#right when you're comfortable BOOM. Crisis

[currentlyincognitoperson]

"Your gender confuses me." Man, it confuses ME 😭 get in line you're not special.

[lonely-cowboy]

future of us

pairing: connor (rk800) x f!reader

summary: after finding a box of home videos, you're overwhelmed with thoughts of the future. only connor can ease your worries.

word count: 2k

warnings: panic attack sorta, good ol' daddy issues, a 6yo (and a however old you are)yo having an existential crisis about death, i actually don't know what this is i just felt like writing it, rushed ending

author's note: yes i was complaining about my angsty gameplay in my last post and yes i am posting angst after saying i needed more fluff to feel happy. what about it. i like the angst, it makes me feel smth.

masterlist ⟡ requests

The television flickered in the dim living room, the shadows shifting like otherworldly creatures. The heavy rain pounded against the windows combined with the quiet whistle of the winds. You would think that with such advanced technology nowadays the intense weather wouldn’t affect the power. Apparently, that hadn’t been a priority during this era of technological breakthroughs. But you didn’t mind. The flickering screen and hissing static were comforting, reminding you of the days Hank still had his old-fashioned television.

In the peaceful hours of the early morning (or late night depending on who you asked), you sat huddled on the couch with your eyes glued to the television. Wearing one of Hank’s old sweatshirts that was far too long for you, you hugged your knees tightly. 

You watched the screen as a little girl sat bashfully at the head of a long dining table, kicking her feet giddily as a birthday cake with six blazing candles was placed in front of her. She was surrounded by loved ones who looked at her fondly, singing in unison with enthusiastic, booming voices. One voice– the cameraman's– overpowered them all, his voice uncharacteristically jaunty and cheerful. As the singing reached its end and the little girl blew out her candles with a big breath (and a lot of spit), the cameraman squished himself into the frame with a wide grin.

And there was Hank Anderson. A younger, much happier Hank, but Hank nonetheless. He grinned at the camera, calling the little girl’s attention. They both smiled brightly into the camera, ignoring that it was a video and not a picture. Hank and his goddaughter. Hank and you.

You were honestly surprised when you found the box of old VHS tapes. Yes, VHS tapes. No, you weren’t that old, far from it actually. Hank was just always old-fashioned; he never had a knack for technology. So any videos from your childhood were found on VHS tapes that Hank had kept for all these years.

You found them when you were organizing his garage. The entire day, you had been cleaning around his house with Connor’s help because his drunk ass could never do it. You hoped that maybe by giving him a clean environment he might be able to clean up his act. You weren’t too sure about that, but the thought was there.

When you found the tapes, it was already well into the night. Hank had passed out hours ago, and you released Connor to recharge not long ago. That’s when you decided you were deserving of a much-needed break, dragging the hefty box of VHS tapes into the living room for your viewing pleasure.

Only you hadn’t realized the experience would be the exact opposite of pleasurable. The more videos you watched, the more your misery grew.

You couldn’t exactly explain why you were so upset. All you knew was that your chest was heavy with dread, your eyes forlorn as you watched video after video.

You were so distracted by the video of your sixth birthday (Hank was now interrogating you about the differences between being five and six, ever the detective) that you hadn’t heard Connor’s light footfalls. Though you probably wouldn’t have heard them anyway. Androids were scarily sneaky like that. You didn’t realize Connor was even in the room until he was standing right beside you, his figure nothing but a shadow in your peripheral vision. You had almost forgotten he was here, simply resting (or whatever it was androids did) in Hank’s spare room.

Your attention snapped to him, fumbling for the remote to pause the video. With only the light of the television to guide you, you struggled to find the pause button. By the time you finally found it, your cheeks were unbearably warm with embarrassment. 

Watching videos of your childhood self to remember the good times with Hank before he practically cut you off completely, dried tear stains on your cheeks and fresh tears welling in your eyes? Pathetic.  

With your face buried in the baggy sleeves of Hank’s sweatshirt, you tried to casually wipe away your tears, but you knew it was too late. Connor had already seen them. And even if he hadn’t seen them, you were sure he could guess by the shaky tone of your voice.

“Hi, Connor,” you greeted weakly.

Connor was silent for a moment as his eyes trailed over your figure, surely analyzing you. His LED circled yellow for a long time. Even when he sat down beside you, it continued to show yellow.

“Are you alright?” Connor asked softly, reaching a hand forward to rest on your knee and giving it a loving squeeze.

You were so surprised that he didn’t offer some kind of thorough analysis of your current mental state that a guttural laugh escaped your lips. The sound confused even Connor, his eyebrows furrowing at your impromptu reaction. You covered your mouth sheepishly, flashing Connor a look that said “I’m-sorry-I-don’t-know-what-that-was-either-kindly-ignore-that.”

Connor was silent again as he considered what to say. His eyes flitted to the television screen that had paused on a frame of you shoving your face into the camera with a toothy smile. You were missing two of your bottom teeth.

“Is that you?” Connor inquired. He was only being polite. You both knew that with a simple facial scan he had already determined that it was, in fact, you.

“Yeah,” you answered lamely. “My sixth birthday.”

Connor’s hand that was resting on your knee moved to your hand, slowly pulling the remote out of your grip. He unpaused the video and sat stiffly, his eyes darting from you to the screen like he didn’t know which to watch. The television showed you as you flaunted your missing teeth before pulling back to answer another one of Hank’s questions.

“Alright, last question, kiddo,” Hank said off-screen, his tone teasingly serious. “We gotta hear the final verdict… d’you like being six?”

Your little self squinted her eyes in consideration, lips pursed into an extreme pout. For added effect, you put a finger to your chin and tapped it thoughtfully.

“Hmm…,” you thought loudly. “No!”

“No?” Hank repeated with a hearty laugh. “Why not?”

“I don’t wanna get old,” you admitted innocently as if it was the easiest answer in the world. “Getting old means I’ll die.”

You snatched the remote from Connor’s hand and hurriedly paused the video again. All of a sudden, your breaths were coming out in sharp pants as your body was filled to the brim with an inexplicable panic. You needed a distraction, you didn’t want to think about any of this. 

Connor was calling your name calmly, his voice a steady, grounding force. Your wide eyes snapped to meet his, hands moving to clutch both of his. As you latched onto his warm gaze, you felt an odd imbalance. You couldn’t tell if you were comforted or stressed by his presence.

“How can I help you?” Connor murmured, allowing you to grip his hands as tightly as possible.

“I don’t know�� I don’t know,” you stammered. “I’m scared, Connor.”

“What are you scared of?” 

“I don’t know.”

“Okay… okay,” Connor whispered soothingly.

Freeing one of his hands from your grasp, Connor’s hand snaked to the back of your head and pulled you forward until your forehead was resting against his lips. He pressed light kisses against your skin, murmuring comforting words as tears started to silently spill from the corners of your eyes. You collapsed forward until your face was buried in the crook of Connor’s neck. His lips moved to your head, kissing along the top of your head.

Why were you crying? Why were you crying? Why were you crying?

You didn’t understand why you were so overwhelmed, you just knew that you were. You had felt it so suddenly that there hadn’t been time to ask why. 

“Are you scared of… losing Hank?” Connor questioned.

No, that wasn’t it. Well, yes, you were. But that wasn’t the cause of your unexpected anxiousness.

“Are you scared of… dying?”

Yes. Yes, that was it. That was it. Sort of, at least.

Too broken to speak, you simply nodded against Connor’s body. 

“Can you tell me what scares you about it?”

Could you? You thought about it, blinking furiously to slow the tears. Why were you scared? Sure, death was scary in general, but there was something else. There had to be something else because your heart was still pounding furiously.

“I… don’t know,” you croaked.

“Okay,” Connor said patiently. “That’s alright. You don’t need to know.”

With his hands still on you, Connor carefully pulled away from you to meet your gaze. The corners of his lips were raised in a loving smile as he studied you, his thumb absentmindedly running along your knuckles.

“I want you to know that you’re safe with me,” he continued.

You matched Connor’s smile hesitantly, feeling your heartbeat slow to a resting state. Your attention was drawn to Connor’s spiraling LED as it returned to its usual blue.

That was it.

Your smile vanished quicker than it appeared. Your eyes were now fixated on the LED at Connor’s temple, a constant reminder that he was an android. And you were only human.

“I’m going to lose you,” you whispered hoarsely.

A puzzled look crossed Connor’s features, the crease between his brows returning. His LED blinked yellow again as he realized you were still in distress. 

“You won’t lose me,” Connor promised, giving your hand a reassuring squeeze. “You can’t lose me.”

“That’s the problem, Connor,” you sniffled. “Someday, I’ll die. And you’ll keep living.”

The tension in Connor’s face eased as he realized the root of your sadness, though he didn’t look at ease himself. His LED quickly turned to a solid red. He looked so… sad. As if it hadn’t occurred to him until now the inevitable future of the two of you. 

The look on his face made you want to apologize profusely. You were sorry for ever putting that thought in his head. But you didn’t have the words to speak. You were frozen, just as he was.

Connor broke your suspended state by inhaling slowly, nodding his head as he thought to himself. You noticed that his grip on your hand was tighter as if he was afraid to let go. His other hand had moved to rest on your upper arm, rubbing it soothingly. It seemed to be a calming gesture for both you and him.

“Maybe that is how it will be,” Connor muttered, his eyes finding yours again. “Or maybe there’s another way we don’t know of. But that��� that’s far in the future. That’s not something we need to concern ourselves with right now. Right now… is right now.”

Your tears had stopped falling long ago once there were no more left to cry. You resorted to chewing your lip worriedly, ignoring the bead of blood that infested your tastebuds. Connor’s hand moved to caress your jaw, running a thumb across your lips to stop you from hurting yourself. 

“Right now… I’m holding you. On this couch. Because I care about you,” Connor continued, though his voice was still slightly frazzled. “And that’s all we need to worry about.”

Either way, his words did do something to calm you. You nodded along as he spoke, leaning into the warmth of his smooth palm. Your fear wasn’t gone, not completely anyway. But it was certainly less than it was before. 

You moved quickly into Connor’s arms, pushing him back so that he was lying on the couch. Your head curled against his chest, holding the front of his shirt tightly. You never wanted him to leave. His arms naturally fell around you and lightly rubbed your back.

It wasn’t necessary for Connor to breathe, but you could feel the steady rise and fall of his chest. You knew he was doing it for your sake. You followed the pattern of his breathing until you finally felt a sense of peace for the first time that night.

“Will you keep holding me like this?” you mumbled.

“I’ll hold you like this, right now and forever.” 

[teh-nos]

yo

I just spent my whole afternoon thinking abt this but

How do u think s2 would have been like if loki actually paid any attention to sylvie and her feelings; instead of tva this tva that and always running behind sylvie just because tva✨

shorter, maybe? if he listened and went "you're right, fuck the tva" then the loom would presumably explode but idk the "loom go boom" plot feels like such an artificial addition that i half-believe it just wouldn't even exist in-story if they didn't all keep talking about it. i know that's an odd way to look at it, but the literal plot device just doesn't seem like a proper part of the story somehow.

on some level i think s2 was always going to be fucked as long as it stuck with the tva as the only setting, because sylvie was never going to be comfortable working with them (even though i like many fics where she does anyway), so weird as it is the "sylvie pops up when a crisis need immediately dealt with, then fucks off again" aspect of s2 is one of the ones that makes at least some sense to me.

they freed the multiverse, but we still need the apparatus that was pruning timelines because... because loom? 🤷‍♀️

[estellan0vella]

Going Down Polythageorean: H.Hj & H.J Hwang Hyunjin x fem!reader x Han Jisung (College AU)

WC: 15.07K

CWs: Pre-Established relationship between reader & Jisung, Sexual Identity Crisis, Polyamory & Non-Traditional Relationships, Mild Public Embarrassment & Secondhand Embarrassment

General Masterlist SKZ Masterlist

When you step into the Alpha Phi frat house, your senses are immediately assaulted by the comforting, savoury scent of garlic, gochujang, and simmering chicken. You adjust your tote bag over your shoulder and shut the front door behind you with your foot. 

Your white Converse squeak slightly on the hardwood floors, your long green maxi skirt brushing lightly around your ankles with every step you take. Your cropped tank top clings lightly to your skin in the heat, and the green ribbon tying your hair back is already starting to slide, probably from how many times you've yanked it up during the walk over.

The house is loud, and you hear the familiar dull slam of a cupboard door in the kitchen. You can smell the rice frying too, which means Jisung's doing a full meal and not just making instant ramen for the third time this week. 

You shoulder open the kitchen door and grin at the sight of your boyfriend standing at the stove, brows furrowed in concentration as he stirs the stew simmering in a heavy pot. His hair is fluffed to hell, and there's a tiny smear of red sauce on his cheek.

"Holy shit," you say, dropping your tote bag onto the counter with a dramatic thud. "Are you trying to seduce me with Dakbokkeumtang?"

Jisung turns toward you with a giant, goofy grin that makes your chest feel like it's expanding ten sizes. 

"Jagiya!" he beams, immediately abandoning the spoon and taking your face in his hands, pressing a kiss to your forehead, then your nose, and finally your lips. "Are you carrying boulders in that fucking bag?"

"No! I'm learning about the epidemiology of cholera in Victorian London! I'm trying to find a historical epidemic for my timeline project due in, like, four months! Right now I'm leaning toward cholera as a focus but honestly there are just so many fucked-up plagues in history I'm kinda overwhelmed."

Jisung leans back against the counter. "Oh yeah? Tell me all about it."

You beam, instantly taking the invitation and hoisting yourself up onto the edge of the counter. "Okay, okay, so cholera was this bacterial infection that spreads through contaminated water, right? And in the 19th century, London had like absolutely dogshit sanitation. We're talking raw sewage in the fucking Thames. People were just dumping actual shit into the river and then drinking it like 'yum, totally safe!' And then everyone acted surprised when people started dying by the thousands."

Jisung snorts and turns back to stir the stew, but he's still listening to every word. "Jesus Christ, that's fucking disgusting. Was it like a fast thing? Like you drink some nasty shit and then boom, dead?"

"Pretty much, yeah. I mean, some people died in like twelve hours. Diarrhoea, vomiting, muscle cramps, the works. Just water pouring out of every hole."

"Every hole, huh? Kinky."

You laugh, swatting your hand in his direction even though you're out of reach. "Ew, you sick fuck. No, like, people were dying in droves, and doctors had no clue what was causing it. Miasma theory was the big thing then, like they thought diseases came from 'bad air.' Which, I mean, the air probably did stink, but that wasn't the point."

"So how did they figure it out?" he asks, grabbing the rice pan now and tossing the kimchi and vegetables with practised flicks of the wrist. His movements are smooth now, confident. You remember when he could barely boil water without crying, and Minho had to stand next to him, barking insults like a deranged Gordon Ramsay.

"Well," you continue, legs swinging slightly, "there was this guy, Dr. John Snow, who made this gorgeous, data-driven map, and he proved that almost all the cholera deaths were clustered around a water pump on Broad Street. He took the handle off, and the outbreak stopped."

Jisung whistles low. "Damn. That's kind of badass."

"It is! And it's like, he revolutionised epidemiology, right? Like, that was one of the first real applications of data analysis to disease tracking. It laid the groundwork for everything we do now. Contact tracing, case mapping, infection control, it all kinda started with him and his sexy-ass water pump map."

Jisung turns off the burners and starts plating up, still watching you out of the corner of his eye with the most tender look. "I love when you talk nerdy to me."

You snort. "I'm not even sorry. That man makes me wanna make out with a bar graph."

Jisung walks over with two plates, one for you and one for him, and sets them down on the counter next to you. You jump off and immediately plop yourself into his lap as he drops into one of the kitchen chairs. He wraps one arm around your waist like it's second nature and grabs his chopsticks with the other.

"I made it less spicy, by the way," he says, kissing the side of your head. "Didn't want your face melting off."

You melt a little yourself at that. "You're the best."

"I know," he grins.

You both start eating, and you groan as the flavours hit your tongue. The kimchi fried rice is crispy in the best way, with caramelised bits that crunch at the edges and that deep, fermented tang from the kimchi. Jisung might have been a fucking disaster in the kitchen ten months ago, but now he's a competent, emotional wreck with surprisingly good knife skills.

"So," you say, halfway through your plate, "how was your day?"

Jisung sighs, a long, tired noise from deep in his chest.

"Ji?"

"Hyunjin started another fucking argument today at practice."

You blink. "Again? What happened this time?"

He shrugs, clearly frustrated. "I don't even know. I was just running drills, doing my thing, and he started snapping at me for 'not keeping up.' Like, what the fuck?."

You press a soft kiss to his shoulder, the fabric of his shirt warm against your lips. "I just wish I knew why he hated me," Jisung mutters.

"He'll tell you eventually," you murmur, running a hand through his hair. "Feelings eventually bubble out. Usually with screaming and crying. Sometimes fire."

He huffs a little laugh and tilts his head to kiss your cheek. "Let's talk about something else."

"Okay! Let me tell you why the young Once-ler from The Lorax is the peak animated man I would absolutely fuck."

Jisung immediately starts laughing, his eyes lighting up as he puts his chopsticks down. "Oh my God, what?"

"No, hear me out! Specifically, the suit version. Not the lanky beanpole one. The one with the guitar, singing 'How Bad Can I Be.' That man could treat me like shit and I'd thank him. He could say I was the reason the entire forest burned down, and I'd be like, 'Yes, sir, may I have another?'"

Jisung is wheezing, eyes crinkling at the corners. "What the fuck, jagiya."

"I'm serious! He's like chaotic neutral with capitalist villain swag. He knows he's doing something awful and still does it with style and a musical number. It's sexy! I can't explain it. It's like he's a dick but in a way where I think I could change him."

"He's animated!"

"So? My standards are fluid."

He laughs again and pulls you closer. "You're so fucking weird. I love it."

You smirk and nudge his nose with yours. "You're lucky you do. Otherwise, this would be a whole lot of red flags."

"Nah," he says, brushing your hair back behind your ear. "This is my favourite part of the day. I swear, you look fucking stunning when you talk about dumb niche stuff with stars in your eyes. You light up."

"Shut up, you sap."

"Never,"

Hyunjin lies face-down on his bed, the sheets twisted beneath him like the tangled thoughts in his head. His hair fans across his pillow, and his whole body feels like it's stuck between a cringe and a scream. The kind of scream you'd let out into a pillow at three a.m. when your brain won't shut the fuck up and keeps circling back to the exact thing you're trying to pretend doesn't exist. That exact thing? The fact that he, Hwang Hyunjin, art history major with a dance minor, owner of three very nice leather jackets, is in a fucking mess of feelings. Feelings about Han Jisung and Han Jisung's girlfriend.

