#why choose

As a former ER nurse, you knew better than to use the dreaded “Q” word during slow days.

But you were just a humble school nurse now, you were in the comfort of your own home, and it was quiet this morning. 

When you woke up, there was no Gun busy at the stove and no Goo bothering him. There was, however, a fridge full of pre-cooked meals and a note on the kitchen island:

Onee-san,

Things have gotten hectic at work so I won’t be able to come home for a while. I made food for the whole week, but if you want to eat takeout, I left cash in the key bowl. 

If you need me, just call. Don’t stay out too late.  Don’t invite weird men over. 

Seriously, call me if anything happens.

Gun.

You giggled after reading the message. Sometimes you wondered which one was the older sibling. You weren’t complaining though; you preferred this overprotective brother over the cold, cruel man from the manhwa.

You put omurice[2] in the oven and thought of what you can do to celebrate having the place all to yourself.

Who are you kidding?

The answer was obvious: reading romance novels, playing videogames and eating junk food!

Time flies when you’re just lazing around. When you looked up from the flat screen TV in the living room, it was already dark out.

You paused your game and when you got up to stretch, you accidentally stepped on an empty bag of chips. There was also a box of almond Pepero, several chocolate wrappers, a half-eaten pretzel, and more bags of chips. 

If Gun were here, he would never let you hear the end of it.

You checked the time. It was already six.

You sent Gun a text and prepared for your evening walk.

***

Jake Kim needed to clear his mind. For that, he needed to be alone, so he told Jerry to eat without him.

As Jake wandered aimlessly around the city, he recalled Samuel’s words: “If you want to help Sinu, then you need to take them down.” 

Those bastards took Sinu and destroyed him. They stripped him of his dignity and took away his memories. 

Every time Jake closed his eyes, he was haunted by that room—the cell where they kept his friend captive for years. Sinu wrote everyone’s names on the walls, scribbled them again and again. Everyday, everywhere. He was desperate not to forget.

The Workers. Not even Samuel Seo, with all his money and information, could take those monsters down.

It has to be Big Deal. It has to be Jake who crushes them and rescues Sinu.

He breathed out. 

He thought that walking would help him calm down and get his shit together, but now he was even more rattled.

“Hey, handsome, can I have your number?”

That line was so sudden, so ridiculous that Jake couldn't help but laugh. He turned around, smiling. “Sorry, lady, I—!” 

It was you. The nurse from juvie and the woman who saved Jerry from choking to death.

Your eyes glinted with mischief. “Small world.”

“Y-yeah.”

“Sorry about earlier. You looked a little worried so I thought a pick-up line would cheer you up.”

“Well, you’re not wrong. What’re you doing in this neck of the woods? Did you just get off work?”

“No, it’s my day off today. I’m just out on a walk.”

“Same here.”

“Brilliant minds, as they say.” You winked. “Anyway, how have you been?”

He gave you a smile. “I’m doing great.”

You were silent for a moment, then you grinned back. “I see. That’s good to hear. I hope you and your friends are doing better now.”

“Oh, you bet. Jerry eats more slowly now. I don’t think he can look at fried chicken the same way again.”

“Fantastic, he should be more careful. You too. You guys are way too young to die.”

“Duly noted, noona.”

“Anyway, I hate to keep you. Take care, Jake.”

He should let you go. There was no need to drag you into his problems, but Jake didn’t want to say goodbye just yet.

He stepped forward. “Hey, do you…”

“Hm?”

“Do you wanna grab a drink?”

“Welcome to Big Deal Street. We don’t have a bar but this soup place has the best kimchi stew and it tastes great with soju.”

“Good ‘cause I was starting to get hungry.”

Jake guided you inside the restaurant, where Jerry was still eating. Big Deal’s second-in-command stopped when he saw the two of you. 

“Boss Jake and—noonim!” Jerry rose to his feet to greet you with a bow. 

You and Jake blurted out at the same time: “Please stop.”

All heads turned to you and then Jake was shielding you from his nosy men.

“Whoa, so she’s the one who saved Jerry?”

“She’s shorter than I expected.”

“I thought she’d be hotter.”

Jake yelled at them, “Knock it off!”

Yeonhui was locking up her shop when she heard the commotion. Naturally, she had to see what was happening. “What are you guys doing?” 

Amidst the chaos, the two made eye contact and she gasped out your name. “Is it…is it really you?”

Jake looked at you but you seemed as confused as he was.

“I’m sorry,” you said, “do we know each other?”

One of the older girls appeared next to Yeonhui. When she saw you she gasped as well.

“I thought you'd never been to Big Deal,” Jake said.

“I haven’t, this is my…my first time here…” You trailed off, legs wobbling.

Jake caught your shoulder. “Are you all right?”

“Yeah, just got light-headed for a second there. I guess I was hungrier than I thought.”

He turned to his crew. “You heard her. Two bowls of kimchi stew and extra rice!”

Before he could ask them to join, Yeonhui had disappeared with the other ladies.

Jake knew that he was the one who invited you, but he didn’t realize how much you could drink.

You slammed the glass down. “Another order of eel please! Oh, and soju!” 

Jake grabbed the bottle before you could. “Uh, noona—”

“Don’t worry, it’s all on me.”

“No, that’s not the problem—but thanks—”

“Then drink! Here, I’ll pour one for you.”

You were usually so composed and reserved, Jake did not expect this; he wondered if this was what new employees felt like when their superior brought them to dinner. 

You could probably drink Sinu Han under the table. 

Five bottles later and you could barely count the bills in your purse, not that Jake was going to let you pay.

“Come back anytime, noonim!” The guys waved as you and Jake stepped out.

“You’re—hic—too tall,” you slurred as Jake slung your arm over his shoulder.

“Nothing I can do about that, I’m afraid. If I let go you’ll fall.”

“Nooo, don’t let me gooo, I-I can’t stand properly.”

“Yeesh, you really are drunk. Please tell me you don’t drink this much everyday.”

“I’ll have yoou… I’ll have you know this is—this is my first alco—alcoholic drink in ages…”

“Yes, you mentioned that earlier.”

“I’ve had a—a verrry ssstresssful month, ya know?”

“I heard the spiel a couple of times while you were downing soju by the liter.”

“I can’t do this, I wanna go home…I want some cheesy, potato chips.”

“You’re still hungry?”

“I told you I’ve had a—”

“—very stressful month. Right. I’ll take you home, but you need to give me your address.”

“That’s a good–hic—idea… where’s my phone?” You fished through your purse with one shaking arm. “Urgh, I think I’m gonna… gonna throw up.”

“Please don’t, I really like this suit.”

“Mmm…oh.” You blinked a few times and looked around. “I know this  place. This is Big Deal Street. Man, I haven’t been here—hic—in ages!”

“You said you’ve never been here before.”

“I ssssaid that? Nah, not possi—uh—possible. I used to collect trash here when you were still a toddler, ya know!”

“???”

“I mean, maybe, I dunno.” You looked around, beaming. “Hey, where’s Yeonhui? And that damn brat Sinu? Did he finally—hic—confess?”

Jake stopped walking. “What?”

He carefully let go of your arm, moved in front of you. Crouching, he asked, “How do you know Yeonhui and Sinu?”

“Mm…” Hanging your head, you furiously rubbed your face. 

“Noona—”

You raised your chin and your eyes widened. “Gapryong-nim?”

“!?”

“Holy shit—hic—you lost weight! My diet plan worked, huh? But how—how do you look younger? Did you finally—hic—did you finally q-quit sssssmoking?”

Your words were a bucket of ice water, sobering and freezing Jake still.

Too out of it to notice, you rambled, “Listen to me—it’s not my business, I know, I know—but you gotta stop foolin’ around. You need—you need to keep it in your pants ‘cause you can’t keep making kids and—hic—not taking care of ‘em! One of these days, those little brats will not be s…so little anymore—they’re gonna be a big problem, one might even kill you—wahahaha—oh, and s-speaking of that bastard, tell your son to stop hovering over me, okay? Sure he’s hot, but he’s too fucking big! I couldn’t walk for days ‘cause of that assss…hole…” you trailed off and then covered your mouth.

Then you ran to a nearby trashcan and threw up. 

The sound of you vomiting brought Jake back to reality and he followed you. “Who are you?” 

You looked at him, eyes glazing over, then you threw up again. 

“Hey, just—”

Jake reached out for your back, but his arm was rudely smacked away by an unexpected interloper.

“Get lost,” Samuel Seo said, glaring at him. Draped in a fancy white suit, the guy looked out of place in these streets. Even weirder was how he was gently combing back the stray hairs away from your face. 

“Where the hell did you come from?”

“None of your business.” 

You finished heaving and stumbled backward, the back of your head hitting Samuel’s massive chest. “Who put a wall here? Oh…” You finally noticed the third party.

“I thought I was your only drinking partner, noona,” Samuel said. There was no trace of coldness in his voice as he offered you a bottle of water. “I’ll take you home.”

