll detects motion," he yelled out as he had one hand behind his back, moving it around to prove what he was saying was true. so as long as the doll couldn't physically see me moving, i would be fine.

"we're running out of time. we have to move!" shit.

"red light, green light." everyone moved then, finding someone bigger than them to hide behind. i was still behind myung-gi, who i admit was shorter than most guys here, but then again so was i. we were almost by the finish line, with a little less than a minute left.

"red light, green light." we moved again in a synced matter. but just as the doll was about to turn her head, myung-gi tripped on someone's foot. he's going to die, i thought. without thinking, i put out my arm, and grasped onto the back of his jacket.

"don't. move," i whisper-yelled, my teeth gritting against each other. myung-gi didn't make a sound.

"red light, green light," i let go and he regained his balance, the two of us crossing the finish line. i bent over, my hands resting on my knees as i tried to breathe normally again.

"y/n?" myung-gi questioned. i looked back up to him, scanning his face. as much as he was confused as to why i was here, he also looked relieved to see a familiar face.

"aren't you going to thank me?" i retorted. i did just save his life.

"oh, yeah," he said, his hand reaching the back of his head, "thank you. seriously." i sighed and gave him a slight nod. frankly, i was too exhausted and too desperate to get out of this place to even demand for my money back from him right now. he opened his mouth again, like he had something to say, but got quickly distracted by the ceiling of the arena slowly closing in. the game was over.

the guards had us all walk back into the room we woke up in. it was eerily quiet; people were scared for their lives. i just wanted to go home. i didn't even care about the money anymore. why would any of this even matter if i didn't make it out alive?

everyone made it back inside as the guards followed behind the last couple of players, stopping in front of the door they first walked out of. some of the players ran down to the middle of the floor and started kneeling to the ground, rubbing their hands profusely, begging to be saved.

"we are not trying to hurt you. we are only presenting you with an opportunity," the square guard declared.

"clause three of the consent form!" i turned around to look at the player that yelled this out. it was the same man that was helping everyone in the last game, player 456. "the games may be terminated upon a majority vote. correct?"

oh thank god. we actually had a chance at getting out of here before they had us all killed.

that's when the room went dim, and a golden piggy bank was slowly let down from the ceiling. even i was mesmerized, my eyes glued to the stacks of money falling into it. the guard then explained there was a sum of 9.1 billion won in the bank, and if we all wanted to leave now, it would be split by all current players. murmurs erupted, some people wanting to stay and play more games for the sum to rise, while others still wanted to leave.

"now, let's begin the vote."

the guards started calling out player numbers, starting from the last number, 456. the first vote was an X. each player received a tag with either an X or an O, indicating what they had voted for.

"player 333." i watched as myung-gi emerged from the crowd, and walked towards the buttons. i swear to god.

the sound of the button went off and so did a flash of blue light. he picked O.

he barely even made it through the first game without my help, yet he wanted to stay and continue playing? i scoffed to myself, he really did only care about himself.

"player 222." it was finally my turn. i walked up to the voting stand, confident in my answer. i hit the X button and received my tag. walking back to the group of other X voters, i looked over at myung-gi standing on the opposite side who was also watching me from afar. i narrowed my eyes and made a face full of utter disgust and disappointment, then looked away. in that moment, i regretted saving him at all.

the voting ended shortly, the O's winning by one point. we really had to stay and play another game. it was absurd to me, all these people being blinded by the money after seeing firsthand how one wrong move could literally get you killed.

food service happened after the voting and each person was given a meal. i walked back to my bed and opened up the metal box to find a layer of white rice, topped with an egg, sausage, and picked radish. it honestly wasn't bad at all. i was eating peacefully before myung-gi walked up, holding out his box of food and resting his arms on the foot of my bed.

"you want the radish? i know it's your favorite," i looked up at him, mid-chew of a mouthful of rice and egg. the radish was my favorite, but i was surprised he remembered that at all. without saying anything back, because i was still mad at him, i took the pieces of radish out of his box and put it in mine.

"are you mad at me?" i looked up from my food again. he could not be serious. we were making eye contact now, but the purple-ish, blue ring forming around his left eye caught my attention.

"what happened to your eye?" i asked, ignoring his initial question. i don't even know why i brought it up, i could care less about this asshole.

"don't worry about it." say less! i went back to eating my food, myung-gi still hovering, waiting for the answer to his question. i gave him a "what?" look with a shoulder shrug and seems like he took that for an answer because he turned back around and started walking away without saying another word.

i looked toward his direction ever so often after finishing up my meal. he really was a loser and didn't have anyone else here, not even someone to team up with. he sat straight up on his bed, poking at the rice with his spoon. a couple of hours passed by, and it was soon bedtime. the lights in the room dimmed and everyone was in their beds by this point. i pulled the thin cotton blanket over me and readjusted my pillow so it was leaning a bit against the bed board. i lay there on my back with my hands intertwined across my chest, closed my eyes and desperately tried to fall asleep. but it was one of those nights where your eyes were sleeping, and your body wasn't. hours passed and i was still awake. i tried turning to my side, readjusting my pillow again, but nothing worked. at a loss, i just kept my eyes open and stared at the bottom of the bed above mine.

the older gentleman to my right was snoring like there was no tomorrow, and a woman in her mid-20s to my left kept turning around every 5 minutes. even if i did manage to fall asleep, i probably would've woken up because of one or the other. that's when i heard someone nearby talking, or it was more of a loud whisper. i sat right up on my bed to figure out where the noise was coming from, only to see the source was right in front of me.

myung-gi was talking... but to himself? i slowly peeled the blanket off of myself and threw both legs over the edge of my bed. i stepped on my shoes without properly putting them on, and walked towards his bed, making sure not to make anymore noise that could wake up anyone else. i watched as myung-gi continued to blurt out sentences and random words in his sleep, but i couldn't quite make out what he was actually saying. his eyes were fully closed, but his eyebrows were at a slight furrow with sweat beading on his forehead. he looked like he was burning up. without even realizing, i reached my hand out to his forehead, hovering just an inch above it. i didn't even need to make contact with his skin to know he had a fever. i retracted my hand and bent down to my feet to fully put on my shoes before walking over to the door that led to the restroom. a guard was standing by the door and it took me a good 10 minutes for him to let me use the restroom, finally convincing him by saying it was that time of the month.

i grabbed a long piece of a paper towel, folded it, and let it run under the cold water for a bit. i walked back out the door without the guard noticing the paper towel in my hand and made it back to myung-gi, who was thankfully still asleep. i reached out my arms to place the towel on his forehead, but before i could take them back, myung-gi's hand wrapped around my left wrist. his eyes were slightly open, but i couldn't quite tell if he was actually awake or not.

"stay," he croaked, his voice coming out raspy. i stood there unsure what to do and his grasp still on my arm. "please."

well it's not like i could fall asleep anyway. i used my feet to take off my shoes and climbed into his bed, using his arm as a pillow. i cautiously turned to slightly face him, but myung-gi looked like he had already fallen back asleep. i turned back around, closed my eyes, and without even knowing it, fell asleep right then.

i felt warmer than usual as i started waking up to the same music that played when i first got here. eyes still closed, i turned over to my right side and felt even warmer. it was a nice feeling and i wanted to stay here just for a couple more minutes.

the chatter from the people around me woke me up. vision still blurry, i blinked profusely to make sure i wasn't hallucinating. i was looking straight at myung-gi, our faces almost an inch apart. his eyes were still closed and i could even hear his heartbeat; we were that close. we were also under the same blanket now, not knowing how i even got to that position considering he was hogging the thing when i first laid down.

i didn't know what to do. i didn't want to move now because then he'd wake up and i'd have to confront him. i just kept looking at his face, focusing on the bruise from yesterday, which was now a little darker in color. he didn't look like he still had a fever, but something in me wanted to check anyway. i freed my left arm from my own grip and slowly raised it up to his forehead, but before i could even check, myung-gi opened his eyes. i quickly dropped my hand and closed my eyes, pretending like i had never even woken.

fuck, fuck, fuck, shit, shit, shit.

then i heard him starting to laugh, myung-gi was laughing at me. i peeked one eye open and he started to laugh even harder. now i felt myself heating up. guards please take me now, just take me now. as i was about to say something, myung-gi used the blanket to cover me entirely and pulled me in even closer.

"what the fuck are you do-" i tried to get out, but my voice got muffled by the blanket as he brought me in even closer. oh my god i thought i was going to explode.

"you hiding something under that blanket?" a voice questioned from outside. i took that as my queue to stay as silent as possible.

"no, why would i be?" myung-gi answered back.

"don't talk back to me, fucker. unless you want a matching black eye." oh, so this must've been the person that beat the shit out of myung-gi yesterday. myung-gi didn't respond this time, but i could feel his arm around me loosen as the footsteps got further away. i reached for the rim of the blanket and pulled it back down enough for my face to show. that was a bad idea, because i was just about touching his chest now.

"if you wanted a hug you could've just said so," he said sarcastically, a one-sided grin forming on his face as he looked down at me.

"in your dreams," i said, all flustered. i quickly pushed myself away before he could pull anything else and practically stumbled out of the bed. i didn't even look back as i put on my shoes and walked out to regroup with the rest of the players.

they had us get into groups of five for the second game, making it a game based on team effort. i teamed up with four older guys, one of them being player 456 from earlier. i was glad i didn't end up with myung-gi this game, because honestly i didn't know how to face him after last night. but i still found myself glancing over at him throughout the game to make sure he was still alive.

we both got through the second game, but it was still silence between us. i didn't go up to him and neither did he try and talk to me. i couldn't fall asleep that night either, but i didn't dare get out of my bed.

the next game came around quickly. i stuck with the group i had made during the previous game, and we quickly got the hang of this new game. we were placed onto a merry-go-round like platform and spun around until the music stopped. the speaker would blurt out a number and the same amount of people would need to run and find a room to stay in. if the room had more or less people than the number that was said, you would die. as a group of 5, we got through teams of 3 and 6 pretty easily. but then the speaker called out 2. i looked up as everyone paired up, and i had no one. my mind went fuzzy, everyone was running around screaming and looking for their friends. i felt like i was going to faint until i felt someone grab onto my wrist and started to drag me off the platform. i picked up on the pace and ran like my life depended on it, because it did.

we ran into a purple room and shut the door. my back was pinned to the wall as myung-gi still held onto my wrist. we were both trying to catch our breath, but then he leaned in closer. my body froze and we were only inches apart again. i was looking into his eyes, then panned down to his lips, just to trace back up to his eyes again. the door clicked shut and we were stuck in here. together.

in that moment, i felt his lips touch mine. i closed my eyes as i let myself melt into the kiss. he let go of my wrist and positioned one hand at my waist while the other creeped up the back of my neck. i could feel my shirt fleeting as his fingertips made contact with my skin ever so lightly. my hands made their way up his chest as i gripped onto his shirt and pulled him in even closer, deepening the kiss and eliciting a whiny moan from him. i wanted this to go on forever.

the door made another clicking sound, letting us know we could go back out. i loosened my grip before myung-gi could get his hand up any higher under my shirt.

"we have to," i let out, mid-kiss, "go." we both came to a stop then, realizing we had to go back out onto the platform. i quickly straightened up my shirt with my hands and reached up to myung-gi's hair which was looking all disheveled now to smooth it back out into his natural middle part.

"we're not done yet," he whispered into my ear as we walked out the door, parting ways once again.

that's when i knew i'd be getting a good night's sleep tonight.

[hurtspideyparker]

Emotional Support Intern Peter Parker

Tony and Peter finally arrive in the large room, polished leather Oxfords and stained-lace Converse making their way through the crowd of professionals. Tony has a hand on Peter's back guiding him, because no matter how many meetings, conferences, and office buildings they traverse together, Peter always manages to get lost the second Tony lets go. 

Thankfully Pepper is easy to spot, shaking hands with some blah blah from wee woo Industries. Her hair is the only splash of colour in the constant white black grey of everyone's pencil skirts and collared shirts. 

"Hi Ms. Potts!" Peter greets as soon as the woman turns and spots them. 

"Hi Peter—Tony. I told you to stop bringing the kid to these things. No offense Peter."

"None taken! You look lovely, did you get your hair done?"

Pepper's hair cascades over her shoulder in perfect curls, splayed out over her white button-up. 

"Yes actually, a trim and some highlights. I think she went shorter than I asked though, because I always get half an inch, and this does not look like half an inch."

Peter steps a bit closer and squints at the piece of copper hair she's holding out. 

"I think it's just because she curled it. You usually get it blow dried after."

"Hm. I think you're right actually."

Tony rolls his eyes, "I'm so glad you guys are having such a great slumber party. C'mon kid I have to avoid that senator and he's starting to glance this way." He tries to head over to some tall plants that happen to be great blind spots. 

"Ah ah ah Tony! We are talking about this. I told you to stop dragging Peter to all of your work responsibilities. I'm sure he's bored to death with these meetings and work events."

"Pep, he's an intern, he's supposed to be bored and taken advantage of. Besides, if you take away my emotional support intern then I simply wouldn't show up! So."

"You aren't even paying him for his time!" Pepper says at the same time Peter mumbles "emotional support intern?"

"Um excuse me, that 3 million dollar suit he stuffs between his math homework and Go-Gurt begs to differ. And anyways, I pay him with experience. I brought him to that seminar in LA on Saturday, and he's following me to Tokyo for that week long conference in July. I highly doubt he's complaining," he squeezes the boy's shoulders, Peter looking up and beaming at him and Pepper. 

"I'm really fine with it Ms. Potts. Besides, the more of these things I go to the more lab time I get!" Peter pipes in.

Pepper glares at Tony. "Really, bribery?" 

"Okay well, if us grown adults don't want to be here how else am I supposed to get a 15 year old to talk about environmental reform to people who don't even believe in climate change." 

Pepper and Tony hold each other's stares.

"You mean he spoke to Mr. Ellis about the generator you designed for his carbon plant, and it didn't end with him calling us a pansy corporation and you calling him a decrepit geezer who's business is the only thing that's going to die quicker than he is?"

There's barely stiffled hope supressed under Pepper's professionalism. 

Tony smirks. "Yep, I think Mr. Ellis even smiled. The kid's got charm! Who knew."

Pepper glances at Peter in consideration. 

"Peter have you ever considered pursuing anything further in business? Engineering is great, but if you really want to be successful it's incredibly important to build interpersonal skills, leadership, and even current market and finance knowledge. I mean you might want to sell your designs one day, or start a company." 

"Oh, I haven't really-"

"You could shadow me! I mean interning with a CEO is a once in a lifetime opportunity, it would give you a glowing resume, and I know a lot more about this stuff than Tony. He didn't even perform his executive duties when he actually was the CEO."

Pepper has that gleam in her eyes, the one she gets when men call her sweetheart, or when Tony isn't even dressed for their reservation that started ten minutes ago. 

It means she's already had the argument in her head. 

Peter is still stuttering, flustered with this side of Pepper. Her business face isn't usually directed at him, and it's a far cry from the woman who sends him home with leftovers from dinner. 

"Wait wait wait, are you trying to steal my intern?" Tony asks incredulously. 

"If anyone even needs an intern Tony it would be me. I have to babysit you and the company, meanwhile you just need him to hand you wrenches. Competent help is hard to find these days and you're wasting his talents." 

"Um, excuse me, he's the only thing keeping me together. You already have your fancy day planner and Excel spreadsheets, I need him to get me out of the house. He's the only thing keeping me a responsible adult, if you take away my emotional support intern then I will not attend a single meeting for the rest of the quarter." 

"You are such a man child!"

"La la la la can't hear youuu," Tony says with his fingers in his ears.

"Um, guys, I think people are staring."

Peter tugs on the corner of Tony's sleeve to get him to unplug his ears, glancing nervously at the groups of people sending them judgemental stares. The three of them give a wave and pleasant smile, most of the crowd continuing to move along on the grey carpet at the sight of their unsettling synchronicity and false turn of the lips. 

Pepper speaks through her teeth, a grin still presented at passers-by. "Fine, you can keep him, but only because he's doing half my job for me. The only person you can emotionally regulate around and it's a teenager. I'm glad you finally found someone who can keep you entertained." 

"Love you too honey," Tony says while putting a hand on the small of her back and kissing her cheek. He sighs, looking around the room at all the government officials who think these tech companies are spying on them. 

Apparently a surveillance state is only cool when they do it to manipulate their incarceration numbers, rig elections and lobby votes, and not for data mining and targeted ads. 

"I say we hit the cheese and crackers, take an awkward amount of sips from those tiny water bottles, and then speak to some old ladies till we have to do our presentation."

"Sounds great Mr. Stark. Will you make sure they don't grab my face again? I smelled like old lady perfume at school and Flash started making fun of me for stealing people's grandmas."

Tony looks into Peter's eyes questioningly and finds nothing but sincerity and resignation in them. 

"Well. Not my fault your cheeks are so gosh darn cute. But I'll do my best," he wraps an arm around the shorter and starts heading through the room again. 

The weight is comforting. Peter used to get anxious at these events, but Tony never leaves his side and is always looking at him like he's the Michaelangelo in the center of every room. He became accustomed to being Mr. Stark's favourite part of the event. While that may not seem difficult, especially considering the droning lectures and snooty company, it always feels special making jokes about people's ridiculous work jargon, and comparing the staleness of crackers at conferences. 

"Emotional support intern huh?" he says smugly. 

Tony glances at him, but instead of scoffing or denying anything, he just speaks with honesty. "You and Pepper are the best, most important things to this company. And to me. I'm really glad you're here kid."

Peter doesn't know what to say. The words stick in his throat while Tony hands him a water bottle with the lid already cracked. 

Peter has super strength; It's completely unnecessary to open his bottle for him. He doesn't point this out. Tony will do it at the next meeting, just like he did at the last one, and Peter will never mention it.

[blank-slate-jay]

Just for You

Elias 'Stack' Moore x Male!Reader

Word Count: 1.3k

Request: "I would like to see something soft and fluffy for stack maybe male reader and his first I love you or smth like that? KEEP UP THE GREAT WORK POOKIE!!"

Tags: Black!Reader, Fluff, Flirting, Confession

A/N: Thanks for the request. This one's short and sweet! I really had fun with this one, lots of bickering between you two. I've been timing my fics on Sunday, unintentionally, but this week going into the next, is gonna be a wave of Male!Reader fics for Sinners so there's that! Anyways, hope you like this!

“I don’ know what your up too, but I ain’ approve of it if it’s anything bad.”

He sucks his teeth, fixing his posture in the driver seat, “You know I wouldn’ put you in danger.”

"Ok, so then where we going, huh?", you nudge his arm.

"You'll see."

You jokingly sigh, leaning back into the seat, the air cooler than usual. Stack drove the two of you past a familiar town, heading further south. You raise an eyebrow, glancing back momentarily. Suspicion started to set in, only made worse by Stack trying to conceal his smirk.

You stare at him, long enough to where he finally looks back at you. “Somethin’ is up,” you point.

He grabs your hand before it could fall to your lap, pulling it into his instead.

“Nothin’ is up, baby. You just need somethin’ new. Somethin’ that’ll make you shine even more.”

Your brows rose even more, finally getting somewhere, although still vague. But you decide not to press, wanting him to savor whatever scheme was up his sleeve. You almost rest deeper into the seat, but Stack pulls you closer til your knees touch.

He leans his head toward you, eyes still on the road, knowing you well. Promptly his cheek receives a kiss. Another follows as he wanted extra.

“One more.”

With one long kiss on the cheek, you let yourself relax against his shoulder as the ride continues.

The foliage opens up, and just up ahead was a town you were familiar with from the occasional times you came this far out. Wasn’t anything fancy or excessive necessarily. It was somewhat nicer from your local town in Clarkstown though.

Stack drove through casually while you pick up any bad-apples or suspicious folk among the road and street; a bad habit really. Stack turns into an open spot, just between two trucks, putting his vehicle to rest. He lets out a sigh, jumping out, fixing his coat, “Aight.”

“You sure nobody here’s gonna steal your shit?”

He shakes, “Nobody done nothin’ to my shit yet, cause they know who I am. They know my car.”

You nod, “Just give me the call if someone needs shooting. I got your back.”

“Tough guy.,” he states, leading the way. “Don’ worry yourself, they know what’s to come if they fuck with my shit”.

“If you say so.”

Stack leads you past a few places, from plant shops to general stores, until suddenly turning toward one painted in black. He holds the door open, a small bell ringing. “Noah.”

Clothes were everywhere, hanging and most folded along multiple shelves stretching across the room. A man, dawning in white and black, pops out from under the counter. He coughs, “Stack…”

Stack grips his coat’s collar, “You have some time? My…fine companion here is looking to buy something new.”

"Ah! Give me a moment, I'll be with y'all."

You glance at Stack, confused but also a bit surprised. “Clothes...?"

He leans closer, voice dropping to a whisper, "Trust me, you need it." He pats your chest, walking around as you curiously look yourself over. Your clothes weren't…bad, rather it was standard you’d say. Your attire wasn’t making it into any magazine in the delta. As for needing new clothes, you weren’t gonna say no to that.

--

With the right measurements, you were offered a selection of tailor clothing to try on. The first two weren't half-bad, they were a little too formal for your liking, but Stack insists you get at least something that screams wealth.

You didn't like any, until you button up your third coat, adding the top hat that matches perfectly. Observing yourself in the mirror, you wouldn't lie if it didn't make you feel like you shine, as Stack put it. It was perfectly in the middle of not too casual but not too fancy.

Stepping out, Stack was awaiting you. He pipes up upon seeing you step out, your hands fixing up your dented sleeve.

"Here we go", Stack compliments. You do a slow twirl around, dropping your hat as any gentleman would.

You had yourself a small applause from Stack. "What do you think?"

"What do you think?", he repeats back.

"It works. Would like a different color for the coat though."

"Noah-"

The store owner fetches you up the coat of your choice, and soon the streets of town would bear witness to your new attire. You were helpless to Stack hyping you up for the next hour or so in town, the two of you both spending time roaming around buying additional needs. The small smirk on your face never left, it was difficult to wipe off; how could you when he is building your ego. After a quick street performance, you return to his vehicle, feeling beat from the sun.

“I’ll drive,” you comment, putting your wrapped items in the back seat. 

You drive off, past town, heading back south. Steering out of town was a relief, less people as well as quieter rural roads were calming. 

Stack remains quiet, aside from you humming and him tapping on beat with the door.

“You ain’ hot?”

His head shook, “Ya get use to it.”

“Don’ know how you do it, Stack.”

He chuckles, biting at his finger. "Wear it often, sweat won' kill ya."

"It's the extra layers is all," you comment while playing with your collar. "Won' be bad indoors at least." He agrees, resuming his casual rhythmic taps. Though the heat was a complaint, you couldn't be more grateful for the gift. You never asked for it, nor was it a necessity, but it was certainly enlightening he gave something such as what you wore consideration.

You glance at him for a moment, "Thank you, by the way, seriously."

Stack was flattered, you could tell. "Of course, just don' cause a crash is all."

You maliciously step on the brakes for a split-second, gasping. Stack grips his hat tightly, for a split second seeing worry crossover his face was amusing. You laugh out loud, at him looking at you like you're crazy. "Sorry." You didn't mean it fully, your grin still remaining.

"Scared the lights outta me".

"Ya heard what I said?"

"Yeah! What you want me to say it formally, you're welcome?"

"No runnin', I'm tryin' be serious. I owe you."

He huffs, "Stop with that."

You laughter settles down, "No think about it, the shack, money, this", you motion to your clothes.

"Look, I love ya, you don't gotta do nothin' you aren' already doin' to make me any happier."

