#kappa replies

[captainkappa]

🌹

Gotta pull out the wip that hurts most to still be a wip - the 20k+ word dinluke wip that is collecting dust cause its so ambitious and i dont know what to do with it

“Okay,” Din says, conceding, “you act as the… flashy distraction up front and I slip in and pick off the remnants. Deal?” Luke grinned. “You had me at flashy.” Before Din could react, Luke had thrown himself over the cover, a dark line cutting through the riot of colors on the desert landscape, his robe whipping behind him despite the fact that there wasn’t a breeze to be felt. “Ahsoka hadn’t been like this,” Din grumbled to himself, turning down a tight alley to flank.

[ordinary-barbie]

your love is tough, your love is tried and true blue

summary: 5 times rafe takes care of reader (+ one time you take care of him)

tags: fem!reader, hurt with lots of comfort, reader is drunk in the beginning, pet names ("baby," "babe," "princess") language, someone sexually harasses reader, reader has anxiety, rafe is possibly depressed, ward is a verbally abusive asshole, fluff fluff fluff, friends to lovers, rafe and reader are around 21 here, both of them drop the l-bomb

word count: 3.2k

note: title from "true blue" by boygenius!

Rafe felt like it was his duty to look out for you.

Nobody had asked him to—in fact, you always teased him about being your "personal guard dog." But Rafe had always felt protective of you for some reason. Maybe it was because you were Sarah's childhood bestie. Perhaps it was because you were too sweet, too friendly, too fucking stubborn ("I'm independent," you'd always argue). As long as he could remember, Rafe felt pulled to you, needing to ensure you were okay. You were different from Sarah's other friends; something about you made him feel things and actually care about you.

When Rafe got the call from Sarah that you were wasted at a frat party, his stomach twisted. You'd begged him to come, but he refused, feeling too wiped out from a long week of classes. Fuck, he should've been there for you. He clenched his jaw as he drove down Fraternity Row, hoping that some asshole frat brother hadn't gotten his hands on you.

The crowds at Kappa Sig parted easily once they saw Rafe Cameron barge into the party, eyes blazing with determination. Rafe scanned the place for you, finding you giggling in Sarah's lap on a couch.

"Rafeyyy!" you squealed, looking at him with a drunken grin that Rafe had to admit was adorable. "You came!"

"Yeah, and now we're leaving," Rafe bluntly replied, leaving no room for argument.

You pouted. "C'mon Rafey, I was having so much fuuun. Stay here and dance with me." You grabbed at the hem of Rafe's polo, leaning into him, and he tried not to get lost in the intoxicating notes of your favorite perfume scent.

Rafe sighed, saying your name sternly. "You're totally wasted. I need to get you back to your dorm."

You looked up at Rafe, pouting, but crawled out of Sarah's lap anyway. Sarah looked up at Rafe gratefully, and he simply nodded, wrapping his arm around you protectively as he led you out of the party.

Once back in the dorm you shared with Sarah, and after making sure you changed into some pajamas and got comfy in bed, Rafe poked his head into your minifridge, pulling out a cold bottle of water. He left it on the bedside table and rummaged around in the bathroom cabinet until he found some aspirin. He took two capsules out, setting them on the table.

'Drink," he commanded, twisting the cap off the water bottle and handing it to you.

You rolled your eyes at Rafe's tone but complied anyway, taking a big gulp of water.

"Thank you," you said shyly, returning the bottle to Rafe. "You always take care of me."

"It's nothing," Rafe muttered, the tips of his ears turning pink.

He climbed into bed with you, rubbing your back and listening to you chatter about anything and everything until you fell asleep. And when Sarah returned from the party, noticing a sleeping Rafe with one arm wrapped around your midsection, she didn't even question it. That's just how Rafe was—always by your side, no matter what.

-

This time, it's Rafe who's at a party when you're in need.

He's just chilling at the Sigma Chi house, laughing with his friends, when Topper pops his bubble of contentment.

"Where's your girl, Cameron?" he teased with a grin.

Rafe raised an eyebrow, confused, before realizing that Top was talking about you. You and Rafe spent so much time together that, of course, people would think you were dating.

"I actually don't know," Rafe admitted, quickly getting his phone out of his pocket. "Invited her yesterday and she said she would be here—I dunno what happened."

Rafe shot off a quick text—hey, where are u? missing all the fun—and his heart leapt when you replied instantly.

you: i'm sick :/ sorry to ditch u. glad you're having fun!

Well, that was that. Rafe put his phone back in his pocket, leaving the couch.

"Hey man, what's up? What'd she say?" Kelce asked.

"She's sick," Rafe explained simply, and Topper and Kelce looked at each other, grinning. "The fuck are y'all smiling about?"

"Nothing, man," Topper casually answered. "Just tell ____ we say hello."

Rafe made a few pit stops before heading to your dorm. He picked up some cold medicine, a bunch of snacks, and even one of those fashion magazines you liked.

"You really didn't have to do all this," you said, smiling at Rafe warmly despite how crappy you were feeling. "Go back to the party and have fun!"

Rafe scoffed. "I don't give a fuck about the party. You're not feeling well. Obviously, I'm gonna take care of you."

You felt your cheeks grow hot. "Rafe..."

"I'm not going anywhere, aight? So just...take the medicine already," Rafe grumbled, the tips of his ears turning pink.

You chuckled, grabbing the bottle out of Rafe's hands and pouring some medicine into the measuring cup that came with it. Then you downed it like a shot, wincing at the unpleasant taste. Rafe looked at you fondly, laughing softly at your reaction.

You scrunched up your nose. God, you were cute. "What's so funny, huh?"

"I can't admire my favorite patient?" Rafe teased.

You shook your head, smiling at Rafe. "You’re ridiculous.”

“And yet, you still like me,” Rafe countered.

Oh, if only Rafe had any idea how much.

-

Despite what everyone, from Sarah to his fraternity brothers, thought, this was not an actual date.

Rafe simply needed someone to accompany him to Sigma Chi's formal, and you were the only one he was interested in taking. As friends.

You were hanging out in downtown Charleston with Rafe and some of his frat brothers and their dates. You were initially worried about being accepted by the group, especially because the other girls were in sororities and you weren't, but they were actually friendly. And Rafe's brothers were always pretty chill, though they did love to tease you.

You and your group had stuffed your bellies with fried shrimp and were just walking around. Rafe interlaced his fingers with yours, and you leaned into his touch.

"Can y'all just kiss already?" Topper teased. Paige, Topper's date, giggled.

"Shut up, man," Rafe grumbled, his cheeks turning bright red. You chuckled softly, gently squeezing Rafe's hand to calm him down.

Rafe's phone went off, and he let go of your hand to answer. You frowned slightly, already missing his grasp.

"It's Sarah—guess she's just checking in. One sec," he explained, flashing you a grin that warmed your insides.

You looked towards the local sweet shop, suddenly developing a hankering for a post-dinner treat. After talking with the rest of the group, you crossed the sidewalk, looking forward to trying some delicious homemade ice cream.

You were so lost in thought that you weren't exactly looking where you were going, colliding with someone's chest.

"Oh my gosh! I'm so sorry," you instantly apologized, looking up at the guy you bumped into. He was a tall guy—probably a few inches taller than Rafe—with a muscular build. His chestnut brown hair was messily styled, and a lone silver hoop dangled from his left ear.

The guy smiled lazily at you. "Don't apologize, sweetheart. I'm lucky to have a pretty little thing like you bump into me."

Your stomach twisted; you'd suddenly lost your appetite for ice cream. You smiled politely and tried to cross the street and return to your friends, but the guy grabbed your wrist, pulling your back to his chest.

"C'mon babe, why you running away? Don't be shy," he cooed.

"I have a boyfriend," you lied, attempting to wrestle your wrist from the guy's grasp. "Let me go."

The guy smirked. "Don't see him around anywhere. Quit playing so hard to get, sweetheart."

He moved one of his hands to your ass and squeezed, causing you to scream and yank yourself out of his grip. "What the fuck is wrong with you?" you shrieked, your heart pounding in your chest.

The guy opened his mouth to say something, but the sight of a very irate Rafe Cameron stopped him in his tracks, his pupils wide with rage and his jaw clenched tight.

"Hey man! I see you've met my girlfriend," Rafe said, his voice dripping with fake niceness as he wrapped a protective arm around your waist.

"You shouldn't let your girl be roaming around alone, especially looking like that," the guy replied, his eyes scanning your body lecherously.

Before you could even blink, Rafe's hands were on the guy, pinning him against a brick wall. "You don't get to touch her—you don't even get to fucking look at her. Or think about her. I could beat the shit out of you right now, but I don't think she'd appreciate that."

Rafe removed the guy from his grasp, letting him fall to the ground. "Whatever, dude. You're fucking insane. That bitch isn't worth it," he grumbled, skulking off somewhere.

Rafe squeezed your hand comfortingly, leading you across the street and sitting with you on a nearby bench.

You let out a sniffle, feeling shaken from the incident. It was bad enough that that creep had invaded your space and made you feel like a piece of meat, but to grope your ass? It made you feel sick. Fortunately, things didn't get any worse.

Rafe cradled your face in his hands, wiping your tears away. "Fuck, I'm so sorry. I can't believe that shithead put his hands on you. Are you okay?"

You nodded, your heart squeezing from how tenderly Rafe looked at you. "It was just...scary. And I feel stupid. This wouldn't have happened if I hadn't decided to go alone to get ice cream."

"Hey. This is not your fault," Rafe said sternly, rubbing soothing circles on the back of your hand. "He was a fuckin creep. I could just—when I saw him touch you like that, I wanted to break his fuckin fingers." He was shaking with rage, and you rubbed his back, trying to ground him.

Having heard the rest of the commotion, the rest of the group approached you and Rafe on the bench.

"Shit, ____, are you okay?" Kelce asked.

You smiled faintly. "Better now. But honestly, I just want to go back to my room and sleep."

Rafe laced his fingers with yours again. "Let's go then. But first—you're getting that damn ice cream."

Rafe got you two scoops of praline and vanilla for himself, and the two of you ate in a companionable silence on the way back to the hotel. During the walk back, the incident largely faded from your mind, and all you could focus on was Rafe. Reliable, dependable Rafe, who always seemed to be there whenever you needed him. Seeing him defend you like that stirred feelings inside you that you'd been repressing for the sake of your friendship.

Once the two of you were back in your room, Rafe kissed you, soft and slow and deep. He pulled your body close to him as you eagerly kissed him back, not willing to let you go.

-

If you thought Rafe was like a guard dog before, he got even more protective once the two of you started dating. It was finals season now, and he knew how much you ran yourself ragged—fervently studying your notes, pulling all-nighters, and worrying your head off. He hated seeing you stressed like this, especially when you could be in bed with him instead, receiving cuddles and kisses.

"Babe, come on, it's 11 p.m. Come to bed with me," Rafe begged.

You sighed, not looking up from your notes. "Rafey, I'll be done soon, I promise."

Rafe frowned. "You said the same thing 30 minutes ago."

"I just really want to do well on this exam tomorrow," you said, rubbing your temples. "I'm sorry I'm keeping you up—maybe I should just head to the library."

"No fucking way," Rafe said firmly, his jaw ticking. "You've been at this for hours, babe. You need to rest."

"What if you gave me ten more minutes?" you asked, smiling sweetly.

Rafe smirked at you. "What if you came to bed and let me cuddle you instead?" he countered.

You rolled your eyes at him, continuing to pore over your notes. Rafe sighed. You could be so damn stubborn sometimes. He rose from the bed and ambled over to you, wrapping his arms around your waist and carrying you to his bed.

"Rafe Cameron!" you cried out. "I just needed to review a little bit more—"

"Nah, you're done for the night, princess," Rafe said, carefully laying you on the bed. He climbed next to you, angling his body as the big spoon, and kissed your forehead.

You put on a dramatic pout, and Rafe snickered, nuzzling your neck. "You'll thank me tomorrow when you're not going into your exam sleep deprived," he mumbled.

You scoffed, but deep down, you knew he was right. You found yourself relaxing more and more as Rafe cuddled you, eventually falling into a blissful pre-beginning-of-finals-week slumber.

(You ended up acing the exam, of course. Rafe demands that you study for the rest of your finals with him at the frat house, mainly so he can have an excuse to be touchy and clingy. Rafe's brothers tease him for it, of course, but he truly couldn't give less of a fuck.)

-

It felt like the walls were closing in on you.

Usually, you had somewhat of a handle on your anxiety—you'd learned some great coping techniques thanks to therapy. But it felt like nothing was working today. Your chest grew tight, your thoughts raced, and you were in full-on panic mode.

It wasn't even like anything in particular was bothering you; you were just caught in a random wave of anxiety. It got to the point where you couldn't even focus on listening to music or watching a show. You sighed, staring at the ceiling as you sat on one of the Camerons' couches. You were staying at Tannyhill for the weekend, but unfortunately, nobody was around to help calm your nerves. Sarah was at the Chateau with John B, Ward and Rose had flown to Atlanta for a wedding, and Rafe was busy doing some weekend work for Cameron Development.

You enjoyed your quiet time, but in that moment, you felt incredibly lonely.

You unlocked your phone, prepared to aimlessly scroll through Instagram, when you received a call. A familiar name flashed on the screen: Rafey.

"Hey princess," Rafe said, his low, rumbling voice slightly easing your nerves. "Working on Saturday fuckin' blows. But I'm comin' back soon, aight?"

"I'm glad you're coming home soon. Could use some company right now," you said, trying to keep your voice from shaking.

"Shit, what's wrong, baby?" Rafe asked, his voice full of worry.

"Just come home, okay?" you asked, not wanting to get into details. "I don't want to be alone right now."

"I'm on it. And before you get on my ass, I won't speed," Rafe teased, managing to get a laugh out of you. "See you soon, sweet girl."

As soon as Rafe stepped through the door, you jumped off the couch, launching yourself into his arms. He rubbed your back soothingly before setting down his briefcase and locking the door behind him.

He led you upstairs into his bedroom, coaxing you to sit in his lap. You buried your head in the side of Rafe's neck as he showered you with kisses, continuing to rub soothing circles down your spine. Without saying a word, Rafe made your anxieties simply melt away.

"I was having a bad brain day," you admitted, looking deep into his beautiful blue eyes. "Woke up all alone this morning, and my mind just got so anxious."

Rafe caressed your cheek, giving your nose a big peck and smiling when you scrunched it up. "I'm sorry, baby. But I'm here now. And if it makes you feel better, I spent the whole morning wishing I was with you instead."

You grinned. "Wow, it's as if you like me or something."

"Glad to see you're feeling better enough to tease me again," Rafe deadpanned, though his eyes shone with amusement. You snorted, playfully shoving his shoulder.

Rafe spent the rest of the afternoon pampering you. He ordered from your favorite Italian place for lunch, let you watch whatever trash reality shows you wanted on his Netflix account, and made sure to give you plenty of kisses and cuddles.

You were deeply lucky to have someone like Rafe in your life. You and he hadn't exchanged the three little words yet, but you were absolutely sure you loved him with your entire heart.

+1

Rafe wasn't the type to wear his heart on his sleeve. He always encouraged you to open up when something was bothering you, but he preferred to keep his own shit locked down deep. Especially when it had to do with his fuckin' father.

You noticed Rafe was quieter than usual today. The two of you were lying out on the beach, enjoying a nice summer day by the ocean. But Rafe was devoid of his usual wisecracks and playful nature, instead holding you close and silently watching you read, his emotions difficult to decipher.

"Baby, what's wrong? You know you can talk to me about anything," you told him comfortingly, squeezing his hand.

Rafe shook his head. "It's nothing. Go back to your book, princess."

You frowned. "Rafe Cameron. Don't you lie to me. I'm your girlfriend; you can be vulnerable with me." Rafe knew you wouldn't let up until he finally admitted what was on his mind. He sighed, knowing that he should take his own advice and stop burying shit.

"My dad has been on my ass all day," Rafe grumbled. "He basically told me how much of a disappointment I was because I made one little mistake at work. Said that he wasn't sure if I was 'competent' enough to take control of the business someday. And maybe he's right—I'm just a fuck up."

Rafe forced out a laugh, though he looked like tears could fall at any moment. Your heart ached. You weren't Ward's biggest fan and hated the way he treated his son, constantly holding him to certain expectations and belittling him whenever he was less than perfect.