He groans into the mattress, fists clenching around his blanket. The walls of the Alpha Phi frat house are stupidly thin. And right now, through the paper-thin wall separating his room from Jisung's, he can hear everything.

"You'd let a white man fuck you?!" 

"If it's Ben Willbond, yes! No hesitation. Kitchen counter. Shower. Bed. Floor. Anywhere, everywhere, any position!" 

Jisung howls, that wheezy, gasping kind of laughter that makes Hyunjin's stomach twist. It's affectionate, stupid and domestic in that sickening way where two people are so into each other that it makes you want to throw yourself into traffic just to get a break from how fucking soft they are.

"God fucking dammit."

He can't even be mad at Jisung, and that's the worst part. He wants to be mad. It would make things simpler. But Jisung hasn't done anything wrong. He's sweet and funny and kind, and he listens to you like every word out of your mouth is the gospel truth. He makes you food and rubs your shoulders when you're studying and picks up your favourite juice without being asked. He's soft and boyish and endearing. And hot. Annoyingly hot. With that stupid tousled hair and those dumb dimples that show up when he smiles, especially when you're around.

And you. You're you. Kind. Funny. Ridiculously smart. Like, terrifyingly smart. With your tote bag always filled with disease textbooks and your ADHD-fueled rants that Hyunjin secretly listens to through the wall every time you're here. You're too good. You have no business being so fucking sweet to everyone, including Hyunjin himself, even when he's being a passive-aggressive bitch to your boyfriend. Which he is. All the time. And you still smile at him like he hung the stars and offer him snacks, and ask how his day was. It's torture.

It doesn't help that he knows exactly what goes down when the lights are off. He's heard it all. Heard you whimpering his name, Jisung's low groans, the muttered filthy shit that should have his ears burning but instead just fucks him up.

He hates it. Hates that he's like this. That he feels like he's unravelling every time Jisung smiles. That he stares a little too long each time you tuck your hair behind your ear when you laugh. That he's an asshole to Jisung for no fucking reason except that he wants to kiss him. And also kiss you. And he doesn't know which want is worse.

The door creaks open, and he doesn't even move. 

"Hyunjin," 

"Go away."

Chan ignores him completely, walks in and grabs Hyunjin's desk chair. The scrape of it across the hardwood is unnecessarily loud. Chan plops down in it backwards, arms folded across the backrest, chin resting on top like some sitcom dad about to give The Talk.

"Can I help you?"

"Look at my face," Chan says dryly. "You made me pull out my disappointed Appa Chan face."

"Me?! I'm just lying here! I didn't do shit today! Jeongin's the one who blew up the microwave. Go be disappointed in him!"

Chan exhales through his nose. "He's next on my shit list. But first, why are you being a shitstain? You're being an asshole to Jisung."

"That's so fucking cruel," Hyunjin whines, rolling onto his side and burying half his face in his pillow.

"You want a permanent spot on Disappointed Appa Chan's shit list?" 

Hyunjin pouts. "No."

"Then talk to me. What the fuck is going on? Are you trying to steal Y/N from him? Because I swear to God, if that's your plan, I will beat you with my slipper."

"No!" Hyunjin yelps, sitting up so fast his hair whips into his eyes. "Oh my God, no! That's not what this is!"

Chan softens slightly, one brow arching. "Jin, did you like her first? It's okay if you did. That happens sometimes."

"No!"

"Then why are you being a little cunt?"

"Chan! You hate using that word!"

"Look what you made me do!"

Hyunjin groans again, dragging both hands down his face. "Fuck. Okay. Fuck. Fine. You want to know? You really wanna know?"

"Desperately."

"It's both of them," Hyunjin blurts, the words spilling out like he's been holding them back for years. "It's both of them, okay? I wanna kiss Jisung and I wanna kiss Y/N and I don't know what the fuck that means! I've never liked a guy before. Like, yeah, I've fucked guys and I've been fucked by guys but that's just been sex. You know? Labels? I don't do that. I've never needed to. I've always just gone with what felt good, and now I'm just feeling things, Chan. Things. With fucking capital letters. Like, Jisung smiles and my stomach does weird shit. Like it's trying to turn itself inside out. And Y/N laughs, and it's like someone shoved an entire bouquet down my throat. I can't breathe. I can't think. And it's not even like I want to pick one! I want both of them. But that's not allowed, right? That's selfish. That's not how this shit works!"

He's panting by the end of it, chest heaving, hands in his lap clenched so tight they're turning white.

Chan stares at him, eyes a little wide. "Okay. First off. Wow. That was like verbal diarrhoea with a thesis."

"Shut the fuck up."

"No, seriously, I felt like I was being hit with a truck of feelings." Chan leans forward, mouth twitching with a smile he's trying to suppress. "Also, you can tick the box that says 'not straight,' you know. Taking it up the ass or giving it to a dude excludes you from the 'straight' club."

Hyunjin flips him off. "Thanks, Captain Obvious."

Chan shrugs. "Just helping. So you like Jisung and Y/N?"

Hyunjin groans again, flopping back on the bed. "Yes. Fuck. Yes."

"I knew it! Now. How are you gonna woo both of them?"

"Excuse me?"

"Well, obviously you need a plan."

"A plan for what?"

"Polyamory, dumbass."

Hyunjin blinks. "A plan to what?"

"Polyamory."

"...Is that a spell from Harry Potter?"

Chan drags a hand down his face. "Oh my fucking God."

"No, like seriously, what the fuck is that?"

Chan stands dramatically, pacing like a professor. "Okay. Imagine you love two different kinds of bingsu."

"What?"

"Stay with me. One is the classic patbingsu. Red bean. Milk. Shaved ice. The other is mango. Bright. Tropical. Completely different vibe."

"This is already fucking stupid."

"Shut up. Now, monogamy would be you choosing one bingsu forever. Polyamory is you saying, 'Fuck it, I want both bingsu. At the same time.' And everyone's cool with it. Everyone knows. Everyone agrees. And they all eat bingsu together and it's happy and consensual and no one's crying."

"Are you suggesting I eat Jisung and Y/N like bingsu?"

"You made it weird."

"You started it!"

"No. I was giving you a metaphor."

"You're a menace."

"And you're in love with your best friend and his sexy-ass girlfriend who talks about cholera and fucking animated men."

Hyunjin covers his face with his hands. "I'm gonna die."

Chan grins. "Not before figuring this shit out, you're not."

"You didn't help at all."

"I tried. The bingsu metaphor was solid."

"It was not."

Chan pats his shoulder. "Alright, drama queen. I gotta go yell at Jeongin before he microwaves another fork. But figure your shit out, okay?"

"Can't wait to not understand polyamory for the next year."

Chan opens the door. "Google exists, you know."

"Not for me. I refuse."

Chan disappears with a muttered, "Fucking idiot," and leaves Hyunjin sprawled on the bed, staring up at the ceiling like it holds the answers to his horny, confused, bingsu-fuelled crisis.

The late afternoon sun beats down on the Miroh College football field, and you're sitting on the bench near the sidelines with your textbook cracked open in your lap. You're dressed for comfort but accidentally hot, if the lingering glances from passing undergrads are anything to go by. 

Your blue maxi skirt flutters around your ankles when you shift, your white long-sleeve tie-front crop top tied snug over your chest. Your Converse are scuffed at the toes, and your hair's been hastily piled into a messy bun, with a pen jabbed through it, and your sunglasses shield your eyes from the relentless sun as you read about the spread of bubonic plague in medieval Europe.

"Yersinia pestis," you mutter under your breath, highlighting a section. "You sneaky little bacterial bastard."

You're halfway through a paragraph about the mortality rates in Florence when the loudest, most violent thud cuts through the field. Your head jerks up, sunglasses sliding down your nose, and you see two bodies tangled in the grass near the goalpost.

"Oh shit," you say, slamming your book shut.

It's Jisung and Hyunjin. Of course, it's Jisung and Hyunjin.

Chan is already pinching the bridge of his nose like he's developing stress-induced wrinkles in real time. He looks like he aged twenty years in the five seconds since the collision happened. 

Jisung sits up first, brushing grass off his arms. He looks perfectly fine, maybe a little dazed but otherwise unbothered. Meanwhile, Hyunjin's still flat on his back, scowling at the sky like it personally offended him. His brows are drawn tight, shoulders tense, and his jaw is clenched so hard you can practically hear his molars grinding.

"Are you both okay?" 

Jisung turns toward you immediately, eyes softening. "I'm okay, jagiya."

He smiles, and your heart does that stupid fluttery thing it always does when he looks at you like that. You touch his arm gently, scanning him for bruises or scrapes. He's fine.

Then you look at Hyunjin. He blinks a few times, still half-lying on the grass, and you watch it happen, his hackles slowly lower. The tension in his shoulders uncoils a little, his expression flickers, and for one heartbeat, he just stares at you like he forgot how to be mad. Then Jisung's voice cuts through the silence again.

"You alright, Hyunjin?"

Hyunjin jolts like he was shocked. "Yeah. Fine," He gets up fast, brushes off his shorts, and walks away toward the benches without another word.

Chan immediately follows him, looking like someone just handed him a toddler with a grenade. The rest of the team hangs back, awkward and silent for a second.

"See what I mean?" Jisung says, voice dry and tired. "I breathe near him and he looks like he's gonna throw hands."

"Maybe it's a second puberty," you suggest cheerfully.

"You might be onto something. His mood swings have mood swings."

You guide him back toward the bench where you were sitting, brushing off some leftover grass from his shirt as you walk. "I was reading about the real villains of the 14th century, by the way."

He snorts. "You mean nobles? The Catholic Church?"

"No, no, no," you say, dropping down onto the bench, flipping your textbook open. "Rats, Jisung. Rats were the true supervillains of 14th-century Europe."

He raises an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. "Oh?"

"Yes!" you say, adjusting your sunglasses. "Rats carried the plague fleas, Xenopsylla cheopis, to be precise and those little fuckers spread Yersinia pestis everywhere. The Black Death wiped out up to sixty percent of Europe's population. Sixty. Fucking. Percent."

"Jesus," Changbin mutters nearby, suddenly invested. He plops down on the grass at your feet, eyes wide.

"It gets better," you continue, glowing under the attention like a sunflower in daylight. "The fleas would bite the rats, pick up the bacteria, then jump to humans and bam, mass death. It hit the trade routes and spread like wildfire. Bodies in the streets. Total apocalyptic vibes. You know how now we wear masks and argue about vaccines? Back then, they were bleeding people and praying to saints. Super effective, obviously."

Minho wanders over and plops down next to Changbin. "Wait, wasn't that the time they thought cats were evil and started killing them too?"

"Yes!" you say, jabbing your finger in his direction. "Which was extra stupid because cats eat rats. So by killing the cats, they made the rat population worse. They literally helped the plague spread faster. Congrats, medieval Europe. You played yourself."

Felix drifts over last, flopping down on the bench beside you with a bright grin. "You're saying rats are to blame for wiping out half of Europe?"

"Not just rats," you clarify, tilting the book so they can all see it. "Fleas. But rats were the Uber drivers of death. And medieval cities? Disgusting. No plumbing. No sanitation. People threw shit out the window. Rats thrived in that. Perfect storm."

Seungmin appears like a judgmental ghost, arms crossed. "So people died because they were nasty and stupid?"

You smile sweetly. "Basically."

Jisung twirls a lock of your hair between two fingers. "You're so fucking smart," he says.

"I contain multitudes," you say, striking a ridiculous pose. "Beauty. Brains. Useless historical knowledge. You're welcome."

Felix claps slowly. "This is why I listen to everything you say, I take this shit and use it as pickup lines."

"Felix!" Seungmin groans.

"No, no, listen, last week I told someone at that bar near campus about the dancing plague of 1518, and they were so into it. I said, 'wanna dance till we die?' and boom. Got their number."

You snort. "Jesus Christ, I'm accidentally enabling slutty behaviour."

Felix grins like the devil himself. "And I'm thriving. You're a blessing, babe."

Jisung glares at him playfully. "Back off. She's mine."

Across the field, Hyunjin shifts awkwardly on his feet, arms folded tight across his chest as he stands next to Chan. He keeps glancing sideways at the group across the pitch, where you, Jisung, and the rest of the Alpha Phi guys are. 

"What the fuck are they even talking about now?" Hyunjin mutters, squinting.

Chan doesn't even glance up. "You," he says, "should worry more about what we're talking about."

But it's too late. Hyunjin's attention is sucked across the field again, and your voice carries like it was born to be projected across battlefields and lecture halls.

"Okay, fine! But I would definitely survive the plague! I'd be the one investigating it, you know? Trying to track the spread, isolate the bacteria, and invent contact tracing way before its time. I'd be the weird genius who figured shit out."

Changbin immediately snorts so hard it sounds painful. "You'd be patient zero, the superspreader. You'd be like, 'Oh wow, is this flea bite infected?' and then boom, entire village gone."

"I second that," Felix says, throwing a hand up like he's in court. "She'd get infected and keep studying it."

"I'd give you like, five days," Seungmin adds helpfully.

Jeongin hums. "She'd get burned at the stake. They'd think she was a witch."

You gasp, eyes wide. "What the fuck?!"

Minho nods solemnly. "You'd be accused of causing the plague. You'd get drowned or burned or hung, depending on the region."

"Unbelievable! You're all supposed to love me!"

"We do!" Jisung chimes in brightly. "That's why we're being honest. I'd cry at your burning."

Felix pats your head. "We'd avenge you, babe."

"I'm not dead!"

"You would be," Seungmin says, deadpan. "In any medieval European setting, you'd be gone in the first week."

"I'm taking this disrespect personally."

"You should," Jeongin says cheerfully, and they all fucking laugh like they haven't just collectively sentenced you to death via witch trial.

Hyunjin's mouth quirks involuntarily at the sound of your voice, all dramatic indignation and wild hand gestures. You've somehow roped half the football team into a historical survival debate, and he kind of wants to scream at the sky because you're so fucking you. And the way Jisung looks at you, still glowing from your plague lecture and now practically vibrating from laughter, makes Hyunjin's stomach do another weird flip-flop like he's on a diet of nothing but emotions and chaos.

"Okay," Chan says suddenly, breaking Hyunjin's spiralling thoughts. "So. Remember what I said about polyamory?"

Hyunjin groans. "Vaguely. There was bingsu involved."

Chan sighs. "Right. So, let's pick that thread up again, because clearly, you're still operating like you're five and pulling someone's hair on the playground to show you like them."

"I'm not-"

"You are," Chan cuts him off with the tiredness of someone who has dealt with far too many crises to have patience left for bullshit. "Every time Jisung breathes near you, you act like he just pissed in your cereal. I'm half expecting you to start crying about cooties."

Hyunjin blinks, deadpan. "Cooties are very serious."

"Hyun," 

"I know! I know, okay? I'm having a romantic crisis and a sexual identity crisis. At the same fucking time. It's a lot."

From behind them, Minho's voice chimes in like a well-timed sitcom entrance. "I smell queer panic."

Hyunjin wheels around, pointing immediately. "It's Chan! He's having the crisis!"

Chan just nods gravely, expression dry. "Yes. Me. I am so very confused. Do I like dick? Do I like pussy? Do I like everything? I am but a lost and terrified man in a sea of desire."

Minho snorts. "Chan. You came out as pansexual like a year ago. I baked you a fucking cake. Blue, pink, and yellow frosting. The pan flag. Remember?"

"It was delicious," Chan says wistfully.

Minho claps a hand on Hyunjin's shoulder. "So it's you who's the confused baby queer. Got it."

Hyunjin hunches down instantly and hides behind Chan's shoulder, which is ridiculous because he's taller. It looks like a giraffe trying to hide behind a potted plant. Chan doesn't even flinch, just adjusts his stance so Hyunjin can use him as a human shield.

"Aw, poor baby. Do you have big feelings for a man?"

Hyunjin nods behind Chan's head, expression pouty and tragic.

"Oh no," Minho gasps. "Poor thing. Is it confusing?"

Another sad little nod.

"And do you also like said man's girlfriend?"

Yet another nod, lower lip now actively pushed out like a kicked puppy.

Minho holds his arms open. "Come here. Come to me, I will be your guiding queer."

Hyunjin snuggles into Minho's shoulder with an embarrassed groan, and Minho pets his head. "There, there. You're not broken. You're just a bisexual mess with feelings. It happens to the best of us."

"I'm not bisexual," Hyunjin mumbles.

Chan squints. "Then what are you?"

"I don't fucking know," Hyunjin huffs.

Minho raises an eyebrow. "So are you a top with men?"

Hyunjin shrugs. "Both."

Minho hums thoughtfully, rocking him slightly. "And with women?"

"Top."

"We can work with that. I'm seeing a dynamic. Yes. You, Jisung, and Y/N will live in throuple bliss before the year is out."

Hyunjin groans into his shoulder. "Can you explain this polythagorus thing to me again?"

Minho blinks. "You mean polyamory?"

Chan whistles low. "Jesus fucking Christ."

Minho pats his back. "Okay. So, Polyamory means you can love more than one person. At the same time. And it's okay, as long as everyone involved knows about it and agrees to it. No secrets. No cheating. It's about communication and consent. Think of it like, okay, picture a cake."

Chan lifts a finger. "A cake metaphor?"

"Shut up, I like it," Minho snaps. "Picture a cake. You're hungry. One slice? That's monogamy. You love that slice, it's a great slice. But maybe you want another slice, a different flavour. Doesn't mean you don't like the first one. You want chocolate and vanilla."

Chan chimes in. "As long as both slices are okay with being eaten together-"

"Chan," 

"You started it!"

"Anyway," Minho continues, ignoring Chan, "you just have to make sure all the slices are happy. If one slice doesn't want to be shared, then the cake collapses. And no one gets dessert."

Hyunjin stares between them. "That made sense. In a fucked-up way."

Chan nods seriously. "We're here for you."

Minho brushes Hyunjin's bangs back gently. "I'm your eomma now. Chan is your appa."

"I accept this," Hyunjin says solemnly. "Guide me."

And they do. They sit there in a weird triangle of chaos, drawing emotional maps in the dirt and giving metaphorical cake lectures until Hyunjin starts to feel a little less like his heart is on fire and a little more like maybe he can figure this shit out.

The Alpha Phi house is fucking vibrating. Bass thuds so hard through the floorboards that it feels like the whole house is breathing in time with the music. The lights are low, multicoloured LEDs crisscrossing through the air. The theme for tonight is pirates, which means the house is a chaos of leather and ruffles, cheap plastic swords and dramatic eyeliner, sweaty bodies pressed together and grinding.