Your eyes left the road, observing him. It could be inferred you were questioning his words, if he was actually being serious.

Stack picks up on this, nodding, “Yeah, yeah see I'm being serious now too"

You focus back on the road, feeling your cheeks slightly becoming flushed. You huff, biting your tongue, at a loss for words. 

“I ain’ lyin’, you know.”

You nearly stumble over your words, but you find your footing, "When two people care…love each other, they usually give back to one another. So, I think it's fair that I give something to you." Stack doesn't say anything, perhaps he was coming up with another refute, or reading between the lines; so you clear it up. "And yes, I love ya too."

Uncontrollably your gaze darts to his for a second, seeing him nod repeatedly. The two of you go quiet for a moment, with Stack silently commenting how hot it was, ironically so. He offers up his hand for you, which you happily take up, a warm fuzzy sensation riddling your stomach.

“I’d happily take whatever you want for me,” he mentions.

You give a silent hum, with vague ideas springing. Those could wait, for now, you let the feeling silk in. Learning two things, Stack loved you and he doesn't like to be scared; both were duly noted.

[thoughtsfromlayla]

Lady Luck is Smiling - Chapter Seven

.☘︎ ݁˖ Fortes Fortuna Adiuvat - Fortuna Favors the Brave

Summary: When the Fates leave Morpheus' call unanswered, he gains insight into another goddess that may be able to help regain his lost tools. Lady Luck, as you go by now as opposed to Fortuna nor Tyche, is the second youngest of the Four Ladies. Morpheus is determined to learn how and what makes you smile, for your smile will allow luck to be on his side, and with any of it, will he find his tools.

Warnings/Tags: Flashback chapter, death of a (side) character, use of Y/N

Word count: 3.7k

Main Masterlist || Series Masterlist

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•☽────✧˖°˖☆˖°˖✧────☾•☽────✧˖°˖☆˖°˖✧────☾•

Previously, on LLIS:

You manage to choke out a scream when Lucifer pushes their nail into the soft side of your skull. When Morpheus shifted in your mind looking for information about Johanna, it felt like a finger carding through a long cabinet full of manilla folders. Lucifer, however, felt like opening your personal diary and ripping out the pages that didn’t entertain them hard enough. 

“Stop,” you say weakly, the breath of your protest turning into a wispy cloud of vapor in the cold castle. 

“Ah…” Lucifer smiles wickedly, ignoring your objection. “Here we go.”

Black fills your vision, your lips gaping open as you gasp for breath. Then, you smell it. 

•☽────✧˖°˖☆˖°˖✧────☾•

475 A.D. - One year before the fall of the Roman Empire

Sea salt. 

You blink away tears, sniffling as you dig your fingers into the soft white sand beach of the Mediterranean Sea. Your head rests on your knees and you swallow back another tear that tries to escape. 

“There you are, Y/N,” your lady calls to you. Gods… how you have missed the sound of your own name. 

Her steps are quiet against the sand before she sits at your side. She preens at your hair as a show of comfort—plucking away the dying hydrangea petals from your scalp. 

“Why are you hiding now, little nymph?” Fortuna asks softly, watching your hair grow from sad blue to an angry red. 

“They pick on me again, my lady,” you grumble, digging your toes into the sand this time. 

“You know how jealous they can get. They only do it because they know you’re my favorite,” Fortuna replies, keeping her tone soft. “I, for one, think your magic is coming along swimmingly.”

Your sisters, mischievous little shits, have decided to completely ruin your flower bed after you went out to practice your divinations with her ladyship. You left it perfect when you woke up from it that morning—a distinct blend of lamb’s ears and camellias—only to return to it being ripped apart and replaced with dry, prickly twigs and dried cow dung. 

Last week, they teased and poked about your hair until the hydrangea petals turned into an ugly color of green from embarrassment. Fortuna found you by the alcove again trying to rip the flowers out from your scalp before managing to calm you down. 

It’s been going on like that for months ever since the goddess had decreed you her apprentice. Whatever the hell that really meant. All you’ve been doing is following her around the mediterranean running errands and watching her answer prayers for luck. But, rarely has there been any significant training to be done. Not really that you complained, it was fun following Fortuna around anyway. 

“You're my favorite, too,” you manage, sighing.

Your head falls onto Fortuna’s shoulder and your lady lets out a soft chuckle. Her hand moves from your hair and falls to your slumped shoulder, running it up and down to soothe you some more. The two of you stay like that for a while, silent in each other's company. Until Fortuna asks you a question.

“Can you feel the changes, little Y/N?”

You turn your nose to the wind, taking a few tentative sniffs. All you smell is the sea salt and your own hydrangeas. If only your nose wasn’t so clogged from crying, damn it. 

“Feel, little flower nymph. Not smell.” Fortuna laughs at your naivety. 

 “Then I feel nothing other than the breeze in my branches, my lady,” you respond. 

Fortuna nods, almost expecting that answer. “That is all right, Y/N. You need only know that there will soon be a time where I won’t be here for you anymore.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“Do you believe Gods to be immortal?”

“Yes.”

“A common misconception. We exist only for the mortals who believe us. When modern man comes with modern ideals, the old—even their deities—will die with them.” 

“I don’t get it, my lady,” 

“You will. Sooner than you’d think.”

“I won’t let you die,” you promise fiercely, fingers fisted tightly. 

“Noble little flower nymph,” Fortuna chides, petting the bridge of your nose. “Thank you.”

A moment of silence passes between you. This time, however, it didn’t feel as lonely. 

“Shall we continue your lessons?” Fortuna asks soon after to which you nod. 

493 A.D.

You twirl a stem of hydrangeas around your finger as you follow Fortuna to the clearing. It was the week of Artemis’ hunt, where the goddess creates a mighty beast that the Gods and Goddesses try to subdue. There isn’t much of a prize other than bragging rights and most of the deities that attended only come for the food and drinks. 

There’s a faint outline of a spell around the forest clearing, a high-quality golden aura that shielded the space from mortal eyes and other dangers. Stepping across the written line of runes, the sound of laughter and general commotion greets you. 

Dionysus is the loudest amongst the bunch, slamming down another keg of wine. You can’t help the smile that splits on your face. A whole week without your sisters and only Fortuna’s attentions? Yes, please. Excitement jitters through your entire body, you can feel it shivering through your toes and the way you clench your teeth. 

“Fortuna,” Isis calls out, the Egyptian goddess of fertility slinking up and linking arms with your lady. “And you brought a pet today.”

“My Lady,” you respond respectfully, bowing your head. 

Isis’ cool finger lifts your chin, a smile gracing her lips. “Can I steal her?” 

“No.” Fortuna laughs like a chime. “I fear you cannot. This one is mine to protect.”

A warm feeling spreads through your chest and you puff it out with pride. Your hydrangea-petaled hair glows a soft pink as Fortuna wraps an arm around your shoulders, pulling you away from Isis and towards the long, prepared wooden table. 

A delectable spread is placed upon a linen cloth and you snatch a vine of grapes as Fortuna greets her other friends. You sigh happily as you feel the wind against your skin, it’s been too long since you’ve had a celebration like this.

Last year and a few months ago, Fortuna insisted that they didn’t celebrate the summer solstice. You were more angry at the lack of celebration and community than Fortuna ever was. For as long as you’ve been Fortuna’s apprentice and possibly years before, Fortuna is celebrated by young women nationwide on every 24th of June. 

You’re not entirely sure why, but it surely was a disappointment when you awoke on June 24th for it to be just like the day before. Fortuna acted odd throughout that day, even if she tried to hide it. She was lethargic—tired and sluggish, even when you tried to cheer her up. 

A shadow of a figure pulls you out of your reminiscent stupor. He stood at the edge of the clearing, keeping to himself in his black toga. You knew of him, even at a young age. Dream of the Endless was hard to miss, especially when his hair constantly looked like it was freshly ruffled by deep sleep. Though, at this time and age, he went by Onerios. 

Calliope stands by his side, regal as ever, the white of her toga pairs with her olive skin perfectly. You sent a gleeful wave at the muse, remembering the occasions she came to visit Fortuna near the sea. She had always been kind to you, seeking your company at the white sanded beach side when Fortuna was too busy for either of you. The muse smiles back at you, raising a brass goblet in your direction. 

Fortuna stops you before you could go over to her with a gentle hand. “Shall you get ready for tonight?” She redirects instead. 

“Yes, my lady.”

By the time the sun had set, and the center stage was lit with fireflies and melting honey candles, you have changed into dancing clothes. It copies the other nymphs nearby, with flowing and thin fabrics colored from different petals, moss, or vines. 

“You are beautiful, little flower nymph,” Fortuna praises, fixing a lopsided golden hair piece by your ear. 

“Thank you, my lady,” you beam, pride swelling in your chest. 

Fortuna nods before taking her seat by Isis, who nursed yet another glass of wine. You sweep your eyes across the audience of gods and goddesses that sat in their ornate chairs in a circle around the stage. The chairs themselves are like a work of stained glass art, made of different materials that reflect the gods themselves—sunstone, marble, obsidian, or coral all alike. The tables in front of them separate them from the dancers and is filled, yet again, with a spread of fruits, jams, and meats. 

Calliope sends a smile in your direction when your eyes meet again and you return it. You’ll dance for her tonight—to show how far you’ve gotten since the last she’s seen you practice. 

The moon rises higher in the sky by the time Apollo pulls out his lyre. Music swells and you move under the stage with the other nymphs. In a stir of flower petals, you rise above the stage with the other nymphs, delicate footed and graceful. The air suddenly took on a sweet smell. Honeysuckles, lavenders, roses, hydrangeas, and gardenias accompany the taste of drunken nectar in their brass goblets. 

Limbs move like willow branches in a soft breeze, following the fall and rise of Apollo’s music. Flowers bloom and wilt along with your movements. The dance is not one made by man, but rather a guide from Gaia herself. Where inspiration is pulled by the way seaweed would sway with the tide or how spring rain dewed on wild prairie tallgrass. 

Morpheus leans back in his obsidian chair, his eyes narrow as his attention focuses on you without your knowledge. He has seen the wonders of the universe with his starry eyes, he’s even created some of them, but something about your smile or the way your steps were softer than a lover’s sigh caught his attention. 

Calliope claps on beat by his side, enjoying the dance, but he is beyond enjoying. He is inspired. 

»» ──── .☘︎ ݁˖x ࣪ ִֶָ☾.

It’s the fourth day of the hunt and you’re beyond tired of company. It’s not to say you don’t like company, but it’s becoming overwhelming. There is only so much a nymph could drink wine before her branches cry out for some fresh water. Your petals have withered into sad, off-white balls on your head, which only causes your headache to grow. 

Fortuna is in a hunting group with a few other deities, leaving you alone in the relatively empty clearing. You manage to find a small pond nearby, and after making sure no one else was around, you strip yourself bare and jump in. 

The light dances across your eyes as you slowly sink into the clear pond. The sun permeates into the water in strips, ghosting across your skin in phantom warmth as the water distorts the light. Your flowers soak in the crisp, clean lakewater with relief and your headache slowly recedes. Bubbles escape your mouth as you let go of your breath before breaking the water’s surface. 

“Enjoying the time alone?” A voice asks as soon as you come up. 

Opening your eyes, you smile before you speak. “Calliope,” you say happily, treading closer to the lake’s edge. “You didn’t join the hunt today?” 

“No,” she responds. She removes her sandals and lifts her toga, dipping her feet into the lake by your side. “I believe I have lost all energies for partying.”

“I am the same. No one is surprised that the fermented wine from Dionysis’ own vineyard would not agree with a flower nymph such as I.” You let out a laugh, your hair fuller now that it’s rehydrated. “What of you?”

“Must be the child.”

“Child? What child?”

Calliope smiles at you and your eyes widen as it lands on her still flat stomach. “Oh, my Gods! You are with child!”

Her smile only widens which confirmed your exclaimed suspicion and you almost launch yourself at her, wet and all. But, you hold yourself back, instead letting out a soft squeal. “Does Onerios know?”

“Not yet,” Calliope admits. “I haven’t found the right time to tell him. He’s awfully busy as he often is. Even now Onerios is in the Dream Realm. ”

“I understand.” You lay your head on a propped hand. “Thank you for telling me. I bet you’ll be a great mother.”

Before Calliope could answer, a loud roar echoed through the clearing. The sound is startling enough for the birds to scatter and for you and Calliope to tense from the otherwise happy conversation. You pull yourself out of the lake, quickly tying the fabric of your dress around your body. 

The creature roars again, this time much closer. 

“We should definitely go,” you murmur urgently, grabbing Calliope’s hand as you start to make your way back towards the clearing and the protective wards surrounding it. 

The sound of trees tearing from their roots has your eyes casting East. The Beast resembles a disfigured boar as it emerges from the thicket of the forest like the physical embodiment of a nightmare. If it weren’t for the unbelievable danger you were in, you would admire the beauty of it. 

Its muscles are large and taut under a thick hide of wiry black fur. You watch with horror as its muscle ripple and its thunderous hooves begin to set its steadfast path towards you and Calliope. 

“Run,” you say weakly, your breath shaking as Artemis’ beasts lock eyes with you and Calliope. “Run!”

Hand in hand, you and Calliope fall into a sprint, your legs pumping faster and faster as you make your way towards the forest cleaning. 

The smell of damp, upturned Earth from its destructive path reaches your nose, the sound of its aggressive snorting and roars getting closer and closer no matter how fast you pick up your feet. 

Your feet make it across the barrier just in time for the Beast to ram its large head against the golden ward and you let out a terrified shriek. It bangs its head against the barrier again, the two types of godly magic clashing with each other. You stare in horror as the barrier begins to break. 

Lightning strike fissures appear and grow from the point of impact, cracking with deafening booms down the ward. Your blood is pumping through your ears, muffling the sound of Calliope calling your name as she pulls you further away from the Beast. 

They say there is always a defining moment in one’s life and the pinnacle splits in half what was known as “before” and what will be known as “after.” When the plan barely zaps into your head, you don’t know it was going to be the part of “before.”

You are Fortuna’s apprentice and therefore you also share her values. Fortuna, goddess of fortune and misfortune, was also a fertility goddess and protector of pregnant women. Calliope’s screams of your name fall on deaf ears as your blood pumps through your body again, pushing your bare feet against the fertile ground. 

So focused on the wailing Calliope, the boar-like beast doesn’t notice you until you’re past the barrier, the scent of your divinity wavering through the air. You stare it dead in its soul-crushing eyes and bring your fingers to your mouth, blowing hard. 

The whistle pierces through the dense forest, a clear signal and taunt. You have to bring Artemis’ beast away from the clearing and more importantly, away from Calliope. That is the first part of the plan, but anything past that, you don’t really get a chance to think through. 

You dodge a trunk that comes soaring towards you, the upheaved dirt covering your otherwise clean toga. The Beast was gaining on you as you continued to run amongst the open field. Part of the plan? Kill the Beast perhaps. 

You don’t have time to focus on the whispers of doubt that would take any opportunity to cloud your mind. Fortuna always said one needed a clear conscience before casting spells and that’s exactly what you need to do. 

You stop, watching the Beast make its way towards you still. “Clipeum,” you say with clarity, making the motions of a circle with your fingertips from the top of your head down to your naval. 

A giant circle of magic forms in front of you, creating a shield that formed just in time for the boar to ram its head at. You brace against it with your palm pressed against the surface, digging your feet into the ground to steady the spell. 

How the hell are you meant to kill a beast even a group of worshipped Gods and Goddesses cannot?

The doubt seeps into your mind and the shield cracks, sending the Beast ramming you backwards. You land against the soil, rolling before coming to a stop. You take in a wheezing breath, holding your ribs—you definitely hit a rock on that fall. Taking a deep break and shaking your head from any lingering doubts, you start your next spell. 

“Te caeco,” you say weakly. You let out a sharp cry as you lift your arm, your chest screaming out in protest as the pain stops you from casting the spell perfectly. 

The spell fizzles from your fingers. You could physically feel the magic within you wanting to perform it, but it lacked due to the wrong motions of your fingers. You take in a deep breath, holding it as you push through the pain of the motion and you repeat the divination. 

Your muscles tense as you raise your arm, your breath coming in sharp bursts. A spark emits from the tips of your fingers just as your vision starts to blur. Relief of the magic performing merges with the despair of your pain. 

The blinding light shoots for the boar’s eyes, but it doesn’t last long. In fact, it only made it more angry. Its eyes turn white with your blinding spell but it only causes the Beast to start charging at you aimlessly. 

Do you go for offensive maneuvers or defensive tactics? The spells in your head that Fortuna has taught you flip through like an open spellbook. There was one spell that your mind keeps returning to as the milliseconds ticks by. But, it’s dangerous and Fortuna has forbidden you to ever use it. 

In the face of impending death, is there really much of a choice?

You scream through the pain as you clap your hands above your head. “Vera visio: Mille Limbed Arbor.” 

What hurts more? A broken rib or growing three extra pairs of arms? 

As your branches of your small nymph body begin to groan in protest, the sizes of them shrinking and splitting, you’ll conclude the latter. But as you remember that you were doing this to save not only your friend, but also her unborn child, the pain numbs. 

Two arms is easy enough to control but you can’t really say the same about eight. You use the last of your consciousness to focus, bringing your arms down in intervals so it surrounds you. The moon rises, its soft light a comforting aura on your bark-like skin. 

“O Fortuna,” you begin with a prayer to your goddess. “fune fatali monstrum alliga, et in umbris perpetuis dele!” 

Runes etch themselves into your skin, your body burning with overflowing magic. Your will is strong, your conscience clear. But your experience is lacking. A spell this powerful requires multiple casters, but you’ve managed to do it yourself—only with the sacrifice of growing a few more arms. 

The heat expands inside of you, like a pot of water turning from a shimmer to a boil and then…

Nothing. 

The spell fizzles like a cruel twist of fate.

Frozen with pain, you merely watch as it comes lunging at you. This is it—your century of life ended by the hands of Artemis’ beast. 

“Y/N!” Your name is called in the distance, sharp spoken in a scream. An ensemble of the hunting group of gods and goddesses follow her as they find the tracks leading to the beast. The Hunt was coming to an end, finally. 

Fortuna’s flow of golden curls envelopes you as she wraps her arms around your broken body. You take in a sharp inhale of breath, the hug warm and welcome but pushing against the pain of your ribs. 

“My lady,” you breathe out in relief. Everything should be fine now, Fortuna was here. She always came when you needed her most. 

The warmth was fleeting, however, before Fortuna pushed you out of her arms. Your eyes widen with disbelief as your body falls backwards and confusion and betrayal wraps around your heart and squeezes. 

“I’m sorry.” The apology comes out of your mouth before you even know why.

Meeting Fortuna’s eyes felt the same as it always had—safe and homelike, just like the smell of sea salt in the air by the alcove of the Mediterranean Sea. Her lips press into a thin line, like she was accepting her fate.

Fortuna’s warmth touches you again, but this time it came in the color of liquid gold. Her divine blood spurts across your body and you watch with horror, the motion slow as it happens in front of you, as the tusk of the boar-like beast skewers her chest. 

Magic disperses, surrounding you like a heavy blanket. Fortuna lets out a small guttural noise as the beast pulls back and removes its tusk. The hunting group managed to kill it within that time, but that was irrelevant to you now. 

Fortuna lays in a lump on the ground and you find the strength to bring your aching and shaking legs towards her bleeding body. She wasn’t moving and the worst was starting to play through your head. 

Voices swirl in your mind, taking the form of dark creatures that whisper doubtful thoughts. “Your fault, your fault.”

You pull Fortuna’s head into your lap, tears blurring your eyes. You try to blink them away, you need to see if Fortuna was okay. “My Lady?”

Fortuna takes in a deep breath that has her body tensing, her eyes were glossy as they stare without focus at the blue sky above you. Panic seizes you, the feeling constricting around your chest and makes your feet and fingers tingle. Her wound is still gaping but divinity doesn’t bleed like mortals do. Yet, Fortuna is not immortal either. 

“I just wanted to help,” you say weakly, as if your excuse would reverse the damage. “Please, don’t punish me. I just wanted to help.”

“Do you recall your promise?” Fortuna says instead, words frail and gasping. 

“Promise?” 

“Your promise, do you promise?”

You can feel Fortuna grow weaker in your arms, your panic reaching its peak and feels like bile crawling up your throat. Never let Fortuna die, as you’ve stated a few years ago. Yet, here she laid before you, breaths shallow and crackling.

Her eyes begin to close, the liquid gold of her blood has stained your dress beyond repair. But how can you think of that when your ladyship is the one beyond repair before your very eyes? 

Morpheus had returned to the mortal realm, leaving behind his duties in the subconscious. It was not the cries of Calliope that had brought him forward, though it did play a suspicious part as to why he was called to return. 

His eyes take in the scene before him and he knew then that the changing of times have finally come for the goddess of fortune. There was a natural hierarchy amongst deities. There were those above The Endless, him and his siblings themselves, then gods and goddesses, then minor gods like nymphs and dyads and so on. 

Gods and Goddesses were nothing more than the physical manifestation of the dreams of Men. So, when Fortuna begins to sag against your lap, he knows that Men have decided to change their perceptions of who and what “fortune” represents. 

Gone was the Roman Empire and came alight the new era. Fortuna turns into a whirlwind of four-leaf clovers, her physical body will never exist past this day. Your hydrangea-petaled hair turns a mourning shade of blue, trying to grab at the small leaves as they slip between your fingers. 

The wind picks up, the magics of the universe mocking you in the whispers of the breeze as the clovers collect around you, circling you, taunting you.

“Fortuna’s apprentice.” You hear them whisper, the clovers swirling around you faster. “Does she know yet? Oh, Fortuna was too soft on her. Of course she doesn’t know.”

“Know what?” You ask the wind.

The clovers congregate together before you and before you know it, you see a body, an arm, and a couple of legs. They form a face, though not one of the person you have spent that past 100 years with. 

“Give her back to me!” 

“Give her back? Ha! What insolent demands from something no more than a mere child!”

“You mock me.”

“Perhaps. Nonetheless, what a pleasure it is to meet the new Goddess of Fortune.”

“What?”

Wind whistles through the cracks in the clover leaves, creating a high pitched whistle like a scream. They fly towards you again, plastering themselves to your skin, burning and burrowing beneath the bark. They fill every surface, they stick to your irises, they force themselves down your throat, they tickle themselves into your ears. The sound of the wind drowns out the sound of your screams. 

Images flash in your head almost all at once. The vision of the sun rising, the scream of a newly born child, the rise and fall of civilizations. The faceless mortals bowing before you in prayer. They call you Aje before they call you Lakshmi and they call you Nang Kwak. They’ve called you Caishen and they have called you Tyche and they have called you Fortuna. 

“Does it make sense now, new sister?” The voice comes again, closer to you. In your head.

As the clovers fall away, they peel away everything that you thought you were. Your hydrangea petals, your bark skin, your pointed ears. Your body falls to the floor, soaking in the golden blood of a once-goddess. Like a phoenix born from the ashes of who it once was, a new goddess is born from the blood of the last.

Lady Luck, we welcome you. 

•☽────✧˖°˖☆˖°˖✧────☾•☽────✧˖°˖☆˖°˖✧────☾•

Dun, dun, duuuun. Also I forgot I had a taglist going I am so sorry

LLIS Tag List

@witchymomfrien @uniquehijo @navs-bhat @ireneserene @givingmyhearttoyou @v3lary0ns

Thanks for reading this weeks chapter :)

♡ Yours, Layla

•☽────✧˖°˖☆˖°˖✧────☾•☽────✧˖°˖☆˖°˖✧────☾•

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[amongemeraldclouds]

blowing off steam

Bar meet cute with Mattheo Riddle.