You took Rafe's head in your hand, pressing soft, comforting kisses to his cheeks. "Rafey, you are absolutely not a disappointment. I see how hard you work and how much you care about your job. You made a mistake, but you shouldn't let it define you. Fuck what Ward thinks. I think you're amazing."

Rafe smirked. "We get it, you went to therapy."

You rolled your eyes. "Rafe, I'm being serious here. I care about you so much and I hate seeing you so down because of something your dad said. I know you're trying your best, and I'm proud of you."

Rafe pulled you close to his chest, quietly sobbing into your shoulder. You rubbed his back, cooing words of encouragement into his ear.

"Thanks, baby," Rafe mumbled, kissing the top of your head. "I appreciate you listening to my shit."

"Of course," you replied, looking up at your boyfriend fondly. "I'm here for you. I love you. We're in this together, okay?"

"You love me," Rafe repeated, his grin ear-splitting.

You chuckled, rubbing the back of your neck. "Wasn't planning on confessing this way, but yeah," you bashfully replied.

Rafe felt like his heart could burst out of his chest. "I love you, too, baby. You're my ride or die, no matter what."

[ortegahaze]

anyone but you

[part one] | part two | part three | part four |

pairing: Tara Carpenter x gn!reader

synopsis: Tara and you, despite having mutual friends, have never met—until a Blackmore University fraternity party brings your paths together. The night is amazing, but the next morning is a disaster, and both of you hope never to see each other again. What you didn’t anticipate is that your best friends are getting married, and now you'll be forced to spend time together at their destination wedding.

warnings: no ghostface au, mentions of alcohol, fluff in the beginning, angst, bad writing, language, slight change in characters' age, mentions of a dead parent, “enemies” to lovers!

a/n: yes yes, totally inspired by the movie anyone but you, if you haven’t watched it, there will be spoilers. not sure if i liked this first chapter that much, next ones will be better, i promise🤞🏼

word count: 5,8k

—

Tara Carpenter loved to party, but mostly because she would always attend the fraternity houses’ parties with her friends who also attended Blackmore University. Unfortunately for her, it seemed that all her usual companions decided to skip the party tonight without bothering to tell her until the last minute.

There she was, dressed up as a pirate, frowning at her phone where her friends’ messages popped up, saying they wouldn’t be going. That was it—the start of a terrible Friday night. She considered going back home, feeling like a sad loser. But she knew exactly what awaited her there: Sam and Danny probably making out on the couch—or worse. Huffing, she shoved her phone into her back pocket, mustering the courage to enter the Omega Kappa Beta party by herself.

The music was loud, but good. Everyone was enjoying it with red cups held high. She made her way to the trashed kitchen, searching for something strong to help her loosen up and forget that her best friends had abandoned her for the night.

After three cups, she was already stumbling. The loud bass thumped through her chest, her head spinning just enough to make her a bit queasy. Needing a break, she headed for the pool area, which seemed quieter and less chaotic.

She slumped down onto one of the chairs, letting the cool night air hit her face. Maybe this night wasn’t a total disaster, but it sure wasn’t the wild, fun night she had imagined. She closed her eyes, the alcohol swirling in her system, trying to relax.

“Tara?” A voice interrupted her thoughts.

Opening her eyes and looking up, she saw a guy standing beside her. He had a kind of frat-boy look—probably one of the OKB members. Despite being a sophomore law student, Tara had never bothered to learn the names of these guys.

“Yeah?” she mumbled, squinting against the pool lights.

“You good?” the guy asked, concern creasing his forehead.

“Yeah, just… letting the alcohol wear off.” She slurred slightly, trying to sound more sober than she felt. The guy didn’t seem convinced but smiled anyway, offering his hand.

“I’m Frankie,” he said.

She hesitated before shaking his hand, her mind sluggish but wary. “Tara,” she replied.

He motioned toward the house. “You want some water? I can grab some for you in the kitchen.”

She nodded, standing up to follow him. “Yeah, that’d be nice,” she mumbled. Something felt off, but she pushed the thought away, blaming the alcohol for making her overly cautious.

As they walked back toward the house, she noticed fewer people by the pool. It was quieter, the conversations distant. That’s when Frankie spoke up again. “You know what? I have a minibar in my room. We can grab water there, and you can use the bathroom too if you need it.”

Tara’s stomach dropped. The convenient offer set off alarm bells in her head, her instincts kicking in despite the fog of alcohol. Why was he suddenly suggesting his room?

Before she could respond, someone stepped up next to Frankie, placing a hand on his shoulder.

“Hey, babe. I was looking for you! I finished my set for the night. We can go home now,” the stranger said smoothly.

She blinked, processing the situation. What?

Frankie glanced at the newcomer’s hand, visibly confused. “Uh…”

“I can see you’ve already met my girlfriend, Frankie,” the stranger continued with a casual smile. “That’s great, but we’ve gotta go now. She’s been having trouble sleeping lately, so I think it’s time we head out. Thanks for taking care of her while I was working tonight.”

Tara felt the stranger’s arm slip around her shoulder. The warmth and casualness of the embrace was oddly comforting, even though she had no idea who this person was. Still, she went along with the act, instincts telling her to trust this stranger over Frankie.

“Yeah, thanks, Frankie,” Tara echoed awkwardly. “We… uh… have to get going.”

Intertwining her fingers with the stranger’s, Tara took the first step, guiding them away from Frankie. Her heart raced—not from fear, but from the strangeness of the whole situation. She wasn’t used to needing to be rescued, especially not by someone who appeared out of nowhere.

When they were far enough from Frankie and back in the kitchen, Tara dropped the stranger’s hand. “Thank you… That was really nice of you.”

“Happy to help,” you replied, rummaging through the fridge. “Frankie’s not the type to handle rejection well, if you know what I mean… and by the look on your face, you were about to reject him.”

Tara flushed, embarrassment creeping up her neck. She wasn’t used to being seen as vulnerable. She hated feeling like she couldn’t handle herself. “Yeah, I was,” she admitted, brushing off her embarrassment with a small smile. “Thanks again.”

The stranger turned around, holding a bottle of water. “No problem. I’m Y/N, by the way.” You extended a hand.

She shook it, noticing how your grip was firm yet gentle. “I’m Tara,” she replied, her voice a little quieter this time. She found herself holding onto your hand for a bit too long before quickly letting go, feeling the touch linger longer than it should have. She cleared her throat, trying to regain her composure. “Uh, is there a bathroom around here?”

You pointed down the hallway. “Yeah, just down there.”

“Thanks,” Tara muttered, handing over the water and heading to the bathroom. Leaving you confused as you stand there with her water. Waiting.

She shut the door behind her and sat on the toilet seat, immediately pulling out her phone while peeing. Her fingers trembled slightly, the adrenaline of the night still buzzing through her as she quickly dialed Mindy. When Mindy picked up, Tara didn’t even wait for a greeting.

“Mindy, I just met this person, and I don’t know… It was something. They saved me from what could’ve been a really messy situation. But like… now what? I don’t even know them, but there was this… connection? Ugh, I don’t know. Maybe I’m overthinking it.” Tara paused, shaking her head at her own words. “I gotta go. I’ll call you back.”

Tara finished washing her hands and looked at herself in the mirror, her brown eyes staring back. She took a deep breath, brushing her fingers lightly over her fringe, as if steadying herself. "Okay," she whispered, gathering her resolve.

Stepping out of the bathroom, she navigated back toward the kitchen, dodging a couple passionately making out near the door, grimacing slightly as she passed them. Her eyes scanned the room until they locked onto yours, and she couldn’t help but smile awkwardly when you handed her the bottle of water.

“Your water,” you said, grinning.

“Thanks.” She took it, and for a moment, the two of you held each other’s gaze, a silent understanding passing between you. You started to say something, but she beat you to it, breaking the silence with a small, resigned smile.

“Well, I think I should call it a night,” she said with a soft sigh. “I’ve had my share of excitement.”

Your smile faltered just a bit, but you quickly recovered, masking any disappointment. As she moved to leave, you hesitated, your mind racing. You turned, watching her head toward the entrance, and something compelled you to act.

“Hey…” you called, stepping quickly after her. She paused, turning with a curious look.

“So, are you gonna ask me out now?” she teased, a playful glint in her eyes as she interrupted whatever you’d been about to say. Her comment took you by surprise, but you broke into a smile, catching onto the playful challenge in her tone.

“Yeah,” you replied, mirroring her smile. “Yeah, I am.” You both shared a quick laugh, then walked toward the door together, side by side.

As you walked out into the night, Tara looked up at you, her curiosity piqued. “You know… I go to a lot of these parties. How come I’ve never seen you around?”

Stuffing your hands into your pockets, you chuckled. “I’m not a student anymore. Graduated last year, but a friend of mine who still goes here got me to DJ tonight.” You let out a wry laugh. “Of course, he didn’t even bother showing up.”

She smirked. “Oh, sounds familiar. My friends did the same to me tonight.”

The streets were mostly empty, with the city’s usual hum softened at this late hour. Streetlights cast long shadows that flickered as you walked, and a few blocks away from the chaos of the party, Tara seemed more grounded, though her steps were still a bit unsteady from the alcohol.

“So,” you said, breaking the silence as you walked alongside her. “What about you? What do you study?”

Tara hugged herself, more from a sense of vulnerability than the chill in the air. She glanced over at you, her expression guarded but curious. “I study law.” she replied, then added reluctantly. Her voice had an almost clipped quality, and you noticed the way she quickly redirected the conversation. “And you? What’s your story?”

Noticing her attempt to shift the topic, you chuckled. “I started out in computer science. That’s what my parents wanted, and it sounded like a solid career, so I went with it for a while. Did a couple of semesters.”

“Computer science?” She raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised. “Didn’t peg you for the type to spend your days coding.”

“Neither did I,” you admitted, giving her a wry smile. “Eventually, I couldn’t stand it. I switched over to music production—that’s what I’d always wanted to do anyway.”

She nodded, seemingly intrigued despite herself. “I bet your parents weren’t thrilled with the change, huh?”

You shrugged, eyes on the sidewalk ahead. “Not at first. But eventually, they came around. And if worse comes to worst, I can always fall back on tech if I need to.”

Tara’s interest was clearly piqued as she glanced at you thoughtfully. “So, you just sit in a studio with those fancy soundboards?”

You laughed. “Something like that. Mostly, though, it’s me with my laptop, some recording equipment, and way too much caffeine. But I love it—taking random sounds and turning them into something people can connect to.”

She seemed to admire your passion, though she tried to keep her expression casual. “Sounds like you actually went after what you wanted,” she mused, almost to herself.

You smiled at her comment, feeling the quiet camaraderie that had formed between you. “So… you want to keep hanging out for a bit? My place isn’t far from here. I’d offer coffee, but it’s a bit late for that. I make a killer grilled cheese, though.”

Tara raised an eyebrow, both surprised and amused. “Inviting a girl you just met over for grilled cheese? That’s bold.”

You rubbed the back of your neck, grinning. “I like to think so. But no pressure. If you’d rather call it a night, I get it.”

She paused, considering the offer. The sincerity in your expression was unmistakable, and after the strange night she’d had, she found herself craving something simple, something real. With a nod, she finally agreed, letting a genuine smile slip through.

“Alright,” she replied, matching your smile with a smirk. “Let’s see if you’ve got any real culinary skills.”

The two of you continued down the quiet streets, the city’s glow casting a soft light as you walked together. The conversation flowed easily, shifting from one topic to the next as you shared bits and pieces of yourselves.

The conversation moved from childhood stories to other random facts—Tara mentioned she used to collect keychains, and you told her about the time you accidentally broke into the wrong apartment while trying to help a neighbor. The night air carried your laughter, mingling with the rustling leaves and the distant hum of traffic.

—

The two of you stood near the kitchen counter, your movements methodical as you crafted the grilled cheese the way you always did—spreading butter on the bread and layering two slices of cheese. After adding butter to the skillet, you waited for it to melt before placing the sandwich on it, flipping it with the spatula as it browned.

Tara’s eyes wandered around your warehouse-turned-apartment, taking in the cozy but modest space. Music equipment cluttered one corner, while old vinyl records filled the shelves along the walls. She leaned against the counter, her gaze shifting between you and the space, but lingering mostly on you.

“So,” she asked with a playful smirk, “do you invite strangers over for late-night sandwiches often?”

Without looking up from the stove, you chuckled. “Only the ones who look like they’d appreciate my culinary skills. You seemed like the type.”

She rolled her eyes, but a cute smile played on her lips, you could even see her dimples clearly.

As you flipped the sandwich again, the smell filled the small kitchen, and Tara found herself relaxing, slowly letting her guard down in this oddly comforting moment. It had been a long time since she’d experienced a night that felt spontaneous, even a little reckless.

When the sandwich was done, you cut it in half and handed it to her on a plate. “Wait to cool down—” Almost immediately, she bit into it, only to wince and fan her mouth.

“Oh, fuck, that’s hot!” she exclaimed, laughing through the pain between painful chews.

You stifled a laugh. “I literally just took it off the stove. What did you expect?”

“Oh, my God.”

“If you’re gonna be a lawyer, you gotta understand negligence and breach and…” She furrowed her eyebrows and turned her head to look up at you. “McDonald’s versus that lady’s…” You locked eyes with her, noticing her judgmental look. “Habeas corpus.”

Tara chuckled, swallowing carefully. “You absolutely just butchered those terms,” she said, narrowing her eyes and shooting you a mock glare. “Maybe I should represent you in a case against yourself.”

You were both facing each other, holding eye contact as you playfully teased her. “How do you know? You’re not a lawyer yet.” She gave you a disbelieving look. “It’s not too late to choose a more noble profession!”

“Oh, like you?” She nodded toward the computer desk you’d left on from working earlier. You took a bite of the sandwich and followed her gaze.

“You know what? You’re right. Stick with it. I’m gonna need a lawyer to read my contracts at some point.” She chuckled softly. Looking back at her, you smiled.

The two of you stood there, the playful banter bringing warmth to the room that neither of you had expected. She chewed more carefully now, and as she finished the bite, her gaze softened.

“I don’t even know if I want to be a lawyer,” Tara blurted, almost as if she hadn't meant to. She stared at the half-eaten sandwich in her hands, looking embarrassed. “I can’t believe I just said that out loud.”

You paused, unsure how to respond, but instead of words, you gently reached out and wiped a bit of cheese from the corner of her mouth with your thumb. The gesture was intimate, more so than you’d intended, and for a moment, the room seemed to grow quieter.

She sighed, her voice dropping. “My mom’s a lawyer. I thought maybe if I followed in her footsteps, things would make sense. But… I feel like it isn’t really me.”

There was a small silence, but instead of pressing, you just gave her a supportive nod. “You don’t have to figure it all out now.”

She smiled gratefully and took another bite, the tension lifting again as you both relaxed into the conversation. The two of you laughed, easing the awkwardness. You took another bite, an unconscious smile lingering on your face. With Tara around, you almost felt like a different person. She brushed the back of her hand where yours had touched, glancing back at you.

“I’m sorry… My life is a disaster right now.”

“Might be turning a corner,” you shrugged, showing compassion for her struggle, making eye contact again. “You just met me!”

Tara grinned. “Yeah, or I could end up in a suitcase.” You chuckled. “I mean… you’ve got some, uh, serial killer vibes going on here. Why do you have a giant wrench?” She pointed to the large wrench sitting on the vinyl rack. You looked at it and smiled.

“Okay, harsh,” you scoffed, rolling your eyes. “It wouldn’t be a suitcase. It would be a carry-on, thank you very much. You’re about zero feet tall,” you teased, referencing her small stature. She shot you a light glare, making you smile. You glanced back at the wrench. “And my mom gave me that.” At this, Tara raised her eyebrows, paying closer attention. “It’s a reminder that no matter how broken something is, there’s always a way to fix it.”

She nodded at your words, pressing her lips together and closing her eyes briefly.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know why I’m talking to you about my mom right now.” You squinted and shook your head, letting out a small chuckle.

Vulnerability hit you for a moment. You weren’t one to share much about your late mother with friends, let alone 'strangers' like Tara, but something about her made you feel at ease—like you could talk about the topic that usually tightened your chest.

Tara’s gaze softened. “No worries. That’s actually kind of sweet,” she smiled gently. “Now, tell me about that!” She pointed to an ATM machine in the corner, raising an eyebrow.