Samuel scooped you into his arms and you leaned into his neck. 

“Sammy… m-my head hurts… I thin...I think I’m dying.”

“Don’t say that, noona. You’ll feel better once you get some rest.” 

Samuel took a step forward and then sighed when Jake blocked his way. 

“Move, asshole. Unless you wanna fight me and take this poor woman captive?”

“She knows my dad.”

“Let’s get a few things out of the way: she isn’t one of Gapryong Kim’s affair babies, and as you can probably guess, she’s not one of his mistresses. He sponsored her after she saved someone’s life. She has nothing to do with your father beyond that. She’s a civilian through and through, so don’t ever think about approaching her again.”

Once again, Jake was at a loss for words. 

Samuel scoffed and left with you asleep in his arms. 

Samuel was cooking breakfast on the stove, ignoring all of Goo Kim’s messages, when he heard your bedroom door click open.

“Gun?” you called out hoarsely. You staggered into the kitchen, sleep heavy in your eyes. “Sammy?”

“Hi noona. You should sleep some more. I’ll call you when breakfast is ready.” He focused on the eggs frying on the pan. “You kept calling and hanging up on me last night, I was really worried. It’s a good thing you have that GPS locator on your app, but still, if you wanted to drink I would’ve done it with you. I’d get you something better than soju—”

You stood beside him and tugged on the hem of his shirt. “You’re Sammy.”

Samuel turned off the heat. “Are you still drunk?” he teased.

“You found me.”

Samuel’s eyes widened—

“You don’t have to come back for me, noona. When I grow up, I’ll find you.”

—he turned towards you.

A trembling smile, a face ridden with guilt.

“Noona...”

“I’m sorry for forgetting. I didn’t mean to.”

“Please don’t cry.”

“But…but I—”

“It’s okay. I found you, didn’t I?” He pulled you into his arms. “I’ll always find you, noona.”

Crystal looked around her. Kouji was playing on his Switch and the three other geniuses here—DG, Gun Park and Goo Kim—were on their phones.

What was the point of holding an onsite meeting if everyone was glued to a screen?

Goo’s frenzied typing was so loud the tapping echoed in the conference room. He has been texting someone since the beginning of the meeting. “Dammit, Chest, answer me!”

Gun’s eyes were hidden behind his shades but he was clearly staring at his phone, as if waiting for a message or call. He resembled a sulking dog waiting for its master.

DG was also preoccupied. When Crystal entered the room, DG was already here, and she caught a glimpse of him looking at suits and tuxedos. She guessed that it might be research for another music video or event. 

At least one of them was working.

[1] For those who are unfamiliar with the reference: Meng Po Soup is from Chinese mythology. The goddess of forgetfulness, Meng Po, serves the soup to the souls on their way to reincarnation. The soup is supposed to wipe their memories so they can have a fresh start in their next incarnation. The river here is just a general reference. Many cultures have a river associated with the afterlife.

[2] Omurice: Japanese. Literally omelette rice. When Gun serves it fresh, he draws random stuff on your omelette with ketchup. Sometimes it's a simple heart, sometimes it's a bunny or a cat.

Author's Note: For anyone confused about the MBBITSC timeline, here is a brief summary.

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Disclaimer: The images used are screencaptures of Ep. 342, 559, 414 & 60 - Lookism, Webtoon.

My Baby Brother is the Strongest Character Masterlist

He swallowed hard, the bob of his throat visible in the low light. "I realized I’ve been an idiot."

“What do y-“

"You’re beautiful," he cut in, his voice dropping an octave, rough and sincere as the words spilled out of him frantically - like he’d worked up just enough courage to word vomit in your presence. "Not just... You know, not just 'pretty.' You’re stunning. And I’ve spent all this time acting like the friend who’s just happy to hang out with you, but I’m not.”

You frowned slightly. “You’re not happy to -

“No, I just. Shit.” Steve ran a hand through his hair, clearly tipsy and agitated. “I’m selfish, okay? And I wonder about it all the time - what it would be like to take you out. To actually date you. To be the guy who gets to call you his."

The air in the kitchen seemed to vanish, sucked away by the sheer weight of his confession. You stared at him, mouth slightly parted, completely taken aback. You’d seen the thinly-veiled flirting, the lingering looks, but you’d chalked it up to Steve being Steve - charming and likely a little bored.

This was different. This was raw, unfiltered want. It wasn't unwelcome; far from it. A secret part of you had harbored a similar curiosity, a dangerous little spark that you’d diligently stomped out every time it flared up.

"I..." You struggled to find your footing, your brain scrambling to process the sudden shift in reality. "I didn't know you felt that way."

"Well, now you do," Steve murmured, leaning in. He bracketed your face with his hands, his thumbs brushing your cheekbones with a surprising tenderness. "And I’m done pretending I don't."

His face was inches from yours now. You could smell the faint scent of his cologne, mixed with the tang of beer and the lingering smell of popcorn. His eyelashes were ridiculously long, fanning his cheeks as his gaze dropped to your lips. Your breath hitched in your throat, anticipation coiling tight in your stomach. You leaned in, just a fraction, preparing bridging the gap.

"Hey, is there any more -“

Steve practically vaulted away from you, stumbling backward with the coordination of a startled baby deer. He slammed into the kitchen island, nearly knocking over a vase of flowers you’d bought yourself in the process. You spun around, heart hammering against your ribs like a trapped bird, to find Keys standing in the doorway. He was holding his own empty glass, eyes narrowed slightly as he took in the scene - Steve, flushed and wide-eyed, clutching the counter for support; you, backed against the fridge with your pupils blown wide.

Keys’s gaze flicked between the two of you, a slow, knowing realization dawning on his face. "More... Soda," he finished slowly, his voice dry. "I can come back later though, if this is a bad time.”

"No!" Steve shouted, much too loudly. "No, we were just... Talking. About the movie. Right?"

He looked at you, pleading silently for you to back him up. You nodded, forcing a smile that felt brittle.

Keys didn't look convinced in the slightest, but he just shrugged, a faint smirk playing on his lips. "Right. Well. Don't let me interrupt." He grabbed a cola from the fridge, gave Steve a pointed look that lingered just a second too long, and retreated back to the living room.

The silence he left behind was deafening. You stared at Steve, who was currently staring at the floor, looking like he wanted to be swallowed whole by the tile.

"He didn't..." Steve whispered, then louder, "He didn't see anything, right? He couldn't have."

You let out a shaky breath, leaning back against the fridge as your legs threatened to give out. "I think he saw plenty, Steve."

Three days later, the memory of that near-kiss still haunted you, playing on an endless loop in your mind. You were sitting on Keys’s couch, the familiar hum of his computers filling the apartment with a white noise that usually calmed you but today just felt like static. Keys was at his desk, hunched over your laptop, his fingers flying across the keyboard as he muttered under his breath.

You tried to focus on the gaming magazine in your lap, but your eyes kept drifting to the back of his neck. He acted so different from Steve - neater, more contained, with those thick-rimmed glasses perched on his nose - but the resemblance was undeniable. It was maddening. Especially since your brain had decided to traitorously superimpose the memory of Steve’s hands on your face onto Keys’s frame.

"Okay," Keys said, turning his chair around and startling you out of your spiral. He pushed his glasses up his nose, a satisfied grin on his face. "You're good to go. Ran a full diagnostic, cleared out some malware that was slowing you down. Should be all set."

"Thanks, Keys," you said, standing up and walking over to take the laptop from him. "You're a lifesaver."

"Don't mention it." He leaned back, crossing his arms over his chest. "So. You gonna tell me what that was about the other night?"

You froze, your fingers tightening around the edge of your laptop. "What what was about?"

Keys let out a short, skeptical laugh. "Come on. In the kitchen. You and Harrington." He tilted his head, studying your reaction closely. "Looked pretty intense."

Heat flooded your cheeks again. You busied yourself with shoving your laptop into your bag, avoiding his gaze. "It was nothing. Just... Steve being Steve. You know how he gets."

"Do I?" Keys asked quietly. There was a strange tone to his voice - not mocking, but something else. Something almost... Wistful. "Because from where I was standing, it didn't look like 'just Steve being Steve.' It looked like he was about five seconds away from kissing you."

You finally looked up, your defenses rising. "And what if he was?"

Keys’s eyebrows shot up, surprised by your outburst, but then his expression softened into something unreadable. He stood up, walking over to where you stood by the door. He didn't invade your personal space the way Steve liked to - no, he kept a respectful distance, but his presence was just as overwhelming.

"Then..." He paused, searching for the right words. "Then it’s possible he’d be the luckiest guy alive."

The air between you crackled with a sudden, unexpected tension. It wasn't the explosive, chaotic energy of Steve's confession. It was quieter and steadier, but no less potent. You looked at Keys, seeing the kindness in his eyes, the intelligence, the quiet strength that you'd admired so many times.