Hyunjin's drunk. His vest hangs open, exposing the mesh shirt clinging to his chest, black and burgundy fabric fluttering slightly every time he moves. His crisp white cargo pants catch the colored lights like they're a spotlight, and the heavy lace-up boots he's wearing stomp perfectly in time with the beat. The red headband tied around his forehead has slipped slightly, a few strands of blonde hair sticking to his temples with sweat. He's dancing between a girl in a corset and a guy in an open shirt and eye patch, both of them pressed in close, hips rocking with his in perfect rhythm. 

It's hot. It's good. He's in his element. The world is spinning in the best possible way, music loud enough to drown out his thoughts, people grinding up on him, alcohol warming every inch of his body. He closes his eyes and lets himself go with the beat, breath shallow, sweat beading at the back of his neck.

But then he hears you. Your laugh. That bright, unfiltered giggle that's impossible to miss, even in a room like this.

You step out of the kitchen with Jisung, both of you flushed and tipsy, drinks still in hand, and Hyunjin's brain short-circuits. You're both glowing under the string lights, skin radiant and eyes sparkling. 

Your pirate costume is nothing short of criminal. The off-the-shoulder blouse leaves your collarbones and shoulders bare, the flared sleeves dramatic as hell, and the black brocade corset hugging your waist like it was made to be touched. The burgundy mini skirt ruffles at your thighs, dangerously short, showing just enough to send Hyunjin into a full spiral. The sash draped around your hips shimmers every time you move, the same hue as your headscarf, and the knee-high boots you're wearing look like they were fucking designed to stomp on hearts.

And Jisung is a fever dream in red. His coat swirls behind him like a fucking cape, the white ruffled shirt underneath open at the chest just enough to be illegal. His black pants hug his waist perfectly, tucked into combat boots that gleam under the lights. The fake belt of weapons does nothing to distract from the real weapon: him.

Hyunjin freezes mid-step, half in a body roll with the guy behind him, and just stares.

Jisung twirls you, grinning from ear to ear as you spin, your skirt fanning out dramatically before you land against his chest, giggling, faces inches apart. Then Jisung cups your jaw and kisses you full on the mouth, hot and messy and eager. You melt into him like you're made of fucking sunshine and rum.

Hyunjin feels like someone just kicked him in the chest.

And then you pull Jisung onto the dance floor as It Wasn't Me blasts through the speakers. Hyunjin watches as the two of you fall into rhythm instantly. Jisung's hands grip your waist, and you toss your head back, laughing again as you grind against him. 

Your leg wraps around his waist without hesitation, boot hooked behind his back, and he catches you easily, holding you up by the thigh like it's muscle memory.

It's obscene.

You're dancing front to front, bodies locked together, sweat-slick and perfectly in sync. Jisung guides your movements like it's choreographed, his hands roaming your waist, your thigh, one trailing up to the small of your back. The two of you are looking at each other like the rest of the room doesn't exist.

But everyone else sees. Everyone is watching. The dance floor shifts to create a circle around you both. You're like a succubus and an incubus dancing together, too hot, too coordinated, too much for anyone else to compete with. People cheer, whistle, someone yells "Get a room!" and someone else immediately yells "No, don't!"

Hyunjin can't breathe. He wants to join you. Wants to be pressed between you and Jisung, wants to feel your nails in his skin and Jisung's breath on his neck. Wants to be dizzy with your perfume and Jisung's cologne. He wants everything, all of it, every fucking impossible, burning piece of it.

But he just stands there, frozen, watching. Then a hand touches his shoulder, and Chan leans in, voice raised over the music. "Come on, Jinnie. Let's get you a drink, hmm?"

Hyunjin just nods. He doesn't trust himself to speak. Chan pulls him gently but firmly through the crowd, towards the makeshift bar where Minho is working his black-gloved magic with a bottle of rum.

Minho's pirate outfit is dramatic even by his standards. A white ruffled shirt, sleek black vest, vertical striped pants that make his legs look miles long, and lace-up boots. His layered necklaces clink when he moves, and the wide-brimmed hat he's wearing somehow doesn't fall off even as he dramatically shakes a cocktail mixer.

He spots Hyunjin immediately, eyes lighting up in mock sympathy. "Oh my child. Look at you. All confused and sad and drunk."

Hyunjin just nods sadly, face flushed from both the alcohol and the emotional whiplash of seeing his dream throuple making out in the middle of the party.

Minho opens his arms wide. "Come to eomma Minho, my sweet, sad, single child who wants a boyfriend and a girlfriend."

Hyunjin doesn't even hesitate. He mopes over and slumps into Minho's side like a sad sack of limbs and heartbreak, and Minho wraps one arm around his shoulders, gently stroking his hair.

Chan raises an eyebrow and gestures with his chin toward the dance floor. Minho follows his gaze, peering over Hyunjin's head, and then he sees you and Jisung, still dancing like sex demons, and his mouth parts in silent understanding.

"Ah," he says softly. "I see."

"I wanna dance with them."

"I know, baby."

"I wanna sandwich Y/N between me and Jisung."

Minho hums. "Mmm-hmm."

"Or I wanna be the sandwich meat."

Minho coos, petting his hair again. "Of course you do, sweetheart."

Hyunjin has to hunch down to nuzzle properly into Minho's shoulder, face burning.

Chan sips the drink Minho hands him, shaking his head with a smirk. "We're gonna need to get this boy laid and cuddled before he combusts."

"We'll make it happen."

Two hours later, the Alpha Phi house has devolved into a swirling, drunken fever dream. The living room is packed. Someone's swinging a plastic sword, someone else is doing shots off a windowsill, and someone just fell down the stairs and screamed "YO-HO-HO!" on the way down.

You're tucked into Jisung's lap on the couch, flushed and giggling, comfortably squished between him and the armrest while chaos unfolds around you. He's slightly damp with sweat, curls sticking to his forehead. 

"I want to fuck you on this couch," Jisung murmurs into your ear. "Right now. Just rip that little skirt off and bend you over the armrest while everyone watches."

You choke on your drink, giggling, slapping a hand to his chest. "Jesus, Ji-"

"I bet you'd like it," he continues, tone filthy and unbothered. "Bet you'd whimper all soft and pretty, make that fucking face you make when you're desperate. Let me ruin you in front of everyone."

You squeal, curling into him to hide your face as your ears burn, and Jisung just laughs, teeth scraping your earlobe as he whispers, "You're so easy to fluster, I love it."

Changbin climbs onto the coffee table in front of you like he's summoning a crowd, red pirate jacket flaring behind him like a cape. He slams his beer can against his thigh and yells, "TRUTH OR DARE, YOU SCURVY LANDLUBBERS!"

The room erupts into cheers. Empty cans rain onto the floor. Someone falls off the loveseat in excitement. 

"Only if it ends in an orgy!"

"That's every Friday, shut up, Lix!" Changbin cackles, waving him off. "Circle up, sluts!"

You and Jisung end up still tangled together on the couch, your legs slung across his lap, his arms caging you in. Someone throws down cushions, and people start gathering, giggling and drunk, with drinks in hand. The bottle starts spinning, some off-brand soju bottle that probably cost a grand total of 3,000 won but is about to wreck lives.

The dares are chaotic. Jeongin has to propose to a stranger. Someone's dared to do a lap dance for Seungmin, which he tolerates for exactly three seconds before shoving the guy off with an eye roll. Felix is dared to switch outfits with a girl, which he does in record time. There's a lot of yelling, a lot of laughing, and entirely too much glitter.

Then it lands on you and Jisung.

Changbin grins, evil. "Couples dare! You two, mime sex."

The room goes fucking feral. Screams. Laughter. Chants of "DO IT! DO IT!"

Jisung raises his eyebrows at you, biting back a grin. "What do you think, Jagiya? Wanna give them a show?"

You snort, already slipping out of his lap. "If we're doing this, we're committing."

"Oh we're fucking committing," he grins, grabbing your hand and pulling you up with him.

You plant your feet, bend forward slightly, hands on your thighs, and Jisung whoops behind you, immediately sliding in close, one hand on your waist, the other miming an obscene thrust as he grinds behind you in time with the beat.

The crowd loses it. Whistles. Screaming. Someone throws a cushion at the wall. Jeongin covers his face, half-horrified, half-laughing. Chan yells, "PLEASE USE PROTECTION!" and someone else yells, "TOO LATE!"

Jisung leans down and murmurs loud enough for you to hear, "This is exactly how I want to bend you over tonight."

You shriek with laughter, breaking the pose, spinning around to smack his chest. He catches your wrist and kisses your palm like the dramatic bastard he is.

You collapse back onto the couch, breathless, and Jisung immediately pulls you into his lap again, grinning so wide it hurts.

Then the bottle spins and lands on Minho.

"Truth or dare?" Changbin asks.

"Dare," Minho says, completely unfazed.

"Kiss the person you last jerked off thinking about."

Minho doesn't even blink. He turns, calmly grabs Chan by the collar of his pirate shirt, and yanks him forward. Chan doesn't resist. Their mouths crash together, all teeth and heat, Chan's hand sliding into Minho's hair. It's aggressive, filthy, passionate. Minho makes a low noise in his throat, and Chan presses him back against the wall with a grunt.

Jeongin screams. Seungmin screams. Changbin throws his hands in the air and yells, "CALLED IT!"

"Fucking finally!" 

"Was it really me?" Chan breathes into Minho's mouth when they finally part.

Minho smirks. "You had your hands on my hips during warm-up. I'm only human."

The game continues. Things get wilder. More kissing. More stripping. Someone's dared to streak around the backyard. Someone else tries to juggle beer cans and fails spectacularly. People are drunk enough to be unhinged, but not so drunk they don't know what's happening.

Then it lands on Hyunjin. He's cross-legged on the floor, cheeks flushed, red headband crooked. He's been quiet since the game started, nursing the same drink and looking too closely at you and Jisung every time you laugh.

"Truth," he says, voice slightly slurred.

A girl across the circle leans forward, eyes gleaming. "Tell us something you'd never say sober."

"Well," Hyunjin starts, pushing his hair back, "let me fucking tell you something."

Chan's eyes widen. "Uh, Jinnie-"

"No, Christopher! Now is my moment of truth, so to speak!"

Minho sits up straighter, mouth parting. "Hyun, honey, maybe-"

"No! This is truth, right? I have to be honest!"

You glance at Jisung. He's tense now, brows pinched.

Chan drags a hand down his face. "Fuck."

Minho covers his eyes, then peeks through his fingers. "God, it's happening."

Hyunjin stands, wobbling slightly, and points straight at you and Jisung.

"You two!" he announces. "Oh yes! With your perfect little relationship! Happy! So happy! And here's me! Standing on the outside looking in!"

People glance at each other. Jeongin's mouth is open. Changbin's eyes are huge. Seungmin is already cracking up.

"Where did I go wrong, I lost a friend somewhere along- wait. That's a song." Hyunjin blinks. "Uh, basically, I like you both. Like super like you both. And I want to bang you both. Big fucking time. And I've jerked off to you two too many times. Like, a disgusting amount. Like borderline shameful."

You and Jisung freeze.

"What the fuck," Jisung breathes.

Hyunjin hiccups. "Everyone wants Hyunjin! But not the people he wants to want him! No siree! I'm stuck watching you two be happy, wanting to be happy with you!"

He throws his hands out like a Shakespearean actor on a crumbling stage. "There's a fire starting in my heart, reaching a fever pitch- Fuck, another song, sorry! I need to stop that!"

He wobbles forward. "What I meant to say is-"

Minho is up in a flash, grabbing one arm. "Okay! That's enough truth for one night"

Chan's already on the other side. "Let's take a walk, yeah?"

"Noooooo, I wasn't done! I had a metaphor about sandwiches and me being the meat!"

They vanish down the hall with Hyunjin still whining.

You and Jisung stare at each other, stunned silent.

Changbin opens and closes his mouth. Jeongin looks like he just got slapped. 

Seungmin wheezes, laughing uncontrollably. "He fucking quoted Adele. And The Fray. In the same monologue."

Felix pulls away from the two people he was making out with on the stairs. "What the fuck did I just miss?!"

Hyunjin wakes up to the distinct feeling of breath tickling the side of his neck. The air is warm, and there's a heavy weight across his torso, and something scratchy and suspiciously Minho-scented pressed to his back. His mouth tastes like someone funnelled battery acid and a hint of lime down his throat. The ceiling above him is unfamiliar, and when he blinks through the pounding behind his eyes, he registers immediately that this is not his room.

He's in Chan's.

He's very much not alone, either. One arm is curled around his waist, definitely Minho's, judging by the sleek black nail polish and the quiet grumbles of sleep still leaving his mouth. Another arm is draped over his chest like a fucking weighted blanket, heavy and protective, and attached to Chan, who is very much awake and staring directly down at him with that wide-eyed, silently screaming dad expression.

Hyunjin makes a noise that can only be described as a startled kitten with a hangover and shifts to look up at them both, hair a mess of blonde tangles and dried glitter. His voice comes out scratchy. "Why am I not in my room?"

Minho cracks one eye open, sighs, and closes it again. Chan's expression doesn't shift.

"Oh boy," Chan mutters under his breath.

Hyunjin tenses. "What. What happened. Why the fuck are you making that face, Christopher."

 "Well," he says slowly, "how much do you remember?"

Hyunjin groans, rubbing his face. "I remember dancing. And rum. And-" He pauses. His face twitches. "Oh God. Did I- did I try to twerk on Felix or was that a dream?"

"That part was real," Minho says flatly, not opening his eyes. "And it was mutual."

Chan hesitates and Hyunjin's stomach drops. "Chan."

"You may have... said some things," Chan starts carefully. "During Truth or Dare."

"What things?" Hyunjin asks, already trying to sit up. Minho groans in protest and rolls away.

Chan winces. "You kind of confessed. To, uh, some feelings."

Hyunjin blinks. "I what."

"You stood up in front of everyone," Minho chimes in helpfully from where his face is now buried in a pillow. "Quoted Adele. And The Fray. Told Jisung and Y/N that you wanted to fuck them. Said you've jerked off to them too many times."

Hyunjin stares at them, pale.

"Like, full monologue," Chan adds. "Standing ovation level. Theatrical. Lots of hand gestures."

"No."

Chan just gives him a soft, pained smile.

Minho's face is still in the pillow. "Yup."

"No!" Hyunjin bolts upright and grabs the nearest object, Chan's resistance bands, which are looped over a chair next to the bed. "I'm ending it! I'm done! Goodbye, cruel fucking world-"

Chan yelps and lunges forward, grabbing the bands before Hyunjin can loop them dramatically around his neck.

"Jesus, calm the fuck down, Romeo!"

"Let me die!"

"You're not dying in my fucking room!" 

Minho sits up finally, eyes still sleepy. "If you're gonna die, can you do it in the basement? We already have horror-movie energy down there."

Hyunjin throws the bands at Chan's head, scrambles off the bed, and dives for the floor.

"Oh my God, don't-"

But it's too late. Hyunjin slides dramatically under the bed, curling up in the dark, clutching a throw pillow to his chest. His voice comes out muffled from under the frame.

"I'm never coming out. I live here now. This is my home."

Minho throws another pillow down at him. Then a blanket. Then another. Then a third. "There. Nest, achieved."

Hyunjin grabs them all and makes a pathetic little burrow. "Perfect. Leave me to rot."

"It's actually very clean under here," he adds after a moment. "Like, disturbingly clean. Not a single spec of dust. Chan, you serial killer."

"It's called cleaning, you dramatic bastard," Chan says, dropping to his knees to peer under the bed. "Welcome to adulthood."

Hyunjin sighs deeply, curling into his fortress of shame. "Okay. Now I wallow. Forever."

"You can't wallow forever."

"I can. And I will."

Chan groans, flopping onto the floor dramatically beside him. Minho joins him a second later, lying on his stomach and peering under the bed like it's an animal enclosure at the zoo.

Chan props his chin on his hand. "So what's your long-term plan?"

"Live under here," Hyunjin says. "Eat crumbs. Survive off despair and humidity."

Minho tosses a sock at his face. "You're such a fucking mess."

"A hot mess," Hyunjin replies. "A hot mess of regret and sexual frustration."

"Do you want to know what happened after we dragged you away?" Minho asks.

"No," Hyunjin says. "But yes."

"Y/N and Jisung sat there stunned like they'd just been hit by a bus made of horny confessions," Minho says. "Jeongin looked like he saw a ghost. Felix was mid-threesome and had to ask what he missed. Seungmin laughed so hard he choked on a beer."

Hyunjin groans, pressing his face to the floor.

"You are now known as the horny bard of Alpha Phi," Minho adds, grinning.

"I'm dying," Hyunjin whimpers. "This is my coffin."

Chan sighs again. "Look. It could've been worse."

"How?!"

"You could've pissed yourself."

"...Fair."

Chan nudges his foot. "You know we love you, right?"

"Not as much as I love Jisung and Y/N."

Minho smirks. "Well, they know now."

"I was gonna ease into it! Not confess mid-orgy-truth-or-dare!"

Chan grins. "You've never eased into anything in your life."

Minho shrugs. "Could be worse. You could've confessed sober."

"At least now I can blame the rum."

Chan lies back on the floor. "You know we'll help you figure this shit out."

"Even if I live under this bed forever?"

"Even then."

Hyunjin burrows deeper under the blankets. "Fine. But I'm not coming out until everyone forgets I quoted Adele."

The kitchen smells like hangover salvation. Jisung stands at the stove with a ladle in hand, hair still a mess of curls from sleep, eyes glassy from the fallout of last night's disaster. His boxers ride low on his hips as he stirs the haejangguk like he's willing it to erase the emotional carnage and the pounding in his skull.

You're perched on the counter nearby, legs swinging slightly, one of his oversized black t-shirts hanging off your frame and a pair of lace boyshorts barely visible beneath the hem. There's a textbook open in your lap, it's about the dancing plague of 1518. Normally, you'd be narrating it aloud, voice animated as you dissected historical absurdity, but you're silent.

Both of you are.

There's no teasing. No giggling. No whispered filth from Jisung. He's not pulling your legs apart with his foot under the table or leaning over to bite your shoulder like an affectionate menace. And you're not talking either, not about plague bacteria or weird 16th-century shit or the fact that you are both very clearly avoiding the thing you're both thinking about.

Neither of you has said a single fucking word about what Hyunjin yelled last night, about how he poured his heart and libido all over the floor and left you both sitting in stunned silence. You didn't talk when you stumbled back into Jisung's room, didn't talk when you stripped, didn't talk when you fell asleep curled around each other with tension heavy enough to drown in.