Mattheo Riddle x f!Reader

A/n: Celebrating @acourtofchaos festival of aus! Here's my official entry for week one: modern au.

Content: slightly suggestive but no smut.

✿ Masterlist | 799 words

Mattheo Riddle always minded his own damn business. So why did his gaze keep returning to you? To call you gorgeous would have been a waste of syllables. No, there was something enchanting about you that went far beyond what any word could describe.

Not that he was ever good with words anyway. He'd be much better at showing you. Hands pinned on your sides, your back pressed against a wall, while his kisses told you everything he thought about you. And - no, he shook his head. He had no business having his blood rush to his jeans in public.

He cleared his throat and picked up his rum and coke, the cool condensation running down his fingers, as he turned his eyes away from you. It was a test of wills he was already sure he'd fail. He was not one for acing tests. He had dropped out of university for fuck's sake, he scoffed before he brought the drink to his lips, letting the bittersweet taste wash away his spicy desires. He was supposed to be blowing off steam here at the bar, it was not a night for sharing his bed.

But Mattheo Riddle was nothing more than an opportunist. Giving up false pretenses, he looked at you again, the gears in his head spinning. And what do you know? Someone else had sidled up beside you, offering a drink, which you outright refused with a shake of your head, a look of discomfort overcoming your features.

He couldn't help but smirk when the other bloke couldn't take the hint, his stubborn arse still sat firmly on the seat beside you. Now there was the perfect opportunity to blow off steam. He downed his drink with one final gulp and strode over to you, fist clenching in anticipation as he prepared to be your knight in shining armour.

Yet he was only halfway through when he saw your fist fly, punching the guy on the nose. Curious patrons looked toward the scene. For a moment, conversation hushed while upbeat music continued thumping through the speaker. His head flew back with the impact and he covered his nose on instinct, wincing when he touched it, his hand soaking wet with blood. With a final look of pain and embarrassment, he stormed off and left the bar. A sadistic grin lit up Mattheo's features.

Everyone had gone back to their drinks and partying by the time he reached you.

"Want to be the next one?" You asked him playfully, flexing your fist in warning.

He laughed in surprise, you were a lot more delightful than he thought. "I can take a rejection," he replied, clutching his chest dramatically as if he had been shot. "I'm a lot cuter than that guy though," he said, pointing in the direction he had exited from.

"Can't be rejected if you don't ask," you shrugged your shoulders and picked up your drink, a rum and coke, just like his, nd sipped it.

"Okay, what's 278 x 45?"

"Smart ass," you exclaimed, shaking your head, intrigued by this stranger.

He motions to the waiter, "another rum and coke," he orders and waits.

"Not going to buy me a drink, aren't you?" You asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Nope," he smiled mischieviously. "Just drinking here, it's a pretty comfy seat," he said patting down the hard wooden chair. "Besides, I think we've established. I'm not going to end up like that guy."

"So it won't matter to you if I sat over there instead?" You motioned to the other end of the bar where a few seats were vacant.

"You know, I heard the chair over there is quite comfortable too. I might just try it for myself," he replied.

Just then, the bartender handed him his order and you took this opportunity to study him. He has curly hair that fell in waves near his eyes, just messy enough to be sexy without being unkempt. His sharp jaw gave him a serious look while his eyes looked bright and alert.

He wore a black leather jacket over a white shirt and jeans, that looked casual yet stylish, and he sat with the relaxed confidence of a man who belonged everywhere he went.

You cleared your throat, trying to focus back on the conversation. "And how would you know that chair was also comfortable?" You looked back at the corner you had pointed to earlier.

"Because it would be the chair right beside you," he stated.

You shook your head, smiling. "I'm Y/n."

"Mattheo Riddle," he said, matching your smile.

With the way things were going, he sure hoped you remembered it, for it would be the exact name you'd be screaming later tonight. After all, there are many ways to blow off steam.

[estellan0vella]

You Better Remember This Time: B.C & L.F Bang Chan x fem!reader x Lee Felix (College AU)

WC: 25.9K

CW: Violence and Physical Altercations, Sexual Harassment & Assault Implications (abuse of power & non-consensual groping), Anxiety and Panic Attacks, Self-Esteem Issues, Discussions of Gender-Based Violence, Crossdressing (Men in Skirts), Background Seungbin, Seungmin being the best best friend, Minho being the best older brother figure, pining Chanlix, reader is kind of oblivious due to self esteem issues, comforting!2min, Jeongin being a menace

General Masterlist SKZ Masterlist

The air in Seungmin’s room is warm, the scent of old books, fabric softener, and a faint trace of the cinnamon candle you bought him last semester lingering in the air. His desk is a chaotic mess of law textbooks, highlighted notes, and an empty coffee mug that’s been sitting there long enough for a faint coffee ring to stain the wood. You, Seungmin, and Jeongin are sprawled across his bed and the plush rug beneath it, a laptop perched between you as you attempt to power through another hellish week of coursework.

Your light grey sweatpants are soft against your skin, your white off-the-shoulder jumper slipping slightly as you adjust your position. Your pink fluffy socks wiggle in the air as you stretch out, your sneakers long discarded in the corner of the room. Silver-lavender strands of hair escape from the messy clip on top of your head, and your blue-light glasses are perched on your nose as you squint at the tiny text on your screen.

Seungmin, forever the grumpy civil law major, sits cross-legged on the bed, his laptop balanced on his thighs as he types with practised precision. His orange hair is slightly mussed from where he’s been running his fingers through it in frustration, and he barely looks up when Jeongin, flopped on his stomach beside you, groans dramatically.

“This is so fucking lame,” Jeongin complains, rolling onto his back and staring at the ceiling like it personally offended him. His black hair is still damp from his shower, and his loose hoodie is slightly wrinkled. “We should be out drinking and having fun, but no, Miss Cheerleader-With-The-Packed-Social-Schedule and Mr Grumpy-Ass-Antisocial-Law-Student are drowning in coursework instead.”

You huff a laugh, nudging him with your foot. “I told you we could go out tomorrow.”

Jeongin lets out an exaggerated sigh before perking up. “Oh, yeah! Tomorrow’s still an option.”

“For you, maybe,” Seungmin mutters, not looking away from his screen. “I have a fucking midterm on Monday, so my ass is staying right here.”

“Boo,” Jeongin teases, sticking his tongue out. “Anyway, I call bullshit, Y/N. You always leave me to hook up.”

“I can’t help it! It’s my hookup time,” you say with a grin, propping yourself up on your elbows.

Jeongin glares at you in faux betrayal. “Last time, you left me for Jennie Kim.”

You shrug, lips twitching. “Yeah, well, I got fucked by the president of Kappa Tau, and you dicked down that cute guy from Delta Nu. Chan-hee, wasn’t it?”

Jeongin narrows his eyes, recalling the memory. “Okay, fair point. But still, you ditch me like clockwork.”

“You should go with Hyunjin tonight,” Seungmin suggests without looking up.

“Uh, no,” Jeongin replies immediately, shaking his head.

You giggle, propping your chin on your palm. “Go with Minho and Jisung, they’re fun on a night out.”

“Only because you and Jisung are basically the same bundles of anxious sunshine energy with no survival instincts,” Seungmin remarks dryly. “And Minho feels a need to protect you both.”

You pout. “That’s not true.”

Seungmin finally looks up, his expression flat. “You know what Changbin calls you and Jisung?”

You tilt your head. “What?”

“Quokkas.”

You blink, confused. “Like the happy little animals?”

“The happy little animals with no survival instincts,” Seungmin clarifies, voice tinged with amusement.

Jeongin cackles, nearly rolling off the bed. “Oh my God, that’s so accurate.”

You scoff, placing a hand over your chest in mock offence. “I have survival instincts. Sort of. Like, I can keep myself alive... I think.”

Jeongin snorts. “You’re smart, but you lack common sense.”

“Not true!”

“So true,” Seungmin and Jeongin say in unison, making you groan.

“Hey! I’m a flyer on the cheer squad, and I live every time!”

“Very different from keeping yourself alive in a scenario that requires common sense,” Jeongin counters, wiggling his brows.

Seungmin leans back, stretching his arms over his head. “I bet right now, if I asked you to go make us coffee with the coffee machine, you wouldn’t be able to.”

You scoff, pushing your glasses up your nose. “I would!”

“Okay,” Seungmin says, raising an eyebrow. “Off you go, prove us wrong.”

You start to move, but he holds up a hand. “And you can’t get Minho to do it for you.”

You gasp, placing a hand on your chest in fake indignation. “I would never.”

“Yes, you would,” Jeongin says, smirking. “Because he’s like your older brother, and he’d do anything you asked.”

Seungmin hums in agreement, shooting you a knowing look. “So, go on then. Prove us wrong, Miss ‘I Totally Have Survival Instincts.’”

Your lips press together in determination as you push yourself up from the bed, grabbing your phone. “Fine. I’ll show you both.”

Their laughter follows you as you make your way to the kitchen, muttering under your breath about how they always gang up on you.

The Alpha Phi kitchen is eerily spotless, the kind of clean that could probably get the entire frat house featured in a lifestyle magazine, if not for the sheer chaos that brews within its walls on a daily basis. But no one dares disrupt the pristine order because this is Minho’s domain, and Minho takes the state of his kitchen personally.

Everyone still remembers the time Changbin thought he could get away with leaving a mug of coffee behind the microwave. By the time Minho found it, it had grown a fuzzy green mould colony, and Minho had tried to shove Changbin into the oven as retribution. Lesson learned. No one fucks with Minho’s kitchen.

You hum to yourself as you pull open the cabinet that holds your most prized possession, your matching Powerpuff Girls mug set with Jeongin and Seungmin. Your mug is Bubbles, because obviously. Jeongin’s is Blossom, because he insists he’s the responsible one, which is a lie, and Seungmin’s is Buttercup, mostly because he’s a little shit with a permanent resting bitch face. You smile fondly at them as you line all three up on the counter, feeling a strange sort of satisfaction at the sight.

Then you turn to the coffee machine and immediately, all confidence drains out of your body.

You tilt your head, staring at the intimidating array of buttons and dials, completely at a loss. Why does it look like something that belongs in a spaceship? At your apartment, you just boil water like a normal person, scoop in some instant coffee, and call it a day. But, of course, there’s no fucking kettle in this kitchen. Because this is Alpha Phi, and they do everything the fancy, overly complicated way.

You exhale through your nose, placing your hands on your hips as you analyze your enemy. It can’t be that hard, right? There are buttons. Probably labelled ones. Maybe you just-

The door swings open, and you turn just in time to see Chan and Felix walk in, hand in hand, their fingers loosely intertwined like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Felix is practically glowing, his blue hair looking extra tousled, probably from Chan’s hands. Chan, on the other hand, has that effortlessly cool thing going on, dressed in one of his many hoodies with his black hair falling over his forehead.

Both of them pause when they see you standing in front of the machine, looking like you’re about to challenge it to a duel and Chan raises an eyebrow. “You okay?”

You blink and glance over at him. “Yeah.”

Felix’s lips twitch as he follows your gaze to the machine. “You making coffee?”

“Hopefully at some point in the next decade,” you say, crossing your arms. “Seungmin said I’m intelligent but have no common sense and bet I couldn’t use the machine. And I want to prove him wrong.”

Chan and Felix exchange a look, both clearly amused.

You huff. “He also said I can’t ask Minho for help, which is absolute bullshit because Minho would totally help me.”

Chan chuckles. “Maybe start with plugging it in.”

You blink. Then slowly look down. The fucking machine isn’t even plugged in.

You inhale sharply, closing your eyes for a moment to suppress the overwhelming sense of defeat. Then you sigh, waving a hand. “You know what? I’m just gonna go tell Seungmin he’s right. I can take the blow to my pride.”

Felix gasps. “You can’t.”

“You’re right, my pride definitely cannot take it,” you admit solemnly. “I’ll just go to that cafe down the street and buy coffee. I’m a genius.”

Chan laughs, shaking his head. “That’s cheating.”

“And?” You arch an eyebrow. “I am perfectly willing to cheat my way through life, just not through academics.”

Felix looks at you like you’ve just declared yourself a prophet. “That might be the most relatable thing you’ve ever said.”

Chan sighs fondly before reaching for the cord and plugging in the machine himself. He flicks a few switches, presses some buttons, and within seconds, the machine is whirring to life like it wasn’t just a fucking Rubik’s cube of confusion two minutes ago.

“Alright,” he says, stepping back and gesturing. “I’ll make them, but you have to at least watch so you can fake it in case Seungmin quizzes you.”

“Understood.”

Felix leans against the counter, arms crossed, watching as Chan starts measuring out coffee grounds like a professional barista. His eyes flick toward you, glinting with amusement. “You really thought about just walking out and buying coffee, huh?”

You grab the Oreo tin from Jisung’s snack cupboard and pop it open. “Of course. It’s the fastest way to preserve my dignity.”

Felix snickers. “You have a very loose definition of dignity.”

You grin at him, grabbing a handful of Oreos. “You’re just jealous you didn’t think of it first.”

Chan shakes his head as he pours hot coffee into the mugs, steam curling into the air. “You do know this machine has been here since the first time you visited the frat house, right?”

“Listen.” You lift a single Oreo between your fingers and point at him. “I have better things to worry about than the history of your unnecessarily complicated kitchen appliances.”

Felix reaches over and plucks an Oreo from your pile, popping it into his mouth with a pleased hum. “I can’t believe you’re the only person Jisung lets into his snack stash.”

You shrug, munching on one yourself. “He loves me.”

Chan snorts, setting the now-filled Powerpuff Girls mugs on the counter. “Nah, it’s ‘cause you’re the only one who doesn’t steal half his shit.”

Felix gasps, clutching his chest. “Excuse me, I always ask.”

“Yeah,” Chan drawls, “after you’ve already eaten it.”

Felix pouts, but you just grin, hugging your Bubbles mug to your chest. “Felix gets a pass because he’s adorable.”

Chan scoffs, shooting Felix a pointed look. “This is why she doesn’t believe people flirt with her.”

Felix just smirks, licking an Oreo crumb from his thumb. “I know. It’s fucking hilarious.”

You frown at them. “What?”

Chan just shakes his head, eyes warm as he nudges your mug closer to you. “Nothing, angel.”

You don’t register the pet name as anything but friendly, because why would you? You think they’re just naturally affectionate. You don’t notice the way Felix watches you with open fondness or the way Chan’s gaze lingers just a little too long. 

Felix and Chan watch as you disappear up the stairs, the three Powerpuff Girls mugs carefully balanced in your hands, your fluffy pink socks muffling your footsteps against the hardwood floor. The moment you’re out of earshot, Chan lets out an exasperated sigh, rubbing a hand over his face as he leans back against the counter. His other hand stays curled around Felix’s waist, instinctively keeping him close.

“She doesn’t have a fucking clue we like her, does she?” Chan mutters, voice heavy with disbelief.

Felix snorts, nestling himself against Chan’s side as he tilts his head up to press a kiss to Chan’s jaw, his lips soft and warm against the older boy’s skin. “Not a single fucking one,” he murmurs, amusement lacing his voice.

Chan groans, throwing his head back slightly before running his fingers through his hair. “Is she blind?”

Felix hums, looking up at him with a mischievous glint in his dark brown eyes. “Considering she didn’t realize the coffee machine wasn’t even plugged in, it’s entirely possible.”

Chan barks out a laugh, shaking his head. “Fuck, you might be right.”

“I mean,” Felix continues, stretching his arms out lazily before linking his fingers behind Chan’s neck, “her and Jisung are basically the same fucking person. Lack of survival instincts? Check. Unaware of their own goddamn appeal? Check. Oblivious as fuck to people flirting with them? Massive check.”

Chan raises an eyebrow, lips twitching. “So, what, you’re saying we’ve got another Minho and Jisung situation on our hands?”

“Oh, one hundred percent.” Felix grins, poking Chan’s chest playfully. “Minho could suck Jisung’s dick and that dumbass would still be like, ‘Minho’s my bro. Bros suck bros’ dicks sometimes, right?’” He pauses for dramatic effect, then shakes his head. “He’s still fucking convinced Minho is fully straight.”

Chan lets out a loud, incredulous laugh, gripping Felix’s waist tighter as he tries to catch his breath. “Jesus fucking Christ.”

“I’m just saying,” Felix shrugs, resting his chin against Chan’s shoulder, “if Jisung can’t tell Minho is obsessed with him, then Y/N’s never gonna figure out we both want to rail her six ways to Sunday.”

Chan groans again, head falling back against the cabinet with a dull thud. “God, don’t fucking say shit like that when we just watched her skip out of here with that stupid, happy smile on her face.”

Felix giggles, wiggling his eyebrows. “What? You know I’m right.”

Chan exhales, shaking his head. “Yeah, you’re right, and that makes it so much fucking worse.”

Felix pats his chest comfortingly. “It’s okay, babe. We’ll just have to make our flirting even more obvious.”

Chan side-eyes him. “We literally call her angel. We buy her food. We’re constantly touching her. What the fuck else are we supposed to do? Write her a goddamn love letter?”

Felix considers this for a moment before smirking. “Maybe.”

Chan lets out another groan and tilts Felix’s face up to kiss him, slow and lingering, the warmth of Felix’s lips grounding him. Felix sighs happily into it, fingers curling into the fabric of Chan’s hoodie, and for a moment, they just exist in their own little world.

When they pull apart, Felix rests his forehead against Chan’s. “We could just tell her,” he suggests softly.

Chan lets out a humourless chuckle. “Yeah. And risk scaring her off?”

Felix sighs, closing his eyes. “Yeah, that’d fucking suck.”

Chan presses another quick kiss to Felix’s lips before nudging him toward the doorway. “Come on, let’s get out of here before Minho finds out we’ve been standing in his kitchen this whole time without cleaning anything.”

Felix grins, lacing their fingers together as they head toward the living room. “Good call. I’d rather not end up in the oven like Changbin.”

The crisp autumn air carries a sharp bite as you and Jeongin weave through the bustling Miroh College campus, the two of you moving with a level of urgency that would make anyone think you were late for an important lecture. But, in reality, you're just trying to avoid Seungmin. “We can’t keep running forever,” Jeongin huffs, adjusting the strap of his bag over his shoulder as he glances over his shoulder like a man being hunted.

You scoff, heels clicking against the pavement as you grip his sleeve and pull him behind a large oak tree near the library. “We can and we will. We lost that bet, and there is no way in hell I’m letting Seungmin cash in on whatever horrifying punishment he’s cooked up for us.”

Jeongin presses himself flat against the tree trunk, panting slightly as he peeks out into the open courtyard. “I knew we should’ve never bet against him. We’re fucking idiots.”

“Speak for yourself,” you mutter, adjusting your white headband with one hand while your other rests on your hip. “I just got dragged into your dumbass decision.”

“Oh, please,” Jeongin rolls his eyes, looking you up and down. “Like you weren’t all smug and confident about it. ‘Oh, Jeongin, there’s no way Seungmin can beat us in trivia night, we’re both so smart and pretty, what could go wrong?’” His voice mimics a high-pitched version of your own, and you jab him in the ribs.

“I do not sound like that.”

“You absolutely do,” he retorts, dodging another jab. “And now we’re paying the price for our hubris.”

You sigh dramatically, shifting your weight onto one leg. The fitted black sweater layered over your white ruffled blouse hugs you comfortably, and your pleated black-and-white tweed mini skirt flutters slightly in the breeze. Your glossy Mary Janes gleam in the late afternoon sun, and you feel an odd sort of satisfaction knowing your outfit is cute as hell, even if you are currently in hiding.

“We need a plan,” you say, squinting into the distance as if the answer to your predicament is hidden among the crowd of students milling about the quad.

Jeongin waves a dismissive hand. “We don’t need a plan. We just need to avoid him for, I don’t know, another week?”

“A week?” You snort. “Seungmin’s patient as fuck. He’ll wait until we’ve let our guard down and then pounce.”

“Okay, true,” Jeongin admits, scrunching his nose. “We might need a new strategy.”

Before either of you can formulate one, Jeongin’s face suddenly lights up, his posture straightening with excitement. “Oh! We’re going out next Saturday.”

You blink at him. “Okay. Where?”

“Side Effects,” he announces proudly, rocking back on his heels. “You know, the bar where all the drinks are named after side effects of medication?”

Your lips curve into a grin. “Oh, Jisung and I are regulars there.”

Jeongin smirks knowingly. “Yeah, of course, you two anxious motherfuckers are.”

You let out a laugh, shaking your head. “Anxiety is our typical order.”

Jeongin laughs along with you. “Obviously. Anyway, me and the rest of the frat are all going as a group, and you’re coming too.”

You pause for a moment, tilting your head. “Are you sure? I mean, you said it’s a frat thing.”

Jeongin fixes you with an unimpressed stare. “Don’t be an idiot. You’re around the house enough that you’re basically our honorary female member.”

You scoff playfully. “That’s not how that works.”

“It is now,” Jeongin declares, folding his arms. “So, you coming or what?”

You exhale dramatically as if you actually need to think about it, before shrugging. “Sure. I need a break from reading about immunology anyway.”

“Yes!” Jeongin pumps a fist in victory before his expression turns serious. “Now, the real challenge. We need to convince Seungmin to dress sexy.”

You let out an undignified snort. “We’d have better luck winning the lottery.”

“I know,” Jeongin groans, rubbing his face. “But he has to. He cannot-” he emphasizes the word with a dramatic hand gesture, “-come with us in a sweater vest. I will kill myself if he does.”

“Same,” you deadpan, crossing your arms.

Jeongin sticks out his fist. “Pact?”

You nod solemnly, bumping your fist against his. “Pact.”

“Found you.”

You and Jeongin freeze in tandem, like two deer caught in headlights. Slowly, ever so slowly, you turn your heads, only to find Seungmin standing a few feet away, arms crossed, lips curled into the most infuriatingly smug smirk you’ve ever seen.

“Shit,” Jeongin whispers.

“Run,” you whisper back.

You both bolt, feet pounding against the pavement as you attempt to escape the inevitable wrath of Seungmin, but it’s no use. He’s quicker than he looks, and before you can make it more than a few steps, he reaches out and snatches both of you by the collars of your shirts like a pissed-off mother cat.

"Where exactly do you think you're going, dumbasses?" Seungmin drawls, voice laced with unimpressed amusement. He doesn’t even sound winded, which is the real insult here.

You kick your feet uselessly in the air, your glossy Mary Janes barely brushing against the ground as you struggle in his grasp. “Let us go, you tyrant!” you cry dramatically, thrashing like a wild animal.

“Oh, yeah, totally,” Seungmin deadpans. “Let me just release the two dipshits who thought they could evade me forever.”

Jeongin groans beside you, his arms flailing as he tries to pry Seungmin’s grip off his hoodie. “We had a good run.”

“You had a stupid run,” Seungmin corrects.

Then, just as you’re about to accept your fate, you spot your saviour. Standing across the quad, looking effortlessly unbothered, his hands stuffed in the pockets of his jacket. And just like that, an idea forms. A brilliant, foolproof, utterly genius idea. “Minho!” you yell, your voice carrying across the campus like a war cry.

Seungmin stiffens. “Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

Minho’s head lifts at the sound of your voice, his gaze flicking toward you with mild curiosity. When his eyes land on the sight of you and Jeongin being physically restrained by Seungmin, one brow raises, amusement flickering across his face. “Do I even want to know?” Minho calls back.