And for the first time, you le mind wandered to the idea of what it would be like to have both in some capacity. Steve's fire and Keys's steady warmth. Two sides of two very different coins.

"I don’t..." you started, but you didn't know how to finish the sentence. Especially not when Keys reached out, brushing a stray hair behind your ear with a gentle touch that made your breath catch.

"Steve's an idiot, but I can admit that he's got good taste.” Keys murmured, letting his hand fall to his side. “And maybe... maybe he's not the only one."

As you walked out of his apartment a few moments later, mind reeling, you realized with a start that the ground beneath your feet had shifted completely. You weren't just standing on the precipice of something new with Steve; you were caught in the orbit of two suns, and you had no idea how you were going to navigate the gravity of them both.

The tension in your apartment was thick enough to choke on. And you were certainly about to.

Usually, game nights with Steve and Keys were a chaotic symphony of shouting, laughter, and the aggressive clicking of controller buttons. Tonight, however, the silence was punctuated only by the hollow, aggressive thumps of digital gunshots and the heavy, uncomfortable breathing of two men who were refusing to look at one another.

You sat on the floor between the couch and the coffee table, hugging your knees to your chest, feeling like a third wheel in your own living room. Steve was sprawled on one end of the couch, legs spread, jaw set so hard you could see the muscle twitching. Keys was on the opposite end, perched on the edge as if ready to bolt, his knuckles white as he gripped his controller.

Every time Steve made a move in the game, Keys countered it with unnecessary force. Every comment Keys made was met with a sharp, biting retort from Steve. It was exhausting, and the source of it was glaringly obvious. They’d been weird all week - weirdly avoidant, short with you, and now, this cold war.

"That's it," you said, hitting pause on the remote you held for the TV. The screen froze, plunging the room into a dim, tense silence. "I’m done."

Steve groaned, head falling back against the couch cushion. "Come on, I was about to win."

"Don’t care, Steve," you snapped, standing up and brushing off your jeans. "Sit up. Both of you. Right now."

For a second, you thought they’d refuse. Steve looked ready to argue, his mouth opening to deliver some deflection, but the look on your face must have convinced him otherwise. With a heavy sigh, he dragged himself upright. Keys hesitated, his glasses sliding down his nose slightly, before he scooted back from the edge of the couch, picking at a loose thread on a throw pillow. You stood in front of them on the other side of the coffee table like a disappointed parent.

"What the hell is going on with you two?" You demanded, crossing your arms. "And don't give me that nothing crap. You’ve been snapping at each other all night, and you’ve been acting weird with me for days. Did I do something?"

"No," Steve said immediately, his voice rough. He looked at Keys, a glare that could melt steel. "It's not you. It's him."

"Oh, spare me," Keys shot back with a scowl. "You're the one who has to make everything a competition, Harrington. You can't just let things be."

"I can’t let things be? You're the one who thinks he's the smartest guy in the room - always analyzing, poking your nose where it doesn't belong!" Steve leaned into Keys's space slightly, pointing his finger accusatorially.

"Well you’re impulsive and reckless!" Keys yelled back, scrambling to his feet which Steve quickly mirrored. "You dive in without thinking, and you expect everyone else to clean up the mess!"

"Sit down!" you barked, grabbing their arms and physically pushing them back toward the couch. They stumbled, looking mildly shocked by your strength, but they sank onto the upholstery.

"Now," you pinched the bridge of you nose. "I’m not moving until you air this out. So, what is this? A pissing contest?"

Steve slumped, rubbing a hand over his face, the fight draining out of him instantly. He looked miserable. "It's not a contest, okay? It’s just... It’s stupid."

"We don't want to lose this," Keys said quietly, his voice a stark contrast to Steve's earlier volume.

“This?”

He adjusted his glasses, looking down at his hands. "All three of us. The dynamic. We’re a team."

“Yeah, so?”

“It’s hard to be a team when…” Keys glanced from you to Steve, then back to his lap. “When two players want the same person.”

It didn’t come as shocking news, given what they’d both already more or less told you within the last few days, but the idea still set your insides on fire.

Steve let out a harsh laugh, shaking his head. "Yeah. That's it." He looked up at you, his eyes dark and intense. "I want you. Have for a long time. I wanna to be the one you call after a shitty day, or fall asleep next to every light. The one who touches you."

He glanced sideways at Keys, jaw tight. "And so does he. Maybe not the same way - probably wants to discuss the philosophy of relationships over coffee before he makes a move - but don’t let him fool you - he wants you just as bad."

Keys shifted uncomfortably. "It's not just... Physical," he muttered, though his ears were turning red. "It's emotional. You fit. In different ways. With both of us, separately. But if we try to..." He trailed off, struggling for words. "One of us inevitably becomes the third wheel. And then the friendship fractures. I can't - won’t - lose you guys. I’m not gonna be the reason this group falls apart."

"So you're just going to suffer in silence and resent each other?" You asked. "That's your plan? Just ignore it until it explodes?"

"It's better than the alternative," Steve grumbled. "You pick one, the other guy gets hurt. You feel awkward. Everything turns to shit. It’s a lose-lose."

The room fell silent again, but the air had changed. It wasn't angry anymore; it was thick with unspoken longing and a terrifying kind of hope. You looked from Steve - slightly disheveled, passionate, wearied by the weight of his own feelings - then to Keys - composed, intelligent, terrified of losing control.

“Do I get a say in this?” You cocked your head to the side. “You all seem to have talked about this behind my back already without ever consulting me about it.”

“Of course you get a say.” Keys replied, looking a little off-put. “You of all people should, obviously. We just… It’s not fair of us to put you on the spot like this. We’re sorry. Aren’t we, Harrington?”

Steve didn’t look remotely apologetic. He looked like someone desperate for answers. But he shrugged and nodded as Keys glared at him. “Yeah. Sorry. We’re sorry.”

You tapped your lower lip thoughtfully as your gaze volleyed between the men on your couch. Neither of them could truly look at one another or even you after their admissions. It wasn’t as if the awkwardness was completely unwarranted either. In truth - you didn’t even think that love triangles existed in the real world, much less between a close-knit group of friends like yourselves. Angst and choosing between two completely different men was best left inside the confines of soapy, mid-2000s vampire television shows, or steamy books you’d never admit to reading unless someone held a gun to your head.

But still - there was something borderline intoxicating about being desired by two people. Especially ones who had known you for years, where there was no pretense or need for false niceties. Hell, you’d all seen one another at your best and worst. Keys had brought you soup when you were sick on more than one occasion. Steve liked to randomly show up at your place to make you breakfast for dinner if you so much as hinted at having a bad day. You’d forced Steve out of the house for a beach day when one of his ex-girlfriends’ had called it quits out of the blue. And you couldn’t count the hours you’d spent on the phone with Keys when he had one of his “overthinking” days and needed a soothing voice to make things feel a little less heavy.

You all been in one another’s lives for years, sometimes to a borderline co-dependent level. Their emotions likely weren’t new, nor were they coming completely out of left field. It wasn’t as if you hadn’t thought about them that way at one time or another - you were only human, & it wasn’t as if either of them weren’t easy on the eyes - there just hadn’t been a consideration that both of them felt the same way.

“Sharing is caring, you know.” You murmured jokingly, almost under your breath.

Both men sat a little straighter. "What?"

You sucked in a bit of air between your teeth, offering a sheepish grin and a shrug. The last thing you wanted was to lose one of them in pursuit of the other. It was a crazy idea, but one you were all too willing to entertain if it meant that both of them stayed in your life.

Your words hung in the air, and your heart felt as thought it was bruising the inside of your ribcage. They were different. Opposites in so many ways. But together? Together - maybe they were everything you needed.

You looked at Keys, whose eyes had gone wide behind his glasses. He was processing the concept, his brain working overtime to analyze the probability, the risks, the sheer audacity of it. Then, slowly, his gaze shifted to you. He saw something in your face - maybe the flush of arousal, or the spark of intrigue - and his own expression changed. The shock faded, replaced by a cautious, burning curiosity.

“I’m not kidding.” You finally spoke, unable to take the silence much longer.

Steve’s head snapped up, his eyes locking onto yours. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," you whispered.

A slow grin spread across Steve's face, chasing away the shadows of misery. He looked at Keys, and for the first time all night, there was no hostility in his gaze. Just a silent question.

Keys looked at you, then at Steve, and then back at you. He took a deep breath, his shoulders relaxing as if a heavy weight had been lifted. "Okay," he said, the word barely a whisper. "Okay. Let's talk about it."

And as the three of you sat there, the air finally clearing, the possibilities stretching out before you in your mind like an uncharted sea, you knew that nothing would ever be the same again. You were on the precipice of something dangerous, complicated, and absolutely exhilarating.