Neither of you notices the blur of movement at the edge of the hallway. A flash of blonde hair. A whisper of indecision.

Hyunjin, wrapped in one of Chan's hoodies and two layers of guilt, peeks into the kitchen. He sees you sitting there, beautiful and quiet and unreadable. Jisung at the stove, solemn, stirring without rhythm. It's like a still from a film, a tragic indie one, probably with subtitles and a heartbreaking soundtrack.

He freezes.

You're not laughing. The two of you are not even talking.

His stomach drops to his knees, and his hands curl around the sleeves of the hoodie like he's trying to become smaller. Without a sound, he steps back and scuttles up the stairs like a startled raccoon.

He bursts into Chan's room, still breathless, eyes wide, and flings himself back onto the floor where he'd made his dramatic little blanket cave under the bed earlier.

Chan looks up from where he's sitting cross-legged on the rug, phone in one hand. Minho is lounging on Chan's bed, flipping through a fashion magazine that he only pretends to hate.

Hyunjin throws himself onto the floor like a martyr. "I broke them!"

Chan blinks. "Broke what?"

"Them!" Hyunjin flails his arms like a conductor leading a symphony of doom. "Y/N and Jisung! They're not talking! I went to get coffee, I swear, but I saw them in the kitchen, and they were just existing. In silence. You know how fucked that is?!"

Minho sits up, startled. "Wait, what?!"

Hyunjin scrambles upright. "They're being quiet! Both of them!"

Chan's brow furrows. "Okay, but like, did you get coffee though?"

Hyunjin throws his arms up. "No! I forgot the coffee because they were being weird! Bigger problems!"

Minho stares. "They're not talking to each other?!"

Hyunjin nods furiously. "Not a word! Just cooking and staring at a fucking textbook. In silence!"

Both Chan and Minho freeze like someone told them Santa Claus isn't real. Chan stands slowly, hand to his chest. "None of us has coffee. And they're quiet?"

"Yes! Y/N and Jisung are SILENT!"

Chan looks like he's aged five years in five seconds. "Oh no."

Minho covers his mouth with one hand. "It's worse than we thought."

Chan immediately grabs his slipper off the floor and starts smacking Hyunjin with it.

"THIS," slap "IS WHAT," slap "HAPPENS," slap "WHEN YOU GET DRUNK," slap "AND CONFESS MID-PARTY LIKE A MUSICAL THEATER STUDENT ON A BENDER!"

Hyunjin doesn't resist. He just bows his head, taking each slap with solemn dignity.

Minho watches, arms crossed. "Are you done?"

"No. Just one more hit."

Smack.

Hyunjin blinks up at them, defeated. "This is your fault."

Chan and Minho exchange a glance.

Hyunjin sits up. "You two. With your polythagorous bullshit. I was fine just being a pining, repressed disaster. But noooo, you had to talk about cake slices and now look!"

Minho blinks. "He's got a point."

Chan nods slowly. "We did awaken the beast."

Hyunjin stands, suddenly empowered. "I demand retribution!"

Chan sighs and hands him the slipper.

Minho nods once and stands up beside Chan. "Go on. Do what must be done."

They both bend over. Hyunjin doesn't hesitate. He swats them both across the ass, one after the other, dramatic and righteous.

"BAD PARENTS!" Whack.

"YOU DID THIS!" Whack.

"I WAS FINE JUST MASTURBATING IN SECRET!" Whack.

Minho straightens up and nods, rubbing his ass. "We deserved that."

Chan groans, standing. "Honestly, yeah."

The living room is soaked in late afternoon light, soft and warm through the open windows, catching the dust motes drifting lazily through the air. The television is playing Horrible Histories, your favourite show to throw on during low-brain-cell days, and you and Jisung are planted firmly on the couch like a pair of content mushrooms. 

You're curled up on one end, feet in his lap, your white midi dress with delicate blue flowers spilling around you. Jisung looks equally at peace, sprawled out in soft, worn lounge clothes, a grey oversized hoodie and matching sweatpants.

On screen, the William Wallace parody begins, the absurdly catchy Scottish Rebel song, complete with fake beards and bad accents. You perk up immediately, your entire body alert like a meerkat who heard the snack bag rustle.

"Look at Ben Willbond," you say, pointing as the camera zooms in on him in a kilt and messy wig. "As William Wallace! Look at that cheekbone structure. Revolutionary."

"You and Ben Willbond, I swear..."

"Tell me he doesn't look like he'd dirty talk in iambic pentameter."

Jisung snorts. "You know what? I would fuck him too. Or be fucked by him. Especially Mike Peabody"

You sit bolt upright. "VINDICATION!"

He grins, pulling you closer into his side as you collapse against him in victory. "Can't believe you've been trying to convert me into a Willbond slut for this long and all it took was a newsreader character and a Scottish rebellion."

"Some of us are visionaries," 

Jisung kisses your forehead, fingers still moving through your hair. "Some of us are thirsty for niche British actors."

You giggle, nuzzling into his chest. "Don't pretend you're not"

"I invoke my right to silence,"

You both lapse into easy silence again, comfort so thick you could drape it over yourselves like a blanket. You haven't talked about Hyunjin. Neither of you has brought it up. But something about the way you lean into each other now, like maybe you're both waiting for the same storm to pass, speaks volumes.

The door creaks open behind you, and neither of you pays much attention. Alpha Phi is a revolving door of shirtless men and discarded laundry. But then a voice pipes up, half-distracted, from behind the couch.

"So, Chan, I was researching polyamory and-"

Hyunjin stops dead. He's still looking at his phone, hoodie sleeves pulled over his hands, brows furrowed like he's deep in a Wikipedia hole. But then his eyes finally lift, and he freezes in place as he registers that Chan is not in the room.

You are. And so is Jisung. Both of you are staring at him like deer in headlights. Matching, slack-jawed expressions of pure, disbelieving what the fuck.

Hyunjin's entire soul leaves his body. He stands there, frozen for maybe a second, then clears his throat and says with the dry finality of a man accepting execution, 

"So. I'm off to kill myself. Nice knowing you two. Sorry about the party thing."

He spins on his heel to leave, but Jisung sits up fast. "Hyunjin, wait!"

Hyunjin pauses, then slowly drops to a crouch behind the loveseat and disappears. A second later, his eyes peek over the top of it. Just his eyes.

"I'm ready," 

You and Jisung stare at him, unsure whether to laugh or start crying.

Jisung rubs a hand down his face. "Do you like both of us?"

Hyunjin doesn't move. Just nods slowly, forehead barely visible above the couch now.

Jisung exhales. "Why didn't you just tell us?"

Hyunjin groans. "Because I didn't think I'd ever like-like a guy outside of sex, let alone liking a guy and his girlfriend at the same time! I've been having a sexual identity crisis, and a romantic crisis, and then Chan and Minho gave me a dumb polyamory talk with a cake metaphor, and I got even more confused, and then I confessed during Truth or Dare, and now you're both in a relationship, and I'm a walking disaster! It's been a lot!"

Jisung blinks. "Is that why you've been such a little shit?"

Hyunjin nods again.

You snort before you can stop it. A loud, abrupt laugh that you try to smother with a pillow but fail to contain. Your whole body shakes as you press the pillow to your face, and Jisung starts laughing too, trying to hold it in but fucking losing it the second he sees you crying with giggles.

"It's not funny!" 

You pull the pillow away from your face just long enough to wheeze out, "I'm sorry! You were doing the equivalent of pulling Jisung's pigtails this whole time!"

Hyunjin lets out a long, pained sound and ducks fully behind the couch again. "I hate it here. This is bullying!"

You and Jisung are gasping with laughter now, doubled over, eyes watering. Jisung wipes a tear from his cheek and says, "Okay, okay, sorry. For real."

Hyunjin pops his head up again, cheeks flushed. "Now that it's all out in the open, are you two open to polythagorousness?"

You both freeze.

"To what?" you ask slowly.

Hyunjin sighs and makes a triangle with his hands. "You know. Like polythagory"

Jisung leans back, rubbing his temples. "Oh my god. You mean polyamory."

Hyunjin nods quickly. "That one."

Jisung glances at you. You nod at him. Then Jisung turns back to Hyunjin. "We've talked about it before. We've established we'd be open to it."

Hyunjin's eyes bulge. "Why wouldn't you tell me that?!"

Jisung throws his hands up. "Why would we tell you we had that conversation?!"

"DO YOU KNOW THE COMPLICATIONS I HAVE BEEN HAVING?! THE PERSONAL JOURNEY I HAVE BEEN ON?!" Hyunjin slaps a hand to his forehead. "I am taking you two on a date. A real date. That I will plan. And pay for. And you two will fall madly in love with me and we will be polythageorean!"

"Polyamorous," Jisung corrects gently.

"WHATEVER!" Hyunjin yells and storms dramatically out of the room.

You and Jisung stare after him, silent for a long beat, and then Jisung turns to you.

"Well," he says, voice hoarse from laughing, "we're gonna die, huh?"

You lean into him, grinning. "If we're going down, at least we're going down polythageorean."

The morning sun slices through the blinds in stripes, golden beams dancing lazily across the messy floor of Jisung's room. You and Jisung are both fresh from the shower. Jisung's standing in the middle of the room, towel wrapped low around his hips, aggressively scrubbing at his hair with another towel like it personally offended him. 

You're perched on the edge of his desk chair in nothing but a towel, your legs crossed as you lean toward the standing desk mirror he bought for you. Your makeup bag is splayed open across the surface. You're carefully sweeping a soft pastel green eyeshadow across your lids with a flat brush, tongue poking out in concentration. Underneath your eyes, a shimmer of silver catches the light with every blink, sparkling like tiny constellations on your skin.

Jisung drops his towel and heads to the dresser. He digs around for a second before pulling on a pair of snug black boxer briefs. You glance up just in time to catch the stretch of his back, the curve of his shoulders, and the way his abs flex when he exhales.

"Can you not be hot while I'm trying to focus?" you ask, not bothering to hide the grin curling your lips.

Jisung turns, already slipping on a fitted black long-sleeve top that clings to every inch of his torso like it was fucking painted on. "Me? Hot? Never."

You raise an eyebrow. "You look like the lead vocalist in a post-apocalyptic K-pop group."

"Thank you," he says seriously, then grabs his tailored black cargo pants and slides them on, adjusting the waistband before cinching it with a bold gold Versace belt. He throws on a chunky gold chain with a thick cross pendant, and then turns to check himself out in the mirror. "Should I do the earrings?"

"You always should do the earrings."

Jisung laughs, reaching into the little dish on his dresser for the pair of small hoops. "God, I'm fucking nervous."

You scoff. "You? You're nervous?"

"Uh, yeah? Jagiya, Hyunjin is taking us on a date. That he planned. This man has taste. He's got Pinterest boards. He coordinates his outfits to the mood of the day."

"You coordinated your belt to your chain,"

"Yeah, but that was for you. If it were for Hyunjin, there'd be a fog machine involved."

You laugh, setting your brush down and reaching for your moisturiser. "Fair point."

You swipe a generous amount over your skin, massaging it in as you let the eye makeup set, then stand, and move to the closet. You pull on a white strapless bra and a pair of lacy white boyshorts before stepping into your outfit. 

The off-the-shoulder crop top hugs you snugly, the puffed sleeves bouncing slightly as you tug it into place. The fabric is soft, delicate, edged with small ruffles that flutter when you move. You pull on the pastel green floral midi skirt next, adjusting the high waist and smoothing it down, letting the slit rest comfortably on your thigh. Finally, you bend to lace up your white high-top Converse, hopping slightly to get the tongue aligned just right.

You slide your star earrings in and clip on your silver necklace, then move back to the mirror to start taking the curlers out of your hair one by one, letting the soft curls bounce down, framing your face perfectly. Then you pull the top half back, securing it loosely with a white ribbon, two strands left loose in the front to frame your face. You glance at Jisung through the mirror.

"You're staring," 

"You're a fucking fairy," he says, completely deadpan. "I feel like you should float around asking villagers riddles and luring men into a dance circle."

You turn to him, hands on your hips. "And you look like you seduce tourists in European nightclubs and steal their wallets. Together, we are unstoppable."

There's a knock at the door. "Hyunjin's waiting outside," Minho calls through it. "Stop being weird and get down there."

You grab your small white shoulder bag and sling it over your shoulder, holding it open as Jisung drops his phone and wallet into it. You toss in your phone and your little coin purse, zip it closed, and then both of you reach for your sunglasses, Jisung's are round and slightly tinted, yours oversized and square with silver rims.

You take a moment at the door, both of you checking each other one last time.

"You good?" Jisung asks.

"As I'll ever be," you say, breath catching just slightly.

You head downstairs, sneakers thumping against the steps, and step out into the bright afternoon sun.

And then you see him.

Hyunjin's leaning against the side of his convertible like it's a goddamn magazine shoot. He's dressed in a deep plum-toned corduroy set, jacket oversized, sleeves pushed up slightly to reveal his wrists adorned with silver bracelets, pants wide-legged and pooling just perfectly over chunky black sneakers. A black Versace tank top is visible beneath the jacket, clinging to his torso like a second skin. His belt has a massive silver buckle that gleams in the sun, and he's wearing oversized black sunglasses that hide most of his face. His hair is half pulled back, the rest cascading in soft waves around his face.

Jisung stumbles slightly and mutters under his breath, "Lord, have mercy."

You nod slowly, eyes wide, and both of you slide your sunglasses down your noses for a better look. Hyunjin catches it and smirks.

"Subtle," he says, his voice amused as he straightens and strides over to the passenger door, opening it with a dramatic flourish.

He doesn't say anything else, just gestures with a bow and a cocky tilt of his head.

You and Jisung glance at each other. You both shrug. And then you climb in, Jisung right behind you.

Hyunjin closes the door, rounds the car, and slides into the driver's seat like he owns the world.

As the engine roars to life, Jisung leans over to you and whispers, "If we don't fuck him by the end of this date, it's only because we're dead or he's very chivalrous."

You nod solemnly. "Agreed."

Hyunjin pulls the car to a smooth stop at the curb of a sleek building tucked between a row of quirky cafés and speciality bookstores, the kind of unassuming exterior that practically dares you to underestimate it. He kills the engine and leans an elbow casually over the steering wheel, turning to face you and Jisung in the backseat.

"Okay," he says, voice tinged with mischievous glee. "Keep your eyes down until I say so. I'm serious. No peeking."

You and Jisung exchange a look and obey without question, ducking your heads like kids being told to wait before opening a birthday present.

"You better not be taking us into a butcher shop," Jisung mutters, lips twitching.

You snort. "If you are, I swear to god, I will cry."

"I promise it's not a butcher," Hyunjin says, grin audible in his voice. "Trust me. You're gonna love it."

He slides out of the car and circles around to open the back door again with a little bow. You keep your head down as you step out, letting him take your hand to help you out of the low seat. Jisung follows, doing a dramatic little stumble like he's disoriented, mumbling "where the fuck am I?" under his breath. Hyunjin's chuckle vibrates through the air.

He guides you both to the front of the building with a firm but gentle hand on your lower backs, navigating the entrance like he's been here before. The moment the door opens, a blast of cool air hits your face.

You hear Hyunjin speak to someone at the ticket counter. "Three, please."

There's a pause, the beep of a scanner, and the gentle crinkle of printed paper. Hyunjin takes the tickets and turns toward you both. 

"Okay," he says, excitement bubbling under the surface, "you can look now."

You and Jisung lift your heads. The massive banner overhead reads: The History of Medicine: From Leeches to Lasers – A Special Pop-Up Exhibit.

Your jaw drops. Jisung lets out a sharp laugh of disbelief, eyes wide as he stares at the life-sized, grotesque medieval surgery diorama posed right at the entrance.

"Welcome," Hyunjin says, grinning like the little shit he is, "to your wet dream."

You're beaming before you can stop it. "You planned this?"

"Hell yeah, I did," Hyunjin says proudly. "Minho helped me find it and proofread the directions. Chan double-checked the route for traffic and told me to bring mints in case we kiss later."

Jisung's already ten steps ahead, pointing at a display case of antique amputation saws. "Oh my god, is that a 17th-century bone saw?!"

You grab Hyunjin's hand on instinct, dragging him forward. "This is fucking amazing, I can't believe you found this. I didn't even know there was a pop-up museum like this."

"I did research," Hyunjin says smugly as he lets you tug him forward. "Which, by the way, included scrolling through Reddit forums at 3 a.m. about obscure travelling medical exhibits. You're welcome."

Jisung turns around and walks backwards so he can talk to both of you while staring at the plague doctor mannequin in the corner. "Did you know they used to think bad smells caused disease? Like they believed if it smelled bad, it was bad. That's why plague doctors wore those masks, they stuffed them with herbs to filter the air."

"Miasma theory," you add, beaming. "They thought bad air spread sickness. It wasn't until the mid-1800s that germ theory started getting traction. Like, people were bathing in rivers of shit and wondering why they were dying."

Hyunjin makes a face. "Okay, that's fucking disgusting."

You giggle and lean into his side. "We haven't even gotten to the part where they drilled holes in people's skulls to release demons."

Jisung points dramatically to the map displayed near the entrance, colour-coded and massive. "Wait. Hold on. This covers everything. This is like prehistoric to modern era. Look, there's a section on Mesopotamia, Egypt, Greece, Rome, medieval Europe, colonial medicine, Victorian shit, early vaccinations, oh my god. This is hours of stuff."

Hyunjin glances over, eyes landing on the map, and his face falters slightly. The museum stretches in a winding, labyrinthine path with over twenty separate rooms, each covering a different era or theme. It ends in modern-day robotics and virtual surgical tools.

He looks back at you and Jisung, who are both practically vibrating with excitement, and sighs silently. "Okay," he mutters. "Strap in, I guess."

You don't notice his internal breakdown. You're already pulling him toward the first exhibit: a collection of Neolithic skulls showing evidence of trepanation. You start rattling off facts almost immediately.

"So this hole here? That's trepanation. It's the oldest surgical procedure we know of. They drilled into people's skulls to relieve pressure or drive out evil spirits."

Jisung leans in. "What the fuck. That looks like it was done with a rock."

"Because it was done with a rock. Sometimes, flint blades. And what's even more fucked is that some people survived it with no anaesthesia, just adrenaline and eventual unconsciousness."

Hyunjin's eye twitches. "That's fucking cursed."

You keep going, dragging him from one exhibit to the next. You explain ancient Egyptian embalming methods while standing in front of a mummified hand. You talk about humoral theory and how ancient doctors believed your health depended on the balance of blood, phlegm, black bile, and yellow bile. You describe how the Black Death was blamed on planetary alignments and Jews, how urine charts were used for diagnosis, and how people drank mercury because they thought it would purify them.