You smiled and nodded at the machine, which was in perfect condition, the screen still on. “That… is a long story!” You put your sandwich back on the plate and noticed her frowning at you. “Everybody survived!”

“Great!” She laughed, and you followed, the sound echoing through the small apartment. As the laughter died down, Tara took a deep breath, savoring the moment. She felt unexpectedly comfortable there—with you, in your quirky apartment, and with the smell of burnt cheese still lingering in the air.

In your mind, maybe that was the moment you started to hear romantic background music. You bickered and laughed together, even sharing a few silly dance moves in the kitchen after getting some water.

Tara eventually curled up on the sofa as you cleaned up the counter, chatting and laughing loudly from across the room. She teased you about your random quirks, and you responded with good-natured jabs, both of you secretly enjoying the strange, comforting ease. It didn’t take long for you to join her on the couch.

Letting the night unfold, an unexpected bond formed over random topics. Tara eventually settled on your lap, your hands resting on the skin of her waist beneath her silky shirt, facing you. The laughter slowly faded into quieter moments, one of you wrapped around the other. Lingering glances and more meaningful conversations pulled you closer until you both drifted off as dawn approached, feeling more at home than you had in a long time.

Soft morning light filtered through the large living room windows, casting a warm glow across the loft. Tara stirred and blinked awake, feeling a warm weight around her shoulders and waist. She found herself nestled against you, your arm draped over her, your breathing steady and calm.

But the quiet, comfortable intimacy triggered a rush of anxiety in her. Nudging her to move before things got too complicated. She knew she should say something, but no words came, and a sense of urgency pushed her to leave before things got more tangled.

Carefully, she slipped out from under your arm, holding her breath to keep from waking you. With deliberate silence, she stood up to put her shoes on, but one slipped from her hand and fell to the floor, betraying her. She winced and glanced back quickly, not seeing you stir from where she stood.

Your eyes blinked open as you took in the empty space beside you. You craned your neck toward the noise that had woken you, and your expression shifted from confusion to quiet disappointment as you watched her getting ready to leave without so much as a backward glance or goodbye. You held back the urge to say something, but the silence in the room felt suddenly heavy, filled with words left unsaid.

She walked down the stairs to the door, and as it clicked shut behind her, Tara hesitated for the briefest second, almost turning back. But then the weight of the moment became too much to bear. Meanwhile, you leaned back on the couch, staring at the empty space for a long moment, letting the silence settle over you like a heavy blanket.

Eventually, you got up, grabbing fresh clothes to wear before heading back to the living room. You tried to shake Tara from your mind, still feeling the ache of her sudden departure. But as you looked at the wrench, you almost stopped in your tracks. You walked over to it, picking it up in your hands and recalling how you had shared a part of your story that only your close friends knew. You thought Tara would stick around, at least for a while.

You didn’t have much more quiet time for introspection before you heard the door open. You turned your head so fast at the sound that you felt a slight disappointment upon realizing it was only your best friend.

His voice echoed up the stairs. “Yo, let's go, Y/N/N! Come on, cupcake! We’re gonna be late!”

“S'up, C?” You sat down in your computer desk chair, still not fully giving him your attention.

Chad stepped inside with his usual boisterous energy, walking around and dropping his bike helmet on the kitchen counter. He glanced at the skillet on the stove, noticing the remnants of last night's grilled cheese.

“Whoa. Did you cook? Wait… did you bring home a girl to stay over?” you didn’t respond, your eyes fixed on the large wrench in your hands, turning it over absentmindedly. Chad moved closer, munching on a leftover piece of grilled cheese as he gave you a puzzled look.

“Dude, what are you doing with that? Why do you have the giant wrench?” He took it from your hands, examining it. After a few seconds, he pieced it together. “Wait—You told her about your mom, bro? You never talk about your mom with anyone.” His tone softened.

You looked toward the door that he left open, a pained smile crossing your face as you didn’t disagree with his assumptions. “Yeah, I did. Not sure what I was thinking.”

Chad let out a low whistle, eyebrows raised. “Fuck. You’ve got it bad, don’t you? You’re in love!” He put the tool back in its place and turned back to you. “About freaking time, too. You’re totally in love!” He squealed the last part, unable to contain his excitement.

Trying to brush it off, you shook your head, a hint of bitterness coloring your tone. “Fuck that. Not that it matters. I couldn’t get her out of here fast enough.” You looked at him with a straight face, attempting to mask the sting of your words. “This girl’s a disaster… she’s a nothing.”

—

Minutes before slipping out of the house, Tara walked along the quiet sidewalk, pulling her phone from her pocket as she dialed Mindy. The line barely rang before Mindy picked up, her voice tinged with early morning sleepiness.

“Tara? What’s going on?”

She sighed, running a hand through her hair. “Sorry to wake you. I just… I don’t know. Remember the person I met last night? They’re… so fucking great, Mindy. We kind of walked around the city, talked, and, I don’t know, we spent the night together and fell asleep talking. It felt… different. Like I didn’t have to keep my guard up.”

“Oh, it was like that, huh?” Mindy’s voice perked up, her interest piqued. “So, what happened after all that?”

A silence stretched between them as Tara paused on the sidewalk. She hesitated, her expression clouded with uncertainty. “I… I left before they woke up.”

Mindy groaned on the other end of the line. “What??? You’re kidding. Why would you just bail? If they’re as great as you’re saying…”

“I don’t know why! Why did I?” Tara blurted, stopping mid-step and glancing back in the direction she’d come from. “What the fuck am I doing? Should I go back?”

“Seems like you already know the answer,” Mindy said gently. “Just go! Find out what this is.”

“Okay, I love you. Bye!” Tara managed a small smile. “I'm so sorry I woke you up. This whole thing is so new to me. Bye!” Her footsteps quickened as she retraced her steps to the building.

“I love you, T. You’ve got this.” Mindy smiled before hanging up, hurrying her steps.

As Tara approached the door, she noticed it was open. Furrowing her eyebrows, she stopped in her tracks when she heard Chad’s familiar voice from inside. His back was facing her, so she didn’t know who the guy was. She certainly wasn’t prepared to hear your sharper tone following in disagreement about you being in love.

“I couldn’t get her out of here fast enough.” “This girl’s a disaster… She’s a nothing.”

The words landed with a crushing weight, stealing her breath and pinning her to the spot. She felt her chest tighten, a surge of hurt and anger rising within her as she turned on her heel and walked away, quickening her pace as if the farther she got, the less it would hurt. She’d let herself be vulnerable, just for a moment, and this was what it had gotten her.

She didn’t stop until she rounded the corner, the city coming to life around her—a stark reminder of the distance she intended to keep. She had allowed herself to believe, just for a moment, that maybe things could be different. But she wouldn’t make that mistake again.

—

Six months had passed since that fateful night, and neither you nor Tara had crossed each other’s paths again. The silence between you both was deafening, leaving nothing but the bitter ache of unfinished business. You had carried on, pretending that the encounter hadn’t left a mark, but you couldn’t shake the lingering memory of Tara slipping away without a word. Each time you tried to forget, the night resurfaced—like a song stuck on repeat. Every quiet moment felt like a reminder that you’d let something slip through your fingers, even if you wouldn’t admit it to yourself.

Tara, on the other hand, had moved on—at least, that’s what she told herself. She had rekindled her relationship with Wes, her first love, and now she was engaged to him once again. There was comfort in the familiar, in the steady future she thought they were meant to have. Yet, sometimes, late at night, when she was alone, Tara’s mind wandered back to that night with you. She hated herself for it. She’d tell herself it had been a mistake, a lapse in judgment, but that didn’t stop the quiet tug in her chest—a reminder of vulnerability, of something she couldn’t fully ignore. And so, she buried it deeper, clinging to Wes and the life they were building.

Still, neither of you had expected to meet again—until tonight.

The bar was alive with energy, the thrum of chatter and laughter filling the space. Mindy and Anika had orchestrated the night, inviting everyone out for a casual reunion. You and Chad arrived a little late, fresh from a lively Korean dinner, your usual laid-back attitude masking the subtle undercurrent of tension that had become all too familiar since that night. As you made your way through the bar, exchanging handshakes and hugs, your attention briefly flitted to the crowd. Anika grinned, subtly pointing out a group of attractive girls seated near the bar.

You raised an eyebrow and nudged Chad. “Looks like there’s potential,” you joked, but the moment was fleeting.

Across the room, Tara had just stepped through the door, her heart skipping a beat when she spotted her best friend waving her over. She smiled, though it faltered when her eyes scanned the faces in the crowd. Something about tonight felt off—familiar in a way she couldn’t quite place.

Mindy greeted her enthusiastically. “Tara! Get over here!” she called. Tara made her way over, her steps slowing slightly as her gaze settled on Chad… and then it clicked. You were there. Her pulse quickened.

Chad wrapped her in a hug before Mindy nudged him aside, beaming as she gestured between you and Tara. “Y/N, come say hi!” she called, oblivious to the growing tension. “Tara, meet one of my dearest childhood friends,” Anika added with a smile, making it clear that you and she shared a long history.

The second your eyes met Tara’s, the world seemed to stop. For a fleeting moment, neither of you moved, both taken aback by the unexpected confrontation. Tara’s chest tightened. How had you ended up here? She didn’t need this. Not tonight.

Your face hardened, instinctively putting up a wall. “Hey,” you said, your voice flat.

She crossed her arms, her tone equally sharp. “Yeah.”

Mindy’s brows shot up. “Wait, do you two… know each other?”

You answered too quickly. “We’ve met.”

“Barely.” Tara’s reply came just as fast. Her eyes narrowed, the distance between you two palpable.

Anika blinked in surprise. “That’s so random.”

Tara, visibly uncomfortable, nodded toward the bar. “I’m going to get a drink,” she muttered, ready to escape.

You couldn’t resist the smirk forming on your lips. “If you’re looking to sneak out, the exit’s that way. I know that’s kinda your thing.”

The law student spun back to face you, her smile cold. “Well, I am a disaster, right?” Her words were laced with venom, a bitter jab that struck deeper than either of you cared to admit.

The group fell into an uneasy silence, but it didn’t last long. Chad, Anika, and Mindy exchanged wary glances before Mindy spoke up, attempting to diffuse the situation. “Okay! Let’s… let’s move on from this.”

Anika quickly chimed in, “Yeah, let’s head back to the table,” motioning for Chad to follow, though their eyes never left the tension between you and Tara.

You faced each other, the weight of everything left unsaid hanging in the air. The banter between you both was sharp, but beneath it, something more vulnerable flickered. There had once been something here, something deeper than either of you wanted to admit, and even now, in the harshness of your words, that connection lingered—bitter but undeniable.

You leaned in, a smirk tugging at your lips. “So, you a lawyer yet?”

Tara’s arms crossed defensively, her eyes narrowing, trying to shield herself from whatever it was you made her feel. “Why? Do you need a defense attorney?”

“I’m just curious how you passed that class on ethics,” you shot back, your tone cutting but with a hint of something softer beneath the surface. “You know, with all the bailing you do on people.”

Her jaw tightened, but something in her eyes flickered—something that said she understood exactly what you meant. It stung, more than either of you would let on.

Meanwhile, at the table, Chad plopped down, looking confused as ever. Mindy snorted, leaning back in her seat, her eyes darting between you and Tara. “I think that’s the alleged jerk who T got with when she was on her break from Wes.”

Anika’s eyes widened as the pieces clicked together. “No way. So T’s the party girl who ghosted them?”

Chad, still lost in thought, nodded slowly. “I thought she looked familiar when I saw her that day… but, you know, I don’t really see faces. I just see souls.”

Anika chuckled softly, shaking her head. “At least they made her realize Wes was the one, right?”

Back at the war field where you and Tara stood, the tension reached a boiling point. Tara’s jaw clenched as she held her left hand up, displaying the ring—a symbol of the life she was trying so hard to convince herself she wanted. “I’m engaged now,” she said sharply, the words coming out more like a challenge than a statement.

Your expression barely flickered, but deep down, something twisted inside—a pang of something you refused to name. “Good for you,” you replied, forcing a dry smile. “Where are you registered? I’ll buy you a broomstick.”

She scoffed, but her smile was tight, forced. “I’ll send you an invite. You still live at 28 Fuckboy Lane?”

You couldn’t help the laugh that escaped you, shaking your head. “You do remember. See, it did mean something to you.”

For a moment, something dark and raw flickered in Tara’s eyes, and she took a step closer, her voice dropping to a low whisper filled with venom and regret. “You’ll always be my rock bottom. The night I spent with a bitch.”

Across the bar, Chad squinted, trying to make sense of the distant conversation. “Did she just call Y/N a bitch?”

Anika leaned closer to Mindy, whispering, “Do you think they’re going to physically fight?”

Mindy smirked, her gaze flicking between the two of you. “Or fuck. That’s a fine line.”

Back at the standoff, Tara’s words softened, though the bitterness still lingered. “Let’s just get through tonight for them, okay?”

You gave her a slow nod, your face unreadable but your heart tight. “Fine. I’m getting a drink, and I’ll toast to never seeing you again.” Your words were sharp, but the way you leaned closer, the tension buzzing between you, said otherwise.

Tara met your eyes, her lips curling into a slight, almost playful smile. “Cheers to that, bro.”

You were nearly nose-to-nose, the heat of your proximity almost suffocating when Mindy, Anika, and Chad appeared at your sides, gently pulling you both out of the intensity of the moment.

Mindy spoke first, her voice cutting through the tension with excitement. “Hey, guys, listen up. We actually have some big news.”

Anika’s eyes sparkled as she squeezed Mindy’s hand. “Hey, so the reason we brought you all together—we’re getting married. In Australia. And you’re all coming with us!” The couple squealed frantically.

Both you and Tara blinked in shock, the animosity between you momentarily forgotten, replaced by a different kind of weight. Australia. A wedding. A trip where you would all be together—where you would have to see each other, to deal with everything that still lay between you. There was no running from it now. You were bound by your friends, by the promises of a wedding that would force you both to face what had been left unresolved.

The room seemed to close in, and though the words hung unsaid, you both knew that this was only the beginning of a confrontation you couldn’t escape. For better or worse, you were going to have to deal with each other—whether you liked it or not.

[rafesbuzzcutseason]

wicked game

chapter 7 - anytime, sunshine

synopsis: y/n is sarah’s roommate and the embodiment of sunshine. rafe, on the other hand, is her complete opposite. when the boys place a bet that he can't win her over, rafe takes the challenge without hesitation. after all, he never backs down from a dare. the closer rafe gets to y/n, he finds himself drawn to her warmth in a way he never expected, and for the first time, he wants to be more than just the guy with a bad reputation.

but secrets don’t stay hidden for long, and when y/n finds out the truth, rafe is left to face the consequences. now, he has to prove that somewhere along the way, the bet stopped mattering, because losing her was never part of the plan.

masterlist

cw: language, alcohol, drugs, drink spiking (read at own risk)

you hadn’t planned on going, but the girls wanted you to come so badly and how could you ever say no to them. so there you found yourself standing outside the kappa tau house once again.

you adjusted your outfit, inhaled deeply, and followed the girls in.

you met the others (jj, pope and john b) and started to enjoy the night with them, having drink after drink, letting the alcohol take over.

you felt someone come up behind you and whisper in your ear "didn’t think you’d actually show."

you didn't need to turn around to know who it was.

"didn’t plan on it," you replied coldly, raising your cup to your lips, finally turning around to face him.

"and yet, here you are." he gave you a once-over, slow and deliberate. "you look nice princess."

you rolled your eyes. "do you have a tally for how many times you call me that in a day?"

"i could switch it up," he offered, leaning in a little. "angel, pretty, honey, take your pick."

"i’ll stick with none, thanks."

he grinned. "feisty tonight."

"you think i’m joking?"

"never."

"whatever. see you later." you walked away from him without another word.

you joined the girls, ignoring the feeling you had in your chest after your conversation with rafe. why did he have to get into your skin so much?

you got yourself another drink, leaving it on the side as you turned to talk to sarah. "so how's it going with john b?" you asked, wiggling your eyebrows.

sarah blushed, "good, i hope. i don't know. i really like him."

"and he likes you too," you said, taking a sip of your drink.

"you think?" sarah questioned.