The brainstorming session that followed was less about logistics and more about unspoken agreements, a series of nods and half-sentences that solidified into a plan for the upcoming weekend. It was agreed: Friday night. Your place. No expectations, no pressure, just a test run as Keys called it - to see if the theoretical chemistry could withstand the reality of three distinct personalities colliding in the same intimate space.

"We need a safe word," he’d insisted, his practical nature grounding the floating anxiety in the room.

"Pineapple," Steve had said immediately.

“The universal symbol for swingers?” You raised an eyebrow, a smile tugging at the corner of your lips.

“Really?”

“An upside down one, yeah.”

Steve shrugged. “Just feels like something none of us would say unprompted.”

"Then pineapple it is.” You hit the inside of your cheek, glancing between the two of them. “And if it doesn't work? If it's weird or awkward or just... Bad?"

"We blame it on tequila," a boyish grin returned to Steve’s face. "We wake up Saturday, shake hands, and go back to being the three musketeers. No hard feelings, no drama."

"Adults," Keys had affirmed. "We act like adults."

Now, standing in your living room after they’d left, the silence felt different. It wasn't as oppressive anymore. It was anticipatory. You felt a flutter of excitement low in your belly, a mix of nerves and adrenaline that had you pacing the floor. You were flattered - undeniably, overwhelmingly flattered - that two men, so different yet equally incredible, wanted you enough to agree to navigate the complicated minefield of a triad dynamic just to see where it could go.

The rest of the week crept by with agonizing slowness. By Friday evening, your heart felt as though it was about to burst out of your chest. You’d changed your top three times, finally settling on something soft and casual that felt the most like you. It probably wouldn’t be on for long anyway - unless things went poorly.

When the knock came, it was almost a relief.

You opened the door to find them both standing there, looking like they were about to face a firing squad rather than a girl they’d both known for over a decade. Steve had his hands shoved deep in his pockets, rocking back on his heels. Keys was clutching a six-pack of beer like it was a shield.

"Hey," you said, stepping back to let them in.

"Hey," they echoed in unison, then exchanged an awkward glance.

The air was thick with the weight of what was about to happen. You led them to the living room and turned to face them. They stood there, looking at you with a mixture of hunger and hesitation.

“If this is too weird we can just watch a -“

“No.” The two of them replied in unison.

"Okay then, got it," you glanced up at the two of them, fighting to keep your voice steady. "Rules of engagement, one more time?”

Keys adjusted his glasses, his professional demeanor slipping into place. "Right. Boundaries. We need to define what this is - and what it isn't. We're not just... Hooking up. We're testing a dynamic. That means communication is key. If someone is uncomfortable, we stop. If someone wants to slow down, we slow down."

"And we don't leave anyone out," Steve added, stepping closer. His eyes were dark, locked onto yours. "It's not a race or competition. If this is happening, we're in it together. As a team.”

You nodded, pulse quickening.

Steve took another step, invading your personal space just a bit. He reached out, his hand cupping the back of your neck, thumb brushing your skin.

"And I think we seal the deal," he murmured, his voice dropping to a rough whisper. "Right now."

You saw Keys nod out of the corner of your eye as Steve leaned in, capturing your mouth in a kiss that was anything but tentative. It was a sudden and desperate and tasted like spearmint. His other hand found your waist, pulling you flush against him, and you gasped into his mouth at the sudden, solid contact.

Steve kissed like he argued - with passion and a barely restrained edge of dominance that made your knees go weak. His hands were everywhere, tangling in your hair, skimming down your spine, pulling you impossibly closer. It was overwhelming in the best way, a tidal wave of sensation that left you breathless and wanting more.

When he finally pulled back, you were dazed, your lips tingling. Steve looked down at you, his chest heaving slightly, a satisfied grin on his own lips. "Well," he murmured huskily. "That's one box checked."

You turned to Keys, expecting him to look jealous or uncomfortable. Instead, he was watching you with a soft, intense focus, his own eyes dark in their own way behind his glasses. He stepped forward as Steve stepped back, giving him space.

Keys’s approach was different. He didn't grab you; he cradled your face in his hands, his touch reverent and sure. He studied your face for a moment, searching for any sign of doubt, and finding none, he gently pressed his mouth to yours. His kiss was gentle, a slow exploration that was no less passionate for its lack of aggression. His lips were soft, moving against yours with a careful precision that made your heart ache.

It wasn't just the kiss either; it was the way he held you, like you were something precious. His thumb stroked your cheekbone, his fingers tangling gently in the hair at the nape of your neck. Where Steve was fire and urgency, Keys was water and depth. He was grounding, comforting, and deeply, incredibly loving.

He pulled back slowly after a few moments, resting his forehead against yours. You could feel the tremor in his hands, the effort it took for him to maintain his composure. "Okay," he whispered, his breath fanning your lips. "You okay?"

“Very.” The word came out breathlessly, & the three of you laughed. "So…Test run officially starts... now?"

The walk to the bedroom felt like a procession, a slow, deliberate migration away from the neutral ground of the living room and into the heart of the unknown. You led the way, your hand entangled with Keys’s, while Steve walked close behind, his presence a warm, solid weight at your back. When you pushed open the door, the flickering light of half a dozen scented candles greeted you, casting long, dancing shadows against the walls. Steve let out a low, appreciative whistle as he took in the scene.

"Well, well. Look at this ambiance. Candles?" He reached out to brush his fingers against your shoulder, his tone teasing but affectionate. "You really went all out for us, huh? Trying to set the mood?"

"It's called romance, Harrington," you retorted, though your voice lacked its usual bite. "Something you could probably stand to learn a little about."

"Oh, I know all about romance," he shot back, grinning as he walked over to inspect the nightstand. "I'm just saying, it's cute. It's like you're preparing for a ritual sacrifice instead of a threesome."

“If you don’t watch your attitude, that might be how this all ends.”

“Woah, feisty.” Steve winked at you.

Keys rolled his eyes, but he was smiling too. He squeezed your hand, pulling you gently toward the bed.

"Ignore him. It's beautiful. You're beautiful." He looked at you, his expression softening as the candlelight caught the hazel tones of his brown eyes. "I like that you did this. It makes it feel... Special. Intentional."

"I just wanted it to be nice," you murmured, feeling a flush rise under your skin. "I wanted tonight to be different."

"It is different," Steve said, his voice dropping, the teasing edge vanishing. He turned back to you, his gaze heavy as he raked it over your form.

They moved toward you then, a coordinated movement that had your heart racing. Steve reached for the hem of your shirt, his fingers warm against your waist. "Can I?" he asked, his eyes locking onto yours.

"Yes," you breathed, the permission barely out of your mouth before he was pulling the fabric up and over your head. It landed somewhere on the floor, forgotten before it even hit the ground, as his hands immediately went to the button of your jeans.

Keys stepped in close behind you, his warm hands resting on your hips as Steve worked the zipper down.

"You're shaking," he observed softly, leaning in to press a kiss to the sensitive skin just below your ear. It made your breath catch in your throat.

"I'm nervous," you admitted, your voice trembling slightly. "I want this to be good. For both of you."

"Oh it will be," Steve promised, his voice rough with desire. He hooked his thumbs into the belt loops of your pants, sliding them down your legs with agonizing slowness. "Because we're going to take care of you. That's the whole point of this, remember? We're a team. But tonight’s mostly about you."

That wasn’t something you’d discussed, but (perhaps a bit selfishly) you were fine with that arrangement.

The cool air of the room hit your skin as you stepped out of your clothes, leaving you standing before them in just your matching light blue lingerie. The lace was delicate, barely covering anything, and the color made your skin glow in the warm light.

Steve went still, his eyes widening as he took you in. "Holy shit," he whispered, the words falling from his lips like a prayer. He reached out, his hand hovering over your hip, almost afraid to touch. "You look... Fuck. You look incredible."

Keys didn't speak as you glanced at him over your shoulder. He just stared, clearly fighting between being respectful and toeing the line of polite objectification. His gaze traced the curves of your body with an intensity that made you shudder. He reached out, his fingers trembling slightly as they brushed against the lace of your bra.

"This color," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. "It's perfect. It's so... You. If that makes sense."

You felt a surge of confidence mixed with a wave of vulnerability. You were exposed, laid bare before the two of them in a way that felt far beyond just the physical. But the looks on their faces - the wonder, hunger, and sheer adulation - made it worth it.

"Bed," Steve commanded, his voice dropping to a low growl. "Now. Before I lose my mind. Or nerve."

You didn't argue, scrambling backward onto the mattress, the duvet cool against your heated skin. They followed you, Steve crawling up from the foot of the bed while Keys settled on the side near the headboard..

Steve didn't waste time. His hands were on you immediately, exploring the newly revealed skin with a reverence that surprised you. He palmed your breasts through the lace, his thumbs rubbing over your nipples until they pebbled beneath the fabric.

"So soft," he murmured, leaning down to take your mouth in a searing kiss. "And you smell so good."