Seungmin clicks his tongue, already knowing he’s lost. He curses under his breath and, begrudgingly, lets you go. Because if there’s one thing Seungmin values more than retribution, it’s self-preservation. And he knows, he fucking knows, that Minho will bite him if he even so much as thinks about bothering you. A fact that you abuse often.

With a triumphant grin, you immediately hop over to Minho, leaving Jeongin to suffer alone. “You saved me from a fate most foul,” you sigh dramatically, slipping beneath Minho’s arm as he wraps it loosely around your shoulders. “Seungmin was about to make me suffer the consequences of my actions.”

Minho hums, nodding as if this is the most serious information he’s received all day. “Can’t have that happening to you.”

You shake your head solemnly. “Only Jeongin.”

Minho smirks. “Only Jeongin.”

From behind you, Jeongin lets out a betrayed noise, his eyes wide with sheer, unfiltered horror as Seungmin tightens his grip on his hoodie. “Wait, no! You can’t just leave me!” Jeongin wails, legs kicking uselessly as Seungmin starts dragging him away. “I THOUGHT WE WERE IN THIS TOGETHER!”

You press a hand to your chest, feigning sadness. “I’ll miss you.”

“YOU’RE THE WORST,” Jeongin screeches, fingers clawing at the ground as if he can somehow anchor himself there.

Seungmin, thoroughly unamused, adjusts his hold and hauls Jeongin over his shoulder like he weighs nothing. “This is what you get for thinking you could escape me.”

Jeongin’s wails only grow louder as Seungmin marches away with him, and you make no effort to suppress your laughter. Minho chuckles beside you, shaking his head.

“You’re such a little shit,” Minho muses, poking your side.

You beam up at him. “I know.”

And as Jeongin’s suffering echoes across the campus, you loop your arm through Minho’s and happily walk the other way, completely unbothered by whatever punishment Seungmin is about to unleash on your poor, unfortunate best friend.

Jeongin strides into Chan’s room without knocking, entirely unbothered by the fact that Chan and Felix are currently engaged in an absolutely filthy makeout session on the bed. Chan is shirtless, his toned torso on full display, while Felix is clad in nothing but his boxers, straddling Chan’s lap as they move against each other, a slow, heated grind of hips that leaves very little to the imagination. The air is thick with the scent of cologne and something heavier, something unmistakably them. Moans mix with breathy chuckles, the occasional murmured praise between kisses filling the space.

Jeongin doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t pause. He doesn’t so much as acknowledge the borderline indecent display. Instead, he holds out his hand, palm up, expectant. “Pay up.”

Felix barely pulls back, lips kiss-bruised and breath uneven. “What?” he pants, blinking dazedly at Jeongin like he’s only just registering his presence.

Jeongin stares at them, unimpressed. “I got her to agree to come to the bar with us next Saturday. Now, pay up.”

Chan groans, not out of frustration but more in the for fuck’s sake, I should’ve expected this kind of way. He leans back against the headboard, dragging a hand through his hair before reaching over to the nightstand. Without hesitation, he slaps a wad of sixty thousand won in notes into Jeongin’s waiting palm.

Felix, finally processing the information, straightens up slightly. “You really got her to come?” His voice carries equal parts excitement and disbelief.

Jeongin pockets the cash without ceremony. “Yeah. It wasn’t that hard. She likes going out; she just doesn’t have the time for it. You know, because of the whole double major thing.”

Felix flops dramatically onto Chan’s chest, groaning. “How does she not know we like her?”

Jeongin snorts, shaking his head as he folds his arms across his chest. “Because I love the girl, but she just thinks everyone is nice. She doesn’t know she’s a fucking knockout that has half the campus trying to get into her panties.”

Chan frowns at that, jaw tightening. He shifts slightly, like the idea of people wanting you in that way doesn’t sit right with him. Like he hates that you don’t see it, that you don’t see yourself the way you deserve to. Felix sighs heavily, running a hand through his tousled blue hair. “She really doesn’t notice, does she?”

Jeongin shakes his head. “Nope. Not even a little bit. She’s got, like, the lowest fucking self-esteem I’ve ever seen. Just assumes no one sees her as anything more than a friend.”

Chan exhales through his nose, rubbing his temples. “But we flirt with her all the time.”

Jeongin shrugs. “Yeah, and she thinks you’re just being friendly.”

Felix lets out an almost pained noise, burying his face against Chan’s shoulder. “This is actually suffering.”

“You’re gonna have to ease her into it,” Jeongin advises, plopping himself down in the chair near the desk. “She’s not used to people liking her, let alone an already established couple.”

Chan pinches the bridge of his nose, sighing. “Fucking hell.”

Felix groans. “I wanna kiss her so bad.”

Jeongin rolls his eyes. “Yeah, well, you’re gonna have to work for it, because she’s not gonna get it unless you basically spell it out for her.”

Felix flops backwards onto the bed with a defeated sigh. “This is bullshit.”

Jeongin smirks. “Well, on the bright side, you have an insider source. Consider that a blessing.”

Chan levels him with a look. “You extort us.”

Jeongin shrugs, completely unrepentant. “Tomato, to-mah-to.”

Felix suddenly perks up, propping himself up on his elbows, eyes gleaming with mischief. “We could just tell Seungmin that you’ve been helping us try to date his and your best friend.”

Jeongin snorts so hard he almost chokes. “Pfft. You wouldn’t.”

Chan raises a brow. “Wouldn’t we?”

Jeongin grins, shaking his head. “Nah, because then Seungmin would start extorting the two of you, and you know that motherfucker would be worse than me.”

Chan exhales sharply. “I hate that you’re right.”

Felix throws his head back with a dramatic groan. “This is the worst timeline.”

Jeongin just laughs, standing up and patting his pocket where his freshly earned sixty-thousand won sits comfortably.

“Help us make some semblance of a plan,” Felix whines, poking at Jeongin’s leg with his foot as the younger boy makes himself comfortable in the chair by the desk.

Jeongin doesn’t even look up from where he’s idly scrolling on his phone. Instead, he just holds out his hand, palm open, expectant.

Chan groans, rubbing his temples. “You’re like a fucking toll bridge.”

“And yet you still pay every time,” Jeongin muses, barely hiding his smirk as Chan slaps another wad of cash into his palm. He counts it leisurely, flipping through the notes with a pleased hum before tucking it into his hoodie pocket.

Felix watches this unfold with narrowed eyes, then squints at Jeongin in suspicion. “You just made us pay you to make her come out with us, and now you’re charging us again for a plan?”

Jeongin grins, stretching his arms over his head. “The plan I will give you is, unfortunately, a premium subscription. Unless you want the basic plan.”

Chan exhales sharply through his nose, already annoyed. “And what the fuck is the basic plan?”

Jeongin tilts his head. “Just keep doing whatever the fuck you’re doing and hope she gets a clue in the next ten years.”

Felix gasps, appalled. “That’s fucking useless.”

Jeongin shrugs. “Exactly. Hence the premium plan.”

Chan glares, muttering something under his breath about thieves and con artists before begrudgingly slapping more cash into Jeongin’s waiting hand and Jeongin grins, cracking his knuckles. “Alright, listen up, dumb and dumber. The problem here is that she thinks you two are her friends.”

Felix groans. “We are her friends.”

Jeongin shakes his head. “No, no, I mean she sees you the same way she sees me, Seungmin, Minho, and Jisung.”

Felix gasps so dramatically that Chan actually has to slap a hand over his mouth to shut him up and Jeongin nods solemnly. “Yeah. You two are, in her mind, firmly planted in the best friend zone. You might as well be me, dude. That’s your competition right now.”

Felix slaps Chan’s hand away, scandalized. “WHAT THE FUCK?! CHAN, WE’RE IN THE JEONGIN ZONE?!”

Jeongin simply nods, like this is serious news that must be taken with the utmost gravity. “Yes. You are in the Jeongin Zone.”

Chan’s entire body sags as he pinches the bridge of his nose. “Jesus fucking Christ.”

“So,” Jeongin continues, propping one leg up over his knee, “you need to make her see you in another light. Right now, she’s got you classified under ‘Safe and Non-Threatening Friendship.’ You need to shake that up. Gently.”

Felix narrows his eyes. “How the fuck do we do that?”

Jeongin hums, tapping his chin. “First of all, do not make her uncomfortable. She’s not used to being wanted, so don’t just come at her full force. Ease her into it. Little things. Keep flirting, but push just a bit further every time. Compliment her more, but in a way that makes it clear you see her as attractive, not just cute. Physical affection? Step it up, but keep it natural.”

Chan nods, considering this. “Okay, that makes sense. What else?”

“Oh,” Jeongin grins, “also? She has arachnophobia.”

Felix perks up immediately. “That’s perfect. We can save her from spiders.”

Jeongin smirks. “That’ll score you some points, yeah. Now, one last thing.” He leans forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees. “You need to convince Coach to let the cheerleaders perform for the full duration of halftime at the next game against the Levanter Lobos.”

Chan furrows his brows. “Why?”

Jeongin’s smirk fades slightly. “Because they’re staging a protest.”

Felix and Chan exchange a glance and Jeongin sighs, rubbing a hand down his face. “You know that TA who only got a brief suspension after harassing female students?”

Chan’s expression hardens. “Yeah.”

Jeongin nods. “The cheer team were his biggest targets, and now that he’s back, they want to protest his return.”

Felix sits up straighter. “Even Y/N?”

Jeongin shrugs, looking away. “It’s her story to tell.” His voice is quieter now, more serious. “It took her a while to tell Seungmin and me. I’m not gonna spill her business.”

Chan clenches his jaw, hands tightening into fists. “Fucking hell.”

Felix exhales slowly, pressing a hand to his forehead. “Yeah. Okay. We’ll get Coach to approve it.”

Jeongin nods, standing up and stretching. “Good. Now, I’ve got shit to do, and I’m already a couple hundred thousand won richer, so I’ll be taking my leave.”

Felix throws a pillow at him. “Fucking scammer.”

Jeongin catches it with a grin. “Pleasure doing business with you, losers.” And with that, he waltzes out, leaving Chan and Felix sitting there, more determined than ever.

The Alpha Phi kitchen is dimly lit, the only source of light coming from the overhead stove fixture and the dull glow of Jisung’s laptop screen. It’s the middle of the night, and you and Jisung have long since abandoned any pretence of productivity. The initial plan had been noble, an all-nighter to power through your respective essays. Jisung, working on a criminal psychology paper about the correlation between childhood trauma and serial offenders, and you, tackling an extensive pharmacodynamics essay that had been looming over you for the past two weeks.

It had started well enough, with the both of you settled at the kitchen table, books and notes spread chaotically across the surface, the occasional scribble of a pen filling the silence. But the problem with you and Jisung studying together is that you both suffer from severe procrastination and catastrophic attention spans.

The moment one of you so much as breathed in a way that hinted at distraction, it was game over. So, naturally, about an hour ago, you’d both given up. Now, the essays are forgotten, the textbooks shoved aside in favour of something far more important, music, gossip, and Jisung’s secret stash of soju.

Jisung sits across from you at the table, clad in his signature late-night study attire, white Hello Kitty pyjama pants, a white tank top, and his ridiculous pink slippers. He had insisted on buying the matching pyjama pants for you, too, claiming it was non-negotiable. You’d relented, and now you sit mirroring him, your pink Hello Kitty pyjama trousers comfortable as you sip soju straight from the bottle, legs curled up on the chair. Your cropped white camisole barely does anything to keep you warm, but the alcohol buzz helps.

Jisung is mid-rant, voice animated as he leans across the table. “Okay, so, get this. You remember that one TA, you know the one, who was fucking around with that sophomore from the dance department?”

You blink at him, soju bottle pausing mid-air. “The guy who looks like he’s one bad decision away from committing wire fraud?”

Jisung cackles, smacking the table. “YES! Him! So, apparently, he got caught trying to cheat on his fiancée, who, by the way, is pregnant, but get this, he tried to do it with one of the professors. Like, a whole ass faculty member.”

Your jaw drops. “No fucking way.”

Jisung nods rapidly, eyes wide with glee. “Swear to God. And the best part? The professor rejected his ass so hard she went straight to the dean about it.”

You let out an exaggerated gasp. “As she fucking should!”

He holds up a finger. “Wait, it gets better. The dean pulled up receipts from other students who had already complained about him for being a sleazy bastard, and now his fiancée, who, might I remind you, is carrying his unborn child, found out everything.”

You gasp again, slamming your palm against the table. “Tell me she left his ass.”

“Oh, immediately,” Jisung confirms with a manic grin. “Kicked him out of their apartment, trashed his shit, and she blasted his cheating ass all over social media.”

You let out a delighted shriek, shaking his arm. “I love women.”

Jisung laughs, leaning back in his chair. “Women are a fucking gift.”

You nod fervently, taking another swig of soju. The warmth of the alcohol spreads through you, making you sink further into your seat, relaxed and happy. This is your favourite part about late-night study sessions with Jisung. Sure, you never actually get anything done, but the chaos, the drama, the stupid giggles, it makes it worth it.

Jisung lets out a long yawn, stretching his arms over his head before pushing himself up from his chair. “I need a fucking caffeine boost if we’re gonna keep going.”

You frown as he makes his way to the fridge, opening it and rummaging through the shelves. “You do realize we haven’t actually studied for like an hour, right?”

He snorts. “Details, details.”

A moment later, he turns around, two energy drinks in hand. He tosses one to you, and you catch it easily, popping it open without hesitation. The moment the liquid touches your tongue, you let out an involuntary shudder and Jisung notices immediately, cackling. “Tastes like battery acid, doesn’t it?”

You cough. “This is gonna restart my fucking nervous system.”

Jisung takes a sip of his own and physically recoils. “Why does this taste like regret?”

You groan, rubbing your temples. “We are so gonna regret this in the morning.”

Jisung waves a dismissive hand. “Future us problem.”

You both clink your cans together in mock celebration.

Then, it happens. From the corner of your eye, something moves. It’s fast, dark, and scuttling across the kitchen floor with far too many legs. For a moment, your brain refuses to process what you just saw. Maybe it’s the sleep deprivation. Maybe it’s the soju. Maybe it’s the godforsaken energy drink rewiring your neurons. But then Jisung sees it too and all hell breaks loose.

“SPIDER!”

You and Jisung fucking shriek in perfect harmony, launching yourselves onto the kitchen island so violently that your slippers are left abandoned on the floor. The bottle of soju tips over, spilling across the table, but neither of you care. Your priorities have dramatically shifted.

Jisung clings to you like his life depends on it, arms locked around your waist in a death grip as you both balance precariously on the counter, legs curled up as if that alone will protect you from the eight-legged demon lurking below.

“Oh my fucking god,” you wheeze, voice barely coherent. “Jisung, do something!”

“ME?!” he screeches, clinging to you tighter. “BITCH, WHAT THE FUCK AM I GONNA DO?!”

You shake his shoulders violently. “FUCKING KILL IT!”

Jisung glares at you, scandalized. “YOU FUCKING DO IT, YOU’RE A SCIENCE MAJOR!”

You let out a strangled noise. “WHAT THE FUCK DOES THAT HAVE TO DO WITH ANYTHING?!”

Jisung waves his arms wildly. “FUCKING ANATOMY OR SOME SHIT! DISSECT IT! SCIENCE IT TO DEATH!”

You whimper, gripping his tank top like a lifeline. “Jisung, it’s so big.”

Jisung’s entire body trembles. “I know.”

The spider remains where it is, unmoving, as if it knows it holds all the power in this situation. You and Jisung, still clinging to each other for dear fucking life, remain standing on the counter. Screaming.

The gaming room is bathed in the glow of LED lights, the screen flashing the victorious finish line of Mario Kart as Felix groans into Chan’s mouth, thoroughly defeated. He had been determined to win at least one round against Chan, but his boyfriend is a fucking menace with the controller, and every single time Felix had gotten close to victory, Chan had thrown a well-timed shell or expertly drifted around him, smirking like an asshole the entire time.

Now, Felix is venting his frustrations in the only way he knows how, straddling Chan’s lap on the couch, gripping his jaw, and kissing him hard enough to make up for every single loss. Chan doesn’t seem to mind, hands firm on Felix’s waist, thumbs rubbing slow, teasing circles over the warm skin beneath his hoodie. Their breathing is heavy, lips brushing lazily against each other as Felix grumbles between kisses.

“I fucking hate you,” Felix murmurs, sucking Chan’s bottom lip into his mouth and nipping it with his teeth, just to be a little mean.

Chan hums in amusement, tilting his head to deepen the kiss, his fingers digging into Felix’s waist with just enough pressure to make him feel it. “Yeah? What else is new?”

Felix rolls his hips down, making Chan inhale sharply through his nose. “Fucking cheated,” Felix mutters.

Chan chuckles against his lips. “Not my fault you’re shit at Mario Kart.”

Felix pulls back just enough to narrow his eyes at him, prepared to argue, but before he can get a single word out, an ear-piercing scream echoes from somewhere in the house. Both of them immediately freeze. Another scream follows, two voices this time, high-pitched and frantic. Felix and Chan exchange a glance.

Jisung. And you.

Chan barely has time to mutter, “What the fuck-” before Felix is already up, yanking him off the couch, both of them racing towards the kitchen, their previous activities completely forgotten.

The scene they walk in on is utter fucking chaos. You and Jisung are on the kitchen island, clinging to each other for dear fucking life. Your eyes are wide, faces tight with sheer terror, limbs wrapped so tightly around each other that it’s hard to tell where one of you ends and the other begins. The spilt soju bottle drips onto the floor, forgotten, while the cause of your absolute distress lurks menacingly near the fridge.

A spider. And not just any spider, a big fucking spider. Felix stops short, eyes flicking between the scene in front of him, then to Chan, then back to you two, who are still making absolutely no effort to get down from your self-made safety island.

Chan takes a slow step forward, hands raised cautiously. “You guys okay-”

Before he can finish, you make a split-second decision, driven purely by instinct. You launch yourself off the counter and straight into Chan’s arms. Chan barely has time to react before he catches you, arms instinctively wrapping around your waist as you cling to him like a lifeline, your legs wrapping around his torso like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Chan stands there for a second, eyes wide, before looking down at you, pressed completely against him. Your fingers dig into his shoulders, breath shaky against his neck. “Don’t put me down,” you whisper.

Chan lets out a slow breath. “Wouldn’t fucking dream of it.”

Jisung, meanwhile, is still stranded, now pointing accusingly at the spider. “Kill it,” he commands.

Felix blinks, then sighs, grabbing the nearest rolled-up magazine from the counter. With zero hesitation, he steps forward and mercilessly swats the spider, its body crumpling instantly beneath the impact. The kitchen falls silent as Felix turns back around, tossing the magazine into the trash like he just finished a job well done.

Jisung, still visibly shaking, lets out a breath. “I want you to know that you just saved two lives today.”

Felix smirks. “What, you think I’d let you two fucking die over a spider?”

You groan, still curled into Chan’s hold. “It was so big, Felix.”

Chan sighs, rubbing soothing circles over your back. “Yeah, yeah, we know, angel.”

Felix eyes Jisung with mild amusement. “You planning on getting down anytime soon?”

Jisung scoffs. “Absolutely fucking not. I need time.”

Felix holds out a hand. “Come on, dumbass.”

Jisung hesitates for a long moment, eyes still darting around the kitchen like more spiders are lurking in the shadows. Finally, with great reluctance, he reaches out and lets Felix help him down. His legs wobble the moment he touches the floor, and Felix has to grip his arm to keep him steady.

Jisung exhales, rubbing his face. “I fucking hate this house.”

Chan chuckles, but before he can respond, Jisung suddenly tenses. His eyes go wide again. “THERE’S ANOTHER ONE!” he shrieks, scrambling back onto the counter so fast that he nearly topples over.

You let out an actual whimper, tightening your grip around Chan’s neck like you’re trying to merge with him as Felix groans. “Fucking hell.”

Without another word, he strides across the kitchen, snatching the magazine back out of the trash as Jisung flails. “BURN THE HOUSE DOWN.”

Felix ignores him, eyes scanning the area. “WHERE IS IT?” he demands.

Jisung points furiously toward the corner near the pantry. “THERE. LURKING.”

Felix moves, quick and efficient, and then SMACK. Another one down and Jisung lets out a breath of relief but still refuses to move. “Do a sweep.”

Felix whips around, scowling. “Are you fucking serious?”

“Yes.”

Felix sighs so hard, but pulls out his phone, turning on the flashlight, and starts fucking inspecting the entire kitchen. 

You, meanwhile, do not move from Chan’s arms. Chan doesn’t seem to mind. His hold on you is steady, his body warm against yours. His hand rubs soothing circles into your back, the soft, repetitive motion helping ease the residual panic still buzzing beneath your skin.

As Felix methodically searches every inch of the kitchen, his phone’s flashlight flickering over cabinets and countertops like he’s a highly trained investigator rather than a half-dressed frat boy at two in the morning, Chan lets his gaze drift toward the kitchen window. His arms are still securely wrapped around you, your body warm and pressed tightly against his, and he has no intention of letting go anytime soon. You’re still slightly trembling from the spider-induced terror, and honestly, Chan’s kind of enjoying the way you’re clinging to him. Not that he’d ever admit it out loud. But then, movement catches his eye.

Outside, in the dimly lit backyard, Jeongin is crouched just beneath the kitchen window, peeking in like a goddamn goblin. The moment their eyes meet, Jeongin grins like the absolute menace he is and lifts his hand in an exaggerated thumbs-up. Chan furrows his brows, confused for a moment until it clicks. Jeongin. The little shit. He planted the fucking spiders.

Chan’s grip tightens instinctively around you as the realization hits him like a fucking truck. He doesn’t know how Jeongin managed it, but it’s so painfully obvious now. The conveniently placed, terrifyingly large spiders? The fact that both you and Jisung freaked out just enough to need rescuing? When Chan and Felix were the only ones downstairs?

That devious little bastard planned this.

Chan narrows his eyes in silent warning, but Jeongin only grins wider. Then, still maintaining eye contact, Jeongin forms a V-shape with his fingers, then promptly darts his tongue between them, waggling his eyebrows suggestively.

Chan almost fucking drops you. His first instinct is to throw something, but his hands are full with you, and he definitely doesn’t want you turning around and seeing Jeongin acting like a feral cryptid in the backyard. So instead, he tightens his grip around your waist, subtly shifting you so that your face remains buried in his shoulder, keeping you blissfully unaware.

Then, he mouths a very clear, very deliberate, “You’re fucking dead.”

Jeongin does not take the threat seriously. If anything, it just makes him worse. He grins even wider, then lifts one hand and makes a circle with his fingers while the other hand repeatedly jabs a finger through the centre, his shit-eating grin widening as he nods enthusiastically.

Chan’s eye twitches and Jeongin then fucking levels up. He cups his own hand like he’s holding a nonexistent dick and fake jerks it off, his tongue darting out obscenely at the same time. Chan visibly recoils, horrified but Jeongin just keeps going. Now, he’s forming two circles with his fingers, mimicking breasts while thrusting his hips wildly, looking like a deranged demon outside the fucking window.

Chan is this close to having a goddamn aneurysm.

Felix, who is still inspecting the kitchen but has now noticed Chan’s sudden stiffness, frowns slightly. “What’s wrong with you?” he murmurs, shining his flashlight toward him.

Chan desperately tries to get Felix’s attention without you or Jisung noticing. His eyes dart meaningfully toward the window, and Felix follows his gaze, only to immediately snort when he sees Jeongin outside. Jeongin, who is now making exaggerated moaning faces while fake-thrusting into thin fucking air. Felix wheezes, nearly dropping his phone. “Oh my fucking God.”