"i know so." you giggled, a slight dizziness taking over you.

sarah continued talking, and you laughed at something she said. you went to take another sip from your cup, then paused. it suddenly didn’t taste like anything you remembered.

the music thumped loudly around you, lights flashing, bodies moving, but your own body felt slow, sluggish, like you weren’t fully inside of it anymore.

"hey,” you muttered to sarah, but the words came out wrong, slurred and uncertain. "i don’t feel good."

she turned toward you, worried. "what? what do you mean?"

you tried to answer, but the floor tilted, and your vision swam, turning black. your knees buckled, and someone caught you. strong arms. familiar smell. a voice you would've rolled your eyes at but in this moment suddenly felt like safety.

"woah, hey, easy. i got you."

"wha…?”" you mumbled, gripping his shirt as he steadied you.

"you okay?” his tone wasn’t teasing. it was serious. concerned.

"she’s burning up, he muttered to sarah, putting a hand to your forhead. his arm remaining firmly around your waist. "how much did she drink?"

"not enough to be like this," sarah said quickly, unease etched on her face. "she said her drink tasted weird."

rafe’s expression darkened. "who gave it to her?"

"i don’t know," sarah said, panic rising in her voice.

rafe didn’t wait. "i’m getting her out of here." he hoisted you up into his arms without hesitation, like you weighed nothing at all. you were vaguely aware of sarah’s voice behind you, calling out, but everything sounded like it was underwater.

"i’ll text you when she’s okay," rafe said over his shoulder, his voice tight.

you wanted to protest, say you were fine, that you didn’t need help, but the words never came. your body didn’t feel like your own anymore.

rafe didn’t speak as he walked, carrying you upstairs. one arm under your knees, the other cradling your back like he was afraid you’d disappear.

the next thing you were fully conscious of was soft sheets under your back, your head spinning as you blinked up at unfamiliar ceilings.

"hey, hey," rafe said gently, crouching beside the bed. his bed. you were in his room.

"where-” you croaked, your throat dry.

"my room," he said. "don’t freak out. you passed out, and i didn’t want to take you to some random dorm or leave you at the party. you’re safe. okay?" he slowly moved hair out of your face, his touch lingering.

you studied him, dazed and suspicious. but his voice wasn’t cocky. it wasn’t sarcastic. it was calm. measured. sincere.

"i didn’t- drink that much," you slurred, still defensive even in your state.

"i know." his jaw tensed. "someone fucked with your drink. you got spiked. i'm sorry y/n."

you turned your head away, heart thudding too hard. anxiety rising.

"i shouldn’t have let you out of my sight," he muttered, almost to himself, standing and pacing the room. "i swear to god, if i find out who did it-"

"you’re not… mad at me?" you asked, eyes fluttering as the dizziness came back again.

that made him stop. "mad at you? jesus, no." he walked back over, crouching again to your level. "i’m just glad i saw you when i did."

he handed you a fresh water bottle, his fingers brushing against yours for a second too long. you sat up and drank it slowly as he sat with his back against the wall next to his bed, watching you, almost like he didn’t trust himself to be closer.

you let the silence stretch, your thoughts hazy. his presence was strangely comforting. he didn't say anything, but neither did you. you didn't need to.

you took deep breaths, fighting the nausea but beginning to come back to your senses. "don’t let this go to your head," you mumbled finally, voice small, "but… thank you."

he looked over at you, meeting your eyes, his own softening. "anytime, sunshine."

you didn't even have time to process the new nickname before you passed out in his bed.

a/n: oh he wants the cookie so effing bad

🏷️: @heartzshiftamy @hoefordrewstarkey @luvrclub  @leleee3 @yktayy9669 @miumiuestmoi @anacamofficial @cokewithcameron @bloodofadoll @shorttandsweett @mysticbby2009 @emmiesummers @wintercrows @drewrry @starkeyxcameron @xxbirkindoll2 @stoned-writer @drewstarkeyslover @hannieskzzz @verycherryblossomhideout @letstryagaintomorrow @@jjsbbg7 @mariamadison6-blog @laniirackssss @xeneasworld @countryclubwhore @drewsphswife @mattyskies @moonywhisp3rs @starkeygirls @lmaolmaos @thereallifebambi @emeloyy @vcnillafairy @rafecameronswhoore @st8rkey @angeldiaryy @therealfairybatman @drewsephrry @vanessa-rafesgirl @dreamybabbyy @pogueprincesa @happy-mushrooms @hannaa20002000 @whoismxtti @darlingstarkey @mattssweetheart @wuluhwuhmaster @harringtonsbowgirl @my-name-is-baby @rrosiitas @davinashifts333 @cinnamqnnlatte @fastlovela @stelleduarte 

[kenziiie]

sub!fratboy!eren

you never liked frat boys.

too loud, too cocky, too drunk off cheap beer and inflated egos. you avoided them on principle—headphones in, hoodie up, eyes forward. quiet, invisible. you weren’t the kind of girl they noticed anyway.

until eren jaeger.

he noticed everything.

first time you met, he slid onto the couch next to you at a party and said, “yo, this your first one?”

you didn’t answer.

he grinned. “cool. me neither.”

liar.

everyone knew eren. lacrosse star. poster boy of sigma kappa whatever. half the campus either wanted to be him or be under him.

you were neither.

so you turned away.

he chased you anyway.

⸻

you saw him everywhere after that. walking past your dorm. showing up in your psych class. standing outside the café with two coffees and a crooked smile.

“in case you like it black,” he’d said.

you took it.

didn’t say thank you.

but you drank it.

and when he bumped your shoulder in the hallway and mumbled “my bad,” you didn’t glare.

when he walked you home one night in the rain and handed you his hoodie without asking, you kept it.

when he called you pretty, eyes soft, voice low—you almost believed him.

almost.

⸻

until you heard him.

you’d gone back to the frat house looking for your roommate’s keys. turned the corner by the kitchen and froze.

eren. laughing with connie and jean. red cup in hand.

“yo,” connie said. “quiet girl still playing hard to get?”

eren scoffed. “please. i’ll have her by friday.”

your stomach dropped.

“wasn’t that the bet?” jean added. “you said two weeks.”

“one and a half,” eren smirked. “she’s already cracking.”

jean laughed. “cold.”

“whatever,” eren said. “it’s not that deep.”

you left before they saw you.

left the hoodie in the trash.

⸻

he noticed the next day.

you didn’t look at him. didn’t answer his texts. didn’t touch the coffee he brought to class. when he tried to sit next to you, you got up and left.

he texted again: u good?

you replied once: just a bet, right?

then blocked his number.

⸻

he tried everything after that.

waited outside your dorm. showed up to your shift at the library. dm’d your roommate. begged her to get you to talk to him.

he looked wrecked.

red eyes. sunken cheeks. no backwards hat, no girls clinging to his arm. just eren. desperate.

you ignored him.

for weeks.

⸻

until one night, your phone buzzed.

please. just one night. i need to explain. i’ll leave after.

you paused.

then typed: come over.

⸻

he stood in your doorway like a kicked dog. no smug smirk. no swagger. just soft eyes and cracked lips.

“i fucked up,” he said.

you crossed your arms.

“it was supposed to be a joke,” he continued. “jean bet me i couldn’t get your number. that was it. but then—fuck, then i started liking you.”

you stared.

“and i didn’t know how to tell you,” he said. “so i acted like a dick. and you heard the worst of it. and i’m sorry.”

you said nothing.

he stepped forward, slower this time.

“can i show you how sorry?”

⸻

you pulled him inside by the shirt.

pushed him to his knees.

“you want forgiveness?” you asked.

he nodded.

“then beg.”

“please,” he whispered. “please let me make it up to you.”

you didn’t speak. just unzipped your pants, slid them down slow, and stood over him.

“mouth.”

he obeyed.

tongue warm, eager, desperate. he licked like it hurt to stop, like your taste was the only thing he’d eaten in days. you buried your fingers in his hair and rolled your hips against his face, moaning low.

he whined when you pulled away.

“strip,” you ordered.

he did. slowly. flushed and hard, cock already leaking.

you climbed onto the bed and crooked your finger. “you get to cum once,” you said. “you’d better make it count.”

⸻

he didn’t.

you rode him until his back arched, thighs trembling under you. he begged for permission, voice wrecked.

“please, fuck—please, can i—”

“no,” you whispered.

he whimpered when you pulled off.

you kissed his throat, his chest, slid back down and wrapped your lips around the head of his cock. he gasped, legs kicking, whole body jerking under your touch.

you swallowed him halfway, then stopped.

“still think it’s not that deep?”

“n-no,” he breathed.

you sucked harder.

⸻

you made him cum three times that night.

once in your mouth. once between your thighs. once bent over the side of the bed, his face buried in the pillow, voice raw from moaning your name.

he came inside every time.

⸻

the next morning, he was still there.

curled up on the floor, arms around your hoodie, sleep-wrecked and soft.

you nudged him with your foot.

“you want breakfast?”

he blinked up at you.

“can i have kisses first?”

you rolled your eyes—but leaned down anyway.

⸻

after that, he was yours.

not in the fratboy way. not in the look-who-i-pulled way.

he was yours like a secret. soft. submissive. obedient.

you snapped your fingers—he dropped to his knees.

you looked at him—he blushed.

you touched him—he fell apart.

he still wore the backwards hat sometimes, still went to parties, but everyone knew.

he didn’t flirt anymore.

he waited at your door, hands behind his back, ready to serve.

you let him.

over and over.

⸻

and whenever he fucked up—even a little—you reminded him who he belonged to.

one night, he joked about your sass in front of his friends.

you didn’t say anything then.

but when you got him home?

you made him sit on his knees while you used his mouth for hours. when he begged to touch you, you shook your head.

“frat boys don’t get privileges,” you whispered, riding his face.

he cried when he came untouched.

⸻

he never joked again.

⸻

it was one of those nights. the ones that made eren question his sanity.

the frat house was loud. laughter echoed through the halls, bodies pressing up against each other, the usual drunken chaos that followed every weekend. eren, though, was nowhere near the party. he’d been there for a bit, but the moment he caught sight of jean and connie laughing, he slipped away. they didn’t know what he’d been doing in private—didn’t know about the humiliation, the pleasure, the way you had him bending to your will, making him beg, making him grovel.

he couldn’t take it anymore. he needed you.

he texted you, begging to come over.

please. just a few minutes. i need you.

you didn’t reply immediately, but eren was too far gone. he needed you, even if you weren’t around to remind him who was in control. he slipped into a bedroom upstairs, locking the door behind him. he knew his friends wouldn’t knock—they were too drunk to even care.

but that didn’t stop him from pulling off his hoodie, his jeans, stripping down to his boxers and pacing. his skin was on fire, his cock painfully hard, the memory of your touch driving him insane. the way you had your fingers wrapped around him, the way you ordered him around—god, he was fucking addicted to it.

eren sat on the bed, trembling, head spinning. he needed more of you. needed to feel you in ways that made him forget his own name.

he couldn’t wait any longer.

he slid his hand down, gripping himself roughly. his cock throbbed, aching for release. the memories of you—your body, your voice, the way you commanded him—flooded his mind. his breath hitched as he closed his eyes and imagined you on top of him, riding him, making him lose himself again and again.

and then, it happened.

“y/n…” he gasped, his voice breaking as he tugged at his cock. “fuck… y/n…”

he didn’t hear the footsteps at first. didn’t hear the door creak open.

but jean did.

he froze, and so did his friends. they stood at the door, wide-eyed, half-drunk, and in complete shock.

eren’s face turned scarlet. he hadn’t even realized they’d snuck in, their laughing voices muffled by the door. but now they were there—his two best friends, witnessing his complete loss of control.

“you’re… moaning her name?” connie blinked, shocked. “what the fuck, man?”

jean’s eyes widened. “i— yo… you’re that fucked up over her?”

eren scrambled to cover himself, his heart racing, but the damage was done. he’d been caught, and there was no taking it back now.

“w-wait,” he stammered, trying to put on some semblance of his usual cocky confidence. “this isn’t—”

“you’re jerking off to her,” jean interrupted, crossing his arms and narrowing his eyes. “what the hell? i thought you said it was just a bet, man.”

eren could feel his pulse pounding in his ears. his entire body was on fire, and he hated himself for feeling this exposed. the fact that he was here, in front of his closest friends, jerking off to you—begging for you like a fucking dog—sent his mind into a panic.

“i… i didn’t— i—” eren’s words tumbled over themselves. he couldn’t even form a coherent thought. all he could think about was you, the way you’d made him feel owned—controlled. he couldn’t fucking stop himself.

connie raised an eyebrow. “damn, man… this some serious shit. you’re really letting her control you like that?”

“shut the fuck up,” eren muttered, mortified, trying to cover up, but jean stepped closer, a shit-eating grin spreading across his face.

“i didn’t know you had it in you, man,” jean said, laughing. “but, shit, guess you really do like being her little bitch, huh?”

eren wanted to sink into the floor and die.

“fuck off,” he growled, but there was no bite to it. he was too humiliated to be angry.

“nah, nah, we’re gonna talk about this,” jean said. “we’re gonna talk about how you just got off to her name. how you’re really that whipped for her. tell me you didn’t just fuckin’ lose it like that…”

eren was speechless. they were right. it wasn’t just some joke anymore. it wasn’t just some bet.

he was fucked.

“god, you really are a mess,” connie said, shaking his head. “i thought you were all ‘yeah, i got this in the bag’ but you’re out here moaning her name while you jack off.”

“shut up,” eren muttered, trying to find his composure, but it wasn’t working. it was too late. the shame was already crushing him.

and then jean, the bastard, leaned in closer, his voice low. “tell me, man… does she make you do shit like this every time? is this what she’s got you doing? tell me you get off on her bossing you around.”

eren froze.

he wasn’t ready to admit it out loud, but jean could see it in his eyes.

he nodded, just a little, but jean caught it.

“goddamn,” jean said. “looks like we got a real bitch on our hands. you’re her bitch, aren’t you?”

eren wanted to scream, but all he could do was look away, too ashamed to say anything.

“fucking hell, eren,” connie said, still shocked but chuckling. “you really let her do that to you, huh? you really let her turn you into this? a little plaything?”

he couldn’t answer. couldn’t even move.

he wasn’t the cocky frat guy anymore. no, now he was just a kid who had gotten in way too deep. too far gone to stop.

but they didn’t care. they were just watching him crumble.

“you don’t need to hide it, man,” jean said with a grin. “we get it. y/n’s got you wrapped around her finger, huh?”

eren was trapped now. in front of his best friends, in front of everyone, the truth was out.

and he hated it.

[onelittlespiral]

I’ve been looking for a fraternity to join at my new college, but none of them have really been letting me in. The only one left seems to be full of horny jocks that are dumber than a bag of bricks. Think you could help me… fit in?

FML: In

As you laid it all out in front of your friend, your plans, your goals, your desires, he just kind of shook his head in disbelief:

“I know that I’ve only known you for a few weeks, but damn that’s disappointing.”

“What’s so wrong about wanting to pledge?” you replied, “It would just make getting connected the university so much easier. Plus, the parties are legendary.”

“No I get it,” he scowled, “but really? Pi Kappa Epsilon?”

“Listen, they weren’t my first choice either. I would have preferred a group a little less… dim.” I knew he wouldn’t leave it there.

“Dim? Dim still implies some light on upstairs. You can just call them what they are: brainless frat bros. They think with their dicks and muscle their way through academics. I can’t believe you’re asking me to use my power for this.” He began walking towards the door.

I called after, “Look, I’ve seen you do crazier shit than this. You turned the guy upstairs into a dog for a week.”

He stopped in the door frame for a minute to chuckle, “If he was going to call the RA a bitch he may as well get first hand experience.”

“Please dude.” I stared at him.

After a moment he relented, “Fine. But are you sure you want this? You want to change for this? A frat?”

“Yes. And I promise I’ll get you into any party you want!”

“Fine. Give me a bit. But remember, you asked for it.”

He returned in a bit and tossed me a necklace from across the room, “Here’s your frat solution. Wear this to your next thing with them at their house.”

You inspected it. It looked like a basic chain necklace like you had seen other guys wear around “And do what? What does it do?”

He rolled his eyes, “And do nothing. It will help you fit into the frat, I promise.”

“No magic words or anything?” I asked.

He grinned, “Oh come on, think of me as better than needing all that crap. Now put it on so you don’t lose it.”