Keys took a different approach. He leaned down, pressing open-mouthed kisses to your stomach, his hands skimming up your thighs. He took his time, learning the hills and valleys of your body with his lips and tongue. He kissed the inside of your knee, the curve of your hip, the sensitive spot just below your navel. It was a slow, deliberate mapping, a quiet assertion of his claim on you.

The contrast was dizzying. Steve's touch was electric, demanding, pulling gasps from your throat with every pinch and squeeze. He consumed you, his kisses hungry and urgent. Keys was steady, grounding, his touch a constant, soothing presence that built the pleasure higher and higher. He hummed against your skin, a low, vibrating sound that resonated through your bones.

"You taste better than I imagined," Steve growled against your neck, biting down gently on the tendon there.

“Something you imagined a lot, Harrington?” You teased.

"Mhm. I've thought about this. About having you here. Making you fall apart."

Keys looked up from where he was pressing kisses to your inner thigh. His eyes were dark, rimmed with red, and filled with a yearning so deep it made your chest ache.

“Gonna let us make you feel good?” He asked, sounding almost pleading. "We want to take care of you."

You nodded.

Steve’s hands moved to the clasp of your bra, and with a practiced flick of his wrist, it was undone. He pulled the lace away, tossing it carelessly aside. The cool air hit your breasts, but it was immediately replaced by the heat of Steve's mouth as he latched onto one nipple, sucking hard and rolling it between his teeth.

You cried out, your back arching off the bed. Your hands found their way into his hair, holding him to you as he lavished attention on your breast, his opposite hand delicately pinching your other nipple between his fingers.

Keys watched for a moment, his gaze intense, before he flicked Steve’s other hand away and leaned in to take your other breast in his mouth. His technique was different - sucking gently, his tongue swirling around the areola with agonizing slowness. He held your breast in his hand, weighing it, his thumb brushing the sensitive skin just below it.

It was a bit of a sensory overload - two mouths, two pairs of hands, and two distinctly different approaches to pleasure, all focused entirely on you.

Steve’s now free hand drifted down your stomach, slipping beneath the waistband of your panties. He didn't bother to tease you - he just went straight for your clit, his fingers finding the sensitive bundle of nerves with unerring accuracy. You gasped, your hips bucking against his hand.

"So wet," he groaned, lifting his head to look at you. "All this for us, baby?"

"Steve," you whimpered, your head falling back against the pillows.

Keys released your breast, moving up to capture your mouth in a deep, drugging kiss. He swallowed your cries as Steve worked you closer to the edge, his fingers circling your clit with maddening precision. Keys’s hand joined Steve's, his fingers teasing your entrance, collecting your arousal.

"He's got you, doesn't he?" Keys murmured against your lips. "But I want to be inside you. Can I?"

"Yes," you gasped, the word torn from your throat as you writhed against their hands.

Steve cursed, his movements becoming more aggressive. Keys slid a finger inside you, curling it upward to find the spot that made you see stars. You moaned, your vision beginning to blur at the edges.

"P-please, don't stop."

"We won't stop," Keys promised, his other hand moving to cup your face, forcing you to look at him gently. "We're not going anywhere. We've got you, sweetheart."

And as he added a second finger, scissoring them inside you while Steve’s thumb rubbed your clit, Keys kissed you with a tenderness that brought tears to your eyes, you knew they meant it. You were safe here, between them, caught in the burning crossfire of their desire and devotion. You were the center of their world, and tonight, it seemed as though they were going to make sure you never forgot it.

Through your haze of being brought to the edge, it seemed that Keys and Steve were having their own silent conversation. Keys removed his fingers from you, extending them to Steve, who was all too eager to clean him off. With a low growl, he slid down the bed, his broad shoulders nudging your thighs apart to make room for himself. He looked up at you from between your legs, his hair a mess, his eyes delightfully wicked and glittering with an unspoken intent that made your pulse hammer.

"Steve -“

"Relax," he murmured, his hands smoothing over your hips, thumbs digging in slightly to hold you still. "I've been dying to get a taste of you since I walked through your door. Like eight years ago.”

Before you could respond, he leaned in and sealed his mouth over your clit.

The sensation was electric - a sharp buzz that shot up your spine and had your back bowing off the mattress. You cried out, your hands flying to his hair, but before you could anchor yourself there, another pair of hands were gently guiding you backward.

Keys had shifted, moving to sit propped up against the headboard. He settled around you, his grip firm but gentle as he pulled you back against his chest.

"I've got you," he whispered, his voice low and warm against your ear. "Lean on me. Let him take care of you."

You let your weight collapse against Keys, your head falling back onto his shoulder. His bare chest solid and warm against your spine, and heartbeat a steady rhythm that grounded you, giving you something to hold onto while Steve unleashed his unique and particular brand of chaos between your legs.

Steve devoured you with the same enthusiasm he approached everything else - with gusto and a single-minded focus. His tongue was flat and hot, lapping at you with broad strokes that left you gasping. He sucked on your clit, pulling it into his mouth and flicking it rapidly with the tip of his tongue, driving you crazy with the alternating pressure.

"He's good, isn't he?" Keys murmured, breath hot against your neck.

"God, yes," you moaned, your fingers tangling back in Keys’s boxers, twisting the fabric as your hips bucked against Steve's mouth.

Keys chuckled. "I can tell." He shifted slightly, adjusting his position so that his legs were outside yours, effectively trapping you in place. He reached down with both hands, his fingers hooking under your knees, and pulled them back and apart, opening you completely to Steve's ministrations. The position left you vulnerable, exposed, but the rush of arousal that flooded you was undeniable.

"Keys," you gasped, your cheeks burning.

"Look at him," Keys commanded, his voice taking on a harder edge than normal that caught you a little off guard. "Look how badly he wants to make you feel good."

You couldn't look away. Steve’s brows furrowed in concentration as he devoured you. He slipped a finger inside you, then two, curling them upward in a 'come hither' motion that hit that spot inside you with precision.

"Fuck -“

"Yeah, that's it," Keys groaned, his lips brushing the sensitive shell of your ear. "He's got you, baby. We’ve got you. He's fingering you open, getting you ready for us. You're taking it so well, aren’t you? Such a good girl."

The dirty talk was unexpected, coming from Keys of all people. He was usually so composed, so cerebral. Hearing him whisper filth while he held you open for another man was intoxicating. It added a layer of psychological stimulation that ramped up your arousal even higher.

"You like that?" Keys asked, one hand moving to cup your breast, thumbing your nipple with desperate strokes. "You like Steve eating you out while I hold you down? While I tell you what a dirty girl you are for enjoying it?"

"Yes," you sobbed, your body trembling uncontrollably. "Please. Don't s-stop -“

"I'm not stopping," Steve mumbled against your folds, the vibration of his words sending shockwaves through you. "We’re just getting started."

He doubled his efforts, his tongue moving faster, his fingers pumping in and out of you with perverse sounds that filled the room. The pressure was building - a tight knot in your stomach that was winding tighter and tighter with every pass of his tongue.

"He's gonna make you finish," Keys predicted, his voice dropping to a husky whisper. "And I'm going to feel it. I'm going to feel you shake apart against me while you scream his name, aren’t I?”

The combination of Steve's relentless stimulation and Keys's depraved commentary was too much. The knot snapped, and you came with a cry that was torn from the depths of your soul. Your back arched, your toes curled, and your entire body seized up as waves of pleasure washed over you, leaving you gasping and limp.

Steve worked you through it, lapping at your release until you were whimpering. He finally pulled back, his face glistening with your arousal, looking like the cat that got the canary. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, a smug, satisfied grin plastered on his face.

"Perfect," he declared, crawling back up the bed to nuzzle your neck. "Just like I thought."

You were still trying to catch your breath, your body twitching with the aftershocks. Keys loosened his grip on your legs, rubbing his hands up and down your thighs to soothe the shaking muscles.

"You okay, baby?" He asked, pressing a sweet kiss to your temple.

"More than okay," you breathed, turning your head to look at him. "That was... Intense."

Intense didn't even cover it. You felt wrung out, exhausted, but incredibly alive.

"My turn," Keys said softly, but there was a steel thread of resolve in his voice. He shifted, gently maneuvering you off his chest and laying you back against the pillows with another kiss. "I want to try something."

Steve rolled onto his side, propping his head up on his hand to watch. "Be my guest. She's all warmed up."

Keys set his glasses on the nightstand and settled between your legs, but he didn't dive in like Steve had. Instead, he took his time, kissing your inner thighs, his hands massaging your hips with a reverence that made shiver. He looked up at you, his eyes dark and serious.

"You're so beautiful," he murmured, leaning down to press a kiss below your belly button. "And so responsive."

Keys lowered his head, but his approach was completely different. Instead of broad strokes, he used the tip of his tongue to trace delicate patterns over your clit - figure eights, spirals, gentle flicks that teased rather than demanded. He seemed to be exploring, learning what made you gasp, moan, and writhe against

Steve watched, his gaze intent. "She likes it harder, Keys. Don't be afraid to use a little pressure."