Chan shoots his boyfriend a panicked glare, subtly jostling you against his chest to keep your attention away. Felix, however, is having the time of his fucking life. He watches as Jeongin ups the insanity, now pretending to spank himself while mimicking exaggerated slapping noises with his mouth.

Chan’s expression is pure, undiluted murder and Felix, choking back laughter, lifts his hand and silently salutes Jeongin through the window, acknowledging his true villain status. Chan tightens his grip on you again, his fingers pressing into your back in an attempt to ground himself. He knows the moment he lets go, he’s fucking launching himself out there and killing Jeongin with his bare hands.

Jeongin, still entirely unbothered by the absolute wrath in Chan’s eyes, winks, blows a lewd, exaggerated kiss, then sprints off into the darkness like the chaotic little goblin he is.

Felix, still quietly losing his fucking mind, finally nudges Chan with his elbow. “You have to admit,” he whispers, barely containing his laughter, “that was some next-level shit.”

Chan glares. “I’m going to fucking end him.”

Felix grins. “Not before I thank him.”

Chan groans, resisting the urge to just drop to the floor in exhaustion.

And the worst part? You and Jisung remain completely oblivious to all of it, still wrapped up in your arachnid-induced trauma. 

The neon lights of Side Effects pulse in time with the deep bass of the music, the air thick with the scent of alcohol, expensive perfume, and just a hint of cigarette smoke from the back patio. The bar is packed, filled with students and young professionals alike, all looking for a night of reckless abandon. You stride in confidently, flanked by Seungmin, Minho, and Jeongin, the four of you cutting through the crowd like you own the place.

With your black faux leather blazer draped effortlessly over your shoulders, your fitted burgundy crop top hugging your frame perfectly, and your black leather mini-skirt barely skimming mid-thigh, you look like you belong in the VIP section of some exclusive underground club. Your chunky platform ankle boots add just enough height to make you feel powerful, and your dangling star earrings glint in the flashing lights as you toss your hair over your shoulder. Your black patent leather handbag swings lightly against your hip, the perfect finishing touch to your outfit.

And for once, for once, Seungmin doesn’t look like a grumpy lawyer in training. Through a combination of your relentless pleading, Jeongin’s shameless bribing, and one single, perfectly arched eyebrow from Minho, you’d finally convinced Seungmin to dress like he actually wants to get laid. 

He’s wearing a deep emerald satin button-up, only half-buttoned, tucked into fitted black trousers that hug his legs just right, paired with sleek black boots that add just enough edge to make him look dangerous in all the right ways. His orange hair is styled slightly messier than usual, the strands falling into his eyes in a way that looks almost unintentional, but it’s not.

“You know,” Jeongin muses as he takes in the sight of Seungmin’s outfit, “I hate to say this, but you actually look kind of fuckable.”

Seungmin side-eyes him, unimpressed. “And yet, I still choose not to be.”

You snort, linking your arm through Minho’s as the four of you head toward the bar. “You say that now, but just wait. By the end of the night, someone is gonna be all over you.”

Seungmin scoffs. “If that someone is you or Jeongin, I’m calling campus security.”

Jeongin dramatically clutches his chest. “We would never hit on you, Seungmin. We have taste.”

“Mm-hmm.” Seungmin rolls his eyes, but the corner of his lips twitches just slightly, betraying his amusement.

As you weave through the crowd, your eyes catch on the large booth near the back of the bar, where the rest of your friends are already settled. The sight of them makes you grin.

Chan is perched at the head of the booth, looking obscenely good in his fitted white cropped tank top, oversized black cargo pants, and those chunky black boots that make him look like he could stomp on you and you’d thank him for it. His red and black leather jacket hangs off his shoulders just right, and his statement necklace catches the light as he tilts his head slightly, talking to Changbin. His multiple earrings gleam in the dim lighting, and you swear he just radiates effortless confidence.

And then there’s Felix, curled up right in Chan’s lap, looking like absolute sin in his sleeveless black leather vest, the sheer shimmering long-sleeve mesh shirt underneath adding just the right amount of tease. His low-rise distressed denim jeans hug his hips obscenely, and his fingers, adorned with chunky silver rings, drum lightly against Chan’s shoulder as he speaks animatedly to Jisung. His platform boots add just enough height to make him look dangerously pretty, and you barely resist the urge to sigh at how unfairly attractive both of them are.

Minho nudges your side, smirking. “You’re staring.”

You roll your eyes but don’t deny it. “They’re pretty.”

Minho snorts. “They know they’re pretty.”

You hum in agreement before pulling him toward the bar. “Come on. Drinks first.”

The moment you reach the counter, the bartender gives you a knowing nod. You and Jisung are regulars, after all. You lean against the bar, drumming your fingers against the polished wood. “An Anxiety for me.”

Minho slides onto the stool next to you, resting his elbow against the bar. “Mania.”

The bartender quirks an amused brow but doesn’t comment, moving to mix your drinks and a presence sidles up next to you, and you glance over to see a guy, tall, decent-looking, clearly confident, leaning against the bar with a smirk that screams bad intentions.

“Hey,” he drawls, eyes sweeping over you, lingering on your bare midriff. “Haven’t seen you here before.”

You tilt your head, smiling politely. “Oh, I come here all the time.”

His smirk falters for a fraction of a second, but he recovers quickly. “Yeah? Funny I haven’t noticed you.”

You hum, sipping your drink. “Probably ‘cause I usually come with my friend.”

The guy chuckles, leaning in slightly. “Well, maybe now you’ve got another reason to come.”

Minho watches, amused, as you completely miss the blatant flirting. You just smile, oblivious, sipping your drink as if this is just a pleasant conversation with a stranger. The guy seems to take your silence as encouragement, because he lifts a hand, reaching out to brush a strand of hair from your face. Before his fingers can so much as graze your skin, Minho’s hand snaps up, smacking the guy’s hand away with a sharp slap. The sound is loud enough to cut through the music, and the guy jerks his hand back, startled.

Minho levels him with a single, unimpressed brow raise. “Don’t.”

The guy hesitates for a second, looking between you and Minho, clearly debating whether to push his luck. But then Minho tilts his head slightly, gaze turning just a fraction sharper, and the guy immediately backs the fuck down.

Without another word, he mutters something under his breath and walks away and you blink after him, confused. “What just happened?”

Minho takes a sip of his drink, completely unbothered. “He was hitting on you, cupcake.”

You pause, processing this, before frowning. “Really?”

Minho side-eyes you, lips curling slightly. “You’re so fucking oblivious.”

As you and Minho weave through the crowd back toward the booth, you frown, still stuck on what just happened at the bar. You take a sip of your Anxiety cocktail, the sharp tang of citrus and vodka lingering on your tongue, before turning to Minho with an inquisitive look.

"How do you even know that guy was hitting on me?" you ask, genuinely confused. "And second, why would he?"

Minho halts mid-step, exhaling through his nose like he’s just heard the dumbest thing in existence. His grip tightens around your wrist, and before you can react, he turns to face you fully and pinches your cheek hard.

You let out a whiny yelp, swatting at his hand. "Ow! Bitch!"

Minho sighs dramatically, shaking his head. "Cupcake, my poor, sweet, tragically unaware cupcake," he says, voice dripping with pity. "How do I even begin to explain this to you?"

You glare at him, rubbing your cheek. "You could start by not assaulting my face, dickhead."

"That was tough love," Minho deadpans before his expression softens just slightly. He exhales, tilting his head as he studies you, his eyes unreadable under the dim bar lights. "You’re hot, idiot. That’s why."

You blink, momentarily stunned. "Excuse me?"

Minho rolls his eyes, groaning. "See? This is what I’m talking about. You walk around every day acting like you’re just some random background character when, in reality, you’re the kind of girl people fucking notice, whether you realize it or not."

You open your mouth to argue, but Minho doesn’t let you.

"You have zero fucking clue what you look like to other people," he continues, voice firm but lacking its usual bite. "You walk into a room, and people see you, cupcake. You’re all big smiles and pretty fucking eyes and this insanely annoying energy that somehow works for you. You’re the kind of person who’s too fucking bright to be ignored. And guys? Guys notice that shit."

You shift on your feet, suddenly flustered. "Minho-"

"No, shut up, I’m talking," he interrupts, waving a dismissive hand. "You can’t fucking see it, but everyone else does. And it pisses me off that you don’t give yourself the credit you fucking deserve."

You chew on your bottom lip, uncertain. "I just don’t-"

Minho flicks your forehead and you yelp, pressing your hand to your forehead. "Ow! What the fuck?!"

"Shut up and listen." Minho leans in, expression serious. "You don’t think people want you. But they do. You just don’t notice it because your brain is too busy convincing you otherwise. That guy at the bar? He wanted you. That’s why he was trying to touch you. And if I hadn’t been there, you would’ve let him, because you’re too fucking nice to assume the worst in people."

You let out a frustrated sigh. "You assume the worst in people."

"Because I’m right," Minho says flatly. "And I swear to God, cupcake, if you ever let some random motherfucker touch you again just because you think it’s ‘harmless,’ I will actually commit a felony."

Despite yourself, you laugh. "What felony?"

"I don’t know yet," he says thoughtfully. "Manslaughter, probably."

You shake your head, exasperated. "You’re fucking insane."

"And you’re fucking blind." Minho pinches your cheek again before slinging an arm over your shoulder, steering you toward the booth. "Now, let’s go before I get pissed off for real."

Still flustered from Minho’s impromptu mean but weirdly touching pep talk, you let him lead you without protest. As you approach the booth, your eyes instinctively flick to Chan and Felix, where Felix is very much still in Chan’s lap, comfortably curled against him like he belongs there. Chan’s arm is draped over Felix’s waist, fingers tracing absentminded circles over his exposed side where his mesh shirt rides up.

Felix notices you first, eyes lighting up as he spots you. "There she is!" he exclaims, grin wide as he pats the empty seat next to Chan. "Come here, angel."

You don’t hesitate, sliding into the booth beside Chan. The leather seat is warm, and Chan, still radiating heat from the alcohol in his system, presses comfortably close to your side. Felix, still nestled in Chan’s lap, leans toward you with a teasing smile, reaching out to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear. "Took you long enough."

Minho, instead of sitting on the other side of the booth, slides in right next to you, effectively sandwiching you between himself and Chan.

You blink in surprise. "Uh."

Chan smirks. "Comfy?"

Felix chuckles, running his fingers through his hair. "Damn, you’re in the safest spot in the whole bar right now. No one’s getting near you without explicit permission."

You let out a snort, sinking further into the seat. "Yeah, I fucking gathered that."

Minho leans back, expression smug as he casually throws an arm over the back of the booth. "What? Don’t like feeling protected, cupcake?"

You huff, crossing your arms. "I don’t need protection. I can take care of myself."

Chan, still silent, hums softly beside you, his fingers tapping a lazy rhythm against his thigh. Then, in a single, smooth motion, he leans in, his voice a low murmur against your ear. "We know you can, angel. But it’s still fun to do it anyway."

Your breath catches and Felix watches with interest, eyes glinting as he nudges your thigh with his knee. "You do make it easy to look after you."

You blink at both of them, thoroughly confused but too flustered to argue and Minho watches the exchange with mild amusement before sighing dramatically. "Jesus fucking Christ, she really doesn’t get it."

Felix cackles. "Nope."

Chan just smirks, taking a slow sip of his drink. "Not yet."

The night has spiralled into beautiful chaos. Two hours, countless drinks, and an obscene amount of bad decisions later, you find yourself slumped between Chan and Minho in the booth, your entire body boneless from alcohol and laughter. Felix, still perched in Chan’s lap like he was made to be there, is giggling into Chan’s neck, shoulders shaking as he wheezes with amusement.

On the dance floor, Hyunjin is grinding on Jisung, his hands on Jisung’s waist, moving obnoxiously to the beat of the music. Jisung, never one to be outdone, has his hands above his head, rolling his hips in exaggerated thrusts, his face dead serious as if this is the most important performance of his life.

Minho, ever composed, takes a slow sip of his drink, his other hand lazily playing with the hem of your top as you remain draped over him. “If I had a fucking won for every time I had to witness Jisung’s crimes against humanity, I’d have fully paid off my student loans.”

Chan chuckles, but his gaze flickers back to the dance floor, watching as Jisung gyrates with deep commitment. “You jealous, Min?” he teases.

You grin, resting your chin on Minho’s shoulder. “Don’t be jealous, Min, Jisung would never fuck Hyunjin.”

Minho hums, unconcerned. “That’s ‘cause Jisung thinks I’m as straight as a ruler.”

Chan snorts. “Well, yeah.”

Minho raises an eyebrow, shifting slightly, allowing you to sink even further into him. “Me? Straight? That’d be cruel of me. I’m for the he's, she’s, theys, and everyone else.”

Felix fucking screeches, throwing his head back against Chan’s shoulder as he cackles and you lose it, burying your face into Minho’s neck as your body shakes with uncontrollable laughter. 

Across the table, Jeongin is draped over Seungmin, his entire body limp as he lets himself be cradled like a fucking rag doll. The sight alone is alarming, Jeongin isn’t exactly touchy, and Seungmin? Well, Seungmin is Seungmin.

Which means the fact that Seungmin is openly cuddling Jeongin is a surefire sign that they are both drunk as hell.

Chan eyes them warily. “That’s how you know they’re fucking gone.”

You nod solemnly, squinting as you watch Seungmin idly rub Jeongin’s back, the latter murmuring something incoherent against his shoulder. “I never thought I’d see the day,” you mumble.

Minho exhales. “We need to document this.”

Felix fumbles for his phone, still giggling. “Hold the fuck on.”

As Felix snaps a quick picture, Minho’s fingers reach for your hair, gathering the loose strands and twisting them up into a messy but secure bun. You let out a soft sigh as his hands work through your hair, gentle despite the usual roughness in his demeanour.

“Why’re you doing that?” you murmur, voice drowsy from the warmth of the alcohol and the constant contact.

Minho doesn’t hesitate. “So you don’t fucking get puke in it if you’re sick later.”

Meanwhile, Changbin, ever the responsible chaos enabler, waves down a server and orders another round for the group.

Chan groans, but he doesn’t argue as Felix cheers.

You just giggle into Minho’s shoulder, and he groans. “You’re so fucking wasted,” he mutters, exasperated.

You grin, pressing your cheek against his shoulder. “I love you, Min.”

Minho sighs, long-suffering. “I know.”

The first thing you register upon waking up is the absolute fucking warzone that is your brain. Your skull is pounding, your mouth feels like you swallowed an entire desert, and your stomach is not okay in the slightest. The second thing you register is that you are not in your own bed.

You crack open one bleary eye, blinking against the soft glow of morning light filtering in through the curtains. The walls around you are familiar, decorated with framed photos of cats, a collection of books stacked precariously on a small shelf, and a plushie that you distinctly remember gifting to Minho last Christmas still tucked into the corner of the bed. You’re in Minho’s room which means you got absolutely trashed last night. 

You groan, throwing an arm over your face. You don’t even remember getting home, let alone changing clothes but judging by the fact that you are now in a pair of Minho’s loose shorts and an oversized t-shirt that definitely smells like him, you know exactly what happened. Minho took care of you. Again.

Still groaning, you push yourself up into a sitting position, your movements slow and painful, your head throbbing in protest. You barely manage to glance down before a voice pipes up from the floor.

"Aigoo," Minho coos, his voice still thick with sleep, his face half-buried in his pillow as he cracks one eye open to peer at you. "My cute little hungover monster."

You glare at him weakly, but there’s no energy behind it. "Shut the fuck up."

Minho just smirks lazily, snuggling deeper into his air mattress, his blanket pulled up to his chin. "Suffer," he mumbles before closing his eyes again, clearly not planning to move anytime soon.

With great effort, you peel yourself out of bed, the floor cool against your bare feet as you stumble toward the door, your limbs weak and uncoordinated. Your stomach churns violently as you make your way out into the hallway, one hand bracing against the wall as you try to keep yourself upright. You make your way painfully downstairs, each step a personal attack on your already fragile state. By the time you reach the kitchen, you’re questioning every single life choice that led to this moment.

Seungmin is already there. Slumped over at the kitchen table, his hoodie pulled up over his head, his face half-buried in his arms. He looks about as dead as you feel. The only thing keeping him upright is the large mug of coffee clutched in his hands, steam curling up into the air.

He doesn’t even look at you as he reaches for another mug, sliding it across the table toward you. Your Bubbles mug.

"You’re a goddamn angel."

Seungmin lets out something that sounds like a half-hearted grunt. "Don’t talk to me."

You take a careful sip of your coffee, the warmth instantly soothing the wreckage that is your soul. You exhale, closing your eyes for a moment as you let the caffeine begin to work its magic. After a long moment, you finally open your mouth. "I remember nothing."

Seungmin lifts his head just enough to give you a tired, unimpressed look. "Me neither."

You stare at him. "We were so fucked up last night."

Seungmin sighs, taking another slow sip of his coffee before setting it down with a heavy thud. "And if we can’t remember, it’s a sign we shouldn’t find out."

You nod solemnly, clutching your mug like it’s a lifeline. "You’re so right."

Jeongin stumbles into the kitchen like a zombie, his black hair a disaster, eyes still half-closed as he drags his feet across the floor. He looks exactly how you and Seungmin feel, like absolute shit. He grumbles something unintelligible as he approaches the table, rubbing at his face before slumping into the chair next to you with an agonized sigh.

Seungmin, who still has the bare minimum of functional brain power left, wordlessly slides Jeongin’s Blossom mug across the table toward him.

Jeongin grips it like it holds the meaning of life itself, lifting it to his lips and taking a slow, careful sip. He makes a noise that’s somewhere between a groan and a sigh, then finally cracks open one bloodshot eye to glance at the two of you. "You two remember anything?" 

Seungmin exhales, shaking his head. "Nope."

You raise a single finger, barely lifting your head from where it’s collapsed onto your crossed arms. "Both blank," you mumble.

Jeongin sighs, shaking his head as if he expected this answer. "Three best friends with no memories," he mutters, lifting his mug into the air.

You and Seungmin lift yours as well, the three of you clinking them together like the brain-dead morons you are, letting the warm ceramic press together in an unspoken toast to reckless stupidity.

None of you notice Felix standing in the doorway. He stops, hovering just outside the kitchen, expression faltering as he hears you say you don’t remember anything. His lips part slightly, his fingers tightening around the doorframe as something sad flickers in his dark eyes.

Inside the kitchen, you groan, resting your forehead against your arms again, fully giving in to the sheer fucking exhaustion in your bones. Seungmin, always the most practical one out of the three of you, reaches over and rubs a slow, soothing hand against your back.

You let out a soft, pitiful noise in response and Jeongin watches, then groans loudly, dropping his forehead onto the table in solidarity.

Seungmin stares between the two of you, unimpressed. "Are you two communicating?"

Jeongin, without lifting his head, makes another low, miserable noise and you groan again in response. Seungmin sighs. "Jesus Christ."

Jeongin finally peeks up, blinking at Seungmin blearily. "It’s our new language. Hangovernese"

You nod into your arms. "Fluent."

Seungmin mutters something about wishing he had better friends but doesn’t stop rubbing your back, his fingers kneading into your muscles just enough to help with the pounding ache in your head. Then, another presence stumbles in.

Jisung enters the kitchen looking like he’s been dragged through hell itself, his tank top askew, his hair a fucking disaster, his Hello Kitty pyjama pants inside out for some reason. He does not acknowledge anyone. He does not speak. He moves like a man on a mission, straight toward the coffee machine.

The entire room watches in silence as Jisung yanks open the cabinet, retrieves his Howl’s Moving Castle mug, then aggressively bangs several buttons on the coffee machine, waiting for it to finally start brewing. When it does, he sighs heavily, crossing his arms over his chest and slumping against the counter, fully relying on it to keep him upright.

Then finally he turns, looks directly at the three of you and groans. Immediately Jeongin groans back and you, despite the pounding in your skull, let out another weak, suffering noise in agreement. Jisung nods, then takes his seat next to Jeongin as Seungmin throws his hands up in the air.

"I fucking hate all of you."

Felix trudges back upstairs, his stomach sinking with every step. His head still pounds from the lingering remnants of his hangover, but the ache in his chest is worse. He doesn’t even realize he’s made it to his room until he’s pushing the door open, stepping into the dimly lit space where Chan is sprawled out on the bed, clad only in his boxers, his toned arms stretched lazily above his head.

Chan barely cracks one eye open when Felix enters, shifting slightly against the pillows. "Did you not grab the coffee?" His voice is still hoarse, thick with sleep and the remnants of last night’s alcohol.

Felix doesn’t answer right away, just stands in the doorway, staring at the floor, his teeth sinking into his bottom lip so hard he might actually draw blood and Chan frowns, pushing himself up on his elbows. "Lix?"

Felix finally lifts his gaze, and Chan immediately knows something is wrong. "She doesn’t remember."

The words come out flat, empty, like Felix doesn’t even want to say them out loud, like saying them makes it real. And Chan hates that he understands exactly what Felix means immediately, hates the way his stomach drops as the memories of last night flood back.

The music, the alcohol, the heat of it all. You, pressed between them, your body warm, your laughter breathless as you let them pull you in. The way you moved, letting yourself get lost in them, letting yourself fall into them like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Chan remembers the way you kissed, soft at first, hesitant in that way that made his head spin, then growing bolder, like you wanted more, like you wanted everything. He remembers how you’d turn, alternating between kissing him and then Felix, your arms wrapped around both of them, your hands gripping onto their shirts, their shoulders, anything you could reach.

He remembers Felix’s hands on your waist, guiding you as you danced between them, his lips trailing lazy kisses down the side of your neck before reaching Chan’s mouth again, the two of them falling into an easy rhythm, losing themselves in the feeling of you.

He remembers all of it.

"Shit," Chan mutters, running a hand through his hair.

Felix lets out a sharp breath before he moves, crossing the room in a few quick steps before climbing into bed next to Chan, curling into his side instinctively. Chan immediately wraps an arm around him, fingers slipping beneath the hem of Felix’s shirt, rubbing slow, absentminded circles into the bare skin of his back.

Felix exhales slowly, letting his forehead press against Chan’s shoulder. "She doesn’t remember," he repeats, softer this time, voice carrying something achingly close to disappointment. "Like it didn’t even happen."

Chan doesn’t answer right away, just tightens his grip around Felix, his fingers still tracing slow patterns against his skin, grounding both of them. Because fuck. What now?

The air at Miroh College’s football field is thick with tension. It’s halftime at the biggest game of the season, Miroh Maniacs versus Levanter Lobos. The crowd is electric, the bleachers packed with students and faculty alike, their voices carrying over the field in waves of cheers, jeers, and murmurs of anticipation for the second half. The players are huddled along the sidelines, sweat dripping down their temples as they gulp down water and electrolyte drinks, their jerseys sticking to their skin beneath their protective padding.

But the excitement that usually comes with halftime is different tonight. It’s heavy, tinged with something sharper. Something that settles in the air, creeping into every inhale. Because tonight? Tonight is not just about football. Tonight is a statement.

You stand in formation with the rest of the cheerleading squad, positioned at the centre of the field, facing the bleachers. The usual red and black cheer uniforms have been discarded. Tonight, every single cheerleader is clad in white. A white crop top with long sleeves, the fabric tight against your skin. A white pleated skirt so tiny that it barely reaches mid-thigh, swishing with every movement. White Converse laced up your calves. Your hair is pulled back into a sleek ponytail, tied off with a matching white ribbon.