It fits well around your neck, “I’m headed over there tonight, I think it is the last event before they drop everyone. You sure this will work?”

“Trust me,” he says, “You want in the frat? You will be in the frat.”

When you arrive at the frat house, you do feel the necklace almost pulling you inside. It feels warm against your chest as you wander around, talking with some brothers and checking in with your fellow pledges. You get a sense of magnetism from it, like the necklace is pulling the frat house around it towards you. As the party kicks into gear, you focus less on the chain and more on socializing. But whatever it’s effect, it seems to be working. Brothers and other pledges are seeming to stumble over themselves trying to talk with you. Even the pledge master gives a knowing glance and tilts his head in approval. In a little under two hours, you begin to feel more at home in the house, more comfortable in the crowd. Maybe for the first time you feel a sense of brotherhood. So it is a shock when you step into the bathroom to take a piss and take a look in the mirror.

You don’t recognize the face that stared back. You blinked in confusion, assuming you had too much to drink. But no. The stranger in the mirror stared back into your eyes, copying your every move as you tilted your head and inspected your face in awe. The trance broke as you glanced down and saw the truth. Your polo shirt stretched against your chest as two pectorals firmly pushed out, flexing with each breath. Your pants had grown tight around my quads, now a good few inches short. They hugged your ass so tightly you were surprised they hadn’t ripped. Tattoos flowed down your arms, newly ripped and well toned. You noticed for the first time the power you felt coursing through your veins. You could almost feel your skin taut against your muscles as they slowly swelled. You pulled your top off to get a better look at the action.

‘Damn I look good’ you think as you admire the new cum gutters and still developing 6-pack. You try out a few poses in the mirror, just to see the muscles move. The necklace is no joke. No way PKE would drop you now, you looked like you fit right in. But, at the same time, you figured it may be time to get the necklace off. You didn’t want to change too much, and no telling how far it would go. You go for the back of your neck and and start to fiddle with the clasp when the necklace suddenly starts to warm up.

You feel the odd magnetism is no longer subtle. It feels as though the necklace is pulling against the frat house you, drawing it’s very essence towards you. At the same time, the growth within your body stops as the necklace channels all its energy towards your head. The sudden spike hits like a migraine, as you let go of the necklace and go to hold your temples. The necklace wants to finish its work. Your senses are sharpened to a point, as you feel the heat of the bros downstairs, taste cheap beer and seltzers, hear every footstep, see every muscle and bulge, and smell 100 horny men all at once. You feel the pure energy of the fraternity pull through your body as it shapes you. Beneath the pressure, your mind buckles as false memories push their way in. Memories of watching college football on TV. Working out during the summer to become a fucking stud. Playing the field as soon as you got to college. Meeting up with some brothers to get a foot in the door. Getting called a fuckboi for the first time on Tinder. Wearing it like a badge of pride.

Your brain throbbed as the energy reshaped your memories and personality, but your balls churned as it began to adjust your libido. They ached as they swelled to the size of golf balls. Your cock was rigid at attention as you grabbed it with both meaty hands and started to pump. Your body writhed as every stroke only makes the pleasure more intense. You are soon hot with the effort. An aura of testosterone and sweat formed around you as a frat funk sets in deep: a mixture of booze, yesterday’s workout, and cheap cologne. The smell only drives you more wild, and you start to feel your brain short circuit. Your mind, consumed by pleasure, gave into the pressure and lost any remaining will to resist. The necklace pulsed in time with your throbbing cock as it buried the old you. As you reached climax, you knew there was no going back. As you shot your load across the room, a new you was released. A dumb, horny frat bro ready to pledge PKE.

And then the door behind you opened.

The pledge master, apparently worried by how long you had been in here, walked in on your afterglow as you tucked your cock back into your pants.

“Hey man, you okay?” he asked before recoiling a step. You watched as he smelled your rank funk and nearly gagged. You took a step closer.

“Yeah bro, better than ever. What about you? You look like you’re about to vomit.” you said, leaning in a bit closer. You flex your muscles and let your pit stench join the lingering cloud. You feel yourself start to harden again as he tried not to react.

“Bro, you are fucking rank. You smell like a… like a-”

“Like a frat house should?” you taunted. He had stopped recoiling and seemed now to be fighting a different urge.

“I don’t know bro, you should get- get that looked at.”

His eyes were focused on your muscles as you slowly flexed them rhythmically to the music downstairs. I felt the necklace pulling him closer as he fought the urges he is having. Fuck, you remembered that feeling, that pull towards desire. You knew how to help him out though. You grabbed the back of his head and pulled his lips to your pecs. As his lips connected with your flesh and tasted the beads of sweat that rolled down your chest, he wrapped his arms around you and began worshiping your muscles. As he kissed and licked every inch of your chest and washboard abs, he gently rubbed against your rigid cock. It wasn’t long before he was licking at the fabric separating his mouth from his prize. But as he reached for the elastic band around your waist, you grabbed his hair and pulled him up.

Your mind reveled in in the power you held in your hands and the pleasure your new frat bro could cause with his mouth. But you only had one thing left on you mind:

“I wanna be in the frat bro.” You said.

He mumbled as his mouth still searched for your flesh, “Yeah man, sure thing. I’ll make it happen. You can be a frat bro. Just please let me suck on your-“

“No,” you boomed. You pulled him out of the bathroom and into the nearest bedroom, locking the door behind you. You grabbed his ass as he grew limp in your hands, “I want to be in the frat bro.” You slip your hand beneath his gym shorts and begin slowly finger fucking his tight, straight hole.

He understood his place as he slipped off his shorts and underwear, leaving his cheeks on full display.

He moaned like he was in heat, “Yeah bro. Please. I would be so honored.”

You bent him over and spat in his quivering hole before you pressed your cock against him. You didn’t wait for him to relax as you slammed your cock as deep as you could and watched him yelp in surprise. As you slowly sped up and heard him start to moan, you felt the necklace once again start to warm against my chest as its power flowed through your cock and into the bro beneath you. He too began to sweat with the funk of the frat as was remade in its image under your guidance. He was going to become just as unified with PKE as you were.

[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

[jombies]

rafe cameron, kook kingpin and president of delta kappa, notably was not a man of patience.

as your beloathed companion of a little over two decades, he had showed you over and over just how bad his restlessness could get. at this point, you knew not to expect boiling pots or horses held. it was fine. kinda annoying, sure, but tolerable by large—everyone had their character flaws.

except for when he was bitching in your ear because of it.

“yo, are you fuckin’ done yet? god, feels like i’ve been waiting years. jus’ throw whatever shit y’got in there on so we can go,” he drawled. you threw a manicured middle finger out past the wall between the both of you and received a snort in reply.

“been here forty minutes tops, rafe. i think you’re a big boy who can handle five more.”

a mumble in response: “i think y’should shove it.” you pretended not to hear him.

while you were hard at work tearing your closet apart in search of specific pieces, rafe was uselessly splayed across your bed, sheets rustling as he switched positions for the third time in ten minutes. you filed away a mental reminder to change them once you got home later—he was definitely going to imprint his male manipulator stench on your poor blanket. curse maison francis kurkdjian, you thought, lifting top after top to see what was on the front.

almost an hour of carding through piles of shirts sequined and embellished had your arms aching, though, and you couldn’t ignore the strain anymore. sinking back onto your heels, an executive decision was made to ease up on the heavy lifting; you prodded at a rhinestone astray on the shelf and watched it catch the light.

his voice, provocative as ever, sliced through your metallic haze: “come out here, yeah? w’nna, uh, wanna see what you’re wearing.” 

you took a moment to savor the peace while it had lasted and then leapt into the lion’s den. stepping into his line of sight toe-first, you could feel the air shift. it crackled like a riptide of sparks crashing over your skin. a forewarning of the storm. rafe had sat up, eyes flashing dangerously, attention rapt.

the denim of your skirt hardly covered your cotton-clad crotch, and as you twirled in place to show him the hem detailing, he got a full frontal of your pert ass. in your driven pursuit of a certain camisole, you had forgone a shirt—his gaze dragged over your bare torso, clad in nothing but a bra. jesus christ.

he drew a thin breath through his teeth and slipped off the bed, prowling towards you unhurriedly. you were too busy telling him about tonight’s outfit ambitions to care.

“i was looking for that red qipao top i wore to topper’s last birthday. y’know, the one with the gold pankou knots n’stuff? gonna match that with my yurman stack, it’ll look super cute. i’ll just find some pumps to—”

“hey, shut—shut the fuck up, yeah?”

thus struck the lightning.

not a blink and rafe was right before you, gripping your face with a calloused hand and leaning down to invade your space. his next exhale swept over the slope of your nose. you barely felt it crest before his lips crushed against yours, intense and proprietorial.

those hands dropped down, seizing greedy palmfuls of your ass, cupping the seam of your clothed cunt. every reedy noise he plucked from your throat was swallowed into his maw—you licked across his teeth, sucking on his tongue as it crowded against your palate. a whisper of a touch against the front of his jeans had him groaning low and ragged, and he surrendered your mouth to fish his phone from his pocket.

“wh,” came your breathy inquiry, edging on a whine, “what’re you doing?”

god, he could be so weird sometimes.

tapping hastily at his keyboard, he muttered, “lettin’ the guys know i can’t make it tonight. too busy. gotta handle stuff. veeeery important bureaucratic stuff. shit’d probably fly right over your head if i tried explainin’ it to you.” a whoosh confirmed whatever he was typing had sent, and his phone dropped from his grasp, forgotten.

your brows twisted in thought, but he was herding you to bed with a wandering palm before you could come to any conclusions.

[captainkappa]

Congrats on being the recipient of my first (and possibly only, the lag on mobile is rough) Triple Boop!

omg... sab...

you booped me more than three times

[wlntrsldler]

final installment of fratboy!luke x poseidon reader :)

graduation, luke being h-word lol, im sad this is over.

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4

tagged trideltumm.

yn_yln: last bid day 🩵 welcome home new pc 🔱

lukecastell4n: gonna steal that little jeep from ur house

lukecastell4n: come over im tryna get u like the last pic

poseidonsfavchild: RHIS IS A PUBLIC APP

bethchase: have some decency, i beg of u

chrisr0driguez: BRO 💀💀💀

clarisselarue: too far

charliebeck: AYO?

yn_yln: pick me up pls

liked by lukecastell4n.

silenabeauregard: U LOOK SO PRETTY

yn_yln: thank u angel 👼🏽

trideltumm: i know you’re a senior now but don’t leave 🥲

yn_yln: i dont wanna go ☹️

tagged ksigumm, yn_yln, and chrisr0driguez.

lukecastell4n: went out with a bang ‼️ thanks for the memories kappa sig

ksigumm: our president 🫡

liked by lukecastell4n.

chrisr0driguez: can’t believe it’s almost over 💔

lukecastell4n: me either bro 💔

yn_yln: ur frat cooler is sooo real

lukecastell4n: what can i say 🤷🏻‍♂️

bethchase: thank god the reign of terror is over

poseidonsfavchild: fr im tired of seeing his posts every weekend

lukecastell4n: hater

poseidonsfavchild: and what about it

charliebeck: gonna miss the kappa sig parties

lukecastell4n: gonna be hard to live without the sigma nu darties

clarisselarue: my liver needs a break!!!!

chrisr0driguez: nobody said u had to finish half a handle every weekend

clarisselarue: U REFUSE TO DRINK THE BITCH CUP FOR ME

chrisr0driguez: NOT MY FAULT U SUCK AT KINGS CUP BABE

tagged lukecastell4n, clarisselarue, and others.

yn_yln: bittersweet goodbyes.

clarisselarue: i love you so much

yn_yln: love u always clar ❤️‍🔥

silenabeauregard: MY SWEET GIRL ����🩷

yn_yln: couldn’t have done it without you lena 🤍

lukecastell4n: im so proud of you baby

yn_yln: right back at you, my love

poseidonsfavchild: why r yall in the comments acting like youre not all going back to chb

yn_yln: percy im going to grad school 😭

poseidonsfavchild: oh

poseidonsfavchild: this is news to me

poseidonsfavchild: i was kinda hoping you’d come back 😕

yn_yln: i’ll visit over the summer

poseidonsfavchild: it’s not the same

yn_yln: stop im gonna cry

bethchase: congrats yn!!

liked by yn_yln.

gr0verunderwood: CONGRATULATIONS!!!

liked by yn_yln.

lukecastell4n posted a story!

where to next yn_yln? i’ll follow you anywhere 🤍

yn_yln replied to this story:

yn_yln: you and me forever

lukecastell4n: wouldn't have it any other way baby

poseidonsfavchild replied to this story:

poseidonsfavchild: ok if u tell anyone this i will VEHEMENTLY deny it

poseidonsfavchild: but if my sister had to end up with someone, i'm glad it's you ig

liked by lukecastell4n.

poseidonsfavchild: just tell her to come visit sometimes yeah?

lukecastell4n: your secret's safe with me perce

lukecastell4n: dw we'll come back. we can't stay away from our siblings too long

poseidonsfavchild: thanks luke

lukecastell4n: anytime lil bro

liked by poseidonsfavchild.

[delusionsofgrandeur13]

CASUAL

he said, you’re “not together,”

so now when you kiss, you have anger issues.”

chapter two

NSFW. MINORS DNI.

tim drake x reader

series inspired by Casual by Chappell Roan

readers can expect: an argument due to miscommunication, mentions of sexual acts such as..well, sex and a blowjob, mentions of drugs and scandal, an internal monologue (not reader's) that's a bit self-deprecating. happy reading!

●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●

“phi kappa epsilon is throwing a party later.” you say, looking up from your phone. tim’s got the gotham globe open to the local news section, his eyebrows furrowed in deep concentration. 

“mmm,” he replies, flipping the page. 

your legs are sprawled across his; your shorts still unbuttoned due to the hasty sex you’d finished up around ten minutes ago. you didn’t really like fucking him at his frat house, but tim had called you an hour ago sounding the most needy you’ve ever heard him. it’s a bit embarrassing to think about how fast you dropped what you were doing. 

your hair is pulled back from when your mouth was around his cock, his fingers gripping at your ponytail. tim’s lips are pink from the way he kissed you, and yours chapped and a little swollen. you purse them, hesitant. but you ask anyways. 

“would you want to go together?” 

“together? we’re not together.” 

“..what?” your heart drops into your stomach as he looks at you over the newspaper.

“you said we’re together?”

“..do you even listen to me, drake?” 

he blinks at you. it’s infuriating.

“no. didn’t think so.” 

you barely hear his protests as you untangle your legs from his. grabbing your things from the floor, you quickly shove your shoes on. he gets up, but doesn’t follow you past the door of his bedroom. refusing to be seen chasing after someone by his frat brothers. 

you fight hot, angry tears that blur your vision as you rush out of the house. 

one day later...

BREAKING: AFFLUENT FRATERNITY INVOLVED WITH DRUG RING

 Beta Alpha Tau, Gotham University’s most well known frat, has seen several of its members arrested in the past week with connections to the drug known as ‘drops.’ There is still not much known about this substance, only that it’s ingested through the eye and highly, highly disorienting. This is not the first time Beta Alpha Tau has been involved in the distribution of illicit substances, either. The fraternity itself is sponsored by well known players in Gotham such as Bruce Wayne and Lucius Fox—so what does a repeat scandal like this mean for those families’ reputations? More on page 3. 

tim growls in frustration, throwing the newspaper across the room. the pages disperse, fluttering in the air and falling to the ground.

he scrubs his hands over his face, groaning. his stupid, stupid frat brothers. and it's almost entirely on him, as their president and as a drake, as a wayne. he could've seen it, could've stopped it. could've kicked them out. but he can’t do shit about it now. bruce already wants him over for ‘dinner’ later. tim has half a mind to skip, knowing, just knowing, the way it’s gonna go. his brain kicks into overdrive, looking for a distraction. he could hit the gym, he could go drive over the speed limit, he could—

an image flashes in his mind, so vivid and sharp he can almost hear your moaning again. suddenly all he can think about is the way you look up at him during missionary, your big, blissed-out eyes staring deep into his, into places he didn’t think anyone could reach. the way you giggle when he teases you. how blown out your pupils get as he fucks you nice and hard, but you’re the one pulling sounds and emotions out of him no one ever has before. your satisfied smile after, a smile he never sees anywhere else. the way you play with his hair and kiss his cheek, feather-light. 

he barely even registers the fact he’s called you until he hears it ringing, ringing, ringing…

and your voicemail picks up. 

right. you’re mad at him. 

he laughs to himself, bitter. of course you are. right now, who isn’t?