Keys ignored him, or maybe he was just too focused to hear. He flattened his tongue, licking you with long, slow laps that started at your entrance and ended at your clit. It was a steady, rhythmic pressure that built your arousal back up with agonizing slowness.

"He's torturing you, isn't he?" Steve commented, a smirk playing on his lips. "Such a tease."

"It's... good," you gasped, your hands finding their way into Keys’s hair. "So g-good."

Keys hummed against you, the sound vibrating through your core. He wrapped his arms around your thighs, pulling you closer, and buried his face between your legs. He sucked on your clit, but gently, using a rhythmic suction that was different from Steve's sharp pulls. It was a pulsing, maddening sensation that made your hips roll against his face.

"Look at that," Steve murmured, reaching out to brush a stray hair away from your forehead. "He's studying you. Like a science project."

You let out a breathless laugh. "Shut up, Steve."

"I'm serious," he said, his fingers tracing your jawline. "He's analyzing your reactions. Figuring out exactly what makes you tick. It's fascinating."

It was. The difference between them was stark. Steve was a force of nature, sweeping you up in a storm of sensations. Keys was a craftsman, carefully building a structure of pleasure with precision and care. Both were effective, but in vastly different ways.

Keys added a finger, sliding it inside you slowly. He curled it immediately, finding your G-spot with an accuracy that was almost frightening. He rubbed it in time with the suction on your clit, a dual stimulation that had you seeing stars.

"Oh god," you moaned, your head falling back. "Keys. Right there."

"Good?" he mumbled, not lifting his head.

"So good," you breathed.

Steve moved closer, his hand replacing yours in Keys’s hair. "Hear that? You're doing good. Keep going. Make her come again."

Keys seemed to take the encouragement to heart. He increased the pace slightly, his finger moving faster, his tongue flicking your clit with quick, sharp jabs. The pressure was building again, a slow burn this time rather than a sudden explosion.

"Come on, baby," Steve coaxed, his voice dropping. "Let him have it. Give him what he wants."

The combination of Keys's steady, skilled stimulation and Steve's rough, encouraging words pushed you over the edge again a few minutes later. You came with a cry, your body arching off the bed, your thighs clamping around Keys’s head as the pleasure washed over you.

Keys worked you through it, his movements never faltering, until you were limp and spent beneath him. He finally pulled back, looking up at you with a soft, satisfied smile.

"Okay?" he asked, his voice hoarse.

"Perfect," you whispered, reaching out to pull him down for a kiss. You could taste yourself on his lips, a heady, intimate flavor that made your head spin.

Steve cleared his throat, a sound of exaggerated impatience. "Hey. I helped."

You broke the kiss with Keys to glance over at Steve. He was pouting, but there was a warmth in his eyes that took the sting out of it. "You did," you agreed, reaching out to grab his hand and squeezing it. "You both did."

"So, what's the verdict?" Steve asked, wiggling his eyebrows. "Did we pass the test?"

You looked between them - Steve, with his cocky grin and messy hair, and Keys, with his gentle smile and serious eyes. You felt a surge of affection so strong it almost knocked the wind out of you. While they were different in many ways, together - they were perfect.

"Oh," you said, a smirk playing on your lips. "You both passed. With flying colors."

The air in the room had grown heavy, thick with the scent of sex and vanilla candles, but the energy shifted again, snapping into something sharper, more demanding. The slow burn of the foreplay had served as an appetizer, but the main course was waiting, and the hunger in both their eyes was undeniable.

"Condoms?" Steve asked, his voice rough, gaze fixed on you.

"Nightstand," you managed to say, your throat dry.

Keys reached over, fumbling in the drawer until he produced a strip. He tore one off, but instead of handing it to Steve, he held it up, his eyes meeting yours. "Who's first?"

You looked from one to the other. Steve was vibrating with impatience, his jaw set, his eyes dark. Keys was watching you with that quiet intensity, waiting for your lead.

"Steve went first last time" you said, the decision easy. "Feels like it’s your turn, Keys."

Keys didn't need to be told twice. He ripped it open carefully, rolling the latex on with practiced efficiency, his cock thick and heavy in his hand. He moved between your legs, settling over you, his weight familiar and grounding.

"Look at me," he said softly. You nodded, and that was all he needed.

He lined himself up and eased himself inside of you, inch by inch until you were gasping his name almost incoherently. The stretch was intense, a burning fullness that stole the breath from your lungs. You cried out, your nails digging into his shoulders and eyes rolling back.

"Fuck," Keys groaned, his head dropping to your shoulder. He stayed still for a moment, letting you adjust, his breath hot against your neck. "Jesus, you feel incredible."

“Y-you too.”

He let out a breathy laugh, then started to move, pulling out almost all the way before sliding back in. It was a hard, rolling rhythm, designed to drive you out of your mind. It felt as though he wanted to savor the feeling of every single part of you. Keys splayed his hand against your lower stomach and pressed firmly, and somehow the sensation made you feel even more full of him. It felt like too much, but in the best way.

“Keys -“

“That’s my girl.”

Steve wasn't idle in the midst of this. He moved closer, lying on his side beside you, his hand stroking your jaw, hip, and breasts. He watched Keys fuck you with a fascinated gaze, his eyes tracking the place where your bodies joined.

"Look at you," Steve murmured, his voice low and rough. "Taking him so well. Think you’re gonna take me that well?"

Keys groaned, his rhythm faltering slightly at the dirty talk. "Christ, Harrington. You trying to make me finish early?"

"Just appreciating the view," Steve retorted, his hand moving down to where Keys was thrusting into you. He didn't touch you, just rested his fingers near your entrance, feeling the slickness, the heat. "Fuck, she’s soaking you, Keys. Think we’re ruining her for anyone else?”

"Hope so," Keys gritted out, sweat beading on his forehead.

Steve looked down at you, his expression fierce. "You hear that? You're ours tonight, got it? Nobody else gets to see you like this."

The possessive words sent a jolt of arousal through you. You looked up at him, your vision blurring. An incoherent sound that may have been agreement fell from your lips before you could think better of it.

Keys seemed to grow impossibly harder at the declaration. He leaned down, kissing you and swallowing your cries as he picked up the pace a bit. His thrusts short and sharp, driving you into the mattress.

"Come on baby," he coaxed, pressing kisses all over your face as ground further inside of you with each roll of his hips. “I know you’re close.”

You didn't have a choice. The pressure was building again, a tight coil in your stomach that was winding tighter and tighter. With a cry that was muffled by Keys’s mouth, your release claimed you, your walls clamping down on him, rippling around his length.

Keys groaned, his movements becoming erratic for someone who was normally so level-headed and in control. He eventually stilled, his hips jerking against yours as he filled the condom. He collapsed on top of you, his weight heavy and solid. You lay there for a moment, wrapped in the afterglow, trying to catch your breath.

After a few moments, he rolled off you, politely dealing with the condom in the bathroom before returning to the bed. He flopped down on the other side of you, sweaty and sated, but his eyes were fixed on Steve.

"If she’s ready, it’s your turn," he said, a lazy smirk on his face. "Don't disappoint her."

“You ready for me, baby?”

With shuddering breath, you nodded eagerly. Exhaustion pulled at you, but the desire you had to experience both of them far outweighed the tiredness. You could sleep when you were dead.

Steve grinned as he moved lower on the bed, back between your thighs. His expression took on a hungry, focused gaze, and he settled his hands on your hips.

"Can you turn over?" he asked, more softly than he had done all night. "I want you on your knees."

You obeyed, flipping onto your hands and knees. You felt exposed like this, vulnerable, but the heat in Steve’s eyes made it worth it. He ran his hands over your ass, squeezing the flesh with admiration.

"You have no idea how long I've wanted this," he murmured, leaning down to press a hot, open-mouthed kiss to your lower back. "To see you like this. Be the one inside you."

He rolled the condom on - he’d shed his boxers somewhere along the line - and lined himself up. He didn't quite ease in like Keys had. Instead, he buried himself to the hilt in one smooth motion, and you dropped your head to the mattress, a low moan escaping your lips at the harsh - yet delicious - sensation.

"Okay?" he asked, his voice strained.

"More," you gasped. "Steve, move."

"You feel amazing," he breathed, starting to move. His hands gripped your waist as he drove into you - hard, fast, but no less appreciative of your form.

"Look at her," Keys murmured from his spot beside you. He’d propped himself up on one elbow, watching with interest. "She loves it."

Steve looked down, watching himself disappear into your body. The sight seemed to spur him on. He reached forward, grabbing a handful of your hair, and pulled you up until your back was arched.

"Is he right?" Steve asked, his voice rough against your ear. "Do you love it? Do you love me fucking you?"