Jisung adds in facts, too, sometimes absurd, sometimes niche. He explains how battlefield medics in World War I used iodine to sterilise wounds and how American doctors did lobotomies by hammering ice picks through the eye socket. You and he go back and forth, building off each other, voices rising with excitement, eyes bright.

Hyunjin trails behind, looking mildly traumatised but weirdly endeared. He keeps asking questions, even when he clearly regrets the answers.

"Wait, leeches? Like actual leeches?"

"Yes!" you say, turning around with a big grin. "They were used to balance the humours. Bloodletting was huge. They'd literally attach a leech to your skin to suck out the 'excess' blood."

Hyunjin shudders. "I'm gonna throw up."

"Do you know leech saliva has anticoagulants?" Jisung adds helpfully. "So it keeps the blood flowing. Relieves pressure and improves circulation."

Hyunjin gags. "I take back everything. This date was a mistake. I want to go home."

But he doesn't leave. He sticks close, even when he cringes, even when he physically recoils from a wax figure of a man having a limb amputated with no anaesthetic while screaming. You grab his hand every so often without thinking, fingers tangling with his, and Jisung occasionally bumps his hip, playful and warm.

Hyunjin sits on a bench between two displays and mutters, "How the fuck are you two so into this? It's all blood and pus and disease."

You flop down beside him, crossing your legs neatly, and grin. "Because it's fascinating! It's the root of everything we know now. Modern medicine exists because people did horrible, stupid, often batshit insane shit. Like giving syphilis patients mercury or treating tuberculosis with sunshine and good vibes."

Jisung drops into the seat on Hyunjin's other side. "It's like watching humanity fail forward in slow motion."

Hyunjin groans. "You guys are nerds."

You lean your head on his shoulder. "And you're stuck with us."

He pauses, then lets his head rest lightly on top of yours.

"I did this to myself," he mumbles.

"Yes, you did," Jisung agrees, stretching his legs out. "And you paid for it."

Hyunjin closes his eyes and exhales through his nose.

"You're lucky I like you both," he mutters. "Because this is the grossest date I've ever been on."

You smile, reaching over to squeeze his hand.

"Just wait," you say sweetly. "It gets way worse."

Three hours later, the three of you stumble out of the pop-up museum. You and Jisung are still talking animatedly about the final exhibit, robotic surgical assistance and experimental gene therapy, while Hyunjin trails behind, looking like he aged three years somewhere between the syphilis display and the iron lung.

"That was intense," Hyunjin mutters, stretching his arms over his head as he tries to shake off the existential dread of medieval surgical practices and the evolution of birthing instruments.

"You survived," you tease, bumping his arm with your shoulder.

"Barely," he mutters. "I need something beautiful and rich and not covered in leeches."

"Wow," Jisung says, slinging an arm casually around your waist as you all walk down the street. "Good thing you're taking us to a fancy restaurant next, huh?"

Hyunjin straightens like he forgot he still had another part of the date to host. He suddenly looks more alert, posture adjusting, like he's about to go on stage. "Right. Yes. This way. I've got it all sorted."

He leads you through a quieter part of the city, the pace slowing as you near a minimalist building with sleek black windows and gold lettering across the door: Mingle. A host greets him just inside the entrance, and Hyunjin calmly gives the name for the reservation.

"Hwang. Table for three."

The host gives a polite bow and smiles. "Of course, right this way."

You and Jisung follow him through the softly lit restaurant, the air rich with the scent of grilled seafood and earthy sauces. It's cosy but upscale, the kind of place where even the water has a complex flavour profile. The lighting is low and warm, casting everyone in a flattering golden hue, and the walls are adorned with soft, neutral textures that make the entire place feel like a secret oasis in the middle of the city.

You slip into your seat across from Hyunjin, Jisung beside you. He gives your hand a little squeeze under the table.

"Holy shit," Jisung whispers, eyes scanning the interior. "This is fancy."

Hyunjin beams, obviously proud but trying not to look too smug about it. "Chan and Minho had to call in favours for this one."

Jisung raises an eyebrow. "Wait, Chan and Minho?"

Hyunjin winces slightly. "I might have cried a little."

You snort. "You cried?"

"I was emotionally compromised, okay?" Hyunjin huffs, adjusting his sunglasses, now resting on top of his head. "I just wanted the perfect date. I had a whole meltdown on the living room floor. Minho had to bribe me with yoghurt to stop sobbing."

The waiter arrives with menus, bowing slightly and placing the elegant black booklets in front of each of you. You open yours slowly, letting your fingers run over the textured paper.

"This has been really great," Jisung says quietly, his voice soft with genuine warmth.

Hyunjin looks up fast. "Really?"

You and Jisung both nod. "Yes," you say. "Absolutely."

Hyunjin exhales hard, slumping in relief. "Thank fuck. I was genuinely ready to sob into the risotto if you told me this sucked and I wasn't throuple material. I was rehearsing a tragic speech and everything."

"You're doing great," you say sweetly, reaching across the table to squeeze his wrist.

Jisung flips through the menu with a grin. "You're like a hot mess with anxiety and accessories. It's our type."

The three of you decide to go with a full spread, choosing a selection of starters, mains, and desserts so you can share everything. The waiter returns with his notepad ready.

"For starters," you say, "we'll have the chestnut rice cake, the Korean beef jamon, and the fried red mullet with gamtae roll."

Hyunjin glances at you, grinning. "Also, the hanwoo beef tartare with smoked eel. I'm being brave."

You all settle back into the plush seats, the murmur of the restaurant around you a quiet hum of conversation and clinking glasses.

"So," Hyunjin says, swirling his water like it's wine. "Tell me more about Horrible Histories."

You gasp dramatically. "Okay, so Horrible Histories is this British historical sketch comedy show, and it's for kids technically, but it's so good. It's got songs, sketches, and recurring characters. And most of it's historically accurate!"

"It teaches kids that people in history were also just messy little shits," Jisung adds.

"There's this one character," you continue, "Mike Peabody, who's a news anchor from the past, and he reports like he's on a modern news show, but about ancient Rome or medieval London. And he's so over it all the time. Ben Willbond plays him. He's a fucking legend."

"Do not," Jisung warns seriously, "watch after season five. They changed the cast, and it went downhill so fast."

You blow a raspberry. "They replaced the original team with theatre kids. The energy was off."

Hyunjin tilts his head. "That's... weirdly passionate."

You unlock your phone, scrolling to your saved album, and spin it around to show him a photo of Ben Willbond as Alexander the Great, tunic, cape, wig, the works.

Hyunjin stares. "Damn."

"Right?!" you exclaim, delighted.

Jisung reaches for his phone. "Okay, wait, you have to see the Dick Turpin song. This is, like, peak horny horse thief energy."

He pulls up the clip and places his phone between the three of you. Hyunjin leans in, eyes narrowing.

"Oh my god," Hyunjin whispers halfway through. "They gave him eyeliner and a leather trench coat. Why is this working?"

"You're being seduced by a BBC production," you say.

"Join the club," Jisung adds.

Then you're all leaning over your screens, showing Hyunjin clips of Mike Peabody reporting from the Bastille, the Four Georges singing a boy band ballad, and Bob Hale delivering an exhausting yet iconic summary of the War of the Roses. Hyunjin is laughing so hard he has to wipe his eyes with the cloth napkin.

"This is fucking chaos," he says between laughs.

"That's the point!" you say, beaming. "It makes history fun. Also, Bob Hale is me during exams. Just panicked, over-caffeinated, and rambling facts until someone stops me."

"I can't believe I've never seen this," Hyunjin says, still chuckling as he sets his phone down. "You guys are gonna ruin my YouTube algorithm."

Jisung leans into him slightly, shoulder pressing against his. "You'll thank us later when you're humming Stupid Deaths to yourself at 3 a.m."

The first round of dishes arrives, artfully plated and aromatic. The fried red mullet is golden and crisp, the gamtae roll earthy and savoury. The beef jamon practically melts on the tongue. You take turns tasting everything, sharing bites and swapping plates like you've done this a thousand times.

You watch Jisung roll his eyes back theatrically as he chews the smoked eel. "Jesus fucking Christ, that's insane."

Hyunjin hums through a mouthful of tartare. "I feel like I should be feeding this to someone on a fur rug."

"I am wearing floral," you say, offering him a bite of rice cake. "Does that count?"

He accepts it with a grin, chewing thoughtfully before offering you a bite of his eel in return.

The night goes on, full of soft laughter and easy conversation, the kind of warmth that settles deep in your chest and makes you forget how nervous you were this morning. The main dishes are even better, silky fish mandu, perfectly cooked abalone, sweet and rich Jeju fish, puffed rice that crackles delightfully between your teeth, and a sticky rice risotto that nearly makes Hyunjin cry with joy. The king crab is tender and buttery, and all three of you go silent for a minute as you savour it.

Dessert is absurd. The bibimbap is reinvented with sweet flavours, and the rice ice cream and pudding are so good that Jisung licks the bowl when he thinks no one's watching, only to look up and catch both you and Hyunjin staring with smug grins.

"I have no shame. Zero shame."

"We know,"

The sky has long slipped into that velvety indigo that wraps the world in hush, the stars flickering faint behind a city glow too stubborn to fade entirely. The drive back to the Alpha Phi house is quiet in a way that feels full. The hum of the engine and the low city sounds do enough talking for now.

Hyunjin parks just a little crooked in the frat house's gravel-strewn driveway, the tires crunching to a halt under the porch light glow. He sits back in the driver's seat, one hand on the wheel, the other bracing on the gearstick, and looks at you both.

"So... okay," he says, trying to sound casual but failing because his voice does that thing where it climbs an octave when he's trying to hide that he's a little flustered. "To do this properly, we have to pretend I don't live here. Temporarily. Right now. I'm dropping you two off like a respectable date. I'll wait five minutes, then I'll go inside. Cool?"

You and Jisung nod in tandem, amused but not arguing.

"Cool," Hyunjin repeats, nodding to himself. "Method acting. I love that for me."

You all climb out of the car, and it's suddenly very quiet in the driveway. And then Jisung steps forward and grabs the lapels of Hyunjin's jacket, tugging him in so quickly it makes Hyunjin stumble slightly.

"Wha- oh my fuck-"

And then Jisung kisses Hyunjin with full force, mouth warm and hungry, one hand still twisted in the corduroy lapel like he's making sure Hyunjin doesn't try to back away even though he absolutely isn't. Hyunjin makes a sound between a gasp and a strangled moan, and his hands come up, frozen for half a second before they curl into the fabric at Jisung's sides. Jisung is all sure movements, tilting his head, coaxing Hyunjin's mouth open, tongue teasing against Hyunjin's lower lip until the other man chokes on a whimper and gives in completely.

When Jisung finally pulls back, Hyunjin's lips are parted, glossy, and he's just standing there with his brain visibly buffering.

You step in. Soft where Jisung was firm, gentle where he was urgent. You reach up, fingers brushing the curve of Hyunjin's jaw, and kiss him, letting him lead this time. You don't push, just press your mouth to his and wait, and he does. He tilts into you, his hands finally moving with intention. One settles at your waist, the other slides up your back, pulling you in as his mouth opens against yours. He kisses like he's trying to memorise it, slow and deep and aching, tongue sliding against yours in a rhythm that makes your knees weak. His teeth catch your bottom lip, and he groans into your mouth like it surprises him.

When he finally breaks away, he leans in, lips still ghosting against yours as he breathes you in.

"Shit," he whispers.

Jisung slides his arm around your waist and pulls you against him, planting a kiss on your temple. Hyunjin just stares, lips swollen, eyes wide, like he can't quite believe what just happened.

You and Jisung head inside together, your steps light and giddy. 

Hyunjin doesn't move for a solid thirty seconds. Then he exhales, dazed, and brings his fingers to his lips. He leans back against his car like it's the only thing keeping him upright, head tilted to the sky, a grin slowly stretching across his face as he whispers, "What the actual fuck."

Five minutes later, Hyunjin quietly slips through the front door of the house. The lights in the kitchen are low, the overhead bulb above the stove casting a soft glow across the countertops. Chan and Minho are waiting, of course.

Minho is in a deep blue silk robe, wine glass in hand, bare legs crossed at the ankle as he leans against the counter like a smug sitcom wife. Chan is perched on the island, a bowl of strawberries in front of him and his phone in one hand.

Hyunjin walks in like a man floating above his body.

"Well?" Minho says without preamble.

Hyunjin sighs dreamily. "Fucking incredible."

Minho raises his glass. "As expected."

Hyunjin doesn't sit at the table or take a chair. He drops straight to the floor with a boneless sigh and rests his head in Minho's lap like a content cat. Minho chuckles softly and strokes his hair with the hand not holding wine.

"You smell like Chan's cologne," Hyunjin mumbles, eyes closed.

Minho clears his throat, suddenly very interested in his wine. Chan smirks over his bowl.

"No," Hyunjin gasps, eyes flying open as he props himself up on one elbow to stare up at Minho in horror. "No."

Chan's grin widens. "Yes."

"No."

Minho smiles sweetly. "Oh yes."

"You two are fucking?!"

Minho nods.

Chan shrugs. "It's new-ish."

"EW!" Hyunjin claps both hands over his ears. "It's like finding out my real eomma and appa have sex!"

Chan doesn't miss a beat. "Hyunjin, how do you think you exist? Your actual parents had sex, probably more than once, and bam, here you are."

Hyunjin lets out another strangled scream, rolling dramatically across the kitchen floor like he's trying to escape the imagery. 

"So," Minho says casually, "did you ask Jisung and Y/N to be your boyfriend and girlfriend? In polyamorous bliss? You know, the entire point of tonight?"

Hyunjin freezes. "I knew I forgot something!"

Minho groans, loud and pained. "Aish!"

Chan pinches the bridge of his nose and mutters, "We raised a clown."

"I got distracted by the kissing!" Hyunjin defends. "There was tongue! I panicked!"

Minho smacks the back of his head lightly. "You idiot! You planned a five-star date, emotionally wrecked yourself, spent months having an identity crisis, and then forgot the fucking question?!"

"I'll ask them tomorrow," Hyunjin says quickly. "I swear. I'll be chill. Romantic. Like an emotionally competent adult."

Minho looks down at him, exasperated but fond. "You are lucky we love you."

Hyunjin leans against his knee again, dramatically sighing. "And I love you two, even though now I am going to have nightmares"

"You're welcome," Chan says, and shoves a strawberry into his mouth.

The morning spills into the kitchen like warm syrup, soft light stretching across the counter and casting golden stripes over the mismatched cereal boxes, abandoned textbooks, and Jisung's half-written grocery list scrawled on the whiteboard in chaotic handwriting. 

You're curled up by the sink in your favourite fluffy light blue slippers, a white silk slip nightie barely visible beneath your long matching robe. The sleeves droop around your wrists as you stir the honeycomb mixture in the tiny saucepan, the air around you already heavy with the scent of caramelised sugar.  You smile to yourself, spooning the gooey sweetness into two large mugs, your own with Sophie from Howl's Moving Castle, and the one with Howl for Jisung.

Jisung is swaying side to side at the stove, hair an utter mess, wearing nothing but an ancient baggy t-shirt that once belonged to you. The words IDK HOW MUCH LONGER I CAN SLAY FOR are stamped across the chest, right under a deranged image of a capybara on a jetski, wearing sunglasses. His boxers are crooked, his legs bare, and he's humming the instrumental theme to Spirited Away like it's a love song.

"Smells like sugar and a crime scene." 

You blow gently across the steaming surface of your coffee. "It's my special Dalgona coffee, how dare you?"

"I love your special coffee," he replies, still dreamy. "It's better than sex. Almost."

You slide his mug over and lean against the counter. "That shirt's clinging to you like it regrets being born."

Jisung looks down at himself. "It's iconic. And you love this stupid thing."

You smile around your mug. "I do. But the capybara has more stability than you do right now."

"That's why he's my role model."

He turns back to the stove, stirring the Hobakjuk carefully, checking the texture every few seconds. The pumpkin porridge simmers peacefully, thick and velvety, the orange-gold surface flecked with tiny dots of cinnamon, nutmeg, and just enough maple syrup to make it a dessert instead of breakfast.

"Made it sweet like you like," 

You step forward and press a kiss to his cheek. "You're my favourite domestic menace."

Before he can answer, the door swings open.

Hyunjin enters like he's on a stage, arms full of fresh flowers, dramatic coat sweeping the floor like he's just walked in from a musical number. He's holding three full bouquets, one bursting with wildflowers, one structured with tulips and orchids, and one somehow featuring baby's breath arranged into a fucking heart.

You and Jisung both freeze, eyes wide as he drops the bouquets onto the counter like he's throwing down the gauntlet.

"I... have written no speech," Hyunjin begins, chest heaving as if he's already run a marathon. "But I have feelings. Deep, intense, multi-dimensional, polyangular feelings-"

Jisung chokes on his coffee, and you have to raise your mug to hide your smile, eyes watering with the effort not to laugh.

Hyunjin points to the ceiling like he's summoning divine inspiration. "For too long, I have pined. I have suffered. I have hidden in closets, under beds, in plain sight. But no more. Today, I stand before you, emotionally naked, though physically clothed in this stunning outfit, and I say: I desire throuplehood. I wish for trinity. For polynautical partnership."

You almost drop your cup as Hyunjin continues, unbothered. 

"I have tried to learn the correct terminology. I have Googled. I have interrogated Minho and Chan. I still do not know the word. I refuse to know the word."

"Don't ever learn it," Jisung whispers into his cup.

"I have found the word in my heart," Hyunjin says proudly. "And it is polyangular. For we are angles, and love is geometry. And what is a triangle but the strongest, most stable shape? And so I ask, will the two of you, my radiant Sophie and my chaotic jetski capybara Howl, be my partners in polyangular bliss?"

You and Jisung nod in unison, lips pressed together in the only thing keeping full-bodied laughter from exploding out of you.

"Yes," you manage, barely.

"Definitely," Jisung says, voice warbling.

Hyunjin beams so hard he glows. He skips forward, kissing Jisung first, quick and adoring, then you, soft and warm. You both press your lips to his, still shaking with barely contained giggles.

He leans back, brows pinching. "What's so funny?"

"Nothing," you both say at the same time.

Jisung, eyes gleaming, tips his head. "Would you like to join us for a polynautical breakfast?"

You snort so violently that coffee nearly shoots from your nose.

"That sounds amazing," Hyunjin says, completely sincere.

Jisung reaches over and pinches his cheek. "Our pretty little pabo."

Hyunjin preens like it's the highest praise he's ever received, resting his chin on Jisung's shoulder as Jisung stirs the porridge again. 