●

●○

●○●

●○●○

●○●○●

tim drake's fan club:

(taglist)

@dfgcbgdc @benditlikegumby93 @agent-nobody-knows @jaybunsblog @astermos-74 @ravenna-reid @borutoistrash1-blog @slut4animedilfs @nuggget-consumer-9000 @turtleturtleturtleturtleneck @hellishattempt @trashhighwaybird @sergeant-angels-trashcan @lilithskywalker @timdrakeisasugardaddy

●○●○●

●○●○

●○●

●○

●

[esmedelacroix]

04 - Party 4 U

synopsis ! he’s an American football player by day and a passionate mathematician by night. She’s a well-rounded historian and writer who couldn’t evaluate a derivative to save her life. They lived in two different worlds but shared the same study room.

previous chapter | series masterlist

cw ! no use of y/n, y/n is _____, fluff, slow burn, college au, ooc sukuna, f!reader, child abuse/neglect, alcohol abuse,

fic radio ! party 4 u by Charli xcx

You sat in front of your vanity, some random music was blaring from a speaker, and Suguru and Shoko were pre-gaming and getting you ready for the first party they successfully dragged you to.

You stared at yourself, wondering if this was all a good idea. You suddenly felt large, cold hands on your exposed shoulders. "You look cute," Suguru complimented, smiling at you through the mirror.

"Thanks," you replied, looking up at him. "Your breath stinks."

He chuckled and grabbed a mint from your desk that you kept solely for him and Shoko. Somehow, Suguru convinced you to take two shots before all three of you walked to the Kappa Phi Epsilon house. Most of the football players were in the same frat. This one always threw the craziest parties. They only ever ended if the cops stopped it. "Who the fuck are you," Aoi Todo spat. "Name three brothers," he demanded as he sized you up.

"Enough, Todo, they're with me," Gojo said in a warning tone.

Gojo led you through the crowd, introducing you to the football guys. Some of them already knew you. You had a couple of classes with Choso Kamo, and his younger brother, Yuji, was well known because of how good he was at football as a rookie.

"Where's Ryomen?" you tried to ask in the most casual way possible. Gojo pretended not to catch on.

"Oh, Ryo doesn't really come to these functions. Just stays in his room. Or he just flat out leaves the house after seeing who's here," he explained.

"I can let him know you're here," Satoru offered.

"Let who know she's here?" Sukuna asked, appearing behind them.

"No one," Satoru lied, "Yuji, get down from there!" he exclaimed before running off.

"Hey," you greeted, unable to stop the stupid smile pulling at the corners of your mouth.

"You came," he stated.

"How dirty," you quipped. He chuckled showing teeth.

"I don't usually see you at these parties," he pointed out as he poured two Vodka Lemonades. He could barely make out what he was pouring with the electronic lighting and the disorganized sea of alcoholic drinks, mixers, and chasers on the kitchen island.

"They're not really my scene. But you won your big game today, so I thought I'd pop out," you admitted.

"You usually don't come to those either," he said, handing you a dubious drink in a red Solo cup.

"Are you trying to roofie me?" you questioned before bringing the cup to your lips. He rolled his eyes and downed his drink. To your surprise it tased okay.

Just when he was about to joke back, you were pulled towards the livingroomdance floor by Shoko. "I'm gonna steal her away for a second!" she called out to Sukuna.

His piercing gaze followed your movements on the dance floor. You went from feigning annoyance to dancing in a matter of seconds. You and Shoko were in your own worlds. Not even aware of the subtle attention you were attracting. You were wearing dark-wash jeans and a black lacy “going-out top.” So basically the same thing every other girl was wearing. But for some reason it looked different on you and you were all Sukuna could focus on.

How could he be annoyed by Todo making advances on you? You painted your lips the perfect flushed shade. They were begging to be kissed as always.

Your hair looked amazing. How could Todo not feel inclined to offer you another drink? It's what Sukuna would've done. Just for the chance to spark another conversation with you. To see you looking up at him with those beautiful eyes of yours. He eyes tracked Todo’s lips slightly brushing your ear as he whispered something in your ear handing you a beer. He noticed the way you squirmed and giggle as the hot air touched your ear.

Sukuna couldn't blame Todo for spinning you around and dancing with you. For shamelessly checking you out the way he often did. You were perfection personified. Rich, beautiful, respectable, with a killer personality.

If he could peel back your skin and feast on the fruits of your insides until it made him somewhat on the same level as you, he would, without a second thought.

He felt like the universe was being cruel to him. The only reason why he stayed for the party was because you were here. But there you were, swaying your hips to the beat of a song with another guy. As much as he hated to admit it, you made Ryomen nervous.

"You gonna keep bein' a creep or are you gonna ask her to dance with you instead?" Toji grinned, handing Ryo a beer.

Sukuna rolled his eyes, staying quiet. He finished off his chilled beer and turned back to the dance floor, where you were nowhere to be found.

His eyes scanned the room, but he couldn't find you. He pushed past a group of drunk freshman he had to kick out and couples shoving their tongues down each other's throats. So much time had passed looking for you when he finally made his way down to the basement you were nearly shit-faced and knee deep in a game of truth or drink.

Out of the corner of his eye, Suguru spotted Sukuna descending the stairs and smirked. "Smash or pass, Ryo," he purred. There was a flurry of smashes, passes, and shots being taken amongst the group.

"Smash," Gojo slurred, half-joking.

"C'mon, are you gonna drink?" Shoko whined as the whole group turned to hear your answer.

"Sma-" you started before vomiting all the contents of your stomach on the ground. The group winced and got up. Sukuna appeared from the shadows of the stairs, helping you up.

"Some friends you are, letting her drink past her limit," he muttered under his breath before putting a big hand around your waist and helping you up the stairs.

"Where are you taking me?" you hiccupped as he helped you up more steps to the rooms. He didn't answer.

Your eyes were barely opened, but you could tell you were entering a bedroom. It was dimly lit, and you were placed on a bed. You lay down on it and got comfortable.

You could hear Sukuna opening drawers in the background. "Is this how you usually get women in your room? Look for the drunkest ones?" you asked in a small voice.

"No?" he answered in disbelief.

"How many women have you had on this bed?" you asked.

"Just one."

"Who?"

"You."

You shot up in surprise. "Don't get up to quic-" he started before pausing as you vomitted all over yourself and his sheets.

"I'm sorry," you whimpered.

"Come here," he sighed as he took your wrist in his hand, guiding you to his bathroom by the small of your back. Thankfully, it was connected to his room, so he didn't have to worry about the couple he could hear having a fight right outside of his door.

He brought you to kneel before the toilet. Sukuna held your hair back as you 'let it rip' as he said. He then wet a towel with warm water and handed it to you. You brought it to your mouth as he briefly left the bathroom, trudging back in with a colossal T-shirt and PJ pants.

He left the room to change his soiled sheets as you wiped yourself clean. Despite having to fold the pants over eighty times and tighten the drawstring, his clothes fit you so nicely. They were large, but comfortable.

Sukuna could barely look at you in his clothes without getting flushed. He left the room to clean your mess that sat in the basement, which had been completely evacuated soon afterward.

"Hey, where's my friend?" Shoko asked, tapping his shoulder as he threw out dirty paper towels.

"She's recovering in my room," he answered.

"Alright, Suguru and I are going to head out," she answered, patting his shoulder.

"Nonfunny business," Suguru almost warned, grasping Sukuna's shoulder as he walked past him and led Shoko out of the party. Sure, he wasn't nearly as buff as Sukuna, but he was slightly taller than him. With his personality adding about three more inches, he was pretty intimidating in that moment.

When Sukuna walked back up to his room with a bottle of water and medicine in hand, you were spread out on the bed with the sheets and comforter in disarray. You had also somehow kicked the PJ pants off in your sleep(you were a sleep stripper, you couldn't help it). He placed the things on the nightstand and grabbed a pillow before leaving the room.

Somehow, there were still people downstairs, but Sukuna simply ignored them. He opened Gojo's door to find him surprisingly not doing anything weird, but his usual activity, playing "Hello Kitty Island Adventure."

"Yo," Satoru called out, eyes glued on the Sanrio characters dancing around his screen.

Sukuna stayed silent and stood at the doorway with his pillow in hand(Looking too cute). Gojo's head turned, but his eyes stayed on the screen for a moment. After peeling his eyes off his screen, he saw the big, hulking Sukuna standing in the doorway with a pillow in hand.

"Ryo, is someone hooking up in your room again?" he asked in disgust.

"Nah, _____ is sleeping in there," he answered.

"Oh, well, I have someone coming over, so you can't sleep in here," he lied.

"Bruh, it's two in the morning," Sukuna deadpanned, before leaving.

He walked back into his room. Somehow, you completely changed positions, and you were now on one side of the bed. I'm going to have to make this work, he thought to himself, seeing that your bra was now on the ground. You lay in just your panties and his shirt now. He tried not to look at your soft, exposed bits of skin, tucking you in and taking the side of the bed you weren't occupying.

His weight made the mattress depress a bit as he settled next to you, sleeping in his boxers. This would be odd to explain to you in the morning.

. . .

-> next part

@minasuniverse @not-a-glad-gladiator @love-me-satoru @sukunawhores @emoedgylord @domainofmarie @sadrna @lazylunarlover @tamishadawn @boudoirbae @river-vixenn @bitchyfestivalbouquet @elizabeth-von-winken-universe @clp-84 @emochosoluvr @yoongithebean @linaaeatsfamilies @magalimachete @chubbydumplingbarnes @katsukiseyebrows @sukubusss @r33m-world @pelicanpizza @mykuronekome @linny-bloggs @your-mum3000 @jayathelostdragon @userr152536367474 @veras-fanfic-reblogs

comment to be added to the taglist !

[rafesbuzzcutseason]

wicked game

chapter 2 - kappa tau

synopsis: y/n is sarah’s roommate and the embodiment of sunshine. rafe, on the other hand, is her complete opposite. when the boys place a bet that he can't win her over, rafe takes the challenge without hesitation. after all, he never backs down from a dare. the closer rafe gets to y/n, he finds himself drawn to her warmth in a way he never expected, and for the first time, he wants to be more than just the guy with a bad reputation.

but secrets don’t stay hidden for long, and when y/n finds out the truth, rafe is left to face the consequences. now, he has to prove that somewhere along the way, the bet stopped mattering, because losing her was never part of the plan.

masterlist

cw: mentions of drugs and alcohol, language

"how are you feeling?" sarah asked as you were doing the finishing touches of your makeup.

"nervous." you replied.

sarah smiled, leaning against the doorframe as she watched you. “totally normal. first frat party jitters. it’s a rite of passage.”

you set your lip gloss down, exhaling. “it’s just… not really my scene, you know? loud music, drunk people, chaos.”

sarah grinned. “oh, it’s definitely all of those things. but that’s the fun of it! you don’t have to be the life of the party, just survive it. and hey, i’ll be right there with you. and i'll introduce you to cleo and kie who you will love.

you met her eyes in the mirror, appreciating how quickly she had taken you under her wing. “thanks, sarah.”

she smiled. “anytime. now, come on, let’s go. you look beautiful.”

with one last deep breath, you grabbed your phone and followed her out the door, the bass of the party already faintly thumping in the distance.

sarah linked her arm with yours as you walked. “okay, quick rundown. frat parties can be a lot. idiotic men, screaming girls, a lot of drunk conversations. but as long as you stick with me, you’ll be fine.”

you nodded, nerves still fluttering. “and cleo and kie? they’re your friends?”

sarah beamed. “yep! they’re the best. i knew them from home. you’re gonna love them. cleo takes no shit, and kie’s the most chill person ever. they’ll have your back.”

that made you feel better. you weren’t exactly shy, but stepping into a house full of strangers, loud music, and whatever else frat parties entailed? that was way out of your comfort zone.

as you approached the kappa tau house, the scene was exactly what you’d expected. just like the movies. people spilling onto the lawn, red solo cups in nearly everyone’s hands, music so loud you could feel the beat in your chest. the air smelled like beer, cologne, and the faintest hint of weed.

sarah squeezed your arm. “welcome to kappa tau y/n.” she then waved dramatically. “there they are!”

two girls turned and grinned when they saw sarah. “about damn time. we were starting to think you bailed.”

“as if i'd miss this,” sarah scoffed before turning to you. "guys, this is y/n, my roommate and our new favourite person.”

“hey, it's so nice to meet you! i'm kie." she said, pulling you into a welcoming hug.

"and i'm cleo." she smiled, "so first frat party?"

you sighed. “that obvious?”

“oh, yeah,” she teased. “but don’t worry, we’ll keep you alive.”

before you could say anything else, a loud voice cut through the crowd.

“ladies!”

you turned just in time to see two guys approaching. one was tall and tan with a cocky grin. the other, a blonde with wild hair and an even wilder energy, practically vibrating with excitement.

“finally!” the blonde boy threw an arm around sarah's shoulder. “we were wondering when you’d grace us with your presence.”

the first boy gave you a curious look before glancing at sarah. “new roommate?”

sarah beamed. “yep. y/n, meet john b and jj.”

“nice to meet you,” john b said with a friendly smile.

jj, however, wiggled his eyebrows. “very nice to meet you.”

kie smacked his arm. “behave.”

jj put a hand over his heart, feigning innocence. “i am always on my best behaviour.”

cleo snorted. “that’s the biggest lie i've ever heard.”

sarah rolled her eyes, then turned back to you. “okay, now that the introductions are done, can we please go inside?"

you hesitated for half a second before nodding. “let’s do it.”

kie grinned. “that’s the spirit.”

you piled in together, letting the party swallow you whole. you took a deep breath, scanning the room. it was overwhelming, but there was an undeniable energy to it. you let yourself feel excited.

cleo nudged you playfully. “come on, let’s get drinks. it’s, like, step one of surviving a night like this.”

you nodded, "alright. let's get started.

a/n: i promise rafe will come in soon...

🏷️: @heartzshiftamy @hoefordrewstarkey @luvrclub @yesterdaysproblemm @leleee3 @yktayy9669 @miumiuestmoi @anacamofficial @cokewithcameron @bloodofadoll @shorttandsweett @mysticbby2009 @emmiesummers @wintercrows @drewrry @starkeyxcameron @xxbirkindoll2 @stoned-writer @drewstarkeyslover @hannieskzzz @verycherryblossomhideout @letstryagaintomorrow @@jjsbbg7 @mariamadison6-blog @laniirackssss @xeneasworld @countryclubwhore @drewsphswife @mattyskies @moonywhisp3rs @starkeygirls @lmaolmaos @thereallifebambi @emeloyy @vcnillafairy @rafecameronswhoore @st8rkey @angeldiaryy @therealfairybatman @drewsephrry @vanessa-rafesgirl @dreamybabbyy @pogueprincesa @happy-mushrooms @hannaa20002000 

[imsogonesposts]

Is This Seat Taken?

|| ao3 || an: this is part of a series, but each fic can be read on its own || Not What I Thought Series Masterlist || Finnick Odair Masterlist ||

summary: A modern college AU. Maybe Finnick Odair isn't as bad as you thought he was. (wc: 1046)

Warnings: my knowledge of fraternities, sororities and all that is extremely limited to the movie scream 2 and the show scream queens, so take that with a grain of salt. (yes I got the fraternity name from scream queens, shhh)

Most people knew the name Finnick Odair. It was almost impossible not to, as he was president of Kappa Kappa Tau (KKT for short), the most popular fraternity the University of Panem had to offer. Finnick was the guy almost every girl had a crush on. The guy everyone seemed to flock to, the guy everyone wanted to be friends with, the guy everyone wanted the smallest piece of attention from. The guy who couldn’t help but annoy you the slightest bit due to his and his fraternity brother’s sometimes reckless behavior. 

“Hi, is this seat taken?” A voice asked, causing you to look away from your laptop and up at him- at Finnick. He was dressed in a grey hoodie and sweatpants, his hair disheveled just enough to almost look intentional, his green eyes lookinginto yours as he awaited an answer. 

“No,” you answered, “no, it’s not. Feel free.”