"Yes," you sobbed, the change in angle hitting the inside of you with devastating precision. "Yes, Steve. It feels -"

"Tell me," he demanded, his hand coming around to cup your breast, his thumb rolling your nipple. "Tell me how good it feels."

"So good," you choked out. "I-I can feel you everywhere."

"Good," he grunted, picking up the pace slightly. "That's where I wanna be. S’long as you’ll have me."

Steve reached around you, his hand sliding down your stomach to find your clit. "She needs a little help," he commented to Keys. "Don't you, baby?"

"Y-yes," you gasped, your hips bucking against Steve's hand.

"Let me," Keys said, his hand moving to join Steve's.

For a second, their fingers brushed against each other, a moment of contact that was charged with electricity. Then Steve pulled back, letting Keys take over as he himself moved into you from behind.

Keys circled your clit with his thumb, applying just enough pressure to drive you wild without sending you over the edge. He kept up a steady rhythm, matching the slow, deep thrusts of Steve’s hips.

"You're close," Steve muttered, his voice tight. "I can feel you tightening up."

You whimpered, your head falling forward as your neck was seemingly unable to hold your head up anymore.

"Come for me," he commanded, his teeth grazing your neck. "Show me how much you enjoy us."

The dual stimulation from the two of them was too much to handle. You shattered, harder than you had all night. Your walls spasmed around Steve, triggering his own release. He groaned, burying his face in your neck as he spilled into the condom.

He held you close as the waves of pleasure receded, his arms wrapping around your waist, holding you tight. You could feel the rapid thud of his heart against your back, grounding you as you drifted back to reality. Eventually, he pulled out, collapsing on the bed beside you. You were sandwiched between them again, sweaty and utterly spent.

"Okay," Steve said, his voice sounding rough and sleep-muddled. "Teamwork. I think we nailed it."

You let out a breathless laugh, turning your head to look at him. "You definitely nailed something."

Keys chuckled, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. "I think we can call the test run a success.”

You smiled, burying your face in Steve's chest, feeling Keys’s arm wrap around your waist from behind.

"Success?" Steve scoffed, reaching out to pull you both closer into his arms. "That was a fucking landslide. We're keeping her."

Part 1

The large neon sign flickers, a stubborn signal that the diner is still open despite the early hour and it makes your shoulders slump. Inside, the lights are dim. You wish you could switch them off entirely, lock the doors and head straight home to bed for some much-needed rest.

Beyond the windows, the night is still. There’s only the faint rustle of leaves in the trees, maybe the distant hum of a passing car’s engine.

…

“Looks like it’s going to be a quiet night,” says Jerry, the head cook, as he leans over the pass and peers out at the empty diner.

Who would choose to spend their time in a diner at 2 a.m. on a workday? Most people are asleep, tucked beneath their sheets, wrapped in the comfort and quiet security of home.

…

The diner where you work as a waitress is classic American style: a black-and-white checkered floor, red leather booths and tables that stay sticky no matter how many times you wipe them down. A jukebox stands silent at the far end. The walls are lined with photos of famous celebrities, retro posters and faded bumper stickers.

It may not look like much, but the diner never really rests. Open twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week - save for the holidays - it draws in all kinds of people. There are the regulars who show up every morning for breakfast, the groups of men who crowd in to chug down beers while shouting at whatever game is on the sports channel and the high school kids who treat it as their go-to hangout because the food is decent and cheap.

Then there are the truck drivers, rolling in at all hours, stopping for a hot meal before heading back onto the highway.

The town sits right along the highway, making the diner a natural stop for travelers passing through.

There’s a small parking lot out front for cars, but off to the left stretches a much larger one, reserved for lorries. Behind the diner stands a motel - a tired building where drivers can rent a bed for a few hours if they’re sick of sleeping in their trucks. It’s also the kind of place where teenagers sneak off to hook up, or where unfaithful husbands disappear for the night.

That’s why the diner stays open. And no matter how long you stare at the flickering neon sign outside, it’s never going to change to “closed”.

…

“Those bags under your eyes have gotten worse,” Jerry points out.

All you can do is sigh. You know you look like a panda.

“You’re working yourself to the bone,” he goes on. “You should be out there, enjoying life - spending time with friends, making bad decisions. Not stuck in here, breathing grease and serving old geezers.”

…

You’ve been working at the diner for about three years now. You started at sixteen as a part-timer and after graduating high school, you stayed on full-time. Truth is, you’re almost always here, mostly on the night shift. It lets you look after your elderly grandparents during the day and the pay is better.

But recently, a coworker went on maternity leave after having her first child. In her absence, you took on even more hours. As if ten-hour days weren’t already enough, now you’re lucky to get three hours of sleep.

…

“You sure you don’t need some help in the kitchen?” you ask, steering the attention away from yourself.

Jerry waves you off. “I’ve got it. You sit back and relax while you can,” he says, ducking into the kitchen and busying himself with prep.

You close your stinging eyes and lean against the wall by the pass behind the counter. Sitting isn’t an option - if you do, you’ll be out in seconds.

The bell above the door rings.

You crack your eyes open. Through your blurred vision, you make out five tall figures stepping inside and heading for a corner booth at the far end of the diner. You don’t go over right away. You give them a few minutes, under the pretense of letting them look at the menu.

In truth, you’re just trying to gather yourself, willing your legs to move.

…

“Tell me why we’re here instead of in bed,” the ash-blond man asks, yawning as he rubs his heavy-lidded eyes. “We should be asleep.”

“I agree,” says the man with raven-black hair, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

“Are you guys seriously not sick of the caravan by now?” the purple-haired man pouts. “You didn’t have to come. Sylus and I could’ve handled the midnight rendezvous alone.”

“This isn’t exactly my idea of a nightly rendezvous,” the man in dark sunglasses mutters, glancing around the diner with a raised brow.

The purple-haired man pulls off his face mask and beanie.

“Rafayel, put those back on,” the man in the hoodie says, a note of concern in his voice.

“Relax,” Rafayel drawls, the word stretched with mockery. “We’re the only ones here. Besides, I bet the waitress is some tired old lady who has no idea who we are.”

…

“What can I get you?” you ask, stepping up beside the table, notepad and pencil in hand.

You try to sound casual, but there’s a faint edge in your voice.

When it comes to customers, you’ve learned the routine: the practiced smile that never reaches your eyes; the soft tone, the polite nods, the small compliments, even the quiet laugh at jokes that were never funny to begin with. All for the tips. Because working yourself to the bone doesn’t necessarily mean you’re making good money.

But tonight, you just can’t do it. You’re too damn tired to pretend.

…

All eyes turn to you, clearly not having heard you approach.

The purple-haired man flashes a wide grin. “I’d like to order you, cutie,” he says, his tone dripping with mischief.

“If it’s not on the menu, it’s not an option,” you reply flatly.

“Do you have anything sweet?” asks the man with glasses, pulling down his white face mask.

“I can check with the kitchen about waffles or pancakes. We also have milkshakes,” you say, your voice monotone.

“I bet you make a sweet milkshake,” the purple-haired man adds, his gaze lingering on your chest.

The owner had deliberately given you a uniform a size too small. The fabric clings uncomfortably, the chest so tight the first two buttons won’t close, and the rest look ready to pop at any moment. You have to be careful when bending, at the risk of revealing your ass; the hem is far too short for comfort.

The ears of the man with glasses flush faintly at his friend’s comment.

You fix the purple-haired man with a sharp glare, but he only looks confused, as if he can’t understand why his charm isn’t working.

“Don’t you know who we are?” he asks, gesturing to the group.

You fold your arms, unimpressed. “If you think your fame means anything here, forget it. It’s not even worth a free side of fries.”

“I like a kitten with claws,” chuckles the white-haired man, taking off his sunglasses to reveal striking red eyes lit with amusement.

“I can bite, too,” you shoot back.

“Careful,” he replies smoothly. “Wouldn’t want to get us even more worked up.”

“Just bring us five milkshakes, please and thank you,” the man with purple eyes cuts in, his tone apologetic.

Without another word, you turn on your heel and storm off.

You don’t notice the purple-haired man’s gaze following you as you walk away, his attention lingering on your ass, so distracted he nearly tips out of his seat.

…

A while later, you return with five chocolate cake milkshakes. You set them down as quickly and carefully as you can, avoiding eye contact, then hurry off without sparing the men a second glance.

…

A sudden tune drifts from the jukebox, filling the diner with an unexpected burst of sound.

“Come dance with me, cutie,” the purple-haired man calls after you.

You march back over, mop in hand, stopping a few steps in front of him.

“This is Mrs. Mop,” you say flatly. “I’m sure she’ll make a better dance partner.”

You toss it toward him and he catches it just in time before hitting the floor, staring at it in disbelief as you turn and walk away. Behind you, you hear his friends laughing.

…

“I don’t get it,” he mutters, propping the mop against the wall before slumping back into his seat.

“She’s clearly not interested. Let her be, Rafayel,” says Caleb.