"You're warm," 

"You're heavy," Jisung replies, not even pushing him off.

You sip your coffee and lean your hip against the counter. You watch the two of them, Hyunjin now latched onto Jisung's back like a barnacle, Jisung cooking like he's been hosting breakfast buffets his entire life.

Then they both tug you closer. Jisung hooks an arm around your waist, and Hyunjin slides a hand down to your fingers, lacing them together.

Peering through the back garden window, Chan and Minho are crouched behind the large potted fern like nosy neighbours. Minho's thermos of stolen wine is halfway gone. Chan has his chin on Minho's shoulder, arm draped around his waist as they watch in silence, Minho recording on his phone with the kind of smug pride only a parent or a very involved roommate can possess.

"They're so fucking cute," Minho murmurs.

"Told you it'd work," Chan replies.

"You also said letting Hyunjin improvise would be 'character building.'"

"Yeah," Chan says, sipping wine. "And look at the character he built."

Minho smirks. "Polynautical."

"Polyangular."

"God help them."

Chan kisses the side of Minho's head. "They'll be fine."

Inside, the three of you sit on the floor with mismatched bowls in your laps, the Hobakjuk warm and sweet and a little too thick in texture, but no one complains. Hyunjin's stretched out across both your legs, one of Jisung's arms slung lazily over your shoulder, your head resting on his shoulder.

There's no music playing. No background noise. Just spoons clinking gently against ceramic and the occasional burst of quiet laughter.

None of you see the flash of Minho's phone capturing the moment through the window.

And that's okay. Because in here, with porridge and coffee and love and terrible terminology, you have everything.

Everything. And it's enough.

Han Jisung Taglist: @puppymsworld

Hwang Hyunjin Taglist: @jchotch726

General Taglist: @nightmarenyxx @velvetmoonlght @annafee_bou @mlink64 @intoanothermind @furfoxsake22 @daaaph-lol @tirena1 @yu-winchester @cristy-101 @strayk1ds143 @skzlover24 @bussdownflockiana @wickedbutlovely @bbokarismeow @Matchacha65

Proofread by the fabulous @hwangjoanna <3

[thesamoanqueen]

Blackwater II

Raiting: 18+

Warnings: Omegaverse (AlphaRoman/ Y-NOmega); Bit of smutt; errors after errors after errors after errors after errors...

A/N: Second chapter and... what to say? Roman is a bit tough, my girl is a brat and I hope I've cleared up a few points about the setting/AU inside the story. And now I go.

Couples like them, destined from birth, were rare. Everyone was born with their own half somewhere, few or almost none were able to complete themselves. There were those who gave up looking for their mate, soon or after years, too much effort and a world too big to control in a single life; there were those who unfortunately found it late; those who remained alone hoping without success until the last moment; who tragically lost him without having had time to recognize him or even cross his path. Most people simply chose someone else, fell in love - so they said -, became fond of or satisfied with a similar smell, but not the same, and hopefully, they lived a normal life away from those who had been destined for them. Roman knew this cause he had been on the verge of doing it himself, carrying on for years until they both realized that something, albeit imperceptible, was missing. It was not the romantic concept of love that movies and teens in hormonal crisis described, it was something indefinite that no one was really able to explain, something that boomed in the bones and sank where their roots were now crumbling.

In the world, people had lost almost all contact with what they had been. The laws on designated mates remained, a legacy of past times and in the packs where their nature was still felt, as in his, an event like that represented everything. Once the right was claimed it was celebrated, because from those unions everyone expected complicity, harmony, well-being in the pack, stronger puppies and with a better bloodline for the future.

Roman, moreover, was the Alpha and what he would leave, would open the way for others, yet he was sitting there on that chair looking at her, without touching her, after forbidding his cousins and the Wise man to give the announcement to the Elders. The doctor had confirmed everything as soon as he had brought her into the house, after having checked the back of her neck where she had bumped into the wall of the cottage at the campsite and although Roman already knew it, despite feeling it in his guts, that last confirmation had put him on an adrenaline rush he couldn't get over.

She was his. For him and just him. She was made especially for him, printed on his skin from birth with that flower on his wrist, around which he had inked his entire tattoo... and she had kept him away as soon as they saw each other. They didn't know each other, they had never met, it was true, but that same bond that had pushed them to recognize each other through an entire forest should have pushed her to want him too, or so he thought. But instead she had even tried to leave, his wolf had felt it, his muscles burning in the haste to reach her, not to lose what was the opportunity of a lifetime.

The imperceptible movement of the blankets around her legs caught the attention of both and even worse made her short cry that escaped her cause of her head, while she woke up. Muscles tensed, the whole body ready to spring to reach her and do who knows what later. He saw her rub her face against the pillow looking for comfort and inspire with a little relief, it was his bed, it smelled of him and the Omega that was inside her could smell it. When she finally opened her eyes, a shiver shook his bones, his jaw clenching and his lungs heavy with her sweet scent. She looked at him in silence, studying him motionless from the bed and only after what seemed like endless seconds to Roman, she moved, slowly sitting up.

- God, you're... - she began, running a hand over her face before moving curl behind her ear and his wolf waved like a puppy, just hearing her voice - ... ah, why am I not surprised? I must have killed someone in my previous life. - she snorted in exasperation.

- What would that mean? - he asked, frowning and her eyes leapt to him.

Wasn't she happy? What was that feeling that he felt on her? Turmoil?

For a moment she looked him up and down, like she almost didn't expect to hear him answer, but it took her short time to raise her guard, now fully awake and her hands came off the bed, pointing slowly to the room where they were.

- What does this mean? - she sent back to him and Roman shrugged.

- You omegas, need this. A nest that makes you feel safe.

The wise man had taken care of it at his request as soon as they had brought her there, adding to his bedroom every kind of comfort suitable for the situation: blankets, rugs, pillows, he had even changed the lights of the lamps, but without altering the environment too much for her to instinctively recognize him. The omegas were more sensitive to that kind of thing in intimacy, especially when they went into heat or were in a stressful situation. They were basic preparations, but for some strange reason that idea seemed not to go down to her as much as the fact that they had met as it was destined to happen.

A short, bitter laugh shook her thin shoulders as she stared at the ceiling in disbelief, then pointed at the door, deliberately avoiding looking at him. Her legs, long and perfect, resting on the edge of bed and the shirt that rose dangerously. Every movement, albeit imperceptible in her body, magnetized his eyes without her even straining, the tension suddenly palpable even though he had chosen to take it easy.

- First of all, Im Y/N, not a pet and you don't know me as I don't know you.

No, he didnt know the human part of her, but inside ... inside her, it was a whole other story and the visceral desire that was making his skin vibrate just seeing her there, in front of him, was the confirmation.

- I can keep safe myself… without a nest full of pillows… as I had been doing for years before you came running from the forest. You should know since I was knocking you out last night. - she attacked him with an incredibly calm voice, evidently offended by his treatment and although she had said it as someone talking to a puppy, Roman didnt miss the offence with which she had held the place.

That was an absolute news and although part of him had felt sincere irritation for that allusion, for that falsely condescending tone, there was another that found that challenge exciting. Anyone else in her place would have his teeth sunk into their neck by now, but she… he could give her some freedom. She didnt yet know her limits, she didnt know how to behave and obviously they had to test the ground before. She was resourceful.

- Is this what you were trying to do? Thats sweet. - Roman laughed, crossing his arms on his chest as he looked at her and she eyed him for the umpteenth time, unperturbed.

- I wasn't tryin, I got you. Fair and square, y’know it.

- I know I wasnt fight and you still failed in the feat.

- Sure? I think I heard someone growl… and yelp for a kick. - she sank, the corner of her plump lips curving slightly into a smile and Roman bowed his head with a low sound.

He liked that she already knew how to keep up with him, but hearing her speak of weakness to his wolf didnt like, even if she was doing it and for fun. He hadn't marked her yet, she didn't smell like him except of the bed she'd slept on and she didn't seem at all willing to lower her head. As funny as it was, she was actually disrespectful at the time, but he understood that. Out there it was full of alphas reduced to the shadow of themselves, big men who were wearing themselves out in the gym and couldnt stand half a fight. The world was homologating, betas were now everywhere and borders were blending, allowing more freedom than was tolerable. She would have learned.

- You like to be the big girl, hm? Never seen a real alpha in your life. - he studied her, placing his arms on knees and for a faint second Y/N staggered.

Her legs squeezed together, imperceptible, protecting what her instincts felt most vulnerable at the moment, fingers buried in the soft blankets and shoulders stiff, while Roman inspired the trace of her scent, the muscles tense and hands closed together.

Mate. Good. Smell so good.

He saw her straighten up at the sound of his throat vibrating with hunger, her gaze glacial suddenly and a serious expression. She was raising her guard again, like he was a threat, like she wanted to keep him away. She should have slackened, lowered her head with him, but it was evident that her human part had other ideas about the balance that existed between an alpha and his designated omega.

- It's weird to say, but you're right. Never met one. Only big dogs. - she spat at him in offense and his wolf growled to put her back in line, trying to crush that umpteenth stance.

Bad, bad ideas that she would have regretted that step. And they were already running without him really wanting it. His wolf didnt like that game and her words began to weigh on him too.

- You better learn to shut that pretty mouth before i put it to work, babygirl. Trust me.

- Should I be the one to learn? You put me on a nest cause Im supposed to be your little sub - Y/N accused him, ignoring his warning and Roman squeezed his fingers together, his jaw clenching until his teeth gritted.

He was trying hard, he was trying hard to stay in control, to take it slow, but it wasn't supposed to be like that. He didn't have a bed warmer in front of him, that wasn't a replacement to release tension or let off some steam that was complaining more than necessary, with her it had to be different. She should have understood his intentions, she should have shown complicity and instead she was doing everything to make him tense. She was refusing to be what she should have been and she was also reproaching him as if it were his fault. And at that point it didn't matter if she was still testing the waters or for all the shit that was out there, no one had taught her to behave as she should, allowing her certain fantasies. She had to get back in line.

- Im your alpha. - he reminded her seriously and Y/N nodded ironically.

- This is worth seeing.

And that was when Roman snapped. Without warning, without checking himself, blood pumping furiously through his veins and his muscles contracted with anger. In his mind only the wolf's voice growling to submitt her and re-establish the roles they should have had from the beginning.

- There’s nothing to see. It's confirmed, your my mate! Mine!

He could tolerate and enjoy even all that talking, but she belonged to him, it wasnt a choice and the sooner she would have learned it the better it would have been for them.

A sudden, uncontrolled motion of discomfort hit him in full as he rose to tower over her, her scent changing, her pupils trembling as they stared at him. He saw her turn completely to keep an eye on him, one leg already resting on the ground ready to put space between them.

Mine. Mine. Mate. Mine.

The growl inside his head continued to echo in his ears, his bones creaking from the accumulated tension and heavy air around him. Someone spoke to him, perhaps someone in the pack through their contact, a distorted voice that he could neither hear nor recognize due to the agitation of his wolf shuddering to come out, to have total control and prove his role, its dominance. Y/N slowly got up, her body still emanating discomfort, as if she was facing a dangerous beast and Roman shook his head, seeing her recede as he tried to reach out an arm towards her to bring her closer. His primary alpha instinct was to assert his role, but she was his mate. He had to protect her, provide for her and make her feel safe. And instead he had scared her. It didn't have to be that way. Not like that.

- You… you have me checked while I was sleeping? Like a sedated animal? - she informed in an uncertain voice for the first time and Roman felt something burn under his skin, as if someone was tearing off a part of his body between his muscles right in the middle of his stomach.

- I needed to have my right proved. - he admitted, but even hearing it from himself now seemed the wrong move to make to bring her closer and in a good mood.

Claiming your mate was an impulse that no one could really escape, it was a physical need that as soon as the bond was reconnected, became more fundamental than breathing, but what he had done was not claim her. He had trapped her by registering their trademarks before the law, taking her freedom before the government, he hadnt even known her name and had imposed her, his. He had done it to keep her close to him and prevent her from running away, the man had done it, not the wolf.

- Your right?! On my life?

- You're my mate. - he repeated, trying to regain control of the situation, trying to calm both of them, but Y/N literally growled at him.

In silence, he stopped with his arm in midair to stare at her. This wasnt how it was supposed to go, this was not how it was supposed to be and the umpteenth unnecessary confirmation was provided by Jey, when he opened the door and stared at them both, the look of someone who had gone there to check. Roman looked at him for a second, Jimmy from the hall trying to peek inside and he understood. They had heard Y/N, her annoyance had reached them and they had called him, the voice in his head...

- Y'kay Uce? - he heard Jey ask, while Y/N turned to keep an eye on all three of them.

This wasn't how it was supposed to go. This wasn't how the two of them were supposed to be.

***

Sitting on the armchair on the patio, she looked absorbed at the huge oak tree full of grandpa's beard that filled one side of the garden, stretching branches to the huge house where she had woken up. Tufts swayed softly in the wind, above the avenue that curved up to the front, on the large garden table and the bonfire area. As a kid, she had enjoyed playing in trees like that so many times and now she was trying to hate it with her whole self. Everything around her was inexplicably perfect, as if someone had positioned it to the millimeter after digging into her head to find out what she liked.

The armchairs were soft, the pillows comfortable. The house furnished with the right balance of styles and colors. There were huge trees everywhere and the most well-kept lawn that had ever been seen in circulation, not even a weed under the trunks. The sun filtered undeterred only where it should have, leaving a small portion of the building in the shade that climbed up the side of the land, giving a view of the river that would have been the envy of a postcard.

- So… do you like the property? The Tribal Chief has an impeccable taste!

She would have drowned herself in that river. Or in the pool. She was spoiled for choice. Anything to avoid sitting there for the rest of her days like a rag doll, listening to that man in a suit and tie who had been praising his Tribal Chief for hours.

She didn't answer, didn't even turn to look at him. She didnt care about him and his disturbing obsession, was already enough to have to deal with her she-wolf that after a life spent together, had decided to betray her and become a bitch by agreeing with everything about that absurd promotional message. The bitch had given in without even a fight when she smelled him and if Y/N hadn't forced herself to become aware of what had happened to them in a few hours that morning, she would probably have rolled her over in the bed even wagging her tail to take his dick. She almost froze looking at him sitting there, with that ridiculously tight T on his big chest, eyes that seemed to pin her down and… and it didn't matter to her. She hated that situation.

- Miss Y/N, if you allow some advice, I think maybe you should be a little more... available. - she still heard whispering by who he called "wise man" from her seat and Y/N finally turned to look at him. Bad. Very bad.

Wise, absolutely. He was whispering with feigned discretion in the midst of a pack that knew how to shift and that had ears practically everywhere, to advise her to be more... available. She couldn't believe he really used that term, it must have been a nightmare or a joke, she couldn't believe she'd ended up like that. As if she just needs some encouragement to bend over to the first available surface and offer him a ride.

- Its a delicate moment clearly, discover that you have a mate of such value and under unexpected circumstances, it must've taken you by surprise but you see, the Tribal Chief- he insisted on babbling, hands fluttering everywhere and an expression convinced.

- Mr. Heyman. Paul, can I call you Paul? - she crushed him before he could praise her who knows what other prodigy to really entice her to give him a ride.

- Yes, yes of course. You're the mate of the Tribal Chief.

- Hm, good, so… If you care so much, you can take my place with your Tribal Chief. I won’t object. - she assured him with a honeyed smile, adjusting his red tie and a sound of annoyance reached her, prompting her to look at the head of the table.

Sitting, with one hand hiding half of his face and holding his head up, he had been silent all the time watching. Watching her. It was since she woke up that she felt his brown eyes on her, as if the rest of the world didnt exist and his only purpose was to memorize every little movement of her. It put a strange awe on her, a mixture of annoyance and pleasure that perfectly replicated what she felt for him. Her instinct screamed at her to reach him, hide her head in his chest and leave him in control to rest once and for all without always having to watch her back, but she couldn't do it. She didn't want to. He had betrayed her trust before they could even begin to have any connection and she had felt hurt, genuinely hurt like she hadn't in years now. She hated that feeling, she wanted to hate him because it was clear it wasn't going to go as she expected.

Mate. Stay. Stay. Home.

Home… he wasn't home. He would have kept her away from home and that certainly wouldnt have become her new home. It was waiting her only one thing within those walls and it would have really reduced her to seeking comfort in the midst of stupid pillows and blankets, like a beaten animal.

She took her eyes off him, without even wondering if that sound had been annoying, jealous or rather to reproach her for the umpteenth wrong attitude for his alpha standards and got up, leaving the porch to go down the steps leading to the garden.

- W-Where she's goin? Miss Y/N! - Heyman called her back, recovering from his gasp.

- I'm going to visit the rest of the property. I'm curious to find out where the cells and the grave pit are. - she announced sarcastically, forcing herself to put one foot in front of the other.

She could feel his eyes on her back, behind her neck and her Omega moaning from the distance. It wasn't how it was supposed to be, but that was how it was going to be. Mates like them couldn't separate until the bond was completely re-established, they needed constant contact, and contact was just what her logic told her to avoid. Her body wanted him like air, a continuous impulse that made her want to let her guard down, but Y/N knew that if she got too close to him, he would take advantage again.

- No, no. This is not possible, not now.

- Why? Too many omegas corpses inside?

- Really funny, but see, the Tribal Chief has important appointments today on his agenda and-

- And I’ve no intention of smiling as he goes around giving speeches.

She settled stubbornly, stiffening when he stood up pointing her in silence. He just had to try to force her again and she would turn against him without regretting it for a second. This wasn't how it was supposed to be, but that was how it was going to go.

Mate. Mate. Stop.

Mate… Was he really her mate?

- We can watch on her. - she felt and as dazed, at least as he was, she turned her attention to Jey who had stood up with two strokes of his hand to reach her.

It took a little longer for Jimmy to do the same, but he left his seat at the table anyway to go down the steps, his eyes on him in what Y/N imagined was a silent conversation about what to do.

They were his cousins, more his brothers. They had always been around him from what she had seen and after the way she had met them at the bus station, after the misadventure the previous night, she didn't really expect them to go along with her. Jey was the reason for her migraine, he yelled at her in the middle of a street and took a hard hit for charging her… but was he helping her now?

- Lets take a run, hun! You can shift, right? - he insisted, patting her on the shoulder with head down, as Jimmy reached them and if it weren't for the surprise, she'd have the clarity to talk back for such a stupid question.

But the idea of moving away from there, the thought of being able to run, were enough to muffle her offense and the shadow of a smile curled her lips, while both of them nodded distractedly with their heads. She knew why they had those faces and she turned to look at him, hands hidden in the pockets of his dark pants and his gaze still fixed on her. What was that feeling?