Finnick nodded with a smile placing his Jansport book bag on the floor as he took the seat next to you. Your seats weren'tclose enough to the professor to be called on, but not far enough that you would get distracted easily. 

“I’m Finnick,” he told you suddenly, interrupting your thoughts as you mindlessly scrolled through the last class's notes. 

You nodded as if you didn’t know who he was, as you told him your own name. He repeated the name slowly, as if testing it out before smiling an almost charming smile. “Pretty name,” he told you.

“Thanks, my parent’s picked it,” you replied noncommittally, as Finnick let out a laugh. A genuine, real laugh. 

“So, isn’t it a bit late to be joining the class?” You asked, finally turning to face the boy next to you after his laughter had died down. 

It was true, class had started almost a month ago, and this was the first time you had ever seen Finnick in class.

Finnick shook his head no as he fished a blue notebook out of his bag, followed by a black pen. 

“Nah, I’ve been here the whole time,” he replied, “used to sit in the back with some of my buddies, but I wasn’t doing much but goofing off, so” he shrugs, “thought it’d be better if I sat closer up front. Maybe I could actually learn a thing or two.”

You hummed in response as Professor Beetee began to write a math equation on the board. Luckily, Finnick had taken it as a sign to stop talking, pay attention, and began scribbling notes in his notebook, not interrupting you unless it was to ask a question. 

An hour later, math class was over. 

“So, what’s your major?” Finnick asked as the two of you began packing your stuff away.

“Hm?” You asked as Finnick repeated himself.

“Your major? I just thought if we were gonna be sitting next to each other for the rest of the semester, I should get to know you some more,” Finnick replied with a shrug as he slid his backpack on, carrying it off one shoulder as the other strap hung loosely to the ground. 

You paused at that, furrowing your brows as you asked, “oh, so this’ll be a weekly occurrence?”

Finnick nodded slowly. “I mean, unless you think I’m gonna distract you, or you just don’t want me to sit next to you,” he nervously trailed off, his hand holding that onto the book bag, now drumming against the strap. 

Despite how you felt about him, about fraternities and sororities in general, something inside you told you to just let him sit next to you. Maybe he really did just want to focus more in class and his friends had been distracting him. It wasn’tlike he had been distracting you either, he had left you alone to do your work for the most part. Plus, it would be nice to have a friend in class.

“No, it’s okay, you can still sit here,” you replied softly before telling him your major. 

Finnick smiled, a charming smile that almost made you understand why so many girls in this school seemed to have a crush on him. Seemed to sigh and giggle and twirl their hair whenever he was brought into a conversation. 

“That’s cool,” Finnick replied, “I’m doing marine biology.”

Your eyebrows shot up at that causing Finnick to laugh. 

“I’m guessing that’s a surprise?” he asked through his laugh. 

 You nodded. “Yeah, sorry,” you said through your own, nervous, laugh. “I don’t know, I guess I was just expecting something like business or accounting. Isn’t that what most frat guys major in?”

“Oh, you think I’m in a frat, huh?” Finnick asked, wiggling his eyebrows with a smirk. 

You couldn’t help but laugh at his theatrics.  “Everyone knows you’re in a frat, Finnick. Aren’t you the president of the most popular one?”

Finnick smiled. “I am,” he easily replied.

Just as he was about to say something else, a voice from the back of the class interrupted him. A blonde boy with hazel eyes yelled, “Yo, Odair, you coming?”

“Just a sec,” Finnick replied to him before turning back to you with a smile.

“For the record, not all frat guys major in business,” he said, nodding his head toward the blonde boy who had just called for him. “Peeta over there is majoring in the culinary arts.” 

He said “culinary arts” in a horrible French accent that you couldn’t help but laugh at.

“God, that was awful,” you teased as Finnick’s smile seemed to have almost grown twice in size. You could notice the slightest crinkle in the corner of his eyes as he looked at you. 

“I’ll see you next week, then,” Finnick said with a wink before walking up the stairs, to his awaiting friends. “Make sure to save me a seat!” He called out to you as he and his friends made their way to the exit. 

And despite yourself, you couldn’t help but want next week to come, if only to deal with Finnick’s dramatics again. To laugh like that again. You found it was easy to talk to him. Easier than you expected, at least. 

[ask-the-shiny-pokemons]

So, what's next, sweetpie?

We weakened her. Now we should try to finish with a final blow! Let's do this!

Alrighty!

Both Rimi and her dad use Howl to boost their Attack, and then, they both use Stone Edge.

TAKE THIS!

IN YOUR FACE!

W-WHAT IN THE MONSTROSITY IS THIS???

I-it can't be...that's the one Samurott we've met when she gave us tarts.... Things are pretty complicated.

I-IT'S BEEN A VERY WHILE SINCE I'VE ACTUALLY BATTLED... A-ARE YOU SURE YOU WANT HELP DEFEATING HER???

Dad...don't worry, we're goin' to save her. Just trust me...

Rimi picks two Z-Crystals: one is a Rockium Z for her and Lycanium Z for her dad.

Just follow my moves!

They both posed and unleash their power.

Rimi uses Continental Crush

Arin uses Splintered Stormshards.

[ @ask-impatient-samurott ]

[tastesousweet]

⭒ the girl with the tattoo (iv) - pt 1 pt 2 p3

matt sturniolo x fem!oc / reader

summary : maybe the only way matt and y/n can stand being around each other is to fuck each other

warnings : weed, alcohol/drinking, smut (slightly rough but not very?? pretty filthy tho), profanity

mickey speaks : rlly hate how the smut turned out but maybe its jus me being a perfectionist + i changed a lot of shit ab UCLA (mostly grad dates) to fit into my narrative okay, i knowwww. only sorta proofread bc ive been busy, enjoy <3

THIS IS PART FOUR GO READ THE FIRST THREE PARTS DUHH

"FUCK!"

the turn of spring to summer in LA is typically the most eventful time of year. more parties are thrown than ever before in celebration of the season change, the boom of tourism begins, and of course school years are ending.

you celebrated your college graduation from UCLA only a week ago, with a large dinner at your favorite seafood restaurant and your friends all excitedly in attendance. matt was also there but you let it be known you invited him only so you wouldn’t feel bad (though he claims he wouldn’t have cared if you did or not).

you also shared an excruciating breakfast that same morning with your parents (both suffocating you with their traditional views that reminded you exactly why you moved hours away from them to attend school). you were cautious to wear items of clothing that would hide your tattoo and kept any conversations on the topic of your schooling rather than outside interests (not that they even care to ask) out of fear you may expose your routine of going out to party most weekends.

your brother was also at breakfast and you could tell he was trying his hardest to keep a positive attitude for you. you immediately noticed his wet face when you gave him a full hug after your ceremony, which made you cry, mostly out of missing him and love.

"it's not that bad!" andrea looks at you in the mirror as she continues to give herself soft curls.

“how the fuck did i manage to make this one downturned and this one up,” you reply in frustration while you point to either wing of eyeliner on your grimaced face.

andrea giggles and aims the stick of the curling iron at makeup remover lying in the sink, “just get a q-tip and fix it, cariño.” (“honey”)

you move around her to grab a q-tip from a small jar in the medicine cabinet before following her instructions, getting extra close to the mirror.

remi barges in the bathroom dressed in a mini skirt and a detailed patterned top, “hi nick!” she exclaims to her phone screen, placing it down on the counter while untwisting her lipgloss.

you can see nick’s awkward face as he sits in the car (making his camera jump at any dip or bump in the road), “sooo…this better be erin’s bathroom ceiling im staring at.”

“and if i say it’s not?” remi giggles to herself before rubbing her lips together to spread the gloss further.

“i’d say what the fuck are you guys still doing at home?! y/n’s our mutual friend that even got us into this bitch and i’m not just walking into some sorority house acting like i know any of these fucking people.”

“and we didn’t go to college!” chris exclaims to add to the point.

“yeah, we didn’t go to fuckin’ college!” nicks adds before his face falters, “the fuck does that have to do with it?”

chris’ voice is low as he explains himself, “you know…like, obviously we aren’t gonna know shit about some delta kappa omega?”

nick comedically pauses and the three of you watch the screen to see him staring at chris with no facial expression, “…okay chris. anyway, get your asses over here ASAP. we need you.”

“okay, we don’t need them. you’re being dramatic just chill out,” matt huffs from the driver’s seat.

“hey, we’re leaving soon i promise, nick.” andrea assures and remi picks her phone off of the counter to show the girl.

"thanks, but we'll be fine. erin told me where to find her, let's not get ridiculous." matt continues dismissing the conversation he finds so unnecessary.

you hold yourself back from saying anything but you can’t help but wonder just how close erin has got to matt. and how she managed to hold any conversations without pissing him off (no way a little lap dance dismissed matt’s entire personality). she hasn’t been too explicit about anything happening between them, only cluing you all in through her frequent mentions of him.

chris’ loud voice beams, “yeah, you ladies take your time! nick gimme the phone-” chris’ smiley face takes up remi’s screen now that the phone has shifted, “you know, who the fuck are we to tell any of you to rush?!” he sees andrea in view (with a form fitting dress and warm toned makeup) and can’t help the rush of words that decide to spill from his mouth, “andreayoulookfineasshitbytheway- and i just think, uh,” he giggles at his poor recovery and at andrea shaking her head and biting the side of her mouth (her very andrea way of blushing). “um, yeah, fuck, what was i sayin’?” he turns to matt.

nick laughs from the backseat at chris’ comment (he thinks it’s generally embarrassing opposed to andrea who finds herself embarrassingly flattered by him).

“nothing important, say your goodbyes now, we just pulled up.” matt gives his short advice and takes the phone. “see you, bye,” he hangs up and chris punches his arm immediately.

“dudeee!” chris groans. matt doesn’t give any reaction besides handing nick his phone back without looking at him.

“we’ll see them in less than an hour, get your shit.” matt tilts his head out the door as he opens it and exits the car.

“he’s so annoying.” chris huffs and turns to nick as he unbuckles his seatbelt.

“i don’t know him, he’s your fuckin’ brother.” nick shrugs and acts clueless. chris laughs into his seat and nick knows making chris laugh makes him feel way better than just shitting on matt would’ve.

matt opens his door again, “get your gigglin’ asses out here!”

౨ৎ

matt's suprised he's lasted this long at this party without a fucking drink.

he's seen just about every partygoer trope there is - drunk guys and "you need to sober up" girlfriends, overly excited drunks far too impressed by each new song that plays, the loner type who strictly speak within their circle even when wasted, et cetera - and has managed to lose everyone he knows in this crowd, leaving him alone with DD responsibilities in a sorority house bouncing with excitement in honor of their “graduating senior sisters.”

speaking of, he’s only spoken to erin once all night. he did see you with your friends briefly, early in the night before you were swooped away with nick to be introduced to some guy he just met.

so like all times matt is bitchless and bored, he decides to smoke. he reaches in his jacket pocket for the joint he rolled before the party, in case of emergency.

but just as he raises the lighter towards his mouth he's interrupted by an airy, high pitched voice, “um, excuse me!” matt looks over, “yeah, you. sorry, you can't have drugs in the house.” the blonde frowns.

“it’s weed…” matt clarifies, taking the joint from between his lips.

“uh huh! and that is prohibited, outside please,” she guides her hand, drink in tow, towards a sliding door behind her.

he's not gonna nitpick with some chick about the umbrella term of 'drugs' or debate whether the alcohol she's drinking lies under it, so he just nods his head “cool,” and removes himself from his spot against the wall to walk around her and out of the door.

౨ৎ

you slump against a nearby couch as you recover from a hour of dancing alongside your best friends. remi sits next to you and leans her head on your shoulder as you both look around at the room full of people (a shade of deep fuchsia covers the room from multiple LED lights around the large house).

when you feel your own blinks become slower you shrug your shoulder and look at remi's profile, "we should probably get up rem, or else we'll fall asleep. this couch is way too comfy." you sigh.

"mmm... yeah. kinda want another drink but," she turns to look behind you both, "the kitchen's all the way over there..."

"now i know you two aren't tapping out of my party already?!"

you both look over to see erin dressed in a small glittered party dress, making her shine as she walks closer. "erin, where the fuck have you been?!" you excitedly rise from the couch and give her a hug.

"it's actually so fucking hard to host a graduation party, especially with my sorority sisters- they've had me doing all these traditions and shit, i haven't had time to talk to like anyone!" she explains to both you and remi.

"well, at least you look good, bitch!" remi adds and holds erins hand to make her twirl in her dress.

"thank you," she blushes and looks down then back to you two, "have either of you seen the triplets?"

"i think nick's off with some dude and chris is 'teaching' drea how to play beer pong..." you trail off and look to remi, "have you seen matt at all...?"

"not recently, i don't think so?" she looks over to erin.

"oh okay, that's fine. just wanna make sure they're having funnn." she draws her words out as she plays with the ends of her hair and smiles. you and remi can both tell she something bothers her more than she's leading on.

"e, come with us to grab drinks," you hold both remi and erin's hands and guide them with you to the kitchen.

౨ৎ

matt hadn't realized how hard he was staring at you dancing until chris came up to him with wild eyes and a loud laugh, making him snap away from whatever trance he was in.

"you okay, matt? your brain's not buzzkillin' right?"

matt straightens himself to no longer lean on the wall, "no."

"you sure?"

"yes?"

"maybe you should say fuck DD and have a drink or two, might give you somethin' to smileee aboutttt!" chris laughs.

"don't be stupid, chris. 'm not driving drunk."

"obviously we'd get an uber, matt." he emphasizes with a 'duh' attitude. "i get funnier when drunk, not stupid."

"right," matt offers a light laugh.

he throws a hand over matt's shoulder as they both face the crowd of dancing people, "god damn andrea's fucking hot- swear she's been feelin' me all night," chris hypes himself up then brings his red solo cup towards his mouth.

matt's eyes shift from you to andrea, who's limbs move just as freely and smile is just as wide. "that's good, that's good," matt nods. "she's nice."

"she's everything, bro." chris shakes his head in awe, "but, uh, do you have any cash on you?" matt turns his head, eyes showing his annoyance. "i'll pay you back, you know that matt. just like $20 to get me in the poker game outside."

"chris-"

"please, matt," he begs.

matt lets a heavy sigh out through his nose as he rustles in his pocket for his wallet. "you're my favorite now," chris kisses matt's hand quickly before he's heading off with a crumpled twenty in hand.

matt's eyes follow him until he's fully gone, then he's turning to look for you again. only this time it's not a challenge at all, you're already on your way.

you pull at the bottom of your little black dress (which rode up some due to your eccentric dancing) as you approach. "hi, matttt," you sing. it's known to most of your friends that when you're drunk your emotions are ten times stronger, and right now you're feeling extra carefree.

matt can tell you've definitely had a few drinks, so he tries to keep the conversation civil. "hey," he cracks a smile.

"are you not having fun?" you ask. you've wondered ever since you recognized him across the room.

"sure, i'm having fun." he shrugs, keeping eye contact with you.

you notice his all black outfit and blue jean jacket, "we kinda match," you look down at yourself then towards him, "i had a jean jacket too...it's um, in a closet somewhere i think."

"then you must have great style," matt jokes.

"oh i think that was clear before i happened to match you," you joke making use of your hands while speaking.

"mhm, sure..."

"so, do you wanna dance with us?" you smile in question.

"absolutely not," matt laughs and brings a fist to his mouth.

your smile drops, "right, you watch us dance but laugh at the thought of participating...?" you move your eyes to each side, "'cause that makes sense, matthew."

"no, it's not like that. you go have fun, i'm just not one to make myself look stupid for fun." he shrugs.

"so we...look stupid?" you squint your eyes in amusement knowing matt is trying to be such a hard ass for no reason.

"you said it," he laughs.

now you're a bit annoyed. "so you go back to being a loser all alone right here in this corner, and i'll go back to this stupid party and enjoy myself."

"alright," he rolls his eyes, "go ahead and be dramatic about it."

"will do," you sigh and begin to walk over to your friends, presenting matt with the gift of your middle finger directed towards him behind your back.

and matt thinks he just might take chris' advice on having a drink or two.

౨ৎ

you hate that matt is still on your mind.

and it irritates the fuck out of you that you're now giddy seeing him for a third time tonight. but to give yourself the benefit of the doubt, you've gotten to the point where you're so buzzed you've become horny.

you came outside on the hunt for remi, who told you she was looking for erin, and ended up finding all three triplets at a makeshift poker table full of rowdy men.

and as some wise person must have said: when horny, find someone to fuck.