Covering every inch of every single uniform are red handprints. They are smeared across your torsos, over your arms, staining the fabric like bloodied evidence. Some are haphazard, some deliberate. Each one a symbol, a mark left behind, a story untold, a voice unheard.

The field, once filled with the usual halftime chatter, falls silent. The crowd, students, faculty, alumni, watches as the entire cheerleading squad stands shoulder to shoulder, fists raised high in the air.

You stare straight ahead, your breathing steady, your fingers curled tightly as your arm remains locked in place above your head. The adrenaline from the first half of the game still hums in your veins, but it’s overpowered by the burning weight of what you’re standing for.

Across the field, on the sidelines, the football team moves as one. Chan, Felix, Minho, Hyunjin, Jisung, Jeongin, Seungmin, Changbin, and every single one of their teammates raise their fists in the air. A show of unity. Of solidarity. The entire team stands, unmoving, their fists clenched tight, their eyes locked ahead. 

Low, mocking laughter, carrying across the field like an ugly stain and you barely have time to register the sound before hands are suddenly grabbing at you. A startled gasp rips from your throat as you feel fingers close around your waist, another set gripping at your arm. 

Around you, the other cheerleaders yelp as players from the Levanter Lobos sneak up behind you and the rest of the squad, yanking at skirts, pulling at tops, their laughter growing louder with every struggle. “Oh, come on,” one of them taunts, a smirk curling on his lips as he tugs at Ryujin’s wrist when she tries to shove him off. “It’s just a joke.”

“Yeah,” another one laughs, stepping up behind Lia, his fingers gripping at the hem of her skirt. “You guys wanna make a statement? Let us help you make one.”

Your stomach churns with disgust, your entire body going rigid as a pair of rough hands slide around your waist from behind, one palm pressing firmly against your stomach, the other creeping upward. You freeze for a split second before instinct kicks in, and you thrash against his grip, but he’s strong, keeping you locked against him with ease. “Where you goin’?” he sneers against your ear. “Thought this little protest was for attention, well you’ve got it”

Your pulse spikes, heart hammering against your ribs as you try to pry his hands off, but he’s solid, unmoving, his grip tightening around you. Every fibre of your being is screaming to fight, to get the fuck out of his hold, but he’s laughing now, like this is all just some funny fucking joke. You hate the way your stomach turns, the way your throat tightens as panic starts to crawl its way up.

Then there's a roar of voices from the sidelines, a battle cry of righteous fury. The sound of feet colliding against the field and then the Miroh Maniacs are on the field. Chan. Felix. Minho. Jisung. Hyunjin. Jeongin. Seungmin. Changbin. And every single player in red and black, running, charging, colliding with the Levanter Lobos players who dared to lay their hands on the cheer squad.

It happens so fast. A player from Miroh slams into the guy gripping Ryujin, sending him sprawling onto the ground. Another tackles the one who had been yanking on Lia’s skirt, sending both of them crashing into the dirt.

It’s an all-out fucking brawl. Bodies crash together, fists swing, jerseys rip, grunts and yells echoing across the field as punches land with sickening accuracy. Players tackle each other to the ground, limbs tangling as they struggle to overpower their opponents. 

Somewhere in the chaos, you shove the guy holding you as hard as you can, your heart racing as you stumble backwards, but before you can take another step, he and his friend grab you again. A gasp catches in your throat as fingers dig into your arm, another hand gripping at your waist, trying to restrain you.

“You little bitch-”

And then, they’re gone, ripped away from you in an instant. Felix, his usually soft features twisted into pure rage, tearing the guy off of you, his fist connecting with his jaw with a force that makes the fucker stumble back. Chan, his jaw clenched, his muscles tensed, yanking the second guy back by the collar before slamming a fist into his gut, making him double over in pain.

Minho dances through the fight like he was born for this, dodging a wild swing from a Levanter player before delivering a brutal counter, his movements quick, calculated, dangerous. His opponent barely has time to react before Minho’s foot connects with his ribs, sending him crashing onto the ground.

Jisung is feral, throwing a well-placed punch that sends his opponent stumbling before following up with a knee to the stomach. Hyunjin moves like lightning, sidestepping an incoming hit before swinging his leg out in a brutal kick that takes his opponent’s legs out from under him.

Jeongin moves with a precision that’s deadly, swift, knocking his opponent to the ground with a calculated strike. Seungmin’s expression is cold, focused, as he slams a fist into the side of another player’s face, uncaring as he stumbles back, dazed. Changbin is an absolute tank, practically lifting one of the Levanter players before slamming him into the ground with a force that you're pretty sure makes the entire field shake.

Cheerleaders scramble back, their eyes wide, some of them clutching at each other as the fight rages on. You can feel Yeji wrap her arms around you, pulling you close, her body shaking as she watches the chaos unfold. Your own hands tremble as your mind races to process what just happened, what’s still happening.

The sound of whistles pierces through the night as the coaches and campus security flood the field, yelling for everyone to stand down. But not a single Maniac player stops until the Levanter Lobos players are down. Not until the damage is done.

The kitchen is eerily quiet, the dim overhead light casting a warm glow over the room, but the atmosphere is anything but comforting. You sit across from Seungmin at the kitchen table.

Your hands work carefully, methodically, as you clean the dried blood from Seungmin’s knuckles, dabbing at the split skin with a disinfectant-soaked cotton pad. He doesn’t flinch, barely even registers the sting, his anger is too potent, simmering beneath his skin like a slow-burning fire.

"I’m fine, Min," you murmur, voice soft as you move to clean the cut on his eyebrow. He’s still in his football uniform, dirt and sweat clinging to his skin, jaw clenched so tightly you can see the muscle twitch.

Seungmin exhales sharply through his nose. "It’s not fucking fine."

You sigh, shaking your head. "Min-"

He jerks his face away from your hand, eyes locking onto yours, burning. "No, don’t fucking ‘Min’ me. This is not fine. You getting grabbed like that, like you’re some fucking thing to be touched whenever some asshole feels like it? Not fine."

Your throat tightens, but you keep your expression neutral, keep your hands moving as you press another clean cotton pad against his brow. "Are you okay?" you ask, voice quieter now.

Seungmin lets out a sharp, humourless laugh. "No, actually, I’m fucking not."

You sigh again, more resigned this time. "Min, it’s life. I learned to deal with it a long time ago."

"You shouldn’t have to just deal with it."

You blink, momentarily caught off guard by the fury in Seungmin's voice.

"Just like you shouldn’t have had to deal with that piece of shit TA," Seungmin continues, voice sharp, practically vibrating with rage. "And you shouldn’t have to deal with all the other bullshit you go through just because you have fucking tits. And what’s worse? You’re fucking taught that it’s just life. But it’s not life. It’s bullshit."

"We all want to change the world, Min," you murmur, dipping the cotton pad back into the bowl of disinfectant. "But it won’t happen anytime soon."

"That’s not fucking good enough."

You swallow. "I know all the tricks, you know?" Your voice is softer now, tired. "Shouting fire instead of help, carrying deodorant because pepper spray is illegal. Knowing which shoes to wear in case I have to run. Walking with my keys between my fingers." You place the cotton pad down, exhaling slowly before meeting his eyes again. "This isn’t a burden you can carry for me, Min."

"I can try."

Your chest aches. "And I love you for that."

His breath shudders as he exhales, and then suddenly, he’s pulling you into a hug, his arms strong, steady, holding you close like he’s afraid to let go. You sink into it, pressing your face into his shoulder, inhaling the familiar scent of sweat, cologne, and the faintest hint of the laundry detergent he always uses. For a long moment, the two of you just sit there, the weight of the night pressing down but not breaking you.

Then, Seungmin sighs, pulling back just enough to look at you. "I’m surprised the guys who grabbed you is still breathing after Chan and Felix got their hands on them." His lips quirk slightly, though there’s still anger lingering in his expression. "I mean, I assumed after you, Chan, and Felix made out at Side Effects, you’d be a little love polycule by now."

"What?"

Seungmin frowns. "You don’t remember?"

You stare at him. "No, the whole night is a fucking blur, I was wasted, remember? I thought you didn’t remember anything!"

Seungmin shrugs. "I didn’t at first."

You raise an eyebrow, suspicion creeping in. "And now?"

Seungmin sighs, rubbing a hand over his face. "Until I was looking at pictures Changbin took and in the background and in the back is you, with Felix and Chan’s tongues in your mouth." He tilts his head slightly. "At the same time."

Your entire fucking body goes still and your brain stops functioning. The words sit there for a moment, just hanging, as you try to process what the fuck Seungmin just said. But all you can focus on is the way your stomach plummets, the way heat crawls up your neck, the way your heart starts pounding in your ears.

"What the fuck-"

Seungmin just watches you, waiting for the realization to fully hit.

And when it does, it hits hard.

"You’re fucking lying," you whisper, but even as you say it, there’s a gnawing feeling in your chest, a deep certainty that he’s not.

Seungmin shrugs. "I can show you the picture if you want."

You flail for something, anything, to latch onto. "How the fuck do you even know that’s what was happening? Maybe it was-"

"It was exactly what it looked like." Seungmin deadpans. "Don’t try to logic your way out of this, you were fully making out with them."

Seungmin watches you closely as you start wringing your hands, your eyes darting around the kitchen like you’re trying to physically locate an escape route from your own fucking reality. Your breathing picks up, the telltale sign of impending panic, and Seungmin knows he has exactly two seconds to do something before you completely freak out.

“Okay, okay,” he says quickly, his voice calm but firm. “No panic attacks, no freaking out. People kiss people all the time. It’s not that deep.”

You gawk at him, your whole body vibrating with the sheer magnitude of what he just dropped on you. "People kiss people all the time? Min, I kissed Chan and Felix at the same fucking time!"

He shrugs, his expression deliberately casual. "And? I’ve kissed Changbin.”

“You’ve WHAT?!”

You momentarily forget about your personal crisis and instead latch onto his, your hands slamming against the table as you lean in, your earlier panic momentarily shoved aside. “No, no, no. You do not get to say something like that and move on!” Your voice pitches, your thoughts now entirely derailed. “You and Changbin? Since fucking when?!"

Seungmin sighs, as if this is so inconvenient for him. "We’ve also blown each other."

Your hand flies to your chest like you’ve just been personally victimized by this information. "Kim fucking Seungmin, explain yourself right fucking now."

Seungmin tilts his head, a little smirk playing at the corners of his lips. "I think you need some wine for this.”

"Oh, for sure," you agree immediately. "We need some fucking wine."

Without hesitation, you practically launch yourself toward the fridge, yanking the door open and grabbing the first bottle of wine you see. You twist the cap off, toss it somewhere over your shoulder and take a long sip straight from the bottle before shoving it into Seungmin’s hands.

"Okay," you breathe, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. "Talk."

Seungmin takes a casual sip, smacks his lips, and sets the bottle down with an obnoxiously casual expression. “Well,” he starts, leaning back in his chair. “It started when I started going to the gym more.”

You nod. “Okay, yeah, because you wanted to bulk up, got it.”

“Right,” Seungmin confirms, then lifts a finger. “And who is the most insanely jacked person we know?”

You narrow your eyes. “Changbin.”

“Exactly,” Seungmin says, smirking. “So, he offered to help me out with my training.”

You grab the wine bottle back, taking another sip before pointing at him with it. “Right, okay, makes sense. Keep going.”

Seungmin hums thoughtfully. “Well, you know how the gym gets all sweaty and intense-”

“Oh my God.”

“-and there’s just a lot of testosterone flying around,” he continues, completely unfazed by your reaction. “And, you know, sometimes after a workout, you just feel so pent up and, well, one thing led to another.”

You slap your free hand over your mouth. “You fucked.”

Seungmin shrugs. “We blew each other a few times and then, one time, I railed him in the gym showers.”

Your entire fucking worldview has been shattered so you shove the wine bottle back into Seungmin’s hands, as if forcing him to drink it will make this easier for you to process. He accepts it, taking another sip like he hasn’t just rocked your entire fucking world with this information.

You lean in, your voice barely above a whisper. "Wait, wait, wait." You place both hands on the table, steadying yourself. "Changbin the beefcake is a bottom?"

Seungmin snorts, nodding his head. "Yes."

You sit back, exhaling sharply. "That tracks."

Seungmin just smirks, taking another slow sip of wine.

You stare at him, processing, processing, and then, suddenly, a giggle bubbles up from your throat and then another. Until suddenly, you are laughing hysterically. Seungmin watches as you dissolve into laughter, your head thrown back, your entire body shaking with the sheer absurdity of this night.

But then, just as suddenly, the laughter turns into sobs. Your shoulders shake, your breath stuttering, the weight of everything finally catching up to you. Your body collapses forward, and Seungmin moves instantly, catching you before you can fall apart completely.

His arms wrap tightly around you, his hand cradling the back of your head as you sob into his shoulder, your fingers clutching at his shirt like it’s the only thing keeping you together. He rocks you in his arms, his grip firm but gentle, his chin resting on the top of your head as you quietly sob against his shoulder. His hand rubs slow, steady circles on your back, the repetitive motion grounding you, keeping you from fully spiralling. 

Your breathing is uneven, your body shaking as your mind keeps looping back to what happened. The rough hands on your body, the way your own strength wasn’t enough, the sheer helplessness of it all. The first time you’d broken free, only for him and his friend to grab you again, like you were just something to be handled, owned, controlled.

You hadn’t been able to fight back. Your body had gone into survival mode, your brain too stunned to react in the way you always thought you would. You froze. You fucking froze. And in a different scenario, in a different place, with different people- What would have happened?

Your stomach churns violently at the thought, your fingers clenching into Seungmin’s jersey as your anxiety surges, drowning you in worst-case scenarios.

Seungmin senses it immediately. “Shhh,” he murmurs, his voice low, soothing. “You’re okay. You’re safe. I got you, okay?” He rocks you a little more, his grip tightening, his body a solid, unmoving presence. “Nothing happened. You got out. You’re here. Breathe. Just breathe.”

You try, you really fucking try, but the thoughts just keep piling up, pressing down on your chest, making it harder to think, to move, to fucking breathe and then, the kitchen door creaks open.

Seungmin doesn’t let go right away, but you feel his head lift slightly, his arms adjusting around you as someone steps into the room. Minho. Still in his bloodied, torn football uniform, his hair damp with sweat, knuckles bruised and split, his expression carefully blank. His eyes scan the room, assessing, before landing on you, curled up in Seungmin’s arms, shaking.

“Give her to me,” Minho murmurs, voice gentle.

Seungmin exhales, his grip lingering for just a second longer before he slowly, carefully transfers you into Minho’s waiting arms. You barely have time to process the change before Minho pulls you in, his arms wrapping around you just as tightly, just as securely as Seungmin’s had.

Seungmin steps back, pausing only to squeeze Minho’s shoulder before silently exiting the kitchen, pulling the door shut behind him. It’s just you and Minho now. His hand smooths down the back of your hair, his other arm snug around your waist, anchoring you to him. He doesn’t say anything at first, just lets you settle against him, lets you breathe.

Slowly, your heartbeat starts to even out and Minho’s fingers stroke through your hair, his voice warm and steady when he finally speaks. “You did good, you know?” he murmurs.

Your throat is still too tight to respond, so you just blink at him.

Minho’s lips twitch, something fond glinting in his tired eyes. “With the protest.” He nods, his fingers still moving through your hair, lulling you into something calmer. “You made me proud.”

Your breath stutters slightly, something heavy pressing against your ribs, something that feels like both relief and overwhelm at the same time.

Minho smirks, tilting his head slightly. “Even though you don’t need a man’s validation-”

You let out a weak snort through your sniffles, and Minho grins, his thumb brushing gently against the back of your neck. “-you’ve got mine,” he finishes.

A laugh bursts from your chest, sudden and unplanned, bubbling up between your lingering tears. It’s messy, half-choked, breaking into a soft sob immediately after.

Minho doesn’t even flinch. His fingers just continue their path through your hair, his other hand rubbing soothing circles into your back, his voice a steady, warm murmur in your ear.

“I got you, cupcake,” he says, his voice low and steady. “Nothing’s gonna happen to you. Not while I’m here. Not while we’re here.” He lets his chin rest against the top of your head. “You’re the strongest fucking person I know. You don’t have to believe it right now, but I’ll believe it for you.”

You sniffle against his chest, still fighting the wave of emotions pressing down on you.

Minho continues, voice unwavering. “You’re gonna get through this. You always fucking do.” His thumb rubs slow circles against your back. “And if you ever feel like you can’t, then you call me, and I’ll carry your ass through it. You hear me?”

You nod, pressing your face further into his chest.

Minho huffs out a quiet laugh. “Of course, you probably won’t need me, because you’re a fucking menace, and I pity anyone who ever thinks they can take you down.”

You don’t respond, but your lips twitch slightly.

Minho grins, tilting his head. “There she is.”

His words settle warmly in your chest, pressing into the cracks, filling the spaces where fear had tried to take root. Slowly, the weight on your chest eases.

Eventually, you shift in his hold, tilting your head up slightly. Your voice is hoarse when you finally speak. “Can I ask you something?”

Minho nods. “Of course.”

You hesitate for a second, then swallow, gathering your courage. “Did I really make out with Chan and Felix in Side Effects?”

“Yep.” He grins, his hand still stroking over your hair. “And it was hot.”

You let out a weak giggle, rolling your eyes, but before you can dwell on it too much, the panic returns. “What do I do about them?” you ask, biting your lip.

Minho hums, considering you for a second before shaking his head.

“One problem at a time, cupcake,” he murmurs, resting his chin atop your head again. “Right now, it’s just us. The rest of the world?” He closes his eyes, pulling you close. “It doesn’t exist.”

Chan and Felix stand in the dimly lit hallway, their muscles still tight from the adrenaline of the brawl, their bodies aching from the bruises forming beneath their torn and dirt-streaked jerseys. Neither of them speaks, their ears straining for any sound coming from behind the closed kitchen door where Minho and you are. Their fists clench, not from anger but from sheer helplessness.

When Seungmin steps out of the kitchen, closing the door behind him, both of them immediately straighten, their eyes locking onto his.

Seungmin sighs, rubbing at the back of his neck before meeting their stares. "I know you two like her," he says, voice low but firm. "And I know you want to help her. But right now? She needs Minho, okay? He's got it under control."

Chan and Felix exchange a look, neither of them questioning the truth behind his words. They want to be in there with you, to be the ones holding you together, but they also know Minho is the only one who can truly reach you when you're like this.

So they nod and Seungmin lets out a small breath of relief. "Good. Now, let's get you two cleaned up, you're both a fucking mess." 

The living room has been turned into an impromptu first aid station. Blood-streaked towels litter the coffee table, open medical kits scattered between them. The air smells like antiseptic and sweat, and the low murmur of voices fills the space as the rest of the frat tend to their injuries.

Jisung is slouched on the couch, a bag of ice pressed against the side of his face, his cheekbone already swelling into a nasty bruise. Jeongin sits next to him, sniffling as Hyunjin holds a tissue to his still-bloody nose. Changbin is on the floor, legs sprawled out, dabbing at a cut on his knuckle with a disinfectant wipe, his lips pressed into a thin line.

The energy in the room is electric, but there’s no regret. Only satisfaction. Chan and Felix don’t hesitate before grabbing the med kits and moving to each other, Chan tugging Felix down onto the armrest of the couch as he tilts the younger’s chin up, examining the damage. Felix lets him, his hands curling around Chan’s thigh for balance as Chan gently cleans the scrape along his jaw, the cut he hadn’t even realized he had until now.

Seungmin crouches down in front of Changbin, grabbing a fresh antiseptic wipe and reaching for the cut on his chin. "Hold still," he murmurs, dabbing carefully.

Changbin watches him intently, his expression unreadable, his gaze flickering between Seungmin’s fingers and his lips. His usual tough, cocky demeanour is absent, replaced with something softer, something almost dreamy.

Seungmin notices but doesn’t say anything, his lips twitching slightly as he focuses on his task. His thumb brushes against Changbin’s skin, and Changbin visibly exhales, blinking like he’s just remembered where he is.

And then Hyunjin dramatically sniffs the air and everyone turns to look at him.

Seungmin furrows his brows. "What the fuck are you doing?"

Hyunjin takes a deep breath, wafting the air toward his face like he’s absorbing something supernatural. "You two," he says, eyes narrowing at Seungmin and Changbin. "I smell queerness."

Jisung snorts, nearly dropping his ice pack as Felix and Chan exchange grins, and Jeongin, who still has a tissue shoved up his nose, suddenly perks up.

"Oh, shit, he’s right," Jeongin says, nodding sagely. "It smells fruity in here."

"Very fruity," Jisung agrees, voice muffled as he presses the ice pack harder against his face. "Like a freshly blended smoothie of boy love romance brewing in real time."

"Like the softest fucking yaoi," Chan muses, tilting his head as he inspects Felix’s wound.

Felix, ever the chaos instigator, inhales deeply and then lets out an exaggerated "Mmm, yes, I smell gay yearning."

"Strong gay yearning," Hyunjin adds, nodding.

Changbin chokes, his face turning bright red. "Oh, for fuck’s sake-"

"Admit it, Binnie," Jisung drawls, grinning despite his swollen face. "You were fully giving Seungmin heart eyes just now."

Seungmin doesn’t even deny it. He just smirks, wiping the leftover antiseptic on Changbin’s chin. "I mean," he says, voice dripping with amusement, "can you blame him? I am pretty fucking hot."

Changbin groans, tilting his head back against the couch. "I hate all of you."

"No, you don’t," Felix says cheerfully.

Hyunjin gasps dramatically. "Wait, do you think Seungmin railed Changbin in the gym showers?"

The entire room turns to stare at Seungmin and Changbin who share a single pointed look.

Jeongin, still holding his tissue, narrows his eyes. "Wait a fucking second-"

"We are not talking about this right now," Seungmin says, standing up immediately.

"Which means it happened," Jisung sings.

"I hate all of you," Changbin repeats, burying his face in his hands.

Chan and Felix just smirk as they continue tending to each other’s wounds, the lighthearted chaos of the moment briefly allowing them to forget the violence of the night. Even if only for a little while.

The morning light filters in through the blinds, casting soft golden streaks across the walls of Minho’s room. You blink groggily, taking a moment to gather your thoughts, the weight of exhaustion still heavy in your bones. The scent of Minho’s laundry detergent clings to the oversized hoodie and sweatpants you borrowed from him last night, your usual routine after crashing in his bed.

Minho is once again passed out on the air mattress on the floor, one arm draped over his face, his mouth slightly open as soft snores escape him. His limbs are sprawled out, completely dead to the world, and you suppress a giggle.

The two of you had stayed up stupidly late watching British Love Island, a show Minho somehow managed to stream despite the fact that you were in Seoul. You don’t know how he did it, but he had simply smirked at you from behind his laptop, muttering something about a few VPN tricks and sheer determination before successfully pulling it up on his screen.

You had mocked the contestants, throwing popcorn at the screen every time someone made a questionable choice, and Minho had loudly judged every single one of them in the most Minho way possible.

“That man is built like an unevolved Pokémon.”

“She’s had her lips done. No way she hasn’t.”

"I would simply choose to have a personality instead of making out with the first man who acknowledges my existence."

"If I ever act like this, please drown me in the Han River."

You sit up slowly, wincing as you shift your hands against the blankets. Your wrists ache immediately, a dull, throbbing pain radiating from where the Levanter player had grabbed you, his fingers pressing too hard, too rough. You turn them over, and sure enough, the faint outlines of bruised handprints remain, ghostly reminders of what happened.

You exhale sharply, forcing yourself to move. Laying here, dwelling, won’t do anything.