- Inside the forest. - she heard him agree after a heavy sigh, his trusted Wise man beside him looking even more surprised than her.

And Y/N waited no further, her bones already creaking and lengthening, the ground between her paws.

***

He didn't think he'd ever had a day longer than that. Returning and regaining control was never easy, everyone seemed to have something important to tell him and so the complaints, the chatter, were added to the commitments, the meetings, the business. He had focused on his role in view of visiting the elders in the following days, but he just wanted to go home as an overgrown child and all day he had struggled with every fiber of his body to resist, forcing himself that sacrifice in the hope of at least, to be able to patch what he had done.

They had started the wrong way. He had gone too fast and Y/N… she seemed willing to teach him the lesson of life after less than twenty-four hours spent together. The nest wasnt good, the breakfast was outrageous, she didnt want to hear about Bloodline business or sit next to him at the table, she had even refused the spare clothes he had given her. And so he had gone to retrieve her things at the campsite, to make her feel a little more comfortable than she was and to avoid running into the forest to look for her. Because he had been away from her all day and he shouldn't have, his head was bursting, he could hear her breathing in his ears, the blood pumping furiously through his veins. They were supposed to stay close, reestablish the contact that had been denied to him since her birth, but Y/N didn't want to be near him, she didn't even want to be touched and Roman had accepted that his cousins would carry her around to distract her. He had seen it... he had seen the hint of a smile that lit her up when Jey had come forward with that idea, it had been an attempt on his part to make up for the trouble he had done the night before when he'd loaded her up for the umpteenth time, but she liked it. She had genuinely liked it and Roman, his alpha-wolf, hadn't been able to say no to her even if he wanted to.

But maybe he should have, cause the sun was already setting and they hadn't come back. Y/N hadnt returned and with the anxiety that mounted, Roman remained for a long moment on the threshold, staring at the garden and the access to the forest in religious silence.

- My Tribal Chief - the Wise man tried to calm him down, but he curled his lip, clenched jaw and fists in his pockets, silencing him instantly.

Why weren't they home? Why weren't they there yet? They had been missing for hours, a full day and it didn't take all that time for a run in the forest. At that time they could have reached the city, the borders and the very thought made him rage inside. He had told them to stay in the forest, to stay where he would always know she was safe, in what would be their mates space.

He took his hands out of his pockets and went down the steps without even realizing it, Paul mumbling something from the entrance perhaps trying to calm him down again, but Roman didn't listen to him. His paws sank into the garden lawn in moments, his teeth grinding and his ears pricked up on his head. He nervously shook his black fur and his nose did the rest, sensing the trail distinct of his mate in the ground and that of the twins. He ran, ran away from the house, ignoring everything around him, dodging trees, rocks and pits, the branches to shield the last rays of the sun that tried to reach the forest and the silence to become stronger and stronger. He went up the path that they usually walked during their runs, a curve that went around the side of the hill and followed in sight the bends carved by the dark water, but soon found himself having to abandon it to descend to the west. The trees rushed past him, a trail he could barely make out due to the rush, he could smell the loose earth from the paws filling his lungs, rotten wood, fallen leaves and resin, but the trace of his mate was there. His wolf could have distinguished her in the smoke of a fire and guided by instinct, by the now no longer repressed desire to have her back, Roman went fast up the road, crossing the asphalt that skirted that stretch of forest to venture into an area that he hadn't beaten for years. He knew where he was going, he recognized that place in his memory and when several minutes later his paws finally sank into the sand, he heard her.

- Now he go down, check it out girl, check! - Jimmy laughed, a fist in front of his mouth, as Jey yanked down the ladder on the side of the bridge.

- Da ’shit! - he railed at it, ending up against one of the pillars still standing, after having risked pulling everything down due to his lack of patience or yet another stunt and Roman heard her again and saw her.

On the other side of what was left of the old bridge from which he as a puppy dived with the twins, barefoot and back in human form, Y/N sat watching, a smile filling her face, happy and thoughtless.

That noise... her laugh, the movement of her shoulders that rose with laughter, the nose that wrinkled, the eyes that closed for a second... she had lowered the walls, she was fearless and Roman remained to enjoy that spectacle, without ever knowing he needed it. He watched her talk, joke with her cousins as if it were the most normal thing in the world, as if she had always been there with them, but then the wind, light, almost imperceptible, changed. He saw her slow down, inspire, turn to him and her smile disappeared, Roman's stomach turning. It didn’t have to be that way.

Tag squad: @sunnyfleur23 @racerchix21 @alyanross @wickedsunfire @romanreignsdefencesquad @romanstheory @thiccc-rider-mcintyre @keybladeofsteel @mcreignsera @msbigredmachine @nayys-world @gobbersworld @utika151209 @cumxxslutt @jeyreigns @civildawn @minanajra @romanmydaddy @raidenandreigns @triscillal @papireigns-05 @helensanders92 @itjazzbicch @ichdrachenfrau @darqchilddaydreamz @meggylynnloves @mariamheeeeee @vintage-pvssy @unfriendly--blvck--hottie @nicolewoo @helensanders92 @niknakbucks92 @wrestlezaynia @reignsx @reignsxroman @kianaleani @daguenoire @iyoskyslover @extra-11 @josphinna @thedonsfactory @snowpanda18 @nestorsgirlfriend @brattyfics @wanna-be-dominated @kitanasposts @namjoonspinkytoenail @tribalchiefreigns @daddyslittlevillain

[captainnameless]

Daniel's gaze keeps fluttering to Mick as they do their media pen duties. He knows how stressful it is to be faced with the uncertainty of next year in every single interview because, well, he's going through it too. He sees how the boy's smile fades between every interview, he knows how much effort it takes to plant that smile back upon his face before continuing on the line of microphones. That's what has him rushing to check on the boy the second he can, especially when he sees no Seb in sight.  

"Danny, 'm scared." Those words aren't new to Daniel - he's used to wrapping his arms around trembling littles as thunder booms; he's used to checking dark closets and threatening to fight any monsters; he's used to whispering reassurances and affirmations after tough races. But he knows the "Same, kid" on the tip of his tongue isn't what Mick's searching for right now. 

So instead, he wraps his arms around Mick's shoulders and guides him away from the media personnel with their waiting cameras before the first tears can fall. He feels quite out of his element here, suddenly wishing Sebastian was here to take the lead, but starts off simple and sweet. "Hey Mick, nothing to be afraid of, yeah? It's all going to work out." Daniel isn't even sure he convinces himself with those words as he pulls Mick down onto the sofa with him, a soft smile gracing his face as he feels the younger nuzzle up against his side. 

"Daddy won't be here, and I might not be here, and you might not be here-" there's a harsh sob that has Daniel pulling the little impossibly closer, "it's not fair!" That's one statement Daniel could agree with, but instead he tries to prevent the incoming tantrum with a "shhh." 

"Lots of changes - that can be scary sometimes, yeah?" And when Mick peeks up to nod at him, Daniel's first instinct is to gently wipe away the tear tracks. "But I promise you, it's going to be okay. Even if we don't have-" Daniel pauses, not really ready to acknowledge a future without this - without the thrill and adrenaline rush of racing - without being readily available for Max, and Lando, and Mick, and all of the littles who have grown familiar with seeking him out for comfort, or jokes, or a playmate - "Even if we're not here next year, we still have each other, yeah? Still going to be cheering you on, no matter where you're at or what you're doing." 

Although his eyes are still brimmed with tears, Mick finally smiles, reaching an arm across to give Daniel a side-hug, despite their sitting position. "I still cheer for the honey badger!" Despite the tough start to the race weekend, that's enough to drag a laugh and one of his signature smiles out of Daniel. He pulls the little into his lap, where he can finally wrap both arms around him and give him the real hug he deserves. And when he says, "Thanks bub, this weekend's points will be for you," he's really manifesting points for the both of them. 

(hi, yes, i broke my own heart typing this out). - 👻

i am carlos, we are one.

no bc, ouch? and for what.

i’mma put aside the existential crisis this gave me and simply focus on my two faves because we really don’t focus on this pair enough.

Daniel with his easy-going vibe, always up for a laugh and on a personal mission to make sure all his boys smile at least once. And Mick with his lil’ dimples that just beg to poked every time a smile appears and Daniel takes it in like a champagne spray, a reward. They smile, he’s won.

Also Mick is such a grade-A clinger and Daniel’s all about PDA. Always up for a cuddle and when Mick’s in a stroppy mood Daniel’s all “turn that frown upside down” and Mick’s all grumpy lil muffin until Daniel actual grabs him throws him over his shoulder, hands already at his sides teasing the tickles with a “Now that frown is upside down!”

[wellhellsbelles]

Hii!! I'm so so glad you're back :3 your fanfics were truly my faves. I've had this idea for a fanfic where riley wants to ask farkle to prom but is too scared to do so, so she makes a deal with him that if no one asks them to prom, they'll go together, and something happens and riley has to confess that she wanted to go w/ him and asks him w/ a poster that says: you, me, prom?

ahhhh thank you so much for enjoying my stuff and thanks for the prompt! i hope you enjoy this little fic :)

//

“So, are ya gonna do it?”

Maya’s face pops up as soon as Riley’s shut her locker door, eyes sparkling in a puckish sort of way that can only mean trouble. Riley clutches her AP Literature textbook against her chest, a brow raised.

“No.”

Maya groans.

“You promised! You told me that today would be the day! You said, and I quote, “Maya, if I don’t do it on this date, you’re allowed to make me buy you something from my mom’s restaurant for a month.” Look, I even have proof of you holding up the calendar with the big red circle outlining today’s date!”

Riley’s best friend whips out her phone, swiping through pictures until she finds what she’s looking for. She holds it up as if it’s incriminating evidence, but Riley doesn’t much care—well, she does, because that picture she took is downright unflattering and should be deleted immediately.

“Let me see that,” Riley demands, and Maya hands her the phone, clawing at her when she trashes it.

“Hey!”

“No one needs to see that picture, Maya. I’m trying to forget what my haircut looked like at the beginning of the year.” She begins to walk off, trying desperately to ignore Maya’s prodding to no avail.

“Riley Matthews, are you going to chicken out? I thought Matthews don’t quit,” Maya says, grinning when it stops Riley in her tracks. “Ha! I got you there.”

Riley moves to make her rebuttal, but the warning bell rings to alert them that they need to be heading to their next class, so she simply rolls her eyes, waving goodbye to Maya as she heads in the opposite direction.

“We’re tabling this, Matthews! Don’t think I won’t let this slide!” Maya calls out. Riley shakes her head, sighing as the weight of anxiety starts to lift.

 Yeah, she’s aware she’s a coward. But she’s not about to do it—there’s being brave, and there’s being absolutely idiotic, and if she did go through with it?

It’d change a lot.

 She’ll take the chance of being a coward any day over spilling her guts.

 //

 Riley’s never been one to believe in coincidence, so when Farkle swings through her window effortlessly later that day, she can’t help but damn fate a little.

“Alright, you, me, AP Literature. Now,” he says, tossing his bag onto her floor and landing on her bed with a thud. Riley pushes her feelings way down inside her, swallows them until she’s able to pretend they’re nonexistent, and glances up at him.

“Why does it feel like all you ever come to me for anymore is AP Lit stuff?”

Farkle scoffs.

“Please, we had a horror movie marathon last weekend. Plus, I brought a bribe. You do still take bribes, right?” he asks, pulling out a bag of sour gummy worms.

“Your bribe has been accepted. Gimme,” she thrusts her hand out, making a grabbing motion. Farkle laughs giving her the bag. She tries to tear it open with her teeth when she can’t rip it with her hands, whooping triumphantly when it tears.

“Don’t hog those. I want some, too.”

Riley wants to tell him he could bugger off, but she knows that sentiment would be null and void. She’d rather give up an arm than force him out of her space, and if that meant sharing his gift of sour gummy worms, she would.

“Leave the—”

“Blue-red ones, I know,” he finishes cheekily, pulling a couple of yellow-red ones out and plopping them into his mouth.

“So, AP Lit?” she asks. Farkle pulls out his textbook and notebook, settling himself comfortably on the end of her bed.

“Am I allowed to say I don’t love poetry? Because this class makes me not a fan of poetry,” he says, nose curling as he reads a question, “Why aren’t there any good science poems?”

“There are, you just aren’t looking for them,” Riley tells him simply.

“Lies. Name one off the top of your head right now,” Farkle jibes, throwing a gummy worm at her.

“The Old Astronomer by Sarah Williams. ‘I have loved the stars too truly to be fearful of the night.’ If I ever did get a tattoo, it’d be with that quote,” she answers, picking the gummy worm off herself and eating it. She looks back at Farkle, who remains . . . unconvinced.

“Pretty quote, still not interested in poetry. I think it’s the form.”

“Okay, what if I told you to look at the scientific method steps like a poem? Because it basically is. BOOM, exploded your mind with hot knowledge!”

“Riley, please. Don’t ruin science for me.”

Riley sticks her tongue out at him, gently kicking him in the thigh with her foot as she settled comfortably into against her pillows. She’s already finished her AP Lit homework, onto her AP Chemistry homework now, but she’s always ready to help Farkle when he needs it. The degree to which she’d drop everything for him, just for him, is downright . . .

Embarrassing.

But she’s learned to take it in stride. There’s something about his presence that always makes her feel a certain sort of way now, but she just reminds herself that this is Farkle, her best friend since she was five, and there’s nothing to be scared of.

Then Maya texts her, and she remembers what it is exactly she’d been fretting.

 i know the minkus boy is at ur house!

he just sent me a snap of u

u look like ur having a midlife crisis on ur bed there

better fix that by

i dunno

ASKING HIM THE STUPID QUESTION

 Riley shuts her phone off, tossing it to the side to return to her Chemistry textbook.

Chemistry! She’s supposed to be studying for chem, and she will not—it’s absolutely out of the question—say the question that’s in her head.

 I thought Matthews’ don’t quit.

 Damnit! Maya’s right, Matthews’ don’t quit.

They shouldn’t.

 “Farkle?” she calls out to him, ignoring the way he’s mussed his hair in an adorable fashion from being fraught by the poems laid out in front of him.

“Yeah, Riles?”

“So . . .” Just ask it. Ask him, you dummy! “Uh, are you going with anyone to prom?”

“Oh,” he blinks, as if not anticipating the question (he probably wasn’t, come to think of it), “No, not that I’m aware of. Why do you ask?”

Here goes nothing.

“Youwannagotopromwithme?” Riley blurts all at once, the words rushing out of her mouth like vomit. Farkle stares at her, his mouth opening and closing a couple of times as if he’s trying to gauge if she’s serious or not. In fact, the longer he doesn’t talk, the quicker Riley tries to think of a way to recover from this, because ABORT MISSION ABORT!!!

“You know, if no one else asks you? Or you don’t ask anyone else? We can just go as friends,” she supplies, chuckling nervously. Something flashes across Farkle’s face, something that Riley thinks is akin to disappointment, but as soon as it’s there, it’s gone.

He shrugs.

“Sure, why not?”

Riley sighs with relief.

“Okay, cool. Just let me know, yeah?”

“Yeah, of course.”

 The night does not return to normal after that. In fact, it’s awkward up until the moment Farkle swoops back out the window with a goodbye and a half-hearted smile. As soon as he vanishes, Riley collapses face-down into her pillow, screaming into it out of pure frustration.

We can just go as friends.

Who is she?! That’s not what she wanted at all, but she chickened out because Maya was freaking right!

But if she had seen the look on his face before she added that . . . Riley made the right decision. She’s sure of it, because if she had been serious?

That’d probably be it, friendship over.

It’s . . . it’s better this way.

She’s certain of it.

 . . . Right?

 //

  “So?” Maya asks as she arrives beside Riley’s locker the next morning, their usual meet-up. Riley groans, leaning her head inside the locker.

“I asked him and then added just as friends when he didn’t respond right away. So, you know, I kind of asked.”

“Just as friends?!” Maya screeches at her. Riley places her hands on her own head.

“I know! I know. I wasn’t able to go to sleep last night. It was a stupid thing to do anyway, it just made everything a billion times more awkward. Why did I let you talk me into this, Maya?”  

“Alright, did he say yes to that, at least?”

Riley nods her head.

“Okay, good. We can work with that. We’ll just have you romance him at prom, no problem.”

“What do you mean ‘no problem’? Yes, problem! I am not doing that, Peaches. I’ve humiliated myself enough for one lifetime. I think I’m going to opt out of prom, maybe bow out of senior year in disgrace or something.”

She hears Maya exhaust a long breath before she’s helping Riley out of her own locker, spinning her around and resting her hands on her shoulders.

“Riley Matthews, you are letting your feelings for a boy get to you too much. Yeah, he’s Farkle, but you’re Riley. You’re magnificent and amazing and if he doesn’t like you back? That’s his loss, because he missed the mark.”

“Thank you, Maya,” Riley smiles softly, hugging her best friend. Maya hugs her back and then releases her, giving her a look that can only mean trouble if Riley knows her well enough (and she does.)

“Okay, you know what? This whole ‘friends’ thing isn’t going to work. I need you to ask him out for real, because I know you’ll hate yourself for it if you don’t. I know it’s a hard thing to do, but you know better than anyone about making hard decisions. So do me a favor and ask him again by the end of this week—properly, mind you—and then the two of you will live freaking happily ever after because if I know Farkle, he’ll be hard pressed to say no. That boy has spent too much of his life in love with you. It’s not any different now.”

Riley allows herself to soak that in.

Is Maya really right? He did love her, but Riley’s not certain that was a real type of love. But then again, Farkle’s never been one to half-ass things. He’s loved her so many ways, so why not love her the way she loves him now?

“I’ll do it,” Riley agrees against her better judgement.

 //

 Wednesday passes. She doesn’t ask Farkle to the prom. Thursday passes. She doesn’t ask. Friday, Saturday, and Sunday all whirl by her quickly, but she still hasn’t mustered the courage to ask. Even after the wonderful pep-talk Maya gave her, Riley still couldn’t find it in herself to breach the subject with him because she was just scared.

Liking Farkle really scared her, and she didn’t like that at all. Because scaring her meant that these feelings were more than just a passing phase, that she was bound to be stuck in this limbo of he-loves-me-he-loves-me-not for the rest of forever until she broke it.

So Sunday night she plans to ask him Monday at the end of school, even gets Maya in on it so that she can’t back out again.

She can’t back out this time; she won’t do it.

When Monday rolls around, Riley thanks whoever is out there that, while they share classes, she and Farkle don’t share the same class periods. It’s what’s helped her endure her second semester of senior year; while she appreciates having him there, she’s not sure she wouldn’t waste her class time glancing at him across the room.