"y/n!! whatcha doin'?" nick notices you and gives you a wide grin offering you a chair near the table.

"hey, nick. 'm sorry i can't really stay i just, um, need to borrow matt."

matt. who isn't paying much attention to anything around him now that the four shots he took settled. with his phone in one hand and a beer resting in his other, he's bound to be startled when you come behind him and whisper in his ear, "heyyy, sorry to bother but can we talk?"

he blinks and looks behind him, "y/n?!"

"come," you motion with your fingers and begin to walk away as he rubs his fingers over his eyes and starts to stand up.

"yeah?" he asks getting closer to you.

you wordlessly bring him back into the heated house and navigate until you find a mostly empty hallway (all while he keeps annoying you by repeatedly asking what you want).

his back falls against the wall, "way to confuse the fuck outta me. what's good?" the hand you were once holding dives into his front pocket out of habit and the other continues to hold his beer.

"i just need you to take me home."

"y/n, i'm no longer driving myself home, let alone you," he shakes his head.

"right, i figured, smartass."

"glad those comprehension skills still work. grab your phone and order an uber, 'm sure you dont need my help."

"matt. i want you to come home with me." you sigh in defeat.

"oh shit." matt dead pans. "ohhh shit." his eyes widen before a a laugh breaks through his closed mouth, "sunshine...you're tryna' fuck?" he looks up at you from his spot against the wall.

you scramble a lie to make yourself look less pathetic, "you're a last resort trust me," you roll your eyes. this was way better in your drunken mind than reality.

"still made the list though!" matt jokes, "wow. who knew you were so romantic? bringing me all the way over here just to tell me you wanna fuck. and at your place? how sweet," he can't help but poke fun.

"fuck you," you say under your breath.

"well only because you asked so kindly!" he goes to wrap his arms around you before you push him back against the wall.

"are you done?"

"i guess." he shrugs.

"so will you or not," you try to keep your confidence and not allow matt's comments to embarrass you. "it's fine if not, just-"

"yeah," matt's smirk slowly grows. "meet me out front, i'll have to go lie to my brothers but i can be quick."

౨ৎ

"why am i shocked you're actually here?" you ask as you shut the car door and look over to matt, phone screen reflected on his face.

the car begins to speed out of the neighborhood as he turns off his phone and shoves it in his jacket pocket, "let's be serious for one second," he reaches over and pulls at the end of your dress, "you wear this and look like that and you think i'd say no? i'd be crazy. i mean, yeah, your fuckin' mouth can irritate me to pieces but-"

"actually just shut up, matt" you remove your head from leaning against the window and move across the middle seat to kiss him. you pull apart fairly quickly though, "how are you less mean yet extra annoying when drunk? i shoulda went with my last last resort." you shake your head.

matt grumbles before leaning to kiss you again.

౨ৎ

after a car ride full of teasing and rushed kisses, you both made it to your apartment complex.

you fumble with your purse as you search for your house keys, distracted by matt’s lips moving over your neck. you pinch your eyes shut in frustration, “mattt, give me a second,” you nudge your shoulder into him to get him off of you.

“let me see it,” he grumbles grabbing your purse and finding your keys with ease, moving his arms around you and unlocking the door.

“you make it look so easy,” you breathe and open the door with your body pressed against it.

matt lets go of you and follows you inside.

you lean a hand on the wall next to the door to quickly remove your heeled shoes and matt watches you with dopey eyes and glossy, excessively bitten lips before deciding to take his shoes off as well.

you walk closer to him once he’s done, your dress riding up your legs and barely covering your ass at this point. you look up to him and softly ask, “do you need anything to drink?”

he brings his right hand up to hold your face and moves close to your lips, “you know i don’t want a fucking drink.”

“you don’t?" your pout is genuine even though you're teasing him. he knows you're sweet enough to really get him a drink if he desired. he draws his thumb across your slumped lip before you speak again, "well…what do you want, matt?” you move your hands to the waist of his jeans, tracing the outer seam.

he pinches his eyes shut and moves his head to lean on your shoulder, he’s not gonna be the one to say he wants to fuck you. you want to fuck him, that's why he's here. so he’s definitely not begging you to touch him.

“hmm…?” you hum as your hands go to either side of his face, bringing him back to look at you. he looks into your eyes as he drops his hand from your jaw. you notice the pink splotches that still linger on his face, recovering from the heat of the party atmosphere and now the heat of this moment.

matt looks down at your lips, “you know what i want, and you want it too.” his hands travel down and push the front of your mini dress up as he feels over your underwear.

you mouth hangs open and you move your hips against him softly. begging him with your actions rather than your words. and those tend to speak the loudest.

"so what do you want, y/n?" he asks quietly without breaking eye contact.

"matt-" you breathe, wanting him to do anything more than a juvenile rub over your underwear.

he licks and sucks your neck as your hands capture his hair. “where do you want me?” he sounds out of breath when he asks so close to your ear. he finally moves his fingers past the waistband of your panties to nudge your clit as he taunts, “hmm…? you want me right here?”

you whine, “we can’t right here."

"why not?" he breathes against you, annoyed.

"i can't have you fuck me in the foyer i share with my best friend,” you just know andrea would be pissed if either of your body’s fluids made it onto the freshly vacuumed carpet.

he retracts his hand, “then why are we just standing around? show me to your room,” his voice is rough.

“why don’t you try to guess which is my room is mine?” you smile with your faces far too close together.

“why don’t you be a good host and give me a tour?” he retorts.

“that’s not fun,” you push.

he growls and lifts you up, walking past the living room and into a hallway that splits in two (all while you incessantly kiss his jaw and upper neck). he huffs at his ridiculous situation and reaches for the first door he sees. a toilet sits at the end of the room and a cluttered counter to the left.

“bathroom,” you mutter with a giggle.

matt responds with a snipped tone, “mhm yeah i’ve seen one before.”

his grip on your waist grows harsher as he opens and closes a multitude of doors with you commentating over.

he finally makes it to your room with you mocking him in a cheer of celebration as you climb off of him and turn on the dim light near your bedside.

matt would normally take in the room around him but his headspace is far too sexually frustrated to give a shit about how you decorate your room.

he opts to stand near the door and eye you from afar, wanting nothing more than to pounce on you.

you notice this (as well as the fact that matt hasn’t listened to a word you’ve said about minding the mess of clothes piled in the corner from your struggle to pick an outfit earlier) and slowly walk back towards him. the soft yellow light blurs behind you and highlights the edges of your figure in a mouthwateringly pretty way that makes matt antsy.

when you’re close enough matt somehow pulls you closer. his nose nudges against yours messily before capturing your mouth in a heated kiss. your hands feel for the end of his shirt and move underneath it to touch his warm lower stomach. you can feel how his body expands and curls as he breathes through your unwavering kiss.

despite wanting to keep the tension high, you break apart from matt to tease a bit, “can i touch you?” his face is scrunched absentmindedly from his desire and his lower lip finds its place tucked behind his front teeth when he rushes a nod to you in encouragement.

you push him away from you softly, “take your jacket off.” you move to your bed and after the sound of a jacket hitting the floor, you find him right on your feet, chasing your kiss and heat.

he leans over you and immediately finds your lips once more. now that he’s on top of you he finds himself wanting to get you to say how bad you want him.

his hands meet your thighs and move your dress as they run up to your rib cage before moving back down to squeeze your thighs.

matt’s surprised when you’re the one to involve your tongue in the mix, making the kiss sloppy yet intimate. your hand then crawls into his hair to keep him close.

but he doesn’t let you hold him for long, taking your hand from his hair and laying it against the bed, raising himself above you. “what do you want sweetheart?” he lowers his other hand towards your stomach, grazing your tattooed hip gently before feeling your underwear.

“you,” you respond in defeat and desperation.

“oh? and you want me to…?”

“matt. touch me,” you take your free hand and guide his own under the waistband of your underwear.

“but i thought you wanted to touch me? now you’re just bein’ selfish.” he keeps his hand close to your pussy, running his index finger across your lips kindly.

you look at him with droopy eyes, “please."

so matt lets you be selfish. he selfishly wants to taste you after all. he lowers himself to your face and captures your bottom lip once more, sucking then biting down slightly before moving his face further down your body slowly. your dress maintains its rippled shape in a bunch right where your tits lie.

he makes his way to your tattooed lower hip, still a little impressed with his execution of the cartoon (as it's not his typical style) and showing this with a kiss, then a light lick (making you shudder the tiniest bit). as he furthers, he finds the space on the bed is not enough, opting for the plush, carpeted floor.

matt sits on the back of his calves to watch how your body reacts when he pulls your panties down, only he misses the satisfied smile curling onto your face when you move your head to the the side.

he shifts your pliable legs to give him a better view of your heat's entirety, spreading your folds gently as he gathers spit in his mouth and spills it onto your clit. his eyes flicker from your face (choking on a moan) to the bead of saliva mixing with your natural slick that has him on edge. “that feel good?” he asks and moves his fingers up and down your pussy slowly, bumping your clit but not lingering long enough.

“yes...so good, matt,” you encourage in a broken whimper.

he hums, placing his mouth over your clit and sucking hard. you moan out lowly and you can't help but close your legs around matt's head. he normally would lay them flat again and tease you but he finds the pressure and dizziness turns him on so much more. his hands rest at your hips, moving up and down and your legs cradle his head as he works his mouth and tongue on you.

"mm fuck," you reach above your head to grip the soft colored comforter in your manicured hands. matt never falters, his licks only become needier when he adds two of his fingers to curl inside of you.

he continues his restless actions until the moment right before you have registered you were about to cum. then, he's immediately removing himself and standing up, wiping his face with one hand as the other hurries to unbuckle his chunky black belt.

you grumble and fix yourself to sit up and look at him, now discarding the belt into his own growing pile of clothes on your floor. he begins to unbutton his pants when he hears you whine and pull at his ego to get him to come back. “how fucking typical. should’ve known i'd barely get one orgasm, let alone two out if this.”

matt immediately stops unzipping his jeans and comes closer to stand above you, his face clearly annoyed. he gives your pussy a light slap, making you whimper. “keep talking shit, brat.” he grits through his teeth and slaps it again making a filthily wet sound that has you moaning.

he doesn't stop at that; he begins to harshly rub your clit back and forth without mercy, keeping eye contact as his face hovers your own, before moving his fingers inside of you while his thumb continues to work your clit. continuous loud moans crowd your room before you eventually meet your high with rolled eyes and shaking legs.

matt quickly pulls his fingers out and wipes them against your thigh leaving it sticky and shiny like golden honey. finally able to unzip and remove his jeans and boxers, allowing his needy cock to be free from the tightness. you move to the edge of your bed when you hear the small clap against his stomach, eager to find matt as ready for you as you are for him.

he watches from above as you admire his length while your fingers ghost over his sensitive dick. you then bring your mouth closer, dribbling spit over his tip and wrapping a fist around him. you look up into his hooded eyes for approval then take him in your mouth and jerk the rest of him with your hand.

he groans and bites his pink and undoubtedly swollen bottom lip as you suck and hollow your cheeks around him, even taking him all the way at some points. and though this feels fucking amazing, he wants nothing more than to be inside of you right now.

he holds the base of your neck then squeezes lightly to get you to pull away, spit erotically traveling with your lips. “can i fuck you now?” his voice is perfectly hushed yet demanding in tone.

you nod and matt wipes your lips, “good, take that dress off.” he removes his own shirt and reaches for a spare condom he’d put in his pocket before leaving the house (for no particular reason). he turns back to you, with your breasts now on display for him, ripping the package with his teeth.

you motion for him to give it to you and he complies. somehow even when you’re literally putting a condom over his dick, you’re a sweetheart about it: kissing it once he’s fully covered and turning yourself over onto all fours without him having to ask. because you understand yourself and have the confidence to choose the position you’d like to be fucked in. and matt would be lying if he said that isn't so fucking attractive.

he smirks as he adjusts himself on the bed, feeling out every inch of your full ass before moving his hands to squeeze your waist. you lay your head against the plush comforter, arching yourself further in anticipation. “matt,” you blubber out a whine.

he takes the base of his cock and guides it through your folds, “mhm…i know.” he sees your face twist in amusement, “oh, you like that, huh?”

you lick your lips and nod your head before matt finally pushes himself fully inside of you. his hips start in slow, rhythmic patterns before becoming uncontrolled and incomplete- and the same goes for your moans.

matt's almost hypnotized by the way your ass moves in reaction to his thrusts (slowing himself down just to watch in detail and only speeding up when you start to get really antsy over it).

as you both get sloppier and chase your highs, matt decides to flip you over and tuck your legs into your chest for a different angle. there's something especially needy in the way he rubs at your clit and makes a mess of your tits with his mouth that drives you insane with pleasure.

"my- shit!" you moan harshly under matt.

"hold it," he huffs.

"can't," you whimper, "just-"

"shhh," matt captures your lips as he quickens his pace, feeling his own climax approaching. after a few moments you're breaking the kiss to roll your head away, exposing your neck as you uncontrollably cum around matt.

"fuck," he moans, stilling his movements to maximize his release.

he takes a moment to breathe before removing himself from you, immediately fucking his fingers into you while rubbing your weak clit (just to be annoying) until you push him away and tell him to fuck off.

he lets out a chuckle as he removes the condom and discards it appropriately. when he comes back over to you you're on your side with your own arm wrapped around your waist in comfort.

matt sits next to you, "that good for you?"

you just nod and bite back a smile.

matt hums in pride, running a hand over your exposed ass before leaning down to kiss and suck a dark hickey into the skin.

"c'mere," you tug his hand.

he complies and you turn to open your legs for him once more, grinding a bit once the two of you begin to kiss again.

you reach between the two of you, taking matt's half-hard dick in your hand and stroking. as you pick up your pace he whines and begins to thrust into your hand in need.

until you hear your front door open. to which you push matt off of you and on to the floor, hearing him groan as you snap at him to get in your closet.

you crawl under your comforter while matt hurries to gather his things from your floor and get into your closet.

you hear andrea stumble a little making her way through the house and you catch your breath just as she knocks on your door and cracks it to check if you're sleeping.

"y/n, you awake?" she slurs a whisper.

"yes. hi drea, how'd you get home?"

she opens the door a little further but continues to lean on the door frame, "how did you get home? was lookin' all over like 'where's my girl?' everyone was usless though," she sighs.

"sorry, i took an uber," you giggle, "i got sleepy, i guess."

"mhm...you and me both." she yawns expectedly.

"you should get some sleep, we can talk in the morning, okay?" you smile from your bed.

andrea nods, "'kay, love you." she leaves with a sleepy smile.

"love you," you reply as she shuts the door again.

you let out a relieved breath, glad she hadn't suggested a sleepover like you'd both normally do when drunk.

matt walks out of your closet, almost fully clothed, buckling his belt again, "gave me fucking rug burn, thanks."

you move a hand over your face, "sorry- i just don't need anyone seeing you here."

"'s fine," he shrugs and takes a seat on your bed, "how long is it gonna take her to sleep so i can leave?"

"less than five minutes," you pick at one of your acrylic nails, seeing matt place his jacket on your bed makes you almost laugh to yourself, "shit, i left my jacket at erin's."

matt grins to himself and adds, "shit, i left my car at erin's," with a shake of his head.

you both laugh softly before it fizzles.

matt's back is towards you as he opens his phone to order another uber home. and now the silence brings you back into reality and suddenly you're feeling sick to your stomach about erin.

it takes you a little but you eventually mumble towards his back, "matt you didn’t fuck erin, right?"

"no," his voice sounds distracted and like he wouldn't care even if he did.

you focus on a loose thread in your comforter that you pick at, "...kay. not that it matters 'cause this was only for tonight. but i know i would probably die from guilt knowing i fucked with you after she did."

he turns to see you genuinely out of it and seeming to shelter yourself under your blanket. he leans towards you and rubs your arm softly before whispering, "don't make it a big fucking deal, nothing's different." his stare actually makes you feel far worse but you nod as if you agree anyway.

he stands up and puts his jacket on, “you sleep well okay, sunny?”

"shut the fuck up, you don't care about how i sleep," you whisper.

he breathes a laugh and reaches for your door.

꩜⋆ ˚｡⋆🎱˚

tag list (ily):

@rootbeerworshiper