Swinging your legs over the side of the bed, you stand, stretching out the stiffness in your limbs before making your way out of Minho’s room. He doesn’t stir, not even when you carefully step over his sprawled-out limbs.

You make your way downstairs, the scent of something warm and savoury filling the air, leading you straight to the kitchen.

Inside, Chan and Felix are already up, standing by the stove as they move around effortlessly, their bodies bumping into each other occasionally as they work in perfect sync. Felix is focused on stirring a pot of kimchi-jjigae, the rich, spicy scent filling the kitchen and Chan is slicing rice cakes for the tteokbokki, the soft thud of his knife against the cutting board the only sound accompanying the quiet hum of their movements.

You hesitate for a second before softly clearing your throat. "Hey."

Felix looks up immediately, his lips curving into a soft smile. "Hey."

Chan turns at the sound of your voice, his eyes scanning you quickly, taking in the oversized hoodie, the tiredness in your face, the slight way your fingers are trembling as you wring them together. His brows pull together slightly, but he doesn’t say anything yet.

You swallow, your throat suddenly dry. "I’m sorry."

Chan frowns, setting the knife down. "What? Why?"

You shift on your feet, suddenly feeling small. "The protest, it was my idea. I pitched it to Yeji. If I hadn’t-" Your voice wavers slightly, and you hate how weak it sounds. "If I hadn’t, well, there wouldn’t have been the fight. I just wanted to- I don’t know-"

You squeeze your hands together, an anxious habit you can’t seem to break.

"No," Chan says firmly, his voice leaving zero room for argument.

"Absolutely fucking not," Felix adds, shaking his head.

Felix steps away from the stove, moving toward you with careful, deliberate steps, his hands twitching like he wants to reach for you but is holding himself back. "You are not blaming yourself for this, angel," he says, voice soft but stern. "None of this was your fault."

"Not a fucking ounce of it," Chan agrees. "The only people responsible for what happened were those fucking assholes. Not you. Never you."

Your throat tightens, emotions bubbling dangerously close to the surface.

"You did something important," Felix continues, his voice warm, his eyes so unbearably kind. "You made a fucking statement. You didn’t just stand by and accept bullshit, you fought for something, for yourself, for everyone on that squad. You were brave."

Chan steps closer, his presence solid, warm. "Never doubt that," he murmurs. "Not for a fucking second."

You barely have time to react before you’re being wrapped in a solid, comforting side hug, Chan’s arm looping around your shoulders as he tugs you against him. The warmth of his skin seeps into you, grounding you, holding you together in a way you didn’t realize you needed.

You let yourself sink into him, your forehead resting against his shoulder as you inhale the faint scent of his cologne, something woodsy and warm, something safe.

Felix watches for a moment before nodding to himself, stepping back to the stove and returning to the kimchi-jjigae, stirring it with a soft hum.

You close your eyes for a second before speaking, voice quiet but certain. "I know I kissed you two at Side Effects," you say, feeling Chan’s arm tighten ever so slightly around your shoulders. "But can we talk about it some other time?"

Chan doesn’t hesitate. "Yeah, of course," he reassures you immediately. "Don't feel like you have to talk about it now, okay? No pressure."

You nod against his shoulder, exhaling as some of the tension in your chest loosens. "Thank you."

"You don’t have to thank me," Chan murmurs, his thumb rubbing small circles against your arm. "We’ll talk when you’re ready. No sooner."

Felix glances up from the stove, watching the two of you for a moment before turning back to the pan in front of him. You can feel his gaze lingering, but he doesn’t push, doesn’t say anything. He just lets you be.

After a few moments, you shift slightly, still leaning into Chan’s side. "The TA took power from so many girls at the college," you say, voice quieter now, more measured. "The protest was supposed to be our way of taking it back."

Felix sets the ladle down, turning to you fully. "You did take it back," he says firmly, eyes locked onto yours with unwavering intensity. "You and the whole cheer squad. What you did? That wasn’t just a protest, that was a fucking statement. You stood there, in front of the whole college, in front of him, and you didn’t back down. You didn’t let him fucking win."

Chan hums in agreement, squeezing your shoulder. "You were fucking brave. And I swear to fucking god, Y/N, if I ever hear you try to downplay that again, I will fight you."

You let out a weak laugh, shaking your head. "You’d lose."

"Yeah, probably," Chan admits with a grin. "But I’d still try."

Felix smirks, flipping the last of the rice cakes in the pan. "I’d pay to see that."

Chan pulls away slightly, his warmth lingering as he crouches down to rummage under the sink, grabbing a small tube of bruise cream. "Can I put this on your wrists?" he asks, already uncapping it. "It’ll make them less sore, and it won’t throb as much."

You glance down at your hands, at the faint outlines of bruised handprints that still linger on your skin, a sickening reminder of what happened. You hesitate for only a second before nodding. "Yeah. Okay."

Chan nods, his movements slow and careful as he squeezes a small amount of cream onto his fingers before gently reaching for your wrist. His touch is light, barely there, but the moment his fingertips brush over the bruised skin, you flinch involuntarily. 

"Sorry," Chan murmurs immediately, pulling his hands back slightly. "I’ll be gentler."

"No, it’s okay," you say quickly, shaking your head. "Just keep going."

He nods again, his touch even softer this time, his fingers moving in slow, soothing circles over your skin, rubbing the cream in carefully. His brows are furrowed in concentration, lips pressed into a thin line, his whole body language radiating focus.

Felix, in the meantime, grabs nine plates and begins plating breakfast, moving with effortless ease as he finishes up the last of the cooking. He doesn’t comment on what Chan is doing, doesn’t interrupt, he just exists in the moment with you both, the three of you moving in a quiet, comfortable rhythm.

The world outside is still chaotic, still loud, but in here, in this small, warm kitchen, with Chan’s careful hands tending to your bruises and Felix humming softly as he plates food, it feels like, just for a second, you can breathe.

The football coach’s office is stifling, the air thick with barely contained rage as he paces back and forth behind his desk, his fists clenched at his sides, his face red with barely restrained fury. The walls, lined with framed jerseys and old game photographs, seem to close in, the fluorescent lights above buzzing irritatingly as he glares at the two of you standing in front of him.

Yeji stands slightly in front of you, her posture rigid, her chin tilted just high enough to let him know she’s not backing down. You, on the other hand, keep your hands clasped tightly together, wringing them to try and control the anxious energy buzzing through your body, your nails pressing into the soft skin of your palm as you fight the urge to fidget.

The coach slams his fist against the desk, making you jump slightly, but Yeji doesn’t even flinch.

"What the fuck were you two thinking?! You turned the fucking half-time show into a fucking circus! The news caught wind of this bullshit!" he continues, jabbing a finger toward his computer, where the screen is lit up with what is clearly a news article. "You two just fucking ruined the reputation of this football program!"

You bite the inside of your cheek so hard you taste iron and Yeji’s expression doesn’t waver.

"Do you know how fucking humiliating it is to have the school board breathing down my goddamn neck?!" The coach slams his palm against his desk again. "Do you know how many angry fucking calls I’ve had to sit through today?!"

You inhale sharply, keeping your breathing even, focusing on the slight sting of your fingernails pressing into your skin.

"And you know what?" he sneers, leaning forward. "Because of you two and your little fucking stunt, that game was cancelled. The biggest fucking game of the season, gone. Do you know how much money was lost because of that?! Do you fucking understand the damage you two caused?!" 

His voice is booming, his face growing redder and redder with every word but Yeji still doesn’t move, her expression eerily calm despite the fire raging in the coach’s eyes.

"And the fight?" His lips curl into a sneer, his hands slamming onto his desk as he leans over it, glowering at both of you. "That was on you too. If you hadn’t pulled that little fucking stunt, the guys wouldn’t have started swinging, but instead, the whole goddamn field turned into a war zone."

He’s breathing hard now, his nostrils flaring, and for a moment, it almost seems like he’s done. Then he laughs, a short, bitter sound. "And guess fucking what?" he says, his voice dropping to something almost mocking now. "Because of your bullshit? That TA?" He points toward the screen, where a very familiar face is plastered all over the article. "He’s gone. Permanently."

"The media went fucking wild over the protest. The school couldn’t fucking hide it anymore, not with videos spreading like wildfire all over social media, so congratulations," he sneers, "you two just got him fucking fired."

Something burns in your chest, but you keep your mouth shut. Yeji, however, smiles. It’s small. Barely there. But you see it and from the way the coach’s eye twitches, he sees it too.

"You think that’s fucking funny?" he snaps.

Yeji shakes her head. "Not at all, Coach." Her tone is even, unreadable. "I just think it’s interesting that you’re angrier about the game than you are about the reason we protested in the first place."

The tension in the room is suffocating, and you feel the weight of it pressing against your chest, making it harder to breathe. The coach lets out a slow, measured breath before he smiles.

"Effective immediately, the entire cheer squad is suspended from the program.You two might not give a fuck about this school’s reputation," the coach continues, voice laced with venom, "but I do. And I will not have a squad of disruptive, attention-seeking, reckless fucking brats tarnishing this program."

Yeji tilts her chin up higher. "I authorized it," she says, her voice like steel. "As cheer captain, I take full responsibility for the protest." She turns to you then, her gaze gentler, though her posture remains firm. "Y/N has received her scolding. She can go now."

You hesitate but Yeji gives you a pointed look and you swallow thickly, turning on your heel and walk out of the office, your hands still trembling at your sides.

The shouting starts behind you as you walk away from the coach’s office, Yeji’s voice sharp and unwavering as she fires back at him, matching his fury with her own. You can’t make out the words anymore, not properly. It all feels muffled, like you’re underwater, the sounds distorted, blending together into an indistinct roar.

Your heartbeat is loud in your ears, your hands still trembling at your sides as you walk down the hallway, your feet moving on autopilot. The weight of everything presses down on you, coiling tight in your chest, a mixture of emotions threatening to drown you.

You should be angry. You should be furious. The protest was necessary, the fight wasn’t your fault, and yet, here you are, punished for standing up for yourself.

Your fingers curl into fists as you walk, your breathing uneven, your vision unfocused. You barely register the sound of footsteps coming toward you until you bump into someone.

The impact jolts you slightly, knocking you back a step. You blink and find yourself face-to-face with Felix, his usual easygoing expression shifting into something more serious the second he gets a proper look at you. His brows knit together, his hands instinctively reaching out to steady you, gripping your arms gently.

"Angel," he says, his voice soft but concerned. "What’s wrong?"

You open your mouth to respond, but the words get caught in your throat. The emotions, the frustration, the exhaustion, it’s all sitting there, clawing at your ribs, but you can’t seem to get it out.

Felix doesn’t press you for an answer, instead, his grip on your arms tightens slightly, grounding you, and then, without hesitation, he grabs your hand. "Okay," he says firmly. "Come with me."

Your fingers instinctively curl around his, the warmth of his palm a steadying presence against your own. You don’t question it. You don’t ask why. You just nod, letting him lead you away from everything, away from the coach’s office, away from the suffocating weight of the conversation that just took place, away from the overwhelming noise of it all.

As he pulls you down the hallway, you manage to find your voice. "Where are we going?"

Felix glances over his shoulder at you, his lips twitching slightly into a knowing smirk. "Mine and Chan’s favourite place," he says. "I’ll text Chan to meet us there."

You blink at him, your fingers still wrapped around his. "I didn’t know you guys had a secret hideout."

"Well you do now," Felix says with a small grin, squeezing your hand gently before tugging you along, leading you out of the building and into the crisp afternoon air.

Felix leads you down a winding path, away from the bustling campus, past old industrial buildings and empty parking lots, until you reach the outskirts of Seoul. It takes about ten minutes before you arrive at your destination, an old scrapyard, tucked between rusted-out shipping containers and stacks of discarded metal parts. 

The place is huge, sprawling out in all directions, piles of junk reaching up toward the sky. There are abandoned cars, broken appliances, and stacks of old furniture, all left to decay in this forgotten corner of the city.

You stare at it, blinking. "A scrapyard?"

Felix grins, clearly proud of himself. "Yep!"

You look at him, then back at the scrapyard. "Okay, but why?"

Felix tugs you further in, stepping over a pile of rusted pipes, leading you toward an old workbench near the centre of the lot. There, sitting in an open wooden crate, is a collection of metal baseball bats, their surfaces scratched and dented from obvious use.

He gestures to them with a dramatic flourish. "So," he says, "whenever Chan or I are having a really bad day, we come here and we use these."

Your brows knit together as you stare at the bats. "And do what?"

Felix’s grin turns absolutely mischievous. "Break shit! It’s fun! You shout what you’re angry about as you smash things. Helps let it out."

You blink at him. "You just come here and destroy things?"

"Yep!" Felix says cheerfully, reaching down and picking up a bat, resting it against his shoulder like a professional. "Way cheaper than therapy."

You stare at him for a long moment before exhaling a laugh. "This is the most unhinged thing I’ve ever heard."

"And yet," Felix says, tilting his head, "you kinda wanna try it, don’t you?"

You hesitate. You do. There’s something appealing about it, something cathartic about the idea of taking a bat to something breakable and not having to worry about consequences. Before you can respond, the sound of sneakers hitting pavement catches your attention.

Chan jogs into view, slightly out of breath but grinning, his curls bouncing with every step. "Sorry, sorry," he pants, coming to a stop beside Felix. "Had to sneak out of practice before coach finished arguing with Yeji."

Felix snickers. "So what you’re saying is, we need to get this anger session started before he figures out we're gone?"

"Exactly," Chan huffs, running a hand through his damp curls before turning to you. "You ready to get mad?"

You hesitate again, still unsure, but before you can overthink it, Chan hands you a pair of safety goggles. "Gotta protect those pretty eyes," he says with a wink, before putting a pair on his own face.

Felix hands you a bat, practically vibrating with excitement as he grabs one for himself. "Don’t think too much about it," he says. "Just let it out. Watch and learn, angel."

Felix takes a step forward, rolling his shoulders, then grips the bat with both hands. He scans the area, eyes landing on an old television set half-buried under a pile of scrap. "Okay, I’ll start," he says, adjusting his stance. "I fucking hate those Lobos bastards."

Then he swings and the bat connects with the glass screen of the TV, shattering it on impact. The crash echoes through the scrapyard, shards flying, the sheer force of the hit making the TV collapse inward.

"Fuck yes!" Felix cheers, shaking out his arms. "That felt amazing."

Chan grins, stepping up beside him. "My turn."

He grips his own bat, eyes scanning the area before landing on an old car door, slightly unhinged from its frame. "I hate that guys get away with hurting women because they can. Because society lets them." His voice is steady, but there’s a sharp edge to it, something dark simmering beneath his usual calm demeanour.

The impact of Chan’s swing is deafening, the metal bending brutally beneath his strength. The door caves inward, the force of the hit making it rattle against the ground and Chan exhales sharply, rolling his shoulders before turning to you. "Your turn."

You stare at them and then down at the bat in your hands. "I don’t know what to say."

"Say whatever you feel," Felix encourages. "Doesn’t have to be deep. Just let it out."

You take a breath, adjusting your grip on the bat. Your eyes flicker around the scrapyard until you spot an old rusted-out filing cabinet, the metal already warped from years of exposure.

You shift your stance, adjusting your hands on the bat. "I hate that we got punished for the protest," you say hesitantly.

Then, tentatively, you swing. The bat connects with the cabinet, sending a dull clang ringing through the air. The hit isn’t as strong as theirs, but the impact still sends a thrill up your arms, a spark of something electric settling in your chest.

Felix whoops, clapping his hands. "That’s our girl!"

Chan grins. "Again."

Something in you clicks and you adjust your grip, planting your feet more firmly. "I hate that we were the ones who had to stand up for ourselves!"

You swing again, harder this time. The bat crashes against the metal, leaving a dent.

"Yes!" Chan yells.

"I hate that the TA got away with it for so long!"

Another swing. Another impact.

"I hate that people like him exist, that people like him win all the fucking time!"

The bat slams into the cabinet, the force making your arms shake, but you don’t care, you don’t care because suddenly you’re furious, the weight of everything, the anger, the helplessness, the fucking injustice of it all, pouring out of you.

Felix and Chan start joining in, their voices rising with yours, bats swinging, metal crunching, glass shattering. The scrapyard is filled with laughter, with shouts, with the pure catharsis of letting go. By the time you’re done, you’re breathless, your hands shaking not from fear, but from the adrenaline rush of it all.

Felix drops his bat first, turning to you with a huge grin. "Feel better?"

"Yeah," you say, breathless. "I really fucking do."

The three of you stand amidst the wreckage of the scrapyard, your breathing still slightly uneven from the sheer adrenaline of smashing things. The sun hangs lower in the sky now, casting an orange glow over the metal and broken glass scattered around you. Chan and Felix are grinning, eyes bright with excitement, as if they’ve just finished the best therapy session of their lives.

"I think I’m ready to talk about the kisses now."

Felix’s smile lingers for a second before he blinks, tilting his head. "Yeah?"

Chan rubs at the back of his neck, a small smirk playing on his lips, but his expression is carefully neutral. "Okay, let’s talk about it."

You nod, adjusting your stance slightly as you tighten your grip around the bat still resting in your hands. "I just... I want to know what you two were thinking. Because you two are already together, so I don’t-" You hesitate, struggling to find the right words. "I don’t get it?"

Felix immediately steps closer, reaching out to take your hand gently in his. His grip is warm, grounding, as he meets your gaze with nothing but sincerity. "We’re together," he says softly, "but we like you too, sweetheart."

Your brain short circuits and you blink. Then you point at yourself silently, tilting your head to the side, because surely he’s not saying what you think he’s saying.

Felix laughs, his grip tightening around your fingers. "Yes, you," he confirms.

Chan, who has been watching this entire interaction with poorly concealed amusement, lets out a chuckle, shaking his head. "You really had no clue, huh?"

Your lips part slightly, but no words come out. Your thoughts feel scrambled, like someone just hit shuffle on your entire fucking life.

"We’ve been flirting with you for months," Chan continues, crossing his arms over his chest. "But you never realised."

"You were flirting with me?"

Chan snorts. "Oh my God, yes."

Felix grins, nodding along. "Like, blatantly, sweetheart. Like, we could not have made it more obvious if we tried."

You squint at them, your brain scrambling to backtrack, to replay every interaction you’ve had with them over the past few months, trying to see if you missed something.

"Okay, but what does that mean?" you finally ask, shifting your weight slightly. "Like, what are you saying, exactly?"

Felix squeezes your hand, his thumb brushing over your knuckles absentmindedly. "A polycule, a throuple, a triangle of love," he says. "All three of us."

You take a breath. "So is this a date?"

Chan grins, shaking his head. "No."

Felix lets out a soft laugh. "We’d do a date properly, sweetheart."

Chan gestures around at the wrecked scrapyard, raising an eyebrow. "Think of this as, like, a pre-date date."

You blink again and Felix beams. "She’s buffering."

"She is," Chan agrees, amused.

You roll your eyes, finally finding your words again. "I was not buffering, I was just processing!"

"Sure, sure," Felix teases, bumping his shoulder against yours. "So, does that mean we get an actual date?"

"Yeah. I think I’d like that."

The air is warm as you step out of your apartment building, a gentle breeze brushes through your hair, making the loose strands dance around your face as you shift your bag over your shoulder, scanning the parking lot for Chan’s car and there they are.

Leaning casually against Chan’s sleek black car, both of them looking like they walked straight out of a streetwear editorial.

Felix is the first to notice you, his eyes lighting up instantly, a huge grin stretching across his face. He pushes himself off the side of the car, shoving his hands into the pockets of his black-and-white windbreaker jacket. The oversized fit of it drapes over his frame effortlessly, the simple white tank underneath hinting at the toned muscle beneath. His black knee-length shorts give him an almost skater-boy edge, thick socks scrunched up over his chunky black combat boots, the entire look screaming casual but expensive.

Chan follows Felix’s gaze and turns toward you, a knowing smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. He stands, dressed in all black, his fitted ribbed tank top hugging his frame in a way that makes your stomach flutter just a little bit. His black knee-length shorts are loose but structured, the perfect blend of relaxed and stylish, paired effortlessly with his black sneakers. The final touch, a soft grey beanie, rests snug over his curls, making him look even softer than usual, despite the way his muscles flex as he stretches.

Both of them take their time drinking in the sight of you, their eyes flickering over your outfit, the cropped white tank layered under your slouchy grey zip-up hoodie, the way the slightly oversized fit makes you look effortlessly comfortable but still put together. The black flares hug your legs perfectly, the hem grazing the tops of your chunky white sneakers, a simple but stylish choice. And the black ruched shoulder bag resting against your hip completes the look with a subtle touch of chic.

Felix whistles, tilting his head as he gives you a once-over. "Damn, angel," he muses, his eyes sparkling. "You clean up nice."

Chan snorts, rolling his eyes at Felix before stepping forward slightly, his gaze softer, more appreciative. "Told you comfy would suit you," he murmurs, reaching out to tug at the edge of your hoodie playfully. "You look perfect."

Your face warms slightly under their attention, but you mask it with a playful eye roll. "You two act like I showed up in a ballgown or something," you say, crossing your arms.

Felix gasps dramatically. "That would’ve been iconic!"

Chan chuckles, shaking his head. "C’mon, let’s get going." He pulls open the car door, gesturing toward the passenger seat with a teasing grin. "Unless you plan on standing there and letting us admire you all day?"

You huff a laugh, shaking your head as you climb into the car. "You act like you don't admire me all the time anyway."

Felix, climbing into the backseat, laughs loudly. "She’s got a point, Channie."

Chan just grins, starting the engine as Felix settles in behind you, the doors closing with a soft thunk. As the car hums to life, you turn to Chan, raising an eyebrow. "So, are you going to tell me where we’re going?"

Felix leans forward between the seats, resting his chin on your shoulder with a smug grin. "That would ruin the fun, sweetheart."

You groan, slumping back into your seat. "You two are menaces."

Chan laughs, his fingers tapping rhythmically against the steering wheel as he pulls out of the parking lot. "You’ll love it, trust us."

The car rolls to a smooth stop, and you glance out the window and you see the large, softly lit sign of a luxury spa. The building is sleek and modern, the entrance framed by elegant gold accents, the kind of place that screams relaxation and comfort.

You blink in mild surprise as Chan shifts the car into park, his fingers drumming against the steering wheel. He turns to you, his smirk nothing short of pleased with himself. "See? Comfort."

Felix unbuckles his seatbelt, already stretching in the backseat, his grin mischievous. "We figured you could use a break," he says, voice warm. "And let’s be real, we needed one too."

You let out a soft laugh, shaking your head as you lean back against the headrest. "I haven’t been to the spa in ages."

Chan raises an eyebrow. "Then it’s about time we changed that."

You sigh dramatically. "The last time I went, it sucked because Seungmin kept pointing out violations in the law the entire time. He literally made a list."

Felix laughs loudly, shoving open his door. "Of course he did."

You step out of the car, stretching your arms above your head as you take in the building. "Alright, so what’s the plan here? What kind of spa day am I in for?"

Felix steps beside you, throwing an arm over your shoulder, his voice taking on a conspiratorial tone. "We booked a private room just for the three of us," he says, his fingers squeezing your shoulder lightly. "TV, face masks, nice food, the works."

You raise an eyebrow. "No massages?"

Felix smirks, his grip tightening slightly before he leans down to whisper, "Not unless you want me to do it."

Your breath hitches for half a second before you scoff, shoving his arm off of you. "Oh my God, you’re impossible."

"I try my best," Felix says with a wink.