Her last class period of the day moves both fast and at a snail’s pace, so when the bell rings it surprises her so much that she takes her several minutes to gather her things. Riley’s never been more off her game in her entire life, but then again, she’s never had to actually ask Farkle to prom for real before.

(Well, she’s never had to ask Farkle out period. That was always his game, not hers. Too bad she can’t get pointers from him.)

Riley heads out to meet Maya at her locker, passing by the stragglers who haven’t made it out yet, but something catches her eye instead.

It’s Farkle, at his own locker, with a girl who has people standing with her, holding several letters decorated with fake flowers spelling out PROM.

 Riley’s too late.

 //

 PEACHES

where were u???

i stayed at ur locker

like we planned

i even asked farkle if he saw u

he said he didn’t

so something happened

pls tell me ur okay ☹

 Riley doesn’t bother texting Maya despite knowing she owes her best friend an explanation. She’s too busy wallowing in self-pity and the humiliation of rejection to deal with anyone right now.

She should’ve been quicker. She shouldn’t have been a chicken about it and just told him about her dumb, stupid feelings and gotten it over with. Anything at this point would be preferable to the sting Riley feels in her chest when she thinks about how she missed out on not just being Farkle’s date to prom but experiencing prom with him. It’s not the same without him by her side.

So no prom for Riley Matthews. She cashed in on her one chance at going Junior year, and as far as Riley was concerned, this probably meant her chance with Farkle, too.

 But fate is not as kind to her, because Farkle climbs through her window, landing on the cushions of the bay window bench with a soft thud.

“What the heck,” he says, breathing out a sigh of relief when he’s spotted her, “Maya and I thought you died in a ditch! What were you thinking?”

Riley has no response for that. In fact, she’s pretty certain her brain’s shut off entirely for the foreseeable future, because in no way had she planned on encountering Farkle for as long as she could hold it off.

It’s now or never, Matthews, a voice that sounds vaguely like Maya whispers in her mind. Riley exhales.

Right.

“Are you going to prom with that girl?” she asks instead, eyes set with determination. Farkle stares at her, bewildered.

“What?! Your response to Maya and I worrying about your safety is some trivial question about prom?”

“It’s not trivial to me!” Riley exclaims, the burn of embarrassment bubbling up out of her. The intensity of her words must cross Farkle’s radar, because his eyes are widening.

“Riley? What’s going on?”

She makes a decision then, unable to fight with these godforsaken feelings any longer. She tosses the poster she’d worked painstakingly on for hours onto the bed, gesturing to it brazenly.

“I was going to ask you to prom for real today. I know I made a joke of it the other night, but I really meant it. I wanted to go to prom with you because I like you, Farkle. I’m tired of ignoring my feelings and pushing them away because I think it might benefit you. These feelings I have are real and they’re not going away any time soon, okay?”

Farkle’s eyes shift over to the poster, eyes tracing the words over and over again, as if it’s taking him a while to register it.

 You. Me. Prom. Let’s do this thing?

 It was hard for Riley to come up with a way to ask him that was both clever and meaningful, and she chose something that was between them and only them. He had once told her, “You. Me. Mars. Let’s do this thing.” It was always something that hardly meant anything to her back then but means the world to her now, or at least, it did before she realized she’d been too late.

“So?” Farkle asks, voice rough as if his throat had run dry. Riley tilts her head.

“What?”

“Are you going to ask me properly or not? We’re losing daylight here, Matthews,” Farkle says, arms crossed against his chest. Riley scoffs, rolling her eyes. She doesn’t quite get why he’s trying to be cruel to her at this point, but whatever.

“Farkle Minkus, I wanted to know. You. Me. Prom. Let’s do this thing?”

“Yes,” comes his answer, flowing off his tongue as if it’s the easiest thing he’s ever said in his life. Riley nearly jumps out of her seat but recovers at the last second.

“Yes?”

“Riley Matthews, yes, of course I’ll go to prom with you.”

“But—”

“No, I didn’t say yes to that other girl because I had already told you that we could go together. Sure I was kind of disappointed when you said it was as friends, but . . . you’re my best friend. It doesn’t matter what capacity our relationship is, I just want to be with you.”

Riley doesn’t get it.

“Wait, so what you’re saying is—”

“Riley Matthews, I’ve loved you since the first grade. I don’t think I ever stopped, really. So yes, I’ll go to prom with you as your date, because I’m so in love with you it isn’t funny,” Farkle tells her, giving her a gentle, lopsided grin. Riley scrambles off her bed the same time he rises from the bay window bench, the two of them embracing harder than she ever has in her entire life.

“I’m sorry I freaked out on you,” she admits into the crook of his neck. He chuckles, pressing a kiss to the crown of her head.

“It’s okay. You’re the same Riley you’ve always been, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

[333vam333]

All I Ask of You | j.tw (VIXX)

FT. a lot of Cha Hakyeon

Title: All I Ask of You

Word Count: 3k+

Rating: NR

Genre: Drama, Romance, Mystery

Warnings: A lil Profanity

Pairings: Phantom!Leo x fem!Reader, Cha Hakyeon x Reader

Summary: You couldn’t take him terrorizing you anymore, but after he overhears your plan to leave him, things begin to escalate in a way you didn’t expect.

~

Your footsteps crunched in the snow as you walked quickly towards the railing on the opera's roof. You couldn't take it anymore. Ever since Carlotta left the opera, terrified and destroyed by the coincidence that took place during the last show when she croaked like a toad, you became the new Prima Donna. You were the opera's biggest hit now. All pressure was on you.

The chilly weather surrounding you didn't phase you as you couldn't get the thought out of being part of the upcoming and long awaited show. You didn't mind being in the show, that's not what you feared, but you knew he would be watching as he always was. That thought made your body shiver and your heart stop beating.

"Y/N!" Distant crunching comes closer quickly and you turn to see a familiar face that makes relief fly onto you for an instant. Your childhood sweetheart met your eyes and smiled brightly despite the lack of air he was receiving. He was panting lightly, dawdling sluggishly towards the railing you stood in front of and leaned against it with his elbows on the snow. Your hands were stuffed into your light jacket's pockets and your hood on top of your hair. You came out in a rush without a care in the world about what you wore, but frankly, getting sick would help a lot in a crisis like this. Your smile was small and didn't last long.

“Why’d you come here, Hakyeon?”

"I'm wondering the same for you.." he stood straight then, attempting to dust off the already melted snow off his coat's sleeves. His head tilted once you didn't answer. "You stormed out of the director's office with tears in your eyes."

He saw? You frown. Great, he's probably like him now..

"It was nothing." You turned your head and faced forward at the dead, yet beautiful, scenery in front of you of the city. The tears were beginning to form and you damned your eyes and emotions for being so sensitive now. Here was the love of your life wanting you to pour everything out, and all you were doing was trying to be an independent woman and solve this on your own. But you knew you couldn't. He's too powerful. He didn't need his looks or personality to attract you. All he needed was his voice- the voice you mistook for an angel's.

Hakyeon shook his head. "Don't waste your breath on lies, Y/N. I know something is bothering you. You can tell me you know-" His hand touches your shoulder and instantly you pull away. You knew a single touch would make you burst into a nasty cry.

His sigh was defeating but he kept pushing.

"Lately" he began, his voice soft, comforting, tempting you to slam into his embrace, "I've been noticing how you haven't been acting like yourself necessarily, kinda like you feel bothered by my presence..." There was a ounce of sadness overwhelming his voice that was usually strong when talking to others, but when it came to you, Hakyeon would show emotions without really realizing it. "When I first came here you were happy. You remembered me.." You peer over at Hakyeon and see his head dropped down slightly, a small smirk plastered on his lips. The sight makes regret flood over you.

"It's nothing against you." you mumble, causing him to glance at you. "You'll understand in time. It's just that..I'm..I'm afraid."

He arches closer while examining your face with a concerned look on his. "Of what? The show?"

You drop your head and bite your lip, thinking about what you can tell him. You trust Hakyeon with your whole heart and he's given his to you, even after all these years. The connection between you two picked up right where it stopped when you were just children. It's fate, isn't it? You can tell him anything...right?

Not being able to form the words, Hakyeon embraces you suddenly, whispering "Oh, my precious Little Lotte, you have nothing to fear while I'm here. Nothing can harm you." You look up at him, a childish and relieved smile shown on his beautiful face. Feeling his warm body pressed against you makes you almost forget what was happening and where you were.

"Can you promise me something, Hakyeon?" you ask, smiling up at him in relief and your heart fluttering with butterflies at the sight of his smile.

"Hmm?" his eyes are closed, savoring this moment he didn't think he'd get since you were playing hard to get in the beginning.

"Take me to Canada when my performance is finished."

He pushes you away from him only enough for you both to look at one another. He furrows his eyebrows, "Why do you suggest that?"

You shrug and smile. "After all this time, I've just wanted to be with you. If I go with you I'll never leave your side, I swear."

He giggles like a little school girl, causing you to laugh, and he agrees. "Then, promise me something as well, Little Lotte." You nod as you continue to stare into each other's eyes, taking in this beautiful moment. "Love me, that's all I ask of you."

His words fling into your ears, making a bright smile appear on your face instantly. You needed to hear those words. Getting on your tippie toes, and with your hands on the sides of his face, you gently press your lips against his. Both of your hearts flutter.

"Showtime!"

You head snaps towards the closed door of your dressing room. "I’ll be out in a second!" Quickly facing your vanity's mirror, you apply lipstick trying not to mess up and go on stage looking like a clown as you normally did. You stand and examine your dress before hurrying out to the rest of the performers.

Passing by all the props being pushed around, you approach one of the directors who smile in relief at your sight. "I'm so glad you decided to sing for us, Y/N. We thought the opera would be a disaster if someone else didn't play the main role. Thank you so much, you look stunning!" You smile and thank him for his compliments. In the back of your head you curse him for making it seem like it was only you who could save the opera when you knew a bunch of the backup dancers would kill to get the main role. He pats your shoulder lightly before heading to scold someone for putting a prop in the incorrect place, leaving you alone.

Slowly, you make your way to the center of the stage, staring straight ahead at the blood red curtain before you. Your hands shook just imagining the crowd, and the single person you knew would be watching. From above? From directly in front of you? From the side? Oh, it didn't matter. He was always there.

"Y/N." You look at your coworker who was in the duet song that was going to be played second. He was dressed as a Nobleman and is mustache just added to the look. "You ready?"

You shook your head, but once you added your smile, it seemed like you meant it. "For whatever's to come, of course."

It wasn't long before everyone got into their places, either on the stage or on the side behind the wall. And your heart was beating. The spotlight wasn't on you yet but you could feel yourself sweating. You shook off the nerves and grabbed the prop from the table you sat on. And the curtain rose all too fast. You froze.

In front of you was pure darkness except for the exit signs that stood out. Oh..oh..what did I get myself into?..

Your eyes flew from seat to seat as you tried your best to see who sat in the seat. You eventually gave up once you remembered that he wore a black cloak. He was the shadow, so it was no use.

The Nobleman and his single Knight were singing as you shined the apple on your skirt. Your bug eyes kept flinging everywhere, but once you gleamed up at Hakyeon sitting in one of the boxes to the left of you, smiling and silently clapping despite you barely doing anything, the cautious feeling calmed down and you acted more natural.

Soon the duet came, and as soon as the Knight disappeared from the stage, you heard a voice fill the whole opera house. It was familiar but not the Nobleman's. Emerging from the curtain of the small prop meaning to be a house, you come face to face with a man draped in a full body cloak. Chills run down your whole body as it arches closer to you and continues to sing. Oh, his voice is sweet, dominating, hypnotic - it was Leo’s.

Your mouth dropped open and you ran to get off stage. One of your directors holds a hand up, before you take another step closer, and shakes his head violently. He shoos you back on. All went silent and you slowly looked back at the man who you knew would be here. The one who makes your body go weak.

Your eyes automatically search for Hakyeon. As your eyes meet, he mouths "You're safe" and it makes your eyes tear up.

The first note is quivered but you swallow back the tears and make your way to HIM as instructed in rehearsals. The shows go on. Your voices harmonize and go together like puzzle pieces. The lyrics of the song...you can feel the way he sings it with an emotion you didn't know he would possess in a dead, soulless, creature like him.

Soon, the end of the song came, and you hadn't realized that you got off the rehearsed actions. You stood in front of him now, listening to him sing words that weren't part of the song. Without thinking you gently push down the hood of the cloak. Gasps fill the house but he continues to sing. You're met with a white mask, narrow eyes, and his exposed face that was left unblemished. As you stare into his narrow eyes that looked down at you with tears forming and a moony gaze, his voice begins to get louder.

"Y/N, that's all I ask of-" your hands fling to the white mask he wore on half of his face and the screams came, including his own. The opera house goes dark.

He was ugly. You couldn't hide your face that retorted in disgust.

"You did this, Y/N!" his voice boomed throughout the corridors, echoing. You hoped someone would hear him. "You betrayed me! I gave you my music and this is how you repay me!? Your Angel Of Music?!” Everything was happening all too fast for you to react properly. You didn't scream or pull away from his death grip on your wrist, you almost thought that if you moved further from him then your wrist would snap.

Once you made it to the lake, he threw you on the small boat when you first refused to do so. Slamming into the boat caused you to hit a small bench on your head. He jumped in after, untied the boat from the dock, and began rowing quickly as if it were his way of releasing anger.

He began to ramble, shouting as he did so. You couldn't get your eyes away from his face.

It seemed so surreal. He was a dead man walking. There was an unusually big gnash on the side of his head nearly exposing his brain, a few strands of raven black hair on his head, a single nostril was sunken in only looking like a small black hole, his eyebrows and eyelashes were nonexistent, the side of his lip was swollen, and even his cheek was sunken in. The multiple deformities on his face were unearthly, and it was odd that they only occurred on one side of his face. You almost felt bad for him. But he killed people. Even if he were attractive you still would've feared him.

You can see the fire gleam in his narrow eyes as he notices that your eyes haven't left him. He throws the paddle down on the boat near your feet and takes off the cloak, tossing it on the water.

"Stare all you want! This is your future husband" the smile on his face is menacing, making you curl up closer to the other side of the boat that was across from him "might as well get used to the sight of his vile creature, baby!" His voice caused you to wince. He leaned closer to you, sitting on the only bench on the small boat, his hand meeting the paddle. You couldn't lean back any further since you'd fall off the boat. He stood up and you managed to catch sight of the frown now placed on his face.

Once you got to the space where he lived just near the water, you attempted to jump in, but as he caught you and threw you back onto the concrete floor you nearly shit yourself since you knew there was no hope left. You knew your only chance of living would be to submit to him.

It was just you and him and his small shrine dedicated to you.

"You were going to leave me!" his booming voice caused you flinch as you stayed on the cold floor. He knew?.. You didn't move any further until he came up to you and crouched down at your level. You picked up your head slightly to meet his dead eyes but in a quick movement his hand flies to your throat. Your head was held back and you squinted your eyes tightly as his grip around your neck slowly tightened as well. You couldn't move. Fear swarmed over you and your mind went blank.

"Did you think I wouldn't hear you on the roof with your lover?" he growled through gritted teeth. His face was close to yours now and his eyes looked upon your helpless face. "Did you think I wouldn't have followed you up to the roof to comfort you myself? Wow, how foolish do you think I am?"

Your heart began to pound as you could no longer breathe comfortably. You attempted to gasp for air and your hand even went up to his, but he only looked at you and slowly released. He threw you back and your head hit the concrete.

"I love you, Y/N, and I assumed you felt the same.." suddenly his voice was softer but you didn't pay any attention. You were too busy inhaling the air and rubbing the back of your head. "b-but..you lied to me.."

Sitting up steadily, you eyed the man who sat with his head in his hands just a few inches away from you. You backed up from him but he suddenly lifted his head. Leo's red, moistened eyes caught your attention and caused you to come to a halt.

"You played with my feelings, Y/N..why do I still want you?.."

You don’t know what to say.

"I-“ his hand flew up ordering you to be silent. Leo faced you and his smile sent chills down your body once more. "We have a guest."

"Y/N!" Your head snapped towards the enterance of the area Leo lived in. Seeing Hakyeon running through the water caused you to do the same. You ran into his arms and smiled, tears already spilling over once you touched him.

You knew he’d come to save you.

"We need to leave! Before it's too late, Hakyeon!" You tugged on his sleeve in the direction of the enterance. You caught sight of the pistol in his hand and your heart sunk. "Hakyeon!"

He pulled his arm away from you, "I have to kill this man! He's been terrorizing you and everyone!"

You shook your head and worry and eagerness became to consume you. "NO! Hakyeon, please! Let's leave I don't want him to hurt you!"

"He won't.." Hakyeon's tentative eyes gazed around before meeting yours. He places his free hand on your cheek. "I'm going to make sure he never haunts your days again, Little Lotte."

Hakyeon's words always find a way to make you feel the right way, but a shadow emerges from behind him and wrapped something around Hakyeon's neck. You scream as you watch Leo drags Hakyeon like he were a rag doll despite Hakyeon trying his best to break free from the man's strength. You chased after them and tried prying him from Leo but it was no use since Leo pushed you with force that made you hit the floor harder then you thought a human could be capable of. Leo brought your sweetheart to a pipe that hung a few inches off the ground and tied the end of the rope to it, while Hakyeon's neck was stuck in the noose.

"Leo! Please, don't! He didn't do anything-"

"HE TOOK YOU FROM ME AND YOU.." he stopped, his expression softening and his head dropping, "you let him take you.."

Leo shook his head and faced forward at you, who looked at him in desperation.

"So what'll it be, Little Lotte?" he mocks Hakyeon, smiling like a fool. "Either this man gets freed or you send him to his death?"

Your eyes dropped along with your eyebrows and your breathing quickens. "Don't be like this, Leo! Don't be unfair-"

"And you aren't unfair to me?"

You remain silent. "So? Either me or you send this fool," his hand gripped the end of the rope and pulled down a little which caused Hakyeon to gasp and almost stand on his tippie toes, "straight to his death?"

You back up, your chest popping up and down. Tears are forming once more in your eyes. "I..I.." Something catches your attention in the corner of your eye. Swimming in the water, nearing the concrete where you're standing, comes the pistol that fell from Hakyeon's hand when Leo put the noose over his neck.

Your eyes meet Leo's again.

~

Hi! This is my first fanfic here, which I hoped you enjoyed! Please tell me what you think of this and how I could possibly improve my work. I take requests as well so don’t be shy! I write for many groups (as you can see on my master list) so ask away! Thanks for reading! 😄