“I’m not surprised,” Xavier adds quietly as he sits beside him.

…

Later, you’re quietly grateful when Caleb is the one who comes up to the counter to pay. You don’t expect the hundred-dollar tip he leaves behind, especially not after your attitude.

When the five of them finally leave without hesitation or any last words, you let out a sigh of relief.

——————————————————————

“Why are we back here?” Caleb asks, glancing toward Rafayel.

The five of them are seated in the same booth again. Only this time, it’s lunchtime and the diner is packed. The group lowers their heads, speaking in hushed tones.

“Thomas is going to be mad that we snuck out,” Xavier says quietly.

Rafayel doesn’t respond. His attention is fixed entirely on you as you move through the diner, weaving between tables with trays of food balanced in your hands.

“Are you ready to order?” he hears you ask a group of teenagers in the booth beside them.

“I’m on a diet - I can’t have fats, dairy or gluten,” one girl says dramatically. “What would you recommend?”

“Water,” you reply without hesitation.

You hear the group of men chuckle, but you ignore it. You know they’re here. Their attempt at disguising themselves doesn’t work on you; they stand out too much to blend in.

…

“You know the slight predicament we’ve found ourselves in recently,” Rafayel says eventually.

“You mean the predicament you’ve found yourself in, which just so happens to involve the rest of us?” Zayne replies coldly.

Rafayel ignores him. “I may have found a solution. One that involves cutie.”

—————————————————————————————————————

“Grandmama! Pops!” you call as you step through the front door, which opens straight into the kitchen. You kick off your shoes as you go. “I’m back!”

You set the shopping bags on the counter and move through the open doorway, only to stop dead in your tracks.

By the window sits your grandfather in his usual spot, settled in his wheelchair. On the couch, five men are crammed together, as they try, and fail, to fit. And in the armchair sits a man you don’t recognize, while your grandmother calmly pours tea into mismatched mugs, setting out a plate of biscuits.

“Y/N, you’re finally back. You have visitors,” your grandma says with a warm smile, completely unbothered by the strangers filling the room.

“Hey, cutie,” Rafayel says, lifting a hand in an enthusiastic wave.

The others offer polite greetings.

You rub your temples. “I’m almost afraid to ask what’s going on.”

“Mr. Thomas and his boys have something to discuss with you,” your grandmother replies, taking a seat at the dining table.

…

The man in the armchair stands. “Allow me to introduce myself. I’m Thomas, manager of the boy band Deepspace.”

You step forward and shake his outstretched hand. “You’re the manager?” you say, glancing at the group on the couch. “My condolences.”

Thomas coughs, clearly trying to hide a laugh and sits back down.

...

You drag a chair over from the table, turn it around and sit on it backward, leaning across the backrest.

“Before I explain why we’re here,” Thomas says, “I need to ask you a personal question… Are you single?”

You simply nod.

“That makes things slightly easier,” Thomas mutters. “I’ll get straight to the point. I don’t know how familiar you are with the band, but over the past few months, we’ve been dealing with some backlash - bad publicity tied to Rafayel’s…friendliness with women.”

Rafayel slumps lower into the couch, looking guilty.

“We’ve been trying to fix things - shut down the rumors and speculation. Rafayel came to me with a potential solution. One that we…need your help with.”

“Me?” you ask, caught off guard.

“Are you familiar with the concept of a ‘rent-a-girlfriend’?” Thomas asks.

“Isn’t that basically a service where women get paid to accompany men on dates?” you reply, still unsure where this is going.

Thomas nods, relieved he doesn’t have to explain. “Exactly. What I’m asking is for you to act as Rafayel’s girlfriend - to counter the rumors that paint him as nothing more than a playboy.”

You blink. “Don’t celebrities usually date other celebrities? Singers, actresses, models…”

“Often, yes,” Thomas admits with a sigh. “But Rafayel is in trouble precisely because he’s been too friendly with too many celebrities.”

Rafayel shifts slightly but says nothing.

“He made a good point,” Thomas continues. “If it becomes public that he has a girlfriend, especially someone outside the industry, it won’t just quiet the rumors. It could actually improve his image.”

“Or,” you say sharply, fixing Rafayel with a glare, “he could learn to keep it in his pants.”

“Hey, I didn’t do anything,” Rafayel protests, pouting.

“Rafayel is…eccentric,” Zayne cuts in calmly. “A social person who attracts attention wherever he goes. The press exaggerates, twists things, sometimes for attention, sometimes because they’re paid to.”

“Unfortunately,” Sylus adds, “now that Rafayel’s been labeled a womanizer, people are starting to assume we’re all like that.”

“And that’s another reason we can’t use a celebrity for this,” Thomas says. “It would look staged. And if it backfires, it could make things even worse.”

“Bad press is still press,” you mutter, feeling a flicker of sympathy.

Still, you have no desire to get dragged into something this messy, this public. “I can’t help you.”

Thomas sighs, “We thought you might say that.” He reaches into his jacket and pulls out a piece of paper, handing it to you.

You take it, and freeze.

Your eyes widen. You’ve never seen that many zeros in your life.

…

“Here’s the deal,” Thomas continues. “We’ll do everything we can to protect your identity. Any social media posts will be controlled, the press handled carefully - no face, no personal details that could expose you. We’ll create a story about how you and Rafayel met, and how the relationship started. In exchange, you’ll stay with the boys until their next debut. The amount on that paper is your payment - half upfront, half when it’s over.”

“If you’ve still got your V-card, we can add another zero,” Rafayel chimes in cheekily - only to yelp when Caleb pinches his side and Sylus smacks him upside the head.

“You’re a few years too late,” you reply dryly, not even looking up from the number in your hand.

…

Your family could really use this money.

Your grandparents are all you have left. You glance at your grandfather - ever since the construction accident, he’s been bound to a wheelchair. Not paralyzed, but unable to stand for long, let alone walk. Hospital bills, rehabilitation, medication… and the caretaker who comes by a few hours a day because he’s too heavy for you or your grandmother to manage - it all eats away at what little you earn.

Your grandmother should be enjoying retirement. Instead, she still works part-time at the dry cleaners.

You didn’t go to college like everyone else - not just because you can’t afford it, but because you can’t leave them behind.

“Still…I can’t help,” you say, crumpling the paper into your fist. “I have a job. I have my grandparents. I can’t just get up and leave.”

“Don’t you worry about us, dear,” your grandmother says gently, resting a reassuring hand on your shoulder.

You turn to her, stunned. “Are you really okay with this?”

“Mr. Thomas explained everything before you got here,” she replies. “I may not understand all the details, but it sounds like these boys need your help. And if there’s one thing I’ve always taught you, it’s to help those in need.” She smiles softly. “Besides, it might do you some good - to get out there, be around people your own age. Opportunities like this don’t come often.”

You hesitate, then turn to your grandfather. “Pops…you’re really fine with me living with five men?”

He’s been quiet the whole time, staring out the window. He slowly turns his head toward the couch, eyeing the group.

A smirk spreads across his face.

“I think it’s these boys who should be wary of you, Firecracker.”

@myfictionaldreams

🔞 Let Them Hear After Quidditch practice, James and Sirius overhear crude locker room talk about you that leaves them raging. When they tell Remus, his temper snaps, and by the next practice, the team learns exactly why you’re untouchable. 🔞 Sticky Fingers Sirius had his little stash of enchanted sweets that he always claimed were "too strong for you." But you want to feel what he feels, to have fun like they do when they're soft and floaty and grinning. So when you’re left alone and curious, you make a mistake, eating an entire magical aphrodisiac meant to be split between four. What follows is hours of heat, begging, and unbearable need. 🔞 Beneath the Bubbles A playful bet between her three boyfriends turns an innocent pool day with friends into a secret game of distraction, control, and quiet desperation—and she has no idea she’s the prize.

@mischievousmoony

🔞 kiss it better james and sirius are angry about something, and you're happy to be the one they take it out on 🔞 just another morning typical morning ever since you’ve given your adoring boyfriends free use of your body

@agreeewrites

🔞 tears ✪ you return from a girls trip to your devoted boyfriends.

@prythiansprincess

🔞 sugar, i've got a taste for you song inspiration: sugar by sleep token. 🔞 heaven and back song inspiration: heaven and back by chase atlantic. 🔞 DEVIL'S KISS ✪ the transformation was starting. despite the fact that the omega gene skipped three generations of witches in your family, your heat was fast approaching. you needed an alpha to see you through it, but why settle for one when you can have all three?

@emeritusemeritus

🔞 Couldn't, Shouldn't It’s the ultimate taboo, the line in the sand you shouldn’t even acknowledge and yet, you can’t stop thinking about your boyfriend’s identical twin.

@sleepwalkletters

🔞 TIT FOR TAT You accidentally let a nip slip in front of your boyfriend’s best friend, Theo. Draco decides to let Theo punish you.