Chan, clearly amused by the entire exchange, nudges you toward the entrance. "Come on, let’s get inside before Felix starts offering his services to random strangers too."

Felix places a hand over his chest dramatically, gasping in mock offence. "I would never-"

"You absolutely would," you and Chan say at the exact same time.

Felix pouts as he follows you both inside. "You guys have no faith in me."

The moment you step inside the spa, the air changes, it’s warm and inviting, carrying the faintest scent of lavender and chamomile, the kind of atmosphere that immediately makes your muscles loosen.

 The reception area is sleek and minimalist, the lighting soft, the furniture unreasonably comfortable-looking. There’s a quietness to the space, a peaceful hum that settles deep in your chest, already melting away the tension you hadn’t even realized you were still carrying.

Felix is practically buzzing beside you, clearly excited about this whole plan. "See, angel? No stress. No noise. Just us, hiding from the frat, doing nothing for a few hours."

You huff a laugh, already feeling yourself relax at the idea. "So basically, we’re having a quiet, lowkey movie day with face masks and food, where the rest of the frat can’t find us?"

Chan nods, his smirk widening slightly as he pushes open the door to the private room with Bang on the door. "Exactly."

You grin, looking between the two of them. "I love it."

The private room at the spa is stupidly nice, plush seating, a huge flat-screen TV mounted on the wall, dim lighting that makes everything feel way more expensive than it probably is. The air smells like fresh linen and essential oils, something soft and calming, and the walls are lined with neatly arranged trays filled with skin-care products, towels, and refreshments. There’s even a massive sofa with fluffy blankets thrown over the back, making it perfect for sinking into and never leaving.

As soon as you step inside, Felix throws his arms up with a grin. "Hell yeah, private luxury, baby!"

Chan shakes his head, but you can see the fond smile tugging at his lips as he walks over to the TV, grabbing the remote. "Alright, what are we feeling? Classic Disney or some random bullshit?"

Felix, without missing a beat, plops down onto the sofa and stretches out dramatically. "Classic Disney, obviously."

You smirk, kicking off your sneakers near the door before making your way toward him. "You say that like you don’t always pick Disney movies when you’re hungover."

"And I stand by it," Felix says, dead serious. "Disney movies heal people, angel. It’s science."

Chan hums in agreement, scrolling through the options before clicking on Beauty and the Beast. "Perfect."

You grin, flopping down beside Felix as he immediately grabs one of the spa’s fluffy blankets, throwing it over both of your laps. Chan joins you a second later, sighing as he stretches his legs out as Felix reaches over to poke your side. "Alright, before we get too comfy, we’re doing face masks."

You brighten up immediately. "Oh, hell yes."

"But-" Chan starts.

"No buts," Felix cuts him off, sitting up. "We’re pampering you tonight, Channie. Don’t fight it."

Chan groans. "Why do I feel like I’m about to regret this?"

Felix ignores him, already reaching for one of the spa’s pre-packaged clay mask powders. You scoot closer, peering at the instructions before Felix unceremoniously dumps the powder into a bowl.

"How much water does it need?" you ask.

Felix shrugs. "Eh, I’ll just eyeball it."

Chan immediately lifts his head. "Wait-"

Too late. Felix dumps an arbitrary amount of water into the bowl, the mixture immediately turning into something that looks more like thin oatmeal than a face mask.

"Looks… fine?" you say.

Felix nods. "Yeah, totally fine."

Chan squints at you both. "It’s fucking liquid."

"Shhh," Felix hushes him, grabbing a brush and stirring. "It’s gonna be great."

Chan sighs like he knows this is going to go terribly, but still sits up obediently, letting you and Felix hover over him as you both dip brushes into the bowl of sludge.

You bite your lip, trying so hard not to laugh as you swipe the mask onto Chan’s forehead. It immediately starts sliding down toward his eyebrow.

"Oh my god," you whisper. "It’s so bad."

Felix snorts, painting a thick, gloopy streak down Chan’s cheek, only for it to drip toward his jaw. "It’s art, angel. Let it happen."

Chan stays painfully still as you and Felix struggle to contain your laughter, the mask refusing to stick properly to his skin. Then Felix grabs the cucumber slices from the refreshments tray and just starts slapping them onto Chan’s face.

"There we go," Felix says, deadpan. "Perfect."

Chan sits there stoically, his entire face covered in dripping face mask and randomly placed cucumber slices, looking like he’s reevaluating all of his life choices.

"You two are actual menaces," he says flatly.

Felix beams. "Thank you."

You wipe tears from your eyes, your stomach hurting from laughing so hard. "It’s a look, honestly."

"I hate both of you," Chan mutters, though he doesn’t move to wipe any of it off.

Felix claps his hands together. "Alright, now it’s our turn."

You and Felix opt for sheet masks instead, much safer than the crime you just committed on Chan’s face. The cool fabric presses against your skin as you smooth the mask over your features, the slight tingle from the serum oddly soothing.

Felix leans back, sighing happily. "Skincare gods, bless me tonight."

Chan, who still has a single cucumber slice hanging off his cheek, just shakes his head. "You two better not fucking take pictures."

"No promises," Felix replies immediately.

You giggle, adjusting your sheet mask before Felix suddenly perks up, his eyes landing on a small manicure kit near the refreshments table.

"Oh? Oh."

"What?" you ask, following his gaze.

Felix grins, grabbing the small kit and waving it in front of your face. "I’m doing your nails, angel."

Your brows lift. "Are you even good at it?"

"Excuse me," Felix gasps, placing a hand to his chest like you deeply offended him. "I have skills, Y/N. Let me prove myself."

You glance at Chan, who is still sitting there with cucumber chaos on his face, watching the two of you with his arms crossed. "Should I trust him?"

Chan shrugs. "No idea. This is new information to me."

Felix pouts. "You doubt me?"

"Absolutely," you tease.

Felix huffs but still gently grabs your hands, pulling them into his lap. "Doubt all you want, sweetheart. You’ll be thanking me when I make these nails look amazing."

You smile, letting him file and buff your nails, the repetitive motion oddly calming.

Chan, still stuck in his gloopy mask, watches silently, his head tilted slightly as he listens to you and Felix giggle at each other. You catch the way his lips quirk slightly at the corners, the affection in his gaze as he watches Felix compliment you nonstop while painting your nails.

"This color matches your hair," Felix hums, carefully brushing on the polish. "You’re gonna look so fucking cute."

You roll your eyes but grin, watching the polish glisten under the dim lighting. "I’ll admit, you’re not bad at this."

"Told you," Felix sing-songs, sticking his tongue out.

Chan exhales a soft laugh, adjusting the cucumber slice barely hanging onto his nose. "I can’t believe this is my life."

"You love it, don’t lie."

Felix finishes up, blowing lightly over your nails before beaming at you. "Perfect. My best work yet."

You wiggle your fingers, admiring them. "Okay, I kinda love them."

"Told you," Felix says smugly.

An hour later, the three of you are completely settled into the plush sofa, tangled up in the kind of warmth that comes from being full, comfortable, and undeniably spoiled. The spa staff have been slipping in and out quietly, refilling plates with fresh fruit, delicate pastries, and warm, fragrant tea that you’re sure costs more than your monthly grocery bill.

The TV now plays Peter Pan, the familiar scenes casting a soft glow over the dimly lit room. It feels perfect, the kind of peace you never realized you needed until you were right here, living in it.

Felix is pressed against one side of you, his body warm beneath the fluffy blanket you’re sharing, fingers idly tracing patterns against your knee. Chan is on the other side, one arm draped over the back of the couch, the occasional brush of his fingertips against your shoulder sending tiny sparks up your spine. All of you have matching nail polish now, Felix’s idea, obviously. His nails, Chan’s nails, your nails, all a perfect glossy shade that matches the soft lavender tones in your hair.

Felix tilts his head toward you, a lazy smile tugging at his lips. "So how did we do?"

You hum thoughtfully, sipping your tea, dragging out the moment just to make them wait for it. "Well," you start, setting your cup down carefully. "Neither of you has asked me for a lock of my hair yet, so already, you’re doing better than my worst date ever."

Chan snorts, shaking his head. "No fucking way."

"Swear to God," you say, solemnly. "Dude just straight-up looked me in the eyes and asked if he could keep a piece of me like I was a goddamn Victorian ghost bride."

Felix wheezes, his entire body shaking against yours. "Angel, what the fuck?"

"You’re telling me!" you exclaim, throwing a hand up. "And I still had to sit through the rest of that meal because he drove us there and I didn’t want to die walking home."

Chan sighs dramatically, shaking his head. "This is why we’re never letting you date people we haven’t pre-approved."

Felix hums in agreement. "Exactly. We’re your new dating consultants."

"Or," Chan adds smoothly, his fingers brushing lightly against the bare skin of your forearm, "you just date us instead."

You glance between them. Felix, his bright mischievous gaze locked onto yours, his fingers still tracing gentle lines against your knee. Chan, steady and certain, looking at you with something deep, something that makes your heart skip a little too fast.

Felix licks his lips. "Can we kiss you?"

Your breath catches, your fingers tightening around the blanket without meaning to and you nod. Chan chuckles, tilting his head. "You better remember this time."

Felix leans in first, closing the space between you so smoothly that it feels seamless, like he’s been waiting for this moment all night. His lips brush over yours, gentle at first, almost teasing, before he deepens it, tilting his head to slot against you more perfectly.

His lips are soft, slightly sweet from the tea, moving against yours with a warmth that sends a spark straight through your body. His fingers slide up to cup your jaw, his thumb brushing lightly over your cheek as he takes his time, savoring the kiss like he never wants it to end.

The second Felix pulls away slightly, Chan is there, his lips pressing to yours in an entirely different way, firmer, more certain, like he’s been dying to do this. His fingers slip beneath your chin, tilting your head just right so he can kiss you deeper, letting out a quiet hum of satisfaction as he feels you melt against him.

Felix is still there, still watching, his breath slightly uneven as he lingers close, his forehead brushing against yours when Chan finally pulls away. For a second, you’re just breathing, lips tingling, your heart hammering so hard you’re surprised they can’t hear it.

Then Felix grins, tilting his head. "One more."

And then he’s kissing Chan, right in front of you, moving into him so smoothly that it feels natural, like it’s something they’ve done a thousand times before which they have. Chan hums against his lips, his hand sliding up into Felix’s hair, pulling him in closer as he tilts his head. Your breath catches, eyes locked onto the way Felix sighs softly against Chan’s mouth, the way their lips move together in sync, the way they fit.

Felix pulls away first, his lips pink, his eyes still half-lidded as he turns back to you. "Now you."

You don’t even know who kisses who next, because the next thing you know, Felix’s fingers are threading through your hair as he tugs you back in, his mouth slotting perfectly against yours as you sigh into the kiss.

Chan laughs softly against your jaw before pressing kisses there too, his lips brushing over your skin, trailing soft, teasing pecks down your neck. Felix nips at your lower lip before pulling away, pressing his forehead to yours as he exhales a soft laugh. "You definitely remember this time, right?"

You let out a breathless giggle, feeling a little dizzy from the warmth of them both surrounding you. "I think it’s burned into my brain forever."

"Good," Chan murmurs, nudging his nose against your temple before pressing a slow, deliberate kiss there.

Felix sighs happily, nuzzling into your other side. "We should do this more often."

You laugh, tilting your head slightly to bump against his. "What, make out?"

"Yes," Felix replies immediately.

"Yes," Chan agrees.

You roll your eyes, but your smile betrays you. "You two are the worst."

"And yet," Felix teases, his fingers slipping beneath your hoodie to brush against your waist, "here you are."

Chan hums in agreement, his arm wrapping firmly around your waist, tugging you even closer. "And you’re not running away."

"Nope," you say, smiling to yourself as you rest your head against Chan’s shoulder, Felix’s arm still wrapped around your middle. "Not running at all."

Chan presses a final kiss against the top of your head before letting out a satisfied sigh. "Yeah. I think this date went pretty well."

Felix grins. "Same time next week?"

"Sounds perfect."

The air is thick with tension and the undeniable hum of adrenaline as the half-time whistle echoes through the field. The Miroh Maniacs and the Cle Cobras break away from the first half of the game, sweat dripping down their faces, jerseys clinging to their bodies from the intensity of the match. The Maniacs have been dominating the field, outrunning and outplaying the Cobras at nearly every turn, and the scoreboard reflects that perfectly, Miroh sitting comfortably with a twelve-point lead.

The bleachers are alive with roaring cheers, students decked out in Maniacs’ red and black, waving banners and throwing their arms in the air as the players jog to the sidelines for a much-needed water break.

You, however, are not down on the track with your team, shaking pom-poms and hyping up the crowd like you should be. Instead, you and the rest of the suspended cheer squad are sitting on the front row of the bleachers, your legs casually crossed over one another, exuding pure nonchalance despite the fact that you’re not technically supposed to be here.

Your red ribbed turtleneck sweater fits snugly, hugging your torso in a way that makes you feel both comfortable and a little bit powerful. The black pleated mini skirt you paired it with barely brushes mid-thigh, but the real finishing touch to your outfit is the black bomber jacket draped over your shoulders, Chan’s jacket, the faint scent of his cologne still lingering in the fabric. You tug it around yourself, adjusting the sleeves slightly as you lean back, shifting your black rectangular sunglasses higher onto the bridge of your nose.

Beside you, Yeji is practically vibrating in place, her fingers tapping against the metal bleachers, her body buzzing with anticipation. "How much longer?" she mutters under her breath.

You smile, shifting slightly as you glance toward the centre of the field. "Should be any second now."

None of the other cheerleaders know why the two of you are waiting so eagerly, why you’re both sitting there grinning like you own the place, practically giddy despite your suspension. But they’re about to find out.

Lia, who’s seated a few spots down, narrows her eyes suspiciously as she leans forward. "Alright, what the fuck are you two plotting?"

Yuna, her brows furrowed, leans in next to her. "Yeah, you’re acting way too smug for two people who are technically banned from cheering right now."

Ryujin crosses her arms over her chest, tilting her head as she watches you both closely. "What the fuck are you hiding?"

You and Yeji exchange one glance and then, simultaneously, you grin as the opening beats of Queencard by (G)I-DLE explode through the field speakers.

A ripple of confusion spreads through the crowd, heads snapping toward the field as the Miroh Maniacs, Chan, Felix, Minho, Changbin, Hyunjin, Jisung, Seungmin, Jeongin and the rest of the team, come jogging out of the changing rooms and they’re not in their usual jerseys. They’re in cheerleading uniforms. The same red and black skirts, the same cropped tops with MIROH MANIACS emblazoned across the front, the same pom-poms clutched in their hands. And then they start dancing.

Yeji gasps beside you, slapping your arm as the entire squad erupts into laughter, screams of shock and delight echoing across the front row of the bleachers.

"NO. FUCKING. WAY." Ryujin cackles, doubling over. "WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS?"

Lia shrieks, gripping Yuna’s wrist as the two of them lose their minds, their laughter barely heard over the crowd that is absolutely eating this up. You knew this was happening, you and Yeji personally helped teach them the choreography in secret, but seeing it now, in full effect, is something else entirely.

Chan, smirking, perfectly in sync with the rest of the team, spins on his feet before dropping low, his movements sharp and fluid, perfectly timed with Felix, who is on his left.

Felix, his grin shining brighter than the fucking sun, shakes his pom-poms before tossing them up dramatically, winking straight at you. You laugh, doubling over as Yeji clutches her stomach, shaking with laughter.

"Oh my GOD," you giggle, covering your mouth. "They’re actually doing it! They’re fucking doing it!"

The Miroh Maniacs execute every single move with alarming accuracy, hitting each step of the routine flawlessly, their footwork sharp, their hip rolls too precise for comfort.

"THEY’RE SO GOOD," Yuna screeches, hands clutching her cheeks. "WHY ARE THEY SO GOOD?"

"This was Chan and Felix’s idea," Yeji gasps out, still laughing, barely able to breathe. "*They wanted to do it for us, for you, especially."

Your heart flutters wildly at that, but you barely have time to process it before: "WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS BULLSHIT?!"

The coach’s voice explodes from the sidelines, his face turning an alarming shade of red, his arms flailing wildly as he marches up and down the field. "WHO THE FUCK APPROVED THIS?! THIS IS A FOOTBALL GAME, NOT A GODDAMN CIRCUS!"

You burst out laughing, your whole body shaking as you watch the coach lose his absolute mind, veins popping in his neck, hands thrown in the air like he’s praying for patience. "LEE MINHO, STOP FUCKING GRINDING ON YOUR TEAMMATES AND PLAY FOOTBALL!"

Minho, who is currently rolling his hips like he was born to do this, smirks at the coach and winks. "Sorry, Coach! Gotta keep my form tight!"

"STOP WINKING, YOU MENACE-"

Before the coach can fully combust, the entire field erupts in a deafening scream as Jisung, wild-eyed and completely unhinged, does a quick spin, drops low, then BENDS OVER and flips his skirt up, revealing a pair of lacy red panties.

"OH MY GOD," Lia shrieks, practically collapsing against Yuna. "WHAT THE FUCK IS HE WEARING?!"

"WHY DIDN’T WE KNOW ABOUT THIS?!" Ryujin screams, clutching onto your jacket.

The crowd is going insane, whistling and whooping as the Cle Cobras are staring in pure disbelief, some of them doubled over, others just straight-up wheezing on the field.

Jisung, still bent over, ass on full display, smacks his own ass and blows a kiss to the crowd.

"HAN JISUNG, YOU ARE DONE, YOU HEAR ME?! DONE-"

"You can’t stop me, Coach," Jisung purrs, flipping his skirt back down. "I was born to be a star."

You are crying, tears are streaming down your face, your lungs giving out from how hard you’re laughing. And then Chan and Felix, grinning like absolute shitheads, blow you kisses. You barely manage to catch your breath before you instinctively blow one back.

Yeji gasps beside you, her mouth falling open. "NO!"

You blink. "What?"

"YOU SNAGGED CHAN AND FELIX?!" Yeji demands, her eyes wide with betrayal.

You laugh, running a hand through your hair. "I mean, I’m not their girlfriend yet but pretty much?"

Ryujin groans, throwing her head back. "Fucking FINALLY."

"Wait, hold on, hold on-" Yuna waves her hands wildly, her eyes darting between you and the two men who are still watching you from the field, clearly entertained by your reaction. "When the fuck did this happen?!"

"I KNEW SOMETHING WAS UP," Lia gasps, hitting Ryujin’s arm. "I KNEW IT!"

Before you can answer, the entire squad suddenly stills, eyes snapping back to the field. Because Minho is now bent over in front of Jisung and Jisung is pretending to spank him and Yeji freezes. "...We didn’t teach them that, right?"

You tilt your head, watching Minho throw a wink over his shoulder as Jisung dramatically smacks the air behind him. "No," you say, grinning. "But I love it."

And as the crowd erupts once more, the Miroh Maniacs fully committed to their performance, the coach on the verge of a stroke, you think, that this might just be the best halftime show you’ve ever seen.

The second half of the game is a bloodbath. Whatever little morale the Cle Cobras had left after that halftime show is utterly destroyed by the time the whistle blows again. The Miroh Maniacs hit the field running, and it’s clear they have no intention of letting up.

Chan, back in his usual jersey, is all business, barking out plays, directing his team with sharp, decisive gestures. Felix moves lightning-fast across the field, agile and lethal, outmanoeuvring every single defender that tries to get in his way. Minho and Changbin are unstoppable, bulldozing through the Cobras' offence like they weren’t even there.

Hyunjin, graceful and calculated, dances across the field with the ball, spinning out of reach from grasping hands before launching a perfect pass to Jeongin, who slams it home into the end zone.

The crowd erupts. The Cle Cobras are absolutely done. By the time the final whistle finally sounds, the scoreboard is practically mocking them: Miroh Maniacs 42 - Cle Cobras 10

The crowd explodes in cheers, deafening, the entire student section losing their minds as the Maniacs gather at the centre of the field, whooping and shouting, piling onto each other in a sweaty, exhausted but exhilarated heap.

You’re already moving, practically hopping down from the front row of the bleachers as the team trots off the field, jerseys soaked with sweat, hair disheveled, their energy still thrumming with the high of their victory.

Chan and Felix are near the front, pulling at their jerseys to wipe the sweat off their faces, their skin flushed and shining under the bright field lights. 

You grin, jogging over to meet them. "Not bad, Maniacs."

Chan snorts, throwing an arm over your shoulders as soon as you reach him, pressing a grossly sweaty kiss to your temple. "Not bad?"

"Absolutely not bad," Felix corrects, tugging at the collar of his jersey, trying to get some airflow. "We annihilated them, angel."

"True," you concede, letting them pull you in between them as they catch their breath. "Still doesn’t change the fact that Jisung stole the whole fucking show."

From the sidelines, where he’s chugging a bottle of water, Jisung whoops loudly, pumping a fist in the air. "Damn right, I did!"

Chan laughs, shaking his head. "I’m never letting him live that down."

"I don’t think any of us are," you agree. "That shit is going down in college history."

Felix grins, bumping his shoulder against yours. "That aside-" he starts, his voice slipping into something smoother, something teasing. "Did we dance good enough to become your boyfriends officially?"

You pretend to think about it, tapping your chin, humming dramatically. "Mmmm... I dunno..."

"Angel," Felix whines, leaning in closer, pouting like he’s actually suffering. "Don’t do this to us."

Chan huffs, reaching over to poke your cheek. "We put our bodies on the line for that performance, Y/N."

"We learned how to twerk," Felix deadpans, lips twitching like he’s trying not to laugh. "For you."

You snort, finally turning to face them fully. "Fine, fine," you grin, throwing up your hands in mock defeat. "You pass. You’re my boyfriends now."

Before you can even process what’s happening, Chan and Felix lunge. Felix grabs your face, his hands warm, his grin radiant as he presses his lips to yours, soft, but giddy, like he can’t contain how fucking happy he is. The second he pulls away, Chan’s there, his hands firm on your waist as he tilts your chin up, kissing you with a little more pressure, a little more certainty, like he’s staking his claim.

When he pulls back, Felix giggling into his shoulder, you’re breathless, warmth blooming in your entire body.

"YOU’RE WELCOME!"

The three of you turn to see Jeongin, still sweaty and grinning like a little shit, has his hands cupped around his mouth, shouting from the sidelines. You burst into laughter, still pressed between Felix and Chan, who are both shaking their heads in exasperation.

"Little bastard," Chan mutters under his breath, but there’s nothing but fondness in his tone.

Felix sighs dreamily, leaning his head against your shoulder. "He really does deserve some credit."

"Only some," you grin, tilting your head slightly so Felix can press a kiss to your temple.

Chan snorts. "Disgusting."

"Jealous?" Felix smirks, lifting his head just enough to flutter his lashes.

"Deeply," Chan says flatly before tugging you back into him, burying his face in the crook of your neck. "I call next kiss, fuck off."

Felix laughs, wrapping his arms around both of you as the team celebrates in the background, as the crowd cheers, as the stadium lights shine down and for the first time in forever, everything feels exactly the way it’s meant to be.

A/N: This draft has been sitting stewing for nearly two months because I got stuck on the plot after the scene in the coach's office but multiple anon requests for Chanlix made me reopen the document again and get to work <3 A/N 2: Also please look at my poll and answer so you have a say in what you see next

Requested by: multiple anons

Bang Chan Taglist: @0haerireah0

General Taglist: @nightmarenyxx @velvetmoonlght @annafee_bou @mlink64 @intoanothermind @furfoxsake22 @daaaph-lol @tirena1

Proofread by the lovely @eastjonowhere